Experienced more freedom today. Wrote close to 1,000 words.  That’s a lot.  Especially as of late. I’m learning how messy life can be (and usually is). The more I write, the more I see myself in the pages.  The uglier the story gets, the more anxious I become.  I’m tired of living this damn story.  But beauty is ahead.  And I see now that I write not because I see, but rather in order to see.

says the man
with purple hands
who made a stand

you will be free
eventually
it happened to me
[read more]

I wept again tonight. A friend asked me questions that I could not answer, and in an attempt to reply, I buckled. Put my head down and sobbed until I drooled. Another mess. I wiped the sleeve of my t’shirt across the surface of my desk. I don’t know what I want, I whispered.

I am going to start writing again in the morning.

into the corner
I send that
broken boy to sit
and cradle his knees
to his chest
for he will not behave
as I’ve told him
and he has become
something that I’ve told him
time and time again
that he should not become
[read more]

red ranchero sauce
and mixed Mexican rice
and four months
[one week
two days and
eighteen hours]
of stomach bile
spreads sloppily across the floor
where I have thrown up
[read more]

hungry but happy,
a small little goldfish
lives in a puddle at the
bottom of
my small little heart
[read more]

tuesday was when i made
the big mistake
of feeding that dog
that appeared on my porch
and scratched my door
and looked up at me
with those tepid (but mystic) eyes
and a morose spirit
that is more cruel than anything else
[read more]

i want to feel my hand
come apart
on that cheek bone
looking up at me
that simply will not die
[read more]