Boise has me feeling insomnia &  suburban  fears of time vs. money: unsafe but bitten with anger over how to restore my  self back to order or forever allow myself to be disobedient. 

I expand

Dumbfounded found myself numb
Amongst the sanitized odor, electronic beep's and tired breaths,
My second emergency visit this year, for a girl in pain

I tell jokes to keep you light
Inside I know you're scared
You're putting on a brave face

Is this what love does
Makes you blend your words
Between the IV's, the exams  and the waiting game
Makes you pull them back like laundry on a string, backward gibberish left hung to dry
But you have allergens but you might not care
For love

Is it like anticipating a bee sting
But still entering the field of sunflowers
An imagists' dream
Pound for pound
What would Ezra say to me? 

I am drunk. And I won't text you tonight.  A reach out, I don't vulnerable easy. I hate that I feel it. Harman asked me who did who tonight. I said I had to say first.

There was this bright idea of a powerful antidote, and so I began; "did you know when i was four. i loved pink panther, tu-dum-tu-dum-tu-dumdadumdadum...." I held my arms out with suspicious eyes motioning my body back and forth against the glass wall. "one time my dad went to germany to pick up my mom who was visiting her sisters my aunts and i played pink panther on my grandma who was supposed to be watering the plants in our upstairs apartment but was instead eating our food from the fridge. i hid. i heard the door lock the kind you need one key from both sides. and there were gypsies in town which is like our circus but kids can get kidnapped if they don't know whats good for them and i believe a day and a half passed when i saw my dad's shadow unlocking the door sure i was scared at night." at this point I raised my eyebrows for suspense, "he beat the shit out of me when he found me and i ran down the stairs and i lept or is it i took a leap? i lept into my grandmas arms and all my cousins rooted for grandma but my dad grabbed my legs and they fought for me. he beat the shit out of me and i deserved it." Harman chimed in with a firm but polite, "I believe in that. Sometimes kids need a good spanking."

"yes," I was feeling agreeable, "and you know, sometimes my parents would punish me and send me to my room but i was so fulfilled in there drawing and painting and they soon realized in order to punish me they had to make me sit in the living room with them but i would stop breathing. i would make myself stop breathing the same air and you know i was known to run away and hide my tiny body until i fell asleep out of pride"

I have heard "please don't run away from me," but I have learned that means nothing. Sew my hand off if I try and ever brush elbows with that again, this is why people hide. And you don't seek. 

feeling mighty "i miss yous" wondering about any bodies re place able, what's a girl to do when you're the kind of woman who has to be told, "you're coming with me" in order surrender obsessed with love afraid to the bone to fall for some one who can just leave worry less 

buy me a cup of tea/rs

it's been days, each time i turn the doorknob i say, "something good will happen to me today." 

a flood of Lost Angeles raining down my cheek and i accept every judgement.

"you do not have to be strong all of the time," these are the kinds of words that make a person feel dedicated, all year i have hurt, ached, repented-- among all of the adjectives given to me, none have tasted as gently & i feel refreshed. 

you can raise a note, and nourish her, still she will cause your mother's voice to quiver fighting back words she might be afraid to hear. i'm selfish, mom. tell me more about your ideas of vibrations. how do they tremble beyond treble clef, move colors onto flesh and still have time to shape shift i feel you going ha-ha-haa: an inhale. a crybaby. i disappoint. it hertz you. it herz you. it hurts you. 

Trying

An androgynous attempt at writing words to be read. Some days i feel so used by you, what kind of fool set an alarm to sharpen the knives you plan on cutting food you made me, wounds you gave me?

Everyone leaves. No one loves you more. Everyone wants a piece of your pretty. An expired carton of milk, sucked out of a cow whose dried up nipples can produce sour about the same as they can fathom what it means to heal. 

It's hard to spit on love. A blood pact in the form of a baby can't make your partner stay. I'm fun when 

I'm funny, you make me feel so dumb. I can't go on warning others of my intoxicating opinions & my pride as if I'm some unlovable monster that quietly eats freedom with a common side effect of uncertainty. What does it mean to, "i want you," for someone who feels so dis- heart-end 

i dont want to be a raven tonight,

it's snowing in Boise. everyone shares a very thought out collection of scarves and comments on poor road etiquette. i can imagine the build up of crisp air waiting for you to dive off a board like a bomb and into your car. all the warm drinks you pick up with both hands and hover your mouth over the top sippy cup, trying not to burn what little taste buds you have left for the week.

