Time rolls ever on
crashing and cascading
over the cliffs of destiny.

I stand here
in the swirls
glacier mountain beach
created, born, dying
and recreated again
in the span of a breath

I rejoice in the
dance of creation
giving birth to
destruction

And step forward
in time.

Poem for the Dark Moon

REST OF LONGING

Trust those places
With no way out,
The dark corridors
Of your longing.

In fact, entrust them
More than you give
To daylight, which disappears
With fall of night.

Only hidden light
Who waits for you
In darkness
Can reveal the invisible
Passage from darkness
That leaves nothing
Behind.

Jack Weber

nothing I could have imagined
equals to this
the leap of my heart
when I see your face
the ache in my breast
when you cry

how can I ever
express the change you've created
in me
your mother
when nothing else
could be
ours?

work words

chewing on hair
bored
is it time yet?

must know problem
before
solving, you idiot.

meeting too long
info too short
use email next time

not my problem
fixed it anyway
thanks would be nice

despite eating here
do not ask me
to work now

poetry.....

I got the sudden urge - largely because I know that I will be obsessed by this until I figure it out one way or another - to do two things - one, create chapters, and two, to find some of my poems that fit this little mental suprise, perfectly.

Here's the first -

My nipples…hard
my lips… full
my back...gently draped & arched
I watch your every move

my fingers tremble
at the scent of your approach
my breath stops
as your lips lean close

your smile…enchants
your whispers … reproach
pulling me towards you
and your magic touch

my legs quiver
my body turns
my heart races
my mouth … so dry it burns
you take hold of me
to posses me
with a word
the memories overwhelm me
and
I surrender to your flame.

Which I wrote about - guess who? - yeah, Jc. *LOL* and I just realized that his initials could be read as 'Jesus Christ' *laugh*

Okay - the next one, which I think I'm going to rework my whole diary around - this one BURST out of me at some point shortly before we got married. It kinda creeped me out really - it felt like truth.

i'm sorry that you seem
to think that i
must follow you
into self destruction.

i'm quite disappointed
that you
have no clue who i am
considering
that we spent a life together
that would have been better spent apart

i‘m mortified
by your insistence
that we are two halves of some
indistinct whole
when you
don't
know
who
i
am.

i'm who you set out to be
and forgot
somewhere between loving
and living a life
that was
dictated
by some old woman
who didn't even live in a shoe.

i‘m who you
still
dream of
when the headaches
of duality
strike you down.

i‘m who haunts you
flashing out
i mean
LASHING
out
when you stray from yourself

i'm who
lurks
behind your eyes
and whispers the doubts
that turn in to truths
or lies

i'm the dark side
of your laughter
and the joy
in your tears
i'm the pain that strikes you
and the sleep that eases your fears
i am the id to your ego
and the sun to your moon
i‘m the darkness that scares you
and the comfort you croon.

i'm you
before you knew
that you were
merely
human.

i'm mortified
by your doubts in my existence
and your hopeless longing for a watered down version
of me

i'm quite disappointed
in your
conscious avoidance of me
who has lived a lifetime with you
that would have been better spent
living apart.

i‘m sorry
that you hunt me down
in books
and stories
and television melodramas
everywhere
but here
where i lurk
behind your eyes.

*croons* I love that one.

Poem for Cest la Vie

aloneisabadword
itmeansalways
singleinaworldoftwos
itmeanssleepingsolitarywhen
everyoneisintwinbeds
itmeanscoldwhenall
othershaveasharedwarmth
itmeansalwaysoutside
lookinginandknowingthat
youhavetochangetosomething
notyoutobecomeoneofthem
andbeone
yetstillalone
becauseyouarealwaysyou
evenifyouaresomeoneelse
itmeansalwaysangryatyoubecause
youdidnothavethestrengthtostayyou
andhadtobethem
sellingouttobestrongisinitself
aweaknessbecausethereisaseparate
peaceforthosestrongandalone
andthosestronghappytogetherbutnot
themself.
ifIshouldchangeiwoulddie
ofmissingme.

---

And yes, I hate typing that thing. What POSSESED me to write it like that, I'll never know, but I've always liked it that way.

psyche

without knowing
her story
how can i consicously
avoid her
pain?

