list list

things on my plate/things I want on my plate

-rugby
-creative writing
-queery
-Linear Algebra TA

BEFORE YEAR IS OUT,
meet with Kim Newsome and discuss possibilities for interning at GDC again next semester

rugby

My body is singing. This is what it was made to do.

cuddle puddle

 -I don't remember PCP but I liked it.
-My sexuality seems to have stopped evolving, for the moment. I feel very comfortable coming off as a dyke/lesbian, and then being attracted to boys when it amuses me and they are the right queer sort. I think I'm sexually attracted to guys and girls, but only romantically attracted to girls.
-Therapy seems okay. It is less terrifying a prospect now.
-Aaron Amram is a gift. Spending time with him is a gift, writing him e-mails is a gift. He is a beautiful thing that I get to have in my life.

-I'm happy. Thursday night was a brief descent into unhappiness again since PCP, but I'm back.
I don't want to hang out with Scarlett anymore. I love people here and I want to get to know them. I want to be free to be happy and have many, many friends that I love.

Thanks, god.

good news

Tym will live with me thanks god thanks god!

god that was strange, to see you again

If you were happy and I could be with you, I don't think anything could make me happier.

For Becky

For Becky

I will keep this grief just under my skin
Close by the blood that you pulse within.

hey.

hey, you.

do you see god in everyone? do you treat them in a way that reflects that?

you just lost a friendship with someone you loved, admired, and respected. did you answer god in her? did you treat her in a loving and careful way?

will you do this in the future, for every person you come across?

that's all I want from you.

 

a not-mine poem

Bury

The summer field feels itself lost.
Engulfed in snow it becomes something lonelier.
"We shouted, we shook you," you tell me,
But my self absconded. Slipping through your fingers.
Lidded eyes and limp wrists were left.
After you pierced my flesh and fished me through the cold,
I writhed and blubbered.
After you reeled me in,
You packed me under deadening whiteness. To preserve me, you claimed.
The summer field, all prairiegrass and blackeyed Susans,
Has its many tasks, extending its palette past its boundaries.
The winter field submerges all else.
For those dear hours, I was annihilated.
And my body, a sold thing no longer,
Which you have long loved well-
Gossamer though it was-
Did not love you. Fleeting filament of light.

a conversation

"So, what are you going to do after you graduate?"

"Move to Iowa and get married to you, I guess."

--

It worked. I made her jealous. What was the point?

 

thought

 Everything lasts too long when it should be short and inflammatory.