we are ready now.

our worlds can alter in the blink of an eye

predictions falling like dizzy dancers

all i want is to cover you in love so you won't ever see the darkness that is street corners

take my hands

fold them up

just so you have something to hold on to

a curious thing.

another christmas passes by, and i am left befuddled by my curious family once again.

top (both good and bad, and in no particular order) memories:

1. beautiful indian boy massaging my hands in a organic beauty store.

2. my sensitive grandmother saying that my nose ring looks like a pig's.

3. realizing that i do actually love some of my extended family.

4. seeing how lucky i am with my immediate family.

5. buying a bump-it (FINALLY!!) at the dollarama.

6. a. being canadian.

b. partaking in family "christmas shots."

7. crying with my grandmother at the tragedy of alzheimer's.

8. meeting one of my cousins who i have not seen in a decade.

9. wearing this fantastic hoodie that i purchased thanks to boxing day... slash going shopping and actually bonding with my cousins.

10. reading heinous lyrics to my 55-year-old uncle's ridiculous songs for his mandolin (we don't play a flat tricks / we stick with a major and get the chicks).

oh canada. i don't know for how much longer we will be going to canada for christmas. soon my siblings and I will be rooted in jobs and spread all over, and these forced ties between certain family members will be lost. family is a strange, strange thing when you think about it.

the equinox.

while the sun boosts your self esteem, i will tear into muscles and nibble on pretzels. my hopes will dash the new year in its tracks, and my future will astound. if only the ones i love the most could point me in the right direction... or else music will carry me far away from anything sensible and i will live this life like it is my first day. stop leaning on walls; they will get you nowhere but the ground. leave your chains behind you, and embrace the future that is you and a Plan--for everyday gets longer from here on out. cordless, i will fly to a telephone pole and i will send messages by yelling on the tops of them as the shouts pierce the wires, so, maybe then, you will be stranded in your disastrous desire. part of me hopes you stay there forever.

remember this, love:

when you only love the things you see, you will find yourself alone in the night.

dear gremlin, this is not about you. just fyi.

your love's too big for me.

and these things i hold on to

precious for a moment

then gone once everything around me

lights up the room

i will devour these feelings

until the cold goes away

and i have returned to the person i am when dreaming

first semester.

biting my lips

saying it doesn't hurt

hating admitting it to myself

living like today will never end

losing faith that it will

hoping for a great tomorrow

first semester, you are done. almost. so close.

please end

now

to be a decimal.

in this negativity i will stay

it is easier to block out potential

anything

isn't it true that we do not love the ones around us

until they are gone?

close my doors

close my eyes

look to the ceiling

hoping that the tiles will peel away and a

hand

will pick me up and carry me as if flying

just like in my dreams

i have not flown in a while

its not about the notes

or the highlighters

but the realization of me

of mirrors

of glass windows--

see through

just a girl in jeans

one of thousands

and that's a decimal

this again.

looking for an answer on tv

in dreams

in strangers

in comfort

in laughter

in absolute trust and expectation for those who get too close

i am sorry for who i am

that i am weak

that i care too much

i have begun to clench my jaw again, and the endlessly nervous feeling wrenching my heart around

if you don't leave me alone, i will act

and it will be so bad

and so so so so so so so good

and my words are those of 1st grader because my vocabulary has been expended on review sheets and comprehension

its easy as 1 2 3

a b c

give me my report card, and tell me what to see

el paso.

a mismatch of people, like a ragged warm quilt. surrounding me, supporting me, influencing my

steps.

to stand, i discern and balance all that i hear to protect my malleable mind, taking care not to lose myself in red hair, yoga mats, and articles.

for it is not the goal, but the journey: that journey of independence, silence, and solitude in the morning.

my face forms a calm, pleased person whom i know as myself, resting in the depths of possibility and the fragility of tomorrow.

and on this tight-wire i will stand, clinging on to the air in front of me, hoping for the new day and assurance of forever.

door. open. pockets.

chilly wind carves out our jawlines and sharpens our cheekbones, as the wind fills in the empty spaces inside our jackets. rushing inside as snowflakes melt off our eyelashes, likes tears. and we cry over the big things to miss the little flakes left on our shoulders, clinging to us for distance.

pity for the foolish man.

to those who do not have time:

your oblivious, ignorant attitude while cause your eyes to lose sight, and your hearts to harden. pity for the foolish man. instead, nod your heads to the powerful speaker and laugh. for i will smile and sing when i feel you can see me, pitying the fool while praying for ignorance.

"you embarrass me. you embarrass yourself"

december two.

for now, the snow is clean and light

i ask for no expectation.

the sun has gone down twice, and already i am changed

not in age or stature

but in inner countenance and memory

number means nothing, i suppose

yet how ironic that as soon as i reach this threshold i want nothing to do with it

from bleeding, panting, sweating, and shouts

i have come

kissing a book

repressing an earthly concept of love

and daring the wind to chase me

kneeling and reading

conservative to liberal

judgment to humility

i ask for a transformation of my inner most heart,

as long as i know that someone pursues me

i ask for no expectation

just a changed heart.

whole and full.

thus it is perpetuated.

you got your yearly fix, and i was sad to hear your cries.

but i was happy to catch your tears and collect them in a bowl to dump with the rain.

washed away.

we seldom are alone, but it is in those moments before we truly awake that we are us.

but when someone else can see those threads of true stretched across our expressionless faces, we find friendship.

whole.

a little empty, but whole. covered.

we will climb these days like endless stairs, but when we reach the top, we will be whole and full.

whole and full.

our bodies are biodegradable.

why cant this work? six days from now. six damn days and half an hour earlier. let it go. let it all go because plans never complete and someone has a plan for me that has nothing to do with my expectations. so they will fall. every time. we sure are cute, aren't we? not all of us have that. not all of us have expectations put on us that have something to do with loving what i do and succeeding in it all. some of us dont have one to make us a six. in between a whole lot of no one that has concern for a lot of things. and i would carry you. i would spin the wheels so we could end up on the big screen with our hopeful friends but instead we will fall, waiting for nothing as the world spins madly on, and i am its gerbil running and getting no where. treading water while writing flashcards calls for smeared boy's handwriting caught in the dim light that makes you squint your eyes on this thursday morning that i hate hate hate. it was thesis seeking, and you only saw a "hazy, distant dream." all this work, this planning, for nothing? this time, this voice, for a zero written on my hand. you lose, baby, you lose. i put myself out over the big canyon river only to see it all disappear as my curly hair falls flat to my scalp full of nothing but negativity and words. so i will write forever until i figure out what i'm missing. one day it will come, and i need no ponds. just an end to this goal-less life of expectations, expectations, expectations and squeaky notes above the pissagio as you flip your hair and bear your thick head on top of your ignorant shoulders. give me a stage and i will explain if anyone cares to listen to my empty voice that mutters when i'd rather not speak. its tones are empty and i'd rather not ask you unless if i dont mind the stamp of pity on my forehead. for once again, this futon hurts my ass and my work is not enough. i am partial to nothing but an escape from pressure. dont tell me to stop. for i will keep going until these keys are worn out and my skull is in the dumpster. but i will. because you have places to be and i have excuses to make. until then.

