rubber guitar, unfinshed in the basement.

Somehow, running towards a corner and getting absolutely nowhere doesn't justify why things happen. It is a wonderful distraction, but it doesn't make things like our bodies failing right. And the constant chord that plays in the background of my life is justice, and it always sounds a little funny. I don't know if you hear, but it is dissonance against the chord of reality, which also never ceases to play... right into my ear.
Can it resolve?

yo quiero universidad.

that means i want college.

all i want to do.

this is what i want to do.
i want to bottle my anger into glass, and seal it with a cork.
then, i want to throw it into lake michigan. more preferably the ocean. because then i wouldn't have to see it again.
i wish i wasn't angry.
i wish i didn't care.
i wish i could be okay with people using me
abusing me
betraying me.
but i'm not.
so that is what i want to do.
but as i hold the bottle in my left hand,
i realize that i cannot.
so i take out the anger and clothe myself with it.
letting it cover who i really am.
because i cannot let go of my hurt and frustration.
i would rather dwell with it, until in my head, it becomes justice.
which it won't.
so here i am. and as i hold this glass and gaze into the memory, i put it into my nightstand drawer.
because that's where i keep things.

i feel for wonder, wandering far alone.

Mixing colors in my chest
first to green and then to blue.
A tight feeling
but breath makes the pressure
that much better.

My life has distracted me
from what it really means
to live.

And as I page
through each worn thought
I feel my ratty clothes
and patchy gloves.

Are my fingernails
that short?
That choppy?

My skin that dry?
That scaly?

Memory has convinced me
of the tattered truth
that is me.

all the shades of grey.

I pride myself in the imperfection of it all. How nothing really is... the piece that wouldn't fit. But I figure that at least means an interesting life, a different life. The one who didn't make it to the end of the carpet, and stumbles when "they" see. But it is fine. It is me.
Sometimes answers of black and white don't cut it for me, and I truly believe that nothing is simple. There are wires behind the screen and veins under our skin... memories inside the brain.
So what is perfect?
Not you, not me.

and you don't know what you have, till it's gone.

i can't stand it. i just can't. when i see two athletes bash their heads together, taking advantage of perfectly healthy heads. they're just screwing themselves over, setting themselves up for disaster. just because we don't know what we have until it's gone. but this is life. we can't understand pain unless we suffer. we can't understand memory unless if we forget. they're just so healthy... and they're throwing it away. i don't understand.

i can always fail high school...

Whenever I know that it's the last of something I'll do, I make an excuse that I can always do it again if I really miss it. Like musical. If I really want to, I can do it in college. Dances. I can always organize something. Clash day? Adults do that too, right? No. They don't. I keep on making excuses and I'm pretty much believing all of it right now. But come graduation, I will have to stop. It's not high school I'm going to be missing--it's saying goodbye to so many thing I know. So we'll see. I can always fail high school.

if life were like the puzzle place...

we are puzzle pieces.
when the box is first opened, we are all together.
every piece is there, none are scratched or lost.
beautiful pieces of manufactured bliss.
then life decides to take us out of our sweet cardboard home,
throw us on a table,
and move us around.
some people you trust with those pieces, and they damage them.
bending them at the edges, so they will never quite fit again.
or they lose them,
somewhere on the hardwood floor.
not quite as soft as cardboard.
and sometimes we just can't reassemble ourselves,
and it's not fair,
and why can't someone else do it for us?
why was this box ever opened.
all of us
have lost some pieces
and can't find them again
so there is a hole
when we come together.
where is my cardboard box?