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.