Writing

The calm before the storm

Sun, 19 May 2013 02:32:34 -0400

It’s dark and it’s quiet
A lullaby sung by crickets
Chirping through,
Outside the crack of your window
And they tell you it should be peaceful
Like a calm ocean wave
But they forget to tell you
That with the calm
There is a storm
And it’s so infrequent that you forget that small little fact that’s been etched into your long term memory do you also think that your okay
That you’ve gotten better
That the fear must have melter
Melted away on that warm night
When you were reassured that you were made of something so indestructible
Like steel or copper
That you had not a care in the world
That you were filled with acceptance
Acceptance for someone else’s behavioral patterns that you expected to rub off and become your own
You advertised this new found you
The new and improved
Space aged, vacuum packed, perfect for storage emotion that you just had to have
And you bought into it yourself
At least for a while
But soon those easy payments became late and less frequent
And seasons of three months cut into your program
You waited and waited for them to return
You checked and flipped and searched and rerouted again
And again
And again
Until finally, it’s just another night
It’s tonight
The calms past
Raindrops and dark clouds pollute the sky, rumbling.
And you’ve checked everywhere it can be found
You don’t know why
You’re awake and how come the medicines not working
Or why You can’t explain
How your legs feel, even though you’ve described them as restless a thousand times more
There isn’t an answer
But it’s 12:15 and I’m buzzing

When I Think of Love

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 13:25:24 -0400

When I think love
I don’t think of tints/shades of red
I think of yellow and green
And the floral bedspread
Of the guest room, with the white molding and the stained dresser
When I think love, I feel the tan shag carpet between my toes
And long brown curls on my back
And the fall of red plaid flannel
When I think love, I think of
An open door and blurred quick movement, exiting without a word
Because that’s what I was exposed to when I fist spoke those 3 gigantic small words.
When I think love, I think of
A an impressionable 16-year-old
With the biggest eyes
Who didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve, but plastered in the stars with her silly-putty
When I think love, I think of
Inequality, of pushing not pulling
of sinking not swimming
Of falling not flying
Of touching not grasping
Of singing not dancing
and of giving not getting
Anything other than fading lust
When I think of love, I think of
That 16-year-old who only had contempt for herself rumbling in her belly
Except for when you told her that everything she was, was beautiful
But you emphasized specific parts of her body and she never forgot how to use those efficiently or effectively
When I think of love, I think of
Your hair color
It wasn’t a brown or a blonde
But a grey and taupe
and it was thin
Thin like your attention span
Thin like your strength
Thin like your words
Thin like the guilt you had of pushing someone away who could have really loved you, or loved the thought of loving you
Thin like your understanding of compassion
and thin like what lived deep down inside your heart.
When I think of love, I think that
I’m not as versed in it as I once believed I was
Because it’s easy to say that you depleted my self-esteem
And every time I was able to carefully construct it back up
A replica of you in another person’s body, face thinly masked caught my attention and knocked it down again.
But when I think of love, I think that it’s not fair or right to feel such disgust for someone and to carry around almost 4 years of such strong haste.
When I think of love, I think of
A dumpster and some Legos
So I’ll be able to one day soon
Rid my heart, mind, and body of you, to make something so different and so perfect that love,
My love feels like new.
And when I think of love, I think of how I still believe
That it’s honest and true
as long as you can be.

Sush

Fri, 08 Feb 2013 02:13:00 -0500

I think I’m going to stop commenting in all of my classes. I’m loud and smart and obnoxious. I’m cut with whispers about my physical appearance. Please tell me how horrible I am and how I should hide each and everyone one of my mirrors. Hardly anyone says, “That’s not nice.” I only fucking wish I didn’t have to work my ass off for everything, that the world would be served to me on a platter because of a twinkle in my eye. I’ll crawl back into the skin that I’ve torn off, blemish by blemish. I’ll become more introverted if it pleases you. I’ll be quiet.

