caitlin

so i was thinking about this. technically speaking, according to evolutionary train of thought, the female sex came first. it has always bothered me, or annoyed, or just slightly irked me that in 3 of the biggest world religions female subordination has in many ways been based off of the garden of eden and how eve was made for adam from adam. so one, thats annoying because biologically speaking men and women come from women and its just weird to switch it because whoever did write it was a man. and two, the female sex came first. technically female is the default sex, in the sense that asexual organisms are female, and the first living organisms were asexual- sexual reproduction evolved later due to increased fitness from increased variation in offspring and so a better chance that at least some offspring would survive. and to say that i think any of this means shit socially speaking, meaning im not switching it and saying that because females came first that means they are superior, i just think that if your going to base subordination on something it at least ought to be not completely opposite to the truth.

a wave is running through me stronger and faster than i want it to. its a collection of so many things stored inside somewhere. a pile of junk i either forgot or swept under the carpet. but what does it mean, i don't know what it is. i feel so fragile. i need some enlightenment.

i haven't felt like this in years i think. it's oddly satisfying. i suppose, i feel in touch with a part of me i haven't thought about or been in a while. because there is a welling up inside. and it feels simultaneously like the feeling before your going to cry and the feeling before your going to laugh till your sides hurt.

somethings coming... i can feel a game tug of war beginning to be played, like background music. my chest is tight- the pile in the pit below my ribs has shifted awkwardly, and the thoughts running up and down it now trip and tumble and no longer know which way is up. life seeps back up through my fingers and contracts around my heart. spread too thin... i reserve energy, because somethings coming.

if i am anything i'm a reader and i want your story. i'm sorry that sometimes my tongue rolls tight and traps my words inside my mouth. i'm sorry i cannot always give back as much. but it is only because my words tumble and pin you down with the boulder they create, and contribute to the mis-image i convey.

i pull into my skin;
into the marrow of my bones.
truth
is somewhere in the joints you know?
somewhere in the muscle tissue.
it's constructed in brain cells
and ovaries.
you can find it in nail clippings
and period blood.
my uterus is screaming the truth,
she's yelling at you
and your ridiculous bullshit.
because i swallowed you.
i chewed on your skin;
i tasted your blood.
i've licked the inside of your cheek
and collected strands of your hair.
but i choked on your joints
and threw up your bones.
i tasted your lies
in the folds of your skin
and their burning my throat.


i dont know how to end this, i'm stuck as to what to say after this. feel free to let me know what you think, im hoping feed back will trigger some ideas

everyone is seymore's fat lady. and if yo haven't read franny and zoey, than you have no idea what i mean. and if i could translate, i would. but its one of those things that describes something that is more feeling than substance, and you only understand in a way that does not involve language.

i cant speak. i keep choking on the truth or myself or you maybe. i dont know why or how, just that i avoid it. maybe i got burned more than i thought i did, maybe i'm scared, paranoid even. i dont know, and i dont know what to do.

i'm tired of arguing. i never thought such a thing would happen, but lately i just feel like i'm pushing up against walls, and it's just not fun anymore. everything is far too personal and intense, and i always just end up feeling like i've been backed into this corner, and what was said was not what i meant to say at all. i feel confined in general, like i've been folded and stuffed into a cardboard box by someone, probably me, and left to gather dust in someone's attic. and i keep pulling and pulling, and i don't even know for what or why. i feel like my life, or the way i live my life, isn't up to everyone else's expectations, or like everyone has something to say about how i should change, as if they know more and know what's right for me. and i know that shouldn't matter, no one ever agrees completely with anyone else, and we all have our different philosophies on life, and none are better or worse than others. but it gets to you.

i have never had writers block like this. because i don't even know where to start. there is no order to speak of, no priorities, i don't even know if i ought to start with you or me. people have meshed in my head, and i can't pick them out from one another, let alone from me. there are huge invisible blocks in the away of me and clarity. i feel like, no matter where i was, when i was younger i always had me. but know, i seem to lose myself in the place of someone else every now and again. and its sucking my dry. if i could, at least, be with myself, i would finally stop living on the edge of my strength. i could stop living off the giving and taking of others. and then, perhaps, i could relearn boundaries, and relearn self control, and the idea that i don't have to say absolutely everything that it occurs to me to say- that i can keep a little to myself, maybe for myself.

i feel un-fed.
my limbs linger on the brink
on the box of unsaid things,
that fill this feeling.
my neck aches
and my hand twitches
like a junkie
out of beat.
and there's laughter in the corner
beneath the evening sea.
i see coffee spilled
and foot prints laid
down,
like the dance steps
of a moving train.
that pulls its whistle
to warn my life awake.
as i sit in wooden stillness
on a fluid flesh chair.
and stare
to see the other side
beyond my peripheral vision,
in the corner of my inner eye,
flecked with bad makeup
and left over sleep eyed dreams
of morning light,
when cold concrete
does not disturb my feet,
and waking
does not leave me
without dreams.

it comes with the wind sometimes. you can't stop it. you have to ride it. let it take you. let it break you. let it mend, where it can.

i know that change becomes me. but i don't if it's so kind to others. i fear being left behind, almost as much as i fear leaving others behind.

and when the forces of change are not mine to wield, i fear the use of it. it is not my decision to make, so many decisions are not my decisions to make. but i wish this one was, because i wonder how many of us will be cut loose by its impending alienation. i wonder how many of us will lose.

