2/13/12

The ashes are piling up,
I used to say I didn’t litter,
Now my butts line the blocks i frequent
Guiding me on the same path I choose day in and day out
We’re all doctors here
I’m no better
Self diagnosis:
You’ve got direction OCD
Obsessed with the order in which you step
Carefully placing yourself back into the footprints you set in concrete from the day you arrive anywhere.
You claim change, but you are no different than yesterday
Stuck in your ways,
In your cozy little rut,
Claiming that you’re hunting down true freedom,
While being a slave to daily whatevers and on and ons.

All this damned smoke is blocking my view.
However, I can still clearly see the coffee rings
Stained on my clothes and around my mouth,
“Why don’t you save some fucking money by cleaning up your act?”
Wipe your fingerprints off the lives you think you touched
And be done with it.
How many unfulfilled, self proclaimed prophecies settle in the nook of your mind a day?
I’ve never been a clean person.
The only thing I can organize is an essay
And I half-ass that, too.
I wish I could give someone advice I actually follow,
But I’m too busy inhaling man made things
Hoping to be as good as a man someday;
Working, running, and being strong enough to do a woman’s job anyway.
Lifting heavy spirits that aren’t even mine,
What’s a man going to do with that anyway?

I’m flirting with the way caffeine makes my hands tremble with anxiety.
I take it unsweetened to prove a point.
I’m strong enough to drown in the darkness
While being covered in ashes
And they are starting to taste good— that’s what scares me.