smallsongs

smallsongs

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oil and egg yolks and water I once saw an experiment that put soap in droplets of oil and water and they called it dream cells I wish they had added some spice to it; some unseemliness

the act of supposition is embarrassing. that's all it is. and all the memories connected to these fragmented sentences- I guess they're symbolic of all the depth beneath each word I say. puddle sized; oceanic.

braid

The hipster thing to do. I think of Toms; of Tom; of Axe Excite. I'm an angel falling, an innocent daisy chain woven into the tight braids of anti-aging.

Today I walked away from both white buildings, their squares jutting into the summer blue. Green trees. Grey sidewalks. Every color alive, every branch and leaf clear even through my watering eyes.

I've always thought they were attractive. It's slim and it curls into smoke; held by the lips and inhaled with a hard look in the eyes. There's a steeliness to smoking.

crush

I crush rock after rock against each other, hair sometimes catching on the edges. Tears, rage, frustration, some kind of joyful hopelessness - a million emotions and a million tiny splinters fly with each pound.

lust

I am wrapped up in your being I am crumpled around your heart Trying to find the meaning In each hug, and word, and part of you that I admire: nose and forehead, chest and chin; I have clenched this little rose And loved the prick, again.

I sprinkled star glitter on my cheeks and when people pointed, I told them it was magic. I go camping every year to an island, and one day after I stepped out of the shower, I nearly stepped on a deer standing outside the stall. Someday I will go to the forest and bathe as free as the day I was born, and a herd of deer will escort me.

it is not my fault but I have failed. I keep sharing with people, hoping to feel validated. Just another form of gossip. No fresh visions tonight; tonight I lick my wounds and ignore the pressing words.

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writing since 2010 · 34 entries · 34 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means Irina showed up.

6longest streak

34days written

0.4entries / week

on this day 16 years ago

Irina wrote about motel
“In the dark motel, she met her match; he crawled through the cracks that she had mortared and painted painstakingly and lured her in with a small metal key. it slipped through the locks, made…”

the words Irina reaches for

tinybluewatereyesremembersummeroldercolorsheldheartholdyellowgreenmountainsmillionwish