Seven

Tue, 29 Jan 2013 01:22:09 -0500

I am seven
Seven sixteenths of an inch
Crossing a train track in the passenger seat of my fathers car

I feel childish
I feel like the small copper haired girl dressed in pink,
standing on her tip toes
to drink from the lion’s head

I feel foolish
My mannerisms and pronunciation
Are little to be desired

I grow, but in the opposite motion
I am so small compared to you

Often times the baby bird
Naive, over joyed to jump out of the nest before knowing what my wings even are, let alone mean.

Lost in the grass
And below sea level

Resting in the palm of your hand, my arms wrapped around your index finger

I am so tiny when I am with you

So easy and impressionable
Spontaneous to the touch
And as explicitly uncensored
Casual and ecstatic

I am seven
Seven sixteenths of an inch

For You

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 22:37:41 -0500

I could flutter around like a humming bird

for you

a steadfast, immovable heart

sleeping with hands and eyes wide open

for you

a strong, firm hand upon my shoulder

grounded to the air

for you

June, July and August

anger, lust and greed

for you

September, October, November

over indulgence, neglect, and melancholy

for you

December— Late January

aching, wonder,

remorse

repentance

passion

and you.

I had loose plans to go out with friends tonight. But after my parents had a long talk with me...

Mon, 31 Dec 2012 20:27:18 -0500

I had loose plans to go out with friends tonight. But after my parents had a long talk with me about drinking and driving, telling me “I just want to know about your life.” and telling me over and over to be safe, an over whelming sense of intense social anxiety came engulfed me. I wasn’t even so set on going out anyways, already could tell that it might lead to a panic attack like it did last time. So I told my parents that I’d stay home if there’d be pizza and cookies involved. Pizza is on it’s way, and cookies are in the oven.

I’m sorry. From the stars, they say “I love you.” From the ground, we...

Wed, 26 Dec 2012 23:15:05 -0500

I’m sorry.

From the stars, they say “I love you.” From the ground, we tip-toe-a-way, across something sad and ruined and humorous. You cradled my chin and neck in your hands, much larger than mine. You could carry my thoughts and feelings, my actions were yours. And it was an advantage, aligned in your favor.

I was worried that this wouldn’t be something real or fun, and to be honest, it was neither. But we went along with it anyway. We didn’t question it, not to each other’s ears at least. And really, isn’t that important? That we could not be honest with each other so it became easier to not be honest with anyone that didn’t care, because we didn’t care.

I don’t know what this is about.

TV with Dad.

Sat, 25 Aug 2012 02:34:02 -0400

My dad works in sales. His hours are not only sporadic, but more often then not, last late into the day. For this reason, we’re unable to spend most weekdays together. The only time we usually are both in the same place, is around 8-12 o’clock at night. This is the time those ever so popular Discovery and History channels put on shows like Storage Wars, Pawn Stars, and Shipping Wars. You know, the classics! About 5/7 days of the week, we end up watching these “reality” shows together until one of us falls asleep.

Yesterday was no different. My mother and sister were out at a soccer practice, leaving dad and I to entertain ourselves for the night. We’re not very imaginative. My dad sits in his leather recliner (which is broken so it always reclines) and flips through the TV show schedule. Inevitably, he ends up on one of these shows.

Though, this one was a bit different, I will admit. It was one of those shows about a custom motorcycle building shop. Like American Choppers, but less family drama and more over grown 80s hair band pony tails on 50-year-old men. Still the same amount of leather and mustaches. Which is good, keep those. They fit. What was not good or something they should have kept, was their current bike project.

Five minutes after the start of the show, they cut to the auto-garage that I must assume that they work in. The camera pans to a man in a red wheelchair and his wife. The man had been shot four times and is paralyzed from the waist down. He wants the crew at the garage to make him a custom built motorcycle.

He wants a motorcycle.

The paralyzed man wants a motorcycle.

The man who has to have his wife push his wheelchair, wants a motorcycle.

