It doesn't feel like Christmas

It just doesn't feel like Christmas.
No it doesn't.
Not at all.
It just doesn't feel like Christmas.
There are presents under the tree,
but the tree is fake.
It can't be Christmas yet, yet it's just three days away.
It just doesn't feel like Christmas.
No it doesn't.
Not at all.
It just doesn't feel like Christmas.
Where's the magic in the air?
The carolers?
Does any one even care?
That it doesn't feel like Christmas.
It just doesn't.
Not at all.
It just doesn't feel like Christmas.
There's no snow, no love, no feel good feelings.
It doesn't feel like Christmas anymore
Can you get too old for Christmas?
I don't know.

So what

So your bigger than other girls- so what?
Not as smart as other people- so what?
You dance funny?  I don't care.
You can never do anything good with your hair.
So what?
So what?
Who cares?
Your lonely days run into lonely nights.
You can't sleep if someone turns out the lights.
You're afraid to try for fear that you'll fail
All that's holding you back is you.
So you're ugly- so what?
So you're weird- so what?
You're not perfect
Your smile's crooked
Your feet are big
You're clumsy-
So what?
This is what's holding you back, why?
You're funny, you're friendly, you've got a cute smile
and sure you're not perfect but nobody is
If you don't learn to laugh and to roll with the punches
you'll live your life in a hole in the ground
So you're imperfect- so what?
So are we all.

Potter

clay
hands
sliding
shifting
two
not one
together
not alone
two minds
together
and
against-
fighting
to mold
each other
to their
respective
wills
each
making
the other
stronger
something
better
more
beautiful
than
before
potter
clay
two minds
together
and against
against
each other
but never
alone

Love poetry

I don't want to write you another love poem
The world is already full of the silly things
written by imagined lovers
pining for what can never be theirs
I don't feel the need to add to their number

I don't want to write you another love poem
I'm worried you'll take it the wrong way
I don't want you to leave me
but I don't want to die all by myself
Maybe I should just tell you how I feel

I don't want to write you another love poem
But I think I'll have to anyways.

If I should ever build a boat

I will name it after you.
It will be as perfect as you are
With tall masts and beautiful, unruffled sails
my boat will be reliable,
sailing strong and steady across stormy seas
it won't sit too low in the water
it won't sit too high either
it won't have a motor
but it will have shorelights
and every time I turn them on,
you'll know what I'm thinking about.
If I should ever build a boat
I will paint it gold and blue
blue for the way I'll feel when I leave it
and gold for the way I'll feel while I sail:
the same way I feel when I see you
the boat won't be perfect
but no one ever is,
it'll be close though, I hope.
If I should ever build a boat
I'll sail it home to you.

Like a chill after warmth

the smile leaves my face
lingering just slightly
as the bus pulls away from the stop.

I have as many faces as there are minutes in the day
Serious when scared
Somber when serious
Laughing while I sob on the inside

Smiling instead of running away screaming.

It's silly isn't it?  Being so fake.
But I can't help myself.
If I acted like me all the time
I'd be just like that guy in my History class
(his name is Steven)
And he's the biggest outsider you'll ever meet

I could be like him
I could act like myself
And maybe they'd love me for me
But instead I'll fake being one of the mob
I'll laugh when I should and tell jokes about "your mom"
I'll belong on the surface, I suppose
But in my mind I'm as foreign as Steven

Because honestly-- 
I'm not a person, I'm a mask

I'm like a coin

Happy on one side
Sad on the other
constantly flipping
always just one
never both
each fighting
the other to be
the one on top.
never winning
for very long
but lingering
if they can.
my emotions
play with me
bat me back
bat me forth
just like a
ping-pong ball
caught in this
eternal game.
Happy now
Sad tomorrow
living not in
equilibrium
but in a state
of constant
rearrangement
of my heart
rearrangement
of my mind
and of myself.
every fiber of
my being will
love life so much
one day and
hate it the next,
hate life so much
I'm willing to
throw it away
like a coin
on the sidewalk
vacillating between
happy and sad
bitter and sweet
rejoicing one day
and cursing the next.
two sides, one coin
that's me.

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

How long must I live my life like a pez dispenser?
Pouring out from inside me
All that defines me
Into the hands of those that despise me
Watching my enemies eat my entrails
Leaving me a raw, empty shell
a relic of a fast-fading fad, forgotten in a land-fill
with a stamp on my forehead proclaiming to the world what I am
MADE IN CHINA no. 30478295
I am nothing,
wasted plastic, bereft of all that made me worthwhile
I am nothing
You are nothing
We are all nothing.
We are like drops of rain falling from blue sky
onto the heads of people walking by
gone just as soon as we've arrived
with our hellos so close to our goodbyes
that they might as well have exchanged places.
We are nothing.
And we leave nothing behind,
just people, staring up into the clear and cloudless blue
asking themselves:
Now what, was the point of that?

Do you know

what it's like to have your world turned upside down?
to find yourself shooting through the sky in a blaze of crazy colours
like a rocketship with no place to go
a man with no place to be?
Do you know what it's like to fall in love with a person you can't have
and then find out that they'd fallen in love with you at some other time
and some other place
life can be cruel
but it's beautiful
is it worth it?
I don't know
Do you know what it's like to fall down hard and fast and far?
I do.
It hurts
both metaphorically and physically.
Life is full of glorious highs and painful lows
The trick: learning to take it all in stride
the good and the bad
but never the ugly
because accepting that something is ugly
is like giving up on it- saying that something is ugly
is actually saying that you are too lazy or weak to see something beautiful
life, in all of  its goodness
and in spite of its badness
is beautiful.
Life is beautiful.

You ask me why I'm smiling

I stare, open-mouthed.
But you've lived such a hard life,
I say.
why are you smiling?
And she looked at me with a smile on her face.
You ask me why I am smiling
I am smiling because I am happy.
I stare.
You ask me why I am smiling,
she says.
but you want to know why I am happy.
I am happy because I woke up today
and there were no bombs to be afraid of,
no brothers to pray for as they fight in the war,
no food to work for- it's already in the fridge.
But really I am happy because even though I've endured hardship
I know that the only duty I have is to myself.
To my happiness
and to myself.
I do not need to worry about my food
or my health
the only thing I ever need to do in life is be happy.
You ask me why I am happy
but happy is not something you are.
Happy is something you make.

I went to sleep that night with a different view of the world.

She stares at me and asks
Why are you smiling?
I smile.
You ask me why I am smiling
but you want to know why I am happy.
I met a woman once who told me that she was happy
because the only duty she had was to herself,
to her happiness.
She did not need to worry about her food
or her health
the only thing she ever needed to do in life was be happy.
She was very wise
You ask me why I am happy
but happy is not something you are.
Happy is something you make.

Contemplation

looking up at the sky as the raindrops fall
staring out the window aiming to stand tall
Who are you when no one's watching
who are you when you are free?
And does it matter to anyone who you are

Where do we go when we close our eyes?
Do we wander forever, visiting far off lands?
is there a place in the world where all forgotten things reside?
And if I find it can I bring them home again?

Do we live in our bodies, or do we live in our minds
is there a person wearing my clothes that isn't me?
Can we change to be not us and leave the real us behind
Or is the person we become the person we're meant to be?

Can there be truth in lies and colour in sounds?
How do we know if up is up and down is down?
And if I cry at night, does someone hear me when I pray?
When I'm down and lonely is someone with me through the day?

Is this real? Or is life just a mirage on water?
If I put my hand to it will it stay to feel my touch
Or will it run away from me like a tumbleweed on sand?
And if we'd pause for just a moment, maybe we could live forever
Eternal youth, that's something, wouldn't that be grand?

At the end of the day what is everything about?
Is it love, or knowledge, a hand to hold, a fist of cash?
Are there stars in the sky or is reality illusion?
And if I told you that I loved you would you run and not look back?

I can ask questions forever, but I can't expect an answer
because science is a lie and there's no fact to be found
truth is a crude concept, not one that holds any water
and you can laugh at cynicism all you like
but I don't.
because the cynics have it right.

Morning

He stares at her hair on the pillow.
At her eyelashes resting on her cheeks.
The gray sunlight kissing her short nose.
He eases himself from the bed.
Walks to the door.
And into the kitchen.
He turns on the radio on the kitchen counter.
Dancing to the music while he cooks.
He flips the eggs.
He's smiling.
He remembers the night before,
Her smile.
His hands on her waist.
'I'll make you dinner if you'll make me breakfast.'
He remembers his nod.
And he smiles.
Turns off the oven
And walks back to the bedroom.
He holds a tray:
Scrambled eggs.
Waffles and sausages.
Two mugs of Irish Breakfast.
He sets it all down on the desk and he sits on the bed.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
He kisses her nose.
And then her rosy cheeks.
He kisses her eyelids and buries his nose in her hair.
She opens her eyes and flashes a smile.
Lazy, almost feline she stretches.
Sits up in bed.
Yawns.
'Morning.'
He could wake up to this every day.
He hands her a mug of tea
And she smiles again.
' 'Morning.'

