Poetry of the Day

Every yawn is a sign.
Every cynical or snide remark is a road map away from here.
Everything is another new tick at my temple.

And I'm so easily bored.
Where's my grand adventure? You said we'd be there by now.
Every sigh brings me closer to an edge, because edges lead somewhere new and new is exciting and exciting is the opposite of this.

Standing on this edge, the bottom is so far away. And what does 'hitting rock bottom' mean, anyway? To us, nothing. Maybe it's another lesson in relativity.

Poetry of the Day

Take me to school, I'll study like an A student in the room of your life.
I'll tell you every lesson I've learned, and you can fan the flames.
Give me a free lesson, mister I'll give you my time.

Poetry of the Day

Win, win, win, loose, loose.
Running around some stranger's apartment, pretending we know each other enough to make this okay.
He blocks my exit with his attitude.
Is Saturday the night to stay?
If awards were handed out for proper posture, I'd be the golden goose.
What look is the final blessing?

Poetry of the Day

The lights are dimmed, the candle wax pools on his bedside table. 

Those three sacred words escape his lips, and I sigh. I exhaust those three sentimental words for everything, I think. I say I love my friends, I say I love my mother, I say I love his hair, I say I love the colour green. I obliterate meaning in its repetition. 

So instead I replace the sentiment with the truth. “I want you.” And it seems, from his reaction, that he can’t tell the difference. Or, worse, or maybe better, that to him it doesn’t matter.

Thought of the Day: Women Stray but Don't Cheat

I have a problem. Sometimes, I am not emotionally faithful.

We turn our wedding bands around in dark bars.
We take off our promise rings in crowded rooms.

We flirt with the possibility that maybe, yes, maybe this could happen.
And why should we worry, with such a big safety net?

Girls tempt guys. Some girls. No matter how perfect the relationship, no matter how satisfied and happy and blahblahblah a girl is, some just like to wander.

It isn't unfaithfulness, but it's something close.

So we don't mention we're taken. We leave that off the table. We accept drinks. We flip our hair. We put on extra mascara. Spray perfume in extra special places. Wear the good underwear. Impress guys the way we haven't impressed our own in so long.

And it isn't all girls. But it's some. Their nature is to stray. It's to meander along those blurred lines. Those lines become fences and you can't straddle everything, you know?

So when those propositions happen, as they inevitably do, we don't stop them in their tracks. We could. It's easy. We know it's easy. But we allow them to happen because we will always think 'what if?'

Is that in my blood? More than anything it's an affliction of my mind.

I daydream, and night dream, and fantasize, and wonder, and make up ambitious scenarios involving late night laughter in poor lighting and warm parts under cold bridges. It could be with anyone, really.

So does this mean I'm not actually happy? That I'm looking for someone else? I don't think that's it. In fact, I think I'm wired that way... to always wonder. To be drawn to mystery and the potential of bad things that ruin relationships.

I'm mostly happy. To be honest, I'm happier than most people. But I'm easily bored. And what's really interesting... what's truly the opposite of bored, is the feeling I get when I fantasize that something could happen. Even if it never would.

So I look over past emails, saved MSN chats, Facebook messages, old captured pictures from the webcam days, and reminisce. I fondly remember.

And more than anything, it is just all too flattering that people still want me. It reminds me that in a lengthy relationship, my appeal hasn't just disappeared. Feeling desirable is dangerous. Many women fall prey to this and they find themselves unleashing a barrel of monkeys.

So I feel flattered. I remember these moments in my past and I think, I could have this again if I wanted to. And just that feeling, just that, is enough. I don't need to explore. I don't need to break hearts and actually stray and cause my own unhappiness. My brain is explorative enough.

What if one day it isn't? Would I call it a mistake? What if I don't know the true meaning of a mistake because I've never made a big enough mistake? If I think too long on it I may just reconsider everything I've ever done, and that's too deep for this time of night.

Poem of the Day

You fired the gun.
I smelled the shots and counted the holes.
We examined the evidence under dim lights.
Trying to see.
You never write anything down on your notepad.

Poetry of the Day

Furball yawns in my face.
If it fits, she sits.
She sleeps where she wants, poops all day long.
Curls up in a ball, twitches herself to sleep.

Such a spaz. Runs from everything.
Bolts at the slightest noise.
Such a spaz.

But she rolls around, makes tinny little meows.
Licks my hand.
I can't resist.

Poetry of the Day

We're burned and melanoma'd by the same sun that grows our crops and fuels our cities.

Poetry of the Day

We eat when we're happy. Celebrate a dinner with wine and appies.
We eat when we're sad. Tub of ice cream in front of the TV.
We eat when we're bored. Sit in the sandwich shop checking out people.
The rest of the world goes hungry.

Poetry of the Day

I like your ultra violent streak.
Your thousand dollar right hook.
Reeled me in.

I could be anybody,
he's the city champion.

Nothing more gorgeous than the spit flying across the room.
Posters on the wall featuring our conflicts of interest.

You only have to be the come back king once.

He understands upselling.
I sell my old clothes. Trying to fit into something.

I like your ultra violent swing.
Is there that big of a difference between black and blue?

Poetry of the Day

For every end there's a new beginning,
or so they say.
They say these other things,
like how happy they are for them, and so on.

It feels like falling behind, is what it feels like.
Every joyful congratulations is a twitch at my brow,
a tic in my side.

I look for you in magazines.
To check your wedding ring.
Is it hanging on too tight?

Hanging on to our pasts is so deceitful. But so tempting.
My call. Do I follow the link, click through?

Poetry of the Day

We protest with our half smirks and glances anywhere but in your direction.
Wave you off with a casual flick.
Our shoulders shrug, we gossip and slander you all over every social networking site we can find.

But with the lights, the glare, the buzz, the beeping and the whining all turned down, we cry ourselves to sleep at night.

Poetry of the Day

So you want to go to the motel?
Hold me down and call me honey?
You know I'll never lift a finger against you, honey.

Pull up my hair, flowers piled high.
Cool water, garden showers.
Falling leaves and scarves.

Do you like my wallet, big boy?
Used to go to the cinema, where you'd buy me a slice of pie.
We didn't know about money, just worked nights.
And the value of pie.

All I know now is painted nails and sly peeking between sheets.
Every night's drink drips of drool and desire.

Now, you spend the nights watching a bored TV.

All I want is the feeling.
All I want is the feeling.
And it's been a long, long time.
 
So you want to go to the motel?
Hold me down and call me honey?
You know I'll never lift a finger against you, honey.

Poetry of the Day

I can't run if I can't walk.
And I won't love, if I can't stop.

Haiku of the Day

Why bother with good?
Your multitude of dark sins.
Who's truly impressed?

Haiku of the Day

Thinking of reboots.
Haircuts and remodeling.
Who dictates beauty?

Poetry of the Day

The DVD player skips, skips, trips over this scene.
And I have to rewind, skip back, jump back.
By section, chapter, 30 second intervals.
And I'm always missing a moment, always missing a beat.
Where'd that one millisecond of content go?
Always feeling like I've lost the moment.

Haiku of the Day

Every grating noise.
Potato gun: not enough.
Every single morn.

Poetry of the Day

Did I dream you up?
Do these illusions keep you alive?
Do you feed off these dark thoughts and delusions?

I'm tired of the things that creep out during the dark,
when it's not light enough to see sneaky corners (I know how those skeletons like to hide away).

Know that those bones wake me, keep me, and rattle me.
And it gets so hard to see in the dark.

Haiku of the Day

November is here.
Red poppies and mustaches.
And poor memories.