we're all in our private traps

Things are finally happening.

Working on Sunday. Pay has been reduced, but I think I'll get back the six bucks if I manage to sell the stuff.

Cousin came to me with a proposal. Laselle College (this art school) needs people to sit in front of art students and look pretty. You're paid $16 an hour. Where else can you get paid $16 an hour by doing absolutely nothing? I'm so doing it, my insecurities and all.

Was at school today.

I don't feel like talking about it yet.

Met Simon. He might be reading this now. Happy NS-ing, dude. I can't imagine giving up two years of my life for a state that I'm not sure quite deserves it. Oh well, good to be female I suppose.

I think I've done something wrong.

Time to quit blabbering so much, Yelen. You and your stupid big mouth.

The Curse

it's not too late to turn back now
erase the silence at the other end
redial, rewind, re-tell the tale
so that what's been said can be unsaid
i'd stuff the water back into the jug
before you slip and fall
you have no idea how many knives i find
in the drawer
at times like these
all flying out at me
aiming straight for where it hurts the most
and i could count them but i wouldn't
because it cheapens the feeling of you
keeping silent, at the other end of the line,
not saying a word, leading me
towards the edge of the cliff.

but i lied in the beginning:
it is too late to turn back now
the words hang in the air, spoken too soon, too loudly
and i could almost reach out,
grab each letter in my hand
and watch it float away, taking
this moment along with it, far far
away

a cacophonous orchestra of unwanted words
the glass is always half-empty
and this proves, once again
the truth that i've always known:
when i touch you, you turn to stone.

January 7, 2005

Want, Not Need

you
are a certainty
i feel in my blood

if only
i could convince you
it's more than mere lust

but then
of course
you would see right through me

you know
well, very well
what i want, what i'm here for.

you
are the truth
i've been trying to cast out

to the ocean, letting
the tidal wave
take you away

from the obsessive
prison of where
i'll reside for eternity

up here
in the ivory tower
of my mind

nice to look at
too high to reach but
you've penetrated

without even trying
or wanting to do so and
just a look

is enough
to get you here
where others have tried but failed.

but a cavity
remains, where
my heart should be

keeping you
always at a distance
always a certain, measured distance

so far
away
from me.

January 7, 2005

Sweet Champagne Masquerade

try to fathom why
even after you've shattered the fragile
glass that keeps my illusions from being brutally stolen from me
i still get the urge to take your
hand, just your hand

trace the curve of your fingers
skin on skin, empty air molecules in between,
barely significant enough to make a difference.

i sift my Fiction from my Fact
do it in broad daylight
away from the haunting melancholy of the face of the
moon at night
and you're next to me,
coaxing me along,
and the sliver of space between us
has never seemed so wide.

my Fiction is sifted from my Fact
now i even know the Truth
the way your bible paints my cathartic picture black.
you helped me shatter the glass, remember?
i should thank you
but the words are stuck in my throat.

it's no use anymore.
try to fathom why
i still think about you
relentlessly, just like old times,
taking me back to where it all began:
the third-floor window, Wednesday afternoon, your smile
a refrain that has been repeated one too many times
it's overkill now, you and i both know it.

but
(there's always a but)
rationality is not a factor;
we can talk economics all day long but
the truth will always remain:

it's Literature that will always matter
even if you're not the one
that will fill up the cavity
perpetually masquerading as my heart.

January 7, 2005