2 am

In the house where I grew up
There was a large, black grand piano
And when I was just three years old
I used to pile up old phonebooks to stand on
Just so that I could sit on the bench and reach for the keys
but once I could reach the keys
my feet couldn't reach the ground
and I would sit on the big black piano bench
In front of the big black grand piano
crying until someone- usually my mother
Would come and play for me

And I would close my eyes
And I'd smile
And I'd imagine myself dancing

It's midnight and the clock is chiming
A big grandfather clock, just outside my bedroom door
It's been there for as long as I can remember (and maybe then some?)
It's older than my mother's mother
Small taps sound on my window, and I race to the latch
I remove the screen and Tim slides inside
And we're kissing our hellos and groping around the room
And we're turning out the lights as we sigh
He pulls me to the bed and I can't think for all my worries
And I try to imagine heaven, but I can't
Because nothing could be better than a rainy October midnight
On which I've got the man I love in my bed

And I close my eyes
And I smile
And I imagine myself dancing

It's dark outside, the clock strikes two, and Tim nudges me awake
We stumble out my bedroom door and find the room with the grand piano
We shut the door behind us- it's soundproof (trust our luck)
And he sits down on the bench and places his fingers on the keys
I sit there wordless for god knows how long
I can't think or move a muscle
But I listen to every note he plays,
Memorizing the melody and making it a part of myself
And we sit there together- the man I love and I
Together in the house where I grew up
The house with the big black grand piano
And the constant Grandfather clock (which is just now striking three)

And I close my eyes
And I smile
And I'm imagining myself dancing

I grew up in a world
Built on things I could depend on
And then I met someone
Who knocks on my window at midnight
and plays the piano at two am in the morning
The reality of life is that we have to stop imagining that we're dancing
And just dance.
Tim and I did
Outside
In the rain
On that cold October morning
And I never for one minute regret that we did.

A letter long forgotten

I found a letter in my desk the other day
I'd written it to a friend of mine (I'd meant to send it her way)
but I didn't
so I've still got it
In my desk.

I wrote you a letter long forgotten
It wasn't long forgotten at the time
but why I felt the way I did, I've now forgotten
and I still have the letter after all these years gone by.

I'm sending you this letter long forgotten
About all the things I used to feel
I'm adding on all the things I feel now (things I had forgotten)
By stopping myself from feeling and trying not to be me.

I figured you should probably see this letter long forgotten
 So that you'd know how I miss you, my old friend
I figured there might be some things that we had both forgotten
About promises we'd made and the letters we thought we'd send

I moved away, and that was no one's fault at all
But I'm the one who chose to forget
not you
never you
so I'll put this in the mail
and I'll tell you how I feel
how I miss you
I'll tell it all
In this letter long forgotten.

Sometimes I feel like a horrible person

I said this to a friend yesterday and she asked if I was going to go
"all emo-existentialist" on her
not at all. not at all.
but you'd feel like a horrible person too,
wouldn't you,
if you were going to break some poor boy's heart
like a fancy china bowl,
smashing it
and dashing all his dreams.
you'd feel horrible too
if you were wearing my shoes
knowing you were going to hurt someone
wanting not to,
but understanding the inevitability of the situation
you'd feel horrible
if you were me
knowing that he really like liked you
when you only kind of like liked him
and knowing that when he worked up the courage to ask you out
it would be in vain (you'd reject him, of course)
because as much as you kind of like liked him
and as much as you'd been leading him around
like a dog on a very short leash,
a donkey with a carrot
leading him on, because you couldn't can't help it
you don't like like him nearly as much as you wish you could.
You'd feel like a horrible person,
if you were me.
but you're not
so be glad of it
be glad that you're free
of this ridiculous burden I've placed upon myself.

Killing the moment

This is the day for slaying my fears
for killing the moment
and emerging from the rubble that is my life, like one of Shakespeare's tragic heroes
This is the day.

This is the day for correcting mistakes
And forgetting the ones I can't fix
moving on and living as if nothing can touch me
This, this is the day.

I worry too much about hurting other people
and all I wind up doing is hurting myself instead
I'm afraid to stab a friend in the back.
So I shoot myself in the foot.
I talk about living life with my heart on my sleave
but I don't.
Some days I wonder if I even have a heart.

I need to move on, to get out of this one hat town
But I'm too busy thinking about the people I'll leave behind.
I'm scared to kill the moment, even though it's mine to kill
I'm scared to walk away, even though lingering is risky

but I don't want to walk with my eyes fixed on the ground
Or to run, constantly glancing over my shoulder
I think it's high time that I stopped hiding behind my cliches
and just lived.

I feel like I've lost

My inspiration the way that you lose a -a what?-
I don't know. I've lost my inspiration
But it's selective
I've lost my poetic drive over the past while
but I've written three songs in the last week
and I've dreamed up a few really amazing pieces of artwork.
and I've done all kind of creative, inspired things
I just haven't written any good poetry.
But it's coming, I know it.
Something more creative than anything yet
a truly inspired poem is on its way
Just as soon as I find the inspiration to write it.

Growing up

I woke up to gray sky and rain falling on my window pane
rolled out of bed and pulled on my runners
and I ran

I sailed the world in the rubber lifeboat with the number ninety-nine on the side
traveling farther from home with each wave
and I went

I remember being six years old and thinking that if only I could fly
then nothing could touch me
nothing could hurt me if I could fly
If I could run just a little bit faster
than everyone else in the world
nothing could ever make me cry again

I opened the door upon the rainiest day the westcoast has ever seen
walked all the way to school in the cold
and I sighed

I flew as high as my small wings would take me, up into the sky
waltzed with the birds and looked down
and I dived

I remember being six years old and thinking that if I closed my eyes
the whole world closed theirs too
nothing could hurt me if I didn't see it.
If I could just pretend a little bit longer
than everyone else in the world
nothing could ever hurt me again.

I stared out the classroom window and out past the rain and I saw you
wished for the day to be over, to walk by your side
I was in awe

I held your hand and I walked into the sunset, not realizing not seeing
Until I opened my eyes, acknowleged the truth
and I saw

I remember being six years old and thinking that forever had meaning
and that a promise was always true
nothing could break the bond of a pinky swear.
If I could just make you love me more
than everyone else in the world
you would never hurt me again.

But today I realize that leaving doesn't meaning running away
and that wings melt and fast running feet will only leave you far behind
I see that sighing doesn't always mean the worst is over
And that closing your eyes only protects you from yourself
Little did I realize that our forever promises were fragile
that they meant the world to me and nothing to you
And I can walk away with my held high
Or I can stay and be pushed down to the level at which you can handle me
But if I close my eyes, and pretend that you don't hurt me
I'm not helping myself, and I'm certainly not helping you

Look

but don't touch
like a sign in a china shop
it hovers above your head
Look, but don't touch
See, but don't feel
Gaze at longingly, but never stroke, brush, converge with.
I'm breaking in these shoes, see?
I'm feeling out the edges of uncharted territory
This- this is what they call lust?
This is what it feels like to want something you can't have
Longing to reach out and take what could so easily be yours
And stopping yourself.
Wishing to tap, pat, fondle caress, heck even just graze, become contiguous with, connect with, pet
And exchanging all that desire to study, inspect, observe, contemplate
Exchanging contact for the mere contemplation of how it would feel
To run my hand down the side of your face,
to grasp your hand in mine
To stroke the lobe of your ear or kiss the crook of your elbow
This- this is lust?
this is the thing I'm taught to fear, to run away from?
It doesn't feel hellish
Frustrating, yes, but simultaneously heavenly
For I would rather spend a day gazing at what can never be mine,
Wanting it, yet denying my desires
Than spend a day in the presence of angels.
Call me sacrilegious.
Call me depraved, fallen, abominable, corrupted, disgusted, despicable
But don't deny me the right to
Look,
But not touch.

Castle

She stumbles through the door
'Anybody home?'
Home
home
home
home...
'I guess not.' he grins 'Let's go exploring.'
Hand in hand they travel the halls.
He becomes a prince, she a fair damsel.
They are running from the evil dragon.
'Close your eyes.' he says 'I'll rescue you.'
She believes him, and they run.
Scampering over stone.
She becomes a queen, dressed in jewel adorned robes,
He a stable boy awed by her beauty.
'Close your eyes.' she says 'Do not be afraid of me.'
He listens to her, and they run
Running on to the next room, climbing the steps of the tower
Panting and laughing they stare out the window at the sunset.
She becomes a hermit mechanic, he her trusty aide.
They play at building time machines,
Just to capture the moment in which they are happy
Running free through the castle and imagining themselves
At other times and other places
Somehow they are sure, they would still be in love
And their hearts beat
As steady as the earth is turning
And they run through the castle, racing each other out the door
Into the sunset.

