Maybe

Maybe if I hadn't wasted three years of my life chasing what I thought was your shadow,

I'd measure up to your golden stature.

Maybe you're everything I've ever wanted

Maybe we could have made it – you make me think these things,

You force me.

I'd love to force you... I have, and haven't taken the time to think of everything that makes you beautiful.

I'd kill to feel your hand in mine. And fight to try to not feel inexcusably small next to you.

I had to see it twice, it's like the first time I didn't get it but the second time it hit me hard.

You did, you made me see you.

Something so amazingly beautiful that with envy in my eyes, my heart did cry.

Stuck in this crappy little boat, I wish I were you and want to love you at the same time.

I wish I had the same things you did, I wish I could do the same things you do.

No one will ever do but you, no one has and no one ever will.

The finality of my love for you hangs like death in stale air.

I want to do something, anything, to prove to you that one day I could stand next to you, as your other half.

I love you, is that enough? I need you, is that not abundantly clear?

My life has been washed, castrated, and sanitized. I'm what you would call a “good catch” with a side of failure.

The corpse that is my life rings clear like wedding bells in the Fall.

And I, undead, look up to you and wonder how I never knew you were oh so, divine.

I'm Back Bitches! Here's a New Poem.

Eternal You, Eternal Me

Underneath the Moon,

Sliced cheese.

Undress and share

Your secrets, please.

I wonder if I spoke

Too soon? Eternal me,

Eternal moon?

I've always loved you,

Orb of Doom.

Inhaled the breath

Of craters deep.

So I insist

You speak to me --

Your secrets, please

Eternal Moon.

Eternal You,

Much more than math.

Much more than dust which

turned to rock.

You make me feel like

Mr. Spock.

And maybe like

Keanu Reeves.

Eternal Me,

Infernal glee.

Beholding luminosity.

I might have to

come up there,

Soon. Eternal me,

Eternal Moon.

We live and chase ghosts.

Loving lies, we run

Towards those who've

Marked our souls.

Falling through

Ficticious holes,

We lose ourselves.

Knowing only what

We wish to know.

We live and chase,

Ghosts.

The ones who remind

Us of them the most.

Transparent

Hosts, who hold us

In the dead of night --

In the dark

and in the cold.

We live and chase,

Ghosts.

We shut our eyes

To flesh and bone.

Afraid of ever

Having known.

We live and chase

Ghosts.

Thoughtful Musings On...

Dirty Laundry

Wash, rinse, repeat. We are products of our own cycle. I try to take a step away, from self destructive tendencies that tend to get the best of me. My mind plays tricks on me sometimes. If I wait long enough, I can catch myself in a lie. Is this how I really, feel or is this my subconscious trying to screw with me? I'm not sure. Pushing through, pushing through. I feel so much better when I push through. But sometimes, there comes a day where I succumb to the feeling of infinite weight. I can't move. Won't move? Will I really like it when I get over there? Or should I just... stay? I never want to feel that way again. Yet I know I will, someday. Life comes around. Products of our own cycle. I mix my colors with my whites, add some fabric softener and hope for the best. I like to live on the edge. But for now I think I'll settle for a little objective observation. Catch the old dog doing her old tricks. What makes the bitch tick? Can I find out, or will it be too late? They say it takes about a month to create a new habit. How many weeks till I cut out the bullshit? Life comes in circles. Products of our own cycle. I let my reds bleed onto my whites and now they're pink. I hate most shades of pink, except the shade on my nails. That obnoxiously loud "look at me" pink, that's okay. I chew my gum loudly and pop bubbles on the train. It takes the edge off. Wash, rinse, repeat. We are products of our own cycle.

My Pinkberry Experience: An Anecdote on Lust, Gluttony, and Frozen Yogurt

I’ve always hated trends, particularly food trends that are overpriced and tainted by celebrity endorsements, however unofficial in nature. My first trip to Pinkberry was a reluctant one: I worked incessantly last summer, and made a point of spending my free time doing something constructive. Having nothing else to do before the next work day, I agreed to go on an evening stroll with my mother and cousin. As we began our walk, the suggestion of going to Pinkberry arose and I instantly rejected it. In my mind, Pinkberry had become the edible equivalent to Paris Hilton toting a Chihuahua in her purse. And while Paris and I both own a Chihuahua, my reason has more to do with the fact that I'm Hispanic, and Hispanics love Chihuahuas. Furthermore, I didn’t see the purpose of walking over 10 blocks for frozen yogurt when I had a supermarket next door. Truth be told, I hated Pinkberry because of all the “hype” that it had received and wanted no part in it.

