oneplusoneequalshappy-blog

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flashback

In the silence, you wait for me. My mind wanders to nighttime in a town I've long since left behind to a room I've long since locked.

You touch me lightly electroplating gold onto a lesser metal. All I see in the silence is the contrast of your hand on my arm a black-and-white picture of lightning at night. My eyes, humid with the weight of exhaustion and memory like autumn leaves settling on an empty lake-- I want you to know my stories before they sink.

I rest in your arms like a hammock. You are strong as a hemlock regal as an oak proud as a cedar. For a moment, I let myself feel safe.

Because you are good. You are so good that my friends are jealous. You are handsome a gentleman smart and                         different when we close the door.

In the darkness, my memories hover between us like a one-way mirror so clean, you haven't yet realized it's there. Will you start your interrogation soon or wait out a confession? Which parts of my life do you want to know? I can give it to you in photographs keep an album in my chest for just such cases. Here is the first man I loved (I still haven't stopped thinking about him). Here is the man who assaulted me when I was trying to forget. Your fingers are shaped like his when you stand too close, and I keep hearing his voice in your words. In your ultimatums and pressing and moving to fast you can ask all the questions you want though you hear only guilt even as I scream my innocence.

But you are good handsome a gentleman smart so surely you would understand what happened when I tell you my stories are sinking?

Once long ago at nighttime in a town I've long since left behind in a room that I've long since locked a man hovered above me like a hot air balloon and my fire wasn't strong enough to keep him from coming down.

I've been washing the memories out of my hair for years. But tonight I smell it again in your sweat, feel it in your grip as you forget what you asked me forget how I answered and I shudder as your smile takes me back.

I am trapped in your arms like a kite string. you are poisonous as a hemlock strong as an oak eerie as a cedar. For a moment, I am lost. floating away on an empty lake in a canoe of fallen memories that you will never know.

#poetry #flashback #ultimatums

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The Secret Keeper

I am the keeper of secrets.

Between my ears, folded

sleeping cicadas. The drone

of the swarm

is just a nightmare, darling. I

am the maker of marionettes. Puppets. Playthings.

Let strings run loose to fly. I

am the whisper of mosquito

whisked past in the wind,

the hum of hurricane

lifting weather balloons. Look:

we were never meant

for such smallness as lies. Your body

bends back from the blows, I know,

so I’ve learned to stow them away. Tucked

between my lips like sugarcubes, sweet.

I am the safeguard of cicadas

the soil in which they sleep

I am dirt

dirty

deep

below ground they breathe

on the air pockets formed

in the space of decay. You’ve made me this way.

  I’ve made me this way. I

am a nuisance, a noose

the weather balloon rising says

there’s still time to choose

whether you evacuate

or stay. Either way,

  the cicadas won’t stop their slumber.

The marionette strings tied to their wings

won’t move. The humming you hear

is no coming hurricane. The weathervane

was pointed east today

and darkness doesn’t rise

where the sun comes from.

  I wish

your eyes were open to your own lightness.

I wish you’d swallow your sugarcubes

instead of setting syrup traps like this. Learn

that we were not built to live

blowing away. I’m better than you

this way.

These cicada wings

don’t blow me astray. I

am a keeper of secrets

a marionette mistress

making hurricanes into playthings. These strings

don’t have you by the throat.

There’s no noose on which to choke.

So if you want to go,

go.

  But if you want to stay,

stay. I hear

there’s a sunset playing on the horizon today.

We can settle in

watch

as the cicadas fly away.

#poetry #SLAM #slam poetry #writing #poem

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Im not usually one to brag, but I feel like I can on here because there are really only two people that might read it. So here goes. Friday night, I went to a NBA playoff game. Saturday, gave my number to a guy and salsa danced until I couldn't feel my feet anymore. Sunday, I had mezcal margaritas for Cinco. Today, the boy texted me and asked me to go to a concert with him Thursday, which meant I had to confirm my plans to see Ironman with my girl Wednesday night instead. The boy is also so in awe of my tomboy girly girl slam poet sports nut self that he's calling me Miss Ruthless and says he's in shock. This weekend is gonna be perfect hiking weather, and the tall, dark, handsome, funny, perfect summer fling moves to the city on Tuesday. I have 11 weeks left in the city. Damn am I gonna miss it. Except for the cicadas - did you hear about that craziness?!?

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At the Mississippi #twincities #stpaul #mississippi

#twincities #mississippi #stpaul

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The article stumbles a bit in effectively avoiding misandry - I mean, I well know that a group of girls all together endlessly is as likely to talk viciously about others as a group of boys, and that would have been worth a mention. But I love what one person said in response:

"The concern is with rape because it is a heinous act with no possible purpose or justification for existing. It is logical for one to wonder why something so senseless yet so inhumane even exists...

To simply call these rapists "bad eggs" dismisses the action. It makes it passive. Rape is not passive. It is a decision to participate in a heinously unjustifiable act, and anyone who wants to examine the thought processes behind these disgustingly purposeless decisions is 100% justified in doing so."

#rape culture #misandry #misogyny #the atlantic #segregation

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Here's what happens when you're working from home because of a snowstorm:

*Work work work*

*Boring call*

*Surf internet in background on personal computer during boring call*

*Take 30 minutes to read 1 paragraph on the internet because it's making you laugh so hard that you're crying and literally can't see the page*

I love reddit so, so much for introducing me to these things.

#reddit #veet #reviews #veet for men #hilarious

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Hotel room pictures: 1949 Badger homecoming football game.

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Ready for the mid-spring Midwest sweeps. #midwest #midbest

#midwest #midbest

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can't wait to say this to one person.

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I can't even describe how excited I'm getting about moving to Minneapolis.

That is, in the moments that I'm not freaking out over leaving Boston.

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WOWPS 2013 - Carrie Rudzinski - “The Prayer”

“My god, for months I felt like dirty sheets you slept in with someone else.”

Our first video from the 2013 Women of the World Poetry Slam! More to come over the next few weeks.

#carrie rudzinski #my god #slam poetry #wowps #women of the world poetry slam

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#buddywakefield at Diesel. Giant Saint Everything. #

#buddywakefield

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one of the coolest exibits i've seen in a while - and that's saying something. "spin" and "blown away" were unbelievable.

‘Blue-and-white ceramics seem to be a source of endless fascination, from early Asian and Islamic examples to contemporary remixes of traditional forms and social and cultural commentary. “New Blue and White,” an exhibition that opens on Feb. 20 at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, demonstrates the ways in which today’s artists and designers, working in a variety of media, are making blue-and-white modern.

The works on display range from the abstract, like Harumi Nakashima’s undulating, dot-glazed sculpture, or Min Jeong Song’s groups of glass objects, to the more representational, including a dress and a pair of shoes by the fashion label Rodarte. And there are plenty of conceptual pieces, like Steven Lee’s “Vase With Landscape and Butterflies,” which is at once exquisite and “damaged”; Robert Dawson’s “Spin,” a series of plates in which the traditional Blue Willow pattern is spun into a blur; or “Blow Away,” a vase by Front Design that appears to be bending with the wind. The exhibition continues through July 14.’

via T Magazine | The New York Times

#mfa #museum of fine arts #boston art #blue and white

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still my favorite

#chihuly

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The fear of being found

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