In response to Adam.

I had to step up. I knew it when I was awoken in the night and forced to sit on the floor next to my handcuffed roomate and look around the room at the terrified faces. Where I used to see the faces of friends, now I only saw children. Children with pleading, glassy eyes, their fingers crossed behind their backs.

But the police addressed the two of us with sleepy eyes. We were the adults, we had let this occur. And after much begging and pleading, and after the tickets had all been writ, I had to make a choice. I had to say something. I had to address them, to add my opinion to their giggles of relief, escalating on top of each other. But instead, since I had nothing to say, I went back to bed. Ignoring the apologetic pleas that trailed off as I left Reuben in the kitchen.

It took me three days to come to the conclusion that there would be no smoking inside the house. And at least a week and a half to enforce it by forcing notice on the perpetrators. That was two nights prior to their court appearance. There was nothing selfish about this decision. If the house was meant to be a refuge, than it had to be truly safe. Truly safe: no one would risk their future, their goals, their ambitions, when they stepped foot inside. They would instead be surrounded by positivity: Cooper and I cooking meals in the kitchen, painting the living room, playing Uno, or singing songs. Indeed, it wasn't a hard decision to make, just a hard one to carry out.

The night they went to jail, we chided about how clean the house would now be. We drank scotch and watched a David Lynch movie underneath blankets in the living room (socks on to keep out the cold).

I woke up the next morning acutely aware of how quiet the house was. The shower head began dripping out of nowhere. I ached to hear footsteps, someone going out for a cigarette, or pouring a bowl of cereal. I got out a pen and paper and began to write. I tried to explain to Reuben why I couldn't help him. Maybe it was the months of leaching off of me. Maybe it was the blatant disregard for my things, and for our house. Maybe it was the fact that he had it coming. But I promised him I wouldn't abandon him. Even though I'm sure he wishes I would. I just know something deep in my heart. His world has stopped turning while outside, we are zooming around. He neither knows what time it is nor the weather outside. He lives for the next television program, or to grow weary and fall asleep. There is no day or night inside. Regardless of whether or not he hears from his friends while he's in, he put in me in a position to administer tough love. It's not that in my opinion, what happened to him is fair. It's that this experience is a positive one. He'll appreciate everything after a months time. He'll appreciate the air he breaths. Today, he is entitled. He expects people to "help," him: to feed, clothe, and shelter him. Tomorrow? No more.

But I helped James, it's true. I helped James because he has a life to claim. Because he helps me, and, when I approached our friends about what to do, because we agreed on one thing: Help James. He works hard, he overcomes obstacles with a positive attitude. He's not perfect, but he's young. And he smiled so big when I opened the door and ran up to him from behind the glass. Dressed in orange, it was the first time he had looked through a window in a day and a night. And we talked, and he told me his was worried about keeping his job, devastated about not being able to join the Marine Corp, and desperate to come home. I rallied to his cause and we had him out later that afternoon.

When you treat someone like a friend, they do the same to you in return.

So I've learned a lot about copping in this sort of climate in the past few months, and I am so greatful that you were never my roomate. AJ didn't follow through, and much for the better. Our electricity bill this month was a fraction of what it was living with him. The house is always clean, and even the messes that Reuben leaves are manageable. There is no one here to abuse peoples things, or break windows, or anything that a 6'1 insolent child leaves in his wake. I should have understood better what the expectations of me were: you provide the house, the pots and pans. We'll provide the ruckus, and you just clean up afterwards, kapeche? This has been straightened out. There is a clear divide, which is just the way I want it. I don't harbor hate in my heart, despite your obvious jibes at me. They demostrate your crystal clear lack of understanding, of which, I really don't have time or energy to mend.

urban haikus/not safe to walk on yet

I don't care if we ever loved each other
We never walk alone
and I can now see.