Faucets and Friendship: three haiku(s)

The tap is broken
Water leaks from the faucet
Touching the plastic

Sighing we decide
One of us must go repair
The leaky faucet

So both of us go
And we fix it together
Side by side, smiling

Paper Planes, Jeremy and the Way We Solved Our Problems

I taught you how to make your first paper plane.
I was in love with you.
I think.
It was so long ago that it's hard to remember,
But I do remember shaking my head at the paper plane you made along side your friends
Trying to make a plane by folding-squishing the paper into
what I assume was supposed to look something like a plane
And then sticking tape all over it to make it stay in that shape.
I should have realized then that you could never love me
Because where I tried to fix problems by making them right,
You would just stick some more tape on all of your shortcomings and hope that no one would notice
It was so long ago, but I remember
I was the nerdy, awkward, socially-inept third grader
And you were the "fly," rabble-rousing fourth grade student
King of the summer camp playground, conqueror of all the rug-rats and dirty rascals.
I was in love with you.
I think.
It was so long ago that it's hard to remember,
But I remember holding your hands, molding them to fold the perfect paper plane.
I remember smiling, sheepishly at you and saying "this is how it's done."
And that was all
But it wasn't.
Because two whole years later I transferred to your school
We were still children, but as children do, we thought ourselves adult
We scrambled over the monkey bars and you chased me through the "forest."
I realize now that the forest was just a small grove of trees,
And I see how small we were
But in that moment you were the biggest thing in my world:
The sun which I revolved around, my one true love.
You pulled my headbands off my head and threw them like frisbees with your friends
I didn't care.
All I cared about was you.
You teased me about my geeky books and all my nerdy ways
I didn't cry.
But I cried myself to sleep each night, wishing you would care for me.
I was in love with you.
I think.
But what is love if not the mere absence of hatred made stronger by mutual physical attraction?
What is love if not the mere absence of frustration, made stronger by the desire to procreate?
Love is nothing.
Love is childish, as small as we were and yet, as we did, Love thinks it's self adult.
I don't think you ever loved me,
We went our separate ways and now I see that it was for the best
Because you just stick some more tape on all of your shortcomings and hope that no one will notice them
I fix my problems by making them right.
So I'm fixing this problem
I'm going to fold it into a perfect paper plane
And I'm going to throw it out my window and out of my mind
I won't look back, and I promise I'll never think of you again.

Heartbeat

I am just a heartbeat
Beating steady, beating slow
Speeding up and moving on.
I am just a child
Turning into a woman
Maybe one day a mother, a lover, a friend
I am just a spirit
Living in a cell made of sinew and bone
Longing to be free of the bounds of humanity.
I am just a mind
One voice among many
Crying, singing, writing my story
Along with the rest of the world.
I'm living life with my heart on my sleave
But I'll keep my hands away from the flames,
Because I don't want to get burned any more than I have been.
I'm blurring the lines between me and the world
Stepping out with the tide and returning as it ebbs,
Because I'm not afraid of drowning, but I'm not keen to get my feet wet.
I'm finding myself in the least expected of places
Learning to love despite all my cynicism,
Learning to trust despite my doubts,
I'm growing into shoes I never thought would fit,
and I'm pissing my signature on the pillars of conformity
I'm kissing the stars, they're so close I could touch them.
I'm dancing with angels and flying on a magic carpet.
Can't you see me?
I'm free.
I've burst out of my prison of sinew and bone
I've mapped out my highway, I've painted it red.
I think I'll go smoke the pot at the end of the rainbow.
I'm writing my story, my memoir, my poem.
I've lost my mind, but I have found myself.
I'm not who I wanted to be, but I'm happy with what I am.
I am a heartbeat.

Beating steady, beating slow.
Beating in the silence, in the still.
Beating alone, yet along with the rest of the world.
Beating out the sound of my dreams
The sound of my triumphs
The sound of my failures, my fears, my hopes
My heartbeat
Just a heartbeat
Just me.

This is the story of a girl in a glass box.

This is the story of a girl in a glass box.
Nothing can touch her, nothing can harm her.
She loves no one and no one loves her back.
She lives in a world with no sadness or pain
A world with no people, every day just the same
As the last, whichwas boring, as boring can be
Life in a glass box, with nothing to see
Until one day a glass cutter visited her home
And cut away the side of her box.
He said, he'd rescue her from the monotony on one condition:
She wasn't allowed to fall in love with him.
What is love? She asked him, and he laughed.
They travelled the world together, the glass cutter and the girl from the box.
They visited Paris, Milan, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Brazil, Mexico, and the Great Wall of China.
Together, the glass cutter and the girl from the box hiked in the Cloud Forest and swam in the seven seas.
Then one day, the girl from the box said to the glass cutter:
"I have grown to appreciate your company very much.
You are funny and kind and considerate. I don't think you could stand to hurt a fly,
But you could certainly take down a lion if he dared to hurt anything you cared for.
I wish," she sighed, "I wish I could spend the rest of my life with you.
I am so happy," she said, "I could burst.
And I wish that I could do something to make you as happy as I am now."
The glass gutter stopped laughing
And he looked at the girl
"That is love." He said.
"What you have described is love."
And he left, without another word.
Because he knew that the girl from the glass box had fallen in love with him.
And so the girl who had lived in the glass box found another glass box to live inside of.
And she thought.
And she thought.
And she thought and she dreamed and she wished for the glass cutter.
She saw nothing,
she did nothing,
she felt nothing
but she thought everything.
She thought rainbows and oceans and tall ships and telegrams.
She thought lunches in Paris and late night trains to London.
She thought of eating rabbit at midnight and of the shape of the glass cutter's chin.
She thought:
This is what love feels like.
And then she realized, with a start,
That even when you live in a glass box you can still feel things.
You can feel longing and fear and misery and love.
You just can't do anything about the way you feel.
And she dreamed and she wished for a happy ending to her story
But she couldn't do anything about it, because she had ruined everything.
She had fallen in love with the glass cutter
And she had found herself another glass box to live inside.

And honestly, that's the end of the story as far as I'm concerned.
The glass cutter may have come back for her, but he also may not have.
In the end, it doesn't really matter.
There is no moral to the story.
Sometimes, that's just how life is.

sincerest apologies

for the posting delay
I was at camp
on a sailboat
sailing around
and stopping at beautiful islands
it was fun
but now I'm back
and there will be poetry
about life and pointlessness
there will also be prose
and romances in verse
there will be short stories
(ice cream and sweet nothings)
hopefully
I will brighten your summer
even though it does not need brightening
more likely
I will just write random things
which no one will read 'cause they'll be at the beach

Aurevoir
mes amis
smile, be happy
be content
in the knowledge
that you are not me.

Resurgence

I'm dreaming of a crumbling city citadel
A mossy tussock sits inside
Arched windows overlook the city of light
Broken and buried in rubble
Trees sprout from the ruins
Bird calls echo through the silence
As nature reclaims what is naturally, rightfully hers

I'm sitting on top of this mountain
A sheer, cliff-face drop to the water below
And I dive, reaching for the pot at the end of the rainbow
Sailing my ship down the waterfall
Flying my kite into blue oblivion
Riding on the back of a whirlwind
And laughing at the child I was, I am, I'll always be

I'm finding myself in the least expected of places
Dreaming within the confines of this box I call home
Writing on the white walls that surround me
Pissing my signature on the pillars of conformity
I'm learning to love despite my cynicism
I'm living the life I didn't think I wanted to live
I'm growing into shoes I thought would never fit

White gauzy curtains flutter at the window pane
The storm rages outside the latch
The key disappears under the doormat
Opening doors that cannot be seen
The butterfly leaves its cocoon
The kitten opens its eyes
We all hold hands and face the new dawning

We become transfixed, transfusing, diffusing
We become what we are
When no one dares to look
Where no one dares to look
We live different lives
When we're not under the microscope
When we are free of panopticism
We become lighter, floating, we become light

Quotes

Laughter.
the wind blows through her hair, whips her skirt into the wind
She runs along behind the kite.
'You coming?'
He laughs
Chases her chasing the kite
Smiling.
'Kiss me Kate.' he's quoting Shakespeare.
She knows it.
A day at the park.
A kite.
Happy laughter.
And both of them there.
Nothing could be better.
The grass grows tall
And whispers in the wind.
'I love you, Lucy.' Fifties TV shows.
'Oh come on Shroder, you only love your piano.' Wrong show.
She knows it.
She's just teasing.
And she's remembering this morning.
The phone call.
Stumbling to answer.
'Let's go fly a kite.'
(Mary Poppins)
A picnic lunch.
A day at the park.
Throwing quotes back and forth ever since his phone call woke her up.

Just

I am just a girl
turning into a woman
and hopefully one day a lady

I am just a child
Peeking over the counter
of the icecream shoppe- mesmerized

I am just a person
Just another person
like you, like anyone else

I am just a mind
Trapped inside a body
that means nothing to me whatsoever

I am just a voice
Calling out accross the water
"listen to me, listen to me," echoes in the waves

I am just me.
Love me or leave me
you can't change who I am.

Sandwiches

'Good morning' she says. 'sleep well?' a question.
He blinks the sleep from his eyes, nodding.
White underwear lies on the floor, flung there last night in the consummation rituals.
Last night.
Last night they danced until midnight.
Last night they were so tired they didn't think they'd be able to stay awake any longer.
But it was worth it, staying awake like that.
Very worth it.
He remembers it all.
The white dress.
The ceremony.
The dancing.
The longing to just run away from everyone with her and find a nice, dark corner somewhere.
It was worth the wait.
Worth the wait.
She remembers it too.
The white dress.
The reception.
The friends hugging her goodbye.
The airplane ride.
The hotel room.
And now- waking up.
'I have to say it sometime darling' he says, 'make me a sandwich, I'm starving.'
And now she's mad.
Seething.
'a SANDWICH?'
very mad.
This marriage is not going to last.
Or so it seems.
But then she continues.
'We're in Paris and all you can think to ask for is a sandwich? I knew I shouldn't have married an American.'
Definitely not going to last.
Or so it seems.
But then she smiles.
Flings the curtains wide.
And staring out the window, says:
'Get your clothes on.'
She's already dressed.
Turns.
Sits down on the bed.
Kisses him.
'We're going to go look for some real food.'
She waits for him to get dressed.
Pulls him out of the room.
Down the stairs.
And into the bright, French daylight.

Metaphor

The man who eats his words shall have a feast indeed
It may be flavorful and rich
Or scanty and decayed
but it shall be a feast nonetheless

The man who speaks with much thought
may not have much to eat
but each bite will be wholesome and good

The man who speaks only good of himself and only ill of others
Shall eat until he runs to fat
Gorging himself on the things he oughtn't to have said

And the man who speaks only in lies shall not eat his words
but be eaten by them.