did you know we present ourselves as birds of paradise?  well, we do. here is a dance, for you to see my body move. i can be so agile. i can slow you down. there i've left you a piece of my feather. so you can study its translucent qualities, deep and saturated hues i've spent my whole life growing. did you know i call out for you? i'm hard to catch, but im coded to call for your attention. and if you don't see me, i'm here anyway. ceremoniously torso-ing my hips, singing into my own echos.

we hunt for each other. we catch the other bird. say this, "give me a chance." until one hooks her own leash to her neck and says, "i want love." that's me. i want love. the flailing of my leash has crippled me. it asks to be tamed, as absurd as one single snake off of medusa's head, whose tongue chants sssssssssss and i realize how disheartening this message must be. 

how many bright eyed birds will i turn to stone? how many gorgeous creatures will come to hold my leash and i wont let you love me? show me yours and ill give you mine? i'm fine, i'm fine, i'm fine.

(you do this
every time i come in. i come out. i come undone. i come

a round) circle acting. your love 

is unfair. your love 

is unfair. i don't play 

your truth vs my dare. 

Iron/y

I'm sour for your whiskey. A free drink for me while it's pouring and wet palms motion zig zags saying, inside I feel ridges. Then I realize underneath I've been marked, "rain is falling looks like love." How funny is that? 

what i own that you use

introductions are settled as "arijana," it is only a matter of time before the echo of "ari!" follows me around clumsily, and i relish in the idea of enveloping relationships in warmth-- that strangers quickly feel the ease of dissecting my name to comfort me. and then it makes me stop. when i hear "arijana," and i want to make eye contact. i've never before thought of names as an instrumental force in intimacy, but if you have one, i am going to say it. 

Here

"And if you wanna walk away, I'll tell you all the things I know you want to hear."

a letter to love,

i know what its like to have you under my skin. feel your words and drink you with my eyes. almond shaped, swallow me whole in a pool of green. tonight i won't anger. i love your long hair. i don't understand, but i don't have to. you can be beautiful without me watching. you can be. just be. 

it's late, I come home flushed. Some unfinished business covers my bed, my room's a mess. I'm going to do my laundry. I've cooked dinner made out of anything that hasn't gone bad, could be a little bad, but if I add sriracha I won't be able to tell tomorrow for lunch.  first I'm going to do the laundry, then I'll write a poem. Something to do with forgiveness. For you, but also for me. On my way to work, I wondered if one can fall out of love as quickly as in? And how absurd it is to impose a metaphorical death on someone who's become a stranger. I guess I thought of it, because I am not sure if I should ask for a ceremony. A proper burial. I feel it should be free form. I would normally opt for some kind of rhythmic lettering, but I am too tired to breathe life into my own words, reading them over and over again, out loud; in hopes that you might hear me. 

aha shake heartbreak

of daring moments, you must have been so tough. "i love you more. no i love you more. not true i love you more. i think you should leave me." how brave you had to be to love me more & leave me with less.  and not recall your departure. a single wanting seed, my years of pleading. i became a tireless fool. maniac for truth. a silent but firm, "No." it took a lot of courage for you to let me make all the moves. i am sorry i hurt you. 

i said out loud those hard words you thought. i had to own them. because one time, i knew you. i live with them now like the roommate you made of me. a bike ride through the park is all i wanted.

si si si

c) by the help of a friend, i just realized color. i know this sounds dumb. but i just realized it, like; there's neon green in my pointer, maybe wine in my thumb, india ink in my pinky. all the ashes, so many blues, saturated by fire, a rose. expressionism: i haven't lost my mind, i've found it & it's not a black and white film.

c) by the help of a friend, i just realized color. i know this sounds dumb. but i just realized it, like; there's neon green in my pointer, maybe wine in my thumb, india ink in my pinky. all the ashes, so many blues, saturated by fire, a rose. expressionism: i haven't lost my mind, i've found it & it's not a black and white film.

c) by the help of a friend, i just realized color. i know this sounds dumb. but i just realized it, like; there's neon green in my pointer, maybe wine in my thumb, india ink in my pinky. all the ashes, so many blues, saturated by fire, a rose. expressionism: i haven't lost my mind, i've found it & it's not a black and white film.

Some mornings I awake, and I hear the rustling of a search for the French press. The oven turns on. I tell myself I'm about to be kissed on my back, and I'll roll over and continue dreaming. 

nouns;

there is a place for me. grass for in-between my toes. a house to call my home. a love that i have grown. a moan within a moan. i have work to do. there are dinners i have yet to make. photos of you to take. a shake within a shake. a person who sees my mistakes. and tells me i am still arijana kajdić. put your hand over my heart, you know? soften me, wherever you are. 

Lutalica moja mala, za tobom bi  išla do kraja, sa tobom bi išla do kraja. 