sister, brother.

this picture tells it all

your smiling face,

your crossed arms

my poised leg

his hands out,

stumbling over

rocks and rivers

and

hate

for what happened

and what is surely to come

whatever happens,

don't leave me

or i will surely be the source of these

rivers

and the dust in these

rocks

sweet secret.

i have plum juice on the tip of my nose,

and no one can see

it smells like candy,

and no one can see

because no one is me,

and no one can see

bedtime story.

and in 40 years i'll learn to take,

and in 40 years i'll surely break

from all the things unseen, unsaid

pills taken with my daily bread

love like water,

see-through and thin

thoughts of tomorrow

chintzy, like

tin

pictures lost in the cream-colored walls

the color long lost and surely now

gone

and i will continue to put up these clippings

until you find me

lost, and still

tripping

at the thought.

rolling around in my head

like a ball

i'll sort out every angle,

none

look at every scuff mark,

some

and bounce to see if i can

catch you

most likely

not

so much

something good.

this feeling again

head way above me

who knows where i'll end up

so i'll leave it to fate

or prayers, or

luck

look up, up,

up

did you see me smile?

and we're all so happy with our plastic painted smiles

cringing at the thought of skin and temperamental trials

waiting for the lights to fade,

blemishes reveal

losing our id and life

skip this powdered meal

strutting with legs of solid silver

today it is i who win

cut the crap

cut the lights

take me to simple sin

care.

i wonder about the care that you place like legos

do you care about me? more than others

maybe i care too much, i filled my portion

something tells me i care too little, less than politics

take care, till another life

one day i will send you.

nothing went wrong, tonight

nothing went right, tonight

i probably misled you

but my messages are the hurtful ones

sorry, i forgot

why don't i take that blame?

since you are not old enough to recognize you're immaturity

i hate to say i hate you

i hate to say i wish never need anybody

but you turn me off to the idea of trust

instead of cuddles and scarves,

i will fill this cup with tears,

so the salt will dry your mouth

bitter

stuck in your wolfish teeth

your ugly, ugly teeth

pointed like a fork,

digging into ugly cake

other

stay by my side

keep confusion outside of this room

as we laugh at things uncomfortable

and talk about people we wish we knew

so we knew they were better

and ties would not become so knotted

closed

give me a task,

too dumb for children

a goal too small for someone my age

because that is how far my arms can reach

Someday my pain, someday my pain

Will mark you

Harness your blame, harness your blame

And walk through

slipping out through the back door.

field

daylight

wind

music

hair

no

one

will

know

time slot.

ask me if i am.

i'm not.

pin deeper than the puddle.

upon reaching this level of acceptance with the unknown, i laugh with the rush of the wind in the dying leaves

my story is a simple one, for i care not to tell

numbers mean nothing in the morning, swirling around 7, written on her all-knowing finger

that bike lying in the grass, quintessential symbol of our affluence

i ask myself why i cannot be like the others, as i wait for a pin to fall and shatter my calm reflection

and all these strings wander and twist, knot, loosen, fray, and fall into a heap as i laugh at the mess and attach it to my stringy hair

pearls in my ears, smile on my face, nothing in my eyes, and hands around love, i sit

waiting

for the pin to drop, the leaves to die, the curls to twist, the strings to unravel

i could never make bracelets, maybe that is why i hate camp

.

been carted away 2.

http://www.archive.org/details/BeenCartedAway

a feeling of soul that only comes from walking alone and being

awake

shoulders turned for a feeling of

control, better than you

in the end,

we are lone feet wandering the circular paths

finding the places where our

footsteps have been

hearts inclined only when our rooms feel empty

or roles unfulfilled as curtain call ends

and we are stuck between backstage and the

pit

waiting for a cue, most likely not coming

or maybe we missed it when our feet

stumbled

cuts on my hands, disabling touch

sensitive ties,

caught in a bunch

leaving it all

not letting go

for when life moves,

it's never this

slow.

been carted away.

a feeling of soul that only comes from walking alone and being

awake

shoulders turned for a feeling of

control, better than you

in the end,

we are lone feet wandering the circular paths

finding the places where our

footsteps have been

hearts inclined only when our rooms feel empty

or roles unfulfilled as curtain call ends

and we are stuck between backstage and the

pit

waiting for a cue, most likely not coming

or maybe we missed it when our feet

stumbled

cuts on my hands, disabling touch

sensitive ties,

caught in a bunch

leaving it all

not letting go

for when life moves,

it's never this

slow.

no solution.

maybe if i curled a little more around the tension in my stomach,

the memories would go away

the tug o war between propriety and self would go away

the battle between myself would go away

maybe if i sob a little bit harder,

the poison would melt away

the headaches fade away

and my heart would be okay.

conclusion here: one significant line wrapping up loose ends and solving the problems that had arisen in the writing. [i have nothing to fill this empty shell]

my favorite secret.

it starts within. a glance in glass reflection causes the corners of your lips to rise, and your smiling teeth reveal a glimmer of hope. the ruffles sit right on your tired ankles, and your voice is ready to stop. don't you know? nothing can happen before the freckles on your face sit well on your eyes, and the curves of your body are only things to fill out your clothes. it starts within, a small flicker of something so contagious, and so ready to come out. don't leave me, my favorite secret... walk with me, guide me along to that place where i know i am fine,

i am fine.

genre incorrect.

finding myself unable to decide if i am jealous,

i dwell in words like "hermit" "recluse" and "settling"

they seem comforting... like chai.

as long as it doesn't ferment in a cup.

don't be mean.

well, i don't have high expectations... what am i left with?

headbands, greasy hair, pretending that coffee helps me.

it's totally mental... and very white.

its so easy. its so hard.

obviously your life is full of drama of that kind.

crossed legs, photoshop.

library visits and stark, awkward contradictions from a beautiful face.

the kindest words.

the simplest touch.

people, people.

enough is enough.

irresponsible freedom.

making choices between colors and shapes

now between touching and tastes

i know no regret

i feel no evil

except for love leaving the eyeless

sigh will i

for not knowing direction at 17?

please let me forgive

pray for the weak and brokenhearted

vision beyond the open-ended square

"you deserve someone who thinks you are the best thing to happen to this world"

doubtful

toast sans butter.

ideally, my body would be that of

toast

sans butter,

my soul of

fluff

not illusions to a cutter,

my mind

a bath tub clean and pristine,

my countenance

dainty with a hint of

mean

marmelade on the side,

but only, darling, if you decide

for i am putty resting in your dry hands

as i melt like childhood's crayons

teach me, toast,

to be a bit lighter

teach me fluff,

to lose spite towards her

teach me bath tub,

to cry without water

so as to clean the places

that are too dark for public

marmelade on the side,

pecan ice cream in mind

my countenance sweet

like childhood's treats

and old age's defeats

yours truly, making things harder for myself since 1992.

give me the timeline of my life

so i can find tonight and be

panther pictures.

time becoming slow

the future never arriving

i reflect on the flashes

apart

see the muscles moving?

you make hype like thunder

making me a thoughtless blunder

not for you

dreams surround the idea of "you"

you

you

am i involved in this?

slip the sweater from your wrist

show me that italian love

tonight we will dine in the thought of ourselves

perfume at the nape of my neck

smile on my lips

reveling in the thought of you

and me

brain.

controlled by electrodes

can't fix me

all my life has been Mind over matter

now, we are matter over Mind

Mind cannot stop three letters

nor ave maria echoing in the cavern of my skull

basket of a fistful of problems

mistakes waiting to happen,

problems surfacing to arrival

bumps on a temple

hair covering something so ugly

so despairing

and so wonderful

i hate you

i love you

mind over matter

please

not my plans. obviously.

deep down, i knew this would happen.

not liking my psych class.

wanting to sing, all the time.

not knowing if i'm good enough.

knowing i don't like psychology.

never believing in myself enough.

hating music theory.

but loving to sing, performance.

