i just want

something soft,
sweet,
enraged with so much meaning.

so that you're forced to express it hard,
acidly,
punched with the start of something.

tripping all over the words
that do not come out fast enough,
startled by realization.

Of something new.
Of allowing love.
Of becoming alone together.

Musicians

Do you see:

you have rhythm
to give your words style
writers work with none
and make them just as wild.

Blindness I could see
but how can a musician be so deaf?

High School

Walking down the hall
interwined with streams of randomness.
Degradation in some eyes,
uplifting motivation in others.

I look into several faces,
some avert eye contact,
some reflect complete fakeness back.
I push on as my real self.

It's times like these
I wonder how eighth grade dances,
spin-the-bottle,
"love" for the first time,
no-sleep nights,
and crying on shoulders
disintegrated into
'Hey's' in the hallway.

I changed earlier than most,
but are we all that different now?

His Song

My Haiku that Beat Strout with Flying Colors. haha just kidding Strout did really well too and it was only 12 to 11. (But 12 was the best you could get : ) ):

Clock speaks that number,
One: Fourty three. I wish Love
Danced on Guitar Strings.

I did manipulate this out of a longer poem I had written which I may or may not blog later. Who knows. And while I was in geometry more haikus sprouted into my mind. Although, like per.8 knows I am bad with syllables so maybe their not haikus at all but here goes:

Flutter Bys and Bight
ing Lugs captured in cans con-
taining innocense.

Nieces handicap
grasps all love and commitment.
She becomes my star.


and yes, I am finally 18. Woohoo.

Random Quotations from my Mind

Selective Hearing makes for Defective Speakers.

An Ego destroys the Man who realizes he has One.

your glow of flourescent
(which blinds most)
makes my vision 20/20.
Steal it away
and
steal my vision.



Check out moe.'s Together at Christmas
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=3329018
Very sweet songs.
my favorite: We're a Couple of Misfits.

Ten Words

Pacing into love,
something rarely done,
she yearns to take her
twisted self and straighten this all out.

The sporadic thoughts he stutters
are merely vulgar impulses
of looking for a way out.
Or looking for her in you. The love he craves.

This tango that's been tangled
danced them all out before their own eyes
confused their passion into cynic lust.
Relationships can be artful ways of murdering an individual.

The way he views them is merchantable
and, morally, she can not afford a love that costs.
Luxurious companionship once shared
has withered far from intimacy.

No longer are they joined.
No longer do they share
thoughts that bride* them together.
The self has returned to her.


*Bride apparently means a connection consisting of a thread. So I manipulated its usage, not sure if it worked that well.

Leftovers

I keep
R
o
l
l
i
n
g.
On the remembrance
Of You.
Riveted by the
Recollections
Of Us.
Reborn into the
Individuality
Of Myself.

Complete Contemplation

I think in quotes
which think themselves
into poems that rarely
make it to fresh paper.

I think in stories;
unwritten novels play a baseball game in my head.
There is no ump, no innings, no outs.
Fiction characters bat the ball of fiction conversations in my reality.

I think in letters;
countless, EndLess, INFINITE letters never sent,
should have been sent
but are underground in notebooks oceans away from the recipient.

I think in song;
songs that beat away unsung.
My voice would not do them justice
and my fingers randomly dance to their own melody.

I think in images;
my mind mentally snapshots
landscapes of love, lust, loss.
But you can not develop the photographs of mind.

8 Symptoms of Mental Illness

A teenager hidden behind
loud music, dark pounds of make-up, and imprisoned behind a locked door.
A blade painted crimson provides deliverance.

Vincent Van Gogh
and the legacy remaining by
his swirling, starry mind of infinite art.

A secluded old man
taking a dive from a death-providing bridge
considering not a single person had the warmth to show him a smile that day.

"The Raven" that flies and the heart that ceaselessly beats
left over by the tortured mind of Poe, a social outcast-
credited only after the Masque of the Red Death stole his soul away.

Genocide of innocent lives-
a fear sprung from blonde hair and blue eyes put in place by some thing
acknowledged as Hitler with a brainwashed audience spreading his lies.

A following of similar addictions
forming an alliance under the first letter of the alphabet times two;
transforming countless lives from utter enslavement into self-sufficiency.