Morning rituals have returned. In time for my favorite month. I love you, September. No one bothers you. No birthdays, no chapsticks in my Mazda. no treehouse and No sacrificing of fruit. Not even a this is the corner where I pinched your butt and you told me to stop because it's not flirty and you hate it. I've never counted anyone's lashes in September. The eyes nor the outs.  I've always felt the presence of fall in you. Hypnotized by the way you make leaves do their thing, you know, the one where any given street is covered in an orgy of dried up little bodies pulling every one in a directionless rhythm. Dancing with each other. 

confused & consumed by love/ I don't know what's right from wrong/ an interface to tightly woven knits, or nots or tangle, take me to your place I can make you love me/ I can make you loathe me 

how did this happen to me? i bruised you. 

Under the web, freeway kind of inebriated & liberated. A free way kind of mind. With trust funds & trust issues, you can't ram love. Even from an areal view, even if you had horns. Or ocean related, it sits a top the fire & makes mild. On the cusp of cool you down. April fools for every day of the year. I never blew a candle to make a wish,  I dream I dream I dream 

ever feel as though the more you peel away, the stronger the bite. like a little onion in your hand. takes over your eyes and you press them--you press them so hard, you want to push out what unintentional tears you have created like instant coffee. like the metal flavor your tongue leaves behind after you swallow the blood from having got caught between your teeth. i want to kiss your bones & sometimes i want to be a boy. 

112+

lets talk about the space we occupy. tell me how you used to be so insecure about your height. how your boney knees don't bother you as much anymore. and your ears have filled in quite nicely. how you pay attention to your gestures, especially during hostile confrontation and/or before you make moves. 

ask me why i hate my knees. and ill tell you because i wish they were boney like yours. then ill tell you a story within a story and you'll have to laugh because i will will it. and it won't be a quiet chuckle, i  will watch your belly dance, and ill admit to my nervous habits. how i pick things apart. i'll tell you about the weight i carry. and how it seems that my value keeps shrinking, and yet i feel the heaviest i've ever been. 

sun in the evening, not san francisco, 

but a santa ana: a steinbeck kind of metaphor of a mountain,

a salinas kind of thighs, under you

i've embraced july in private,

each day i remembered why,

its hard to say goodbye,

a june bug kind of love,

a kiss within july,

july july july 

orchestra

i've heard 

the percussion snaring 

up the years, a back

bone i thought. 

trum pets and trom

bones,  i've loved!

found your violin and 

given away my 

oboe, i've cried! 

but this body is 

not 

a bassoon. 

a piccolo. 

a french horn. 

i know in order for an orchestra to exist, 

performers must 

make love,

but i don't play any instruments

anchored choke

santa ana, i gave you

what lasting bits, i worked

so hard for-- and in 

return

you gave me a quiet 

room. can you at least tell me

that i will be ok, or do 

i have to say that, too?

i try to remember the extasy 

of having choice,

bellying laughter instead

off springing back & forth, 

as you said,

"the grayest of grays,"

has found you. 

terrain

learn not to be angry with the moon,
for keeping you awake.
learn to be grateful to him,
for keeping you away.

in dependence

"don't you dare drop a single tear, your tears don't work on me, if i see you drop. just one.---"

life is the softener when you wash your sheets, molding molecules to fiber in a sweet lavender, tumbling and tangled, gently bending the cotton for you to blanket. and here i am, for the first time in my life hearing my father give me permission, declaring, "arijana, cry so hard. cry. cry it out. say it out. cry over it. and then, arijana, then; laugh."

lately i have placed my palms over the gushing water, have not been able to stay away from the ocean, have listened to the hiss after a collapse as the waves turn white and i feel weightless inside. i try to ride it out. they move me back and forth, until i'm taken farther and further and each time it washes over me new as if i'm realizing for the first time, your happy hour is my heart break. i try to ride it out.

Would you rather
[ ] be afraid to love
[ ] afraid to be loved 

artichoke
sailing into heart

i ache for every letter in a name, like love letters. spelled it. cursed my lips with it even. 

water me

hunger strike

fatal differences +

make, out
of love

this strange year,

i've done a lot of lovely things.

i've been unlovable.

i've loved others

harder than my self-regard:

 

some can make you 

loathe your self--

for loving publicly 

as if by chance,

rapture is a contagious disease.

"Arijana, you need to soften."