God, no.

i will never know if i am good enough.

ridiculous hilarious flirty underwater tea party.

so darling

you came back

now that my chest is larger

and my countenance more appealing

later you see

sure, darling, sure

supposedly we never hated

... more annoyed

so we all gather together

at a ridiculous underwater tea party

it felt as if my skirts were floating above me in

high water

da da da da ba da da da la la

so eyes look up past eyelashes as my teeth smile in spite of themselves

irony at its best

with a touch of lust and flirtation

why don't we all go out sometime?

scones? crepes?

i will most likely choke from laughter

separating my life was futile, i suppose

dugout, anyone? you bring the scones, i'll bring the skirt.

half n half.

we commend each other, chock-full of experience

half n half.

kind of like my shitty cup of coffee

true downfalls, painful things that will

haunt

for the rest of my life

but something that rings

i can see it in the rafters of this empty place

full of home

bubble burst

lungs filled with skittles

the dingy surroundings confuse my sense of right

but not my sense of wrong

future on line one.

as we sit around at wall facing tables

perfection teases me at its highest of heights

where dream meets neighbor

never knocks at my door

all things arranged

sticky notes on that table

i am left wondering how to spell

future is bright, fluorescent and yellow

damn your streets cars and internet cables

nothing but socks left on the floor

as sweet, coy ambition walks out my door

tell me you love it

tell me; or i'll

cry

your turquoise transportation to a cotton-filled sky

chemicals confuse me

ratios wrong me

a ring

an alarm

not a call from

a toy

so chevalier

dashing

darling

pocketable

satchel filled with handfuls of mistakes

for that is all my fists can take

come on, fat love.

come on handled love

crooked nose and toad smile

funny voice and short mile

things i see, part of life

unchanged in self

seen in a new way

we will not be forgotten

only shoved to the past by my newfound ambition

opportunity, my dear friend

give me everything

or put it in front of me

and i will snatch it as if i am coordinated

try me

we, the cool kids.

am i blind to the people who don't have a face?

dominican in the zip up against a brick wall

pirate with glasses

queen of hong kong

boy with cheyennes

me with the sightless eyes

up and up.

my head hurts

so i wont read anymore

but go to bed

goodnight

dugout.

tonight we are here

surrounded by bar code geniuses and asian rastafarians

straight from my life

for i am glad i got off the couch

and took experience off the wall

saw a little

now i smell a little

but sweat and smoke are rich with color

natural life taking place

for i know better than to get as many numbers as i can and forget about the true meaning of friendship

so keep me open

keep me crazy

keep me loving

and worshipping in my own way.

with all my love.

we are forever ago never occurring but in a distant dream full of old colors and twisted mental schemes

life should happen starting now.

yeeeeeeeeah i can't sleep. i tried. my mind is going crazy reflecting and thinking about my last time for everything before my definition of everything changes. so change already... because i'm sick of waiting.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdvlf6rJC7I&ob=av2n

one, two, three, four, five, and six.

one more detour and you are done. two more nights and you are out. three more pairs of jeans that don't look quite right.

i move, you move. never will i admit it. dashingly i will avoid all fabrications of your mind, and breathing hard for the last time we shall fall fall fall back.

four people once judged me. five people once hurt me. and six?

six means nothing. just a number on a die that has no control and represents yet another one of my unreasonable fears for having no trust for my split ankles and twisted balance.

tell me what to believe and for once i will take your word as truth. for i am gullible, but not quick to trust.

french.

we hit a bunny on the way back from the park

you asked why i couldn't stay out

i told you i was too young

you left

we remembered sharing smoke

sore joints.

reactions unstirred, yet attentive to the things that i can

touch around me

sensory like a child

how to let yourself love so foolishly

squandering my well-being away with a kiss to a beautiful stranger who haunts my porch

and who's rumble-down engine fills my thoughts every time i see the jet black shine in the late afternoon

pools of oil on my white driveway

luster like a black; streaks of pink and

yellow

for we were not that simple

so the stains remain

and i scrub myself clean

living loud

so i can forget the sound

of your ego revolving around plastic rotation of a flimsy desire

let me be

so i can learn to find that beat within again

sans you

independently lifting cupboards far too heavy and keys too foreign

for my fickle fingers

and wrists askew

mr. clean.

my dirty feet marked the start of something new

cleansing with transparent lavender, i found the things to

make life clean again

i am done checking and waiting

routing number changed

there is a whole world out there

and it smells like lavender.

cemetary junction.

today i agreed to a fate of lying around

so i woke up late

talked about the grey-ness of a future not everybody understands

my need to rebel escape and question

how it is almost easier to be different if no one is telling you to

things will be okay for me

i have heard the predictions

the evidence is in front of me

an old arab proverb says

"pretend your deepest desire is right in front of you, and just grab it"

honestly i don't really understand

but it seems right

and i love change and the imminent future

so today i will talk

but tomorrow i will take hold of something tightly and

just run with it

absorb.

for now i put aside form fitting clothing and eyelashes and the color black

lay on the floor

and absorb what i do not know

i'm strange, and you're strange.

i went flying when i was least expecting it. pausing for connection, remembering for redemption. singing loud, dancing like a fool. i opened up for the first time in a while. set free by nobody watching, and if they were, it was a joke. who needs you? just because of what you would do. that's not a reason to stay. so i'll laugh loud and forget the things you say.

the best day in a long time. thanks.

probably not.

refusal, finding myself in the midst of everybody's assumptions. self-denial, in order to remind myself of the life ahead. hope, that everything will meet my sky high expectations. realization, that sometimes i'm not okay. curious, because you probably don't miss me.

refusal

self-denial

hope

realization

curious

acceptance

deliver

despair

knew

careless

maybe these are not so bad after all.

twisted vine.

a punch straight to the sink hole that has become my heart

void unfilled

losing track of something endlessly far

only 20 days ago

fillmeupmylovefillme

alone i ran, drove, and swam.

waves and their power. to make you laugh, to knock you over. to talk to someone about your past... something you should have done long ago.

watching him like a hawk. realizing you too, were watching. but not him--me. "mother hen?"

are we all just birds then?

running to that endless tribute to recycling. the dead sea gull in the water. marble statues... that look like me. missing you; not enough to make me cry. but enough to drive past your house on my way home.

enough to do something a little bit stupid.

but i am young

and mistakes make you grow

for i will not learn

until i know why.

