placing my finger
on the pulse of an answer
that won’t beat for me
Category Archives: mind
trust me on this
from experience
I’ve learned that too much nothing
is never enough
the little things
my dear fridge cricket
I thank you, at least, for not
choosing my bedroom
thank you, that’ll be all
wine had no answers
but it stopped me from asking
so it did its job
maybe next time
control showed up on my doorstep
broke the door down, knocked me over
ran up the stairs and sat in my chair
finished my book and sold it too
handed me what I wanted
as I reached out to take it
it took it right back
and it laughed
and it left
left me trampled in the empty entryway
shut up, bed
I haven’t slept at all tonight
it could be the tickle in my head
or it could be the bed I’ve slept in
for fifteen years it feels the same
but tonight it whispers
“really, has anything changed?”
and I never will
I never knew which
was worse – the falling apart
or the wanting to
she and I
I’m made up of every me
that
I have ever been
including the one who once thought
she loved you
I hold her memories
I hold her heart
I know her sorrow, her unfiltered pain
I know the why behind every single choice
she ever made
and I see her foolishness
her stubborn trust
how she looked at you
the way she pictured us
and I can still feel
through the thrum of her heart
what it used to be like
to need you
we were once one
but we aren’t the same
so don’t be a fool and mistake my strength
for weakness
not you
if no one was dishonest
then everyone would cry
right in the bright sunlight because
there’d be no place to hide
and who wants that?
what have I done?
you tried to burn it and
burn it you did but
it didn’t disappear
it only dissipated
fire to ash, fell to the earth
but smoke to air, now it’s everywhere
you thought this was better
you thought this would work
fire to ash and smoke to air
but now it’s everywhere you look
and you can’t even see it.
this is strength
It’s golden, this haven
I wrap it around me
it glows as it settles
it fits like it knew
the shape of your arrows
so sharp and narrow
I don’t recognize them
I poise to fight them
but this gleaming solace
will not let me go
it won’t let me send them back like I want to
(in moments of weakness I’m just like you)
it won’t send them flying back
won’t let them breed
it won’t let them pierce holes of you into me
instead it just shines, so bright that I’m blinded
and they disappear
the hate unrequited
the pain that it brings goes unfelt by me
in my golden peace
I no longer see
your poison arrows
your blackened bow
raised with intention
your precious weapon
all that you know
I pity the thoughts inside your head
that see only darkness.
(but maybe not only)
don’t try to make me
understand; I only want
it because I don’t
expect overtime
showdown #563:
what you know to be true
vs.
what you’ve convinced yourself of
running out of body parts
what categories
will I have left to assign
the ones who matter?
impossible, actually
hard to right the wrongs
when you’re not ever able
to tell which is which
all you had to do
crawling back isn’t
anywhere near as good as
staying from the start
queen of haste
pounding on the door
before deciding whether
I really want in
#writersanonymous
is it freedom or
is it just sad, when hidden
words are all you have?
but really
anonymity
frees the truth but hides its face
how true can that be?
tell me
why it’s so easy
to accept all of your faults
and none of my own
brighter days
when I was new and
the devil did not yet know
the taste of my skin
arms around me
past the point of need
always a fine line between
comfort and constraint
note to self
you’d rather be cold
than stuck in a hold too tight
to ever be right
but only sometimes
nights under covers
when just my own body heat’s
not nearly enough
same ol’
escape from one cage
leaping, bounding, tripping right
into another
can it?
will change ever win
against my subversive need
for stability?
haicoup
falling asleep with
all my thoughts thinking themselves
in five seven five
just hold on
so what will it take
to make this song go back to
being just a song?
learning
sometimes you have to
just chop it into pieces
to make it better
limitations
Yes,
the truth hurts. So do lies. So do sunburns.
So grow a thicker skin, wear sunscreen, and stop whining.
who are you
when the good things only make you feel sad and the bad things don’t make you feel anything at all?
i don’t actually eat them
Just to clarify, I am not a cannibal. I don’t actually eat people’s freckles. Yes, I may lick them from time to time, but I do not literally ingest them. So if you came here looking for a how-to blog about cutting freckles out of people’s skin, or are expecting tips on the best way to include them in your favorite morning dishes, you’ve come to the wrong place (and you may want to seek professional help). Although I will admit that it’s a grotesquely interesting topic and someone should make a horror film about it.
So no, I don’t eat freckles. But I see them, I touch them, I absorb them. I take them into my memory, into myself. I consume them. Freckles are fascinating things. You can be born with them, you can acquire them from the sun, you can develop them as you age. They can be a multitude of shapes and sizes and colors and not one is exactly like another. You can connect them into lines and shapes, create constellations and works of art. They carry a certain importance on their tiny freckly shoulders. Whether you hate them and want to burn them all off your body or love them and want to build a shrine to worship them, they’re a part of you.
No, freckles don’t define a person. On the contrary; you might know someone extremely well, know almost everything about them and yet you may never know all of their freckles. They’re easily overlooked. Have you noticed your best friend’s freckles? Your mother’s? Your girlfriend’s? Can you tell me where they are and what they look like? Maybe a few of them. Most likely not all. But that doesn’t mean you don’t know the person. There are many ways, big and small, to know someone, and freckles are some of the tiniest. That’s what makes them special.
I like knowing people. I like learning details. If I consciously acknowledge and remember one of your freckles, I know you in a way that differs from knowing your favorite color or the name of your childhood goldfish. I might know your life’s story, but knowing a single freckle on your body is a different thing entirely. Freckles are another layer, on the surface but often looked over, and they signify intimacy.
Which brings me to breakfast. To me, breakfast is the most intimate meal of the day. I wake up with dreams tumbling through my mind. I’m a very vivid, often lucid, dreamer, and nine times out of ten I wake up remembering my dreams in their entirety, or at least in large segments. Breakfast is a time for me to sit and mull over my dreams. I sort them, releasing the ones I don’t want to keep and repeating the ones I do, running them over and over in my head until they stick. And if I don’t have any dreams to ponder, I use this time to simply think. I don’t like going out to breakfast. If we’re having breakfast together that means we woke up together, which means I probably know a few of your freckles. And I’m probably going to mention them here.
So no cannibalistic cooking tips, no morning recipes, just intimacy, connection, dreams, reflection, and a whole bunch of other things that I couldn’t possibly have foretold when naming my blog.
Without further ado, welcome to Freckles for Breakfast.
freckles for breakfast 