Shades of Gray

It’s not black or white, but

it’s certainly not shades of


Because these operate on one dimension

which is not to say that there is

no depth to the colors, but that

words like ‘murky’ are inadequate

because murky has no shape or texture–

texture, temperature: properties of


Depth is not an empty space in your emotion/being

An artist, singer, dancer, poet

would love to fall

fall as if it were effortless, an

unimpeded descent



But I know you

r more shallow depths

at least

and I felt the crumbs of static



cotton wisp-er, clinging to my


damp, dissipating



difficult to see

dark, tepid*.

As I fall,

my light reveals

3 inches from my body

my next encounter*

with sentience.

My next fall.

But 3 inches is not enough to

think, plan, prepare

so I sink and

I fall and

I feel all over again.


in the hospital, it was as if i was suddenly suspended.

the motion around me did not stop, but i did.

i did not get a sense of being left out of the picture-

rather, for the first time, the picture was me.

i was 12 years old when i first remember thinking to myself,

“i wish i had a bigger butt”.

i believe that for some reason, i have a very close connection with the universe.

i know that when i ask,

be it within reason,

i shall receive.

as i grew, my body grew.

my body grew, and i did not like it.

“I’ve changed my mind,” i told the universe.

but the universe did not listen.

i found a few diet books.

i found a few recipes.

i found a new exercise.

but i did not find my old body.

on the inside, i was a child

but on the outside i was a woman

the dissonance was fraying my edges.

i felt as if i were standing in an old tv screen during an electric storm.

i picked away at my food.

i picked away at my body.

i grabbed a toothbrush and prostrated before a toilet

i bent at the knees and buckled at the spine.

“out, out damned spot!”


when i arrived in the hospital, i felt like a child.

i was so happy.

i wanted to be a child.

i wanted to be happy.

i thought they would help me be a better child

but instead they conquered me.

they made me more woman than i ever have been.

and i cried for months.

my old body was a young body.

but my new body is an old body.

i just want my image to be a reflection of myself

i want to be the child i am.

so if alcohol kills the liver

and smoke kills the lungs,

then where does my childhood strike?

why does everyone else get to self destruct but me?



Today, I went on my twitter page and saw drama from my High School, which is odd since I am in college. It made me think about the people I follow, and why, even though many of them are in college as well, would care enough to promote those things onto my timeline. All these things made me think about the different perspectives memories have for us all. I will take more time to think about what memories mean to me today.


I hate the place where two roads converge. It’s nauseating to me, because it seems to the both of us as if we are always right.

One person travels down one road at 60 miles per hour, leading in, and the other person travels down another road. THE other road. This “other person” is wrong. This “other person” drives and as you approach each other you realize that you have both reached a primal stage in your lives, and something stirs within you. You both realize that you are competing for the same resource: the place where two roads converge. And one of you is going to get there first.


“I’m right!” you say, and you lead in with a heavy pedal. As the road gently begins to curve, you see that precious resource and visualize your desire. Oh, to occupy that space at the most convenient time!

“I’m right!”, you say. “My road was the original road. The road the other car is coming off of is just a random street, mine is the right of way!”

And yet…

“Mine is the space!”, declares the engine of the “other” car. The road gently curves and the car downshifts to accelerate.


The two roads converge, and I am nauseated.

Neither person was right.

Both, are dead.

[i am ashamed of myself]

i am scared to share my thoughts

my thoughts are s c a t t e r e d

They do not exist in transit.

Most seem to have thoughts in chains

Long, unbroken streams of consciousness

Every link logical and fluid

A liquid beauty that ties down, captures, restrains.

my thoughts feel like ELECTRONS

pop! into my frontal lobe

[i am a starting thought]

pop! into my temporal memories

[i am a second thought]

pop! out of my mouth

[i am the unrelated response]

There is no chain.

They appear at will, with no in between steps.



A raven is like a writing desk!



I am scared to say what I think!

[you make me feel ashamed of myself]

[no meaning]

I want to write poetry.
I want to write a song so beautiful it makes the world break;
I want to tear the fabric that holds us together to pieces so I
Can rebuild it again
And my sound will be the cornerstone.
My voice will echo through an empty chamber and it will be the only thing you hear,
It will enter you and seize your heart, it will squeeze you
And expand inside of you until it fills you up;
You heart will beat faster and adrenaline will pulse
And your body will loosen in the middle and tighten on the edges
You will become a human, just like me
And together we will rise up
And live out the true meaning of our creed

I walk in the night, what a beautiful sight
Lord Byron- please show me the streets I walk?
And I
Let my cup of plenty runneth over
Till it leaves me wondering just what I’ve done to deserve sober, and I

Feel spiritual things but nothing satisfies my dreams
And so I raise my glass to toast to everlasting life
But immortality comes from being more than free and I shift into a bird to take flight

But nothing seems to me so beautiful to see as the falcon crying out it’s fatal call
And as I twist and turn down I miss one fatal calling sound and the world around me Crumbles and begins to fall.

[i’m sorry.]