Pieces of someone fall from the sky
Crowd the sidewalks
Pile in front yards
Blanket the rooftops
Decorate the tree branches
Ghostly white
Pieces of someone lay on the ground
Next to the crumbs of dirt
Near the old season leaves
Close to the lucky penny
Dark copper brown
The penny reminds my mom of God
Reminds my grandpa of miracles
Reminds me of death
and of hospitals
and of January
Broken pieces
Crystals of ice
Slices of snow
Dust from the clouds
Laying on the cold ground
Each piece, a damaged part
Each part, a little less trouble
Each trouble, a little bit more someone
A little bit more me
Pieces of me still fall from the sky
and the pieces will fall all winter long
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Snow
11:35 PM
It is a Sunday night and I am up way too late. My house has a hush atmosphere and the only sound i can hear is my mother praying with her husband rooms over. Tomorrow will most likely be hell, like every other Monday has been since high school began. I stare into my computer screen, not really focusing on anything but the flashing curser begining the blank Word document in front of me. My eyes dart down to the bottom right hand corner.
11:36 PM
I glance out my family room window that faces towards Harrison Avenue. Snowflakes float from the sky towards the dull grass and dead leaves, moment by moment eating away at the ground. Although the sky has been gray for days and no color appears on the leaves nor in the water nor on the sidewalk, I am not ready for the snow. My attention is shifted to the corner street lamp where the flakes huddle around, drawn to the light as if tiny gnats. I wish to believe in the nasty little critters for a once instead of the bitter snowflakes they really are.
I can't believe it is snowing.
The streets I used to wander at late hours such as now, seem suddenly eerie and uninviting. As I see the new landscape, I feel hollow and dead, like a log rotting in the forest. My decay process will begin soon. Each snowflake is a sure sign my end is near. I have existed for sixteen winters, and understand what the snow brings. The dusty clouds move above, grumbling and knocking one another around. Big bullies.
11:42 PM
I tip-toe to my room and slip between chill sheets. It has begun to snow, yet i am still warm inside myself. I remember You, like i do every other night. Maybe this winter will be different.
It is a Sunday night and I am up way too late. My house has a hush atmosphere and the only sound i can hear is my mother praying with her husband rooms over. Tomorrow will most likely be hell, like every other Monday has been since high school began. I stare into my computer screen, not really focusing on anything but the flashing curser begining the blank Word document in front of me. My eyes dart down to the bottom right hand corner.
11:36 PM
I glance out my family room window that faces towards Harrison Avenue. Snowflakes float from the sky towards the dull grass and dead leaves, moment by moment eating away at the ground. Although the sky has been gray for days and no color appears on the leaves nor in the water nor on the sidewalk, I am not ready for the snow. My attention is shifted to the corner street lamp where the flakes huddle around, drawn to the light as if tiny gnats. I wish to believe in the nasty little critters for a once instead of the bitter snowflakes they really are.
I can't believe it is snowing.
The streets I used to wander at late hours such as now, seem suddenly eerie and uninviting. As I see the new landscape, I feel hollow and dead, like a log rotting in the forest. My decay process will begin soon. Each snowflake is a sure sign my end is near. I have existed for sixteen winters, and understand what the snow brings. The dusty clouds move above, grumbling and knocking one another around. Big bullies.
11:42 PM
I tip-toe to my room and slip between chill sheets. It has begun to snow, yet i am still warm inside myself. I remember You, like i do every other night. Maybe this winter will be different.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
I am still alive
Yesterday was my birthday, and as easy as a clock slides its staggered hands together at the stroke of a new hour, or as simple as the thick sharpie crosses off week after week on the calender; i turned seventeen. My new number is only a place in time, a mere marker for society, and means little to me. But birthdays have always been a funny thing for me.
I remember last year when i turned sixteen. I cried all afternoon because my parents had a great blowup about my gift, an ugly gold car my father didnt mention to my mother. i now continue to despise the car because of the whole scene that day a year ago. And then when i turned thirteen i remember not being able to sleep for the entire week leading up to the 22nd because i hated the idea so much of becoming a teenager. Some year in between, i also recall getting very sick to my stomach and having to spend my whole day bent over the toilet, spilling my guts, while my friends sat in the other room watching movies and eating junk food.
Yes i never was good at birthdays.
