the lady in red

our recognition  of stereotypes perpetuates their very existence.

now go make me a sammich.

Curtain Call

An old poem written before my first High School Play, Arsenic and Old Lace. Though my style has changed and the structure is poor, the words still hold true today as I approach my last High School Musical, Legally Blonde. 

The shadows dance across the page as I write. The limited light falls from six circular globes; the room is deformed as one of the bulbs appears to have blown out. The occasional squeak or voice is muffled beyond the walls.

Nothing can separate the peace that is caused from sitting here. The floor is cracked and stained from old students and staff creating. Large black waves fall all around, their arms guarding me, protecting me, calming me. The smell of broken dreams mixes with the dust above. 

Nowhere else is beauty created from nothing. 

Nowhere else are individuals simultaneously inspired and convicted. 

One corner splashes the monotone walls with the nostalgia of the broken shoulders we stand on today. My voice is lost in the darkness, but remembered somewhere in the crevices above. 

Locked away are my paintbrushes. My tools that manifest the beauty within. The medium that spreads my joy to others and transfers my passion to empathy.

My memory may be forgotten, but my work impacts all those who have yet to come. The ground is stiff. Worn. Yet comfortable from familiarity.

The life we breath is under-appreciated. The foundation we have, we built for ourselves.

Here I create.

Here I exist.

Here I live on.

Denial

No, I'm not in love with you.

I'm not even in love with being in love with you.

I just wanted to feel something.

And you were around.

Promise

Love is more than a feeling.
For to a feeling you cannot commit.
Love is more of a promise
To a person, to not let them quit.

The Mind-Wanderers

They criticize the quiet.
The ones exploring space.
The bashful few that let their minds wander.

They claim they are lazy.
Or stupid.
Or they waste time.

They think one must be acting
Or saying.
Or doing.

The wanderers are crushed.
Transformed.
And fixed.

Their memories are forgotten.
Trampled.
Deformed.

Their thoughts were unappreciated.
Lonely.
But content.

Now they cease to exist.
Blank, dark.
And cold.

So here is to the quiet.
The ones exploring space.
The bashful few that let their minds wander.

Let their dreams forever be nurtured.
Let their minds forever fun free.

Above all, let them know that different is not the same as bad.

Blake's Blade

A foreign force began pounding my head. Louder, stronger, faster. I grew tense as my eyes were stunned by the blinding light of morning. I thwarted my Batman alarm clock from when I was eight and fell out of bed. After throwing on a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt, I headed to the bathroom. One look in the mirror revealed that not much had changed.  My hair was still untamable and tangley; my nose too pointed and my chin was still covered in a patchy excuse for a beard. Clumsy from growth spurts and lanky by design, I supposed it would have been foolish to expect an improvement overnight.

            A neat stack of pancakes accompanied by a side of sausage awaited me at the table. I found a note from Liza wishing me luck on my first day back. She apologized that she had to be to work so early on such a big, big day! I dumped the grub in the trashcan and cleaned the dishes. I still didn’t have the heart to tell her that I didn’t really have an appetite anymore. I downed some coffee and slung my pack over my shoulder. “Guess I better get going,” I thought.

            As I walked the halls of good old Talma High, I found it hard to disappear. Everywhere I went, silence followed. I felt the slimy fingers of people’s stares scratch my back. Some underclassmen tried to smile at me. Some guy with weird glasses told me that he was “praying really hard for me” even though we had never met. Most people just gaped and dropped what they were doing. Their whispers crept into my ears like silent bombs, crashing and booming along the way. They didn’t like that I was back. They wanted me to leave. I was tainting their image. It was bad enough that I- uh, left. But now I was back. What nerve I had for actually thinking I deserved to return. How could I let Liza talk me into this being a good idea?

Teachers hid their shock with half-hearted smiles and weak handshakes. I knew what they were thinking. I knew they weren’t expecting me to ever go back to school, especially not this school. Their fragile words and feeble attempts to make conversation weren’t fooling anybody. I knew they felt uncomfortable around me. As if they didn’t have issues with me before- before I left. I got through my first few classes without any major issues even though Mr. Clarkson wouldn’t stop looking at me and Mrs. Mack gave way more homework than I remember. All of them still seemed kind of blank. They didn’t know how to react to me. At least nobody had the stones to call on me to answer any questions.

