I'm moving to tumblr.
I might still write poems here
http://helloecho.tumblr.com/

I feel like looking trashy.

Is that all there is to a fire?

I can't take care of you anymore, I'm leaving, you have to be happy on your own. And I cant take depressed people anymore. I wouldn't mind if people just appreciated what they have. Including me.

My mom. I love looking at this album it makes me smile.

Everything good I deem too good to be true

Everything else is just a bore.

No one likes self-pity, so I'm going to shut the fuck up.

1.
We walk
and you say, you say
not everything is burned bridges and closed doors
but I keep charms on my wrists
of faces of heads I've walked away from.

I discover
that I am a sociopath
and I am very proud. Because women very rarely
"lack a sense of moral responsibility"

I like it that way.


You yell at me, you yell at me that people
are not to be treated this way.
But I keep a necklace of broken teeth
each with names written on them
of those

who's heads I've seen roll.

2.
My mother told me
to be polite polite polite.
And then her and my aunt went into the kitchen
and tore my grandfather apart. Sending him to Tuscon and Anchorage and threw out the grizzle.

I come from a long line of reformists.
"O to repent and be saved!"
Change others but do not see do not see yourself.


3.
You leave me.
You leave me and you write, you write that-
I can not, I can not be handled this way,
but I have changed.
And I lick my fingers.


And I throw you out I throw you out.











(old)

Some people turn themselves around. Wrap up they're gangrene parts, throw them away and grow new limbs, twisting and turning but eventually standing on new legs.

I told a girl I lost my ears. I haven't been able to hear love words in months. All I here is chatter chatter chatter and the sounds of cars backfiring.

She tells me she has leprosy. She doesn't mind the exclusion, Outcasts see things a little differently, she says. But she misses her fingers. She told me she once did great things with them. Stroke hair and count her baby's toes and write grocery lists.

I meet a boy and tell him of what I've lost. He says he's gained a new set of eyes. He's been seeing his girlfriend everywhere, but she's been dead for three years. We sleep together and in the rush to get away I leave my vocal chords.

He hears a voice when he wakes up and no one's there. He finds it under his bed and picks it up and puts it in his jacket pocket.

I start buying medical books. I buy them from a girl who falls in love every thirty minutes because she has memory loss. I meet a man who is color blind because his wife took it during the divorce. She now sees in technicolor and finds love something boring.

Some people recover, walk out of things with new hands and new lips to find new mouths and freshly mended hands.

I decide that I am nothing but wear and tear.
I let my limbs fall off
and leave them where they lay.









(old)

In Quadrants

1.
I dreamt I got into a car accident. I felt the pressure on my lungs as my chest hit the steering wheel. Some things find their way on to the dashboard and I think of open-heart surgery and oxygen tanks. I rolled metal around in my mouth with my tongue,moving it from one side to the other before I spit it out.
2.
I woke up and heard tires squeal. Downstairs a woman stood in a floral nightgown, frenzied daisies spitting roses punching violets, and she told me that her daughter had broken into her apartment and took her jewelry, took it for the man she loved and the drug in his pocket. What can you do, she said, love is in the heart the brain the needle and the veins.

3.
When I nailed the note to your door I hope you realized everything I meant to say. I wanted you to know that I have wished for the same thing on candles and dandelions since I was eight, I wanted you to know that when you asked me why I do these things, I wanted to hit you. Your voice reverberates in me like a thousand bees flying through my ear canal and I want you to know that I hate the word fucking. I hate. If you haven't noticed by now I am a hopeless romantic. And so I hammer eight times the nail to your door. because I have eight reasons to love you and I have eight reasons to shut you out.

4.
And maybe I deserve love more then you. Grab your shotgun. Take it. Think about how much power you have. point it at me. If I see blood at my feet I'll just remember all the times I found love in something else. I told my secrets to empty porches and cigarettes. I stole my mothers jewelry, thought I was in love then but turns out substance is a powerful thing. Kept taking and taking and taking I found love in walks and I kissed the wind thinking maybe they were your eyelashes.Take your shotgun. point it at me.

