when i was new


marionette girl

when i was new


you would want to read me

to watch and investigate   

to play with me.


i was shiny, then:  


and sweet-smelling

like that slightly perfumey plastic

the kind that signaled something good

when we were young

and didn’t know the difference.  


(i used to think that the plastic bottoms of my

cheap chinatown shoes

were chocolate and try to eat them)


now you put me away again

you’ll share a little bit but you don’t really want

to give your toys away.




so i’m shoved back up in the closet,  

stuck collecting dust

an empty glass-eyed stare 

waiting to be pulled back down

at your leisure.


you almost forget—

but suddenly i

light up your eyes again.

and it’s

almost as exciting as

the first time

you held me like that

your skilled grip a perfect balance of

firm and gentle

bending my small pieces around

guiding my limbs with such skill and grace:

i fold, hang and glide,

a marionette surrendered deeply in a dance

of pleasure.


for a moment you are captivated

watching as

we move in synch.  


then i’m away again.

each time you tug my box down from the shelf

i’m a little more used up

and you are a little less thrilled.

with each reach i’m closer to shelf life,

 you’re a little more bored.


(mommy! I want a new one.

this one doesn’t work anymore.)


i work, though—

i work better than before.

you’ve warmly worn me into



but you can’t see it.

you are blinded  

by the shimmery show

of new distractions


(mommy! i need a new toy to bring to class.  

show and tell is tomorrow!)


the thing that you bring out

to tell stories of—

that has to be pretty.


it has to always be better than

the last.


this could never stay enough.



{Image: Send me adrift at Flickr}

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Ode to a surreal day

Every day in this town has been strange and dark and wonderful.

I couldn’t believe this one in particular, the way that one person reached out to me after years. I didn’t understand why.

We weren’t just “close” once—we were in love goddammit. Or at least I was. We lived together for a year.

Don’t you remember that?

I can’t believe that you offered me a boat ride,

I couldn’t believe how angry you were, how I saw that side of you when you didn’t know I was there, how I felt compelled to leave during your date because even if I was there, I may have been invited in and that is not something I want anymore.

I can’t listen to it and I don’t want to be around it because it’s so far from me right now. It would have been so natural a while ago, and now it’s so foreign.

I can’t anymore, with you, a person that I felt so safe with once.

That scares me—not that you were angry, but that that part of me is missing.

I can’t believe that more than one of my free-floating wandering souls are in town at the same time as me, that I may actually get to see you both in the space of the same short time span.

I’m one of you now.

I can’t believe that I saw you tonight, that you braved the traffic to pick me up and treated me to all of that beautiful dinner. And I forgot to take the selfie…I never really initiate that. I want it so much, but I’m so shy at the same time. But it meant a ton, spending time together this night.

I can’t believe how much my throat hurts and my eyelids are heavy and I want to run away from my escape already but not for good…just a few days. Just a few days to recuperate but then there might not be any more days left at all so I’m torn between now and never.

I can’t believe how damn tired I am, how the writing doesn’t come and I fly and I train and I walk and I dream and I rest and don’t push myself but still feel so so so drained.

How will I ever shake it to find my focus again?

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Project Harpoon Can Suck it.

project harpoon McDonald's

This made me mad, so I wrote about it:

Project Harpoon Takes “Before & After Photoshop” to Appalling New Levels.

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