The bell sent the animals flocking toward the cafeteria. I stepped out for a quick smoke before following myself. After obtaining a sloppy scoop of mashed potatoes resembling a washcloth and a hunk of green meat, neither of which I planned to eat, I scanned the room. Finally, one place where I wasn’t the sore thumb. I was lost in the chaos. The jocks were at their table, the druggies in theirs. Braniacs, musical-geeks, nerds:  they all had their spot. I turned to return to my old corner by myself, but even that was taken up by the apparently expanding Asian population.

Out of options, I started for the bathroom to eat in a stall when that dude with the funny glasses stopped me. “Hey! Blake!” he grinned.

“Uh, hi?” I responded.

“How’s it going?”

“Um. Fine?”

A silence.

“Yourself?”

“Oh! I am great!”

“Wonderful,” I mumbled.

“How are your classes going?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good.”

I waited for him to ask me another pointless question or move out of my way. He did neither. “Is there something you wanted?” I asked.

“Not specifically. Just wanted to see how your day was.”

Another one of those fantastic silences.

“Well, it was fine.”

            “Glad to hear it! So who are you sitting with?”

            “Yes,” I replied dryly.

He caught the drift.  As I began to walk away, he called out, “Blake, if you ever, you know, need a place to eat, we have an open spot.”

“Like Hell,” I spat as I dumped my lunch and went out for another smoke.

I pushed through the rest of my day, ignoring the gawks and murmuring voices of noisy classmates. I found twenty bucks on the kitchen counter with another note. Liza was working late again. She flooded me with apologies that I would have to wait to tell her about the big, big day! At least I could grab some pineapple pizza and play my music loud enough to blast out my eardrums! I headed up to my room and flopped on my bed.

I couldn’t get the snot-nosed faces from school out of my mind. Their fake smiles and empty words clouded my body. Nobody wanted me back there. It was idiotic to expect anything to return to normal, even if normality sucked in the first place. I sacrificed what chance I had at acceptance when l left.

The cool touch of the familiar metal teased my fingertips.  I found myself grasping it without remembering digging through my drawer to find it. A stain from countless indulgences looked up at me. Questioning me. Patronizing me.  Old temptations clouded my perception. The floodgates were open. My demons used to fight me. I used to care; I fought them. I ran. I hid. I cowered. Alone.

But now they called out to me sweetly, like an old friend. Begging I return. They missed me. They needed me. The wanted me.  Finally somebody wanted me. They lifted their delicate fingers, beckoning me to return home.  Reality desperately clang to me as I pushed her away.  I knew she wouldn’t have the strength to fight me much longer. Not with the aid of my forgotten friends. Motion began to slur until things were still. Sound faded from a desperate whisper to a hopeless murmur. My senses blurred until I was all that remained. I was invited once more to forget. To release. To feel. I griped my blade more tightly. My confidence was growing. My assurance was swelling. I deserve. I deserve. I deserve.

Ding-dong.

I’m torn from ecstasy by the doorbell. Disgruntled, I stash the blade and make my way downstairs. I find none other than my lunch buddy standing at my door. I stare, not sure what to think, waiting for him to explain why he showed up at my door in the middle of December.

He finally piped up with a measly, “Hey.”

Hey? He, a stranger, showed up at my house, unannounced, in the snow. And all he had to say was hey?

“Uh, Hi?” I replied.

“Hey.”

The conversation was riveting.

“Can I help you?”

“No… Wait! Yes! I mean, umm. Wait. Let me start over.”

Riveting.

“Are you busy tonight?” he asked.

My mind shot back to the blade in my room, waiting for me, calling to me. “Sorta,” I told him.

“Oh,” he sounded disappointed, “ok.”

I started to close the door, but something stopped me, “Why?”

“I just wanted to invite you to grab some coffee or something. No big. Have a good night!” He began walking away, so I closed the door and began up the stars. I turned to see him through the window. This guy, this random guy, wanted to grab coffee or something? I didn’t even know his name. Before I processed what I was doing, I was running after him.

“I… I thought you were busy?” he asked.

“Eh,” I smiled, “it can wait.” Our footprints in the snow left a trail of where we had been. The funny part was, no matter where we made them, nobody but us could decide where the next ones would be. “Oh!” I choked, “I wanted to ask you something!”

“Shoot!”

“This might sound really ignorant of me, but I never caught your name.”

He laughed, “I guess I never threw it! My name’s Micheal.”

We walked to The Java-Nut, where we had the worst coffee I have ever tasted. Somehow, I didn’t mind. 

The Colors of Camp

The wood is worn

From laughter and years.

The paint is faded

From conversations and tears.

