some strange red-haired woman hit on
my woman on the tram
guess im not
the only one
who sees how beautiful she looks
in that brown hoody
and nike cap.
------------------------

give me something concrete.
what if i give you; my right shoulder
it leans slightly when im overwhelmed
unbalanced.
what if give you the time it takes for me
to get out of your car,
the cracked part of my upper lip.

back to 45kg and mel's beginning to look at me like i might still be beautiful. im beginning to find it a little less difficult to administer every day feats of strength like opening a bottle of coke. i look a bit less like a junkie and more like a woman. i can feel the skin of my arms rubbing against my body and im starting to feel a bit sick. but im getting there.

have noticed a pattern-i can't write any more.
which means i am moving somewhere beyond expression

the twitch of my nails by my wrist my stomach turns over i throw up ani di franco loops in the circles i am doing this to myself

hypocondriac make believe pyscosis typical bisexual lesbian teenage i am just like everybody else

i always pick at my nails when things get tense. my cuticles red raw and ugly. i think, its maybe me that's the nasty habit.

i want my cat to stop malting everywhere. i want a job that pays well-though any job right now would be nice. i want to be motivated enough to just get one. i want my hair to fall the way it does when my hairdresser does it. i want to write a poem maya angelou would be proud of. i want to be able to dance with out caring what anyone thinks. i want to dance. i want to act and not have to wonder if thats really what i want. i want her to see me the way i see her. i want to be genderless. i want to be without sexuality or any thought of sexuality. im a mel-esbian. i want to be thin. thinner. i want to not care any more about my weight. i want to understand why in the past couple of weeks ive cared so much. i want to stop waiting for something to make me happy, and just be happy. i want to bleed all over the silly ethnic carpets my mother payed thousands for. over the wooden floorboards. i want to stop blaming things on my cunt and realise its probably just me. im the cunt. i want to remember my mistakes clearly and not make excuses. i want to be forgiven. i want to disapear. i want to be noticed. i want the woman i love to want to live. i want to be loved, or left alone or something. i want to understand the difference between want and need and i want to get rid of the way my lips curl upwards to the left when then, i dont want anything any more.

now its just me waiting.
every second
spinning
to a halt.
every footstep i tread
cracks in an instant.
i think
if i can prolong
the silences
and tears
i can draw myself in to your image
---------this out a little longer.
i think
if i could find the words
to just tell you I LOVE YOU
-----------------im scared
-----------------i dont know who i am
-----------------you dont like who i am.
-----------------do you LOVE ME?
-----------------do i?
we still wake to find each other,
your side of the bed seems
the other side of the world.
once i couldn't tear you off me.
once we talked for hours
now its always me interupting
----------------me talking back.
now its always me with nothing to say.

today i ate one scone a bowl of coco pops one custard donut and a bag of twisties. it takes a lot of effort to eat all that food and now i just feel sick and huge. and i didnt eat because i am hungry or for the taste but because she told me i have to start eating more...apparently i look like i have fucking aids or something disgusting/and i am not beautiful.

im addicted to reading certain blogs. this way at least i know im always listening. hopefully they know it too...

a certain one i love opened up more than ever by revealing his name...and at some ridiculously tall height with long red hair and a very short skirt, he looked more beautiful than ever, because he actualy looked comfortable in who he is.

my minds playing tricks on me
it talks in riddles
streets of poems
beatnik rhythms
side stepping out of time
recluse in me
wants to stay jumbled for a moment
where i can remember
how safe i felt
in a scalding bath.

my night

life
like
dont run with scissors
someone always ends
up getting hurt.

you should
always
drink water between
gulping down your insecurities
look after your phone
your self
and dont forget
they are looking at you.

she said 'think of me when you need comfort'
all im thinking right now is
one night and one day
is a very long time
to just be thinking.

i cant remember
sitting on the tiles
by myself
blurblurblurrrring
in and out of some decency
drink in one hand
and im in another outfit
fun happy party girl
resembling something of my former self.
stuuuummmmbbbbbling.

i would like
to stumble
in to her arms.

my pace quickens
i am running to find my comfort.

whinnnneeee

It's about time i made this thing readable...if i wanted to string together my moments of nonsense as done, i could've just written one very long stacey ann chin-esque ani difranco stained poem. or i could just have a journal 'dear diary my life is such a mess'. if the whole point of a blog is to post my efforts in a public -if somewhat annoymous way- perhaps its about time it became a little less-here's where im temped to use 'centric' though i'm having a hard time thinking of any other prefix other than phallo, and im still struggling for the word i want-internalised. i guess in a way i'm too scared to show the full picture of things, i don't want things to seem unbalanced i don't want to depict anyone in the wrong light. so i hold back, even if it doesn't seem it. i over dramatise situations, or i under dramatise because im too scared to explain the truth of how i'm feeling or what's happening, because maybe i feel like it doesn't matter if i miss tim or i love mel, or i'm sad or delirious or happy or anything. in dot point form i just seem like another fucking whiny teenager wannabe bisexual party brat. so lets start again, think about something other than forced poetic descriptions of self, and try for once to be real. and now im using words that are too wanky and sentences too long, and im running together my thoughts-makes me sound crazy/beautiful...in a way...mel thinks i am immature. i over react. she thinks that because i have no answer to her 'im not meaning to lecture you' talks that i am just too young to think of a comment. that if she grabs the skin where im beginning to leave far too many scars (i feel like early last year and i've told her too many times how unhappy i was then) then i will stop-then i will be reminded how foolish that hurt is. i wince, because i want it to be me who causes that pain. i cum when she slaps me in bed. i cry when she refuses to hold me. i laugh when we're alone together and we remember all the silly things we've already done. i breathe when she kisses me. i die (in the absolutely ridiculous metephorical and sometimes not sense) when she threatens to leave. and when she tells me she'll always stay.

and here i am again. making a whole lot less sense then ever.