I watched my mother become a virtual Jekyll and Hyde - all for love of a man who after 9 long years of confusion, love, paind and dedication, she finally gave up on. She changed into another woman when he was home, from the one she was when she was alone. During the times they were broken up, she was an entirely DIFFERENT woman - strong, agressive, intelligent, outspoken - and the second she got married again it was like all of her fire just whoosh! gone. By the time I was 10, I hated it. I LIKED my mother unmarried, and I didn't care if we had to live in a shelter - I'd take that woman over any man and any kind or amount of love ever. But she kept going back. Three times. 9 years. What change finally broke her down? Was it the long simmering grief of the first, or last - and with it the sudden realization that she wasn't herself anymore - and that she COULDN'T be herself with him? And that - I think - more than anything else buried in my pysche, is what makes me so hestitant to change myself for love. I don't want to step even the least bit on that slippery slope of reshaping myself into an image that best pleases him - and forgetting (or just plain neglecting) what pleases me. I don't want to change into a wife and lose who I've worked so damn hard over these last 27 years to become. I'm not ready to just fold and become this - other woman. I happen to like the one I already am.

I've no clue what their sex life was like, but I do know that she never taught me that sex was a requirement, prerequisite, or reflection of love. It was somethng that adults did, some something that lead to disease and babies, and something that felt remarkably good - but sex was  love? Never that.  I grew up knowing how to laugh with ease at the boys who told me that if I loved them I would have sex with them - I was never that naive. I learned that love does make sex feel better - but some of the best sex I've ever had in my LIFE has been with folx I don't love in the least - and most of the people that I love most - I've never had sex with. The connection jsut doesn't - exsist for me. At all.

And now - I'm facing more or less the same - comment - but now in a grownup wrapping. He's my husband - and I'm supposed to want to have sex with him, right? Because I love him, right? And the fact that I even question it makes me feel - guilty. Unnatural - broken somehow. And at the same time - I feel deeply resentful of the thought that I will haveto change something about me to please him - and the pressure, and the guilt, and the resentment of my stubborn refusal makes it worse - I mean - how dare I not want to please him, and how dare he demand that I please him and why can't we just get along in peace?

Because he won't change and I don't want to.

And then there's the compromise - of course.  Once or twice a week - nicely scheduled. How delightful. A onerous duty that comes at a certain time is no more a pleasure than one that sneaks up on you in suprise. And perhaps there's the issue - why do I think of it as an onerous duty? Because I'm not interested. Why aren't I interested? That - that is the crux of it. It's not as if I'm sexually repressed - I'm about the most cheerfully phsycially affectionate sensual person I know - I just *shrugs* have little to no interest in the actual dirty. Do I come? Yup - no problems in that area. It's just - *sigh* I don't know. And I feel like finally I'm adult enough to admit it - and I married the wrong man for that particular admission. So - either I change, or he goes.  And both options make me cringe.

wanderlust

I'm like a pendulum, ya know? I force myself one way, and then the pressure to give in becomes more than the pressure to keep myself up, and a swing madly and furiously and swiftly to the other side.

I've been good, for a long time. Kind, caring, self-sarcifing, sweetly compromising, giving, reading all the right self-help books, trying to become this - person that I felt pressured to be. And my, how the pendulum has swung. I want to be a selfish, contrary, digustingly independant BRAT. I wanna spend money, and run the streets, and play hooky from work, and go crusing with the sunroof open and bass rattling every single window. I wanna wear very high heels and very short skirts and dance for hours with good smelling men that I'll never see again. I want to laugh so hard I cry while sitting in the middle of a group of other wonderfully free fine and exceptional women. I want to be responsible for nothing but me, and have no one depend on me for anything.

And yeah, I know that there is no rule that says you can't be married and do all that. And yeah, I know there are plenty of married women who DO do all of that - and still manage to keep everything happy at home. And maybe, just maybe I can be one of those women - hell, I certainly know that I've got the potential - so why not put it into practice? *grins* I would say that I just don't know HOW - but as I love to tell l - don't worry about the knowing - just DO it.