This year, I woke up and went straight to the mirror. After staring at my reflection for a few moments, i turned away and began to get ready for school. As i curled my hair and brushed my teeth, i occasionally glanced back at my reflection. There was no surprises or changes looking back at me except for a small red bump above my lip. How pleasant.
My sister stayed home on my birthday because she "had a sore throat." I drove my last years gift to school and remembered how much i hated the vehicle once again the entire way there. I watched leaves flutter from branches as i drove down woodward; reminding me how much change is occuring in one way or another. For some reason, the falling leaves made me quite sad, and the image stained my mind for hours afterwords. A perfect song blared through my speakers as i turned into the school parking lot. So i stayed in my warm car until the last note hummed. In exchange, i received my third tardy in my first hour. I was four seconds late. How lame.
I have had the same best friends for as long as i can remember and on my birthday, one of them refused to talk. I came home for lunch bawling to my mother. Partially because of my hurt feelings from being ignored and having to each lunch alone on my birthday, partially because of the growing loneliness inside of me. I returned to art class and finished the day with a great amount of silence hanging around my lips.
My family came over for dinner. My uncle was late and came in upset because him and his wife were fighting again. His three children trailed behind with big eyes and mum faces. i gave each one a smile and we went to my room to color and to forget about grown-up problems.
Late last night my mother and i engaged in a long talk. I showed her the manila envelope my father gave me earlier. Inside there were two letters, both from my Auntie Jo. The first letter was typed on three sheets of white computer paper. It was about President Clinton and politics. My aunt reminded me of how special she thought i was and how i had to be strong in the crazy world we live in. The second was hand written on yellow notebook paper and creased at the center. Once again, tears flooded my eyes as i read the words written in pen. The letter was written the day my papa died as my aunt sat in the Detroit airport.
I told my mom about how i was scared of growing old, yet how i yearned to be independent and free from adolescence. I also told her how i hated school and felt lonely often times, and how i was always aching all over my body, and how ive thought about running away and have had a secret bag packed under my bed for quite sometime. She hugged me and i continued to sob. We unpacked the bag together.
This morning i woke up late, got to school late and turned my pre-calc corrections in late.
I read Catcher and the Rye rather than taking notes on the middle ages during english.
In History i created a mural of world peace and daisies on my desk instead of listening to presentations on the late 1800s.
Durning art i played with dark charcoal untill it stained my fingertips and dusted my palms.
And in Health i finally slept.
On my way home from work i realized all the funeral homes were full. I came home and went running... to remind my lungs to continue to breath and my heart to continue to beat and to remind my mind i am still alive.
I remember last year when i turned sixteen. I cried all afternoon because my parents had a great blowup about my gift, an ugly gold car my father didnt mention to my mother. i now continue to despise the car because of the whole scene that day a year ago. And then when i turned thirteen i remember not being able to sleep for the entire week leading up to the 22nd because i hated the idea so much of becoming a teenager. Some year in between, i also recall getting very sick to my stomach and having to spend my whole day bent over the toilet, spilling my guts, while my friends sat in the other room watching movies and eating junk food.
Yes i never was good at birthdays.
This year, I woke up and went straight to the mirror. After staring at my reflection for a few moments, i turned away and began to get ready for school. As i curled my hair and brushed my teeth, i occasionally glanced back at my reflection. There was no surprises or changes looking back at me except for a small red bump above my lip. How pleasant.
My sister stayed home on my birthday because she "had a sore throat." I drove my last years gift to school and remembered how much i hated the vehicle once again the entire way there. I watched leaves flutter from branches as i drove down woodward; reminding me how much change is occuring in one way or another. For some reason, the falling leaves made me quite sad, and the image stained my mind for hours afterwords. A perfect song blared through my speakers as i turned into the school parking lot. So i stayed in my warm car until the last note hummed. In exchange, i received my third tardy in my first hour. I was four seconds late. How lame.
I have had the same best friends for as long as i can remember and on my birthday, one of them refused to talk. I came home for lunch bawling to my mother. Partially because of my hurt feelings from being ignored and having to each lunch alone on my birthday, partially because of the growing loneliness inside of me. I returned to art class and finished the day with a great amount of silence hanging around my lips.
My family came over for dinner. My uncle was late and came in upset because him and his wife were fighting again. His three children trailed behind with big eyes and mum faces. i gave each one a smile and we went to my room to color and to forget about grown-up problems.
