Conversations Among the Ruins

I would like to
walk like a delicately
pealing banana down

a tie dyed path of
quartered sunkist
jelly beans.

To spit up out of
my mouth into a
pin wheel patterned

polka dotted
pill bottle.

I will write
NOVEL onto

my palms and
pray really hard -
wearing a hat

that people
would stare at
in a Denny's

at two in the morning
after I threw a
cheeseburger

on it's plate
at somebody

I mis thought
importnat.

She cried I wore
glitter print blue
and orange

t shirts.
With a smirk and
a lot of bleach
in my hair - it made me

feel.

I believed in love
but only when it gave
me the excuse to

bring out a brownie
sundae at a pizza place
and laugh -

Because of
that - I got

to be.

He tells me sometimes
not to worry that they
won't hurt me and I

snort obnoxiously
and tell him

it isn't me
worrying about them
that I think of.

Down a candy apple
lane of ecstasy and
mixtapes on

tollroads at the bottom
of the gin ice I

grew up and
fell in love and

got married

again to the sticks
and stones and tubes
of lipstick that wore

me.

The letters tell me
lately that my
writing is powerful

and I (thank you) and wonder
about people that write
REST IN PEACE

over social networking
sights on the internet.

I'm sick of picking the chicken
out of my food and how right

lately
the price
sure is.

I watch her every day
and hope it's the day
she makes the decision

to put down the denial,
hit rock bottom and
crash but I

need her still to
stay alive.

I love her and she
hates herself she

loves how beautiful
they tell her she is.

They say it so much
that she says it too.

I met her
topless in the
dust.

We talked slowly of
death by heroin and
parties and sex

industry work.

She is young but I
hope every day that she
makes it out

alive without a
prison term.

The world is
too true

sometimes I just
quit playing along.

Thank God I'm
twenty eight and
out on those streets

dead and sick
is more acceptable than
"worn."

Young girls idolizing
Courtney Love
makes the world

a very sad and
small

place.

The dark fades
just the

same.

It only took three buttons.
Three buttons to delete
two years of

emails that changed
my entire being.

I said I would go to
the temple but I
never made it - I

couldn't stomach that.
I couldn't accept it.

I couldn't burn
all of those letters
yet. I could not

say goodbye - it
would have ripped
at me and I still

didn't understand.

I sat at Shelli's
today and explained
how a woman

taught me how
to live. She was one of
the most honorable

and incredible people
to ever come into
my life -

but something went
entirely wrong and

she did not agree
with my choices. So she
asked me to delete

everything I she ever
ever wrote to me and
so I did.

I find dozens of
cards that she would
always send me weekly
in boxes and I

either stop of
leave them there - I
can't believe this planet
spins without her

guiding me
however I no longer
accepted
her opinion

of my love and of
my life therefor I

had to leave. I went over
a step with Shelli this morning
and she

said to me that

"No matter what
happens I'll be with
you on

this side and I'll
be with you on the
other side

too" and I

almost choked
at the simplicity

of such a statement.

I am

far.

I walk calmly out of the house and into
the sun, out to the car where my father
is getting out of the front seat.

I give him a hug,
walk around and hug
my mother.

They step into
our living room -
sit down on the

couch.

And they don't
say anything
about the six foot
tall

portrait
I painted
and put up.

So.
Her name is Muriel
and Muriel is the name
of a Lemurian Quartz that I

chose to give to a
women that I had
a lot of resentments
towards -

However. I decided to
just put myself and my
bullshit aside and love her

through
what she was going through.
So I gave her Muriel because
I felt the pain that she

was given and after that
I stayed awake for two
straight days and
painted

that canvas.

I figured as much
but I had hoped

I guess.

"The lillies
are beautiful."

My mom says.
I don't tell her

I got them
at my two year
birthday.

It is in my art studio
that I start frantically
pulling out
every

completed canvas.
"This one I made
at the burn and this
one is for Dubz but I

don't have five hundred
dollars to send it. This one
is sexual assault and

this one I traded Jami
when I gave her Kalliope I
took this one back.

The ones I painted on
the patio were
my favorite - "

And my head
goes back for a
moment and it's a

person I can't remember
saying

"Why
do you pull
so much shit

out to show us
every time
we come

over?"