My mother and cousin were used to my stubborn nature and blindly calculated judgments for anything mainstream. Naturally, they insisted that we just "give it a try". I had nothing else to do that night, so I reluctantly followed them to the nearest location located on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. The moment we stepped inside the store, I was assaulted by a barrage of bright colors, white cloud-like swirls, and expensive looking "space chairs". My first thought was, "What kind of silly gimmick is this?" My second thought, which came immediately after, pertained to the ridiculously long line. Even worse, everyone seemed to be oblivious to this. I heard loud chatter, and even laughter! The patrons were actually enjoying themselves and seemed excited to be revievng their overpriced cups of yogurt. Skeptical but powerless, I waited in line anxious to try this newfangled product that merited such attention.

As it was my turn to reach the counter, a bright-eyed cashier asked me which flavor I would like. Thrown off by the ridiculously long line and the cashier’s seemingly genuine perkiness, I chose coconut with granola, honey and shredded coconut. I liked coconut, and having coconut twice in the same dish didn’t seem redundant to me. Everyone else opted for fresh fruit, but I insisted on keeping fruit separate from my Pinkberry experience. We managed to find an empty table and sat down immediately. As I put the spoon to my lips my first reaction was, "This is it? This is what the hype is about?" It was ice cold, tarty, and not at all sweet, as I expected. "What's the point?", I thought. I wondered why people paid so much money for this miniscule cup of yogurt. Yet by the time my cup was finished, to my bewilderment, I was left longing for more. Thus the cycle begun.

In the weeks that passed, I visited Pinkberry every chance time afforded itself. I would get off the train at certain stops just to get Pinkberry. I would set aside 15 minutes before work to enjoy my daily cup of frozen deliciousness. The addiciton was immediate and unrelenting. If left without my frozen yogurt fix, I would crave it all day. Somehow, I couldn't stop myself from speaking about Pinkberry to my friends, who couldn't understand my obsession. It was as if cupid struck me with his arrow, but instead of falling in love with the first man I saw, I became smitten with frozen yogurt. In the first weeks, I was as loyal as a sick puppy and refused to eat anywhere else but at Pinkberry. However, once I recieved my debit card statement, I decicded to explore thriftier options.

I began to 'shop around', as one would say, and survey less expensive Pinkberry alternatives. While I saved over a dollar a cup on my frozen yogurt by seeking out different places, my expedition quickly went from being a budget concern to a survey of each and every frozen yogurt store I encountered. I wound up frequenting a dozen or more yoogurt shops including the blatant Pinkberry knockoff 'Berrywild', and the fierce Pinkberry competetor 'Red Mango'. Strangely enough, my loyalty to Pinkberry expanded to a wide appreciation of frozen yogurt. While not each frozen yogurt sample was a success, (NEVER, ever try Tasti-D-Lite's fro yo) I felt like a frozen yogurt consesueir and prided myself in my extensive knowledge and experience.

Once I left my job, it became increasingly harder to get to the best yogurt stores. Slowly, I began to lose interest in frozen yogurt like a lover who had passed the infatuation phase of a relatonship. Suddenly and unrelentingly, it was over. Looking back on my obsession, I couldn't stomach the thought of eating another cup of the overpriced stuff! Still, I get the occasional craving, but I've convinced myself that it would be way more practical to go on a Pinkberry spree in the warmer months than in the dead of winter. My appetite is funny that way. It can be piqued, instantly obsessed almost indefintely, then shut off like a light switch.

You snuggle up with phantoms

using lies to keep you warm.

I choose the cold, indefinite space

I choose to be alone.

You settle for the second best,

Convince yourself you're pleased.

I let my hunger ravage me,

I'd rather be a tease.

Lady Sings the Blues

An old tune plays

with natural familiarity,

A thick voice heard

above the lazy music.

A few regulars

sit and listen.

While the sound of chatty

laughter infiltrates a memory.

"I'm a fool to want you, to

want a love that can't be true."

She sings with a crooked

twinkle in her eye,

Too numb to feel

the pain which once inspired her.

Straddling the line

between death and eternity,

Tears are rolling down

her face,

Her voice

shakes, her eyes

roll back.

Faint whispers

are only heard now.

The crowd unwillingly

immersed in her glory.