Late last night my mother and i engaged in a long talk. I showed her the manila envelope my father gave me earlier. Inside there were two letters, both from my Auntie Jo. The first letter was typed on three sheets of white computer paper. It was about President Clinton and politics. My aunt reminded me of how special she thought i was and how i had to be strong in the crazy world we live in. The second was hand written on yellow notebook paper and creased at the center. Once again, tears flooded my eyes as i read the words written in pen. The letter was written the day my papa died as my aunt sat in the Detroit airport.
I told my mom about how i was scared of growing old, yet how i yearned to be independent and free from adolescence. I also told her how i hated school and felt lonely often times, and how i was always aching all over my body, and how ive thought about running away and have had a secret bag packed under my bed for quite sometime. She hugged me and i continued to sob. We unpacked the bag together.
This morning i woke up late, got to school late and turned my pre-calc corrections in late.
I read Catcher and the Rye rather than taking notes on the middle ages during english.
In History i created a mural of world peace and daisies on my desk instead of listening to presentations on the late 1800s.
Durning art i played with dark charcoal untill it stained my fingertips and dusted my palms.
And in Health i finally slept.
On my way home from work i realized all the funeral homes were full. I came home and went running... to remind my lungs to continue to breath and my heart to continue to beat and to remind my mind i am still alive.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Between Blue Lines
Art III 5th Hour
swing swing me through this day, enough momentum to cure my pain, enough pain to numb my thoughts of me and you and him and yesterday and the day before
until im gone, my mind no more
melted onto the kitchen floor, left for someone maybe my mother or yours
all i know is i am slowly losing
pick up my pace before the devil does
help me to find my sure confidence, where i lost it, weeks ago, during summer after snow
behind your house, drowned in the pond, withered away in the sun, killed by the darkness of those stars
the ones we watched in each others arms, when you held me and i held you and we were new and clean
now smugged and frayed i have no fight
i just grow distant, back into my mind
sinking, suffocating, silently insane
swing swing me through another day, enough momentum to take me far away
Stars
we watch the stars as if they will move or tell us something we dont know and yearn for, something no one else can tell us, eagerly we gaze into the darkness for a time
me and you and the sky so blue, dark and silent, deep and wide
you hold me close and i wish to melt into your skin and become you for a while
for you to carry me with you
oh i wished upon the stars
upon the whole damn sky
i could stay with you
Monday
Its raining on a monday
similar to every other monday
it is as if the sky has heard my cry for help
watched my mistakes
and felt my pain
and cried for me
The rain is not as depressing as usual for these reasons
almost a relief, a cleansing
each drop a surrender
each surrender a piece of myself
and slowly i melt
into puddles on the side of the road
near the curb
across from my house
and from the window i watch all the parts of me
the parts that hurt the most
i watch them make their way to the corner
and then proceed to disappear
down the drain
gone forever
not a piece of me anymore
and now i am a shadow
a frame shaded in
hazy and unfocused
barely filled, barely existing
the sun returns and no one can see me
no one cares
nowhere
no one knows where i am or where i went
my body is nowhere but my past floats around in the air through the town
these people dont care enough about why i left
my parents have no idea and take my disappearance as a surprise
maybe i wasnt kidding
maybe i wasnt exaggerating
but they didnt listen
they only heard all the screaming
they didnt bother
the only saw all the tears
and now it is too late
i am nowhere
swing swing me through this day, enough momentum to cure my pain, enough pain to numb my thoughts of me and you and him and yesterday and the day before
until im gone, my mind no more
melted onto the kitchen floor, left for someone maybe my mother or yours
all i know is i am slowly losing
pick up my pace before the devil does
help me to find my sure confidence, where i lost it, weeks ago, during summer after snow
behind your house, drowned in the pond, withered away in the sun, killed by the darkness of those stars
the ones we watched in each others arms, when you held me and i held you and we were new and clean
now smugged and frayed i have no fight
i just grow distant, back into my mind
sinking, suffocating, silently insane
swing swing me through another day, enough momentum to take me far away