David mourned and fasted for 7 days when the Lord killed his first born son as a punishment from taking Bathsheba away from Uriah. On the 7th day, when his son dies, he breaks his fast and returns to normal life. It is at this point in which Bathsheba becomes David's wife in the eyes of the Lord and David succeeds against Ammon. This gives me great hope.

Standing, in the middle of a floor of shattered glass, a spatula in one hand frozen in mid-movement. Seconds before, it had been moving to flip a potato latke. Cooking food, for bands on the road. Seconds before, there had been screaming, they were begging me to take a side. I couldn't. I can't. I think alone. My thoughts are alone, and yet I crave togetherness? Tell me I don't walk alone, and I will not require a presence.

Everything stopped. Ryan picked me up like a bag of gold, a child half asleep in her father's arms, and wiped the glass off my feet. I heard a noise escape my mouth. Then I got the broom and swept up the consequences of someone else's actions. It still falls back on me, the outsider.

Last night I sat on Hank and Emily's porch with their teenage son and asked him why he believes in God. He handed me a piece of quartz crystal and said, "The heaven declare the glory of God" (Psalm 19). I ran my fingers over it. He meant it as a reflection, as the greatness that is our earth, the mysteries, and the wonders.
"Do you know what kind of rock you'll find quartz on?" I asked.
"No."
"Granite."
He didn't respond for a long time.

Listening to James and Reuben on the front steps, I thought of what Ryan had said to me in my living room when I asked him the same question I asked Justus last night: "My logic wasn't cutting it. I could see the love and the light at the bottom of every Christian's heart." This light comes from the guidance that is with you through every decision. Maybe these are still folk beliefs, as my father told me they were, but I am trying to understand.

Jude the Obscure

The less of a New England girl I become, the less I feel as if I belong to anything at all. Perhaps you feel judged, or feel as though others are judging you. You have judged, as I have also. Judged ignorance: Those who claim knowledge of the bible, yet don't recognize the word "synagogue." Judged pride, judged words over actions.

You are not the sun.

head in my palms on the back porch

buzzing bugs, disconnected phone calls, all too brief.

Stormy Weather

I had to leave class and go to the bathroom so I could throw a mini temper-tantrum. I have a right to be mad. I guess I was feeling so weak I let myself get dicked around. Dr. George was right, though. We come from different schools of thought. My interpersonal relationships are just as intimate as my casual ones. Every conversation is a discussion, debate, a way to get to know one another.

...And I am not a Southerner. I can't even begin to understand how to think like one.

This is my trying tour of duty. I hope to look back one day and remember how I endured, thank it for making me stronger, and promise I'll never go back.

I was thinking the other day about how my Father never blamed himself for anything. When I was younger, I saw this a weakness, because it takes real strength to admit that you're wrong, or need help. I've been so concerned about being honest with myself, that I'll accept blame way before I blame anyone else. I'm going to stop doing that. This is not my fault. I'm awesome, but I'm not going to be much more than a friend to any of these dudes. It's too bad really, cause we have a lot to learn from each other, I'm just not allowed to bash Southern Boys over the head with respect and equal opinions of both sexes. It's really frustrating, but no self-righteous speech of mine is going to change them. I'm just going to focus my energy elsewhere.

Bandaid

I read an article yesterday about a model who went on a penniless walking pilgrimage. I could find a good place for my things, its the memories I can't seem to let go.

"You never remembered something as hard as you could so you could tell someone later?"

It's part of being intimate. I think.

"You're jumping the boat."
"Well as long as we're both clear about that, I don't see what the problem is."

But I was scared, and tensed at certain pressure points. I'm like a coil of ropes and when I woke up, I wasn't sure why I had needed that in the first place. He's gone. His mouth, his body, his hands. And everyone, everywhere will feel different, like a bandaid for the scratch.

"Please don't judge me." It was the first thing that came out of my mouth as we stood face to face. He looked like a confused little kid and I thought maybe all along that's what he was hiding under the dye and fancy shoes. He didn't provoke me, but I fell into conversation with his inner thoughts. The kind you shouldn't have to defend. The kind that make you feel uncomfortable when ever someone brings them up. So I don't know why I went there. I don't have anything to loose.