One thing we have established, if words are food for thought
I quite like playing with my food

Anagrams and Spoonereisms

May- yam, my a.
May I have a yam?
My, a yam you may certainly have.

Sushi- hi sus, uh sis, she sues.
Hi Sus, fancy seeing you at the sushi bar.
Uh, sis here is Sus, here at the sushi bar.

Her sushi is rotten, therefore she sues.

New year- you near.
This one should speak for itself, I think.

Um no- numb oh

Um, I was um, going to tell you, um no, but it came out um more like um a rather numb "oh."

Belated- late bed
I wished you a belated birthday, and then was late to bed.

Battery charged- Chattery barged
My battery was almost charged, before the chattery squirrel barged in

Mouse- so emu
A mouse met an emu and he said, so emu...



and yeah..... this has been fun. but now i'm getting bored of it all.

if you have any you'd like to share, feel free to do so.

An apology to my perhaps non-existent readers

An apology I feel is in order, said the spider to the fly.
For all the changes that occur as life spins and passes by
I'm sorry for all the times I've done it, killed thy kinsmen and now you
But you see, this insensitive deed must take place, for I need to eat too.


Alright. There you have it, your poorly written poetry fix of the day.
And now on more serious terms, I would like to apologize for all the crazy changes that have come to my blog over the past while. I went from having a blog with a dark blue background to one with a rather interesting burst of pink and green lights, then for awhile my blog sported a pretty picture of an airplane, which in turn was followed by the rather short lived image of a coffee mug. And now, I have a rather exciting image of some birds taking flight. I think it will stay this way for a very long time.
I quite like this image, you see. So I suppose I will stick with it for as long as possible.

Thank you for caring, and for reading my pathetic piece of poetry for the day.

May.

Butterfly Girl

And I was just a fly on the wall
watching, horrified as your hand slipped into his
horrified mostly because of the innocence to be lost
but also horrified because I understood every bit of what was going on
and you understood none of it.

You were always the innocent one
the flower in the glass cage
the princess in the secluded palace

I saw you as a butterfly that had touched down in an empty house of grandeur. I watched you meander it's halls, your small butterfly footsteps echoing through the mansion. Your eyes vacant and staring straight ahead, your heartbeat slow and steady. Glass chandeliers lit your course in the empty, windless castle. Until one day you found the great wooden doors. And let yourself out into the world

Your skin burned in the hot summer sun. And you danced under the moon. You lost your innocence to the first man you ever kissed. And I was left to watch.

In the firelight I saw you
Your curly hair resting on his shoulder
His fingers caressing yours
You the innocent butterfly, he the enchanter
And I wanted to kill him
To protect your innocence
But I hadn't the heart to do it
Because he had you under his spell
And I couldn't kill you along with him

I should have but I didn't
So I watched as you fell for him
And realized that things were best this way
For your innocence was never lost in the way that mine was
Because you were the misled butterfly
And you, you pretty thing, enjoyed every bit of it.

Such is the seduction of the butterfly. She is innocent, yet a temptress. A child and yet she is a woman. She has the voice of a siren and the beauty of a fallen angel.

I only hope that you prove as strong as he
So that he can be enchanted as you were
For if he is, the spell shall last
but if not, it will break apart

As the enchanter becomes bored with the enchanted he will walk away from his beautiful butterfly. And leave her in the dark night, without his warmth or the firelight to save her from the ravenous wolves.

And so be strong, my butterfly girl
Bind the enchanter to you
across the miles between you, call to him
And tell him you wish for him every night
Ensure he never leaves you
And you will have the love of eternity
Your innocence will not be lost
To the soul of the enchanter
who holds you in his grasp

You are strong in your fragility, my butterfly girl. You are graceful in your failures. You are beautiful in your heart, and seductive in your innocence.

My butterfly girl.

Psychosynthesis

I am a lion trapped in a gilded cage
Howling at the throngs of laughing people just outside the gilt bars
I am a fish caught in a net of silver moon beams
Glaring at my captor- an uncanny likeness of myself
I am a man stuck on a paradisaical island
I thought it was beautiful the first time I saw it
But now I don't, and there's no way out.

I'm trapped inside the cage I fashioned
A web of lies I told myself and others
I'm two minds within one skull
One mind is me
the other is the one I tell myself I am

It's time for a little connection
A bridge between my two selves
Even though they're not congruent, they can still be similar
Or so I'd like to believe
But really, can lies ever connect to the truth?
Can King Sodom keep the council of Melchisedech?
Can the part of me that is holy reconcile itself with the part of me that is fallen?

Is it time for a little Psychosynthesis?
For me to connect my broken and unbroken halves
Or is it merely time for it to occur to me
That these factors of my mind are not so separate as I choose to believe
That I am a liar and a fraud
That it was me who drove the nail through the palm of those willing hands
That in reality I'm nothing more than a whore dressed in tattered rags
That I'm broken and useless
That the real me is the one in the wrong
And that the lies I fabricated for others
Are only the result of how depraved I am, I was, I will always be
Perhaps,
Psychosynthesis isn't as healthy as they claim.
But it's too late for me
I've already connected the pieces of this puzzle
And shattered my guilty innocence
Revealing the monster hidden behind my eyes
Showing myself that I'm no better than my falsehood.

And now for an interlude...

I will now momentarily forget the otherwise poetic and artistic nature of my blog to post some information about myself and my surroundings. To do this, I shall need to explain a few things.
First and foremost, I must let on that I am a Christian. (Although I dislike using that word to describe my beliefs, it's the only straightforward way to phrase it; and at times like these I find it best to be straightforward. I would usually take the scenic conversational route and say that I have not a religion, but a reality and that if you were to define my reality in a single word it would be Christian.)
Secondarily I must let on that while I am a Christian, (there goes that word again) I am still an artist and a teenager, complete with the typical teenage hormones and emotions and therefore will write as such. My apologies if you are offended or think me inappropriate. Actually, no apologies, God made me hormonal and I like it that way.
Next, (and finally) I need to inform you all that I have written this all due to the fact that I have been at a camp for pastor's families all week. (OH YES, did I mention that my father is a pastor?) Anyways. I presented the last poem at this camp and told a lot of people about my blog(s). (check out my other blog here) But now my mom is concerned that the God-fearing people of Pastor's Camp will be shocked and appalled by the stuff that is on here.

Happy reading....
Ciao
May.

We are the dreamers

We're going to fly to the moon
The rocket is leaving next Tuesday,
The bags are all packed, and I for one, am ready to just fly out of here
We're going to sail to the stars
Our sailboat is leaving tomorrow
the sail has been rigged, and let me tell you, it's going to be amazing
We've got stars in our eyes
A new song on playing on our lips and on somebody's banjo
We are going to drink from the milky way
Try on the rings of saturn
And eat cheese with the man on the moon
Swiss cheese
We are the dreamers
We are the starving artists of tomorrow
We're the people with the audacity to doodle on our exam pages
To write on the walls
And to yodel in the outhouse at two a.m. in the morning
We're not afraid of failure
We're not hoping for success
We're just hoping that at the end of the day there will be one person
Standing in the back of our crumbling auditorium
Clapping wildly
And saying that we did a good job
And it won't matter to us if we only imagined it all
We are the dreamers
The people who hold club meetings
Just to tell each other that we are falling in love
falling in love
falling in love
with the color cerulean
We are the dreamers
We are the midnight philosophers
Coffee mugs in hand we trudge up the stairs
Turning the lights off behind us and sighing
Thoughts of Voltaire fluttering in our minds
Taking flight and becoming more confusing and confused than confucious ever was
We are the painters, the dancers, the thespians
We are the hopers the wishers, the shall-we's
We are the dreamers
We are the poets

Summer

It's supposed to be about fun in the sun, isn't it?
Well thus far, mine hasn't been
it's been about schoolwork
and a family that's messed up beyond belief
My summer has had its share of icecream...
but it's also had its share of guilty feelings
knowing that my abs are not too happy with the lack of exercise
There have been no summer boys for me.
Being not-so-skinny really changes the outcome of a summer, doesn't it?
Instead of it being one long day at the beach
A day spent tanning and reading girly magazines
The summer of the fat-geek-chick is spent doing schoolwork online
It's spent trapped indoors surrounded by screaming Colombian teenagers
No lie.
It's also spent yelling at family
And playing vidogames
And being eaten alive
By mosquitoes
And now- I'm worried that I wont be able to finish my course ontime
Because the net program I'm to do my schoolwork on is down
And I can't work because of it.
This is not the great summer I was hoping it would be
But summer, come to think of it, is only what we make it.
So
that
means
it's
all
my
fault.

An alert to the powers that be.

My name is May, and I do not believe in love.
That's right. I don't believe in love. It's not logical and it can't be logically explained, so I for one do not believe in love.
I know. I know. It's crazy not to believe in something that every other god-forsaken individual in this god-forsaken city on this god-forsaken planet believes in, but I am (or so it would seem that I am), one of those queer (and I mean that in the most un-gay way possible), individuals who is referred to as a non-conformist.
So deal with it.
I know. I know. I'm a bit of a self-described hippie (albeit I don't smoke pot), and hippies are supposed to believe that all you need is love so it must subsequently be simultaneously impossible to be a hippie and not believe in love. But I am and I do. Or rather, I am and I don't. Don't believe in love, that is.
Allow me to explain this by delving into the language unified universe commonly referred to as Greek.

