When my insecurities take their hold

The state of not knowing or defining

becomes fear that I am not enough

for the world to know;

That my desire to shout from the climax

of the peak will never be fufilled,

and instead I will find myself in a subterranean

marine cavern

My mouth opening to shout my being

and instead muffled by the fetid water

of not knowing if to speak is to sentance myself

to never.

I felt a blush rush up

and my fingers curled around my bottle

the soda level raising by degrees

And nearing the brim before I could put it aside

My palms wet

and slickening;

The cold emanating from the thin window pane-

tendrils raising chilled bumps cross my neck

Shoulders Collarbone

Wrapping round my arms

like Sheba's bejeweled armlets-

feels for them

but unable to ice the heat they find there;

Reactive my neck tightens into a pleasant knot

of the laces that run up my spine

corsetting this into my body

and causing my back to conform

to the tightening arch

of their guide;

A drumming started in my neck

carotid artery dancing to the rhythm

of my heart beat as I inhale through my nose

the chill of empty air

and loneliness.

And because the cause is absent

(not lending warmth

or shielding the chill)

I write.

I wish I was the influence on you that you were on me
that these years
didn't just pass by like a bubbling fountain
or the algae tinted jets at the memorial park
Someplace to stop at at the end of a stressful day
to look back at with fondness
or to use as a backdrop for your larger days.

How many times will I go to spell "your" and instead spell "our"?

How many white knights do I have to turn jade(ed)
before I can disengage
the sense for you that twines itself throughout me
(or the sense of who will wake me at story's end)
A tangled nest of briar vines without a bud
or fleur or wilted petal

in the whole dreary mess?

Even the tower will crumble into dust before leaving

Not even my day dreams can stretch far enough

for me to think

that I was part of your molding Twisting Shaping

or the formation of who you became

now that time has worn away the varnish

That I've made without impressing

An ounce of me.

I'd rather be irrelevant than forgotten

She said with a grin as she downed another whiskey sour

and made excuses for our irreverence.

Go on Go on,

The world waits for you

And there's always something more important than me

I assure you.

I'd rather be irrelevant than forgotten

She said without shame as she danced out of the bar

And left him puzzeling his mistake

Leave it my dear

The world is too big

And too full of important things than I can say

And I swear

I'd rather be irrelevant than forgotten

she said, knowing one leads to the other in the end

but when she pretends she can't care.

Years of giving up on myself
subliminating all the parts
that were not in my sight to control
to make my idea of you

your destiny mighter than my ability to stay in stride
So I dropped out of the race these years ago
to find my own path out and up,

and now I catch sight of you across the ridge line
Pulling out ahead on a different path
and I have to stop myself again from the mighty inhale
that predates the exhale
That would be my calling out for you.

I'm the girl you take home to mama
right before you bring her your future wife
The one you brought to your cousin's wedding
but forgot to invite to your own.

I should have forgotten about forever
again
because I"m never more than expectation
And I'm trying to refrain from being jaded
this time
But we both know I'm the same girl again.

I don't know what my expectations are
(Self delusion and hope springs eternal in youth)
when I'm the secret you try to have
right before you learned which were yours to keep.

I should know better than forever
this time
because I'm always short of expectations
And I'm sitting at the bar Jaded
Again
Because I'm the girl singing the same refrain.

I'm the last grasp at youth
while you make the step into maturity
and the last coat you shed
from the days of foolish youth

Forever knows you better than I
Again
and expectations know me better than you
One last Jaded cigarette for now
this time
Refraining from looking for the next boy.

Contortions

My tongue is stilled
contorted in my mouth
when it comes time to question
you and your failure to communicate

But when I take you at your word
It proves a poor foundation
for my over expectations
Once Again

And I know This isn't the end
this over complicated frustratin situation
And I know that I should have gotten off this train a while ago
but I can't
Give On you.

This sort of Friendship ain't good for the soul
But Leavin this thing ain't good for my heart.
Too many years maintaining this bond
So when it bends bows nearly breaks me
I've no choice but to follow and

Contort.

I have a -
well, I'm not sure of the words, but in my mind it is a progression
that falls down
a good bit like one of the old visualizers

"Rainbow rainfall"
or something equally nonsensical

so really it is a specific song
the introduction in a movement that
really is like rainfall
but vacillating between
a set range of cool colors
never quite reaching a warmer range of spectrum.

The movement is connected to a concept
(conceptualize the capitalization
self contained in the conniving conjecture
coordinated between consultations)
in a separate movement of the song

But this difference in timing
unites desperate.

Spewing of Thoughts On: Age

There is more to me than my age.

An age group does not define
My taste in musical score
What shows I follow
or those that bore me.

It does not define what I was to do with my life
or my political agenda
Which way I'll vote and who I'll boo
and fight for.

My age does not mean that I'm attracted to the current trends.

It does not mean that I prefer
The over produced and faux empowerment
marketed towards a coveted age bracket.

It does not mean that Post-Punk is dead
by the hands of neo-punk
as far as my music library goes.

Nor does it mean that Neo-punk
has no place there.

My age doesn't mean I'd prefer Vampires that sparkle
over Stoker's predator-
though both carry a thread of romanticism
that neither side wants to see in the other.

(Though I must say,
There's something to be said about the vampire in between,
the Dracula of the 1990's and his overt sexuality,
rather than that of the 1890's and his overt threat.)

Don't assume that I don't know your favorite band
just because they broke before I hit puberty
or even before I was born.

Who is to say that my favorite
didn't breakup before you knew the difference
between now and then?

After all, they do say that to
assume
makes an ass out of you
and me.