You Complain, you complain, you complain.

At some point as a child I learned to tune out the hard stuff: words spiked with poison, that come from a place of anger and pain. Being whipped around in my seat after a corner taken too fast, the feeling of his fist on my shoulder blade, teeth, knuckles, and the knife in the palm of my hand. I had to run to a place where I knew he wouldn't find me. I'm a coward, but he came after me, and I was scared.

This was the last time I saw him. This was our goodbye. Fitting.

A few days later I was sitting on a porch in Richmond. There was a girl with thick blond hair and almond shaped eyes wearing a black tee shirt and slacks. We talked about a lot of things, but somehow came to the feeling, the anxiety, and the confusion of blatant bullying. I see more of it in the south, where I don't look like other girls, and conformity is highly valued. She was telling me that I should pull out a little crazy, that I should get big, get mean, and stick up for myself.

I've seen guys get angry when their pride is injured. When a girl gets mad, she's a bitch.

I promised myself I would never get mad for irrational reasons, but sometimes I feel angry, and I put it in a box for later. So when I drop my cellphone on the pavement, or spill wine on myself, its like the world's ending. It's literally that small.

So a couple of things: If you think you can get sex out of a relationship you don't value, you're going to die alone. You're 26. If you think you can take advantage of someone for 10 months, but they're a bitch 'cause they're fed up, you're probably gonna die alone. If you think I'm a threat to you, you're just plain wrong. "It's what you do, not who you were, what you wear, or where you've been. So do something." You can dress a part, look a part, act a part, but deep down, if you're an ignorant southern boy, you're just that, and no one with any sense wont see through it. You could be the most amazing, kind person on earth, but if you're dating a manipulator who's taken control of you're relationships, you're just a coward. So what's the point? Make up your own mind.

That's pretty much everything I've been pissed about for a while now. I'm gonna try to be a little more selfish from this point forward.

In other news, I'm single, ineligible, and uninterested. I drove 12 hours in the last 2 days and loved every single second of pavement. Everyone everywhere that I've ever known are still my friends even if we don't talk that often (I know that seems obvious, but I just learned that recently...and thank goodness! Because it's the cause of a lot of my woes). I'm okay, and living in the South is actually pretty sweet. I have the whole country at my fingertips. The future is pretty exciting, and I have awesome friends.

The Happy Stuff.

I was staring into the blue eyes of his Australian Shepard, scratching behind her ears just the way Splinter likes when he asked, "have you lost weight?" I don't even know what kind of question that is, but it managed to break my spell of puppy-love. "I don't know. Maybe," I answered. He's a frequent customer, and I can't take my eyes of his dog Lola.

Home phone numbers. I could stay up all night under the covers with the receiver held to my ear. Every time I become optimistic about my time spent here, I find myself reminded of my roomates, or in this case, on the phone with them. A part of their antics again. Every thing is changing and I'm invisible on the sidelines. There was a puppy who chewed the keychain I wear by my side. There were a million bands, a million girls who slept in my bed, a million snowy nights, and I wasn't there for any of it. Even if they put the phone down and just let me listen to the laughter in the other room.

The night before his birthday, my brother reminded me of the realities that we create for ourselves. I am a perpetual state of, "I was happier here..." or "I was happier when..."

I wasn't. I never was. I've never been content a day in my life. My happiness has stemmed from plotting, from running, or from pretending. A new persona every 8 months that developed out of a rebellion for my old persona. When I ran away, I wasn't following my dreams. I couldn't face Tyler, I couldn't stand how hard school was for me, or how much I hated the jobs I was working. There was romance in the idea of a clean plate. No one was mad at me here. I hadn't let anyone down here. I could do it better here. You can't put miles between your body and your soul. I tore through it, strained my relationships, and sabotaged what I really cared about.

