Monday, December 13, 2010

Your words used to be geometric
carefully angled polygons of meaning measured to fit certain occasions
like a shape sorter toy
and i would hold each word examine it and wonder if it was meant for eye, tongue, heart, brain
or some other part
of which you would never speak
and the words always fit eye and brain
and too rarely tongue
spaces in my body became empty needing to be filled by more than plastic geometry
even though i was attracted to the colors
i didn't want to sort and make this be such a cerebral task
of putting pieces of you into me
so i just waited letting you put the pieces in
I kept myself open to more than just geometry and more than just us
until the threat of tsunamis of poetry gushing through my body
shifted your polygons into parabolas stretching through me
no longer structured
now I am only open to the angles of your geometry bending around my body
the circumference of your voice engulfing me with its depth
the area of your eyes sinking me in its volume
the perimeter of your shadow as it blends into mine
the surface area of your back for my nails to dig into
the square root of your sighs
the slope of your thrust
the infinity of your smile...

Wednesday, October 13, 2010


Community Organizing.
Spiritual center.

Morbid animal stories.
Academic writing.

Down for the cause.

Boundaries don't let me sprawl comfortably across my own geography. Standing rigidly crammed into each city-state, I feel constricted, uncomfortable when two or more worlds collide. It's a skill to navigate across boundaries. It's revolutionary to kick down the walls. It's beautiful to paint the walls and transform into plant matter with wildflowers growing rampantly making the walls soft and necessary boundaries instead of constrictive concrete corridors.

Why do I have several blogs? One for poetry. One for stories. One for things I'd rather keep to myself.

I'm spilling into myself starting right here.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Meditation, privilege, wisdom, supportive people, and a healthy dose of rebelliousness allowed me to create my own path in life. I was one of the blessed ones. Happy. Well-traveled. Single. Independent. Balanced. Funny. Confident. Successful enough to afford at least one international vacation, but poor enough to be truly grateful for everything I had.

Confidently coasting toward my thirty-fifth birthday, my paved trail suddenly seemed to deliquesce into wilderness. Life was speeding faster than I could pave, and I was about to get lost and stumble and find myself meandering through this unchartered, unpaved, jungle without any food, water, or gps system. Now of course this is metaphorical, so what happened to my perception of my blessed life? Don't worry, despite what it may sound like, this wasn't an eat-pray-love type of pandemonium.