my father, a short man but nonetheless far taller than i, now weighs 121 lbs. that is 1 lb more than i weigh, a 21 year old female of 5'1. and i am not fat.

the term wasting away is cliche for a reason =(

are possibilities more important than certainties? is it better to play it safe and avoid getting hurt, or take a gamble for something that COULD be amazing but will almost undeniably end in heartbreak?

it's a game of probability without a mathematical formula. it's permuations and combinations without numbers and variables. how does that work? it doesn't. that's what. it doesn't work at all.

a tale of post-modern buddhism

buddhism is cool now
so let's look at this like buddhists do
the new kind, anyway

we'll plan to stop planning
'cause being in the now
is the same is being in

we'll be the post-modern kind of buddhists
the sort that love for free and often

the kind that lure you in
but do not lock the door
even as you're begging for a bolt

we'll look at this like buddhists do
worshipping the swift affair
until it ends
and end it surely will
because we planned it all along

maybe we'll meet sometimes at night
but if we do, it's only chance

and at 3 p.m. last thursday
clearly, no, you did not recall
that I'd be waltzing down the hall
when you found yourself idling
where you did not have to be at all

of course, you could not, did not know
where i'd be or where i'll go
these run ins are pure luck
but since we've met again:
when will you be free to fuck?

we'll write it in the moleskin just in case
in pencil, because that's what buddhists do
the williamsburg sort, that is

how does june 16th sound?

every 11:11 i encounter, i wish as hard as can be. don't you think im ready? don't you?

late last night, i ordered a happy meal and they only gave me nuggets. maybe i'm not meant to be happy. maybe that whole package, it's not for me. no. processed chicken is enough without the toy and fries. while others have it all, i'm rewarded with subsistence.

yum. life. i get to live. lucky me?

these days

everything has meaning

near in nearly

hard in hardly

bare in barely

the planes i almost missed

but didn't

the tests i should have failed

but didn't

the motorcycle

that got me to my train

in the nick of time

maybe it's a sign

in this relentless night

that the light that flickers

fails to fade

that yesterday's pigeon poop

missed me by a minute

and an inch

that the weather forecast predicted storms

but it only stormed in Jersey

close calls chime in sync

and tease my eardrums to believe

that the world might howl

even sans a big bad wolf

and ghosts are not the same

as people who are pale and ill

and coffins are just shoe boxes

graves are only stones

they are the only objects on this earth

that mean nothing

nothing

for these days

everything means something

and my eyes solely see analogies

and i only think in similes

my world is twisted out of imagery

and i am made of metaphors

you'd surmise that i'm a writer

but i am just a dreamer

built of words

and punctuation marks

or lack thereof

i see only what i want

images are chosen carefully

meticulous

ridiculous

there is symbolism in this bottle of diet coke

fizzing

nearly spilling

but just

filling me

filling me

filling me

with all the pseudo energy

i need to make it through this night

liquid utopia

bubbly

bubbly

i drink a flawless fantasy

and begin to breathe again

there is life bursting from this plastic

ejected from an automat

that gave me an extra bag of chips

for free

father seems to be dying

but this vending machine says otherwise

just a dollar-something for a coke and chips?

my luck is changing

changing

and maybe he's not dying

after all

Love Me

Because I think in metaphors.

Because I think of sex,

as a bus ride.

And waiting...

as well,

waiting,

while the other buses pass.

There is only one bus,

that will get me where I need to be.

But then, there are my feet:

In heels, always, and blistered,

yet, strong enough to carry me.

I catwalk down 23rd.

It's only 2:00 AM.

And my feet are strong enough to hold me up,

strong enough to hold me up.

I pass by hipsters en masse,

smoking outside bars.

idling by the one Seven-Eleven

on this side of the Hudson.

They laugh,

'cause this night is a giant inside joke.

I laugh,

'cause I don't get it.

But I'll pretend I do.

If only you were here to see me,

to behold my purple dress fly up

with the whims of the wind,

to see it flee my legs,

and to make a bad,

bad joke.

If only you were here,

we'd lock arms,

and, dirty pick up lines

would linger in the air between us.

If only I hadn't left without you.

If only the M23 had stayed on schedule.

If only time stopped ticking,

when my watch broke.

and,

no one could make their way,

until we commenced on ours.

It's 2:3o now.

No bus yet.

I am alone,

not waiting,

but walking.

