I would never consider myself a poet, but there are times where I am at a deep place within my own soul and it sort of writes itself. Below are two such poems. One was written over two years ago about my father. The second is more recent. The one thing they have in common is I have no recollection of actually thinking while writing them. They literally just flowed right from my subconscious. Enjoy!!

As I sit

As I sit
I think of him
the first to leave me
the first to sin

He never cared
and I always tried
to be the best
in hopes of love

So now I sit
and think why is
why is this place
so evil and cruel

Is it him
or is it me
or possibly it is
nothing at all
but the nature
of the beast
that lives in me

How do I crawl out
to find my way
full circle i think
back to him

to take him away
from who i am
so i can live
free


Why

why if I
can be open
and me

that i must
find
the closed
and mean

I am who
I am
and cant
change

something
is wrong
why
is this happening
to me?

over and over
same
response

the heart
is evil
and mine
is lost

~mich

I was always the funny girl. Grew up making everyone laugh with stupid jokes, silly stories, or just my goofy demeaner. Of course, I grew up with a funny family. Mom was always full of retarded jokes that every loved. She got most of these from Grandpa who was always the family comedian. My uncle Burt was the best. He would show up to family gatherings just to tell his latest jokes and then off he would go. We didn't see him often, but when he did come around it was always a riot. I miss both him and my grandfather immensly. There were true comedic geniouses. I have tried over the years to make people laugh. I figure this world is pretty fucked up. There are long work weeks, expensive bills, taxes, insensitive assholes, rude drivers, unfortunate mishaps, early mornings, bad sushi, horrible music, relentless bosses, and countless other things in the world to ruin our days, weeks, and years. I always say...what kind of person adds to that? Not me! I figure that if I do nothing else with my life, I will at the very least make life a little happier, funnier, easy for those around me. And I think I do a decent job. Humor of course is the best medicine to the cruel world. Of course, I can't say that i have to try. Being born into this family afforded me some natural humor mostly stemming from goofy faces and stories of life. So this is me, take it or leave it! :)

My friend James has been trying to talk me into doing comedy. I, of course, and scared shitless of this idea. I am not good in front of adults. Put me up in front of 40 little kids and I rock! But in front of a bunch of adults and I freeze up and just bomb every time. I am not sure I can do this.....but I am giving it thought. I mean, what would I talk about....being a valley girl in NY? I am sure it might be midly ammusing, but in the end how am I any different from any other retarded blonde in the city trying to get by? Other than some funny stories of growing up and my stupid jew jokes...I am prolly just as boring as the next bimbo! lol Well not that i am a bimbo....and if I was, I like to think I am a classy bimbo. Does that even make sense?

I think I could write. Yes, I am a horrible writer, but its a lot less threatening then getting up on stage afterall. Hmmmmm....I am still debating.

Why is it that horrible childhood's make for good comedians? I have found this to be pretty true. You rarely see a well adjusted adult who had the whole two parents, dog, and picket fense getting on stage and making the crowd roar! Its always the white trash, or poor black child who struggled who somehow can crate great comedic genious. God, my uncle and granfather mentioned above are perfect examples. My grandfather was one of 13 children (our population these days must thank technology for the ending of the 15 person family geeesh!) and had multiple health issues as well as the typical poverty. Well shit, he prolly had to fight for food with that many sibs. I can't think of anything more depressing, but still he always had us rolling with his crazy stories. My uncle had it even worse. He, of course, had self inflicted wounds. Grew up in the valley, addicted to drugs and alcohol, married too young, etc etc. After all that he had endured, he always was smiling and laughing, even if he was the only one doing so. I guess the well adjusted life doesnt really give people a view of life that the fucked-up ones like myself see. You prolly have to suffer in order to see the comedy of life. Maybe pain is the gateway to the funny bone? I don't know for sure, but my favorite comedians are the ones who went through piles of shit and continue to do so.

So as for my future in comedy. I don't know. I am content with making my friend laugh. Not sure how I do it, other than just trying to make light of the pain that life throws my way....well usually I AM the one self inflicting it on me. I swear, I am most definately my own worst enemy. But its that pesky life of pain and sorrow that has made me so weird....and assists me in making retarded choices that land me in bed crying with racoon eyes once in a while. I am too trusting for one. This never helps. But its such an evil game life plays. If you trust too much, you get screwed. If you never trust you never get the chance to experience something great. Blech! Who the fuck knows....but as long as I at the very least get some comedic value from my fucked up existance....then I guess its not a total loss.

Oh, what is UP with this Monday thing? It's like I have to come to work, pretend to work, and I could be doing this at home in my jammies, with last nights make-up still under my eyes with a cig in my mouth! Oh well....work does give me an excuse to get showered, dressed, and kinda cute. Oh and there is that paycheck dealy!

Maybe I could move to Australia and sing for a living? hmmmmmmmm