Stars
we watch the stars as if they will move or tell us something we dont know and yearn for, something no one else can tell us, eagerly we gaze into the darkness for a time
me and you and the sky so blue, dark and silent, deep and wide
you hold me close and i wish to melt into your skin and become you for a while
for you to carry me with you
oh i wished upon the stars
upon the whole damn sky
i could stay with you
Monday
Its raining on a monday
similar to every other monday
it is as if the sky has heard my cry for help
watched my mistakes
and felt my pain
and cried for me
The rain is not as depressing as usual for these reasons
almost a relief, a cleansing
each drop a surrender
each surrender a piece of myself
and slowly i melt
into puddles on the side of the road
near the curb
across from my house
and from the window i watch all the parts of me
the parts that hurt the most
i watch them make their way to the corner
and then proceed to disappear
down the drain
gone forever
not a piece of me anymore
and now i am a shadow
a frame shaded in
hazy and unfocused
barely filled, barely existing
the sun returns and no one can see me
no one cares
nowhere
no one knows where i am or where i went
my body is nowhere but my past floats around in the air through the town
these people dont care enough about why i left
my parents have no idea and take my disappearance as a surprise
maybe i wasnt kidding
maybe i wasnt exaggerating
but they didnt listen
they only heard all the screaming
they didnt bother
the only saw all the tears
and now it is too late
i am nowhere
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Words
sometimes i let precious words dangle from my mouth, attached by tiny strings made from the same dust that holds the stars into their place in the sky. like these stars, my words hang and glisten magically, barely existing. the daring adjectives and nouns swinging freely back and forth.
yet other times these words stay deep to the back of my throat, trapped by damp skin tissue and soaked in mucus. the sheer embarresment these words would carry if casted outside of my mouth; yet too sour and bitter to swallow down...even with a glass of tap water.
when i am under an alienated influence, these words slide down my tounge and sneak away from my conscious thought, across the stuffy atmosphere that webs its pattern between our existence. at the moment the words hold slurred meaning, until morning when i reasure you it was a true feeling rather than a mere scene from the night before.
it is always a feeling with you, and these words i fuble with at a constant variable. simple and plain, my vocabulary holds an ocean of emotion i only hope for you to wade ankle deep in. my true hope is for you to fall into each word with swift diving motion and float upon their surface, understanding completely my thoughts.
yet other times these words stay deep to the back of my throat, trapped by damp skin tissue and soaked in mucus. the sheer embarresment these words would carry if casted outside of my mouth; yet too sour and bitter to swallow down...even with a glass of tap water.
when i am under an alienated influence, these words slide down my tounge and sneak away from my conscious thought, across the stuffy atmosphere that webs its pattern between our existence. at the moment the words hold slurred meaning, until morning when i reasure you it was a true feeling rather than a mere scene from the night before.
it is always a feeling with you, and these words i fuble with at a constant variable. simple and plain, my vocabulary holds an ocean of emotion i only hope for you to wade ankle deep in. my true hope is for you to fall into each word with swift diving motion and float upon their surface, understanding completely my thoughts.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Green
Clouds float down the gray sky river towards no destination, in odd arrangement, yet orderly and with swift movement. Behind many layers of atmosphere the sun exists as hostage, strangled and imprisoned. She coughs up bits of fiery light as she struggles and strains to break free. Below, earth continuoulsy shakes from the uncesting blunder and gusts of october wind. Each demanding blow shouts to the fragile surface and intimidates the single blades of grass, threatening them to surrender their precious coats of summer green.
I sit inside the art room with a sharpened pencil in my right hand, idel and distracted at the chaos behind the glass. My eyes stare at the frightened shreds of ground covering with remorse and sympathy. At the same time, I attempt to capture the exact tones and shades of "summer green" much like a camera lens. Repetedly my mind clicks; immediate polaroids flood into my brains file cabinet. This information may be vital in months ahead when the color drains to extinction and my mind aches for painted memories of comfort during michigan snowfalls.
