I guess Americans get to start over twice...happy new year.

Roots, sucking,
Life sustaining...
I have risen, it's hard to see
Sponge like,
more then pores,
roots sucking,
Anything more?
Throw...shove...Push,
everything at me.
Laughing, mouth wide,
eyes have always sparkled,
roots sucking.
I've been ready.
years stacking,
time passing.
I've been ready.
Amiration...anticipation,
forgetting to take care of many...
I am a work in progress,
roots sucking, life sustaing...

Rough around the edges.
Not quite together.
Breathless.
Speaking of the unknown as if it will be easy.
I fall a little more each time I fail.
I look foward to the nothing moments, because darkness shields pain.
Don't look at what I haven't become.
I can tell I have a lot of growing up to do.
I've already come to far not to be moved.
Keep mistakes and never learn.
Wipe the salt water.
Ready to lay down under the sun, hand held up, see through fingers.
Squint and laugh...It may always be the same.

There are these moments I have that remind me of how alone I am. They are kind of like an epiphany only they hurt, and that’s when it starts. Slam you down in the mud, rough and unforgiving sadness.

It could have been any other night…bird.

Remembering that I have a hole somewhere in my middle, insides dropping out, that’s the hardest thing about dandelions and never knowing center.

The light can dim to a glow…hard to see, hard to even notice those people to my right.

Sleeping alone is like forgetting the sun sets as other things slow down. It’s like a wish…a constant, steady reminder of empty cups and empty hands. I have slept alone since the day I squinted at the bright lights in the hospital.

My spirit has never known unshaven legs and face stubble…it is half there. My spirit longs to touch “man heart” and hair that has never been longer then mine.

Oh woes to the never calm ocean that mimics my heart and teases me because it is content.

Sand between my toes has always felt better then sitting and waiting…

His voice falls to high and scratches the wrong side of my brain, and they all laugh as he raises his arms talking about a new world order.

She is so sentimental and I want to see through her skin, it's almost translucent, like fat free milk in a clear glass.

I can't take anymore of your agreement, never nod your head in the affirmative again, not unless you've really thought it through.

I like how we are exactly the same, and he wants love and I would give it...this world is truley mysterious.

Thank you for appreciating me...you have never done that before.

I think he's holding on because he knows my book is the last thing connecting him to me...he had his chance...I'm taking it far away.

There is this endless, relentless river. The answers are bobbing there, but the river runs too fast to truely grasp the truth.

Never talk to me of uh oh again...my dad is struggling to relate.

Andy just got spice girls stuck in my head. I'll tell you what I want...for it to go away.

Oh....

This sleepy, creepy love comes from nothing; this icky sticky mess, my heart. I'm thinking my hands are going to do the talking from now on...clay is my medium...I will communicate.

Old nag, stop pulling on the legs of my pajama pants; I know I am not to be so content.

But never the less, I am, and I feel as if I have broken into the cookie jar. Chocolate sticking to my fingers, a smile on my face. Sugar is so tasty when it's forbidden.

Create, becuase creativity is continuity. I am in love with the bottom to the top, smoothing clay, tasting it on the tip of my tongue, legs spread, knowing the shape of my hands...icky sticky love comes from nowhere.