I don't believe in altruism and I don't think God, if he exists, really bothers too much with humans in our day to day lives: therefore, I don't believe in Agape, a general affection or deeper sense of "true love," a love also described as complete, reverent and all-encompasing love. Love that is non-conditional. I don't believe it logically exists in humans, and I'm not so sure about God either.

I don't believe in loyalty. I don't think friendship is about love, I think it's about having enough in common with a person to the point that they no longer drive you insane. Loyalty is more fragile than the breeze that blows through my window- if I shut my window, it dissappears. I don't believe in Philia.

I don't know how I feel about family. I certainly appreciate them. But love has no meaning in the western world today. Love is too weak a word to describe my feelings for my family. But weak as it is, love is too strong a word to describe the feelings many have for their families. Adultery, abuse, hatred, fighting- is this your "love." No. I do not believe in Storge.

The only love of the Greeks that I come close to believing in is Eros, love of one's partner in life. But is this kind of "love" truly what it pertains to be, or is it merely the companionship of friendship intertwined with the feeling of carnal desire. I believe that it is the latter. Eros to put it simply, is naught but sexual desire combined with acceptance of the emotional identity of another individual.

To conclude exactly as I introduced, I do not believe in the existence of love. And despite the unhealthy nature many assume this alludes to, I believe myself to be in greater health than any human that deludes himself, telling himself that something which clearly does not exist, does.

Midnight Dreaming

In the middle of the night
I toss and turn
Not capable of sleep
I wonder if somewhere
You toss and turn
Awake as well

In the middle of the night
I go for a walk
Followed by the cold moon
I wonder if somewhere
You go for walks
On moonlit nights

In the middle of the night
I sit on the hill
Find myself in the stars
I wonder if somewhere
You search your soul
Sitting alone

In the middle of the night
I crawl into bed
It is warmer inside
I wonder if somewhere
You close your eyes
Thinking of me

In the middle of the night
I shed one more tear
Wishing for better days
I wonder if somewhere
You cry for me
As I for you

In the middle of the night
Remember that day
And I touch your cold hand
I wonder if somehow
You reach for mine
But let it go.


-Yes! Emotional teen-aged poetry for the win! Actually... this isn't about love or romance, I've been meaning to mention that none of the stuff about love is actually inspired by romantic love.  That craziness is not for me.

To quote an acquaintance of mine: I don't write poetry, I live it.

The thing about poetry is, it has to be long enough to tell a story,
But short enough to be believable.
Nine times out of ten, a person's life isn't really story-worthy
And the tenth person's life is so unreal that if it was put onto paper, no one would ever believe it.
I think my life blurs the line between what is normal and what is surreal.
For the most part, it's so boring that I'm bored
but every so often there's a moment that can't really be translated into the language you and I speak
and even if it could
You wouldn't believe me.
But that's what I want to do with my life
I want to live my poetry
I want to live long enough to tell the world my story
But short enough for it all to be believable.
I want to tell the world about what it's like to be me.
To wake up some days and wish I hadn't
To toss and turn all night only to sleep with my eyes open all through the next day.
I want to tell you all about my random humor and the truth that lies behind it.
I want to tell you.
I want to tell you about the music I hear in the wind that blows through the trees.
I want to tell you about the colour of my mothers voice
And of the scent of the deep blue I see when I close my eyes.
I want to explain that even though it sounds as though I'm high on some wonder drug
I'm sober.
I'm just a dreamer that tried to spend too long in one of her daydreams
Who lied so much to the rest of the world that she started lying to herself
Because the rest of the world grew old long before I did
And you all left your fantasies and imaginary friends behind you
But I never did.
I'm the peter pan of this reality
My body will age with time, but my mind never will.
Perhaps it's unhealthy to be like this.
To be trapped in a cage made of rainbows and childhood memories
But perhaps it's just me trying to cope with the pain of understanding everyone else but never understanding myself.
The pain of being able to explain why a butterfly takes flight
But not being able to explain what it means to me.

Today

I noticed that my dog has eyelahes!
It was one of those totally surreal, but totally life-shattering moments
the whole thing had Eureka! written all over it.
Dogs can have eyelashes!
that was my initial thought, it was shortly followed by:
Oh my goodness.
I have to tell EVERYBODY.
and then there was a moment's pause
-but what if everybody is already aware that dogs can indeed posses eyelashes?
What if it's only me who was sitting in the dark, completely unaware of this inevitable truth?
I mean it's not like dogs having eyelashes is completely inconcievable.
dogs are mammals, just like humans
and then another thought hit me....
Whales are mammals!
Do whales have eyelashes?
Oh my goodness.
I have to tell EVERYBODY.
and that, my completely complacent
not-caring
and perhaps-
non-existent
"friends"
is why I posted this here.
thanks.
happy summer. enjoy the sunshine.

Representation

this has all been a little one sided.
I'd like some fair representation here!
Huh? Do you hear me?
Big eye in the sky,
Do you hear me?
Here I am, pounding my head on the wall of everything that is reality,
making all the ruckus I can
and no one, not anyone is listening.
I'd like a little fair representation
is that really so much to ask?
It is the twenty-first century after all.
All I want is for someone to listen to my side of the story for once
for a change.
All I'm asking for is fairness.
But all I'm getting is a bunch of washed out cliches.
misquoted, defeated, destroyed and nearing a state some would call apathy
-that's me.
and all because no one else believes in fair representation.

The things she found

I found a penny in my pocket
I found a pebble in my shoe
I found a dollar on the sidewalk
I found love when I found you

I found a star that had no family
I found a bluebell in the cold
I found a fire to warm my hands at
I found your hand to hold

I found a gate to an alternate reality
I found a boat to take us there
I found a crew to make the journey
Just you and me- we'll make it there.

I!

hate!
using!
exclamation!
points!
it's!
like!
laughing!
at!
my!
own!
joke!
over!
and!
over!
and!
over!
again.

A conversation with my imagination

Hello?  Are you there?  I could really use some inspiration right now.  I need something to distract me from my life.

Come up with it yourself.  Just let me sleep five more minutes.

No.  I need you.  Bet out of bed you lazy bum, honestly!  Who ever heard of a person who had a lazy imagination.

Alright.  Fine.  I'll get up.

Thanks.

Alright. I'm here, ready to go, you said you needed some inspiration right?

Wow, you sound so agreeable today.  I'm not entirely sure that it's really you.

It's me, though perhaps your knowledge of me is not as complete as you believe it to be.

Perhaps.

Perhaps not so perhaps.

"Perhaps or not so perhaps;" that is the question.

Indeed it is the question. The other question is: "Is there an answer?"

I do not know because I think I do not know due to the possibility that I do not know if I know or not.

There.  Something inspired- and I didn't even need to do your work for you.

Perhaps.  

Mantra

running on an empty road
my feet pound out a syncopated beat alongside my heart
leaping from step to step
my legs blur beneath me and I take flight
flying to the background music that is my mantra
I am beautiful both inside and out

dancing in my bedroom
late at night the lights are out the music is turned down low
stepping from side to side
my eyes seek color in the dark blue light
and I'm dancing to the music that is my mantra
I am beautiful both inside and out

singing inside my head
the symphony wells and surges trying to escape its confines
dancing from note to note
my mind is a whirlwind of dancers in tutus
and I'm imagining the music that is my mantra
I am beautiful both inside and out

Magpie}

pieces
fragments
bits of broken glass bottles lying on street corners
out of yesterday's trash I make my nest
broken bike wheels
forgotten party streamers
memories that have long since been forgotten
I make my nest from these
Out of dying flowers and dried up water
The things no one wanted are what I want to surround myself with
I guess it's because it gives me somewhere
where I fit in
surrounded by beautiful trash
which no one wanted
in spite of it's potential
the problem with our society
is that we throw out the puzzle piece that doesn't fit
instead of returning it to the puzzle that it rightly belongs with.

It's that time of year again.

Everyone's spirits are running high and low. One minute you're up and the next you're not. Hormones are raging, and I swear to God someone is going to get pregnant. Exams. For a five letter word it begins to sound like one very powerful expletive. They're the be-all-end-all of tests. Literally. And they're going to kill us all.
The feeling of freedom- so elusive and yet so pervaisive is becoming increasingly evident. It's here! The murmur runs up and down the hallways like Speedy Gonzales. Summer! But it's not here. It's prancing and dancing, just beyond our reach. It's prancing and dancing, just after exams. I'd capitalize that word, but it wouldn't be grammatically correct. And grammar is insanely important when you're writing an essay.
People are skipping- the teachers are both incredibly annoyed and remarkably nonchalant about it. It's a time of great paradoxes. Freedom and misery, annoyance and nonchalance, up and down, round and around.
Everyone is making up and breaking up. Getting it off and getting it on. We're all making rash, life-impacting decisions that will haunt us forever. Like getting tongue piercings, naval rings, tattoos and new boyfriends.
Exams. They should be illegal. They do more dammage to the teenage mentality than drinking and smoking pot. And you can't even blame it all on peer pressure.

