26 untitled (2016)

The first time the traffic light turned green
Seemed obscene to me
And I went and it meant that I had reached my peak

A weak week left me on my back and knocked me off my feet and you reap what you sow but can you sow what you reap?

This is the last poem of 2016. I’m going to get started on typing up poetry for 2017 that I have written down in journals.

Thank you so much for being on this journey with me. Please, do not hesitate if you’d like to see my poetic opinion on anything.


21 rocky (2016)

With every rocky start
And every beat of her rocky heart
The blood pumped, veins throbbed
Eye itched, sweat dripped

To meet her greatest fear, and desire to overcome that fear
With a vice grip extending from her pubis
On target, on point
There is sweat, there is dirt

There is no more survival for an age old compromise

Just do it, and do it now

Everything comforting is distorted
Familiar like a Dali landscape
The map by Mondrian

The flight has left her
There’s only fight left
And she’ll survive

For she has become the fittest

And she will win
because she fears no loss

And she will rise because she believes
In flying
Not falling.

4 love the rain (2016)

he asks me why i love the rain
he sees me leaning against the window frame

each droplet exhales for miles and miles
and allows me to inhale their cooling ends
and they chatter for hours like dear friends
to bring about the best that rages within me

there was a lightning storm one night, i say,
purple, teal, silver flashing throughout July
and in that storm I fell in love with a shadowy illusion
an illusion which eluded me, disappearing into the desert heat

it was the desert, really, who taught me why i should love the rain

because when I spent so much time squinting my eyes
pleading with mirages, being vulnerable to the sun,
refusing to see the flaws with bedding a cactus
it was the rain that patiently waited on the border

softly whispering shh shh shh shh as I cried
and, while damp, allowed me to hold myself tighter
using the cold to shield me from the worst that rages within me

so you see, i peer at a very real face
you should ask the rain why it loves me

2 sloth laz (2016)

she always calls out to me
sloth laz!
and with such great pride behind the title
i see myself a saint
starkly melding with the spackle of my apartment
tearing from the corners of my eyes

Laz of Beth, I am a saint
risen after 4 days daze
Elizabeth, I am mortal
not quite the ending I hoped for

Note: I love me some good Biblical Allusions. Sloth Laz is my most dignified title.

Death Be Not Proud (Death, Suicide, and How it Makes Me Feel)

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

John Donne

Last week was a real thinker.

I got a message from my grandma that one of her friend’s sons had died. Killed himself in the bathtub. Wrote in the note, “I will now shoot myself in the tub, so you won’t have to spend too much time cleaning.” That has been stuck in my head all week. I don’t know if it will ever quite leave me. She mentioned he sent a 5 page E-mail to his parents and that it was what he thought was best.

And, she said, “If only you [me, the granddaughter] could have met him and maybe taught him all women aren’t bitches.”

“Well, I am a bitch,” I replied.

“Not like his ex-wife.”

That was so unfair of her to say to me. I go from feeling empathetic to being absolutely pissed off. How dare you act as if I could have prevented this? And if I couldn’t, what then? I’m a goddamn 24 year old website manager, not a therapist. Then I’d have to have that personal guilt of being used as a tool to try to stop somebody from killing themselves…

It was nobody’s fault but his own that he killed himself. But, maybe “fault” isn’t the right word. Because what do you tell yourself when somebody commits suicide? Clearly, there was more than I was told: I didn’t know his life, his situation, if he was on medication or ill, if he’d tried before, if he was under threat. All I know is that it is what he thought was best, and I cannot condone it, but I cannot prevent it.

So, since I work for a company that sells cremation urns, my grandma gave his mom my cellphone number because I could help her get an urn. It was the strangest, most peaceful, call I’d ever received in my life.

She was so polite, but she wasn’t quite there. I don’t think I really was, she was this connection to death that I seldom saw since I don’t do customer service for my work (I look way too into it, as you can tell). I was having issues with the computer, she was patient. She was so thankful when I told her I’d make sure it got to her on Friday, shipped to her son’s house, billed to her address, 20% discount. She was just so thankful. And it felt nice, but it still felt like I had stage fright. I was frightened. I couldn’t do anything more than sell a nice urn to this woman who was probably going through one of the worst times of her life.

She said she knew her son didn’t want to burden her, he made it super easy to prepare for his memorial and funeral. What he did was so kind for his family, but what he did was terrible. If you’re religious, it’s an act against God [don’t quote me on that, it’s what I hear. “Tragic, but he’s going to Hell.” Not something you’d tell a grieving mother.]

