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 i�m supposed to be friends with someone but he can�t admit to it. i guess it shouldn�t 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 that�s 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 don�t 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 don�t know why people that don�t 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 he�s carving notices in his backpack for how many times he�s sat on bookstore floors. will i write about that someday in a novel he reads to his children. he wants to know. i can�t think of about grandchildren when i�m 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 i�d much rather forget. i hate that place in my house where it�s chaos in page. remind me of something good, someone. i never get letters in the mail about petunias or babies with brand new skin. there�s 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 �he� is gonna learn a song i asked him to learn to sing? i spend far too much time thinking. right now there�s no room for big letters or font in my filled up mind. right now there�s only room for little letters with something i want to hear. they never arrive. i�m still empty.

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