And maybe I deserve love more than you.







(old)

wisps of whispers
settle in my hair
I am a keeper of sorts.
sweet words sugar-spun
settle in the cavities of my teeth
rotting as I leave them there.

stomach plummmet

WEIRD-LOOKING GIRLS GET IN MAGAZINES SMART-THINKING GIRLS GET IN BOOKS.

Pieta

Chloe Piene

I am a very private person. I can't lay my emotions at your feet, you wouldn't like that. I never go to anyone, I let them come to me.

, originally uploaded by hello_echo.

Recall a time
when I laid heavy
you touched me and I rolled over
unwrap me

I am pale.
I am eager to please.
what I want

what I want
is to hear you coo content and pleased, unknowing.
I can mimic

better then anything else
it is theatrics
I can fake my way and grit my teeth

So what do you want?
Before Oh! The secret is out
I fade away

And you will whither to something sick.

I wonder what it's like to have a miscarriage. To have something living that you created and have it die inside of you. We all say that happens figuratively, but I wonder what it's really like.

All the Animals in my Play

I've decided to only give up cigarettes when I find my true love.

1. Because it makes me sound like an idealist
2. Never going to happen.

, originally uploaded by hello_echo.

Pictures of Egbert before I left, so many pictures this summer!

Good things come to those who wait.

So I've been waiting. And I've been gathering and accumulating. So that when whatever good does come I will be perfect and you will be floored. It's not that I want to impress you, it's more for my self. I am too ambitious for my own good, I've never met anyone else to match me. If I attempt something I have to be the best that I can possibly be. I am competitive, I seek perfection in myself and in others. It makes me judgemental, it makes me picky, it makes me wicked. Never settle. Never settle. Never settle. I throw all my artwork out because it's not good enough, ever.It's increased this year, being in a competitive environment, which is understandable i guess.I hate watching people be lazy, I hate watching people give excuses, don't think you can earn something without working for it. So I am alone because I cant accept people with their faults. I want to be matched and I want to be challenged. It's hard to find.

And I think it's alright to feel inhuman now.

When I fumble I will try and hide it. I will spit it out into bottles or try to bury it. But as I bury things you will start to resurface them. And I will grab them frantically, I will stuff them in my ears and under my tongue and when you turn to me I will be deaf and mute. But you keep digging digging digging. and I will flake and I will peel and I will cry. I will accuse you of rape. No, you say, those who keep trying get the pearl. And then you start to find and I vomit.I keep everything stacked up in my ribcage and it starts to fall out like books off of shelves, and I am heaving and you are triumphant and you smile.And I will let you take what you've spilled.

Aesthetically pleasing

Thick and humid, jungle growing.

I wish I knew who did these, I love them.

, originally uploaded by hello_echo.

Marleigh's presentation, I loved it, she did a really good job. I've been shooting so much lately, I cant wait till the summer when I can fill my days with photo-takinnnng. I think this blog and my flickr are getting a little redundant, variation sometime soon.

Call, If you call my name.

I feel dry dry dry.
cracked. I crack
heads like eggs, searching inside. Take them and watch everything spill out. Hear you scream
I WANT I WANT I WANT
I see nerve endings and synapses and
science tells me

that these are emotions.
I kneel and I want to collect them
cultivate them and keep them like a bee-keeper.
Take them out and hear them buzzing, feel them

vibrating.
Memories sting
and sometimes
drip sweetly.

And maybe one day I will pick them out
take what they have made and I will eat it.
Neurons sparking beneath my tongue, warm summer nights sliding down my throat
along with the time you saw your mother cry,
and I will smile
but I'll still be dry dry dry.



, originally uploaded by hello_echo.

, originally uploaded by hello_echo.

Two Posts in one day! I thought I would post some shots from the last couple of days. Just go to my flickr. I am trying to do a set of photos everyday. A self-portrait or two along with anyone else I can snag.

The weather was so nice today! If slightly chilly.