I Want To Announce…..

The age-old (or two-year-old) tradition of 30 poems in 30 days will be coming back in June.

Like previous years, don’t expect every poem on time and don’t expect greatness.


Hey, so you like the Manic Street Preachers?

Well, I’ve been working on this poetry project at school, and the lyricist for the Manic Street Preachers, Patrick Jones, is one of my subjects. However, because he is such a contemporary poet, I wasn’t able to find any information on him that was cite-able.

So what did I do?

I contacted him through his fan page, and he just wrote me back, saying if I tell him what he should say then he’ll tell me, and I can use that in my project, and he was actually very touched that someone wanted to do a report on him. Actually, the particular poem I’m submitting of his was written about one of his sons when he was really young, and the day I emailed him the kid turned 18! Look at those odds!

Google Docs now open!

Hey! I know quite a few Google Docs fans, and I am a cheap shit who has $7 to her name and damn straight ain’t paying for more storage on this site, but if you’re really interested, I have several of my completed and/or uncompleted works on Google Docs open for public perusing.




et cetera………. 🙂

Timing is Everything

The worst thing is you think you’re worth everything
And you think you have time.
Now what if you weren’t worth everything,
And you knew this
And you also knew you were out of time
Would things be better?
Would you care even less?


I can’t wait until
I can tell you everything
I mean, well actually
I can’t wait until
I can make up a really good ‘everything’
And just say nothing’s bothering me.

Jack Kerouac, Poet

“Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk- real straight talk about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious.”

Live Like This

I am going to be lost.
I am going to be pennies dropped
From pockets jumping turnstiles
We are time jumping turnstiles, don’t you see?
I am going to be so lost.
I am going to be an old hat not worn
Since I guess last winter
Left at an old lover’s
And I suppose now a gift
To that same old lover
A parting gift, a consolation for the
Love of your life of sorts
I am ready and determined to be lost.
I’ll be old, unused CDs
Dank and growing moldy
From mistreatment during Moving Day
And I want no one to miss me, got it, missy?
I better be lost in the morning.
I better be gone in the morning and replaced
With 2.0, with something shinier for the youngest to play with-
That’s what everybody else does nowadays, anyway.
And then plot twist, I’ll be found.
Found change on the sidewalk
In a vending machine.
I bet I could still be found
In the bottom drawer of the dusty bedside table
Underneath love letters and fantastic testaments of devotion
And we’ll all be whole again
And then I’m going to be found, finally
Like your favorite music on the worst day of your life
Like people actually live like this, yes
Yes, people actually live like this

Choosing You

I could lose you like
Spare change, babe,
Doesn’t’ make a difference
To me
Bet I’ll forget about both
‘Til I’m really spent
I guess that’s what I do what
I’m famous for what
You absolutely adored me for
What happened?
Please, can you just lose me, too?
Don’t look around, don’t ask around, don’t
Throw yourself around
That’s what I’m really famous for-
Throwing myself around.
Oh dear, more?
You want more, you’re back?
Crap, this means
I have ot love you back, right?
I have to say something back and
I might as well not reject you
You’re just terrified, darling,
Terrified to ask me to choose
You are terrified to ask me to choose
Because you think I won’t choose you

30 In 30 Feb 6-9th


Sorry, it was a very busy weekend. I had my grandma’s memorial service and all sorts of family in town and it was so many different kinds of lunacy and alcoholism at work, Jesus fucking Christ.


Feb 6th:

you don’t
I want to be
with you through thick and thin
for us to be like thin bike chains
and singing in the rain
with you
i want to carve your deepest scars and
be your brightest star
i can be your favorite fairytale even
if you want
and you can be morphine, i’ll be methadone
you can be deaf and i’ll be blind
you can have the eye and i’ll have the ear
at least we aren’t lying we’re gruesome
i’d give anything to be your fairytale

Feb 7th:

I could watch
Him double over in laughter
For the rest of my life.
Eyes shut tight and wide, fat-lipped mouth gasping for breath.
Clutching his stomach for it
Then he finally looks at me
And I realize I get to take credit for it
And I think I’m the only one here
Who cares so much

Feb 8th:

Oh, I want to paint suffering
I want to write about a colorblind monster
Who tears and wears and destructs
And doesn’tgiveafuckwhoyouare
Oh, I want to give you the world!
I want to tell you this is the end
I want to spoon-feed little babies lies like
We are at the epitome of our destiny and
This is the bravest world, mad and tilted as it looks
Right now
It actually knows best
Be ever so grateful I hate indiscriminately I am
Colorblind at heart I

Feb 9th:

When I figure out
How to administer amnesia I’ll call
It won’t have any more emergence than my
Same call every other Sunday
At four in the afternoon on the dot
And if you don’t pick up on the third ring
I will hang up.