"April 15th"

my neighbor (downstairs) grabbed my arm and asked me,

have I mourned the life I wouldn’t live, the life I once had?

We had just discovered that I was battling an autoimmune disorder

and her fight was with Chrone’s. She, 30 years older but our bodies eerile the same

asked, if I heard her crying at night, and if I had any ‘normal’ friends

left. I replied, no, I hadn't heard her, and yes, I do still have friends

she dismissed this, they will all leave you at some point, honey, they all do.

After an awkward hug and pat on the back, I found myself on the stairs

up towards my apartment, fiddling with my phone hoping for the cheerful ring

of a message, call, anything.

"April 14th"

Am I cheating? This is totally an unfinished prose piece. Oh well.

She sat in the cubicle that indicated her independence. Drones of the machine surrounded her, caused by either the air conditioning or the upper management. She resisted the urge to take off the high heels that ached her feet. The silk blouse hid the red, inflamed parts of her body; she ignored the shrieks of her bones and purple flames of pain coursing through her head. The mechanical sounds of whispered laughter caught her ears at times, but she dared not look up. The cubicle in front of her held a woman in her early thirties, embittered by the wasted BA in sociology and ten years within these walls. She incessantly plays the local top forty-radio station. This woman would idly think if she added a dollar sign to her name and had slept with more men, she would have had more success in life. More likely however, she will just be asked to turn the music down on Fridays, after those around her spent too much time and money at happy hour the night before.

The guy in his late twenties who sat across the aisle considered himself a ‘man’s man’. Wrinkled khakis and faded red polo shirt was his daily uniform, casual days or not. He drank 20 ounces of mountain dew daily to hide the bags under his eyes, caused by the late nights of playing World of Warcraft. He used to go across the aisle and talk to her, until one day when they had this conversation:

"April 13th"

Is this funny only to me?

A fella asked me for the time of day

I clocked him

"April 12th"

spring

The sun

fell down

into the waiting arms

of the people

below.

"April 11th"

A superficial poem

2 pages of coupons from
the newspaper blow by
in the cool April wind
A'la American Beauty
the tragedy lies in the fact
that they will end up torn
and muddied rather than in
the warm embrace of a cute
little floral coupon book.

*It is American Beauty that has the plastic bag blowing in the wind, right?

"April 10th"

Why do I still live here?

Nothing is more unwelcome
than snowflakes
on a mid-April day

"April 9th"

Series: Winter 2010-11, or The Winter that almost took my life (not hyperbole)

3. I'm happy-a new Walgreens is opening near my house--
despite the fact that there are 2 others within 5 minutes from
my house. But I will save about 4 minutes anytime I need hypodermic
needles or a refill, and I'll be happy, isn't that the American Dream?

"April 8th"

Series: Winter 2010-11, or The Winter that almost took my life (not hyperbole)

2. After the last 6 months
I now take my coffee black

"April 7th"

Series: Winter 2010-11, the Winter that nearly took my life (not hyperbole)

1. I am stranded on the side
of the curb my legs give
out from under me as the
weight of my world gets
to be too much.

"April 6th"

Whoops....

I am now playing NaNoWriMo catchup, blame a Monster Migraine and a chronic pain illness that put me out of commission for awhile.

Girls are sexy if they take down their ponytail and take off their glasses

I know you thought me wild once
before talking to me
or realizing that my mysterious
bulky sweatshirt
is just one in a long line in my closet
and my "sorry I'm busy tonight"
isn't crazy parties, a club but
rather sitting at home (in my
bulky sweatshirt) watching
Law and Order:SVU marathons
on USA

Annnd April 5!

Dillema

Every Thursday there is a sale on flowers at the grocery store by my house

Which means the following Wednesday there are dead flowers in my house

I should really stop this viscous cycle.

But then again, it’s Thursday and I am out of milk.

April 4 entry

Didn't get to post yesterday, so here is April 4th:

Plasma Donation

20,000 people. the population of a city flowing inside my veins

working together to make the unit whole, to make my body a nice place to live

as it once was

after all, it takes a viliage

Again, I am going to stress that these are all first draft poems. I don't like to edit the same day I write:)

Feeling Kumbaya-like Today

The world wasn’t made for a teacup

to be steeped in warmth and consumed by all

adding sugar and lemon to sweeten the taste

making the slightly bitter mouthful more palatable.

the world wasn’t made to be a train

barreling down the lonely stretches

from point A to B

No, the world was made for that smile and wave

from a friend across the street

the world was made to curl up with a warm puppy

a living, breathing, shedding foot warmer

the world was made for you and me to find one another

against all odds

I think I am annoyed at Blogspot formatting

Skeleton Dance

Charon takes the novelty scooper and slides the seeds out of the smile of the jack-o-lantern face.

the autumn wind rushes and jingles the bones of the skeletons waiting outside, they hold their visible breath in the autumn air which hovers for a moment

and disappears

true to their form, they hang onto their story for dear life

the harvest moon mocks the dying husks in the fields as the door opens

they hold their breath

Charon sets another jack-o-latern out in time to pick another from the field.

First day!

Today, April 1st, is the first day of NaPaWriMo, and I am gonna do my best to post a poem each and every day. Keep in mind these writings are going to be all first drafts! Hopefully I can also include some second drafts, etc and show the evolving nature of my writings:)

Indescribable

Asleep I dream a man takes a bat to my deltoids, quadriceps knees, legs. I owe no debt, I just won an unlucky lottery, a pain roulette

I wake but only the man disappears

the pain lingers, fire ants crawling through my veins

I must have sinned against some god I never knew,

my body caving in but I lack the one saving grace the public allows:

I am no martyr with sunken cheeks with one eye towards the light

I haven’t given up on this world, the one that seems to want to give up on me

No. Although my body swells with the reminder of my illness and the fight within, I keep my eyes forward, ahead of me, one foot at a time.

Tied down by my ‘patient pal’ I wheel my lifeline through the hallway of

the hospital and in the rooms through the glass doors I see in one

my friends and enemies trying on wedding dresses, pricing rings, getting jobs with benefits (with health insurance, oh the irony), reading ‘what to expect when you’re expecting’, while I look for a way to climb back to my old life, as long as there is a ramp with a gentle incline.

I cart myself through the halls, knives in my bones, looking for the blinking exit sign.