The squeals and shouts

Seep out from the door

Accompanied by

a little one’s snore.

A tornado of color

Overtook the room.

Bunks, bags, and beds.

Carelessly strewn.

The bathroom’s a graveyard

From battles lost.

The victors fought hard

For they knew of the cost.

The mud on their faces

Was caked on with sweat.

Their eyes began drooping

While slumber, she threat.

Mr. Bill

There was a young fellow named Bill

Who hated to swallow his pills.

He one day was sick

And swallowed them quick.

He no longer wished to be ill.

Meg the Pirate

There was a mean pirate named Meg.

A big sea monster ate her leg.

She refused to die

Or even just cry.

But now we just know her as Peg. 

To Heal or Not to Heal

The only way to dream is to let go.

Allow yourself to fade and to forget.

To sacrifice your mind and what you know.

And sleep away your troubles and regret.

The only way to grow is to move on.

To shed the old, embrace the raw and new.

To sacrifice the darkness for the dawn.

And leave behind familiar things you do.

The only way to heal is to admit

To face your pain and choose to claim your life.

To realize that not all things befit.

And choose to walk away from useless strife.

Although this all sounds marvelous and quaint.

I much prefer Thanatos’s constraint. 

Her House on the Shore

My

Ma made me

Promise that I’d

Try my best in school.

And always give it my all,

Even when I thought it was too

Hard or I couldn’t do it. I promised I

Would go to college and make a name for

Myself. She made me promise to get a good job.

One where I could not only make a lot of money. But

I could make a difference. I could help people. I promised her

That I would buy her a big house out on the shore. A place she could

Relax. Take a break. Reflect on all the good that she had done. So I did. I gave

My best and worked really hard. I got a good job helping people. I even bought a big

                         House out on the shore. It had a wide wrap around porch with two white

                         Rocking chairs out front. There were three bedrooms so she could invite

                         Her friends and family over for visits whenever she wanted. The view was

                         My favorite part because the sun rose right over the water. The beams of

                         Light licked the water gently;  they jumped  from                     place to place.

                         There was a big yard full of  oak samplings and a                    giant sycamore

                         Tree.  It even had a sweet  little garden tucked  in                    one side  that

                         she could  grow her famous tomatoes in and plant                   her pumpkins.

                         I knew right  when I bought it that mama would love the little flowerbeds.

                         She was known for planting beautiful yellow marigolds come each spring.

                         But I bet  that Mama’s  favorite                                  would be the kitchen.

                         She loved  to make cakes,  pies                                  and pastries. She also

                         made the  absolute best  roast                                     beef anyone ever had.

                         It made my mouth  water with                                    every bite. Now she

                         Could entertain and have all of                                   the parties with all the

                         Neighbors  like she  wanted to.                                  Only, my Mama never

                         Saw the house I bought for her.                                  She passed away last

                         Winter. She fought her hardest                                   and gave it her all, but

                         Not even my college degree or                                  ‘good job’ could stop

                         The cancer from spreading. At                                   first I was upset. Angry.

                         Unforgiving. But now I see that                                  this house is more than

                         Brick or stone. It is a chance to                                  thank her for what she

                         Taught me. It is a chance to help                               others. It is her memory.                                   

Compassion Swells

Names, gossip, frustration.

Swirl, consume, and destroy.

Recognition, repentance, forgiveness

Bring satisfaction, hope and joy.

Anger Swells

Defective, fake, pathetic.
Idiotic, vain, obtuse.
Your presence sickens my body.
You truly have no use.

Jackie and the Zaps

Jackie heard the yelps of the other sprites outside his cherry tree. He sighed as he thought about the fun they were having out at the Pekinbo’s pond. Jake and Jasper, his brothers, had already gone down to play with the other boys. They were going to play another game of Zigilo.

The point of Zigilo was to hold your breath and swim all the way down to the bottom of the pond. Once you we there, you had to grab hold of one of three objects and swim it all the way up to the shore. The objects were a great big purple ball, a tiny little stick with a circle at the end, and a glass jar full of brown and yellow gunk. Once all three objects were found, the blower had to swim out from the middle of the pond. They dunked the stick in the jar of gunk and blew a bubble all the way around the purple ball. Once the blower blew the bubble around the ball, the team won!  

Zigilo was Jackie’s favorite. Jackie was a little clumsy, so he couldn’t swim as fast as the bigger boys. He also couldn’t blow very hard without getting dizzy, but that never stopped him from laughing with joy every time he played. He had more fun playing Zigilo that anyone else in Gonkzville.

