Untitled 9/19/99 10:07
I wanted you to know
I found someone else
Who cares if he is always high?
Or drinks too mych beer?
The turth is
he is just what I ened to forget about you.
Untitled 9/19/99 10:07
I wanted you to know
I found someone else
Who cares if he is always high?
Or drinks too mych beer?
The turth is
he is just what I ened to forget about you.
Filed under poetry
Untitled 8/27/00
I’m not angry anymore
even though I still listem
to angry girls like
Alanis, Ani, and Tori
But I laugh on the inside
and I truly smile
Who knew forgiving really meant forgetting?
Filed under poetry
This makes me crack up every time I see it. I wish my mom wrote more narratives on the Polaroids.
Reaching Out c. 1998 (transcribed 4/11/00)
I reach out to pull you in
but I can’t grab your hands
and you slowly sink
into the murky waters of my past
I take your last breath with you
and I wonder
now that you’re gone, will I survive?
Filed under poetry
I started weightlifting at an early age.
I attempt my second CrossFit class tonight. If I don’t make it back remember I loved pizza.
Other than Tegan and Sara’s “Closer,” if there was one song that defined SECRET HEART it would be “I’ve Got a Secret” by Kate Nash.
I’ve got a secret, I can’t tell you
You would judge
You would judge
You would judge
You would judge
Why can’t we be friends?
We can’t pretend you don’t love me
You don’t love me
Why can’t I kiss her lips?
Why can’t I be with him?
Homophobic pricks
Homophobic
This blast from the past was from Mother’s Day 1990. I was in third grade. It marked the first time I was published and in turn was also the best Mother’s Day gift I’ve ever given my mom. While my storytelling has improved in the last 24 years, I can’t say the same about my drawing
Untitled 1/4/00
(Based on a painting I saw at the Museum of Fine Arts in St. Petersburg, Florida)
If I had a lover,
who woke me each morning
with the music of his guitar
I would relish in the sounds
of the chords
the sweetness of his voice
If I had a lover
who sang me to sleep
I might never wake up lonely again
Notes:
I actually like this one. I wish I had written down the name of the painting or artist.
Filed under poetry
I started Crossfit this week. No one told me there would be running involved. I just thought I’d throw a tire around. I am not a fast runner. I am slower than your grandma’s 1984 Buick with four flats. In high school I ran cross country. No matter how slow I was there was always someone slower than me. This photo was likely taken my sophomore year of high school. Running was painful, but not as painful as Crossfit.