People might live their entire lives feeling lonely, but we used to sit 3 people to a couch, crammed into that living room. I'd fall asleep with my feet by Nick's head before stumbling sleepily into my room, putting on an Owen record, and smiling myself to sleep. I refuse to remember anything else.

If there is anything to learn, it's that I have my entire life to claim. Two years in South Carolina is nothing. I have to see something through to the end and live with the consequences of my actions. Each day is a punishment, for those who think I haven't gotten what I deserve. Seven days is nothing, but it's all I have to look forward to. That, and no more regrets, just cherished memories.

Maybe we could dress in our gowns and stand in front of your fireplace one more time.

Things that are due, or self-reliance

Chris does not blame any trivial issues on overconfidence. If someone transposes a number, he supposes that they were rushing, or doubting themselves, or trying to leave the building before the clock hit 9:30. Never that they were too sure to recheck their numbers.

Truth is, that night, it wasn't a bolstered ego. It was sweaty palms, a nervous stomach ache that started low and worked its way up, like a knot of air through a plastic straw. It gets small in that office, like a blanket, where no one can see your thoughts or feelings. A place where you can count coupons to the beat of your pulse. Yellow walls, the press of your finger prints against the safe lock, or the sound of dollar bills rubbing against one another as you count: 1, 2, 3, 4.

Truth is, everywhere you go, there will be people that hold you back, don't understand you, or whatever it may be. Fighting off those feelings of insignificance, or misconception is a life-long battle that ends in self-reliance.

I'm searching for a better way nestled between two Great Lakes, like the gap between my thumb and pointer-finger. It's not punching the clock, or walking unnoticed across a quad; it's the chase, and the escape. It's longing for the open road, a bus ride North, and finding empowerment through empowering others. I've learned what my hands can do but never seen them unshackled, unconstrained.

The beginning of April, warmth pressed against your cheek. Maybe things could have been different, but I had to fall down and break my arm first.

Lies.

Yeah you fucked up, but it's okay.
And I promise you, the sun will shine today.
But if you find you're out of time,
take a second to remember you're always mine.

Silence after Company (It's just you and me, Billie Holiday)

I was inches away from his neck, watching his jugular pulse, when I found myself aching for the strange relationship I shared with my Endocrine System not long ago. I've been waking up everyday with my game face on, but have no found a reason to exist here. There are probably people trained to deal with that, but I still haven't sought them out. No one needs to tell me what I know best.

This is it, staring across from a couch where I hardly exist. I'm watching kids have fun, the same way I used to have fun at the Artspace. They're dancing, pushing each other, laughing, and exploring extroversion. I keep telling myself I've been a part of this, even though I know I haven't been. Maybe, just like Shep, I helped create a place for them. Except, I always believed that I would always have fun with it. I never imagined myself as an adult.

Him and I, we're not friends. We're not anything but some untied loose ends trying to bury memories under new albums, new girlfriends, or, in my case, 2,000 miles. Somehow, I've managed to only see the best parts, but I'm sure he's reminded constantly of my abuse. I'll never forgive myself.

I gave up. I failed a class, quit my jobs, split town, and headed towards the Blue Ridge. When I thought about it, I dug a soft grave of incapacitation. I sold off every part of myself to avoid my pain, the daemon crawling below my skin, and watched myself turn into a pile of ashes. I wonder all the time if I'm strong enough to change. My life is like a cycle, and I'll never stay close to anyone for long. I ran away before I tore through more friendships like a wrecking ball.

This is the conflict, Intimacy VS Isolation.

I couldn't take the silence when everyone left.

GMTFO Haiku

Why wont someone help?
Why is home so far away?
Please help me go home.

Sunflower Seeds (or why I hate cops)

You're probably an anarchist because the law has been unfair to you the way it's unfair to anyone without a hefty checkbook.