"we never stop mourning. the times in between grow longer, and the times we do grow shorter."

punch out.

.

happening

always

is

life

my

nap time revelation.

throwing pastel colored booklights to the ceiling of this warehouse, my body reacts with sightless eyes and bloody mirrors. the time i put into your grey floor with the hole where my ankle always catches, and i am left sprawling like the ridiculous 17 year old they see. i am exactly what you see; that is all you care about. my yellow lids and heart twisting worry meant nothing to you on the thursday and friday that i left. if only i could count the times you walked into me, caught by the book in your hands. when really i was alone in the cavern of my overworked mentality, and raging self conscious. what have i learned? how to spell fuchsia. and that in comparison, i am a cut above the rest of a senseless mass of humanity. these words taste bitter and harsh on my mouth... but honesty is a thick vein on my right arm. i wish you luck, to those people who understood my misplacement in their world, how if i had not been raised a certain way, i would certainly be lost in a cardboard box the size of my closet. to those who had more, who knew the world... who to some extent knew me. i do not know your last names, but your work ethic and a fragment of the skeleton of your past. a person on your mind, but never your hands. but thank you. we will not hug, or cry. but i will keep the words of your honest work on my mind, and somewhere in my heart i believe.

i cry when my friends do. they will never know.

mosquito bite.

i will talk you out of my system

denying both ends of opinion

to find a place where we can rest forever

in my memory

car seat reflections.

its night like these that make me want to cut my hair.

i saw you in the left lane.

told myself i wouldn't see you

but i don't control the left lane

or the muffler's purr

your music

or your profile set against the night

and i can't help wanting to see you

when all i know is no

city, please.

we are rebels of the darkness

lighting up this town with orange lights, street lights

controlling which way our wheels turn

where the pavement moves

dust beneath our overworked feet

but i love the motion of

fast

going somewhere

not looking back

straight ahead, plowing

through everything

anything

because you are not ahead

and no red light to tell me to stop

only

green

so go go go

smiling forever [these dusty dolls].

i have fallen past descriptions of places and things, and found a new feeling.

a nervous sort of humiliation,

but above a sense of relaxation

found only through my future's might.

for i am not a doll,

i grow and hate and spit.

i jump back and forth from cupboard to shelf,

put on my shoes all by myself.

making mistakes like it's my

job,

i yell and dance, whisper and sob.

frowning more than smiling,

laughing more than trying.

my cheeks aren't painted ruby red,

they are pale and porous instead.

for one is worse than the other,

a better good

misunderstood

by anyone who isn't me.

so take your pictures of the empty head,

then when it's old,

find it under your bed.

corner of your heart.

my red headed boy

we were passion

anger

fun and funny

dancers and losers

but time was against us

same with my soul

like with a little more

baby that's not enough

"i just need to kiss you one more time"

and my red headed boy

he was gone

surrounded by breakable bones, and edible skin.

a feeling that burns, a taught twist, you can feel it rising up in your lower chest and surfacing in your throat--only to dive back down again with a thought of fear at it's coming.

the worst part?

the only relief is the hope that eventually it will leave.

sunrise, sunset.

what are we but ribbons woven together for a time

knotted and frayed

torn and battered

changing colors

orange to green to red

never blue

that wouldn't be you

hidden gems are often a figment of the imagination.

the stares aren't always worth putting yourself out there,

wearing red,

smiling to myself,

knowing all the world can see.

because in the end, my curls look like those of the next girl, but she can dance and seem pretty.

worry is my expectation.

and so my brain becomes wrought with questions; sure to be unanswered for a lifetime.

human of the year.

hiding from you was the most ridiculous thought of my day

loving someone forever came second

humanity is nothing but feeling

the rest is loss or peace

serenity

a bore

a beautiful goddamn bore and i wish it was me

closing my eyes and picturing me singing my soul raw

until it hurt to hear me

to be me.

and i write for me

not to inspire

to understand

to think about what understand really means

because i've done a hell of a lot of thinking

and it gets you nowhere

no conclusions

and pain never gets old

you simply learn to live with it

lifting my chin

like lifting my eyes to the sky that i love

and the girl you confuse me with

dream girl

not me

cynical

harsh

and forgettable me

defining myself in struggle

not in peace

when i don't think

the world is healthier that way

with or without a bandage

a damn bandage over my stupid flawed eyes

on my stupid scarred face

on my stupid lost brain

i am anger tied together with a string

a string pulling me around

as i watch the trees go past

and the occasional wanderer who meets my doubting hurting eyes

and i wonder if they know.

the part that still thinks i can be something says yes

... cynical harsh forgettable me says close those goddamn eyes

laughing with.

who?

patches, hats, and pirates (how they rob us).

dust to a damaged eye

wishing away

trying not to cry

putting myself in a little girl's shoes

life can change in seconds

and love is never free

half the time its not enough

the the rest of life's a foolish dream

i did it all

put it away

but in the end

its not enough

and so it goes

sky blue on a hat

symbol of hopeless aspiration

if i had a cat

it would have died yesterday

psyche/psychic.

today was my day disruption rolled off my shoulders like a warm breeze a boy named ollie the word

skinny thrown my way coffee for cheap contagious ambition then calls a spot of black on my white

sunny day not again i knew this was coming its never about what you think until its in your

nostrils making you sneeze making your brain swim something gross like worn feet happened and

then there were two tears then there was me in my room pretending not to hear that the world

was knocking outside my door so take my hand take my whole heart too because i can't help

faling in love with you was in my head because somehow that makes life seem all too good when

we lose our favorites and sell the past for a price a cheap price and i am left in a bin headed to

our yesteryear of doubt

not a gerbil on a wheel.

like a cartwheel inside my head

circling circling

never stops

a briefcase of spiders.

left alone on the dance floor

my stomach tied up with a string, constantly pulling to where you are

knowing the imminent goodbye

learning you've been thinking too

telling me i can

holding me as i cry a silent tear or two that you may not have seen

that damn red hair

sitting on a beach

feeling that same pull

somewhere between yes and no

swimming out

finding it harder to swim back

because this is my future

and i don't know

there is no a, b, c

sure as hell no 1, 2, 3

just you

and maybe me

together?

or never.

your trip to far away (a place i've been before).

i am ever so aware of every knot untied

every goodnight left unsaid

goodbye

it is coming.

it's location is full of irony.

when i was younger, it was a place i dreamed of due to it's seclusion, and the intrigue that it triggered in my imaginative mind. enticing me, inviting me.

now, when i think of that lonesome path where the trees hide the ground (so the ground remains moist all day), i only think of being vulnerably alone, middle aged men, and tripping over creeping roots. my knees sinking into muck, no longer wishing to be by myself.

my secret garden, whose gate is closed.

i never read that book.

go go go.

potential

success

failure

love

and all this is is talking

when all i want is to go go go

stop stop stop it.

is it wrong to ask

why does that surprise me?

