stilling a declaration

it's the day after

2009-11-15T12:42:34Z

and a white butterfly perches on the railing of the window
as she washes the dishes after lunch.

she wonders out loud who it could be,
who it is among all those who had gone.

and as she is met with silence,
she douses the plates with more soap and water
and scrubs at them harder with the sponge,
hoping that the suds can rinse out
the salt of her tears.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL I WAS THINKING OK

2009-06-04T11:08:25Z

I NOW HAVE A MUSIC BLOG.
pinklikeshivers

(i'm planning to post all my icons there in the future.
and profile codes, too. because i love profile codes.)

soak.

2009-04-27T13:03:15Z

earlier, as i was boiling water, i was thinking of how it would be more poignant if i were doing it for tea, to warm my hands as i cradled the cup wherein the teabag was steeping, or for coffee, to wake up to with my bleary eyes and sleep-rumpled face. alas, i'm boiling it for pain, pouring it carefully into a hot water bag with the steam blowing into my face, to soothe the ache that plagues mother, wishing it all away.

sometimes, you just lose...

2009-04-03T07:30:56Z

...even if you deserved to win.
:'(

a weight.

2007-06-22T03:05:20Z

she breathes in heavy uncertainty through her nostrils and she wants to expel it, opens her mouth wide and exhales, but the only thing that comes out is the little semblance of composure she has left. she chokes, sputters, tries to calm herself down but every nerve is tingling - with anticipation or with fear, she doesn't know. she finds that she can't stop drumming her fingers against the cherry wood of the table, or tapping her toes against the cold vinyl at her feet, or bumping her knee against the wall.

she stares at the words that rest before her - words that must be known and absorbed, words that should be taken and owned - but she finds them foreign, difficult, disengaging. she is enamored, instead, by the music sailing through the air and soothing the troubled seas of her soul.

she thrives upon self-imposed melancholy, reluctance, and doubt. she clutches them close to her heart like a protective blanket, one that will protect her from the uncertainties and disappointments of the world... but inside her heart still burns the small flicker of hope that maybe, she is good enough. and that maybe, she'll get in.

comfort food

2007-03-06T09:32:34Z

i warm up cheez whiz in the microwave and spread it on some graham crackers.

overture

2006-12-23T15:15:22Z

eloquence
has evaded me.
my fingertips
are numb
without the impassioned
rush
of ideas that long for
escape.
(they'll kill me
if
they
stay.)

the old faithful
is dependable
no more;
scheduled impulses
don't yield to stimuli.

there is a void.

the blank
sheet
whispering
clamoring
desperate to be.

white noise.

it doesn't make
sense
some
times.

voices cry
out for
the
un
attainable
release.

we all long
to be.

freedom.

it's been
too long
since i last
wrote.
(& i'm sorry.)

i never could
seem to find
the perfect
words
to say.