PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

little thoughts

Monday, Jul. 15, 2002
i swear that i have a thousand thoughts sometimes and nothing that i really think about seems worth the emotional efforts that i put forth to think them i keep thinking about how iím supposed to be friends with someone but he canít admit to it. i guess it shouldnít matter but it does somehow. its like i only exist in the abyss of his mind and never in the realness of his own world. i know its stupid but sometimes it all feels so unfair that the pressure builds up and i want to scream until there is nothing bad left to be said about something so good. i want to forget that she washes dishes and thatís supposed to mean something. its none of my business but i hear about it so then what. is it then my business or my ignorance at going somewhere in my head that i donít belong?

what time is it in afghanistan and when will i learn how to spell that word without spell check. 3 a.m. conversations about tangled up phone cords mean more than 2 p.m. grocery shopping excuses. i donít know why people that donít know me care more about me than people that do know my face like the outline of too many pasts.

little boy conversations about how i will end up in the guinness book of world records because heís carving notices in his backpack for how many times heís sat on bookstore floors. will i write about that someday in a novel he reads to his children. he wants to know. i canít think of about grandchildren when iím still pulling one strands of time from the top of my world.

a thousand pages of paper that started with one or two words trip all over pages of bills and notices about things iíd much rather forget. i hate that place in my house where itís chaos in page. remind me of something good, someone. i never get letters in the mail about petunias or babies with brand new skin. thereís never been an envelope with nothing but a pretty poem within.

i spend far too many minutes thinking about window boxes and puppy dogs and green grass and hospital stays with big pink balloon bouquets. i think far too much. and i still wonder what time is it in afghanistan? when will i learn how to spell that word?

why do i think its so great that ďheĒ is gonna learn a song i asked him to learn to sing? i spend far too much time thinking. right now thereís no room for big letters or font in my filled up mind. right now thereís only room for little letters with something i want to hear. they never arrive. iím still empty.

little boys all over the place.
11:39 a.m. ::
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