  He wanted to go out and play with his pals, but , he knew it was more important to study for his flight test. Every year, the elder sprites came all the way from the Cove in Lilly’s Valley to test the young sprites. Once you were seven and three quarters, you could take the test to win your wings. The scariest thought was of not getting your wings. You only had one chance, and not everyone was guaranteed to pass.

The very best wings were called zaps, because they lit up every time they flapped. They were given to the one young sprite that worked the hardest and showed the elders that they were ready to accept the responsibility that comes with having wings. There were other wings for everybody else that proved that they were ready, but secretly everyone wanted the zaps. Nobody wanted those zaps more than Jackie.

His daddy told him that if he worked hard, he could do anything. Jackie didn’t always believe that since he was clumsy and got dizzy so easily. Still, he decided to work hard and study as much as he could for his test. His brothers teased him sometimes for studying so much. They told him to have more fun and to forget about boring things like books and learning. It hurt Jackie to hear those mean things from his brothers, who he really loved, but all he wanted was to prove them wrong.

The day of the test finally came. Jackie was so nervous that couldn’t stop his hands from shaking! At first he refused to get out of bed because his tummy hurt. Jasper spent the morning jumping from branch to branch showing his family how he would zoom through the air once he got his wings. Jake kept talking about how beautiful his new zaps were going to be. That just made Jackie feel even sicker. After another pep talk from their daddy, the boys left for the field.

 What awaited them was a shocking sight. There were big bright signs everywhere. Adult sprites were flying and flipping in the sky to the applause of baby sprites on the ground. Beautiful jewels were jetting through the air as a band bigger than the town of Gonkzville played a victory march. The sights and sounds of the arena made Jackie’s eyes grow wide and his head grow dizzy.

The first part of the test was on concepts. The young sprites had to answer all kinds of questions about the proper signals to make to other flying sprites, how to land correctly, and where Fleezles, who had been known in the past to snack on little sprites, were commonly found. Many of the sprites looked worried. Jake never stopped sweating. Jasper just stared at the leaf he was supposed to write his answers on. Meanwhile, Jackie happily jotted down his answers. Most of the questions he had seen before, thanks to his constant preparation.

The young sprites had to wait for the entries to be graded. It took all morning. The list with everyone’s name that had passed was eventually posted on the big oak tree just after lunchtime. If your name wasn’t on the list, you couldn’t take the actions part of the test, were the elders gave you a set of wings, and you had to fly through an obstacle course.

Jackie couldn’t remember breathing as he looked for his name. He couldn’t find it anywhere! Right as he started to give up hope, his daddy picked him up and showed Jackie his name near the top of the list. Jackie’s heart started to beat again.  Only, the sad part was that Jasper’s name wasn’t on the list. He didn’t pass, which meant he was never going to get his wings. Jackie wanted to say something to make him feel better, but right at that time, the elders gathered all the young sprites for the next part of the test.

The obstacle course that year was the hardest course ever. Besides it being the first time any of them had ever had wings, they had to fly through small gaps, avoid swinging vines, and navigate through a black tunnel. Time after time, the young sprites failed. Some got lost in the tunnel, others couldn’t aim to get through the tiny gaps. Some, like Jake, couldn’t even get off the ground.

Finally it came to be Jackie’s turn. The new wings felt cold against his back. He started getting dizzy. Then, he remembered his daddy’s wise words. He had worked hard! Why couldn’t he do it! The only thing standing in his way was himself. With that, he leapt through the air, and then the wings took over. He twisted and tumbled, he glided and glew. He made it the entire way through the obstacle course without making one single mistake. His ears tingled from the roaring crowd’s mark of approval.

            Jackie couldn’t remember much after that. All he remembers is standing on the stage with the elders as the presented him with his very own zaps! Butterflies tickled the inside of his tummy. He couldn’t believe that he, clumsy Jackie that gets dizzy, was awarded the zaps! He looked out at his daddy, who was beaming with pride. Then he saw Jake and Jasper standing next to him. They looked happy, but Jackie could see the dried up tears on their faces. Neither of them had received their wings. Without thinking, Jackie zoomed over to his brothers and grabbed their hands. Together they laughed as they flew to the moon. 

Forgotten Letters

Dear Mom,

                The most peculiar thing happened to me today. It started out wonderful, and then got confusing but ended up kind of sweet. It all started when I woke up this morning. The stars in their courses must have been aligned especially for me. I knew right away that it was going to be a day like no other.