I sit inside the art room with a sharpened pencil in my right hand, idel and distracted at the chaos behind the glass. My eyes stare at the frightened shreds of ground covering with remorse and sympathy. At the same time, I attempt to capture the exact tones and shades of "summer green" much like a camera lens. Repetedly my mind clicks; immediate polaroids flood into my brains file cabinet. This information may be vital in months ahead when the color drains to extinction and my mind aches for painted memories of comfort during michigan snowfalls.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Hand in hand
my heart rebels against its familiar containment. my body flees the country to meet yours. my socks and shoes i leave at my doorway and my tee-shirts and blue jeans stay in my closet. i travel without a napsak and without a name (for you know me not by name and therefore a name is not needed.) time peels away from my bare skin and falls to the pavement; a trail of seconds and minutes and hours and years. my mother will worry in the morning when she discovers my disappearence. the thought i let cross my mind once, and then dismiss and leave behind with the rest of the world. we meet at the horizon, when the morning rays climb the sides of the universe. hand in hand we watch the world alight and laugh at reality.
Monday, September 8, 2008
A Run
My rubber shoes shatter puddle after puddle, each painted with September clouds.
In the window of my deseased neighbors house, a faded piece of orange card paper boasts "I am a winner." His house is empty and dim.
Across the alley, two adults dressed in walmart jeans and rummage sale tops speak about politics.
A high school boy carries his head low and hides in black appearal as he walks his bike up the steep hill.
Down the street, a slim poplar stands shyly next to the sidewalk; she dresses in shades of yellow.
Street lights flicker to a glow as i round the corner to my house.
My mother can be seen on the phone through the glass.
Tomorrow my baby cousin turns eleven.
I slow down and stop.
In the window of my deseased neighbors house, a faded piece of orange card paper boasts "I am a winner." His house is empty and dim.
Across the alley, two adults dressed in walmart jeans and rummage sale tops speak about politics.
A high school boy carries his head low and hides in black appearal as he walks his bike up the steep hill.
Down the street, a slim poplar stands shyly next to the sidewalk; she dresses in shades of yellow.
Street lights flicker to a glow as i round the corner to my house.
My mother can be seen on the phone through the glass.
Tomorrow my baby cousin turns eleven.
I slow down and stop.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
First day of 11th grade
i visited the cemetery today. the sky was yellow and still heavy with rain. thunder echoed in the distance. lightening continued to haunt the atmosphere. it was growing dim.
i visited my uncle. i talked to him about my first day of 11th grade and about how our family was back at home. i went through things that have been on my mind and about all the changes in my life. i told him of my secrets, and all that i am scared of. then we sat awhile in silence.
the rain came again and i returned home.
it is an odd occurance when you feel yourself growing up
but have never felt so young.
i visited my uncle. i talked to him about my first day of 11th grade and about how our family was back at home. i went through things that have been on my mind and about all the changes in my life. i told him of my secrets, and all that i am scared of. then we sat awhile in silence.
the rain came again and i returned home.
it is an odd occurance when you feel yourself growing up
but have never felt so young.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Allowing
the warm air hugs my skin.
i allow it to overwhelm me only because the warm air will not be around for much longer.
each magical molecule will grasp to grey goose feathers and journey south soon.
memories flood my skull; sweet memories that drench my senses.
i allow the memories to do so only because, before long, they will fade.
such as an old picture. the idea and moment captured, just not quite tangible once aged.
music seeps from my lips.
i allow the lyrics to do so only because each lines reminds me of you.
i smile and disappear into the past while my voice carries.
phone conversations are short yet precious. nothing compared to the beautiful words we exchanged when together.
oh the fireworks become smoke
and float into the wind.
i allow it to overwhelm me only because the warm air will not be around for much longer.
each magical molecule will grasp to grey goose feathers and journey south soon.
memories flood my skull; sweet memories that drench my senses.
i allow the memories to do so only because, before long, they will fade.
such as an old picture. the idea and moment captured, just not quite tangible once aged.
music seeps from my lips.
i allow the lyrics to do so only because each lines reminds me of you.
i smile and disappear into the past while my voice carries.
phone conversations are short yet precious. nothing compared to the beautiful words we exchanged when together.
oh the fireworks become smoke
and float into the wind.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Ironic
my summer left on a thursday.
the sky cried.
i didnt.
reality begins on a tuesday.
i cry.
rain is not in the forecast.
the sky cried.
i didnt.
reality begins on a tuesday.
i cry.
rain is not in the forecast.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
One Last Run
hush now.
i pretend to sleep.
my body about to errupt into a cardiac arrest.
anticipation bleeds from my insides,
to my pillow,
to the floor,
out my open window.
a trail to juvenile exhileration and a headache the next morning.
the excitement taunting me.
oh the agony,
the complete and utter agony.
