Tigertarkla In Your Place

A walk through my mind, oh, we're jogging now, wait is that a couch, I'm going to lie down for a bit

Facing it

I wish I could say it didn’t matter
But this poem, it exists
I wish I could say I’m better
But the proof is on my wrists
Broken hearts they don’t shatter
But they bleed pure red
Sometimes I think it would be better
If you were truly dead

Then I wouldn’t have to face the fact
That there is something wrong with me
And in the end it was only me
That made you want to leave

Melancholy Song @ Midnight

If love was a paradise
I would have broken in
Stealing these memories
Would be my only sin

Whose hand are you holding?
‘Cause it’s not mine these days
Holding your memory
Reveling in the pain

If love was a flower
I hope it is annual
I’m ready for winter
And the death of all petals

I want to let you go
But you have a hold on me
And when I close my eyes
Your face is all I see

Review: The Forgotten Sister: Mary Bennet’s Pride and Prejudice by Jennifer Paynter

Ah, Mary Bennet, the oft ignored Bennet sister, with her piano playing and tendency to quote dull books. While many authors have attempted to give the forgotten sister a story of her own this is probably one of the best ones that I have read. In it, Mary falls in love with the violin player of the local band while her sisters conduct their own romances. Mary must decide if she is willing to overlook the differences in their stations and the prejudices of her family in order to follow love where it would lead her.


One nice thing about this book that while it is based in Jane Austen’s world the author doesn’t try to emulate Austen’s style. Instead we get a book written from Mary’s point of view. Paynter creates a character that I can relate with, one who is used to being sidelines and ignored. Largely neglected by her family Mary develops a separate life from theirs including friends outside of their group.  I love that Mary gets a fully fleshed out story and that she ends up following a path that is unconventional.


I have no real complaints about this book. It is interesting and well written. I would recommend this to anybody who wishes Mary Bennet some justice or who finds the movies based on Jane Austen’s books good but has a bit of a hard time getting through the books themselves. (I will admit that even with my love of her books Austen can be a bit hard to read sometimes). 4 out of 5 stars, would read again.

October 21st

I like the sounds porn stars make
While faking ecstasy
As a stranger penetrates them

I like when you sleep next to me
And during the night
You reach out to touch me
As if making sure I’m still there
And haven’t wandered off into my dreams

I like that I am warmer than you

I like when my spaces
No longer smell of you
Long after you have gone

I like the fullness of my thighs
Because it means there is no space
For anyone but me in between

I like to hold my own hand
When I am alone
And rub that weird scar
No one else has discovered

I like my fat rolls
Because they make me ugly
And if no one wants my body
Than no one will want me

I hate that you told me
I was pretty
Because it makes me think
You’re a liar
When I don’t hear it anymore

I hate loving you
Because missing you
Is harder than being alone

I hate my mouth
Because it doesn’t know
The right things to say
To tell you it’s okay
If you never come back to me
As long as you are happy

I hate needing you


With a cascade of noises around me
I sleep
Like a coma patient paralyzed but
Partly aware
The hot sun bathing my face, like a nurse with a
Soft sponge.
Carefully crafted in children’s pastel a
Crochet blanket
Lies half folded across my hips.
The couch
Rustles as I move my legs,
Black Plastic
Bags over the cushions, under the cover.
One arm
Folded up under my head tingling
Half asleep.
Cat hair swirls in eddies and tickles
My nose.
The hollow opening and closing sound of
The door.
Shuffling steps across the floor as
My Grandma
Goes about the kitchen and shuffles paper.
The dogs
Fill bits of silence with sharp yips.
The Chickens
Gossip to each other in the distance.
My eyelids
Keep out the life that goes on as
I sleep

So Here’s the Thing

Love is a flimsy excuse, for anything really, but especially for this

I want loyalty, I want respect, I want a peaceful night’s rest
Fuck your love
Your love left me broken, tired and hurting

I don’t want your love, I want your body
I want your blood oath
I want you

If I could just get my hands on you
I would wrap them around your neck
I would hold you down
Stick my tongue in your ear

Till all you could hear is my whispers
Till my words made you hard
Till you beg for me

If I could start all over again
I would never say “I love you”
I would say anything else
I want you, I crave you, I need you
Anything but love

Because love is a flimsy excuse, for feeling like this

Review: I am Livia by Phyllis T. Smith

I will confess to finding the political intrigues of Rome after the fall of Caesar not all that intriguing but this book was able to arouse an interest in me.  The story focuses on Livia, the precocious daughter of a Roman senator who is involved in the plot to overthrow Caesar. We follow her life from her early marriage to Tiberius Nero, to her second marriage to Caesar Octavius and all the political intrigue that comes in between. This book is a historical fiction and according to my surface level research accurate to the events that occurred during the time period.