change is the kindred of freedom, but i wonder how many doors will close with this one, and just how many will open.

it's cliche,
the way
the tree
looks like death.
like an old women,
bent
out of shape.
with gnarled fingers
and deep roots
burnt
to her ash
colored
ends,
whose voice sounds
like cigarette smoke.

they always say
death
is a man,
in a skull mask
and black clothing.
they say
he is humorless
and spiritless.

but i say
death
is a women
in pastel colors,
with deep roots
and a voice
like cigarette smoke.
i say
she is ageless
and liveliness,
for death
is the culmination
and the last exclamation point.

and we must leave as we enter:
through the mother,
though the maker.

i falter...
liquid disappointment
leaks
from my corners,
like oil
as if i were
the tin man;
no heart,
in the lines i read
in the words
i hear
no soul.

i was walking in the rain the other day, and it made me feel like oregon. i got captured in the memory and nostalgia, till i remembered how it felt to feel like there was no one. and it wasn't as if they didn't like me, but it was as if it didnt matter whether they did or not, because i still wasn't living life with them, and they still didn't understand my words. and all i really want is someone to understand my words. because everyone keeps seeing someone who isn't there. they assume i work like them, they assume i mean the same thing with the same words, just because i happen to understand, or at least try to see them for them instead of me. and i dont fully understand anyone, but i dont stuff them in some little box, i dont idealize them, and i dont ask them for things they cannot give. its the sadness of the situation that i have no expectations because i'm always disappointed, but it doesnt cancel out my hope, because even my expectations are sometimes not as good as who a person can be. i'm just so fucking sick and tired of being drained. my energy is brilliant spider webs streaming from my fingers and toes, and everyone is just drinking them up, like i'm the power plant and it's my job to keep their lights on. it just amazes me how no one sees me, how no one knows me. is it really necessary that i spell it out for you? because i couldn't put me into words, and even if i could, it wouldn't be accurate by the time i finished. i'm just not sure who to blame anymore. is it my fault? do i not do something i'm suppose to? or are you just so narrow minded, so self absorbed, so jealous, so jaded, and so idealistic that you can't see past yourself? i simply do not understand the stupidity of people and why they cannot see, see past them, past society, past depression, past cynicism, past pain, past success, past life... it makes me sad

my blood flows thick with the sewage
of friendship and nicotine,
my uppers of choice
in this glass globe
of sober imperfection,
that catches at the heel
and pulls me back,
past the thick atmosphere,
down deep if it could.
i only wanted to know
how the wind feels beneath me.
but i have heard
einstein's explanation of gravity,
and cannot defend myself by ignorance.
i can only bleed,
thick ink on pages of journals,
covered in the plastered
paper wrappings of poetry,
all too close for comfort
to the look
of the rabbling riddles of nonsense,
that screams to me
across billboards,
in the stop and go traffic
of LA freeways.
that allow me,
by the rules inside my head,
to smoke 10 cigarettes
in the 2 hour drive home
out of the city,
that has sunk
itself
beneath my surface,
like atlantis,
hidden under a thin layer
of my pale skin.
ivory white
against the orange tinted canopy
of suburban LA,
with its botox ridden facial expressions
that blink
in disdain or pleasure.
it's all the same,
in this glass globe
of suburban sand beaches
and tilting palm trees.
the glass covering
is just too thick
to let me leave.
i only wanted to know
if it makes sense from above,
if it falls into place;
some grand order to the universe
that would explain
itself,
if only i could get high enough
to see.

i like sentences that sound like the first line in a book. if i could i'd only write sentences like that, too bad you only get one glance at first impressions.

wrought iron railings
and ceder doors.
brisk burning wind
to whip and pull
and bury living breath.
alive, you say?
ever or never
or maybe forever.
not forgotten
and never remembered.
the words neglect
to tell you
anything at all.
you don't know it,
if you can define it,
if you can say it out loud.
so they say,
we don't have enough mouths
for as much as we talk,
and too many ears.

its like falling through solids. sitting on the shower floor, knees to my chest, and burning water pouring over me. it leaves red lines like sun burns across my body, on my arms and thighs. i am stunned by my own ridiculous shit. i make it up as i go along, just to keep from seeing reality. because reality cannot be decided by the rules inside my head, i have no protection against the real dangers or worries of the world. so i make it up as i go along, just to keep one step infront of my own desire to truly get out of these make believe hysterics inside my head. they might be crazy, but at least they arent real. i just dont want it anymore, i dont want to make it worse inside my head, just so i dont have to realize that i have no control, no decision to decide how the world is. its not mine to determine...

i havent felt like this in a lng time. i guess i feel lonely, i feel without myself. i feel frustrated, and ignored, and like i've neglected people. i'm so caught up inside that i've curled into a ball and its taking all my energy just to unravel it. maybe i neglected myself for longer than i thought i had, maybe i need for it to be my turn for awhile, and just hope and trust that people will understand, and at least if not understand accept. i suppose i have to trust that they know me well enough to know, that they love me enough to be there even if i can't for while. i need to balance my own needs with others, and perhaps even stop being really paranoid about everything. i need to get over everyone else.

"be who you are, and say what you feel, because those who mind dont matter and those who matter dont mind"