i have no photo to share today, but when i get one i will put it here.
kinda scary, huh? i have decided not to call myself rebecca... that was just a joke. but it is kind of true. i don't really know anyone online. and i really feel sorry for those who accidently fall on to my sites.
how about another poem? i will pick a good one i hope. here is a really good one, not written by me so even better
where did the love go?
the flowers i gave
have all died
and gone away
my treasures lain wide
to the blue open sky
this blackness creeping inside me.
abusing the flesh
that it once caressed
ripping at my skin
burning in my veins
with the stinging pain
of a life gone away.
thrashing at my soul
as it kicks in the door
to a dimension deeper then this,
where i became a worthless
slave child,
saved by the sex i gave.
where's your baby now?
your princess,
your treasure beyond
all worthless baubles.
this was written in may 2001.
it isn't the greatest. but i like it.
stated by some wise man somewhere. i am sure.
this kind of shit happens to me on a daily basis in portland. i don't know why...
this lady comes walking down the street toward me and a group of my friends on my 21st birthday. she was screaming at the top of her lungs. when she got closer, we realized she was screaming at the ugliest and creepiest stuffed clown with a porcline face, we had ever seen. it had a 5 o'clock shadow for christ sake.
she walked over to me, out of everyone in the group, said "here this is for you." she then handed this funky clown to me and walked away.
the next time i saw her was later that summer when she came up to me and said, "whore you've been sleeping with my man, haven't you?
so i was working in my job that i hate and trying to get a ride home. i just watched my cooworker, who is from another country and has a very rich accent, get tried for stupid. even though he is very intelligent. i hate prejudice people. i snapped at my customer when he told me very rudely to take my conversation elsewhere. "are you going to drive me home?"
then i snapped at my boss when he asked why i was still in a certain section of the store. i figured if he had been watching that closely he should know i was doing the job he had told me and my relief had just showed up 2 seconds earlier.
well anyways my point being, i decided at that point that i wasn't very people friendly today and i needed a new job. have you ever been to that point? i am sure you have. especailly if you work around the public.
like i said,"how can people be so stupid and live a long happy life?"
i hate my job a little more everyday. and that was my rant for the day
"stolen child"
come away, o human child
to the water and the wild,
with a faerie, hand in hand.
for the world's more full of weeping then you could understand...
this poem is actually alot longer but i don't know the rest of it.
"sex & flesh"
the reepers coming today
dishen' up a fat plate of
"i love you", when it is much too late.
"but for a week, sweety,"
then the thoughts fade
and your love for me disappates
i realize this now
in my mirrored room in my mind
as the imaginary blood
runs down my imaginary arm
and on to my imaginary floor
dripping and burning
like the tears in my throat.
on this train ride
to a hell i don't want for me.
all the sex, the blood, the glory
where do i stand?
who are you to me?
then as this train flips off the track,
and spins out of control
tearing flesh from my body
i remember, i forgot,
i loved you.
...a poem to an ex. we split up back in august 2001 so he could go be with another girl, all the while telling me he stilled loved me. this was my response.
...it is still a killer poem.
he knows what hours i am available to work when the people in charge of schedules haven't even figured that out. maybe i am just paranoid but that is a little weird to me. but my boss is cool otherwise i would have lost my job today.
lets see if i have a short poem for you.
ok i don't.
my head isn't working right today.
i have spent the last two days sick sitting my boyfriend and that takes alot out of a person. he had his tonsils taken out, so i really feel bad for him, but when he is sick sometimes i wish he would follow the doctors orders and not speak.
oh i remember what i was going to type...some bus poetry. meaning i found this on the wall of the bus...
EL REMANSO DE AIRE, BAJO LA RAMA DEL EHCO, EL RAMANSO DEL AQUA, BAJO FRANDA DE LUCEROS, EL REMANSO DE TU BOCA, BAJO ESPESURA DE BESOS.
THE STILL WATERS OF THE AIR, UNDER THE BOUGH OF THE ECHO, THE STILL WATERS OF THE WATER, UNDER A FROND OF STARS, THE STILL WATERS OF YOUR MOUTH, UNDER A THICKET OF KISSES.
someone wrote this. i dont know who but i like.