tear sheet

Because you are all I need
Because I would be willing to compile
All my hours all my days
Fold them up in a box with your name
Neatly engraved on the lid

Because I give it all away
In the hopes that you’ll share it with me
Because its mine to give

I have turned this past year
a whitish pulp
of milky blankness
Flattened by my own
Lonesome hours

I have turned this past year
a blanket of nothing
muffling the memories
of everything else
that ever was
before there was you

I cannot hear the sound of
Any voice but yours
I cannot speak of any name but yours

I will lie in store a few days more
Awaiting your touch
To crumple, crease or cut
Or sweat into rivets
a few more drops of your self

Maybe in a little while
Once night has finished falling
You’ll arrange the words you plucked from trees
upon my unmarked skin
Those lovely words
seeped in sun kissed sap

That way you say
I'll know of your days and night

You’ll speak deliberately in long winded prose
I'll let you Lullaby me further
and further
To love

There are times

when your skin and my skin
are so close its like they
want to breath together

from time to time
we succumb
to these moments of short sighted melding
of apparent company
of togetherness...

this makes
the reality of imminent solitude
that much harder to live inside of

until at last the day comes
when our arms tell of far off
while we exhale every pore
and stand, out of breath,
exhausted and weary from the possibility
of ever more
ever mores

I have walked hand in hand
in hand in hand
in soft hand in upper hand in rough hand
in backhand,left hand, right hand
in warm hand and in off hand
along side men
men who's names escape me now
who's bodies once felt like my own
My own heavy burden of redeeming qualities
My shell of depreciating antiquity

I have walked along side such men
wishing you were real enough to stop
the senseless
search of bus stops and restaurants
the exploration every strangers gaze
in the hopes of one day meeting yours

first short story for creative writing class

I had to write a short story with two random sentences as my inspiration

1.An independent woman who has dedicated her life to helping others in any way she can.
2. A Polish man runs down the street, pauses while a stranger pees on him,and resumes his run screaming.

Here is what I wrote:

“It was god’s will”
That’s always how Olga liked to think about it.
If he didn’t want me to dedicate my life to helping others then he wouldn’t have made me so compassionate.
But still there lingered in her a feeling that her selflessness was beginning to take on an air of self-righteousness. She resented the feeling of pride she felt after every good deed and worried that it took away from the deed itself.
Lately she had become consumed with self-doubt wondering why she felt it her duty to help everyone around her.
Where these acts of generosity as genuine as she intended them to be or was she using these people’s misfortunes to avoid herself?
Most nights she would lie awake trying to persuade god to talk to her.
She felt herself wanting god to reveal his worries and anxieties.
She wanted to tell god to pull up a chair and rest his feet on the coffee table.
Was it in her power to console god?
Was it sacrilegious to even think about such thoughts?
She felt ashamed at thinking herself Grande enough to be able to help the being who created her and the very reality she existed in; but she couldn’t help herself.
She would spend hours thinking up intimate conversation between herself and god.
She personified god.
Every night he looked different, one nigh he was Morgan Freeman and the next he was Che Guevara and once he even appeared as Butterface, her childhood cat.

In these conversations they would discuss any and everything under the great moon god himself created.
Anything from the mess people had made in various countries to simpler matters like her neighbor Tommy’s gambling habit.
Olga felt a great deal of satisfaction imagining herself being god’s confidante, his right-hand man or maybe even like in the godfather, his consigliery?

But the joy she felt during the hours of fantasy only made reality that much more unbearable. She wondered if it angered god to watch her fantasize about him. She felt sick at the thought of him laughing at her childish inventions and felt embarrassed at having the gull to even dream up her grand important role.

I am to be his servant, not his best friend, not his confidant, not his buddy.
She would repeat these things to herself when she would catch herself ringing in the same item over and over again at her job in the supermarket.
The job itself was so repetitive and mindless that it gave her plenty of time to daydream and think about the conversations of the previous evening.
That is until the lady in curlers buying the diapers would snap at her “ hey wake up you’ve scanned that item 4 times already..can’t you hear the beeping?’..or when one of her many ranking managers would walk by and tell her they believed in her and knew she had it in her to work even faster.

Olga thought the managers walked around feeling important in their white shirts.
That’s how you knew they were managers. The managers wore the white collared shirts, the cashiers ,blue collars, and it seemed the irony in only making a couple of dollars more an hour was lost on them.

But that wasn’t what was bothering her on that particular afternoon.
On that particular afternoon she was consumed with what had happened that morning,.
That morning on her first fifteen minute break from work she had attempted to go next door to the bagel shop and have a quick breakfast.
She had spent the night tossing and turning ignoring god’s attempts at conversation.
Waking up tired, she pressed snooze one too many times on the alarm clock and hadn’t had time for her usual breakfast of hardboiled eggs and granola.

God had come to her the night before resembling Keanu Reeves, an actor she didn’t especially care for; in fact she had found his last movie mildly annoying and had decided to no longer rent his movies as she found him to be as she called it “not terribly good at his job.”

So on that particular morning consumed with thoughts of having been rude to god the night before, possibly even having shushed him she sat at the table eating her cream cheesed bagel staring out the window onto the street.
Distracted by her own personal dilemma, Olga did not notice the old polish man from her neighborhood running down the street, who paused while a stranger peed on him and then resumed his run screaming.
It was out of self involvement with thought of being affected by god’s appearance that Olga, not notice the help needed right outside the window.

A few moments later looking at her wrist watch, she realized the scenario that had occurred.She thought about running after him.
But by that time her break was up.