My innerself drives a vespa

my inner self drives a vespa. has a great a-line haircut with just a hint of bright red peeking out from the bangs.
my inner self is fearless.
she flirts with everyone and only dates the perfect ones.
she wears thigh high boots...everywhere.
she always eats right..acts right..does right.
she has legs for miles and oceans of hope.

ode to brotats

I remember when I met you .
Mr Klines 2nd period drama lit class.
you were equal parts intimidating and fascinating
like a first snuck cigarette after a show at the nocturnal
coincidentally the same show that cemented our friendship and prevented our ability to ever look mr barringer in the eye without remembering...
that one time Barringer saw...
you have been my rock of Gibraltar
my ear zit removal specialist
my make up artist
my body piercer and im sure
if we were ever bored enough with the right supplies..
tattoo artist.
you make tattoos painless and
fredmeyer seem like the most fascinating place on earth.
thank you for ...
stabbing me in the leg
breaking my shower ..
picking me up ..
mailing me ceral...
the bottom line is no one will ever have my
6, 7, 8, 9 quite like you do

acidental evesdropping on a tree fort bus.

I spend hours listening to strangers talk. conversations overheard like so many bits of washed up treasure from a shipwreck. conversations about who's in jail, who got out, who needs work. babies,heartbreak and heroism. these bits of conversation float past my ears and I pretend not to hear the secrets of strangers lives. The bus seems like a tree fort on wheels. A place to share your secrets, make new friends and catch up on old ones. the essential values of community can be learned on a bus ride to anywhere.

wednesday june 24th 2009 from a driveway in the projects

The funny thing about death is...
it makes you appreciate life and its brevity
its causes you to stop and spend more time with the people around you.
last night i was cleaning my room and i put up the posters i made of Nichole Payne and Nicholas Grants funeral stuff , those two posters have moved 4 times and 3000 miles with me. people have asked me why I carry them around and its to remind me of that life is a gift and tomorrow is never guaranteed. before i was 17 I hadn't lost anyone my age that i was close to or even knew but since then heres the list.
Beckie Walsh-Cousin, camp buddy and childhood bff. reason =cancer
Jason Eisele-classmate and boyfriend of one of my closest friends in high school.reason =car wreck
Nichole Payne-classmate and close friend of alot my friends. reason=car wreck
Allison Brady-classmate pe and health buddy and my first Mormon friend=reason ATV accident
Nicholas Grant-homie for life , part of the Calvary temple youth group and part of one of the best summers of my life.-reason-suicide
Carol Atwood-my high school counselor and the person responsible for me being alive and finished with high school. I owe so much to her and am daily greatful for all she did in my life. reason-not sure
And just today ...Brad Ventura/my hallway friend and the most cheerful and loving people that I have ever met in my life. Brad truly radiated Jesus in way that not many do and I am glad that He is there with the Lord now. RIP Hallway Friend
this isnt even all of it its just wha i could remember off the top of my head. so the moral of this rant is as follows.
Life is a gift , Love fiercely and with no regrets because tomorrow is never promised.

For the days we fear the air we breathe

Vacant eyed children in grown up shells .

we express our rage in stereotypical motion.

All the while declaring no one understands my pain .

We are but children set afloat like so many Chinese Lanterns

Cast out on a sea of lost hopes and long abandoned dreams.

Some cannot handle the waves and succomb to the currant

While those few bright and brave ,

Those strong enough to withstand the storms and waves emerge from the squall brighter ,

More hopeful ,

Like the same wave that nearly extinguished them is now the very thing that presses them on,

That pushes them forward.

They have license to dream again ,

They say what doesnt kill you makes you stronger,

For these tempest tossed children ,

The ability to dream again is like breath to an asthmatic"

when I was 9 I wanted to be a whale trainer at seaworld.

When I was 9 I wanted to be a whale trainer at SeaWorld...
there was something strangely sexy about a life spend in a wetsuit swimming around in a pool of whale piss all day.

Then I wanted to be a documentary film producer and director.. I wanted to create films that would challenge and provoke and cause people to change world.

At one point I really wanted to change the world, to save every starving , puppy/orphan and homeless person.

I wanted to have my own cooking show on opb.. be just like caprial and john. because there’s something strangely sexy about a life spent arguing with your husband on public television.

I was sitting around and thinking about all the things I wanted to be.. and how for so very long the idea of having a house with a picket fence and 2.5 kids and a dog would make me crazy.

Maybe it makes me officially a grown up or maybe im just tired of chasing pipe dreams but the thing I want very most in the world is 2.5 kids and a dog..

Of course my house would have a big front porch. and at least one of my 2.5 kids would be multiethnic and hopefully adopted. and we would dash off on the weekends to do socially conscious things...
but what I want more than anything right now is to have someone to make dinner for.. to complain at about the price of steak or why I don’t want to be on the pta …because there’s something strangely sexy about a life spent arguing with your husband about taking out the trash….

home is where your fair trade coffee is.

I don’t ride a bicycle
Wear crocheted dresses with my rain boots
or make fashion statements with my sweatshirts.
I don’t drink kamboucha and I enjoy my non organic food from far away cuz its what I can afford with my food stamps…
My legs are more hula dancer than bicycle ballerina…
But I am Portland.
I like big trucks , country music and muscle cars…
For a girl who’s never really had a home this is the closest I could come..
This is my happy place ..my thinking couch..where im comfortable..
Where im just the right kind of weird …
To fit in here..
It took moving across the country..
Spending two years in an urban war zone ..
Dealing with unspeakable poverty and ignorance
To realize…
This is where I belong..
That there's is nothing better than a cup of coffee on the stairs in the square or waking up on a trimet bus to the man in front of you making balloon animals…
Nothing better than Powells on a rainy day or a man on the corner playing a flute...
this is where im comfortable..
For a girl who’s never really had a home.. this sure feels like one…

when the trash in our hearts trumps the trash in our streets.

Pardon me Portland, your underbelly is showing.

There’s a man in line at Carl’s jr who can barely stand because he keeps nodding out from the heroin he just slammed in the bathroom marked customers only.

For a city know for being green its awfully dark these days I guess green is the new black

As another broken soul with a mental illness gets shot instead of rescued.

Someone else in the city gets a pat on the back for buying a prius.

It seems the bigger the holes in our ears

The bigger the holes in our hearts…

Its easy to ignore pain, poverty and addiction

When its as much as a part of the sidewalk

As the Willamette week paper box

things I wrote and wish I had the courage to slam.. maybe letting other people read it will help

I wish I knew what the lesson in this was..

Why after this many years I end up back here.

Why this is always the fireplace that bares the ashes of my best attempts at a grown up life.

I don’t know why I always end up back here when this is the place I’ve been valiently trying to get away from for the last 12 years.

Its like a virus that I cant shake

Like a rash I cant heal

It’s the proof that that voice of doubt that always says I”ll never conquer and take charge of my own existence is often correct.

I’m tired of living on the couch and be relegated to the garage.

I need a chance to be normal

I need to succeed at something for once.

To move out and away for good.

To never come back

Never look back

Never walk back

But instead run as far and as fast away from you as I possibly can

Because you represent failure for me.

You have your life, your wife , your kids

And by me giving into your desires I let you win again

I let you take from me again.

I let  you call me names

I let you choke the very life and identity out of me again

You took everything from me,

I don’t want anything of yours anymore.

You aren’t the person I fell in love with.

You aren’t my 9^th grade boyfriend.

You are a liar.…

You had your chance

But now I have mine

To take back everything you stole from me

To claim my life as really truly mine.