monday rolled around and i couldn't lie to myself about wanting the job. it's hours and set schedule and traveling and health insurance and bonuses.. i couldn't do it, it's not what i wanted, not even for the 6 months duration of a lease. something in my gut is saying wait it out, there is something better coming along for you, so i did. after calling my parents and hearing their supportive ways, after sitting around crying for a while, i called and thanked them for the opportunity but that i was declining, cried some more. i promised myself i wouldn't settle anymore, so, i'm not. call it stupidity, call it bravery. more poetry because it's all i've been able to stomach for over a year now. i bet you didn't know that, did you? of course you didn't. i am not 19 anymore.

because of all of this, i'm going into the friday's downtown and accepting the transfer, i feel worthless just sitting around filling out applications, i miss making money. god, i am so tired and i haven't done much of anything in the last 8 days except drive and drive and lay at the beach. there is this hunger and void inside of me that i have never been able to fill, but i know exactly what it's for.

what's done is done. i keep writing to you like you still exist.

---

read this months before i knew i was leaving to europe, it came back to me days before while on the swing bench in the garden, holding my breath wondering who i would be after europe, and now it's made a home inside of me, constantly repeating a few of the lines to myself. i always thought people who walked around saying how much europe changed them were full of it.. and then i went and i spent four weeks alone with a notebook full of scribbles. i came back and nothing had changed except for me, i had outgrown everything, including myself. it was around that time you started taking note at how much i changed. you'll never know, because you never asked, not for a picture and not for a story. i've got so much resentment for you and so much love for who i became. so much love for who i'll become because of all this resentment for you. you've made me stand still, so incredibly still, but it's not for you.

Survival Poem # 17 - Marty McConnell

because this is what you do. get up.
blame the liquor for the heaviness. call in late
to work. go to the couch because the bed
is too empty. watch people scream about love
on Jerry Springer. count the ways
it could be worse. it could be last week
when the missing got so big
you wrote him a letter
and sent it. it could be yesterday, no work
to go to, whole day looming.
it could be last month
or the month before, when you still
thought maybe. still carried plans
around with you like talismans.
you could have kissed him last night.
could have gone home with him, given in,
cried after, softly, face to the wall, his heavy arm
around you, hand on your stomach, rubbing.
shower. remember your body. water
hotter than you can stand. sit
on the shower floor. the word
devastated ringing the tub. buildings
collapsed into themselves. ribs
caving toward the spine. recite
the strongest poem you know. a spell
against the lonely that gets you
in crowds and on three hours’ sleep.
wonder where the gods are now.
get up. because death is not
an alternative. because this is what you do.
air like soup, move. door, hallway, room.
pants, socks, shoes. sweater. coat. cold.
wish you were a bird. remember you
are not you, now. you are you
a year from now. how does that
woman walk? she is not sick or sad.
doesn’t even remember today.
has been to Europe. what song
is she humming? now. right now.
that’s it.