---

Hm. I was rummaging around in Reader's Choice and saw the suggestion for how to find all of the old entries - I did that on my computer, and guess what popped up? The download of my Wedding Diary. I'm going to repost it in it's own chapter - but hm. I just found that interesting as all get out. I'm rereading it now, and - it's kinda interesting. I wrote some things that I really do think I need to reread now - things that came from ME and that might just help me over this hump.

I went bookshopping last night (at a fullprice store too!) and found a book called 'Marriage for Grownups'. It seemed to have the right blend of humor, experience, and wisdom for me - something to gnaw on and percolate through my head. I haven't started reading it yet - but I figure I'll whoosh through it in one night.

---

Our house is - dirty. Not totally and utterly filthy, as I cleaned the upstairs last weekend, but it certainly needs a bit of work. And you know what? I''m not touching it until Saturday. In fact, I have no intentions of cleaning more than once a week. It's satifactory to me, it keeps most of the nastiness under control, and it eases any guilty stressly feelings I might have about my ability as a homemaker. *gag* Yes, I said that and the fact that I said it is almost sickening considering it's just as much HIS home as it is mine and therefore there are really two homemakers up in there, but hell - I've been throughly socialized in ways that caused be to lose my religion (literally) so hey - it's going to take a while for me to totally free my mind from the bullshit.

And ya know what? The fact that he works slightly longer hours than I do doesn't mean shite to me. We should contribute equally to our home in one way or another, and considering its like pulling fucking teeth to get him to AGREE to give 400 bucks a month to cover his half of the bills (and heaven knows, I'm STILL going to have to ask for it every, single, fucking, month) the fact that he works more isn't bringing anything additional to the home. Am I being too rough? I'm trying to find a balance between telling him that - who cres if you work longer - this is your house too, and if I have to clean, YOU have to clean - and greeting him when he comes home with a cold beer, a pair of slippers in my hand and a seethrough nighty made of saranwrap on. And then I wonder if I even have room to complain - I mean - hell - should I base my satisifaction on what others are lucky to get or on what I WANT? And is what I want asking for too too much?

---

I'm soooo damn tired. I feel pulled like taffy - and my eyes keep twitching. I haven't had twitchy eye in YEARS - side effect of stress, not enough sleep, and too much damn thinking. Work is - whipping my mental ass. I leave work everyday and just start walking towards downtwon to give my brain a chance to come back in out of the cold. I've grown to not want to go straight home every night from work - what's there that I need to go to? No husband, two greedy cats, and a television that is actively rotting my brain. I've got no REASON to go home - esp. when I'm bored and want to make friends (and I certainly can't do that mewed in the house). So I go out wandering - looking for someplace that can be a hangout spot for me - and so far - nada. One Irish pub seems kinda fun - but the bar is set up oddly, so you can't really get a good people watching position. The Noodle is okay - but too many coworkers go there, and I have to admit, I don't wanna be seen hanging out in a bar all lonely only by people who know me. There are a couple other spots - but I haven't been dressed to go to them yet. Hm. I've really developed a higher level of clothing snobbery than I ever thought was possbile for me. My clothes are my armor - and now that the armor fits so nicely, it's become even more important that my clothing present me how I feel that I am - that they give off the correct 'attitude' in first impressions. So - haven't been to Nicky Blaines, or the Olive - I just wasn't dressed to present myself there.

Tonight though - I'm going out to party. Haven't decided if I'm going to go home first, and then go out, or if I'll lounge around downtown for a couple of hours beforehand. *sigh* I SO wish I had some friends here that I could call and we could kick it for awhile after work - but even the cool people I know are work people - and at home, that's a line that just isn't crossed. It fascinates me that everyone is so damn eager to go HOME at the end of the night. I have to admit, I CERTAINLY want to get the hell out of here once 5pm rolls around - but I also most CERTAINLY don't want to go home.

