She Was A Half Lit Cigarette

Where Are You? Please Don't Leave Me Here With These People: a love story

If 2015 taught me anything, it is that everything is fleeting. Even the recurring moments that we come to expect are a bunch of temporary events strung together over the course of a lifetime - If you're in a bad situation, don't worry it'll change. If you're in a good situation, don't worry it'll change. #newyearsameme

I'm not afraid. All of this is new and uncertain. Fear comes from familiarity - the expectation of what you're about to lose, the anticipation that all those beast you tamed will one day turn on you. I used to be afraid that I would work my whole life for my dreams only to realize that I didn't really want them once they came true, but I don't have the privilege of fear anymore. I no longer use my superpowers to peer into the future because that tends to ruin things. Anything that happens from now is unplanned and off script.

A Poem About Cheese

If your heart was a cheese, what kind of cheese would it be?

I’m sure my heart is made of brie. Hard on the outside, but once you cut it open it oozes all over the kitchen counter like butter. It’s an introverted cheese. Some people like the moldy rind and some don’t, but brie never makes any apologies. It’s the cheese you put out for holidays when you want to impress people. My heart is like the holidays.

I’m pretty sure her heart is made of cheddar. Just as sharp as her tongue. As yellow as the sun that shines through the blids onto her cheek in the morning.

Or swiss. Full of holes because she gives too much. Or blue cheese because she’s always cold and her heart crumbles whenever I try to take a piece for myself.

She told me my heart is probably made of gruyere. Old and cracked and mostly good in fondu. The kind of cheese you melt down and make a party of and share with friends, and then regret that you didn’t save more for yourself to give to someone special. A type of cheese that likes to please. That melts too easily. Goes good with beer and cider.

I disagreed. I prefer red wine, myself.

She said her heart is made of pepper jack. Mild, but spicy when it needs to be. Versatile. The type of cheese you fall in love with instantly and will love you back just the same, but every now and then in the middle of the night it will wake you up and remind you, you’re not as young as you used to be. You have responsibilities… like no eating spicy foods past 10 p.m.

This year I decided to draw my family with cake crowns for their Birthdays. Kings for a day.

In an alternate universe Nefertiti has a tattoo of 2pac on her chest. 👑

Where Are You?

Please don’t leave me here with these people. I'm not of them. I won't love them. Take me with you when you go. I don’t recognize them. We don't speak the same language. They’re humid. They're dank.  They’re hollow. Don’t make me love them. I don’t want to. I just want you. I’ll be quiet on the road. I’ll love them if I have to but I’d never tell you I’d be too embarrassed to let you know. But tell me who will you love? Where will you go? Will it ever be as good? What will you do when they don't recognize you or they don't love you like they should? I’m right behind you. I’ll come and find you. Don’t be stubborn out there on your own. They love me here but it feels so empty. Don’t leave me here with them alone.

I asked her who she voted for in 2004, we were discussing politics and religion and that was the first election I was old enough to participate in. I said, Gore, she said that was the year she stopped believing in anything, but she still went to church just in case. She still voted in every election after that just to be safe because she didn’t want to be blamed when things went wrong, and things always went wrong. And knowing she wasn’t the reason why helped her sleep at night. I asked her how she’s been sleeping lately.

She asked, why do you put so much pressure on me to dream when I’m still stuck between feeling lost and feeling free? Forced to get along with those who arm themselves and dream of harming me. Sold me a house with a lawn and picket fence, but made copies of the key so you can come and go as I sleep at night and my dreams can be policed.

I told her I had been struggling with these dreams of my own, on the verge of packing up and selling everything I owned, but it was still too comfortable to pretend.

She told me I sounded like a politician campaigning for an election I knew I would never win, and American woke up a while ago and wasnt letting anymore new dreams in.

But I was just trying to get her attention…

Are You Happy?

I never fully understood this question. Happy with what? Happiness sounds like an ending to me, "and they lived happily ever after." How can somebody who has more life to look forward to than to look back on honestly comprehend that question? Ask me in 50 years and maybe I'll have an answer for you. 

When you die do you get to take your memories with you?