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Dianavreeland2
sparklepony
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writing
reading
readers
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went shooting
I wait.
Impatient.
Alone.
Figuring there must be someone out there looking,
wondering,
waiting for me. (more)
an ounce
Dogs and love and friends and the folks and all that cracked nail polish and laughing and the radio and spanish lessons and bread and lust and angry drivers and better writers and frowning dates and the internet connection and wet laundry and the tv antenna and the forsaken(more)
sentimental
We have outlasted the time of brutality, for now.
This is how sentimental we allow ourselves to be.

This is not the time for tender glances and soft whispers, no sonnets out of these fingers written. No lullabies to sleeping lovers sung.

Why are you crying? Thi(more)
don't blink
Lying on the guest bed in the guest room upstairs. I am the guest. Dismembered and defeated. Remembering every cold cliche;
No. I am the cliche now.

A delicate layer of snow has fallen overnight. I better go walk in it before it's gone. The sun is comin(more)
and bleeding
it comes back so easily
not like a flood
it doesn't come flooding back
it was always there
the devastation after the flood
(more)
bring me alive
Dumbo was the first name she was called. It was a reference to a movie she had not seen and still has not seen. Her ears were the first part of her body to be scrutinized, judged and ridiculed. It was the first time she went home, stared at(more)
free
I try to let go but I always end up attaching to things: People, expectations, reciprocation, why won't The Kills come to Seattle? I take it personally.

I don't have a partner, own a home, no children, no debt. I can write on anything, napkins, if it come(more)
empty cup
Two friends had an early dinner. Two women who call each other girl and woman at turns in every conversation because they are both, in every conversation.
They didn't share their plates though they frequently express a desire to do so. They always like what they choose too much(more)
then I became
apologies to all the suckers like me
who thought booze would
unlock the doors
the mysteries understood
a pin spot on the third eye
of the self (more)
on the rug
The public library is a sanctuary for the anonymous, yet I felt every eye in the ninth floor reading room upon me, staring, embarrassed.  I glanced up quick from my blank computer screen to challenge their prying, gaping...nothing. Absolute lack of interest from any and all.

Sanctuary.

Wi(more)
the instrument
In fourth grade I played the violin, briefly
It did not go well

My Great Aunt Marienne gave me piano lessons that summer
but she lived hours away across the water (more)
cherry picking
When my grandmother was a very young woman she packed up what little she had in Alberta, Canada and said so long to her family and the farm she was raised on and drove to Seattle on her own. She was pregnant with my Mom.
(more)
that chicken
I understand the impulse to discover, to move forward and look upon the new and strange, the uncharted. Every time I walk in freshly fallen snow, I thrill at the very idea that I am the first one to step foot on a landscape no one else has touched.(more)
plumbing issues
So much to be done in a day that longs to just enjoy itself,
yet, the pot of coffee sits cold and unpressed,
the blinds are closed to the light outside,
the ghosts of the building wait patiently,
watching my dog and I sleep, (more)
robbery
I want to give kindness to the words I write today, the same kindness that I received on the walk this morning. Just a sound, a soft hello, changing everything, easing the pain of fear and the unknown. Opening up a world of solitude to the careless gesture of(more)