Livia brings us a heroine that is cunning, intelligent and ambitious. She is at her heart a woman who wishes to control her own fate and is willing to push in order to get her way. It is not surprising that history has painted her in an unfavorable light, as they so often do to ambitious women. I believe my general ignorance of the book’s events led me to enjoy it more because prior to reading it I had no idea who Livia was. (Before reading my interest in Rome was limited to their engineering feats.) It was nice not to know exactly how things were going to end for her, which is what would have happened if I was reading a book on let’s say Cleopatra. This book breathed life into figures one generally views as marble busts and prompted me into a round of Wikipedia reading that doesn’t occur as often as I would like these days.


I liked that this book took the form of Livia recalling events of her past as an older woman. It gives us a skewed version of events but one that is peppered with her insights and regrets now that she is past all of it. While Livia could have easily turned into a character I could have disliked her unapologetic retelling of her actions makes her if not likable, admirable. You can tell the author took care with researching the events and people and it is much appreciated.  The writing was lively and interesting for a topic that could have been turned into a snooze fest.


Complaints? I have none really. I would recommend this to anyone who has even a passing interest in Roman history or anyone looking for a well-written woman protagonist. 4.5 out of 5 stars, would read again. A companion book (not really a follow-up but Livia is in the book) will be released February 16th, 2016 and is called “The Daughters of Palatine Hill”. I will be picking it up.

The Proof is In the Pudding

What the heck is that supposed to mean? I have found nothing in my pudding ‘cept padding for my hips.

Perhaps the saying came about because of some mathematician, wild-haired and crazy-eyed, numbers spinning through his brain. Perhaps, one day he was sitting down to an afternoon snack, Banana pudding with ‘nilla wafers on the side. When suddenly, eureka! He knows the answer. The formula to solve his something or other theory, But for the life of him he cannot locate a pencil or something like it, nor any paper. Desperate to draw out the symbols coursing through his head, the cornflower blue wall begins to look like the perfect canvas and the pale yellow pudding the perfect paint. When his snack is gone he calls for more. Any pudding will do, ‘cept vanilla, that stuff is the worst, and makes him want to gag when he sucks it off his boney index. Weeks go by and he’s gone through tons of pudding, all smeared upon the wall in a myriad of symbols. His first equations fuzzy with mold who have grown enough to form their own system of math. And to him, this proof is beautiful: to his land lady, it means he ain’t going to get his deposit back, but to the young graduate student who has yet to get that glaze of crazy in his eye; it’s a bunch of work. And much later, after papers have been published and awards received, when people ask how he came up with it, he would say, “Well the proof was in the pudding”. And they will just shake their heads because mathematicians say the darnedest things.

Or maybe it came along in a more Sherlock Holmes’ way. I mean some real heavy CSI Shit. Perhaps in Alabama, where the air gets thick and heavy like lemon pudding made with whole milk instead of skim. The genteel southern stepfords have been going missing and the only clue left behind is the half-consumed snack pack melting in the heat on the stovetop sidewalks. A lone gelatinous thumbprint stuck to the side leading to the arrest of a down-home-good-ol’ boy with slightly squirrely eyes. And searching the premises they find a lone bowl of chocolate pudding setting upon the counter, a feminine finger lolling in the middle with cherry-red nail polish, a favorite of Mrs. Montgomery. Seems this boy has come up with a new type of pudding, he says everything tastes better with a dash of human. And when the news teams descend like a pack of flies every neighbor is waiting to give their two cents. Mostly saying things like, “I had no idea he…”, or “I would of never guessed it was him”, or “I’ll never look at pudding the same way again”, their thick southern accents rolling off their tongue, like caramely butterscotch slides off the back of a spoon. And when the detective gives his speech he will close with “Well, the proof was there in the pudding”, extracting a soft chuckle from the crowd.

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