New years

I awoke, fully clothed, on top of a bed that wasn’t mine in the Queen Anne neighborhood of Seattle. My shoes were tied, and the lights were glaring into my sleepy eyes. A bouquet of roses lay next to me on the bed, pieces of paper containing a positive message wrapped around each neck. The box of wine I bought for myself sat on the counter, laughing at me in our shared silence.

It was 3 in the morning on the first day of 2016 and I had slept through the new year. I had fully intended to walk down the few blocks towards the Seattle Center to watch “New Years at the needle”. I sighed and poured rest of my glass into the sink, swishing water until it ran clear. I refilled my glass with the tap, and began to remove the layers I had meticulously planned for the event of celebrating my new year solo. I found the ability to laugh at myself as I pulled someone else’s covers over myself, sleeping until the sun woke me up.

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The last day of the year I awoke to Prince telling me exactly how he was going to party. A few messages came through my phone, one of whiched buzzed an "I'm sorry you have to work" at my concience. I was so excited to be able to wish so many different people a happy new year, and I dawned my clothes for the day. Every song that played over the speakers at work kept me dancing and laughing with the workers and frequent line-to-the-door patrons. As I biked home in the rain, I didn't care how wet I was getting to be.
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I'm happy that I'm close to 4 months sober in a city that loved me from the day I rolled through it. I get to celebrate with new friends that are so happy to be getting to know me, and I them.
I'm so happy
I want to be here
I want to keep moving forward.

I love you. I hope you have a safe and happy new year, you glorious human.

on the Lafitte greenway

bricks tumbled from the wall

crumbled on the ground

construction hats turned my way

telling me to give the wall a lot of space

this wall must come down for something new

give something else a chance, a part of me said

but the graffiti cried out to me

"what about us?"

I move forward

though it may strain to look back,

we must remember what we have come from

what we have gone through to get here.

what does home mean to me?

The thick mass of tangled branches lie against the temporary orange plastic fence, quite like the trees we keep as ornamemnts in our homes for a few days near the end of the year. A famillar smell hit me as I parked my bike awkwardly in line with the vehicles that would carry home full trees. for  their dressing, lighting, unwrapping, and timely disposal next to the plastic can once the festivities were over.

My cowboy boots squished in the mud as I slowly approached an attendant who was inclosed in a small box. The windows were open, but the heat fans were audible over her conversation with a paying customer. She turned to me quickly, asking what I needed before even making eye contact. I fumbled with my words as I slowly asked if there were any branches I could take, but she cut me off as I mentally noted my nervousness. "Take all the branches you need" her mouth moved as she forced her thumb in the direction of the trimmings. I wanted to inquire if she was too stressed by the season, but hesitated, and quickly thanked her as I moved towards the pile.

A bundle of branches repeditivly hit my back tire, loosly tied to a backpack my roomate has been letting me use. The zIppers have lost their pulls, and the cord used to secure loose loads has formed lumps. Stains splatter the bottom of the white pack, and I consider what a treat it is to have such a kind person in my life. He bought the backpack in 2005, like most of his other possessions after Katrina took all he had.

Pine needles began to litter the carpet as I tore branches apart,  tying them in a clumpy circle. I only had an old shoelace to secure it together, and I laughed when I imagined what an awkward shape this wreath would form without a base. I found myself closing my eyes, recalling a previous Christmas- lying under the tree, looking up through the branches at an array of different lights. 

On Christmas Eve, I disassembled the wreath. Plastic ornaments clinked together on their way back to the ziplock they were purchased from Goodwill in. As I sat down to respond to a text, my face met my hands with sobs. The wreath, still wrapped in beads thrown at me by a drunk girl in the french quarter, hung above me on the corner of the door frame. The scent of pine had died with the drying brambles, but It still felt like a little piece of home to me. 

What say you

Chaos
The word to describe my current feelings towards myself
I feel like a hurricane
Maybe the south really is the place for me.
I feel like a whirlwind
The heat of desire mixing with the chill of loneliness
So comes the rain with the flood, and my screams.
I can't tell if I have a place
Though I know I have left many places
Searching for something more
(maybe, if I go just a little bit further...).
At least I know I won't find you here
It's only taken years of breaking my own heart to understand
No being can tame the weather
One can only brace, and accept.

a haiku

here you are again
yearning for all the treasure
forgetting the hunt