An adolescent, with self-esteem spiked to the negative end of the spectrum,
who starves themself into the bleak nothingness of bone-thin;
emphasizing importance in lack of numbers rather than the health in them.

Selflessness and courageous careers dissecting themselves
from the dreams to aide those whose mental disadvantage
steals life's sublimity, leaving only chaos and abnormality.

Breaking Births

When I was born into the body of a baby,
in the four white-washed walls of a hospital,
I was born into a family passioned by abuse,
born into a world thriving on wages of war
weighing on innocent lives.
I was born into the undeveloped good and evil of myself.

When I was born into the body of a toddler,
I was born into a longing to read and be read to.
Born into escaping an adult's alcoholism and a parent's neglect
by tossing rhymes around with Dr. Seuss.
Born into hide-and-seek games that hid me from the boogey man of my father.
Born into having Toby, my puppy, and stuffed animals as substitute best-friends.

When I was born into the body of a child,
I was born into a soccer player, a miniature Mia Hamm.
I was born into blinding,
censoring the faults of those around me and my self:
focusing on everyone's good, learning how to subtract their evils.
Born into projecting my brothers and me into a new family.
Or two
or three.

When I was born into the body of a teenager,
the blinders had long since departed
to save some other innocent child from the shameful letdowns of life.
Born into following the lessons taught to me by five teachers nicknamed brothers.
All while hollowing my own way out of the depths of depression.
Born into tempting myself with crisses and crosses
and other doses of self-medication.
Born into a bothersome girl where trust is non-existant
and mental illness is apparently prevalent.
At 16 years old,
I was born into another hospital minus the white-washed walls,
replaced with numerous restrictions,
for two months of my life.
Pushed out of the pointlessness of reality
and into a mini collage of potentially, suicidal fragments of strayed people.

When I was reborn into the body of a young adult,
I was born into the realms of perspective
and realizing life could be worse.
Never having the patterned life people tend to puzzle themselves into
no longer is an excuse for unhappiness.
Born away from letting milligrams of their prescribed medication
etch a livable existance.
Born into a life of creative reflection and progression:
living on and in music,
placing laughter in someone's smile,
the shine in anyone's eyes,
ignoring imperfections and improving anything from everything.

When I am born into the body of an adult,
hopefully a concrete identity will emerge.
Maybe one day,
when I am done playing dress-up with images,
I will find one to define
and help future generations
be born again without restraints.
But mostly without unhappiness.

When I am born into the body of an elder,
I hope I am born into the person I can be proud of
and then, one day, be born into an afterlife where lessons carry over.

Everyone accepts one another the next time I am born.

Student Turns Teacher

It's not my job to find yourself
before you throw us all away.
Love should be void of explanantion:
it's a feeling, not a test
to see who comes out on top
or knows each other best.
Because I am sure of the way you make me feel
and how your smile creeps up on my face.
Leave out all the specifics your quizzing
because they are way too common place.
Truth be told: you are still gripping another girl's hand,
comparing my grades to her,
and that's not how our relationship can stand.
Don't blame me for the chain you can not detangle
I've tried to unknot the knots.
I'm still here screaming
"Who you want at the other end is not necessarily who is."
The hurt you're projecting she once taught you.
Being your pupil had its up and downs
but now the graduate has some lessons to throw back.

Rhyme for the Sake of It

My flustered mind's in overdrive,
demoned by other creative minds.
Pen on paper even lacks originality,
everyone conforming in totality.

Void of thoughts a fresh.
Figured I would tell you I like Phil Lesh.
Back to the basics, though.
I have realized every one is walking toe in toe.

Is there room for more?
Brand new ideas to tour?
Or has it all been stated and received
by an audience who has heard it all before?

A struggle to find a person to be,
without losing me or becoming
too attached to we.
Truly shown no one is completely free.

Tired from living tainted lives,
Day by day, I'm taking a new
D
I
V
E
down deep and when I arise to the occasion,
An embracing blank page will remind me of reason.

"I Carry"

As a result of The Things They Carried by Tim O' Brien. Engage yourself in it.

I carry myself.
The person I was,
The person I am,
and the person
I strive to become.

