Car Ride.

Memories like burnt, bitter coffee grounds
swirling at the bottom of my chipped yellow mug
clumped together as one 
heap of nothing

I sat in the passenger seat
the door wide open
my hand hitting the freezing cold, stinging air

I imagine leaving earth
with lightening in my stomach
a rip in my heart.

I've thought about running away
A month's journey
I have decent shoes,
an empty water bottle

I sit quietly next to candy wrappers,
goldfish crumbs

Songs scream to me, 
an auditorium of one. 
I jolt.

With tights and a freshly pressed dress I refocus. 
You okay, Meg? 
I smile, sadly.

Yes. This is life.

I'd break the moon out of the sky
I would steal from babes
I would carry you across the United States,
if it meant we'd go back to happiness.
Or begin to live it.

The smell of Kool-Aid hits my nostrils
A low whimper, lyrical poetry through rapid ear drums
the stereo bringing me back 
to somber feelings, longing, and victimization.

Happy New Year. 


Life in a Box.

I lied there on the old, thick rug, my fingers tracing every shift and turn of the yellow thread that overlayed the orange fabric underneath.The creaky wooden floors taunted me. Dust swirled through golden air in impeccable patterns, and the sun beamed through open windows. Draperies swaying from the breeze, dancing.
I have fallen into a new world. Something big and beautiful. As I begin to establish my new surroundings I notice shelves reaching up to the heavens, full with velvet, crimson-red boxes. I pull one out from the very bottom of the ledge and peak inside, puzzled and afraid of what could lie within. A creature, resembling myself,  sits on a large tire swing, small lace-up shoes make circles in the sand. I feel like I am watching a movie. Astonished am I. How can there be life inside this box? Why am I in the box and here at the same time? I can't touch  what is inside, but only look. As I peep my head in more, I am swallowed \whole. I land onto the rough, green grass. The smell of summer permeates the humid air. No longer am I facing endless velvet boxes, but rather an endless blue sky. Humming of mowers. The noises of summer in my ear. I realize now I am swinging. I wear the laced up, small shoes. I sit try to think of what could be happening to me. I wish I were back in real life again. No more of this madness. Immediately I am carried back into the sunny, dusty room. I pull out another box and dive in.  The frigid air sends shoots of pain like ice into my lungs, and I beckon to get away immediately, not wanting to endure the cold. Another. Somewhere in Japan. I got yelled at by some angry lady speaking foreignness to me that left me perplexed and mortified. Another. Another. I try to reach into a box on the second shelve. It won't let me pull it out. I try another. Still, nothing. I then realize I need to pull out and jump into every box on the first row of shelves before I can jump to the second. Is this how I am going to spend my life? Living in a world--or worlds rather-- that are not my own?  A plethora of  lives. Lives that I am somehow living. I now have reached somewhere in the middle of the boxes. I feel more aged. Stiffened. Sore. I look inside. There I am again. Older, wiser. The vibrancy of my youth seems to be wearing. I've got to be close to 40 by now. Yet I am in a hospital. A gown lies over my round tummy. A huge oval. I am about to give birth. Sweat drips down my face. I am gritting my teeth. I am alone. No doctors. No man holding my quivering hands. I want nothing more than to skip this era of my life. But instead dive in. I have to get to the top. I have to get back home somehow. In I go. Pain swells throughout every vein and vessel of my body.  I quickly wish to not be there, and shift again. I feel like I am missing things. How did I suddenly become pregnant from one box to another? When did I meat this man? Am I married? What will the next box entail? How much did I miss from the labor scene box to the one I am about to preview? I can't jump back. Once I wish to leave, the box turns black. I can touch the inside, makes lines on the bottom of the velvety fabric with my fingers. Hundreds of more boxes I explore, and my life has drastically changed. Grey hair now fills my scalp. Wrinkles cover my once youthful, sharp cheekbones. Saggy. My eyes are still sharp. Blue and green and grey. Sad like the sea. I don't know where my child is. I am still alone. No accompaniment. I am afraid of what is in the next box. Death? Do I dare go in that box? What if this is it? What if I get no more of my real life back? I decide to live in this box as long as it will let me. An un-calculated amount of time passes. I am surrounded by people now. Supposedly my family and friends. They are strangers to me though. I have skipped through the phases of my life so quickly that I don't know anyone. Intruders are telling me they love me. They are sorry I lost my husband this year past. Have I stopped smoking? If not can they bum a smoke? My sweater seems to be choking out the life of my cold, pale skin. I had enough of this misery. I wished it away, and returned. I crawled to the very last box on the shelf. I knew this was it. Either I would return to my normal life, or die. That box could become my coffin. Do I stay here all alone in the dusty, breezy, golden-aired room? Or plunge to my death? I guess I'll never know. I awoke. Present state. Alive. Young. No vibrancy lost. Back to reality. Boredom. Work. Stress. Life.

But what if life were really like that? What if we could look and see different phases and life situations we would at some point have to go through? what if we could see exactly how old we will be when we get married, or have kids, or even die? Would I want to know? Would you want to know? I think one of the brilliant things about life is *not* knowing. Yes, it can be toilsome, and I often get impatient just wondering when certain things are FINALLY going to happen, but really, life is meant to be full of surprises. That's why I should live every day like it's my last. (And no, that doesn't mean I will wait to do my laundry because who wants to do cleaning on their last day of existence, Mom!!) Tehe. I feel like this dream was good for me. It made me think. Funny how that works, huh?



As I dread the night, so does the city
Growing tired of what is, and what is, is needing and lacking
Burn down the bridges, the forest, the lake
Animals dance, their motions exotic
I go down with history, down to the last blood-stained foot print
Memorized by the ancient skyline, interrupted
Her story, published, laughed at, mocked
The border is being tightened/ no one gets out now
To call this freedom is a lie, I want no part in it
But if this is scandal– I want in on it all
Time Square's skating rink falls asleep, its dirt fills the air
Fractured bones filter through
I still don't remember where I parked that night
So many more bodies// for the life of me.



Floundering, slumping
burden of weight carried
on feeble, breakable hearts.

Some days you are comfy and colourful
others, harsh and bleak
straight jackets instead of sweaters

You're here and there, omnipresent
but gone.
With me,then with them, leaving me alone

You are solid like granite, cold.
blood-shot eyes
affordable and treasured.

Loathed and loved.

And, as always happy to be seen.


Alice in Wonderland.

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.
`Who are YOU?' said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, `I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'
`What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. `Explain yourself!'
`I can't explain MYSELF, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, `because I'm not myself, you see.'
`I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.
`I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, `for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'
`It isn't,' said the Caterpillar.
`Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet,' said Alice; `but when you have to turn into a chrysalis--you will some day, you know--and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?'
`Not a bit,' said the Caterpillar.
`Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,' said Alice; `all I know is, it would feel very queer to ME.'
`You!' said the Caterpillar contemptuously. `Who are YOU?'
Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar's making such VERY short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, `I think, you out to tell me who YOU are, first.'


I try not to stare, but it's too late
You can use my blanket over there, if you'd like
My essence is broken, and colder than hell
Why did I get dragged into this
Darling, your coffee is getting cold, and I really have to go
Using lies as security to keep safe, it's easier

than telling you how I really feel

It's still hard to take a leap off the cliff

Even when everyone gives you assurance
Just say you love me
Give me your energy

I've already given you mine
Let's start this
Maybe we'll get caught
What is it
What is it



Eyes show strength.
They also show our weaknesses. 
They are the doors to our heart, the gates to our soul.
I feel that mine are so weak.
Exhausted. Frail. Bewildered.
Or maybe that is just me?