Exhaustion

"There's no such thing as love dear; only friendship and sex; that's how it should be." Myself.

The title says it all. All I need is my run, my nap, my man. It's funny that all I have is a mountain full of homework to look forward to; yet I still manage to write a not so cute little poem in Miller last night. I will live in Miller again tonight, and spend my weekend sleeping and doing nothing else. (except studying and study abroad applications and anthro reading; gah- a girl never wins).

Darling, I need your comfort and love to get me through the day...
I write poetry when I need you;
I watch cars dashing by hoping they'd bring me your spirit.
So strong and stoic- I let the wind take away the smoke from your cigarette;
I'm a particle of ash; you're a part of my poison; let me flow away with it.
For I needed the smoke to rupture every wall that's stood so firmly the way you built it...
Darling, sometimes I only want to hear the heart beat.
I write poetry when I need you;
When I yearn for the warmth of your passion; for the heat of my pain;
for the avoidance of emptiness to let the silence flow away with the poetry of...
Different places, different faces, and situations, and times...
Same cars dashing by carrying nothing but zombies
Same cars dashing by draining my spirit in.
And I never fight it because I need the thick skin...
But I miss allowing for your warmth to penetrate...
So the ice that weathers my eyes
penetrates and turns to poison in my cortex...
Because I bare all and let the cycle take advantage...
Darling, I need your comfort and love to get me through the day.

Reactionary

My facebook status should be "My Tien says the bitch is back, the wall is up, and yes that's a cold breeze you're feeling." I miss that, the side containing that feistiness that people just don't mess with. I haven't been quite blunt enough lately so it's time to bring that back tonight. I'm the sweetest thing in the world, but I'm not dumb, no one will get anything. It'll be hard pressed that the wall is ever coming down. I don't think sexual frustration is a good excuse to act certain ways that a woman shouldn't act. And it's not ok for the people who play hard to get, get me reactionary. It's not fair. I'm tired........... it's about time common sense comes back and I stop conceding and being so nice and not getting that feeling reciprocated. Every one of them, it's like if I don't cry over them it's not good enough, and how inhuman do I have to be, do I have to shrug it ALL off? I don't demand anything or want anything they don't want... except maybe a talk, and that's just too much for every single one them. I think I should focus on writing a happy echo article, one like Kris Miranda writes, which is always so quirky and fun, instead of serious opinionated subjects all the time. Being reactionary, and attentive, and sweet, and needing to understand people who KNOW how to play the game, and KNOW how to hurt people, is immensely naive. I don't want to be bitchy, or sexually frustrated, or alone, but I just want to let it go and if the wall up is the only way I can do it, than it must go up. At the same time, it's nothing, it's a silly short chapter, I trust my gut..... I'm flipping the page.

I'm tired
My joints are tired
My heart is tired
And I am young

I don't play
I don't laugh
I smile when I must
But I don't see the jokes there

If this is a game
then play alone
If this is for real
No need to share it

The wall is up
So I aint gonna hear it
The heart is cold
so it'll just blow pass me

My sense is back
so it sits firmly
firmly on my steps
unwavering

The green has passed
And spontaneity gone
Passion is tired
Resting at home

I'm tired
My sweetness has reached a threshold of pain
My heart of tired
It's reached the threshold of patience
My joints are tired
Because I've got to stop running
And I am young
Losing all my naiveness

Writing Mood

I've been in writing mood a lot lately, which by many accounts isn't good.
Especially if we counted all the things that are going right at the moment, it makes very little sense.

Colby College.
A great relationship with my mother.
An uncomparable relationship with my younger brother.
Stability in the household.
Great, amazing, loyal, open friends with whom I have great conversations.
I'm safe and in good health.
I have many great ambitions.
I'm cared for and I have people who I care about.

For most people, that'd be enough. I don't have thick enough skin and I complain too much. I'm on the verge of tears and I... don't know what to do. That part of life, this teen angst (though I'm 20) shall come and go.