I carry my childhood:
a body sprinkled with cuts, bruises, and jagged scars
from playing a bit too roughly.
Getting down and dirty on the soccer field
just like the boys but more.

I carry stuffed animals and dolls
from the endless nights
they were my companions for sleep.
I no longer carry nearly as many
but the ones I do, carry their own unique meaning.

I once carried the ability to climb from my window
down in through my best-friend's when times got
too hard at either of our houses.
I carry a soggy, tear-drenched shoulder
as I'm sure, somewhere, she does too.

I neglected my ability to play hide-and-seek
and man-hunt professionally, therefore
I no longer carry the ability to hide
from view for too long
before someone discovers me.

Somewhere, inside of me, I carry
a broken, invisible child who grew
to be a young adult trying to find
a light for a meaningful, successful life.

I carry frustrations.
Every day in several ways.
And this I can not abandon.

I carry the burden of being
so many different persons to
so many different people.
But I am only one.

I carry the glory along with hardships
it takes to be:
a sister, friend, daughter, sister again, aunt, best-friend, therapist, girl-friend, sister a couple times more, niece, student, waitress, baby-sitter, protector (who also needs to be protected), long-lost best-friend/ex-girlfriend, enemy (I never found out why), and the list unrelentlessly goes on.

I carry all these different people
compacted into a person terrified
of deserting my self in order to fill
the shoes expected of me.
The shoes that walk the path I expect.

With me, I carry the extreme doubt
people around me will be there
for me always, or that I deserve that.
I carry the word deserve like an incurable disease.

Finally, I carry
(or rather they carry me)
a family that has been permanent for over three years now.

As a senior, I carry difficult courses
and am ridiculed for that,
but laugh because people can not see I enjoy them.
I carry a job that makes me unhappy
but is decent and makes me money.

I carry the fear that comes with being
an adult in two months and not enough courage to be one yet.
But quite enough ambition to try.

I carry the ideals of who
I want to see in the future.
I carry the ideas that
I will adopt and never carry children of my own.
Because my adopted children will be my own.
I carry a college-bound student
who lacks any clue as to what to do
with the rest of her life.
But trusts time will show her where to go.

I carry notebooks filled with
unfinished stories, run-on nonsense statements,
questionable quotes, and never-read poems.
All of which are written by the person I was
who made me the person I am today.

I carry pride of every person I ever was
even if they are not entitled to it.
I carry peace even though my mind
is not always at peace with itself.

I carry myself,
the person who brought me here,
and the person I, one day,
will become.

Freedom from Structure

I am for classes being outside
where dirt and leaves can
make way to your paper
while a crisp, September air
breezes past your ear.

Not many teachers go outside, though.
Bomb scare or school shootings
or what-not is all they have to say.


I am for seeing the glass half-full
and than filling it up some
so no one can
see it the latter way or go thirsty.

I am for sleepless, star-filled,
story swapping nights which
inch themselves towards dew-filled
mornings where you finally talk
yourselves to sleep.

I am all for awaking from a dreamy
slumber, in the cuddly arms of another.
Gazing into endless eyes that simmer
with Open Curiosity and Compassion;
and allowing yours to well up
with tiny tears of recognition.
While your whispers of I love you's
wallow in the air.

I'm all for meaning every word
you say
even though sometimes
we don't.

I am for bare-feet, sun-rays on cool faces, and stormy days
where all the power goes out.
For card games, pleases and thank-yous,
and long walks that take you
no where but bring you some where.
I'm for giving and not expecting
ANYTHING in return;
receiving karma in the long run.

*For charity* and smiling at strangers.
I'm for contradictions and letting your
m i n d w a n d e r.
I am for the relationship between
John Lennon and Yoko Ono,
which is random,
but it inspired many
therefore I'm for inspiration.

I'm for finding Murder, War, and Genocide
PointLess Products of Miscommunication
and for overly stressing the
importance of acceptance.

Lastly,
but certainly not last,
I am for being for
TOO many things
that you can not keep track of them
or ever possible fill enough pages.

P.E.A.C.E. is.

So many diverse personalities
congregate into One Place.
Yet we allow
Ignorance to run its course
right over acceptance.
Much Deeper than Understanding.
Embracing is Peace.