hush now.
i lie still.
noises echo through my families home,
every diminutive sound a blaring siren.
damn moths outside
clanking at a hopeless glow,
damn wooden floor
creaking and moaning because of the damn refrigerator.
you all will certianly ruin my chances if you keep up the ruckus.
hush now.
my time has come.
its the finale.
and the show is about to begin.
a simple prayer to Jesus Christ as i crawl through my window.
a hopeless, yet comforting ritual
followed by a short appoligy for the mistakes i forsee.
my conscious whispers, " you are still going to hell."
but my feet have a mind of their own.
and my energy draws its way to pure freedom.
oh let freedom ring and morals hult.
may time stop
as i continue.
i pretend to sleep.
my body about to errupt into a cardiac arrest.
anticipation bleeds from my insides,
to my pillow,
to the floor,
out my open window.
a trail to juvenile exhileration and a headache the next morning.
the excitement taunting me.
oh the agony,
the complete and utter agony.
hush now.
i lie still.
noises echo through my families home,
every diminutive sound a blaring siren.
damn moths outside
clanking at a hopeless glow,
damn wooden floor
creaking and moaning because of the damn refrigerator.
you all will certianly ruin my chances if you keep up the ruckus.
hush now.
my time has come.
its the finale.
and the show is about to begin.
a simple prayer to Jesus Christ as i crawl through my window.
a hopeless, yet comforting ritual
followed by a short appoligy for the mistakes i forsee.
my conscious whispers, " you are still going to hell."
but my feet have a mind of their own.
and my energy draws its way to pure freedom.
oh let freedom ring and morals hult.
may time stop
as i continue.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Cheers
my mind hums with a memory. bittersweet as a cheap glass of wine. warm as a good conversation. perfect as a picinic. a memory; close enough to flutter your heart, yet too far for hands to grasp.
Cheers to another wonderful day.
bottoms up.
and finished off.
Cheers to another wonderful day.
bottoms up.
and finished off.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Gypsy
the world turns, constantley, completly, always.
and human race runs, fast, steady, and far.
i slow down. way down.
i walk through life; my pace slow and my path covered in daisies.
i am a gypsy, completly lost and without a direction. i enjoy my absense of reality and hide in treeforts, listening to folk music amid the stars and the sun. the trees whisper amongst themselves, sharing my secrets. summer breaths her last breaths. and i grow. grow blissfull. grow strong. grow wild.
and human race runs, fast, steady, and far.
i slow down. way down.
i walk through life; my pace slow and my path covered in daisies.
i am a gypsy, completly lost and without a direction. i enjoy my absense of reality and hide in treeforts, listening to folk music amid the stars and the sun. the trees whisper amongst themselves, sharing my secrets. summer breaths her last breaths. and i grow. grow blissfull. grow strong. grow wild.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Windchimes
the window is wide open in the room where i sit, and windchimes trinkle in the breeze. blue curtians dance from the ceiling and swirl about from the rod at every gust. they seem to be dancing or running. my guess would be the blue curtians wish to be free. maybe they want to rip away violently and float off to somewhere far away. i shut the window and promise the curtians i will take the with me when i go somwhere far away. they stop squirming around.
my best friend is anger with me. its bothersome and annoying and the tension between us provides a slight headache behind my right ear. her words trinkle though my mind, like windchimes (irate, yelling, stubborn windchimes.) she claims i am changing- what every person hopes for yet secretly panicks when confronted with. at first the word change startles me and sends me to one of those dark corners of my mind to hide. yet after i take a second thought upon her theory i beleive she could be right, just as right as she is wrong. or maybe shes just all wrong. and comepletly rediculous. and over reacting.
no, she could be right. maybe i am changing. i am not speaking of a metamorphosis, more so a revelation. she needs to know that at the end of my revelation, i will still be me. new and improved. she needs to know ive been the same for 16 years too long. same was misserable. same was boring. same was same. im done with same. screw same. life is too short to stay the same. i want to be the person who i see myself as.
my best friend is anger with me. its bothersome and annoying and the tension between us provides a slight headache behind my right ear. her words trinkle though my mind, like windchimes (irate, yelling, stubborn windchimes.) she claims i am changing- what every person hopes for yet secretly panicks when confronted with. at first the word change startles me and sends me to one of those dark corners of my mind to hide. yet after i take a second thought upon her theory i beleive she could be right, just as right as she is wrong. or maybe shes just all wrong. and comepletly rediculous. and over reacting.
no, she could be right. maybe i am changing. i am not speaking of a metamorphosis, more so a revelation. she needs to know that at the end of my revelation, i will still be me. new and improved. she needs to know ive been the same for 16 years too long. same was misserable. same was boring. same was same. im done with same. screw same. life is too short to stay the same. i want to be the person who i see myself as.
