why can’t you just love me,
asked Winter to me, as I stomped down my feet, hard as I could while cursing at the sky.
shaking my fist at each turn I made,
crossing over frozen dog shit and dead worms, buried ten feet down.
I will never love you,
you take away my hope and the way the sun feels on my face,
the idea that things live and not everything dies.
Your bring death
and you have won;
I give up.
You have become an essence of my life
a steady beating heart.
always there, needed;
unimaginable to be
I would lay bleeding
like losing my
with the dog-
I like the way the ice
ringing out through the empty,
dark, deserted street.
I tell my mind; no,
I command it to be mindful,
and look at the dog’s fur, the way her back muscles creak as she moves,
determined through the slush.
I listen to the ice,
crunch, crunch, crunch
underneath my practical boots.
And count my clouded breaths.
The yards grow ghosts. Between the limbs and wings,
bleached street-lit things, I’m best at moving on.
Hunt-heavy, gray, slunk overlow like so
much weight got in the way, my shape’s the shape
of something missed, flash-pop or empty frame.
Though you could say I’ve made a game of this,
and though midtrickery it might be true,
when evening lingers in the key of leaving
my senses swoon. A synonym for stay,
I’m always coming back. I chew through traps.
I love whatever doesn’t get too close.
My top 10 books of 2014:
Quiet: The Power of the Introvert in a World that Can’t Stop Talking by Susan Cain
We are Water by Wally Lamb
The Enchanted by Rene Denfeld
The Orenda by Joesph Boyden
The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein
Calling Dr. Laura: A Graphic Memoir By Nicole J. Georges
Adult Onset By Ann-Marie Macdonald
Us Conductors By Sean Michaels
And the Mountains By Khaled Hosseini
Bear By Marian Engel
See all I read this year here:
I liked this book, it was almost a love letter to words and books, which I can appreciate so much.
I am an old soul, I hate e-readers and wish everyone still read books, looked at each other more and stuck up small talk conversations. Looks like Graedon feels the same way I do, with her first novel The Word Exchange.
The book has a lot of good, a sentiment I can keep behind and some very stunning parts. But overall the story is a little lacking, and the writing can be clunky.
It starts with Ana’s father going missing and people starting to come down with “the word flu”, a disease where speaking becomes difficult, and makes you very sick. It is a fast romp of a story and has a very intersting story line but in the end, it just didn’t hold me.
I like the word antsy, to describe how I am feeling.
A hundred million ants, crawling up and down my arms.
With nowhere to go, and no place to be.
They can’t get off my arms,
nor escape my body,
but then neither can I.
Too many coffee cups,
and not enough movement.
Head pounding like a million, tiny bottles of cement,
They can’t seem to break free either.
Tapped inside my mind.
It’s a hard place to get out of.
I feel like getting drunk, because I know that will cut down the walls;
shake up some cement.
Feel like running away, down the street until I see somebody I know,
ask them to Charlies.
I feel like messing things up with my boyfriend, just to get a rise.
To make things messy, to get some attention.
Some of the ants might fall off.