The bus is a lost cause

even when it comes,

as, it always does,

eventually.

It is too early and too late.

I am a block ahead.

Then, a block behind,

still walking.

But love me,

Love me, anyway,

Because I never meant to walk alone.

Don't change the channel, change the script!

If we were on TV, the audience would be rooting for us. Waiting for us to realize what they already know. They would have been so satisfied after the kiss. So content that it finally happened after two seasons of flirting and aching and wondering but not acknowledging.

But the script writers are brilliant. They know how to toy with your emotions. Make you wait. Keep you on your toes til' they break off. They know what they are doing to keep you captivated. They've mastered the art of getting you excited only to let you down.

It has to be done this way to keep you watching. Or maybe, just maybe, you'll get fed up and change the channel.

jagged circle

I've literally started grabbing at my hair and tugging it. I have come perilously close to yanking it out in clumps, but instead I just hold it and stare at the ceiling. I fixate my gaze on the part of my ceiling that's been mended....from a hole or a leak or something. It is rough, uneven, a sad imitation of a circle, patched up but ever conspicuous.

I look at it as if to find meaning, as if the jagged edges will bestow upon me an epiphany, a metaphor, a beautiful image for my writing. But it is just a circle, after all. That image has been overdone.

Dear Darkness

By PJ Harvey

"Dear darkness

Dear darkness
Won't you cover, cover me again?
Dear darkness, dear
I've been your friend for many years.

Won't you do this for me, Dearest Darkness
And cover me from the sun
And the words tightening
The words are tightening
Around my throat and, and

Around the throat of the one I love
Tightening, tightening, tightening
Around the throat of the one I love
Tightening, tightening, tightening

Dear Darkness
Dear Darkness
Now it's your time to look after us

Cause we kept your clothes, we kept your business
When everyone else was having good luck

So now it's your time, time to pay
To pay me and the one I love
With the worldly goods you stashed away
With all the things you took from us."

Going through my mixed CDs of yore. I feel like I am listening to an audio diary. I remember sitting on the floors of Murrow, right outside the social studies office with my discman and a notebook in hand. My discman! Would you believe I owned one of those only a few years ago?

"We can always play by ear, but that's the deal my dear."

I will not forget that I am strong. I will not forget that I have remarkable will-power. I will not forget that I have my whole life ahead of me to experience. This is not the end. This is the beginning. There are adventures to have, people to meet, places to go. Life is far from perfect. It is difficult as hell much of the time, but I've gotten through this much, and I can and will persist.

I will not hope for things to get better, I will MAKE them better by smiling. Living each moment to the fullest. Not taking my presence for granted.

I am here, so I may as well be here fully.

Don't you understand? I am brilliant. I am funny. I am talented. I am beautiful. I am understanding. I am forgiving. I am easy-going. You would be LUCKY to have me.

But you don't understand that, I guess. And it's your loss if you don't!

God, let this be done already. Let it end. All of it.

I am overwhelmed. I think I will be quitting The Envoy next semester whether or not I'm leaving NYC. I did it once so I have nothing to prove. I know I can do it. I was a damn good editor, but now, I need a semester to myself.

I just need time to process EVERYTHING. How can I work like this?

I don't even know if I want to go away next semester. I don't know what I want anymore. To sleep. That's all I really want. To sleep until I'm free.

A Work In Progress

I am seesaw

I am sway

Am black,

Am white,

But never gray.

I am fly,

But I am land

On the margins

Of somewhere

Nowhere

Sunk in sand.

I am seesaw,

I am swing.

I am plummet,

Backslide,

Nose dive.

I am spring.

I am plunge

But,

I am fly.

I am hello

To be goodbye.

I am soar

I am persist

But,

I am cease

To be desist.

I am be

To be become

I am add

But never sum.

I am Dare

I am Defy

But,

I am bear

To fail to try.

I am shout

But also stutter

I am falter

Sometimes flutter

I am seesaw,

I am shift.

Here not there,

And,

There not here,

I am

I am

Am I?

I am breathe,

I am exist

Or perhaps,

I am Imagine

Spawn of Wish.

I seem solid

But

I am seem

I am neither here

Nor there

Merely muscle

Made of dream.

I've swallowed the butterflies I was trying to catch. They are fluttering about in my intestines, tickling me from within.

Here's to hoping I don't throw up.