You remember the little notes I have been finding in the tree that you used to hang the swing from? The one you used to push me on? In the front yard? Well today, I found another. Oh the things that blessed soul wrote to me. I knew for certain that the boy that has been writing was an angel in disguise. You remember how much I hate my freckles? Of course you do. Well my secret admirer told me just the other day that they were beauty marks. That is when I realized what love feels like.

                Anyways, he wrote me again. But this time was different. He told me that he wanted to meet me after school in the auditorium. Today! Oh mom, I don’t remember breathing all morning. I think I only caught my breath a few minutes ago. I ran right back inside and put on your white dress and my favorite blue cardigan. I fit into it now. Dad said I look like you when I wear it. I don’t believe him. But I like to image that I do. Do you remember how beautiful you used to look in that dress? I do.

                When I was walking to school, I had a scary thought. I had no idea who this boy was, but he knew me! Sure, he sounded dreamy when he wrote me, but what if he only ever wrote as a joke. And if his ears were too big? Or his laugh sounded like a monkey? Remember when we visited the zoo, just me and you? I do. The monkeys were your favorite. But I still don’t think I would want one as a boyfriend. My mind drifted as I began imagining who he might be. Maybe it was the quarter back, Elijah, or the senior class president, Matthew. It became my goal to figure out who this boy was so that I could be ready when I met him after school.

                Do you miss me, Mom? I want to talk to you. I miss the smell of your perfume before you went out. You sure went out an awful lot. Not that I minded! I’m thirteen now. Remember how you said you’d come to my party? I do. Not that I minded or anything. Dad promised to buy me a real cake this year, but he came in real late the night before. He slept right through my birthday. It’s ok though! I just spent the whole day pretending that I had presents to open. Dad does that a lot now. Come in late, I mean. He hasn’t been the same since you, well, you know.

                Like I was saying, I was just sitting in English class when Christopher Clarkback came and sat down right next to me. He has the eyes bluer than the sky. They twinkle sometimes when he smiles. And you know what?! He smiled at me today! I just knew that it had to be him that has been writing me those notes.  Right when I tried to ask him about the notes, Mr. Stover began class, so Christopher had to move back to his seat.

                Later, in the lunch line, I swear I saw Elijah McDonald wink at me. This made me kind of confused since he had a girlfriend. He was dating that brat-homecoming queen, Quinn McMary. But I suppose when true love, like what he must have had for me, blooms, no mortal man can repress it. I just simply had to wait for him to express it.

That wasn’t even the strangest part of my day. Keshon, my lab partner in biology, was acting rather suspicious today. He wouldn’t look at me directly, and spoke in very short sentences. His cheeks puffed up as red as I’ve ever seen cheeks puff when my hand bumped his arm while I was reaching for a beaker. I don’t understand boys, why wouldn’t Keshon just spit out whatever was bothering him?

                After the final bell rang, I made my way to the auditorium. My stomach began to gurgle as I tried to stay poised. Poised is a new word I learned today. Now it is one of my favorites! Well I walked into the auditorium, poised as could be, and who do you suppose was there? It wasn’t Keshon, Elijah, or Christopher. It was Charlie! That’s right, short, nerdy, Charlie! My best friend from grade school? The one I used to take baths with? We are going out this Saturday. And the weird thing? I am actually kind of looking forward to it.

Mom, did you get my last letter? I haven’t heard anything from you. In case you forgot, my address is 2911 Brookeview Lane, Gonkzville, OH, 32781. I’ll be here if you ever want to visit me or anything. Not that you have to. I know you are busy. I miss you, mom. Where are you? Anyways, I love you.

Kristy

Decisions, Decisions

Someday decisions will be easy and choices will be clear.
Mistakes will hardly matter and futures won't hold fear.

But today my heart is heavy. My mind is a swirling mess.
I need some air and space now to breathe and decompress.

I suppose this constant fretting shows that I truly care.
Otherwise I'd just give up. At least I am aware?

'Analization'

Some may say there is beauty in taking arbitrary letters and breathing significance into them.
They might claim that to take seemingly unrelated objects and weave them into symbolic meaning is enchanting.
They may even go as far as to propose that taking letters and making words, and words making sentences, and sentences making significance is somehow worthy of praise.
They could argue that making poetry is beautiful.


Beauty is having somebody to write about.

The Day Flicker the Fleezle Snoofed

            Flicker the fleezle was a well liked guy. Just like all the other fleezles, he had a fat little body that narrowed into a fluffy top. His feet were larger than normal and his eyes were bright with excitement, no matter what he was doing. Every other fleezle was jealous of his bright blue color.