A motorcycle.

Motorcycle.

Motor

Cycle.

I spent the rest of the night in just shock. Am I the only one who understands how idiotic this is? Am I? AM I? I didn’t think so! I couldn’t even think of an idea that was any worse than that.

And then I remembered the old woman who “restored” *cough* RUINED *cough* Ecce Homo, making it look like a rather realistic Bob Ross portrait. That’s another one of the worst ideas.

All that concerns flowers

Fri, 29 Jun 2012 17:55:52 -0400

I’d rather be given a daisy or a sunflower, rather than a crimson rose. A rose is impeded at the palm of romance. It is dark, silky, and seductive to the eye. For a person to give me a flower of this sensual nature, I would be flattered, but overcome with the thought of the true meaning of the rose. I would believe that the giver of the rose only saw me as an object of deepest affections. Which is lovely and nice, but not the only way that I wish to be to another. Yes, being lusted over in “love” and romantically thought of is all well. But when a person that loves me sees me, I want them to thing of daisies and sunflowers, the brightest and happiest of all blossoms. I want that desired one to think of me as the brightest and happiest bud in their life.

Unable to do anything incapable of attaining this sexual relationship though, as it was, started by...

Sat, 23 Jun 2012 17:17:00 -0400

Unable to do anything

incapable of attaining this sexual relationship

though, as it was, started by my own hands

jealousy: a crime

three to four letter words

and I’m not any of them

but I bet that if you were to call see and know

then you wouldn’t be surprised

envious: my sin.

beabear redyellowandblue unhappy blueyellowandgreen bliss

Sat, 19 May 2012 01:59:35 -0400

beabear

redyellowandblue

unhappy

blueyellowandgreen

bliss

you’resolovely, iwantourfingersintertwined iwanttofeelyourbreathonmyneck iwantyourquietlaughte...

Sat, 28 Apr 2012 23:58:22 -0400

you’resolovely,

iwantourfingersintertwined

iwanttofeelyourbreathonmyneck

iwantyourquietlaughterminglingwithmine

It must be lonely at the top. You’ve stepped on top of every lovely soul alive. I hope it was...

Fri, 13 Apr 2012 20:00:39 -0400

It must be lonely at the top. You’ve stepped on top of every lovely soul alive. I hope it was worth it. No one will catch you if you fall.

A guilt stricken stomach as I listen to your voice for the promise of another in your place.

Fri, 13 Apr 2012 19:59:56 -0400

A guilt stricken stomach as I listen to your voice for the promise of another in your place.

Kiss

Sat, 31 Mar 2012 01:37:17 -0400

Kiss; Let’s not fight.

Your inner daemons seem to struggle

to hold themselves

within your young and tired soul.

Your father

a monster,

Tortured your family. Killed your mother’s spirits,

Destroyed your sister’s peace of mind.

and I am empathetic,

I care so deeply for your well being. Stay under my roof

our family’s collective wing

for as long as it is necessary,

But please,

remember who is on your side.

Forget your boiling fears.

This young man loves you

and his thoughts are only occupied

By you.

This is not a matter of anger,

but rather the sadness from misplaced hate. Have you lost all sight

of your heart’s true desires?

Kiss,

You know your feelings,

even though they may be buried

Deep.

Kill this contempt and

destroy the stories you’ve replayed

from the past. A new golden opportunity

May shine forth from these

old ashes.

Kiss; Let’s not fight.

Julian

Sun, 25 Mar 2012 20:26:33 -0400

Leaned up against a wall, patient and waiting. As if out of my day dreams and into this conscious world. A voice shivers through my spine. Hand in hand, an actual touch of living warmth. You’re perfectly untidy, tastefully messy. Above your right ear, the hair that you have allowed to grow out is beginning to curl naturally. Some impulsive, maternal instinct overcomes me and I find myself holding back the urge of touching those hairs, attempting to smooth them out and make them lay flat. You recite to me verses related to my t-shirt, your excitement races through your open mouth, your lips stumble, trying so hard to keep up with your memory. This whole scenario becomes somewhat endearing to me, strangely enough. You’re very interesting, hard to read, over all an educated mystery that I’d love to view every side, nook, and cranny that you’d be willing to share with me, even if it were only for a moment. Your appearance may attract some, but it is your heart, mind and vision that I admire. Arms and legs. Hands and fingers. Feet and toes. Cravings, mind, body, and soul.