I was considering putting an ad in one of the free weeklys along the lines of - Solo Party Animal looking for a Herd - i figure optimistically that I can't be the only late-20something (EEE!!! Eeeee!!!)in Indy in this position. But of course, my lack of a car severely hinders me in getting around in ANY shape or form, as this is most certainly NOT a bus city. I waitied for damn near an hour last night for a bus (and it's really starting to get nipply) and finally gave up and caught a cab home. 50 bucks a week. for a fucking cab. *sigh*

circles
swooping through my head
the same thougts
of anger
love and dread
i must break free
without breaking him
or me.

parched

i don't love you
today
didn't love you
much yesterday
either
but maybe
tommorow is the day
it will all come rushing
back in
like the tide
after a
tsunami
i don't know
how many tomorrows
will have to pass
before i can accept
the possibility
that the ocean
i'm eagerly waiting
to see filled
again
was a desert
all along
and maybe
that's the point of
till death do us part
the ocean is always there
no matter how dry it
feels

purge-a-tory

the lives
the times
the people
perhaps my connections were never too real
too strong
too focused
to be kept.
I don't know
my heart isn't
here
anymore.

I've been on OD for almost *thinks* 4 years pretty consistently - low periods sometimes, high periods other times. Lately - for the past few months in fact - I've mainly been a reader - hardly ever a writer. And - I do want to keep reading - on some occasions - but I feel like I've fallen so far out of so many lives that I don't know if I havethe umph to slide myself back into them. I look at the favorite link for OD, and it's just like - uuugghhh. Guilt/sadness/distance all rolled into one. Maybe I'm too busy - between work and business and home and finally consiously trying to get off my ass and have a life outside of the screen. And the crash did't help - it's actually made the break maybe a little easier.
I think - if anything - I might start over. Dump all of A'ishah - strip down my faves to the bare minimum - and work forward from there. I've got till February to decide - and who knows what might happen by then.
:) Ciao for now.

poof!

loosely tied down
by the weakest restraints
of duty
and ethics
like a dandelion after bloom
with one hard puff
i’ll be swept away

---

I’m twitchy. It’s gotten worse over the last few days – but I’ve got so much nervous energy rumbling through me I don’t know what to DO with myself. I understand how kids feel who are forced to sit still behind a desk for long periods of time – it’s just MEAN. I’ve no clue where this wiggliness comes from – it could be the exercise, it could be the fact that I KNOW it’s officially summertime outside, it could be the excitement of my upcoming return to Geneva, hell I don’t know! I have the attention span of a GNAT.
But I know that it seems like every hour here – esp. the hours in which I have not a scrap of work to do (I hate limbo) – is slowly driving me CRAZY. I wanna be doing something – anything. And with this latest form of writers lock where if I write anything that isn’t damn near factual I think it’s utter dreck, I can’t even blabber on in here.
Maybe it’s the music – but that seems to be the only thing that keeps me calm.

Purification

scraping away
all excess
revealing sinew
bone
blood
a radical purification
is needed
to bring me
home

is where I start
throwing away
clothes
books
knick-knacks
furniture
leaving the walls bare
and calm
like my soul
desires

are eliminated
no wants
no needs
disconnection from the cycles
of desire/consumption
shift
to the recycle
where everything not discarded
is turned
into something worthy
of my attention and
time

passes slowly
each moment a chance to choose
less or more?
needed or wanted?
energy or mass?
choices made to
insure the
needed purification of my life
discarding the trappings of
status
for the prize
of a peaceful soul.

---

So. This weekend I started the new plan for a simpler life. I performed a financial ritual on the night of the full moon (wednesday), and as I was tearing my house apart looking for a piece of green silk I could have sworn I had, I realized that just in GENERAL - I've got way too much crap. However, during the process of tearing apart my house, I also stumbled on a deck of cards called 52 ways to simplify your life that I purchased years ago when I was still in school. I didn't look at them just then, but instead just picked them up and sat them next to my goddess cards and the tarot deck I also found in my search and left them alone for the rest of the weekend. The concept of simplifying my life though - that remained bubbling in the back of my head, and connected to that fact that lately I've been itching for change and reorganization. Normally, I would just color my hair and be done with it, but this time I think that I have the energy and the need to do more. I believe that there is a right time for every change that you truly NEED in your life - whether it be quitting smoking, leaving a relationship, losing weight, getting organized - whatever - and to try to force yourself to do that before it's truly TIME for you to do it almost guarentees that it's going to be harder than it could be. Of course - a lot of times we don't have the liberty of waiting until that time arrives, but when the need is there and the time/moment is right as well - it makes change almost easy.
The time for me is right - I can feel the urge bubbling up to rip it all apart and put it back together the way it should be.
Somehow, all of this is coming together and it's really most exciting. I'm doing things that I've wanted to do for YEARS - and it seems to be rolling together all at once. It's scary and wonderful and exhilerating because I can finally see myself actively becoming the woman that I want to be.

