My Mistake

I thought there could be something between us. I honestly did.

I thought we could have a future together. I thought you were the girl who could make things okay for me. I thought you'd be the girl to mellow me out. I was hoping you'd say to me that you'd always be there when I wake.

I was wrong.

Your beauty and personality were a front. You were hiding from me the whole time we were dating. What I thought was the real you was a phony and pathetic front. You are truely a bad person. It was my mistake for thinking you were more.

You lied to me. You said you cared. You don't give a fuck about me. You only care about yourself. You didn't want to be with me, you just wanted to have a boyfriend who could give you a false sense of security but now I'm done.

You are the most selfish person I have ever met in my life. I honestly don't care what happens to you now.

You can fuck with my heart and my mind all you want. That's part of being in a relatinship, but when you lie to me and steal my property, that's a whole diffrent story all together.

She said she wanted to get something from my car and being drunk I believed you. The nest thing I knew it was gone. You drove to get food-- high off your ass and filled with rage. Do you have a licesne? No. Do you have insurane? No. And you drove away with someone else's vehicle. What a fucked up defination of love.

So don't call me again. Your voice fills me with rage. Don't make any contact, cause believe me, I don't care. The brown eyes I once held so dear only disgust me now. I really don't care.

If you died right now, I wouldn't attend the funereal. If you got hurt I wouldn't visit you. Whatever happens is none of my concern, because being with you in the first place was my mistake.

Sage

I wrote this poem in memory of a little girl named Sage that I met on the reservation. This poem DESPERATLY needs to be good to illustrate the conditions of the people on the reservation. Anyone reading this probably knows me and has access to contacting me. PLEASE give me honest suggestions. -Dan

Sage
A child of Neglect
reject since birth
drunk hate fuck
and the condom broke

tug on my shirt
her coal black eyes
want a story
I can't say no

Sit on my lap
open the book
the first smile I've
seen from her.

Read to her slow
and read to her clear.
Make her think you'll
always be here.

her eyes can't stay open
they close into sleep
so i tuck her in bed
like my own child

i sneak out so quiet
retreat to my room
tears bleed from my eyes
her impending doom

Some Old Fashioned Blogging

I'm sitting in the computer lab of Sandoz hall. I've been alone at my former place of residence for an hour now. As I wander around the paths and hallways memories come alive.

I can't help wonder what my life would have been like had I never lived in Able. I can't help but be amazed by how vivid my memories are from this building. I can't help but feel nostalgic for a time long gone.

I walked across the bridge where I sat in shock, blankly smoking a cigarette the night I found out Robert killed himself. I never forget the feeling of sitting there in the cold silence of that November night, trying to grasp the concept of someone I once knew so well inserting a gun into his mouth and pulling the trigger.

Old faces and names come back. Cowboy, Tim Smith, Carlin Mackey, Kieth Westra and of course, Maggie Rife. Nobody knows how distinct these personalities are in my mind, even I had forgotten, but being around this monument to my past, they keep popping up.

It was the thrill of youthful passion mixed with excitment of something new. The oppertunity to be whoever I wanted, the chance to break the bonds and roles I was expected to fill in high school. When the idea of being able to step outside and smoke was such a novelty that I couldn't stop doing it.

I miss many things from those days, not because they were exciting or new or revolutionary, but because they were mine. My experiances that only I could fatham. I miss all night coffee binges and my giant ball of tape. Listening to "Little Green Bag" and dancing awkwardly to celebrate my victory over Spanish 101. I miss when I ran this blog like a weekly colloumn and the way I felt when I could wander around down town with my thirty-dollar digital camera.

Those days are gone now