makes my mind go hopeful

my heart beat faster

my lips a little smiled

ready to ditch

you damn hypocrite

you can do better

story of my life

will that change?

a little smile

a little flip

a little thought

and i go crazy

passport.

dear self,

please please please please do not repel people by being sarcastic due to team building exercises created for tweens.

thank you.

sincerely, self.

religion.

growing up.

part of me cannot accept that every second must be a prayer

every action a judgement

and having a lover of my soul

more of a God

watching over me

i cannot be perfect

but the last 4 years i have tried after innocence became cracked like a windshield

always growing

maybe i have given up

just accept me

i am done running

sit ups

crying about things that cannot be changed

i am here

and i am far from holy

but i will try to live the way you want

how can i live in a world and not be a part of it?

what do you want from me?

to live above everybody

everything

i feel dirty when i become too involved

who knows why

just help me feel right

okay

loved.

the seven hour day.

happening is the world

sitting is me

calves never rested

feeling bested

by a fly loping low to the ground

glazing over dusty wafts of stale air

and i am the dust

once again

beginning

middle

end

dusty

like an old diary,

or a mirror never used

a poster of a movie no one will remember

the sequel to a flop

monologue

voice over

feelings strangled

things to say

to make it through the day

feeling slightly more normal

in shorts taken over

by a body grown big

and wisdom to fill it

com-anger-loving-passion

have you ever spent father's day with someone who's father was taken away?

it makes me

angry

helpless

and unsure.

what i would do to let him be a son again, to have a father again. i cannot really tell you.

big smilez!

your teeth don't mean much, it's those eyes

you're not squinting that's no surprise

but please

honey

smile for me

white eyes.

for all we know, we are bad people lost in a sea of good, and everything is backwards, and the whole world might blow up in any second, and all i wanted yesterday was to fly fly fly away or just blink my eyes to reveal a clear new world. to be better. to wish my headache away. to lose myself in him, and not constantly question and wonder what life has in store for me. to let the unpredictable come predictable, and perhaps tell some stories with not funny, but happy endings to my children. if they are out there.

life was a blur, and i sit here, knowing that in a dusty old warehouse they think that i have jumped ship.

to sunburn.

to passion.

to pink eye.

to home.

red.

cheers.

what's good?

if you want, you could borrow reality for a day

and squander life away.

a little bit of happy.

so i read through a few pages of my blog posts last night.

there is some depressing stuff.

so i looked for happy music, because these songs just make me smile.

so, for you :)

http://www.hulu.com/watch/155448/glee-over-the-rainbow#s-p1-sr-i1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Jz706sJMjg

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2B6UstLp6D4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5FCdx7Dn0o

180 degrees.

i've always found it silly

that we lean our heads

on people's shoulders.

our necks stretched

awkwardly,

painfully,

so our heads (so full of care)

rest

perpendicularly on an angled bone

a 90 degree edge

only to show that we

love

unconditionally

despite the discomfort

love

contrary to a 90 degree angle

which is unforgiving

but you

count as 90 at least

so i guess we make 180

which is a smile,

i think if

love was math

180

http://www.hulu.com/watch/155448/glee-over-the-rainbow#s-p1-sr-i1

pretty girls go pretty places where people can see them sitting pretty.

why did that make me mad so fast? because i dont want to use that wallet, or maybe because acting pretty isnt priority number one, or that i act ugly when i am out of things to do or say. because i can sense pretty, and it pierces me with ribs sticking out into my personal space bubble and sense of pride in being genuine and believable. experience is valuable, girls. so put down your damn hair straighteners and look at the world. it all came down to what i do is nothing. i never wanted to be friends, but you were too busy looking in a mirror to see me at least trying.

the world is starting, and you havent even begun to grow up or walk around the corner of your street.

so meticulously, they comb every strand, ensuring its fate against their tense shoulders.

i dunno. i am tired.

not of belonging

but of knowing there are those that i love

and pretty words don't mean much coming from my lips.

maple leaf.

yeah, that's my excuse. because no one gets it, not even me.

and it's too damn dark

my pants are too tight

my morals too strong

and your voice is too loud in my head

so get out

get out

get out

and find me a place behind a counter with people who can laugh at the world without finding a reason to redeem themselves.

get over it.

and grow up.

"i heard your laugh, i heard your voice."

since it seems to be the trend, i will write something too.

but before i begin, i would just like to say i threw my hat and it definitely did a dive-bomb and nailed someone in the head. unfortunately, i do not remember who.

i suppose it began when my room felt too small, and my hat looked funny on my head. it was a night with too much closure thrown at me at one time, with too many goodbyes, but not a single tear to "mark" them. the ceremony meant nothing, really... except when i threw my hat and it landed exactly where i expected it to. not in a bitter way, just in a i would not have it any other way... way. i ended up driving that night, no car crash, thank god. too many close calls in my life lately for that kind of curve ball. now that pretty little dress smells like cigars and excitement, but i threw it on the floor.

and i realize that this has become a narrative of some sorts. which means i have no idea what i am talking about.

because beyond the size of this world and the farad, goodbye has been something that i cannot understand.

it has not filled me.

lying on the floor with hair spread around me
curled like a baby
crying like a girl
makeup smeared like a woman

everything i say will be belittled and made okay
is there anything to be done?
no
so i lie there
changing only to relieve my curved back
or rub off a tear that has found its way into my ear

i remember the feeling of goo on my feet
and love on my chest
then a night without a love to say sleep tight my darling

because i knew when driving that life would not be normal
it would not be family
or security
it would be balance

telling it like it is
driving home without music
taking the long way for the long way's sake
and realizing i have been milked dry

hallelujah
hallelujah

pancakes and thunder.

thanks is a very overused
yet underused
word

it is never enough
but it can never be used too much
so,
thanks god
for
keeping me alive
giving me my family
my loving friends
the ones that try
food to eat
gifts to use
and a soul to love

thanks

success.

to be beautiful, to be perfect, to be success and it's outcome. things that every aspiring teenager struggles with, but eventually comes to term with
that pretty is enough
a few mistakes are okay
and success is fairly relative.

because i hold him close and he loves to see me
and i make mistakes but i learn my lesson
and i am accomplished in my own right.

i don't run the mile, but i finish eventually.
plus, if i don't run, i have just enough breath to sing a song that will inevitably come to my mind.

success is fairly relative.

gone.

i am still here.

why?

i could be gone.

blown out.

gone.

gone.

gone?

gone.

that word means nothing, really.

because it doesn't make my average existence any more or less.

just here.

comprehension, reflection, apprehension.

gone.

seventeen.

i feel that today will be one of expectations too high and burns too deep to really know what i am underneath. of hopes, and thoughts, when all they really mean is that everything will happen and i will be pushed wherever he wants me. because really, i am just blowing whichever way the wind takes me, as i pretend to walk with purpose and find little things to make an overall effect. i am nothing more than an accent misplaced, with a memory filled already with dust. because i am sick, and hunger for nothing but security in someone or something that i love, when in actuality i am left sitting in a sweaty chair watching my past go by with the newspaper. silent observer? hardly. but i think that i deserve less than that chair sometimes. or maybe that is me comprehending experience. so speak. because deep down i'm scared as hell, and i'm only seventeen.

