i dont like how you creep back in
how i wonder if youre okay
i dont like that this mightve been how you felt
about a girl you couldnt give up
i dont like that the sweetness can become sticky
sometimes love spikes the punch of pain
because im falling in love
while shedding you off
like the old skin i used to wear
like the old fears i used to carry
and there you are peeled off on the floor
a part of me i cant put back on
i love you with all the past in my heart

but how do you feel?

to feel:
1. to have perception by touch or by any nerves of sensation other than those of sight, hearing, taste, and smell.
2. to have a sensation of (something), other than by sight, hearing, taste, or smell
3. to perceive a state of mind or a condition of body: to feel happy, to feel well
4. to find or pursue (one's way) by touching, groping, or cautious moves ("feeling it out")
5. to be or become conscious of.
6. to be emotionally affected by
7. to have a sensation of being




"I feel way too good touching your hand,"
she said, the words tumbled out of her lips
and oops just like passion to spill it all out there
in this moment of skin brushing skin
after feeling affection first inside
she wanted to give her feelings on high
the gravity of her fingertips
gravitated toward his
and he felt this pulse under his skin too
reaching out for the feelings he felt too
feelings confirmed by an accidental very purposeful touch.
an accidental very purposeful movement
a very clear picture of a blur
a primal fire evolved with lust and love
the need to be regarded and touched;
our hearts pump
physically
so that we are conscious mentally.

what a random moment
to be sitting on the toilet
and have the sudden urge
to open my room mate's drawer
under the sink.
it was jutting out
ever so slightly
and thats how i opened it,
and cast to the back,
the very end
of the drawer's limits
i see the distinctly lovely
just as she was,
the slender and elegant,
just as she was,
watch, that belonged to my grandmother
and now belonged to me
but now belonged to the back of my room mate's drawer
in the bathroom
under the sink
jutting out
in this moment to see the watch winking back there at me
and even though my grandmother would consider this swearing
and wouldn't approve
you bet your ass i took it back

I heard poets are often alcoholics

the hand of my mishaps
has smeared the colors of my memory
into a mix of black
all my happenings
pooled into a dark mess
a puddle of questions
a puddle with no concrete end
i remember certain shades
but i cant sift through the black
retrace what has mixed with what
i cant see how they came to be
and i dont believe in seeing the world
as black and white
but sometimes that's all youve got

text messages

well sometimes theyre just awful and rude
and they have no respect for your movie viewing experience,
class lecture, grandma's birthday dinner,
stop signs, or awkward dates.
they can lie with ease, they can pretend to be somewhere else
with someone else, they could be "lost"
in a clusterfuck of satellite signals
your "lol's" & various abbreviated choppings of the language
could be floating in the stars
never arriving at your screen
or maybe youve lost them
in the constellations of your regrets
because phones are allusive you know
sometimes they fall into toilets
they drop in to where youve blacked out
they get wedged into swallowing seats
they decide to stay long after the party, concert, event with bleachers, and/or
that was fun but there's no fucking way were driving all the way back to get your damn phone trip is over.
during your absence all those words are lost
undelivered packages of what have you missed?
since history evolved from spoken word
into written word
we are taking our words and making them history
we can look through the chronicles of the spring of 2010
through the text window of you and your ex significant other
and perhaps like history, you can analyze the different signs & signals
of the signs & signals you are reading
you could write essays about what your texts mean
you could make yourself seem more important
cuz you have moments polished into fast moving words
that are sent by a mental & physical push of button

i should be so tired....and i am? but my mind is racing, i have too many thoughts. the summer is slipping away. a year ago from today seems so strange now. looking back on myself the way i perceive myself now, looking back at the moments and memories my brain has chosen to save. looking back as a means to see what is now. it's almost like i want to spoil the future, which would really be the present, for my past self. like i wanna wink and give past me a reassuring smile. "It's okay 2010 Laura, youre doing just fine." what am i doing a year ago? where could i have seen foreshadowing definitive moments? all questions i will look back on again in another year. and so on...etc...infinity...until my brain produces no questions or pictures of time

i see too many people
giving their love
to people who give them pain
but if that's all you know
it might be all you look for
but look first toward your own pain
digest its thorns

there's just so many forms of communication now. it's harder to avoid people. and easier.

speak louder than

Tortured thoughts can be unbound
by shaping them as sounds
or the fingers of letters
may slowly unravel
restrictions against travel
on your mind's growth.
Everyone says that its polar
has more effect and volume
but what is shut inside
reflects motions outside.
To speak does not mean defeat,
words may lay flat
or evaporate in the air,
words may not do
but they may share
so that doing
is undone before it ever was a did
so that love is not capped off with a mental lid
so that if we feel the need to spill
we will put feelings into the pitches of our tones
and not the movements wrought by our bones
we will curl in the y of angry and cross our t's
we will unfold emotions as a play of thoughts
where our lips are the curtains that separate
and the mind will craft the figures of speech
to dance up and out of our throats
and stretch to ideas flesh could never reach.

you know somedays you were so poetic i had to roll my eyes
you saw them roll all over you
and because youre so goddamn deep you felt it too
it was dramatic though, because its how we are
even with my blues and greens rolling rolling
it means you kept them in motion
it means my eyes were never still with you
they opened, they cried, they winced, they crinkled, they sighed
and im sorry if i made you feel like a joke
maybe your poetry made it hard to deal with my own thoughts
maybe the way you spoke made it harder to avoid myself
your depth was beautiful, i know it was
i drowned in it from time to time
and i could only reach for your words
but they were slippery and
the lack of touch caused me to sink again and again
i look back at your words now and it hurts to see how far they go
how far they were felt and could have been
how they fell from your mouth and all the way down to your feet
cuz youre that fuckin deep

wednesday nights

the quality in me to pick apart
is bound to the mentality that its justified
im a basket case of wonders
if opened correctly
the wonders will come first
the case second
if i sound crazy
you can call me that
if i sound like a fool
you can call me that
but my heart
it just beats so big

theres always another side to things.
sometimes people who are impulsive arent that way just because theyre rash...they can also feel deeply without appearing to. they can seem to not give a fuck, and yeah sometimes they really don't...but when fucks are given...when thoughts do stir behind their feelings...they can feel deeper than a logical person would. their (my) life might not all be together....they (I) might drop out of school, they (I) might make bad choices because it felt right at the time...but I can promise you their love, when its real, is a fire from the inside. a fire from the heart that spreads, that melts the concrete, the black and white, the lines and rules of things. and if it has turned to ash there is always the possibility of rising again. burning bright and feeling the heat again.

maybe they dont have the capacity to clearly map out situations or truly analyze the consequences of actions, but when they feel- they feel it with everything, with all the chaos inside and out, with all the passion of an abrupt and unexpected kiss, they are of action and that does not mean without words...its just that everything they feel or think might spill out more readily than the reserved. the regret is from what has been done rather than what hasnt been done. so yeah you can call me destructive, or impulsive, and my actions are shouting over my words, but I don't doubt that when my feelings are genuine they come from the deeper depths of me.