It's never too late to start living the life you've always wanted to live, or to start being the person you've always wanted to be.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Treasure Hunt
Bare with me.
My life has been a whirl-wind and i am finally begining to catch my breath. It seems as though i was held by my ankles and shook violently for years and am finally waking up to an empty canvas sharing my name. The following only begins to explain.
Roughly three weeks ago (the day after the EK shootings) i was dragged onto a bus and shipped on a nine hour trip to a christian youth conference in Minnesota with my sister, Jake, and many other teens. I was gone for three days and completley numb the whole time. At first i blamed the tragedy i left behind, which occured only hours before i set foot on the bus. Later i came to realize the true lack of sensation was more than from the horrifying shootings, it was rooted deep inside myself; a weed that overgrew.
I came back home and broke up with my dear Jake. The break up was not because i had lost feelings with Jake, i had lost feelings with myself. My personal journey began at that moment and i am now only begining to understand my craving for my own personal identity to return. Jake and i are still very good friends and talk regularly.
Several days later i meet a new guy. We are currently just friends and have coffee together, watch movies, and talk regularly. He is very interesting and extremely smart. Because we share similar intrests he has challenged, yet supported my treasure hunt to find myself. I now submerge myself in art, reading, and writing on a regular basis for mere conversation the next day. I do not grant him all the credit for my indulging in my passions of art, music, and literature; but he has forced me out of hibernation.
Work has been a daily scheduled event. I recently recieved a raise from Mary, which i believe is well deserved after all the ass kissing i have done. Still, i enjoy my job.
Family life has been alright. Im not home very often and when conflicts arise, i usually smooth them over quickly.
Friends are the same. The previous sentence is niether a positive or a negative statement.
I just started a new book by C.J. Lewis which has completly through off my sleeping schedule. The title is The Screwtape letters. Very interesting and well written. I will finish soon and a few suggestions for good books would be appreciated.
Anyways, i am off to my bedroom with a steaming cup of chamomile tea in hand.
My life has been a whirl-wind and i am finally begining to catch my breath. It seems as though i was held by my ankles and shook violently for years and am finally waking up to an empty canvas sharing my name. The following only begins to explain.
Roughly three weeks ago (the day after the EK shootings) i was dragged onto a bus and shipped on a nine hour trip to a christian youth conference in Minnesota with my sister, Jake, and many other teens. I was gone for three days and completley numb the whole time. At first i blamed the tragedy i left behind, which occured only hours before i set foot on the bus. Later i came to realize the true lack of sensation was more than from the horrifying shootings, it was rooted deep inside myself; a weed that overgrew.
I came back home and broke up with my dear Jake. The break up was not because i had lost feelings with Jake, i had lost feelings with myself. My personal journey began at that moment and i am now only begining to understand my craving for my own personal identity to return. Jake and i are still very good friends and talk regularly.
Several days later i meet a new guy. We are currently just friends and have coffee together, watch movies, and talk regularly. He is very interesting and extremely smart. Because we share similar intrests he has challenged, yet supported my treasure hunt to find myself. I now submerge myself in art, reading, and writing on a regular basis for mere conversation the next day. I do not grant him all the credit for my indulging in my passions of art, music, and literature; but he has forced me out of hibernation.
Work has been a daily scheduled event. I recently recieved a raise from Mary, which i believe is well deserved after all the ass kissing i have done. Still, i enjoy my job.
Family life has been alright. Im not home very often and when conflicts arise, i usually smooth them over quickly.
Friends are the same. The previous sentence is niether a positive or a negative statement.
I just started a new book by C.J. Lewis which has completly through off my sleeping schedule. The title is The Screwtape letters. Very interesting and well written. I will finish soon and a few suggestions for good books would be appreciated.
Anyways, i am off to my bedroom with a steaming cup of chamomile tea in hand.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)