He loved to play plorkle, it was his favorite game. One day when he was playing, an odd thing happened. He got all tingly inside and then he changed color!  Suddenly he was lime green! All the other fleezles stopped what they were doing, and gaped at him with a loud, “ohhhh”.

Flicker waddled as fast as he could, crying and snoofing all the way home! Pink, yellow, and purple, his colors did change. It was not very normal, but ever so strange!He didn’t like what was happening. He thought he was sick. His mouth tasted funny, so spat and cried “Ick!”.

When he finally got home, his mamma was there. He asked her, “Why do I keep snoofing? It isn’t fair!”.She smiled and held him. She knew what had happened to him. She explained that snoofing meant he was growing up. Once he turned white, it meant that he was grown up.

This really scared Flicker. He didn’t want to grow up. None of his other friends were snoofing. He couldn’t sleep because he kept shaking. He couldn’t be with his friends because they kept laughing. He couldn’t even concentrate on schoolwork because he kept tingling so much. Every day he would cry and cry. Everyday his mom would hold him and tell him it was going to be alright. Only that didn’t make it any easier for Flicker.

About a week after he started snoofing, he turned a pale yellow. Then, his head started to hurt. He got dizzy and fell on the ground. His mom was in the other room when she heard the loud thump. She ran over to him, with a wide grin on her face.

“Why are you smiling?!” cried Flicker. He was not enjoying himself, and he couldn’t see why his mom was.

“It is time, Flicky,” she whispherd, “Time to change to white.”

“Well how do I do that?” Flicker asked.

“By letting go. Just let yourself grow up” she stated as she smoothed his fluff.

Flicker replied, “I… I can’t mom. I’m scared”.

“I know, sweetie. But you can do it,” she urged.

Flicker gulped really hard and held his breath. Then he let go, and let himself calm down. Slowly, his fluff turned bright white. “Wow” he gapsed. Suddenly, he wasn’t hurting anymore. Then he realized that he could do all sorts of things that he could never do before. He could turn his fluff whatever color he wanted. He could jump even higher and run even faster.

Flicker decided to go outside and show his new skills to his friends. Right when he did, his best friend, Flookernaughter, snoofed for the first time. “Oh no!” he cried.

“Don’t worry,” said Flicker, “growing up isn’t so bad after you do it!” With that, he snoofed back to his bright blue color. “But some things, are worth keeping”.

The Terror of Being Known

I'm afraid to pour all of myself out to you.

What if it doesn't fill you up?

If I give you all, and you reject it, there is nothing for me to fall back upon.

No secrets.

No facades.

No safety nets.

Just me. 

Instead, I find it easier to give a bit of myself to everyone. 

My thoughts to one.

My emotions to another.

My charm to some.

My weakness to a trusted few.

If I only give you a part of me, then I will never know rejection.

You'll only hate my opinion.

Or my action.

Or my thought.

Or my notion.

Never my being.

Never myself.

Never all of me.

Never complete vulnerability.

My own ignorant delusion.

No pain or regret.

Just the idea that, somehow, I am worth something to somebody.

They just don't know it.

Best Friends

A best friend isn't the person you spend all your time with. You may do a lot together; you may hardly see them. A best friend doesn't know all your secrets and embarrassments. You might not tell them anything. A best friend won't always be by your side. They might be gone tomorrow.

A best friend is somebody that, no matter the circumstances, is in your life. Whether you love them, hate them, confide in them, condemn them, cherish them, or can't stand them, they are yours. And somehow or another, you are theirs.

A best friend may be in your life forever, or just just for a chapter. A best friend, for better or for worse, is in your life for a reason. A best friend will be remembered. A best friend made a difference. 

A Caution to Others

Caution: Avoid cliches and facades.

Do not confess to recently broken or wounded hearts and do not expect anything in return for professing.

Do not set free in presence of doubt or insecurities. 

Contents under pressure.

Do not place heart in darkened room or near others without defects, baggage, or regrets.

Do not puncture or incinerate self value.

Do not use on people who think that they understand love.

Discover together.

The Letter

Dear Son,

I love you.

I know you don't really understand right now.
I know my ways can seem difficult and unnecessary.
But I have a plan.

I desire good for you.
Not destruction.

I want to give you a future.
I want to give you hope.

I know you are wondering why it hurts.

Just remember, I love you.

I never intended this for you.
I created you to be in relationship with me.
Perfect relationship with me.