As somebody who is a manipulative control-freak, I’d rather take my own life by my hands than allow somebody else to do it for me. And it makes me feel empty when I see people do this, but I don’t know exactly why. Because, as an ultimatum, it would have to be such a great force or threat where I would take my own life to spare me the torture of dying. Quick and painless.

Oh you’re so cold, Liz, you’re just a bitch. How can you take somebody else’s suicide and make it about yourself?

Because, he is me. I am him. And everybody who has ever killed themselves or thought about it, are each other.

Some cheesy, peace-love-rock’n’roll, rhetoric, but it’s true. We all live with that same fear, that somebody who has never considered or will ever consider, or has even jokingly said, “Oh, man, just kill me. This test is too hard./ My casserole got burnt./ I ran out of gas./ We’re out of milk. I could just die.” It’s why I joke. It’s why there are studies that say people who divulge in humor most likely suffer from some type of depression or illness. Deflecting and focusing on others is oftentimes the best way for me to deal with my own life. When people ask me how I am doing, I never, ever will tell them the truth. Because what can they do but sit and stare in awe, the magnitude of my situation more than they can handle? They leave. Or they offer me unsolicited advice. Or if there is a day when it is too much and I say I’m feeling depressed, they ask fucking, “Why?” Because the sky is blue and your face is asymmetrical. Leave me alone? But don’t leave me alone. I don’t know or maybe what I do know stems from 10 years of trauma? Same reason as always, why do you keep asking?

I only ask and willingly receive advice from 2 people: my doctor and my psychiatrist. Even they cannot fully understand, they just treat the symptoms. There is no way to treat the cause, until time machines exist. Which then brings in this whole other fear I have – the existential crisis of my own hypothetical alteration. (This is probably why it takes me 2 hours to fall asleep every night.)

So, if reeling from the self-doubt and anger I have over this stranger’s death wasn’t enough, I find out that one of my former high school classmates hanged herself. I didn’t know her well, but I knew her. She was the epitome of somebody who would do anything for her friends and family, and she always made everybody smile. I liked her, we just never had classes together, so maintaining a friendship seemed out of a question in the high school jungle. And, unlike the other guy’s death (which I don’t mean to minimize by not saying his name, it’s that I don’t know it) there were a lot of people I knew who knew her. So it was a week of Facebook Goodbyes, tearful to read. In spite of knowing people with depression who are hilarious, I never pegged her for one of those people, even though she and I shared some similarities that should have made me realize. Again, I couldn’t have stopped her. I feel no guilt except the guilt that she’s not here when she totally could be.

I have to say, though, I feel particularly guilty about the death of Robin Williams, as if I knew him like a father. He was a key comedic presence since I was a baby, with Aladdin, Jumanji, and moving up and along the ladder to his love of The Legend of Zelda. It was like losing a family member. Especially since I knew he was depressed and he remained so funny, occasionally doing movies that were less than happy such as Patch Adams, What Dreams May Come, and Father of the Year. Find a guy to make you laugh, he was one of them.

His suicide has left me with doubt in myself, but still almost 2 years later (at this point, about a year and a half), I am here. It terrifies me to think that somebody who had become sober from all his addictions and had  been receiving help (and at his net worth, it would’ve been financially awesome help) would still commit suicide. Whether or not it was because he had dementia or was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. It still sucks.

I, with so few resources sometimes I go months without medication, am still here. There are people who may need or don’t have access to health care for their depression who may or may not kill themselves, is terrifying to me. All hypothetical ideas involving this.

What little we can do as people for others, isn’t being done. Or it’s so much trouble, they don’t think it is worth it. It reminds me of this, which is from Tumblr (but was posted on Facebook, because why don’t you just get a Tumblr?)


Definitely not to belittle the life of somebody fighting MS or Cancer or any other disease, but the entire notion that people cannot be disabled in a non-traditional sense (ie. paralyzed, physically, developmentally, in a way other people can clearly see) is BS. Like, my friend who can have such intense flare ups she can’t even walk – she has a pass to park in the handicapped spots – but when people see her walking on a good day (without a cane or in a wheelchair) she becomes subject to a Salem Witch Hunt.

It’s been a rough week, there isn’t too much else to say. I’m running low on energy.


New Goal for 2016

I have 76 WordPress followers.

I would like to have 100 by the end of the year. 200 would even be better, you know?

I’ve been in competition with a close friend, and her WordPress says she has 300+ followers but I don’t know if that includes Tumblr, Facebook, etc.

