The Horse

I see the horse
all proud in mid-December.
And on the dale it comes to crest,
burning black and ember.

Excerpt

My life before this epiphany does not matter. It is a good thing. It wasn't so great anyway. I was the product of young love. The kind of love that made empty promises- the worst kind. And like most young love, it fizzled and died like it was never there at all.

My dad visited me a lot in the beginning. He came bearing, once again, empty promises that kept me floating above water, never letting my hope sink completely. Words like, 'next time' and 'you'll see' brightened my eyes for days.

Then Hallmark cards began to replace visits. But the words remained the same, 'next time' and 'you'll see'. And at seven, child resiliency said that was enough. The cards were enough of Daddy. They marched across my child-size dressers and hung like butterfly wings tapped to my windowpanes.

And when Daddy did come for a visit, money made him happiest. "I'll pay you back next time" and, "This money will make us rich, you'll see" The most disgusting part of this story is how the child reacts, how I reacted.

A Payless shoebox reverently held my savings of birthday and holiday money. It patiently waited for Daddy while I waited impatiently. Because he always looked so happy and pleased when I showed him what I had saved- just for him. Money has no monetary value to a child who is working for a parent's love and attention. All that matters is that the more you give the more hugs you get in return.

By ten years old, even the cards stopped coming. I blame that on Hallmark. They don't make cards that say anything about being sorry for not visiting in eight months. They haven't come out with one that properly says, "I'm sorry, but you're just not enough anymore." So instead of a card, the silence said it all.

But again, child resiliency protects the soul from breaking. "Who needs a next time?" and "I'll show him, you'll see." Somehow you change the situation around until it was your idea not to see him anymore. It's better that he isn't around. Because you're twelve and you don't need him anyway.

Child resiliency says, I'm better off alone.

Because at twelve I really was alone. My mom worked two jobs and I came home to an empty apartment. I would walk up the five flights of stairs, all the while hoping that she would be home. In the days that I ate peanut butter straight from the jar, I hated myself for giving money to a lost cause. Surely it would have been better used to buy bread.

Finally we must lie down to sleep.
The dream is
like millions of other oddities,
spread out over the earth
belonging to all, to each,
in a circle of a dance
undisturbed.

John likes girls who bleed

John likes girls who bleed
not ones who read
dead poetry in tears
lamenting all their fears.

Eating You

That tongue of yours
it is a vial thing.
Horrid
and
Sordid
it is your greatest fault.
If I were to cut it out
I think I would like you better.
                10/11/03

The Good be Encircled

I grouse my way into Tim's office the next day. Louise and last night's conversation has opened my eyes to what is right in front of me. Tim's office is a disaster of weaponry and holy artifacts. It's been this way for weeks. The foregone conclusion, he's known of the swarm for weeks. I hadn't the faintest idea until Louise put me out of my misery and informed me. I knew we were extra busy, but I never thought to ask why.

I never know why.

Tim reads my face and tries to smile, but it comes out more of a grimace. There is pity behind his eyes, just like there is sadness behind mine.

I sink deeply into the leather couch. It's weathered folds envelop me like the hug I secretly yearn for.

"How long," I ask.

Tim doesn't bother trying to act ignorant. I like that.

"There's been signs for about two weeks now. Before that, there was word from San Diego about a possible swarm headed our way."

Two weeks to sense that there is trouble. Two weeks and I didn't. I can't help but feel like this was a test and I failed miserably. How many times have I come into Tim's office and blatantly revealed my ignorance? Too many, I realize. My face burns with embarrassment; humiliation.

I nod my head in understanding. But, understanding to Tim's report or my own revelation, I don't know.

But Tim continues to explain, "There was a sighting last night near Sherman Oaks. A large group of us went out to investigate, but the swarm scattered as soon as we came into range. You were carrying around Louise's medallion, so I knew you were safe. Did he give you his old one like I asked?"

I lift out the medallion, as Tim calls them, by way of answer. Tim nods in satisfaction. It seems like everything worked out like he planned. I should feel grateful, and a part of me does, but another part of me feels mortified. I hadn't known that Tim sparred the extra effort to watch over me. I didn't know I needed to be watched so carefully.

"I'm different, " I whisper morosely. I don't know how else to say it. "The only time I sense danger is when I'm already in it. I'm empty, isn't that what we concluded? I have no particular ability. I have nothing and I can't protect myself with nothing." I shamefully add, "I can't earn my way into heaven with nothing."

