college

 two hours away. 

we use to call every-night when we were only a 5 minute car ride away. 

now there is no telephones that reach your lines and the faces of the people I pass in my new town hold no memory for you.

they said leaving was scary, but it wasn't. leaving was the easiest part. I have become so use to goodbyes, I turned my self into a mortician, dancing over empty memories and justifying the reasons they had to go. the scary part, was the realization, that nothing had actually changed. the empty side of your brain that kept you from living kept going. and you were. still just as alone as you were the night before. 

try- dear and the headlights 

"Thought a change of scenery would make me feel better

Moved four hundred miles away, I'm still staring at the floor

And feeling useless as a mime in a counseling session

Here's a million mute expressions,

Here's the one where I choke on my words"

baker

 she became tired of picking up the phone. pretended she had answered it and fell asleep with the buzzing noise of the micro bugs living inside of her electronics. He fell asleep. always in loud places. near the train across town, across roads, cities and the bakery that never sliced their bread. 

the baker like everything put together. he had gotten so use to everything falling apart he took pride in the things he could keep together. he enjoyed the company of the boy who fell asleep to loud noises because he never split the pieces up, he just sat with his knife and fork waiting for the courage to tear something apart but never could. The girl on the other hand, the one who had bugs living in her phone, tore through each piece, slaughtering the molecules and crumbling the dough that had taken its whole life to rise and form into shape. The baker didn't like this. She was unkempt and unmanaged. she tore things apart unfazed by the art before her. 

yet the two customers, the boy and girl, always sat apart. watched each other in solitude. She hated his patience and he despised her gluttony. And in spite, the girl decided to take the boy patiently, allow him to be just who he is, accept the unsliced bread, the art and all the needs that allowed him to rise within the heat of the oven. allowed him to be fazed by the sound of the baker's timer ringing off the walls that made his eyes heavy with sleep. 

but the boy took the girl as she took her bread, unmanaged, disoriented, picked up the pieces of her breaded existence and crumbled them in his fist. allowed the flies and insects to snack on the scatter crumbs 

and the baker watched. everything come together and fall apart. if only they had stayed, towns, cross roads, cities and bakeries away from each other. 

idk what this is, im tired and confused and have been eating alot of bread... hope you enjoy

katbird

Dirty Girl

 my computer is creeping onto death, and the files hold untitled documents that eats up my existing space.

I stopped writing or speaking out-loud

I became aware of my existence, and I really cared. 

I took pride before, for being unkept, unmanageable, and nothing but my own.

but there are women on the streets, each starting to look a lot like me, or me like them. 

and I can't comprehend anything.

I must have been somebody else the day before.

woken up in the same body but confronted with my own self. 

changed my name enough times to out run what ever part of me was being dissected by people who swore to love me more then god himself. 

but at some point you have to stop.

the joke has gone to far

and there is nothing left to cover up what is already happening 

the name has already been used, wrangled, and hung up to dry.

Im not sure what I'm trying to say anymore. my father told me to forget, that its been a month, I should be better, moved on. happy even. yet I can't help tripping over the shoelaces he never taught me how to tie. and now I'm stranded with centuries and story's of knots that eat away at the eroding chord.

not a poem, just notes