Wednesday, January 27, 2010


I hope this doesn't seem crazy to you, i don't think it would, i think you, you would understand the scratch, scratch, scratching that goes on inside the prison of my mind

i think you could understand the noise
though my eyes are so tired now and they fight me with every word my brain won't quiet and even the shadows in my room breath tonight

i'm not crazy, no
therapy yes, crazy no, not so much anyway

I do it all i am ordinary walking through the street
I cook, and i clean, i do dance classes and recitals and playgroups and football and college visits and girls scouts and cub scouts, i even do small talk
I knit scarves for my kids and fuck my husband like a porn star
but in the quiet hours, in the silence of the room when the chaos has gone to bed

the scratching and the words these beautiful words that paint pictures with every breath
well, they won't let me sleep and so I thought
I would write you, because you might