Robots and Pop Tarts

I am like a hot poptart dropped on a cold kitchen floor.
falling, falling, falling until SPLAT
sugary melting icing stopped dead in its tracks, frozen.
Frozen like the wasteland I have come to call my home
blending with everything around me
complacent like a poptart fading into cold tile
just floating, complacent until I STOP
Stop, Drop, and Roll like the robot I have become
Rolling away from the flames that will melt this
Cold, metallic exterior licking the Robot heart within this frame.
Because regardless of what everyone says, Robots need love too

I am the soft, sweet silence of cold, hard surrender
I can feel the peace, the beauty of just letting go.
Letting go of everything I once held dear and exchanging it
Exchanging it all for a pale shadow of the freedom I once knew.
Surrender myself and watch myself
as if I was a fly on the wall with no chance of falling into my own soup
as if nothing can hurt me while I drift
Drift complacently, into a blue sunrise off of a silent lagoon.
With my troubles far behind me and my dreams ahead of me
Running so fast to fling myself off the edge of this waterfall
Just to spend those few minutes flying until I drop
Drop like a hot poptart on a cold kitchen floor.

And at the end of the day, I guess this is my story
The Love song of the Maltshake and the sugar pill.
A story of Poptarts falling in love with Robots
They say that love is a dangerous angel.
My love is like a sunrise in Antarctica
It's frozen and ice cold but it's still something unique.

Vignettes

Sunlight dances on the water
The scent of denim rides the wind
A little girl who's singing, splashes water onto her knees
The young man is still smiling
Laying in the woven hammock
He is singing as he’s swaying in the gentle autumn breeze.

And the sun shines off his glasses
The voices in the background
Bring me back into the moment, as my memories fade away
And I can hear him pleading
But I thought you said you loved me
And I’m getting up and leaving, out the door of the cafe.

And a pen taps on the paper
Says- I want you to remember
A time when you were younger, you were happy, you were free.
Say- mister what is freedom
But a sickly man’s dying dream?
A flower in your pocket? A crumbling castle seen clearly?

Where’s freedom when a little girl
Her hands tied fast behind her
Is forced onto a mattress, a voice whispers soft, yet clear
Telling her keep her mouth shut
Not to scream or call for help
For even if she wishes it, there’s no one around to hear.

Person of Tomorrow

I'm the rock that is so light and free that it's floating on top of the water.
forget just floating on water - I'm so strong that I'm flying through the air of my own volition.
I'm the voice of the mountains
I'm the man in the moon.
I can do this.
but at the end of the day it's just me.
the lights are out and I'm sitting in my closet crying
because I can't, I can't do this.
Every morning I wake up and I look in the mirror
and I try to tell myself that I'm beautiful
but I can't.
because I know that I think that I know that I think that I'm not.
Not beautiful
Not special
Nothing worth loving.
And I go to school and I take all the hurting that other students throw at me
and I take all the shaming that my teachers give to me
and I just sit there under the weight of it all, crushed.
I'm the rock on the bottom of the pond, held down by the weight of all the water rushing over my head.
and at the end of the day I'm just the little girl, sitting in my closet crying

because I can't, I can't do this.

But I can. And I will. Because I have to.
I'm the rock that's so strong that it's flying through the air of it's own volition.
I'm the voice of the mountains
I'm the man in the moon.
I'm the person of tomorrow.

All my life I've been a yesterday.
I've been the could've beens, the should've beens. The wasn'ts.
And what is yesterday? It's the past.
It can't touch you. It can't help you.
Yesterday can only watch.
Yesterday is in a box.

Did I ever tell you?
I'm a mime.
I've got a box within a box within a box that I am in.
People like mimes, because they're entertaining, but also because they're in a box.
Things in a box can't hurt you, they stay in their box and they leave you in yours.
Yesterday is in a box.
Yesterday can't hurt you.
Yesterday is just like every other yesterday before it.
It's yesterday. And before that was yesterday.
It's in the past just like every other faceless yesterday before it.
Like I was.

But I don't want to be a today.
Today is to close to yesterday.
Tomorrow today will be just another faceless yesterday, like every faceless yesterday before it.
Tomorrow today will be anonymous
No one will care about it anymore.

So I want to be a tomorrow.
Tomorrow is untouchable.
Tomorrow is unbeatable.
Tomorrow is infinite. It just never stops coming, tomorrow will be tomorrow, followed by the day after it and the day after tomorrow's tomorrow will be tomorrow too.
Tomorrow calls to you, "come here, try to touch me. Try to hurt me."
But you can't, because nothing ever touches tomorrow.
You can run and run as fast as you can, but you can't catch up to tomorrow.

And I will be tomorrow, I will be hopeful.
I'm the rock that's so strong that it's flying through the air of it's own volition.

I'm the voice of the mountains
I'm the man in the moon.
I'm the person of tomorrow.

Imagine:

That you are not inside the world. You are not inside a body. You are not tied down or connected to anything. You are a mind, a spirit. Nothing more.
You are floating above the earth. You see everything. People, actions, thoughts, dreams, hopes, ideas, desires. You see sin and you see justice. You see poverty, wealth and greed. You see lust and you see love.
But you're not concerned. You're objective. Removed from the situation. None of this affects you. You have no right to be angry, you have no right to be happy. You don't control the actions of the people you see, you can't even converse with them. You can't take pleasure in what they do, because none of it is due to what you have done. You are alone.
Now imagine that you are involved. You can change the outcomes, it's all under your control. Does that change how you respond? Are you angry at a woman as she takes off her rings and cheats on her husband? Or do you blame yourself for not stopping her. Maybe you did stop her, maybe the adulterous deed never took place. But that's removal of free will. Perhaps you are the one in the wrong now.
Are you?
Imagine this is your world. You can leave it alone, give it up as a lost cause. Or you can nurture it, as a mother nurtures her child. Allowing mankind to make their mistakes, always pulling them back before they destroy themselves.
Imagine, you are god.
What do you do? Are you controlling? Are you loving? Are apathetic and occasionally malevolent, toying with the humans who are within your control.
Well? What do you do? Your god now. Do something already.

Oh, you're not sure are you?
Give it a rest then. Shut up and give God some credit. Because if it was you in the big chair, you wouldn't be doing much better.
Be happy with what you are. Because you aren't capable of being anything else.

Well, the experiment hath failed.

I've realized that I simply don't have the energy to write about my life. I don't enjoy it. Emotions are fine, poetic musing about my situation is fine. Writing about where I am and what I'm doing- not so fine. I'm just not cut out to be an autobiographer and that's the long and short of it.
I think I'll stick to poetry from here on out. Poetry and prose.
But that means limiting myself.
Never mind then, I won't limit myself. But I won't force myself either. There will be no more posts that I do not wish to write. I will post only what I feel is necessary to post about, only what comes naturally the moment I sit down.
Forget trying to let people know where I am and what I'm doing. If my mind doesn't pull it out of thin air, I'm not going to write it. I won't write to keep other's happy. I'm doing this for me and no one else.
So there.

Well, I have failed in my mission

of writing alot about my trip to Japan.
This computer is the second computer I have seen on the whole two week trip. The oh-so-technologically advanced Japanese do not use computers. But that's because they have amazing cell phones, so they don't need computers.
Anyways, I fly home today. Today. I'm not sure that I want to leave, but I realize that the trip has to end sometime, and now is just as good as any other. And despite the fact that this means I'll have only posted twice during my stay in Japan, and never posted about what we actually have done here, I'll likely be posting for weeks to come about how amazing it was being in Japan.
It has been amazing; amazing and utterly life changing.
But now it's time to say goodbye.
Not because my plane leaves now, (it doesn't leave for another five hours,) but because I'm running out of pay as you go net service.
more later.

(Or not)

These Few Days

Well, it's been a few days since my last post, a few days containing a whirlwind of long bus rides, singing toilet seats, public baths, bright neon signs, bullet trains, lush green mountains, Okonomiyaki, Shinto shrines, tatami mat hotels, vending machines that cater to every needimaginable and more porn than I have seen in my life thus far. It's been a few days of drama, a few days of sickness, and a few days of rather insane R rated jokes. Japan is amazing.
Yes I meant that about the singing toilet seats. Oftentimes we think that Japan is oh-so-much more technologically superior to us, in reality they just have a lot of really useless technology. Like toilet seats that sing when you sit down on them. It's actually really disturbing.
I honestly had no clue that lit up signs came in some of the colours I've seen here. I also wasn't aware that these signs could cover fifty metre walls. It's rather surprising to note that despite the mass production and powered up use of all this bizarre technology, Japan is still as vibrantly green as it is. And when I say vibrantly, I mean vibrantly. The mountains here put the North shore to shame.
The vending machines here have been a bit of a shock. You can buy everything in a vending machine. Ipods, disposable cameras, paint, drinks, ice cream, makeup, tampons, and yes, even porn. I think Japanese society today might just revolve around pornography. I wish I was joking, but I`m not. They sell it everywhere. In bookstores, on the street, in tourist stands and in seven-elevens. Nudity is a big ticket item here. So is alcohol. In Canada, you have to go to a liquor store to buy alcohol. Here you can just go to the nearest vending machine. You want some harder liquers? Just visit the nearest convenience store. You don't even need ID.
It's a different world over here. There is no crime, I swear it. No petty theft, no underage drinking, not even litter on the streets. The people around here are so aware of society's panoptic nature that they never do anything wrong. It's amazing.

And that's about all that I have to say for now. I'm so tired that I'm losing my vision, and my email isn't working so I can't contact my parents. I have an incredibly long bus ride to live through tomorrow, and it is so hot that I am sweating through my clothes so fast that I'm running out of things to wear. I want to stay here forever, or better yet, I want the whole world to be just like this.