"you have to harden, Arijana "

keep on using me

until you use me up

that vulnerable thing we all go through,

my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard/ and I'm like, Nope. 

ab ra ca da ba ra

a question for love,

is it cool

to lose

control

for you

to see how

sweet it is,

it is when

you are in

?

small servings,

theres a moment, socks come off, a deep

breath follows your sigh, i hear

the ocean humming 

and dip my toes. 

i used to really like shaking shoulders,

holding you

up for air. Some people speak air. 

some people seek air. 

gloves come off, it's not selfishness, 

my dissappointment in

the individuality of every one

has bruised the fighter in me. 

i would sink if i knew unity was actually a word. 

screen shot of my phone when it froze during one of those american idol type commercials on pandora.

a card for arnold, elated to have had such a good soul read me from the voice i carry, to the lines i draw, and give me comforting words of encouragement. 

i like sympathy, i think.

self-portrait

Letters hurt, words unheard.

Waiting in the guest room at the emergency clinic, a boy in a wheel chair was pulled up and left sitting idle as the nurses frantically tried to type the code to open the door to the main entrance of the emergency department, his short deep breaths held the nurses fingers back, giving me enough time to watch his contorted body cringe further and further into a stupor as he whispered:  it. hurts.

Hard to to say, need to find another form of communication, but then I think of the whale whose song no one has ever answered because her voice is too low for any other whale to hear. 

collaborated

what i did

what @andre_nieto did 

like // like

like a cat in heat

rattling her tail

like a snake in the heat

who has just, wide eyed 

and hissy, seen her first 

mouse of the season.

its an exercise of tongue & tail, 

i draw confusing lines 

discovering old outpouring

mhhmmm mhhmmm mhhmm

I was passing through another room, 

when Ivanka's watercolor puddle 

struck my attention

if i squint my eyes,

i see her

intention/ally (letting go

of pressure),
so that the water runs over
blending pig/ment into
warm hues that 

i make out
into blurry shapes:

a pink flamingo,
a flower
of a kind of
artists foolishness
dressed as visual dessert,
bending over saying,
"Hey! Look at me!"

commuting, as if

a vein, a necessary pathway to

to crawl into your cage. your home. your heart.

a community of bacteria 

bumping the move forward, 

i have time. the strange lettering 

of

a street i will forget, 

but murmur for another

block. even stranger, romanticizing 

the ones you see anywhere you go; 

my first franklin,

the power of hyde, and the main that i'm on. 

Loud

Small meows under breath,
A paper(c)lip to a page,

I feel ridges
I found out
I fantasize
Brrumm Brrummmm : you pull : my ears
Can hear you. 

I'm whatevering I'm weathering

drawing without glasses or contacts,

have you ever been so foolish?

on my way to the studio, in washington square park

Snapdragons on the kitchen table

The loss of hunger toward food is not bad of a sacrifice. Consider my options, I'm hungry for colors. Images. Making. I woke up. I still have an insane appetite, but the source has shifted. 

Positions

Trying not to be a coward. Hot cheeks, but at least I'm not Pinocchio.

Hunger

Someone knows your faults and strengths, stirs them to see the manage. Someone embarasses you in front of your ego inside. Questions your hands and when the ruler hits knuckles, you work your way to the corner of the classroom, quieted and shamed. Now is not the time to rebel, now comes the time  to applaud, give gratitude to Someone for never abandoning  no  matter how many times  a ruler must-- calloused knuckles are the  remnants of  faith,  mentoring, and hard earned respect-- I look at mine with profound admiration.  

The word (the work) love:

Everything is shifting and I don't even know what to make of parenthesis. It's as if, I'm growing up. Just not sure into what kind of woman anymore. 

What an insanely strange time, when you realize that you're glad to be so angry over the thing you love, so angry, it makes you growl. Happy to know I have that capebility. 

Should I even go to bed? It's 3 am. 

Growing pains of a 28 year old

Overcome by a raw emotion, half of the time I have urgently pressed my eyebrows to the crown of my head, half of the other time, deafened by the sound of my own screams. Seeking a fellow screamer, but no one desires to be a neutralizer of any kind. 

Whoa--

When will I ever have the chance, to be so mad about anything again? I hope this fervor follows me, to every corner of the earth, until I've uncovered a way, to be less apologetic about the her inside the mad.

I will pay more homage to this mad. I want to honor her more. 

Tell yourself as you wish

Cunning does not skip over a gentle voice. Your monster is the same as mine. 

Chained,

Could my interest in silence over the diluting of truth  be the very thing that keeps me. There is no word for this, it simply keeps me. 

I'm astounded at my own ignorance. Every day, I grow bigger and bigger, with my make belief friend who tells me things I don't want to hear, but have two face/d. 

Long curtains,

I'm so interesting on paper,
So interesting, that in person
I'm a drag.

I'm tired of investments.