I'm melting down to my true core.

Faith

C. asked me Friday if I prayed - and if I did to pray for one his friends who had almost been killed by her boyfriend the night before. I don't pray - but in that moment I once again felt an aching desire to be ABLE to.

I grew up Muslim - praying every day, 5 times a day. I woke up at dawn every day of my life from 7ish to 16ish to pray the morning prayer. I prayed at mid-morning, lunch, sunset, and once more before I went to bed. My exclamations 'Yah Allah!' were prayers. My words of hope 'Mashallah' were prayers. My words of gratitude 'Al-Hamidiallah' were prayers. I lived in a world where praying was almost as natural and spontaneous as breathing - and often just as subtle. Ten years of praying daily leaves a distinct impression on how you are as a person - and it strikes me as odd that I am now a person who cannot pray.

I stopped praying when I was around 17 - I was fed up with the artificiality of the people and patriarchy of the religion, and I transferred that anger and frustration towards the trappings of Islam. I stopped praying. I stopped fasting. I stopped wearing hijab. I slowly stopped believing at all. As arrogant as it sounds (and is) I didn't feel like a God who could ALLOW horrors to happen on His world deserved my worship. Rather like boycotting an environmentally detrimental company, or a racist artist, I boycotted a distant and ineffectual God to better merge my mind and the spirit I was developing into.

Through the first few years of college - if pressed I would call myself an atheist. As time went on - I would call myself a neopagan. As even more time goes on - and goes on - I call myself a pagan. But I still can't pray. My gods don't much care about the sufferings of humanity - they figure we got ourselves into this mess and our only hope is to pull ourselves back out. They are just as ineffectual on a grand scale as God has shown Himself to be - but they admit to it and never claimed to be anything more. My gods are caprious - sometimes providing help, other times standing totally mute. My gods show themselves to me only in nature - both in its kindness and its rage. My gods don't demand that I worship them - they offer me no comfort, no surety, no guarantees of a perfect life after death. My gods are the Creators - they provide a sense of connection to everything and everyone and they are far far far removed from the daily excitement I call my life. Whether that connection even exists or whether it is a fiction made up by my own mind - I don't know. All I can say for sure is that is what I believe.

To those gods - I cannot pray. It would be a waste of breath - empty air going out into the void that would have as much effect as asking the sun to change it course. Over the last few months though, more and more I've began to wish I COULD pray. I truly wish I could have dropped to my knees and prayed for C.'s friend. I truly wish that I could spend some time before bed praying for the people in Iraq - whether citizens of Iraq or of anywhere else. I wish that I could pray for SOOO much - but I can't. I would be a hugely hypocritical lie - and one that I would make for no reason other than to try to soothe others by telling them - "Yes - I will pray for you" because it wouldn't soothe my heart or soul.

So instead, I hang my head and tell them that I cannot pray for them - my prayers would be like chaff in the wind. I have no belief, no certainty, no faith in the existence of a God that would listen or care.

i pray
with bated breath
the beats of my heart
counting out the rosary
of my penitence
i kneel
before something so great
it is unknowable
and plead
for what i have not yet earned
i supplicate
the deaf God
of my world
i show
the blind ruler
of this universe
my pains
i entreat
the heartless creator
to free me from its creation
and receive nothing
but
less hope
less trust
less faith
in the god of
my doubting heart.