I thought about her as an anxious-avoidant baby with dimples. That's probably why I have an A in Psychology AND a meeting with the Dean of Students to discuss conduct issues.

After 8 months, I've reached an end where I no longer have patience for the insincerity of the Upstate. I've stopped trying to make friends, or just be pleasant. There is no room here for individuality. This is everything Ayn Rand feared.

In New England, I was happy, accepted, and surrounded by people who nurtured me. The Upstate is a toxic pool where I am swimming with every daemon, every fault, and every issue I ever tried to wash away. There in no life guard on duty, I am out in the waves all alone, and the sun is almost disappeared below the horizon.

This is the outlaw land to all my childhood rules and lessons.

Mozaiks

"Se habla espanol?" Said a tall man to a nervous looking foreigner. My mind had been searching for the words to explain to him what I needed to know.

"Si, Si," he replied enthusiastically. When he returned to my register, he said two things to me: "First time," and "I know, next time."

"Some people yearn for the open road, some people just yearn for their driveways," the tall man said. I felt something, affection, complacency leaving my bones.

It's harder for certain people do things like, picking up the pieces of future mozaiks in Tony's backyard. Ceramic and porcelain that belonged to an artisan or a collector at different points in time.

"I wanted to prove to you on Sunday that I could get up and work."

I get up and work 6 days a week, school for 5, drink a cup of coffee in the afternoon, and lay my head on a pillow at night. Still I ask, "why am I not strong? Like the wheel that keeps travelers, traveling on." I figure in not too long a time, it will take me home.

But like I said, it's harder for him, and 5 hours, starting at 7AM is a huge accomplishment. My 12 hour days continue to go unnoticed, and the North acts as a Beacon of hope in my chest. I hardly think about Central, or Mountain time anymore. Just about the man on a box that is New England.

North Station, and places I used to explore on my own.

The Lonliest State

I don't get their jokes, they don't laugh at mine. I've been trying to smile more anyways, as if I could fool them into believing I found them amusing...I don't.

Still, in Lowell, I remember belly-aching laughs. Tirades that would last for months, become user-names, and facebook groups, and work its way around campus until you heard someone you had never met laughing about it.

I don't go to Church. I've been twice, maybe. Once for a funeral, once because I slept over a friends house on a Saturday. I've considered lying to my peers and telling them I was Jewish just so they would give me that same sad, sympathetic look they give foreigners. I may as well be a ghost, or the shell of a human walking about without a soul.

"You're a bad-ass, like me," Tim assured me in the parking lot. Great.

Still, I remember the glass crashing at my feet and the smile on that fiery red head, the Alaskan Fisherman. Afterwords, I thought he might come back to the store a second time. I realized later that that had been wishful thinking. I'd get on better anywhere else but this place. Every time I remember what it's like the get along with people, it tears at my heart. But being alone is okay too, I guess. I can't wait to go home.

Dreaming

Head on pillow, breathing softly in and out, harder now, trying to move my limbs, crying out. Nobody can hear me.

I keep waking up thinking I've just cooked my roomates soup, or given into my most evil desires. The one's that leave one asleep in the car, or hopefully asleep at the wheel, but not to endanger anyone, just to drift over enough to jolt them awake.

I wanted to go to school today. It just reminds me of everyday in my life I've ever been snowed in. Every time I've had to wipe off my car, or drive when it was far too dangerous. It reminds me of the first blizzard I ever drove in, except without the fleet of plows, like guardian angels, flying down the highway. It reminds me of the almost accidents: fishtailing, sliding, snow banks, screams; Being jolted awake.

Americana/Folk

Way out, across the ramparts,
Are these corners of what could have been a tender seed of grass?
Or what's more across the shore?
Sixteen dozen doves fly,
Towards a million miles of freedom,
Save the shore line where we were born, and we will lie.
Let's walk in remission,
With feet stuck in the mud.
"For crying out loud!"
There is broken glass that I broke myself.