So, I do want people to like the stuff I post about, even though it is non-consistent and is sometimes poetry and sometimes NOT poetry, but it would be great to start getting reblogs.

I will be posting more poetry in the future.

2015, I had a goal to write 100 poems. I wrote 40ish. I think, in essence, I did all right.

This year, I want to keep that same goal, as well. I want to have as many new poems as I have WordPress followers! So, aim for 100, and then even more. Spread the word!

I am also going to apply to Graduate School, somewhere, this year, so I can start in 2017. I am super excited. This requires writing samples too, an extra stressor to my writing! HOORAY!

I have 2 poems so far (kind of). I will get them ready to post within the upcoming month.

Real Life Trouble with Video Games


The zombie apocalypse is now.

So, let me just say, all my knowledge of social justice was definitely brought on early in college. I was the girl in high school who was a die hard tom boy. I was bold and crass, unlike all the other girls in my friend circle. I was the girl who would say, “I’m not a feminist: I don’t want to be equal to men, I want to be better than men!” I was the girl who made subtle jabs at non-binary sexual orientations and said the N word. A lot. These are things I cannot deny. But, I am glad to say, I have grown away from being like that.

The real eye-opener, however, was when I started college.

I got the literal worst student work study job on the history of the planet in all of the galaxy – computer help desk services. I was basically the person who spent hours answering the shit bag phone to tell people that the internet was off (because they’d call us to ask if it was off and when it would be back), reset passwords, and troubleshot computers.

I had this girl who was supposed to train me, but she never did. So I sat around, getting accused of not being able to do my job because “I didn’t know what to do” (I didn’t know what she looked like, nobody introduced me to her, so how was I supposed to get her to train me?) and put paper in printers. One day, I printed out a comic that was hilarious to me at the time.

Part of that “I’m not your typical girl” mentality meant that I played a shit ton of video games. This comic, at the time, was hilarious to me. Little did I know that there were other ways to describe what I felt when I encountered a bunch of Tanks in Left 4 Dead 2 (L4D2). Zombie apocalypse. Survival. That kind of game.

So, I printed this comic out once  (trigger warning: rape) after laughing my ass off because 18 year old me thought, “this is so relevant and displays my sentiments exactly!” And it was from a web comic called CTRL+ALT+DEL, and that was a very important web comic to me.

I probably would’ve continued like this for years. Thinking using those words to describe those situations was appropriate. The more I think about it, the words “shit shit fucking shit, this is bullshit” are a more appropriate way to describe a horde of tanks in the game, not rape. I didn’t continue on like this… because I left the fucking comic in the printer and my supervisor traced it back to me.

Fun, right?

Basically, he decided that this wasn’t an OK way for me to think, that it was funny. I told him it was funny and relevant to the game and not a reflection of anything I would do in real life, but that wasn’t necessarily how he saw it. It was worrying to him, like my mindset and how I had been conditioned to think about what I saw was funny. He told me, as long as it didn’t happen again, he wouldn’t report it. Reporting it would’ve been automatic expulsion. Maybe not automatic, but it would have literally ruined my life.

And since then, I have come to realize just how problematic a lot of the gaming community is and how my attitude was directly related to those attitudes of misogyny and racism and homophobia and all the other things I am severely fighting against now. Whenever I see anybody say, “That character just got raped,” I tell them to use different words. Usually it falls onto deaf ears, because these are 10 year olds (which is horrifying to me as somebody who plays casually online through Steam and things like that) who learned this from other gamers. People who are my ages, were my ages, were younger than I, older than I. It’s horrifying. What makes it even more horrifying is that once they find out I’m not a male, it’s curtains for me.

Once I accidentally called this woman a sociopath (because I forgot that was actually a legitimate medical condition and not just a word) and I replaced it with a huge apology and, what I MEANT TO SAY was uncaring, unfortunate person who lacked empathy and was voted in high school for being most likely to be hit by a bus. (I’ve been really creative with my insults since I stopped using medical conditions.) That’s why you shouldn’t say rape. Rape has a very specific definition and connotation and context. “That character got their ass kicked!” or “That level was hard as shit!” should suffice, but they don’t. They use rape as if it was one of Patrick Star’s “Sentence Enhancers”

Conclusion: This has been a blog post about how my vulgar gaming habits caught up to me in real life and made me reevaluate the entirety of everything I’d ever done and will now continue to do. I hope it will help to know people who make these same mistakes, getting caught up in the hilarious world of video games, can change and hopefully not ruin their lives like I literally almost did.