11.30.02

For my 100th entry, I thought I would post something that I don't usually do...

Poe-uh-tree.

This was written on my 16th birthday... I figured I would put it somewhere "safe" - like the FUCKING INTERNET!!!! YAY! Nobody will ever find my teenage angst here!

February 10th 1995

--------------------------

these things i know

some things go unsaid and that is good...
have I ever told you about the smell of summertime & fresh-cut grass

or of my mother<<< who smells so much like summer & cigarettes and all at once I am back to that once upon a time but with new eyes and her voice falls all around.

there are such things as monsters.
i know.
things die in the winter.
freckles are beautiful.
tomatoes grow by our back door step- my grandma picks them with her small hands� her hands are only tissue paper.

pets die. and time is seamless.
there is a god. he has seams & stiches of a religious patchwork.
time cools and clarifies and
alters over the course of the hours.
these things i know.

words have teeth. i know. i have scars on my chin - my wrist - my upper lip.

spiders are nessesary.
seasons change, regardless. i can see my breath in the winter & know that it is there - at other times I am not so sure.
without contraries there
is no progression.

sUDDENLY! in love or anger... anger is red or so I've been told.
the gun is always loaded when pointed at u.
just like this question.

iknow these things. think these things. these things i write.

rainbows are a promise.
kudzu grows & spreads like rumors.
the presence of light is not a result of darkness ended.

and yet all iknow of HOPE is that it begins with an H. and H is a crooked letter. it begins both heaven & hell.
i know the secret of life (and so do you).

i am the child that fashioned my soul into a kite. commanded it to fly and then cursed the wind.
i am tired of tapping on their shoulders and so i shout and surely they now hear me when i say that this is
my time. wasted.
we have all wasted an opportunity to say something. anything. been too little, too late. learned the hard way.
i know the end of the story (and so do you).

books & stories that number as many as breaths i have taken.
for granted. ---
of what i know these things i keep:

dreams mean nothing.

i have loved (and made love to some).
and i know that i will be forever fresh on their minds like a new morning dream.

& dreams mean everything.

and they will each remember something different- the curve of my wrist, my stomach, the back of my neck, or my eyes all alive,
and that is not all�

and suddenly that memory sparks a smile that protrudes into their soul like too many suns casts no shadow because my scent is all around and before they know it - they are back there.
with new eyes.

i will remember my mother's hands.
and that it rains every year on my birthday.
the day i was born it snowed like all hell.
i will remember that i have my father's hands like some endless birthday gift.
these things i know.

caught up in an ocean of voices.
falling all around...
and this is is not for you.

i know the most beautiful people in ALL the world (and so do you).

and this IS for them.
and this IS for all the rest.

for my friend who took 500 sleeping pills one lonely afternoon and awoke to find that he'd never really fallen asleep.
or in love.

we know that we have never risked more than we were prepared to lose.
these things i know.

its okay. the sound of someone asleep beside me.
<< it is the sound of my soul >>

it is my own hand i take now... and by my hand i speak -i think - i write.

and my voice will echo through your head like dejavu.

i am.
i am these words.
and words grow like weeds to crowd the smooth garden of your mind's backyard.

and so i bring to you all - flowers - morning glories - weeds (whatever you like). and do with them what you will.
these things i know. these things i keep.

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