Pandora's box

I keep telling myself that I'm ok, but I'm sighing.... up and down. I don't want my roommate to hear. I've been glaring at the messages in my inbox for days...... and they weren't even from the devil. They were from my dear friends, they were from angels, but I didn't know that until I dared open them, because I thought the devil would have something to say. Something wise, something ridiculous, something incredibly hurtful, some opinion, something........ I was wishing for too much. I was afraid of it, just glaring at it, glaring at something that wasn't there. So, I can't keep chasing pavements... the curiosity might always be there but the effort is dying, so hopefully the curiosity will go with the effort. Perhaps I unconsciously put myself in these circumstances in order to make myself a martyr or to feel bad for myself, I can't, I shouldn't, it's not my time to freak quite yet. It's my time to read clear messages, and maybe the devil is the most devilish when he's giving clear messages through silence, I ought not to read them as lingering, wavering, or play into what the devil wants. I ought to read them as a clear and precise way in which the devil gets his way soon enough but he plays first. Just because I'm an angel does not mean I don't think of myself, or that I would be naively persistent. After a while angels must also do work, they cannot always play.

I feel as though a child pondering silly thoughts
Whirling around in my head is the incredibly joy you bring to me
Breaking me from the bond I’ve naively been bundled in
You bring to me a fierceness and uncertainty that I’ve never realized
Yet a smile springs to my face
I dance through my dorm as though a child again
I can’t stop cheesing, blushing, bursting
Singing off tune through a melody so sweet
That it replays itself in my dreams, really?
I’m a baby and I can’t articulate…..
I’m back to passing notes and forward to tasteful lusting
Your smile makes beam,
With your silence…. I am throbbing
Your eyes warn of trouble… still I keep that door open.

Beads

Before I write my newspaper article, I must center myself. I'm counting the beads that my cousin in Viet Nam gave me and as always it gives me serenity. I sat in the room with my friend yesterday and spoke for hours.... it was healing. I thought I would be a bit of a mess today, as I usually am, but I'm actually not. Climbing up to the threshold of finding oneself is definitely some kind of miracle that makes all the bad not as bad as it would've been at another place and time. I'm centered... and miraculously ok. I spoke... and listened to the cycles of mistakes I keep making... listened to how humans I sounded... how human she sounded and at the end of the day we were both ok with it. Maybe I should get back to being productive today though...... do I have poem in me?


Stretch.... resistance
Crack of my fingers
Crack of dawn
Release estrogen
Down my spine
Pull it back
Burst it open...
Narrow potholes
keep in going
Through storms
recycled
Through words
mislabeled
Faults mistook
for mistakes
Deliberative
Air filled
into the joints of achy fingers
clogged in the arteries leading
to my heart
so the message isn't sent there
for me to compile more mistakes there.

I think only I understand my crazy 2 minute, out of the blue poems.

Macy's

So I may be as soft as an angel behind a mountain of pavement. I've been without a venture or a run in with Macy's for the longest time; because Macy's is like that innocent naive angel hidden behind a mountain of concrete that should be less steep. The temptation for the devil's teachings grows fiercer with time and distance to a sacred and secure angel. I want to go to Macy's and check out the difference between how it's hung and how it looks. I want to check out if the fabric is as light as it seems or if it's merely fragile, or if it's thick and can weather the whispers of the wind. Seven days of stagnant calm and beauty, where has the devil gone?

Hormones

They're out of wack and there's definitely a little imbalance there, especially during these couple of days. I shall write bad poems....

The system of my flesh is fluttered with inconsistencies
which when built up will shatter all sense in me
When the trees in the woods all look the same
is when I retrace my tracks to an unreachable destination,
Swimming in a river I've already swam,
Crossing an ocean with no el dorado,
Transforming melted snow to lies white hot,
Because closure lies hidden,
When I'm stubbornly chasing pavements,
Building inconsistencies and missing myself
When I'm not progressing; Shattering common sense
When I'm Tracing, Swimming, Crossing
Hollows, where I scream unheard.