and all this is is words
words
words

ouch.

i laughed because i love my life and everything happens at the wrong moments which always turns out just right.

pictures of me.

note to self:
try to be more attractive. haha.
posture is a good place to start.

no, this is probably not about who you think it is.

and so he will judge, and not forget
till someone smiles and lets him go
i've seen the pictures
and self assured smiles
until he sees that all the while
his head was lost in an ignorant fog
of lofty ideas and gilded crowns
for i was in another time
and now we're crossing
maybe for life.

maybe this is why.

i became overwhelmed by all these things to pray for, and realized i'm very poor with words.

one color.

i like that, elle.

out like a candle, flickering.

today i got pizza, and became that shy girl who lowers her eyes so her eyelids cover her pupils like blankets when she speaks, and the girl who presses her lips together when she senses potential eye contact.

i felt like a flower, almost as if i blended in with my jacket.

just another flower in a garden full of weeds and berries,

although lately i do not mind.

the meaning of life? (for today.)

embracing real life is:

realizing that some people will never want to talk to you
there's no such thing as a legacy
in some ways, you are stuck with what you were given
knowing that not everything is exciting, then
trying to find little things to make you see more
forgiving and forgetting, no matter what
learning not everything will click for you
some things are impossible
some things are not
trusting that someone has a will and a way for your life


and in all, hope for tomorrow because sometimes today isn't what we expect, or what it should be.

saturday.

stuff like smoke escaping from his lips, tears in my jeans, the smell of outside on my black jacket, and realizing i am growing out of my shirts.

*******-belle.

typically i wouldn't consider myself that way, but it seems as soon as someone catches on to something more, i can't handle it and i shut down, malfunction. a barrier. i would rather have you think what you do now then ever guess at what is behind a dull looking door.

adoption.

theme of my days, as of late.

because for so many things, life is a swirl of colors lifted up like dancing napkins.

body pillows.

half and half. how was it all? was it worth it? not for winning, not for acting, not for points. for friends, and singing my heart out until i thought my chest might explode. losing my voice, and lifting those up who didn't have the heart to make a sound. a trifecta? no such thing. but i will carry you on my other shoulder if points don't add up, or love from others just isn't enough.

and until then, i will sing, sing, sing, and lose my voice until my little sounds make a difference.

may today, two thousand and never.

a kind of unexplicable exhaustion has taken over my mind and drags my eyelids shut like a rusty old anchor. i'm tired of so many things: adults, sex appeal, my future... unconnected musings that all end up in the same place. a thought of a simple necessity like eating, or sleep makes me sigh with yearning, and delight when i can finally reach it.
and yes.
i complain. because in my heart of hearts, it's the only way i can satisfy the discomfort of my life. there is a tear in my body due to a need for redemption and a fear of finally leaving. stepping into my new surroundings, and leaving old things behind. once work, and now play.

so goodbye, old cubes, ugly shoes, and the same old moves.

my social security number is signed away, and i am only a speck of dust drifting away in the evening wind.

sometimes i run out of things to say, as well.

i like dances.

sometimes i say i don't to make people happy.

and that, my friends,

is high school.

take a second... think about it.

thought of the day:

if all of us just took a second to try to understand why people do the things they do everywhere around us, the world would be a lot better of a place.

less tears.

fears.

beers?

haha.

no.

velcro, lightup, plastic with holes.

this drought of unshared thoughts and bird's-eye view moments must come to an end.
when i read your struggles and thoughts,
i can see your room with it's tear-stained carpet,
your memory flickering like a candle,
your anger burning past your boiling point,
and your suffering put into words that don't really fit.
why do we wander?
why words?
for now i suppose, i will assure you with mine,
though no one will ask how i wander myself.


we fade with times that no longer fit us,
life now is like a favorite old shoe.
we've walked in it for miles, sweat in it, breathed in it.

but now, it is too small, my friends.
too small to wear.
so we'll tie the laces one last time,
then put it in a box under our beds.

they will still be there tommorrow,
and the next day,
and the next.
the shapes of our feet still lie in the padding.
but there are more miles to walk, now.

leave the shoes.
walk barefoot.
it's summer,
afterall.

one of those days.

i managed to forget everything i needed today.
ha.
and i wasn't even that mad.

changes.

ch ch ch ch ch changes
turn and face the strange
ch ch changes



best blog post.

ever.

bitter wednesday.

things i hate:

1. skinny people

2. people that go on vacation

and worst of all:

3. skinny people that go on vacation.

spring break check list.

-dance like no one is watching
-sing as horribly as possible
-make that mad ca$h money
-tan when i CAN (rhyyymeeeee)
-run/walk everyday that i can
-learn the single ladies dance
-enjoy living life as a kid for as long as i can, and as much as i can

CHECK

maundy thursday.

once in a while i feel like i should see him in everything.
then i remember that the right side of my brain loves sounds that clash and are so right at the same time,
and that silence is the conqueror of all things unholy.
for i feel with my ears,
and in this way,
his soul.


embrace the darkness
for in it
is light

maybe our ribbons are meant to cross.

you were in my dream.
when all i had was a jacket,
and you were across the room.
in a way, you chose me.
and i reciprocated, because that's
what i do.
you confuse me.
suprise me.
and i like it,
i guess.
what is this?
a poem?
an unopened letter?
an unanswered prayer?
whatever it is,
it probably is not to who you think it is for
so deal with that
while i pray for more.

weekend.

yes, i learned. perhaps i grew.
for now, i will leave it at that.

what color is dust?

for a moment or two,
i wish my life was full of feelings
"straight from seventeen magazine"
just like
just love
just hate
nothing in between, where they
clash
forever asking where my heart lies
but that would not be my life.
in the same way, i ask for
no other heart
no other mind
no other body
except on mondays
because then i am faced with the real world again
or perhaps
it is the fake world

the story of 89 and 90.

numbers 89 and 90 sat on a couch.
then 89 got pissed and laid on her porch in the sun.
90 worried.
89 knew it.
89 liked it.
90 groveled.
89 forgave.
now 89 and 90 are happy again.

the end.

you know it's a bad sign if...

you know it's a bad sign if you are social and people think something is wrong with you.
you know it's a bad sign if your used-to-be favorite class now makes you moan.
you know it's a bad sign that if the only thing you really care about doesn't even make you that excited.
you know it's a bad sign when you're too exhausted to be with people that can always make you laugh.
you know it's a bad sign if you're trying to think of somewhere to belong and are torn between where you should be, and where you "should be."
you know it's a bad sign if songs you used to hate now have a whole new meaning.

echoes connected.

that evening was unlike any other in a very long time. pushed to a brink, and willed back to the same edge that we had almost fallen from. my hands touching a mirror, than for the first time in oh so long, hands lifted in swaying, wordless nothing. for i did not know what to do, or what to say. all i knew was i could see my face as if in a movie, and that it was a face of total shock. arms around me, pushing me from side to side, catching me before i fell. like rain on a trampoline, tears on a lonely night, and waves beating me down from my perfect balance. what was left of me? what more could i give? nothing.


