Today I am wearing lacy black underwear

For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.

And underneath that?

I am absolutely naked.

And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;

I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts

like saran wrap that you can see through

to what leftovers are inside from the night before.

And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.

My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.

But that doesn’t matter, right?

You don’t care about how soft my skin is.

You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.

But what if all they do is crack open windows?

So I can see lightening through the clouds.

What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?

What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?

But that’s not the story you want.

You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.

Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.

I don’t need to be the water in the well.

I don’t need to be the well.

But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.

I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.

Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.

They find harmonies in their laughter.

Their linked elbows echo in tune.

What if I can’t hum on key?

What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?

Some people can recognize a tree,

A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.

How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?

How long before I’m lost for good.

It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.

It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.

But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.

I keep finding stones tied to my feet.

Mīlestībā neviens nav pieaudzis.

Nekad nerunā. Sūti puķes. Bez vēstulēm. Tikai puķes. Tās aizsedz visu. Pat kapus.

- Bet Tev nevajag mani gaidīt. Nekad. Ir briesmīgi kaut ko gaidīt.
- To Tu nesaproti. Briesmīgi ir tad, ja nav neviena, ko gaidīt.

Sievietes vajag vai nu dievināt, vai pamest. Viss pārējais ir nieki.

Man patīk, ja cilvēks nopietni pārspriež kaut ko tādu, par ko viņam nav ne mazākās sajēgas. Tas ir uzmundrinoši, tik bērnišķīgi. Speciālistu runas vienmēr ir garlaicīgas.

Darbs – drūma mānija – mūžam ar ilūziju, ka vēlāk kādreiz būs citādi. Nekad nebūs citādi. Komiski, ko cilvēks dara ar savu dzīvi.

Katrs nemitīgi tiecas mani audzināt. Un katrs zina visu labāk par mani. Un, klausoties šajās gatavajās receptēs, varētu domāt, ka laimes jau visur papilnam. Bet tā nemaz nav. Cilvēki prot lieliski izplānot visu – citiem.

Es nezinu. Bet ļoti iespējams, ka būtu mazāk karu, ja cilvēki tik ļoti negribētu pārliecināt cits citu par savas personiskās patiesības pareizību.

Mēs, cilvēki, esam dīvaini radījumi. Mēs kautrējamies savas jūtas paust cits citam, kaut esam labi draugi, – un bieži vien slēpjam tās arī no sevis.