seventy-two

i find myself wanting more
more of myself
look at me, look at me,
read everything i have to say
and i will transcribe my thoughts
into cute metaphors
and you will want to be my friend
and you will leave comments
and we'll all talk about me and my life

i can't even mock other people
because it's all true, it's all me
and i fight this urge for self-expression
but i need it, and i want it
and i need you to see it

why?
why is it so important
to remember any thought
in case someone finds it noteworthy?
and why am i so addicted to seeing my words
spewed out on a computer screen
available to the whole online world

and you say the world needs a little less ego
and i just don't know
objectivism doesn't translate well into blogging

every day, every minute,
i find myself asking:
what would dagny do?
and i know that i fall short of my own beliefs
but i can't let them go
and i can't help but wishing everyone agreed with me

she told me that it was ok to be cocky
and to love myself, and to love the world
because it's all mine
and i watch as i justify
ruining relationships
and never helping anyone
and hoarding my money
and abandoning my morals
for the sake of what she told me was more

i always say that everyone else has missed the point
well, what is the point?

(the point is
knowing that you're right
and i haven't known that
in a long time)

seventy-one

the roses are dying.

i looked over to find comfort
in their soft perfection
they hang their heads
wilting, shriveled
finished
and i know
that i won't be able to throw them away

i think about you, and relationships
and everything i'm afraid of
because it seems that nothing lasts
life is full of endings

(why do i think about
these terrible things?)

i just want to hold you
to feel comforted by your hands
your eyes
to feel some kind of permanence

i don't want to say goodbye anymore

seventy

driving around today
tearing my mind from any thought
feeling the motion of the wheels,
forward, forward,
on toward elsewhere
and it was only sun and sky
trees and road
houses
grocery store lots full
shopping carts and consumerism
suburbia

i thought of summer fading swiftly into fall
of places changed, remembered
the things i have seen here before
the feelings i knew then
now
there is apathy here
a quickly growing indifference
it does not hold me anymore
i've let it go

when the leaves change
falling in cooler breezes
the cross country team will run their route
football games and homecoming
everything bending toward a future
everyone going through these same cycles
and i think of all the other me's around here
and i know then, that i must escape
and pretend that nobody knew it all along

somewhere in the distance
someone shoots fireworks

cross your fingers that i'll make it
where i want to go

sixty-nine

i've been doing this
vegetarian thing
and let me just tell you

it sucks.

in the past week
my mother has cooked
pork roast
bratwurst
and i've been to my favorite deli
and the best steakhouse around

and i'm eating
vegetables
and fake meat?

i mean, don't get me wrong
tomatoes are good
but i'm getting tired of them
and tofu
oh god, don't get me started
i can't even make a cute comparison
because it's fucking disgusting

let's face it:
i'm not going to save the world
by eating a salad instead of a hamburger

sixty-eight

dear sir:

i don't love you anymore
in fact, i hate you.
i'm leaving,
i'm leaving forever
and that means i'm not coming back
never ever ever

you've given me nothing
and you don't care about my growth
only your own
there isn't anything about you that i like
staying with you would be like
staying in prison after my sentence is up
and my sentence will be up
so soon, so soon
and then it will be over.

and i don't think you'll even notice.

but i'll be free of you forever
you and your stupid traffic jams
and disgusting heat
and despair!
oh, woe woe woe is me
in this abusive relationship

atlanta!
it's over between us
and no,
we will not be friends.

sixty-seven

here's the difference:
you're rooting for the football team
i'm waiting for my life to start

sixty-six

roses are red
you fucking kick ass

sixty-five

i'm writing this now
while i'm happy
so i can remember
that there was a happy moment
in my summer

happy happy happy
i'm so happy
i love everything
life is good
the world is beautiful
happy happy happy

(remember, remember)

sixty-four

this is the last thing i should be doing
all these thoughts just floating
so beautiful in melancholy
this poem will ruin everything.

i could vent about you,
or make some joke about how my life sucks
but this isn't funny anymore
even though everyone seems to still be laughing

alone
i feel so very alone
and i want to be, because i know you don't get it
you don't want to try to get it
i guess i don't want you to
i can't even be sad anymore without feeling guilty
because i know i could get over it
because i know you're thinking i'm overreacting

this is my fucking life
what else would i be doing about it?

sometimes i see myself floating through space
and there's nothing, nothing
just a vacuum
and the stars are so far away
they've turned cold
the earth sails away, behind me

that's what it feels like
me in this room, this city
and you and you and all of you
living your life and it's working
and everything here is falling apart

when i was a little girl
i had a favorite tree to climb
i remember it in every season
so strong and beautiful
it cradled me in its limbs
and when i finally reached the top,
there was a celebration for me
and the tree

when i moved away i carved a heart in it
anna + tree forever
and i think that's the only thing i've ever loved