I write mostly prose. Well, used to. My ex stole that ability from me, but that's another story and maybe another prose. But here are two pieces of mine, they're long so I won't be offended if you don't read 'em.


45 second man.
I would love to get to know you, and be the girl who you don't take advantage of, but I'm too much of love addict and you're too much of a dick. I would love to hug on your arm like the eye candy you crave so bad but I'm too fat, and you're too critical. I would love to be the one to do lines of coke with you and drop acid in my bedroom, but I'm too afraid and you're too cheap. I would love to rescue you from your assumed fucked up life, to hold your hand down the rocky path to recovery, but I have no idea what you need to recover from and I don't think you even want to recover. I would love for you to be my next love, to be my next heart throb, to be my next boyfriend, but you're too much of an asshole and I'm too much of a pussy and I'm not going back to my old ways. I would love to write you poetry and for you to absorb it like the pot smoke that so frequently haunts my room, but you're not poetic, romantic or even that intelligent. I would love for you to make love to me and make me swoon, but you're too raw and I'm too mentally distant for that to ever happen. I would love for you to be a faithful, caring son of a bitch, but that's all you are; a son of a bitch. I would love for you to hold my hand, sling your arm around my waist, go for walks with me, but you're so fucking unemotional, unsenstive, un...whatever. I would love for you to be secretly everything I crave, to fill the holes in my life, to fill me up with what ever it is men to do to me, but you're not a man, the holes are too big and you're so far from what I crave. You're an asshole, I'm a bitch, you treat me like shit, I treat you like a king, I obey you, you deny me, I plead with you, you spit on me, I'm a cunt, you reject me. There's no winning with you, I give up. End.


The pedophile and the angel.
The police were always chasing us,
no just us, but everyone.
The air always smelt like wet pavement and blue slurpies,
I always wore a tutu and she a tiara,
I wore him on my arm like a diamond bracelette,
he wore me like a handcuff in shame.
I'd snap pictures like I was trigger happy,
they're so fucking beautiful to me.
We left when the lights went out and the booze was free,
we kissed in backseats and on kitchen tables of friend's of friend's.
And lived our life like every day would be our last,
we were fucking free.
we were fucking free until we started to
scream in hushed voices behind locked doors,
twirl only in front of an oversized mirror,
bring our own beer,
we were fucking free until the police started to chase us,
not everyone, but just us.

(C)