I would breathe you life.
Your breath would bring me praise.

I wanted only for you to have peace.
I was going to forever care for you:

No Ailment
No Sickness.
No pain.

I only intended good for you.
I want to show you hope.

Please remember, I love you even when you doubt my existence.

You put yourself above me.
Which placed you far below me.
There was nothing you could do on your own.

Put down these fig leaves.
Allow me to clothe you fully.

I know you feel hurt.
Abandoned.
Destroyed.

I want to bring you health.
Security.
Restoration. 

I'm working through your safety nets.
I'm tearing down your walls.

You have to surrender.
But not for yourself.

You have to surrender.
But only for Me. 

You don't have to play the victim.

You have always been loved.

I'll love you forever,
Your Father in Heaven.

Fill Me Up

I'm tearing off my fig leaves, I'm
Ready to be clothed by You.
I'm taking off this mask So I
Can see beyond this lens of hopelessness. 


For You loved me before I loved myself, You
Saved me before this self-salvation.
And now I'm dying from starvation.


You fill me up, You make me whole.
You clean my spirit and my soul.


Nothing else could I ever ask for.
You fill me up like never before.


I will surrender selflessly.
It is for you and not for me.
Your pow'r overtakes my facade.
And turns my blackened hear to white because



You loved me before I loved myself, You
Saved me before this self-salvation.
And now I'm dying from starvation.


You fill me up, You make me whole.
You clean my spirit and my soul.


Nothing else could I ever ask for.
You fill me up like never before.


Your intention's not for suffering.
You intended us for life. 
Strip me of my all consuming pride.
So I can see the light in you, God.



You loved me before I loved myself, You
Saved me before this self-salvation.
And now I'm dying from starvation.


You fill me up, You make me whole.
You clean my spirit and my soul.


Nothing else could I ever ask for.
You fill me up like never before.


You fill me up like never before.

Conviction is Lost

The memories are beginning to fade which makes her feel uneasy.
She is torn between continuing to cling to her shattered remains or admit it is time for rebirth.
The past was challenging and difficult.

Safe.

The unknown brings new dangers and uncharted territory that does more than terrify her.
It makes her question her essence.

The broken glass lies bloody on the floor.
The scars of her mind and body ache with nostalgia.
She is finally forced to confront the delicate struggles tangling her thoughts and flooding her ability to comprehend.

To break it would unleash a new furry.
The restore it would protect the evil that consumes.

The waves draw in and out on the shoreline.
Each crash coincides with her sharp breath.
Her lungs feel torn down and worn out.
Yet a new strength seems to be lingering
Awaiting its chance.

As the point grows nearer, the air grows thinner.
As the air grows thinner, the thoughts grow weaker.
As the thoughts grow weaker, the actions grow timid.
As the actions grow timid, conviction is lost.

nondescript

the milk has spoiled.
the ham is bad.
the bread is moldy.
the soda's flat.

the charge is deadened.
the screen is cracked.
the circuit's shorting.
the cord has snapped.

the button fell off.
the liner's ripped.
the fabric's fading.
the stitch is stripped.

the button's sticky.
the service died.
the flip ain't flipping.
the screen won't slide.

the lens is chipped off.
the bottom rusted.
the strap is strained brown.
the side's encrusted.

the letter's jumbled.
the crispness left.
the angle's crooked.
the color's bereft.

the point has dulled down.
the grip has slipped.
the use is gone now.
you're nondescript.

I'd Make Shakespeare Weep

I could write you a poem
Because I think I understand love.
I could sing you a song
To tell of things I’m not proud of.

I’d make Shakespeare weep
If I could capture your essence on paper.
I’d make Mozart cry out.
No music could ever be greater.

But I can’t really write well.
Hell, I can hardly read.
I don’t have the rhythm
I can’t seem to succeed.

I could give you a dozen flowers.
My heart scooped out of my chest.
I could tell of when I fell
In a note with all expressed.

But I haven’t got the money.
And I haven’t got the guts.
You would simply laugh at me.
It isn’t worth the fuss.

But then you walk right past me.
My breath is gone once more.
I don’t know that I’ll catch it.
I don’t want the cure.

You deserve a real man.
Not a boy like me.
You deserve your ever after.
I know that you’d agree.

But don’t I deserve love as well?
Aren’t I human too?
I’ll just wait for tomorrow.
Maybe then I’ll break through.

Ode to Pineapple

My sweet fruit,
You once were so kind.
Your very essence was
Heaven  aligned.