Poetry

:) I've gotten a couple of requests to post the poems from the word exercise I was working on.The words we had to use were:justify tryst glean virtuoso edema parting catalyze cat bell forbidden. I actually wrote two...I'm not sure which I like more, so I plan on reading them both.

the tryst

i enter our home
and glean omens as i approach you
the well polished glow of your meditation bell mirrors your worries
should i speak?
the cat hisses at you but twines through my legs
should i stay?
the edema shows in the plants that you insist on over-watering
should i push you this far?

i try
to forget that
you are
a virtuoso
with fingers and tongue
i try
to justify
the pendulum sway
of your moods

but the memory
of your
fist
hitting
my
face
catalyzes me
into ending
this tryst
by speaking
the words of parting
you have forbidden
but my soul demands.


eulogy

he died
of edema they tell me
the mountain finally claimed
the virtuoso who
conquered all but the
most forbidden peaks

he justified his trysts
with death
claiming they set him free
parting him from all
excess weight in his life
i suppose he meant
his children
his cat
me

though i tried
i could not catalyze
my love into
chains that would
hold him near

and now
i glean only
misery from the
tolling of bells
and the soft snow falling
in his honor

Words

So - after the amazing success of the little bit of poetry I spewed at the Poetry Reading - I agreed to return another time. At first, I thought - no, maybe not, but then I realized that networking is all about making connections with people you usually wouldn't interact with...in other words, I'm going back.

Our 'assignemnt' was to come up with a poem (or poems) using all of the following words:
justify tryst glean virtuoso edema parting catalyze cat bell forbidden

On first look, I thought the edema would be the hard word...after writing two poems, I've decided that as usual - it's the cat that causes problems.

But it's been fun - it makes it harder and easier to write. And it's shown me something else - that I can write without needing internal inspiration. I don't HAVE to be in a 'mood' if I have an exercise to work on - I use the exercise and the words to inspire a mood. Doing just this little bit has encouraged me even more to go out and get a copy of The Artist's Way the morning page thing is kinda scary - I hate getting up, and getting up early enough that I can write three journal pages - LONG HAND - is going to be interesting.
However, I look at it this way - I miss my art. I miss the creative child who wrote poetry and stories like it was nothing special. I miss being able to walk outside of my door and have images and scenes that just cry out to be photographed hit me.

So. Tonight (which is Corey's Coming to Town night!!!) I'm going to skip the gym. I'm going to go and get my nails done. I'm going to do a little shopping - especially in the Half-Price bookstore where I will hopefully find The Artist's Way - and then I'm going to go home, and read, and wait.

Proud

I'm just about bursting with pride over here. I'm throughly and utterly proud of myself.

I'm shy. Not painfully - at least once I get through it, but it's hard (read damn near impossible) for me to take that first step and reach out to new people. But, I know that I'm not going to make friends sitting at home (no matter how fabulous the net is).
So - I joined a mailing list for GLBT people in Indiana called "Mutual Friends". Basically it's a mailing list for friendships and events in the area. Today, I got a email from the mailing list about a poetry reading in a local bookstore. It took me about 2 hours to talk myself into going, and I didn't take any of my poetry - because I had no intention of doing anything but reading.
I get there - and it's PAINFUL. I went in and browsed for a while, then finally sat down and waited.
Mind you, 1) I'm biseuxal, and I've run into some reallly sucky situations when it comes to lesbians. 2) I'm black, and while that doesn't matter to most people -I've never really interacted much with non-black people before I graduated from college. I went to an almost all black high school, in an mostly all black town, and then, went to an all black, all girls college. So - while after a while I don't notice it - it's still a little odd (for me) to be the ONLY black person at an event. I get over it pretty quick, but still.... Finally - I was the youngest person there - by at LEAST 10 years. So yeah - I was almost struck dumb.
But - I had fun. The ice was broken when someone started talking about Lord of the Rings. After that - they started reading poetry. It was rather good, and I started getting twitchy - wishing I had brought someo f my own to share. :) Me!! Super shy, super protective of her poetry ME! Thinking about sharing some of my babies with a bunch of Late Blooming gay folx!! *grins* I ended up giving a bit that I managed to remember - and got a GREAT response. *LOL* They LIKED me!!! (Or at least my poetry).

I feel like I'm on a high. I've NEVER done anything like this - and heaven knows I've never done anything like this BY MYSELF.
Even better - I want to go to more readings - and actually read. While I DID have fun with them tonight, and will most likely go back next month, I DO want to make friends - my age. :) So... one of the guys there said that there is a poetry reading almost every night SOMEWHERE in Indy. *deep breath*

So. I'm SO freaking proud of myself I could SPIT.


