You come from a place far away and taste like rich coffee in the six and sevens of the morning. You tell me I am your muse, and that you would like to put me on a chain of yellow diamonds. You say you love me and that mine is the only face you see in a crowd full of people. And even after my hurtful whispers and others thoughtful advice to stay away, you coming running to me. Telling me how you miss my eyes, my smile, my innocence. We haven’t seen our reflections in two months. And still everyday I think about you and your birthmark. I miss your warmth. I miss your lips. I miss your music. I miss your poems. I miss your horrible morning breath. I miss your vocabulary. I could never be as good as you in so many ways. But  you never see this. Your breathtaking. I want to run away to New York and live with you in a studio apartments that will reek of weed and liquor…. maybe Indian Food. I want to see myself in your big brown eyes forever.
Lets do it, run away, elope, start from nothing. I will be cut out of my inheritance, but at least I wont be cut out of your heart. Lets live life. Lets listen to Dob Dylan. Lets be beautiful. Together.

the whitest kids you know is hilarious and i want a tattoo.

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to
be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can
disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ‘Yes.’

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Its been almost a year since i have been active on xanga. And a lot can happen in that amount of time, and a lot has. But thats all relative….. Miss me?

oh and i cut my hair.