Father

Tue, 13 Mar 2012 01:19:21 -0400

Father always wanted a son, a boy who could carry out a legacy, but created two fair daughters with his small town wife. And now, the two girls’ mother is out at play. The daughters themselves have grown tall. The son never showed. Father is alone.

His wife, the mother of his two daughters, had pulled him away from the coast. A fear had grown in her belly as she rocked her first born alone at night. Mother emptied the bottle to save a life, or so she hoped. She tore Father away from his friends and family. Forced him to make a new life. Replaced the poison with contempt in his liver.

That’s not to say he is not a family man, or incapable of love. Oh no, Father is a salesman of the world, using his streets smarts to win the bread. He is strong in stature, smells of aftershave with a hint of disaster. He works until he breaks apart on the leather sofa, proud of what he has accomplished. But father’s heart is weak and brittle and old. Eldest daughter worries, unsure of how long it can hold.

But it’s only in Father’s dark brown eyes that he shows signs of sadness and fear. Otherwise, he continues to work and sweat and brake backs.

Father only changes on the seventh day, the day of rest. Father forces himself to believe in an old age faith, which he himself lost so long ago. Another prime example of Man Versus his Belief in an Imaginary Power.

If the eldest daughter could make a plea, if Father would stop and listen, she’d beg on hands and knees. Father, with so much hope and love and desire, no one is prouder than I of you. Father, calm down from your disappointments in a young man’s fallen dreams. Father, have peace.

Falling asleep earlier than usual after taking off my ruined makeup in the shower and crying some...

Sat, 03 Mar 2012 11:07:58 -0500

Falling asleep earlier than usual after taking off my ruined makeup in the shower and crying some more in the process. It’s strange to me that every human mouth preaches to me, saying how it will get better. I find that a funny thing to promise because if I were to ask when, none of you could tell me.

Vegan cupcakes

Sun, 12 Feb 2012 13:35:16 -0500

I really needed tonight. I’d almost forgotten who I am, what I like, and how I act. Just being able to vent without anyone feeling the need to “help” was fantastic. Meeting new people, ones so open and friendly, willing to accept anyone. Perfect.

I know that it wasn’t magical or anything. But it was great. It was a different adventure. It just felt good. Just to be myself and feel happy. To do something for once. I’ve become so boring. I miss my spark.

Ps I hope you aren’t appalled by my mentioning of poop.

Pps also, chocolate strawberry vegan cupcakes.

You and Your V-Card

Wed, 01 Feb 2012 01:40:16 -0500

A very important and emphasized experience in the journey to adulthood, is the process of losing ones virginity. Call it what you may: deflowering, popping the cherry, etc. Society has risen the expectations of this delicate moment. Yet at the same time, has taught us to hate those who have penetrated in teenage years. Obviously, this is a double standard.

We are expected to respect our bodies and not give away our “gift” to just anyone, but to wait for the right person. Though, if we are ending our adolescent years and you are still a virgin, there is something wrong with you and you are considered abnormal.

On the other end, we are shown to explore our sexuality and to experiment with it. We are told there is nothing wrong with having slept with am other individual. Somehow, if we do this, trouble arises. Slut bashing occurs, degrading others, gossip, and pure judgmental behavior that deems you as “bad”.

Why? Apparently I do not understand this. In my opinion, whether you have sex or not should NEVER be part if the qualifications for a good person. Being a virgin isn’t something to be “proud” of. Not being a virgin isn’t something to be ashamed of. (and vice versa)