We are leaving

in just over four hours
I have to be at the airport in two hours
we'll be on the plane for ten hours
and I won't sleep for any of it.

We'll be in Japan in just over a day
I don't know if I will survive the first day
and we're staying there for thirteen days
and I might not eat for any of it.

We've been waiting since October last year
I will remember this trip as the trip of the year
We'll wish we could stay there for a whole year
and I might not sleep for any of it.

I have a policy by the way...

A policy which I haven't mentioned yet: I'm not editing these posts at all. Once posted, my posts are final. There's no going back and changing things. I might delete posts, but I'm not doing touch ups. This is a writing experiment. I'm writing whatever I feel or want to write about, and then I'm leaving it there. Everything is as it was the first time round, no second comings, no rough drafts.
This is me. Unfiltered, unaltered, although perhaps a little one-sided.
Just thought I'd mention that.

The Milk Run

15 minutes of pure torture.
nothing to distract you from the pain in your legs.
nothing to help you keep going.
nothing to make it any easier than it is.
torture.

15 minutes of hell.
your arms burn, your face flames.
your sweat trails rivers down your back.
your mind wishes to be somewhere- anywhere else.
hell.

15 minutes of determination.
if you're too slow, you'll get a bad mark.
if it actually takes you 15 minutes, everyone will laugh.
if you fall and hurt yourself- they'll laugh harder.
determination.

Everything

Everything I seem to post lately is poetry or prose. I'm getting a bit bored of it, but I'm not sure I have the energy to write a good short story.
Everything I've posted recently has been rather negative. None of it reflects the insanely happy vibes I'm feeling right now.
Everything I've been up to these days has kept me away from the computer. I haven't posted too much recently, and what I hhave posted has all been posted relatively close together.
Everything I'm feeling right now is not coming out as easily as I'd hoped it would. My emotions don't want to leave my mind today.

Anyways... I'm going to be really busy this week (so I probably won't manage to post much), prepping for my upcoming trip to Japan. (I'm leaving next Saturday.) While I'm in Japan, I'll be posting as frequently as possible. Most of what I post will be about what we've been doing, where we are, some pictures, etc. I'm going with some kids from my school (it's a school trip, there will be teachers as well), so I'll be posting to keep folks back home updated.

Yeah... that covers just about everything.
Oh, and, Happy Mother's Day. :)

Secrets

are like dirty bags of garbage
tied up and hidden
in the basement
just waiting for someone to stumble across them
catching you in the act

Secrets
are like flowers
that look pretty
but smell horrible
you never know until morning, when they open their faces to the sky
and you smell the scent of festering flesh

Secrets
are like nitrogen bombs
they make you feel powerful
just because you have them
but if they explode while they're still in your hands
you're going to get hurt

Secrets
are like chains
you thought would make you free
but they don't
they fetter you to the ground waiting to expose you
for what you really are

Secrets
i have too many
they make me feel powerful
even as they bind me to my seat
they're just waiting for someone to stumble accross them
and take a whif of their putrid scent
exposing me for what i really am.

Praise and the Praiseworthy

Today I was thinking about praise and the praiseworthy. Or rather, I was failing at trying not to. Sometimes, one wants so much to be something that one is not. I myself am entirely and irremediably nervous. I want people to love me. I want people to think that I am praiseworthy. Yet somehow I can't see myself the way I want to be seen.

Sometimes we cannot believe that we deserve the praise we wish to earn, and yet we cannot quite believe that we do not deserve it. It's pretty crazy how I find myself chasing my own tail, wanting to be praiseworthy, yet not believing that I am at the same time.

But I guess life is like that. We are not afraid of our own inadequacy, instead we are afraid of our own beauty, of our talents. In the end, aren't we all sure of our own praiseworthiness? Are we only denying that we do not believe ourselves to be praiseworthy in the first place? What is modesty anyways?

Perhaps we'll never know.

Devil in the Details

Today I realized that my math teacher pronounces calculator wrong. It made me smile, but it also bothered me, just a little bit.
I noticed as I rode my bike home yesterday that as the wheels spin, they hit my gears, creating just a little click.
Every crack that's in the pavement
Little things which pass you by
These things just drive me crazy
And I can't say really why.
A week ago last sunday I realized that my mother has a mole on her left cheek, it twitches while she talks.
And on a school trip I noticed that my best friend looks like a deranged penguin when she walks.
Every crack that's in the pavement
Little things which pass you by
These things just drive me crazy
And I can't say really why.
I went through testing as a little child. The doctors said they'd say if there was something wrong with me.
And yet I cometimes can't help wondering if they didn't tell the truth, if they left something out to make it easy.

Life this side of sunshine city

I thought about it while I kicked my way down the street
Pebbles danced on the pavement and the sky burnt itself black
I thought about it as I'd nod to every person I might greet
The sun shone down on the valley, rivers draining till they cracked

And I never could stop thinking 'bout the way that life should be
Because us people just stop living like there's nothing left to see
And life this side of sunshine city isn't all we wish it was
So we cry and turn the lights out, leave the world back in the rush

My friend

I have a nameless friend, he follows me around
He laughs when I'm laughing, he frowns whenever I frown
But when I call him No Name, he says "that isn't me"
So he goes around without a name, as happy as can be.

Sometimes he's quite annoying
It's his job to drive me insane
And I've tried to send him away quite often,
but he stays with me just the same.

You'll never see his step falter
And he never trips and falls
But when I fall he helps me up
He helps me through it all.

He has no fears or worries
But he has a conscience still
In fact you could say he is mine
(My conscience, if you will).

Imagine:

You are running through a forest. Surrounding you are lush green trees with branches that extend well above the clouds. The trees obstruct your view of the sky, but you know from the fast fading light that the sun is setting. The night air is cool and crisp. The only sound is the dull thud of your feet on the soft forest floor, pounding out a steady beat as you whisk pass the trees around you. You are sweating profusely and your breath comes in short, shallow gasps; you need a rest badly, yet you do not stop running. Why? Perhaps it's the rain, from which you seek shelter. Or maybe it's the pack of growling wolves nipping at your heels. Now that you've noticed them, you can feel their breath on your neck and can hear the menace in their growls; if you make one false move, you slow down or you trip and fall the wolves will eat you alive.
But maybe it isn't even the wolves. Maybe it's the unbearable heat. You need to find water soon, or you may die of heat stroke. Wait a moment, heat? The evening which was once cool and soothing is now a hellish inferno, looking ahead you notice a bright, orange light. A warm gust of wind hits you full in the face and suddenly every tree near by is on fire, the flames jumping high into the air. The rain is still falling, but it isn't putting out the flames. You feel itchy, and uncomfortable, your skin feels raw. You scratch at your arm and as you do, skin starts to peel off. You stare now at the back of your hand where a rain drop has fallen. With a sinking feeling you notice the skin turning red and peeling away from your flesh. Acid rain.
Why are you even in this forest in the first place, you wonder? And then you remember. You're looking for the clift at the end of the woods. The one which you were planning to throw yourself off of. You were hoping for an easy, controlled death. You would have held the reins for once. People would remember you as the person who killed themself. In death you would be both less boring and less bored than you were in life.
But now, you're going to die. In the moment in which you considered the rain and the fire, the wolves have caught up to you. The fire has spread to every nearby tree, and the rain is still coming down hard. It won't be the easy, controlled death you were planning on. You're going to die, alone and in pain. No one will remember you and no one will be interested in your story. But that's nothing new, because no one ever cared.

In light of the last post

Time is slipping away from me.
It's been almost a month since I've managed to post. I'm a busy person, what else can I say? There's a lot on my plate and even more on my mind. But I'll be posting more over the next while, I think. Maybe a post later this week. :)

Time

It seems to slip away from my fingers.
Slip through them like sand through a sieve.
It's there- but then it's gone.
Time
Running away from me on fast horses hooves.
Time
Prancing like the horse itself, just out of my desirous grasp.
Time
Laughing at my tears and throwing acid onto my cuts.
Time
Hoping that I don't succeed, hoping that I succumb to its grasp.
Time
Thieving- it steals from us every thing we ever want.
Time
Lying- acting like it's on my side even when it isn't.

Time. It's final, it's fleeting, it's infuriating.

The neighbor's girl.

Every day she walks to school. She crosses a bridge to get over the pond by her house. Half way across she stops, and drops a stick into the water. Then she turns around and looks over the other side of the bridge, waiting to see her stick floating away.
Sometimes I wonder what she is doing. Sometimes I tell myself I should go outside to ask her. But most days I stay in my room, gazing out my window and feeling sorry for her.
She looks tired. I can't imagine she gets much sleep. Her parents are up late into the night, yelling at one another. You could hear them from miles away. The neighbors talk about her, they say that someone should take her away from her parents and put her into a loving home. But no one has.
I've never seen her smile or heard her laugh. She doesn't play with other children and she has never had a birthday party. None of the things that so often grace a child's life are present in hers. I wonder how she does it. How she gets up in the morning, day after day, knowing that she'll be facing the same things she went through the day before. The same things she has gone through for as long as she can remember.
It must be hard.
But I guess that's how life is.

Honestly.

Please.
Don't do this.
Not now.
Not here.
Not when everything was suddenly going right.
Not ever, really.
Please.
I reach the point where I think I have everything covered.
And then it hits me.
Like a tidal wave.
Pulling me under until I can't breathe.
And suddenly, the world which seemed perfect is nothing but frightening.
The walls close in and I'm no longer sure of anything.
Not of myself.
Or of my friends.
I'm scared.
And alone.
I'm trapped in my own hands.
And it's all.
My.
Fault.