So I lay my head back down.
And I lift my hands and pray
To be only yours, I pray, to be only yours
I pray, to be only yours
I know now you're my only hope.

you think i have a title for my confusion??

oh, Lord. what do i do now?

88.1-106.5

i turned and walked out the glass door, through blowing wind and a dusty downtown parking lot, trodded by thousands of poor feet, old feet, and shameful feet walking to the place of redemption. he called my name, i said hello, and we managed to see each other quite a few times. of course. i thought of the people who i put all my trust, and how some had let me down. opening the car door, placing my key in the ignition, happy music came on. and sadly, there is no better word than happy. my quick hands turned the dial, and i was lost in the song. singing with all my heart, eyes closed, but open. because i was driving. my hands gripped the steering wheel, and i was off. changing channels as soon as one song ended, all with different emotions, auras, and words. but i felt them all. i felt them all so much, i did not know what to do with myself. so i took the long way home, saw people running, walking. speeding cars getting pulled over, and robins picking at dead winter turf. eventually, my car found it's way home. dad asked me why i sped into the driveway, but i had no answer.


i was lost in the song.

men.

thanks for trying--but my eyes aren't blue.

come closer, now step away.

if life were a circle, i would be in the middle, running around in spirals, breaking often. reflecting.
i ripped that paper bracelet off her wrist because i hate so much what has happened.
how i cannot deal.
the fact that i am lost in my own sadness and fail to see the struggles of others.
cause the fact of the matter is that i am not smart enough
"hot" enough
fun enough.
even when my past told me yes to all three.
so in this moment,
i look back on my stupid, lopsided foot prints that are only me
caring about me
hiding my draggy toes and unkept soles
telling myself lies
or being hit with the truth
and somehow
never being treated like i should
both good
and bad
damn
we're messed up.

4n6 hottie list?!

what they h.
why do people do these things.
hidden gems...
at least someone said that.

yup. this is a multiple post.

i ain't got no home
i'm just a ramblin round
just a wanderin worker
i go from town to town
the rich man took my home
and drove me from my door
and i ain't got no home
in this world anymore


the words of people that lived so long from now fill my every thought and movement for fifteen minutes--but really fourteen and 13 seconds.

spring is coming.

with words he raised me,
but with skips i spoke joy.

5:45

lets be honest: there's no way that enough words exist to capture what happened, is happening, and will happen.
so i bury my face in my hands.

on the board.

with marker i will draw a box around myself.
some people know that it is dry erase, and others do not look hard enough to notice.

tonight will be just any night.

and tonight, i will sit. put on pajamas, eat ice cream, and watch great tv. really, this is all i want. for tonight.

three times doesn't make it better.

an unexplainable festering has taken over me the last two weeks. and i laugh. cry. whatever. but it's never really gone. just out of mind... but then something happens and it all comes down, down, down again. and i am lost in my own head of all places, wondering who to talk to, who could possibly understand if not even i can give a word of advice to myself. me. infj. counselor.
yeah right.
i'm just selfish.
and i take it out on people that i trust.
i'm so
so
so
sorry
but something is wrong
and tylenol doesn't help
lost
lost
lost

take that.

die, hope. die.

a day in the life.

hearing her voice, like it was in my basement. i missed her.
sick of headaches, my first migraine.
it can only get better... right?
wanting to throw a lasso around the moon for you and me.
wishing it was easier.
feeling bored.
grappling with issues, and then letting them drop.
phrases that are unconnected
except in my head.

a mismatch of different flavors, colors, people.

Song of the Day: You Belong To Me - Jason Wade.

i probably played it over ten times in a row. why? do not ask me.
anywho.

lately i am too caught up in my head... leaving me forgetful of others and tired from running in circles getting nowhere. time to move on. from what? again. do not ask me.

anyone remember this?

i just remembered the time when i was in grand haven with a few friends, and these young adultish males came up to us. they go: "oh hey... do you ladies have any sun tan oil?" Me, being such a clever flirt, says: "NO. We don't want skin cancer!"
MLIA.

help...

today i am listening to Big Girl (You are Beautiful) by Mika.
because today i feel gross, inside and out.

the call.

everyone fancies themselves "different." unique. not just your day-to-day angsty teenager. i have reasons, okay? but sometimes i am nothing but an annoying girl who wants to feel sorry for herself because her life isn't perfect. although, if i keep perspective, it's pretty close.

how can i describe what i'm feeling? it's a tension. right in the center of my chest that never seems to go away. as if something isn't right... like a pallete of paints. everything is in order, but someone or something took a paintbrush, or maybe their finger, and just swirled all the colors to create some sort of chaos out of the order that once was.

the best part is we all think that we're fine. there's not a whole lot behind the smiles we see and the jokes that we laugh at, and the things we avoid to protect sore spots. but there is. every single person you meet, brush shoulders with, look at... all of them have stories. and people. and sore spots.

i cannot fathom this.

so what am i going to do?

i'm going to study people, and make up for the others who don't care.

to help people reorganize, and find out why.

a question unanswered by science and reason.

which is why i will succeed.

honest. no frills.

this is a no mixed meaning post. i am just going to tell it like it is.

today during sixth hour, another headache graced my stupid brain. it was on the top of my head. it felt like a pencil. i didn't talk to my ex-boyfriend. not because i don't like him, but because i didn't feel like arguing, and pretending that i could be fun. after class, i bent down to get my boots out of my locker and realized that i don't know the inside of 525 very well. part of me wanted to stay in there. not because of the rusty blue metal... but because no one would look for me there.
last night there were all these things i wanted to tell people. like the lights were awesome! or, remember that one time at the dance when everyone was dancing our move? that one's for you kat. but i forgot, because sometimes my mind is like a balloon and it just floats away and i can't get it back.
and then i say stuff. and people probably think i'm stupid. and i don't really care what they think... because they probably don't really like me anyways. and that's fine. and i'm done starting my sentences with and.
one time i was petting this cat while babysitting, and i kept shocking it accidentally.. something to do with the carpet. but it didn't run away... it stayed, because it's purring made up for the dozens of electric shocks. i think this says something about life.
sometimes i do little things that maybe don't mean a lot to someone watching me from far away, but the person that i'm with gets hurt.
hey you. the one that i get along with... but something will always be off. sorry i tune out when i talk to you. i want to say it's not personal... but lets not pretend. remember? i'm being honest right now.
the title of my blog is sing through silence.
1. because i love singing. duh.
2. i love silence. sometimes, it's my favorite sound.
3. like big spaces and high ceilings, i like to fill silence. often with singing.
i like lists
mini things
perfect curls
warm drinks
cuddling in bed... by myself. sorry...?
ingrid michaelson
dang. i would talk about that one thing, except i can't really be honest. never mind.
usually when i resort to that i should stop. or keep going. dang it! i'm being elusive.
time to stop.

trash stash.

i am a skeptic.
i will neither laugh nor cry, question nor envy, scoff nor gossip, hate nor love.
i will stare.
wondering how.
how?