*spit*spit*spit*

The Bratty Blues

if making me feel good
makes you feel bad
and the whole damn situation is making me sad
then what am I gonna do
what am I gonna do
what am I gonna do about it
baby

if something I need
makes ya feel like ya gonna bleed
and it’s a call I gotta heed
then what am I gonna do
what am I gonna do
gotta do something
baby

but it’s just a damn want
and my dreams it haunts
and it’s really
kinda scary
what should I do
what can I do
that will make it easy
baby

I can’t tell a lie
I’d hate to see a grown man cry
and the whole thing is kinda
out of line
but what am I gonna do
what am I gonna do
how can I do this
baby

rejection it ain’t
just a dream that can’t wait
in hopes we can make it together
what will you do
what can I do
what should we do
baby

comprise is the thing
the heart of this song I sing
damn this freaking ring
what am I gonna do
what can I do
what can I do that won’t hurt my
baby

Corey's Song

a make me wanna holla
ya make me wanna scream
you make me wanna reach out
and color in the blank spots that I feel in between
every time we talk it’s to be a dead end
you hear what you think
I’m just trying to get out what I feel
Cold…perhaps
but you quench my flames
I feel free away from you
no need to worry
I’m not gonna cause you any pain

Come together
come together
make a bond that will last forever
reaching for a dream
reaching for a hope
it’s breaking my heart
can we cope?

I see your face in my dreams
I hear your voice in my thoughts
I feel you touching me
but never in my heart
What’s holding you back
where did we go wrong
Am I a building to attack
or a woman just trying to carry on

Come together
come together
make a bond that will last forever
reaching for a dream
reaching for a hope
it’s breaking my heart
can we cope?

The end is near
if we go on this way
you hearing your thoughts
me saying what I’m trying to say
Take me for who I am
or don’t take me at all
don’t expect me to be your dream
cuz then we both will fall

Come together
come together
make a bond that will last forever
reaching for a dream
reaching for a hope
it’s breaking my heart
can we cope?

I’m just me
Not who you want me to be

I’m just me
a woman who needs space to be free
I’m just Jazzy
and that’s all I can be

Come together
come together
make a bond that will last forever
reaching for a dream
reaching for a hope
it’s breaking my heart
can we cope?

Death is a snowjob

*sighs* I had written almost a whole ‘nother entry… and then I started writing Stronger. and what I was writing before made totally no sense at all.

when death comes
shall I go silently
or scream so the whole world
hears
my final breath?
after death
is there anything left of me
of me
of I?
or am I reduced
to my lowest common denominator
and turned to dirt again…


*sighs* well… as I was saying before…It’s snowing. Really hard. *shakes head*
I’m all stirred up…reading about others pain and knowing that as much as I would like to there is nothing I can do…it shakes me up. It’s odd how easy it is to forget that I am a finite person. That I am limited very much so in what I do. That someday, I’m going to die. And there is not a damn thing I can do about it. I get the urge to fly madly about and try to do everything that I ever wanted to do RIGHT NOW because my next breath may be my last…but a few minutes later I have forgotten about how every second I live leaves me with one less second to live…and I continue on through life feeling like an infinite being.
I have a really bad headache and so nothing…absolutely nothing is coming out right. *sighs*

Stay Jazzed.

So looonng (I think)

ever notice
how people have dreams
that as soon as
they do that thing
everything else will be peaches and cream
ever notice
how easy people lie
to save themselves they say
a heart bruised like a black eye
ever noticed how
just noticing
makes ever thing seem
so clear

*muttering under her breath* Must find surveys…something to make me think… maybe a nice philosophical one.. nothing too sappy… just hm hm hm… survey survey survey….AH poetry… there.. got that out of my head… survey survey survey….hmmm another of IceChica’s meebe…hm hm hm….then again…maybe no surveys… don’t feel like typing just reading.. hm hm hm.. lazy lazy girly *wanders off through the Land of Random Diaries (did ya hear the echoes???)

Stay Jazzed…. And if I am not back to write until 01… have a Merry Christmas, a Happy New Year and a Jolly Jolly Holiday!!!