To the people I will never see again

I wish I could tell all of you that I'm sorry we will never pass on the street
that I'm sorry to know that I'll never hear the sound of your voice
that I'm sorry to realize that I will never get a chance to say this in person.
but I can't.
because I'd be lying
and lying is a sin.
I wish I could thank all of you for being there for me
but the reality is that many of you weren't.
I wish I could tell you all that I love you
but love is a two way street
and I seem to have been the only one driving on it.
I wish I could say I'll miss you
especially to the people I actually will miss
but I can't
because you're all gone anyways and I'm never going to see you again.
I can't even say goodbye
because none of you,
even the ones who I thought cared about me
stuck around long enough to hear me say it.
bummer, eh?

If your silence says less than your words, speak. If your words say more than your silence, keep your mouth shut.

words are confusing
one moment they love you, the next they hate you
sometimes you're not sure which
but one thing is always guaranteed, the moment you think you know what you're saying; words screw everything up
everything
words are like double-edged knives
they hurt everyone involved
the people speaking them, the people hearing them, the people who hear them even though they never wanted to in the first place
words can say everything
words can say nothing
words can make you
words can break you
words
words
words
words
words
but regardless of how they make you feel, you still need them
words are essential to everything human
really
the rule of thumb when dealing with words?
If your silence says less than your words, speak. If your words say more than your silence, keep your mouth shut.

People

are like presents on Christmas day. Some of them are beautiful: all sparkly and shiny with bows on top. Sometimes when you find out more about them, they're every bit as beautiful on the inside as they are on the outside. But other times these presents can be the most disappointing, pretty wrapping doesn't necessitate a worthwhile present.
Some of the presents have boring wrapping in dull or faded colors. Yet often you find that the wrapping conceals one of the most amazing presents you could dream of receiving.
Some people like to collect others like bright, shiny packages that they will never unwrap. But what's the point of an unopened present? I like to unwrap the people around me; to remove the useless poise and outer calm. Because presents aren't about the wrapping, the giver or even the gifted; presents are about the gift itself. And what good is a gift that you don't appreciate for what it really is?

One day

One day, we're all going to die
but, if we're lucky enough, that day will be preceded by many happier days.
One day, we're all going to fail.
In fact, we'll fail many more times than just one; many have already failed.
One day, I'm going to build myself a boat and sail off into the horizon.
Not quite so inevitable as the previous, but equally possible even so.
One day, I'll discover the ultimate hypothetical.
No one I know understands why I wish to find it, but I shall find it none the less.
One day, I'll fly a plane into the sunset.
I may never return, I may never want to.
One day, I'll find a way to show the whole world what I can do.
And I won't care or worry that anyone might laugh at me.
One day, you're going to fall in love with me.
I'll be waiting impatiently for that day to come.

Questioning reality, not caring about the answers.

Why do so many people wish that they could fly?
Why can't people fly? (Aside from the obvious)
Why does it seem that as Science explains more of the world to us, the world becomes less interesting?
Why can't we just be blissfully ignorant?
Why do we keep looking for life on other planets, when we can't seem to take care of life on ours?
What is it that makes people do things that hurt themselves?
What is it that makes people do things that hurt others?
What is so bad about wanting to create a utopia?
Why do we fear those who are different?
Why do we hurt the people we fear?
Why do we learn things that will never be useful?
If you forget about something that was important to you only, is it still important?

I hab a code

I hab a code
I need a break
my node is dipping
I feel kite fate

but here I am
I'm still at school
want to go hobe
codes are nob cool

Photogaphy sucks
It sucks alot
I hab a code
Fun, it's nop

The authentic post has been put on hold

so that I can say something that is momentarily important. About that. Isn't everything only momentarily important? Something can't be important forever. Things don't last that long. And when something is gone and whoever or whatever it was that found it important is gone, doesn't that mean that is isn't important anymore?
What is importance anyway?
And is the meaning of importance important?
Should it be?
...okay now, back on topic, I have to say that which is momentarily important.
I love skiing. I really really do. (This in particular is only momentarily important. Furthermore, it shall be momentarily important for a very short moment only.)
Skiing is amazing. The weather doesn't matter. The visibility could be awful, the snow could be icy and mixed with dirt, and it could be fifty below and I would still love skiing. It's that amazing. That's all.

And another thing which is momentarily important.
I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. In life, I mean. I don't know where I'm going or what I'll do for a living.
This bothers me.
At the moment I think I might become an artist. Specifically a potter. Clay is every bit as amazing as skiing. But I fear I would get bored with lack of mental stimulation.
Back to the drawing bored, I guess.

So that's the end of my mentioning things which are momentarily important.

I was reading through my blog the other day

I realized that all but one of my posts in the new year have been about love and emotions. They haven't really been a very good representation of me, in fact, they make me sound pretty emotional. Which I'm not. So I figure that somehow I shall have to publish something that sounds a little more authentic. A post that will show off my artistic flair and rather caustic sense of humor.
Maybe something that demonstrates that I'm not just another depressed, irrational/ clueless, lonely single girl looking for love. Instead I'm a somewhat disillusioned, intellectual, single girl who wishes that every guy on the planet would get a clue. But still.
I don't know what to say. I still sound like I have some bizarre emotional complex.
Anyways, I'll have to come up with something other than love to post about soon. Maybe I'll just whip out a post with a bunch of random poetic phrases and statements in various different fonts and text sizes. Hmmm. We'll see.
TTFN ^w^

Added on February 15th =>
I think I might also start posting some random questions. Maybe once a month. I'll limit myself to fifteen questions per post, and either I will answer them in the following posts or if someone else has an interesting answer they can comment.
I also feel the insane need to discuss philosophy and theology. There should be some random posts about each from time to time. Yeah, that's pretty much it; as usually happens with one of my brainstorming posts, I have no clue how I should end this. I guess I'll just cut the live feed.
_._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._

What I've been looking for

What I've been looking for
is a place to call my home,
a place to kick my feet up,
a place where I can unpack my bags, my tacky nick-knacks collected from years of travel spilling out from between leather and metal clasps.

What I've been looking for
is a person to call my friend,
a person who understands me,
a person who knows who I am and what I've been through, who doesn't care if some days I look like a drunk cooter brown.

What I've been looking for
is a something that's interesting,
a something to make my life worth living,
a something that I can wake up to every morning without being bored; a puzzle, a key to a door I've never seen, a something.

What I've been looking for
is a little touch of stardust,
a little tint to make me smile,
a little hint to let me know that the clouds won't always sit over my head; a touch of something magic that'll bring me what I need.

What I've been looking for
is the answer to my questions,
the things that I've been missing,
the things I want to know. I've been looking for a long time and I'll search for years to come, because what I want isn't out there, but that's all right with me.

As Time Went By

maybe one day i'll understand why you had to leave
why we couldn't stay the way we were forever
why life couldn't be a simple as it ought to be
technically, you're not the one who left
i was, i am. but it wasn't me who drifted,
becoming more and more distant as time wore on
maybe one day i'll understand why i can't hold it all together
why suddenly, i feel so lonely and incapable
why i can't be as strong inside as i am on the exterior
technically, i shouldn't be lonely
i have good friends everywhere i go
but none of them are the same, none of them are you
maybe one day i'll understand why you changed
why you couldn't be the same anymore
why you had to walk a path so different from mine
technically, we were on different paths the whole time
i was looking for respect and you were looking for love
but we both wanted similar things: adventure, intellect
maybe one day i'll understand why i didn't see then what i can see now
why i missed you so completely, seeing only what i wanted to see
why i couldn't value you for what you really were
technically, there was and is nothing wrong with you
i was always the one with the problem, the one who made the mistake
nothing was your fault, you were always just you, no one else, unlike me
maybe, maybe it's my fault that you left.

A Morning on the Moon

walking on the moon one day, I saw you standing alone. your hands were shoved into your pockets and your feathery hair fell to your shoulders; I had never seen anything so beautiful. you looked up at me and I glanced away. with two long strides you reached my side, your invisible fingers brushed my cheek. I saw a tear slide down your face, and I nearly said something but then you were gone. when I got home that morning, I found a flower on my table.
two days earlier, you returned. I was the only person who didn't welcome you. you probably thought that I was being rude, but I simply didn't know what to say. I spoke to every butterfly that passed on my way home, but they all just flew away, whispering to one another. when I reached home, I found a flower on my bed.
I woke up the next night and I knew I had to get out of there. I ran until I could fly and I flew as far as the sun, I left a piece of my heart there, wishing on a shooting star that no one would ever find it. I held the world up in the palm of my hand and I searched for a single person who didn't have anyone to love, but none seemed to share my fate. no one was alone, except for me. even in my loneliness I was alone.
sitting on my roof that night, my mind left me to drink from the milky way. when it returned, it found you sitting beside me on the rooftop, holding my blue hands in your invisible grip.
you traced something onto my back and asked me if I knew what it was. when I told you I did not, you laughed and leaped up off my roof, walking away into the night. I watched you leave, and my heart cried out- don't leave me. but you never heard.
the next day you returned, holding in your hand something that glowed as bright as the sun, that shone with a light like the rings of saturn. it was the piece of my heart that I had left for dead, a part of me that I had only recently forgotten.
and you took my heart and stitched it back together, then taking my hand you led me to the land at the end of the rainbow. and though we never found a pot of gold, nor any leprechauns, I was never disappointed because I found something better. I found you.