Clinking of teeth,
What is kissing supposed to be like anyway? Wet slop and high emotions, can you do it for hours? Until my septum falls off. 

Laura and I have graduated to a relationship of tolerance. Everyday there is a sink full of dishes. She has scratched the bottom of my only good pan by cutting whatever leftovers she was heating up from her Mothers' with my own knife, probably.

I take so many pictures I never intend on looking for them. When I was younger, I loved hearing the phrase, "you are wise beyond your years," directed at me. I'm finally turning 30 this year. In about a mouth. It's funny how everyone convinced me until I became obsessed with wisdom-- crippled at the slightest childish act but my sister wrote and sent me a card recently, explaining; "you can't escape your fate. Love, Adnana" So here is playful Arijana. The child in the family who never quite finished. Didn't need any toys in the sandbox, but desperately needed to know of their existence. I feel so stupid so often.

I want to draw and if I can't then I want to cry. 

Are you supposed to sleep with your muse?

Between a state
of disappointment,
convinced
I've done it all
wrong
By the images of others' lives:
travels and brunches
in parenthesis I notice I don't have thick skin after all.

On a note I've scribbled, "you are capeable," I put on my cape. Is there any one out there, trying to able alone, too? You plucked yourself over & over from your family tree: did you break the branches blindly and heartily push them down your throat? Have you had to say, "you don't want me," without tears? Break hearts to protect yours, and anyway; rejection letters  don't feel as personal anymore. "You're able! You're able!" I know they visit when you're gone. They, too, get ownership-- for it's in their photo of that spot you used to love to get tea nearby. But you can't get mad, you're still  discovering, too.

You live in an orange house,
in burning walls, you've lost hope and had to pick each piece up yourself,
You haven't crushed a glass here yet.
In this quiet room, you've called out for love.
And you're loved, despite your kitchen and poor means.