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.