Have you ever been ashamed to tell someone something?
It is 2:51am. I am up. I woke up at this time last night, too. I can’t sleep. My kid can’t sleep either cause he was tossing and turning in his crib, wound up in my bed, tossed and turned there, too, and now I can’t sleep, but it’s not the real reason. Continue reading tap in the afternoon
Y, whatch’a up to these days? i know you said never to call or write
you but i thought you meant that figuratively.
Y to X
show details 3:38 PM (4 hours ago)
nope, I meant it literally
– Show quoted text –
Y to X
show details 4:33 PM (3 hours ago)
In case you have any doubts in the future please print out the
Your little voodoo won’t work anymore.
Because I see you for who you are.
And you are not a good person.
You have Continue reading Hate Mail
I walk to work and there is a quiet spot around 14th and Ninth at 7:38 in the morning. The Apple store is open but no one’s inside but a man sweeping around the large wooden desks. The vibrant restaurants are cold, stolid yet strangely inviting; like going home and finding an 80 pound tree trunk blocking your door. The cobble stones seem trickier this early or my hushpuppies aren’t the best choice for early morning walks or at 32 my ankles sleep in, but I’m always scared Continue reading I’ve been listening to this song on repeat for not as long as I’ve been listening to that other song on repeat but still it’s been a awhile
I do appreciate you holding the door open for me. I’m not always so quick to get my card ready in advance and I find most people (who don’t want money from me) aren’t inclined to opening doors while waiting in line for the ATM, so I’m stuck pulling a locked door because the thing I slid my card into didn’t turn green. For that, thanks. However, when I go to use an ATM it is because I have depleted my funds. The ATM gives out dividends of twenty. I’m not giving you twenty bucks. Continue reading To the homeless man in Bank of America (23st/Fifth Ave)
What is Mine
He’s trying to take what is mine.
Not mine. Not mine. Not mine. Not mine, she’s not mine.
In time she’ll be mine.
On oysters and wine.
We’ll sip from the glass made of crystal and sand. The beach?
We’ll swim in the beach and wine when we dine on the day she is mine.
I’ll place on her head. A gown made of bread where we’ll waltz till we’re dead.
No worry of mind,
No rushing of time,
Her gown made of bread with a crown on her head.
A waltz we will dance while we sip on our wine,
And the day that she’s dead is the day she’ll be mine.