good thing.

i am tired –
it has been a long day,
one still going.
i am afraid to put you in words.
i am afraid of the ending.
but then endings are inevitable,
to be present inside those moments,
has been refreshing,
an orgasm for the soul,
if you will.
i can see the light in the tunnel,
it’s irony, really,
seeing as how i’m just
trying to stay in the dark,
wanting you to be endless,
the kind of forever,
i don’t really believe is possible,
ill say it anyway,
you’ve been a good thing.
such a good thing.


fucking ironic.

she dreamed of being the perfect housewife,
with a white picket fence
and cookies in the oven;
neighborhood children coming round
and happy laughter and rising above
that white trash, low class background.
instead what she got was a broke down,
brown and metal fence
and some foodstains on a woodgrain
and 50 extra pounds that made her feel
so fucking small; fucking ironic.
what a disorganized clusterfuck she was,
no amount of education could make her talk pretty
oh but she wanted to – oh how she did.
she dreamed of being elegant and graceful,
and six feet tall and singing lullabyes
to tiny babies swaddeled with love;
so she settled for fur covered sweaters
and slobbery kisses for the nights when
the wounds wouldn’t heal.
she stared in the mirror every day,
and told herself to be stronger than yesterday,
that she was beautiful and brave
and that she could do today; she could do it.
living in a house of cards on the top,
waiting for the wind to blow
for the cards to fall – no trick aces,
no secret plays –
just a little girl dreaming of perfection
that she’ll never get even though
she wants it so bad she can taste it –
but sometimes who you are and
who you want to be are not the same.
she’s never gonna be high class –
just another empty version of
some shitty town’s white trash.