Your taste tickled my buds
And pleased my lips.
Your texture treated my tongue
Until your juice wouldn't drip.


Now you look with vengeance.
I hate your being.
Your gustation turned sour.
From you, I am fleeing.


Away from my family,
You tore me with malice.
I wish that I could believe
You maybe won't fail us.


But I know the truth,
I know your evil.
You poisoned my body,
And caused an upheaval.


I'll stay away from you,
If you let me be
I'd rather be healthy,
Than totally free.




I miss you, sweet fruit.

The Phone Call

Hey Babe,
I'm running late, I won't be home till seven.
I'll get dinner on my way.


Is everything ok?
You sound like you were crying?
What happened? Who did this?


I'm coming home right now.

The Fading Essence

His voice no longer captures people's thoughts.
They've forgotten the truth he once held.
His actions cease to captivate their minds.

The past has tainted the masses.

The significance of his essence is fading.
The sardonic pleasure falling from his lips will forever remind us that nobody is invincible.
Nobody can survive.


Her smile no longer sparks true happiness.
They've learnt that it was forced.
Her laughter is full of emptiness
That can no longer full people to hope.
The significance of her essence is fading.
The detachment from her body will forever haunt those that necessitated her foundation most desperately.
Nobody can survive.


His hands have lost the magic that once inspired.
They've figured out his tricks.
Eloquence no longer holds any influence.
Words are merely words. No more, maybe less.
The significance of his essence is fading
Ignorance was bliss for the few without it and the power to maintain the illusions.
Not even they can survive.


Wonder and mystique long forgotten how to impose appeal.
They've decided they'd rather grow up.
Equations and arbitrary limitations must be put forth.
Nothing can exist without rules.
The significance of their essence is fading.
The progression of arrogance has led to the fountain of youth that dried decades ago.
Who would want to survive?

Superficiality

Superficiality is catching like the flu.
There's no vaccine, no cure, no hope.
You're goin' to catch it too.


Superficiality is sweeping like a flood.
The past is dead. The present's hell.
The future's full of blood.


Superficiality is consuming all the truth.
The credit's gone. The meaning's bleak.
No innocence in youth.


Superficiality is corrupting from the core.
It starts too slow, no way to know;
No symptoms to look for.


Superficiality will one day surely die.
But only if people admit
They much prefer the lie.

What Life Means to Me

This is a free-write that I recently discovered in the process of composing my journals for my English class. Add some breaks and batta-bom. Poetry- or at least something interesting to read.

Life means different things to me at different times.

When I am happy, slept well, distressed: I typically look at life as an adventure to explore. 

Never ending twists and turns. 

Bam. Make it happen.

When I am looking at the stars or the sunset, I see the world as a puzzle.

The mystery and wonder is mine to contemplate.

Logic, luck, glamour.

I feel small. Insignificant even. 

I ponder my meaning.

Life feels like a game to won.

Sometimes life pisses me off.

There are times I don't see the point.

We come. 

We live.

We die. 

We come into life unable to physically do anything.

Then we are bound by society to conform to their morals. 

After we are "old enough" to make decisions for ourselves, finances trap us.

We work.

We sweat and cry until we are too old to physically do anything.

Then our minds leave us. 

Then we're gone.

Alone.

Dark,

Free?

I consider myself a hopeful person.

I believe Jesus is coming back for me.

Life should be a party.

Yet, we let Greed, Anger, and Insecurites get in our way. 

Life is about letting go.

Life is acceptance.

Life is meant to be good.

It is up to us.

Perspective is everything.

Without it, life can be nothing.

i merely am

my world isn't fading.
death is nowhere to be found.
there is nothing on the line.
i merely long for the long forgotten sense of recognition.


my memory is irreparably damaged of knowledge of acceptance and meaning.
i'm not depressed. 
i'm not enthused.
i'm not aware.
i merely am.


i don't melt at Your words.
Your presence settles me into a comfortable state of familiarity. 
there is no fear.
there is no reward.


to continue to force a belief that there is more is pathetic.  
i deserve at least that.
there is assurance in solidity of knowledge.


i don't long for my predisposed and ignorant understanding of love.
attraction is formed through a chemical reaction in our brains at the sight of another being that arouses us.


how romantic.


Your conversations don't capture me in a suspension of exploding desire like they used to.
the sight of You no longer stirs a response from the man within me.
any eloquently written scripts of love and passion devolved to superficiality and a weak attempt of persuasion. 


i only wanted to be wanted.
You're arms are cold.
hold me tighter.