500 days of guessing.

the other night
i swear, it's true
i just "woke up"
and then i knew
so i think
but i'll second guess myself
until the very end
either that
or pretend

lists and lines get you nowhere on a circular planet.

in life, there is not enough love.
but sometimes, there is just too damn much.

too little:
losing friends
hating enemies
hopelessness
suicide
child prostitutes

too much:
watching slumdog millionaire
those little kids and their mom in tiajuana
knowing that god broke his heart
seeing my dad flip out
voice lessons

life gave me lemons and made me a list and line person.
so i'll draw a map and trace a straight line.
right now, my pros and cons list is equal.
because too little love hurts,
and too much hurts.
too many things going through my head,
so i simplify
box
regroup
and i've come to the same conclusion



nothing

the middle.

like two circles
like infinity
holding two hands
across a canyon
knowing very well
which side i want to be on
realizing what is good
realizing what is bad
loving it all
seeing the faults
wanting more
but not too much
up in the morning
down at night
and at noon
i am just right
in the middle
just like Moon
"a happy balance"
yup, me too.

a different kind of poetry.

words like this:
understand
freckles
belong
curves
sleep
"cool"
actually cool
coffee
many
questions
little
different
love?
blanket
dreams
black
skinny


i understand why his freckles lie on the bridge of his strong nose. it's because they belong there. i want someone who loves the way my body curves at inappropriate spots for today's fashion industry. sleep is my companion and my enemy. i fear to be judged by people that are "cool" but really i fear those who are actually cool. coffee is great in the morning, but not when there's too much creamer. or too little for that matter. there are many questions that i have. there are little that i actually ask. he's different than the others. can i really love? it felt right with the blanket over my shoulders, to protect my back from the cold. in my dreams, nothing really makes sense except for the emotions that lie under. everything i'm buying is black lately, and i no longer have an intense desire to be skinny. and this is my life.

they don't understand. sometimes i wish i had freckles. they would not belong on my face... but sometimes i feel like a mole out of place. i don't want a straight road life. i would like bumps and curves and a yellow-line passing zone please. sleep comes at the wrong times if you ask me. sometimes i think that i am a "cool" and then see people who are actually cool and i feel really stupid. in the morning, coffee wakes me up and makes my breath smell like a teacher's. how many friends do i truly have? what's the point in asking these questions? little do they know, we are different. you. me. her. him. other him. do we all know each other? is this love? that i let my friends borrow my blankets? he gave me his. i don't have enough dreams... i love the nothing and everything that they are. black is associated with fright, but i like the mystery in it's no-color color. i would be goth. no. i'm not skinny.

the result of the complication.

plucking on heart strings
losing the same things
all because you said yes
to what
a green dress?
a lucky guess?
don't mind me
just remind me
that to love
we must lose
and to gain
we must trust
because what is pain
but a failure again?
so we repaint our nails
say that we're pretty
and come Saturday
we'll run this city

exams.

deep thoughts?
mmmm...
no...
wrong answer.
you are now kicked out of blogland.
no thoughts?
nothing?
angst?
joy?
song lyrics?
no...
F = MA
WTSINTHETA - f = SOMETHING
FRICTION
...
failure.
haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

blunt...

i'm sick of myself.
and school.
and apparently this is all i am.
thanks, friend.
not.
you're an ass.

god.

i asked
you gave
i let
you loved
you look
i see
you listen
i speak
refinding the love
together

so beautiful.

i've heard
before
all the things
you say
but when
they come from
your lips
they mean
the world to me

stellaluna.

"I'm mad at my protectors, I suppose. The ones that never do. Because I can never just fall back and know that they will catch me... I'm always the one apologizing, or messing up. Always the strong one, burying things way deep down and embracing the shallow things, which are so much easier to digest. I always listen, and sometimes I just want to scream the words and 'hate' and 'afraid' right into the midst of my past and see what my fathers will do. Because I don't trust. I can admit that, which makes it seem false.

Today I wondered if human existence was always worth the pain. Good things: shared memories, stomach-straining laughs, passion shared of two that love, and feelings of accomplishment and contentment.

Are these worth the immense pain of unworth? Self doubt? Relational pain?

I want to say yes.

But tonight it almost feels like a no.

Not in a suicidal way.

In a heavy, hopeless, once-again-you-are-not-good-enough way. Yeah. That hurts.

I feel like a bat with wings of wet paper.

Flying is hopeless.

Or maybe this is just tonight."

another little collection of poems [sun].

rotation.
if i could rotate myself around the sun.
if i could ask the world to move a little strangely to where you are.
if i could gravitate the stars to make a map to where you are.
if we could be two islands in the same sea, i would swim to your shore.
we're both under the same sky,
why not meet there,
way up high?
there was hope behind your eyes...
and some fear
in disguise.
if i could rotate myself around the sun.

my catcher.
somewhere, lost in your translation,
my true meaning transcends.
beyond your labels and own insecurities,
i fly to a brighter tomorrow,
where the sun is my baseball
and hope my own bat.
sick of boxes, crates, and barrels,
i reward myself with true appraisal
of the ones who love behind the smile.
eyes go small when teeth are too white--
so i squint at the sky,
waiting for light.

my catcher [2].
for loving the light,
i became sick of it's reflection.
part of it,
anyway.
those who see the dark
that colors my eyes
and fills in the dots
on my skin
didn't like it either.
so i folded it all
and put it in a drawer.
i guess i'm saving it
for a rainy day.


*i'm not particularly proud of these... but it was interesting how three days in a row, i wrote about light in my journal. hmmm.

for all those sexy mamas...

pretty is a stupid word
it makes my friends
feel terrible
and takes it's turn
with me
p-r
e
t-t
y
sometimes the letters
seem cuter than me
but i suppose
that's just being
a teen

C.

i had that anxious feeling again last night. not being able to fall asleep... because my mind was whirring like some mad scientist's machine and I DON'T KNOW WHY. i just wanted to sleep... maybe this is punishment for not trying, or not being smart enough, or available enough, wrong enough.
and it was so good for awhile. not that everything is terrible now... but i need to shape up. know what i care about.
should i try out for multiple? i don't know. it would hurt so much to be thrown aside again. and one act hurt, but this would be so much worse. i don't know if i'm up for that. but maybe it'll be better.
i don't know.
i love hiding behind i bright sunny shirt and the word senior. but i care.

bubbly.

hello, new year. i celebrated by sitting in my parents living room falling alseep on my mother's shoulder. ten minutes after midnight, i was in bed. haaaaaa.
i had a wonderful time though. belle and i just sat. and we were quiet. if there was anything to be said, we would say it. all the things that we wanted to say, but didn't quite know how. luckily we got each other most of the time.
and now i feel ready for 2010, a year of so many new beginnings. which i am PUMPED for by the way.
all in all, this is a boring post. i've been inside my head a little to much to write something that you all would understand.
but happy new year! you all are dear to me in some way. i love being able to see different sides of you when i read all your posts of angst, confusion, or humor. we've seen some great writing, and we've seen some immaturity. and that's okay. because i am only 17. so i am pretty immature. a little emotionally behind. thanks for bearing with me.
aaaaanywho. lets see what the year brings, eh?