Sometimes I just
want to start my whole
life over and not

be the seven year old
that is ok with

need for twenty
extra

years.

Ever since the last one moved out we've cringed a bit. Cringed because the landlord of the house next to us doesn't do any sort of a background check. Basically, anybody with enough cash for the first month can move in.

The last neighbors were witches. Bat shit insane women but good people, if they weren't loudly threatening to kill each other early enough to wake me up. They left a trail of stray cats and a jeep in the backyard that doesn't run. She comes to feed the cat, whom we've adopted, almost daily and it's straight out of the wizard of oz - long black hair and a black leather coat - riding a bike with a basket.

Naturally, I love this woman the way I love everybody - from a fixed distance. I listen, say very little, and smile.

Last week a pile of tires started to form in the back yard of the house. "Guess he got somebody to move in." The pile of tires turned into a pile of tires and road signs, stuffed animals and about ninety giant pieces of dirty metal. I'm sure this is "stuff" but I can't even tell. there are motor bikes and tool box looking things and fans and it's literally a pile of metal. Looking out into my backyard is now like a junkyard. Yesterday the cops even visited it. Perfect.

Naturally we've had a field day with this, doing our best to just laugh it off.

Tweakers are tweakers and whatever. It's the desert and that's typical. Better them than me. Am I a little fucking annoyed that I drive forty five minutes every day to get the fuck out of the wreckage of crack and poverty that is Las Vegas? Of course.

I didn't see people for weeks just more and more shit piling up.

Today I took out the trash and I saw a woman, about four foot nine and very thin with really messy blonde hair walking around aimlessly in the yard. It was an absurd reality, she looked about ninety pounds.. so I didn't say anything at all. I just felt this horrible sadness. Penelope went closer to the yard and as I went to pick her up I jumped at a man that was watching me from the dark laundry room of the house.

I detest people coming out from nowhere like that so I did my best to recover and smile/ say hello. He's really nice actually and the woman comes walking up and I realize that she isn't a woman at all, that she's a four foot nine ten year old girl.

"My name is Reality." She says as she pets Penelope. She has and army print shirt on that says "Angel." She has a giant spring in her hand. "I found this in the pile!!" She says happily as she bounces the spring on a fence.

"I'm sure you can find two hundred more." I say with a sinister smile as my eyes fall to the trash pile before I make an exit.

A few hours later I go outside - Harmon is pulling weeds and Reality is helping him. She even has leather winter gloves on. There is a dead flower on the bench.

"That is one of my favorite flowers. It died in the move so I wanted to give it to you guys. I like your flowers on the porch."

I laugh. "I kill a lot of flowers so I finally just got some fake ones. I like all of the colors. I like your shoes" I tell her. She has on boys DG skate shoes, black and blue.

"I like boy shoes better. People make fun of me but I don't care."

She sits with me for an hour on the porch. No adults come out to see what she's doing or their kid might be. She is pale with frekals, blonde hair and a fake peace sign tattoo next to her left eye.

"I hope we get to stay in this house. I lived in an apartment at first, and after this this really gross place. I've moved like nine places this year."

She shudders. I watch

the air. Ten places this year in February. I hope she counts the years starting in September like I do.

Hi my name is Heather and there's something you should know about me. It's that I do not enjoy listless conversation with people.But I sat with this kid for two hours on my porch today and it was one of the first times in a very long time that the conversations were effortlessly real and sincere.

"Do you like art?" I ask her.

"Yes." She leans over and cups her mouth to whisper

"Don't tell my mom but in my art class I've been working on weaving her a basket for Christmas. I know it's late but I didn't get to give her anything so I'm going to give it to her anyway."

I bite my lip. "Mothers are lucky for their daughters." I say.

"Do you want to see my art studio? It's right back there."

She gets nervous and says no. I tell myself that it was her parents, of whom haven't been out to check on her in two hours, that taught her that caution.

I tell myself that really loud all the way to work.

I don't hate much in this world, but the desperation and despair of so many on this planet, and the ways in which it affects the innocent children

is really an aspect of the sort of thing I do hate. My sponsor tells me constantly that I can't save anybody but myself.

Powerless over any other people places or things.

I can't believe the awareness of this I lack at times.