"Layla, you know that's not the way it works. Killing demons won't get you back into heaven. No amount of strength or power will break you in. Because God's grace cannot be bought or even earned," he adds with a pointed look, "You have to choose it, and succumb to it without armor or shame."

Sitting in Tim's office like that, just the two of us, I feel like I could do it. It seems so easy. But I know, that outside these walls, I will falter under the expectations of others and more significantly, my own personal expectations. Out there, it's only natural to feel the pressure of performance. You have to carry out good faith and not simply carry it within you. It’s stupid, but so very true.

You look but you don't see; anything. You don't even know what I mean.

The Center of the Issue

This will go on forever because I say so.

I could kill these stars in your eyes
but for now
I like the constellations.

I drew a firefly upon a moments desire
and the dear beacon of silky delight
suddenly was limelight.

Niflheim

I see beauty. I see pain. But mostly, I just see you.

Don't Come this Way

And red's the last to go.

I Wasn't Moping

And you weren't around
to know I was lost wishing to be found.
My world had turned to grey
and I knew not night from day.
And I just kept spinning it in my head
until I finally wound up dead.
And you weren't around to care
and I can't even say it wasn't really fair.
But Baby
just maybe, we were born this way.

The Devil Whispers Sweet Wickedness with his Call

I've seen the fleeting fetch at my window and contemplate the true meaning.

Hold Your Breath, Little Lungs

I have yet to face my Rubicon. That's because I've always been something of a spineless coward.

Let Me Love You Forever

There is only one divine and pure love, of that I have no doubt. Yet I do doubt my chances of finding and maintaining that one love. Because there are many other forms of love; powerful loves even.

I have yet to love anyone, even in a miniatured scale. I know this because I know myself. Love means to give not only yourself but to give everything.

Liquid Cocaine

A drink, warm like a hug. Although there is the distinct blackouts that accompany drinking, there is also a consolation prize. Sure, I may not recall the whole night, but I wake up and remember sensations, feelings and impressions. There is an artistic recollection that makes up for a lack of concrete memory. While it should not be an everyday occurrence, I definitely won't shy away from a little inebriated inspiration.

Life is a Mess

Life is a mess. Baseless and angry, I'm prone to bouts of self-induced isolation. It's typical and on some level so very stupid. And I can make it funny, hilarious even, but I can't bring myself to laugh. And time, it's crap. Totally damn useless.

And the Dead Girl Whispers for You to Look

It's not just about getting. It's about getting what you really need. And there's an art in that; knowing what people need.

Remember to Feel Real

You're feeling trapped by what you have become and the responsibilities you have assumed.

Mania

But it matters, and it surprises me that it does.

Inane or Insane: Who Can Really Say

17 day famine. It has eaten its way out of me. Are you pleased? It is pleased.

Scream Victim

I like myself better than I once was. Most of all, I like getting the chance to act like the bitch I really am sometimes.

Volume I - Number 2

My name is Emi. However after years of interacting with hakujins, the white folks, I have gotten use to the common mistake of being called Amy. I don't really mind. I like to think of myself as two separate people. I am Emi, undesired Janglish speaking daughter. I am also Amy, unremarkable daughter of a Japanese farmer. I like to have options.

I do not feel typical Japanese. Or maybe I'm just not typically pretty. I have a darker skin-tone that would put my ancestors to shame. A couple of summers ago, I was trying to refrain from getting too tan. I walked about with an old paper parasol and frequently hid beneath any branch that offered shade. Father was not pleased and shouted, "Care about the farm, not your face." I was instantly ashamed of myself and since then, I have accepted that every summer I will become very dark from the day's work in the fields.

I have a frizzy quality to my hair that is not silky or attractive at all. When I move to brush my fingers through it, I encounter a snaggle of hair right away.

It looks as though instead of being snuggled up within my mother's womb, I was unceremoniously thrust face-first into the side of it for the duration of her pregnancy. My nose is the main basis of this theory. It's believable that it was smashed against an unforgiving surface for nine months. Subconsciously, I find myself pinching my nose into shapeliness. It is a habit exhibited in boredom or deep-thinking. Truly, some girls twirl their hair, I pinch my nose. It's not one of my most sightly quirks.

I have a wide face. I have a flat face. At first-glance, it would appear as though I was stung repeatedly by a swarm of bees to my cheeks. They are rounded and the most prominent facial feature. My eyes are all but swallowed up by their swollen appearance. My nose is an almost afterthought and underdeveloped necessity.