Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild, Wild Women

Perhaps I was born kneeling,

born coughing on the long winter,

born expecting the kiss of mercy,

born with a passion for quickness

and yet, as things progressed,

I learned early about the stockade

or taken out, the fume of the enema.

By two or three I learned not to kneel,

not to expect, to plant my fires underground

where none but the dolls, perfect and awful,

could be whispered to or laid down to die.

Now that I have written many words,

and let out so many loves, for so many,

and been altogether what I always was—

a woman of excess, of zeal and greed,

I find the effort useless.

Do I not look in the mirror,

these days,

and see a drunken rat avert her eyes?

Do I not feel the hunger so acutely

that I would rather die than look

into its face?

I kneel once more,

in case mercy should come

in the nick of time.

The product of sleep deprivation.

clouds erupt at dawn

night’s remnants burned to ashes,

fitful dreams vanish.

Alone in the morning
I take to the swings
sitting at the edge of the park,
the chains rusted by now from the days we spent swinging away in the rain 
(nothing but flashes of jagged lightning growing nearer 
  stopped us from taking flight into the clouds)

chains that freeze my fingers as I pull myself up,
and hop on the cold seat.
I ground my feet in a pile of wood chips, caked in mud
and count down
holding my breath, 
the way you would before takeoff
at 3, 2, 1 and 

I dive into the sky, fighting the rising sun
I remember one day we promised we’d discover the secret to human flight or
   build a rocket ship with our bare hands, one way or another defy the
   distance ahead,
we knew no one could last at the depths of the earth
without letting their faces turn sour
and hearts callous

sometimes your face haunts me, 
the outlines of your nose and mouth less pronounced
as they grow less familiar,
but they resurface
reminding me of your defeat,
or maybe mine

sometimes I think you’ve passed
with all the others who’ve taken solace 
underneath tombstones and flowers
and then I remember 
you live on elsewhere

and I take on the feat of saving our spot on the swings
and a pact I alone keep.

I have had a shitty week. I repeat, shitty. Sometimes, I surprise myself again and again when I see how quickly I’ve slipped back into the old mindset. For those of you who know me well, those thoughts aren’t pretty.

Yet now, I feel strangely liberated. I haven’t even taken my finals, but I have a feeling that everything will be great. Everything will go absolutely well. I feel as though I will recover from this crazy, time-squeezing semester. Not only that, but it will be a productive recovery. I will accomplish what I set out to do, as cheesy as that may sound. It’s surprising how many people don’t end up following through with that.

Here’s what I have in mind:

1. Write my long-delayed collection of “fortune poems” (with my handy, dandy collection of Chinese takeout fortunes - what more could one ask for?)
2. Learn Illustrator and maybe vector drawing. Maybe.
3. Be a nerd and read ahead (just because the spring will probably be crazy too).
4. Be a better journalist (I’ll figure it out along the way).
5. Relax. And smile (it’s a longshot in the winter, but it’s worth trying).

It’s hard to see the beauty in anything when you wake up remembering how shitty you felt the day before. And then you remember how shitty you’ve felt all week. Before you even get out of bed, you realize you can’t remember  the last time you’d felt genuinely, imperviously happy.

I’ve had times like that on and off for the past four years. In fact, I think I’ve felt that way many times during my childhood as well. But I’m ashamed to say this year was the worst, in terms of how I dealt with it. Having everything pile up is one thing, but letting everything pile over you, without even reaching upward for anyone or anything is infinitely worse. It’s self-destructive and painful to those around you. I can say I reached out, but I didn’t quite reach upward for anything until I had to.

In spite of that, I want to thank all of the friends that tried and the few that managed to force me out of that state of mind. I want to apologize to anyone I’ve hurt in the process, but more than anything, thank those that stuck with me and made me open my eyes in spite of that. Those who didn’t abandon me (and I don’t think anyone really did) because of it.

I’m taking the time to write about it because I’m still having a tough time, personally speaking, but see it differently. This is one of the first times that I can imagine feeling sad and pressured without considering anything drastic or feeling hopeless. And I feel like I’m still taking everything proactively, trying to do more for myself, taking my health and happiness into account. I’m doing it for me, my loved ones, my friends and for the sake of livelihood itself. If you’re going to do anything at all - hell, if you’re going to live at all - you might as well do so passionately.

I guess I’m also saying this because I know some other people going through a rough time, and whether I talk to you or not (whether you see this or not), I want you to know that things pick up. Some of you talk about how nobody can imagine how you feel right now. Although most of us haven’t experienced what you have, the feeling is the same — painful but not impossible to overcome.

This song definitely sums up these feelings, and it brings some solace. Thought someone might appreciate it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vwf5iRBbilM

• Rekindling my former romance with nytimes.com.
• Working out…bahaha.
• Being my own person…and happier (whatever that means). I guess that ties into being healthier.
• Letting go of worries that don’t matter.
• Writing articles faster
• Becoming the proofreading beast I once was
• Spreading my (addiction to) knowledge of proper grammar (IRR <3)
• Taking a peek at html (nerd2damaxxx)
• Writing something (poetry, memoir shiz…something)