How I Started to Cry

How I Started to Cry: a  Somewhat Poetic Rant

I am not special. I am not beautiful. I am not happy, and I may never be. In fact there’s a great chance that I wont be. I won’t be where I want to be, ever. I will never leave an impact on this world. I am not driven. I am not talented. I don’t want to try. to be useful. or productive. I want to abandon every project or endeavor I had ever begun or planned out. I am no writer. Everyone is a writer, no one is discovered. I may never love the way I dream to. I may never love at all. I dream too big, yes there is such a thing. The floorplan of my life is imaginary, it’s based on other people’s fiction and realities. I am not a good human being. I am a lie. I am the façade. I do well to rack up karma points that I hope will one day buy me the life I’ve spent too much time fantasizing about. I’m beginning to doubt my potential. I have not yet succeeded at anything. I am not noteworthy. I am not memorable and no one will remember me. I am nothing BUT a memory. A face in the crowd of someone’s life. The girl I knew in 6^th grade. I haven’t cried like this in a while. I have not sobbed. I have not curled up in a ball, kneeling into the floor attempting to degenerate myself into matter. It’s been some time now. The things I worry about are absurd. Will I have money to buy toothpaste, or shampoo, in the next week before college starts? Will I be able to afford getting my sheets laundered and my jeans altered? I am not noble, and I have no story to tell. I suck at fiction. I do not want to try so hard, work my life away to be a writer, or a doctor, to revolutionize fertility, or be an activist, I don’t want to bring a voice to anyone… I barely have my own. I can’t live with myself as being the person who sits on the couch marathoning decade old television episodes. being a spud. I am inconsolable most of the time. I have used up my free sympathy passes and never truly have anyone to turn to, that I will not regret the next morning. I am not great. or good. I can’t breathe through my nose. It is stuffed. I have been alone for too long. I have nothing of my own. I have not been inspired. and I am not inspiring. I am selfishly kind, if at all. I am prettiest after I spend my time crying. I am trying to ignore the fact that I have not and will not shower today, lie it away, believe my own lie and make it disappear, not because I am depressed but because I am lazy. I am running out of words, my attempts are getting shoty and way too calculated but I can’t stop typing because the lifeless, worthless, not empty per se, more like decrepit, feeling is still there. I firmly believe that I am too difficult to love and that those who may begin to explore feelings for me will find that I have standards that they shouldn’t try to live up to. Yes, I too have standards, while I don’t have the right to. I expect to meet my ideal and for that I may be foolish, no, I most definitely am. I am tired to of being relied on but I am good at nothing more. I spend my time proving myself to someone who isn’t there. And what for? To be remembered by few, and famous to virtually no one. To leave nothing behind. Living life as merely going through a series of motions. a procedure with no wealth. I saw the sparkle in her words as they surely were in her eyes when she wrote them and realized that to some she was an idol, while others had never heard of her and that’s how I started to cry. I would never meet her or get to love her. I would never be her. Her optimism soars and she believes in the best in people and in art. She herself is an artist. She has the luxury of being herself and loving it, even when she doesn’t know it. And I fear I will have none of that.

I have a hard time believing that you can mean everything to some people and still mean nothing to others. What does it take to live happily and what can we teach the world?

Community College Cafeteria

Written in response to ABC Wednesday's C prompt:

Photo by 76spread on Flickr

Community College Cafeteria
clears out at about three or four in the afternoon
reminding me somewhat of an airport gate
people wait
for something to arrive
or depart
Vending machines dispense cheap overpriced candy
to students eager for a sugar fix
to make it through the day
And I can't concentrate on anything
two papers due
not a single one started
Whose brilliant idea was it to take summer classes anyway?!
The cold air conditioning torments
but refuses to awaken me from my daze
another force of destruction working against me
I stare out the window
and the trees outside are waving their limbs
inviting me to join them
but I am stuck here
between table, chair, turkey and cheese sandwiches, my computer, old episodes of Smallvile, and a
Literature textbook with tomorrow's assigned reading still unread
And it will all remain as such
until eight o clock p.m.
when I am forced to go to History.

Of Art and Literature

My favorite writing conditions occur when a line of poetry or prose comes to mind out of nowhere and I scramble for a piece of scrap paper to capture it on before the thought is lost. Another piece from the scrap paper collection, written this morning.

This piece can also be found as a response to Thursday Think Tank prompt #8 on Poets United.

Of Art and Literature

Sucking supple nipples
sweet like pears
She lies nude beneath me
whispering sonnets of Shakespeare
as my lips chisel at her figure lovingly.

Her thoughts get lost in a silvery haze
their case lulled in a pillow somewhere
and after minutes of soft and mindless pleasure
She emerges, speaking to me in a silky tone,
"What do you make of good literature to-day?"

I cease my persistence in working over her body
and lay to rest beside her, cradled within her,
I release a sigh,
"I suppose it should be much like this,
an art of the mind, body and soul"

Bleeding Hearts Will Blossom Thanks to You

Written for ABC Wednesday's Letter B Challenge:

Bleeding Hearts by Paul Appleton

Bleeding Hearts Will Blossom Thanks to You

Bleeding hearts will blossom thanks to you

Because of all you gave and all you withheld

You beguiled me from the beginning

And I

In return had burdened you with my belongings

Begging

For you to take me in

Under you your wing

I beckoned for you

For years

Believing that I would bump into you in happenstance

Because I deserved to

Because I deserved you

But in bestowing such an honor upon you

I built you the marble pedestal

That I in turn latch onto

Betraying my instinct to run.

Before I knew you

My boisterously beating heart befriended no one

But you built my bridges

And burned them down respectively

Leaving me effectively

Immobile

Bowing out with global

Understandings

Of our nonexistent love.

And I’ll admit

That in bending to your bidding

It was only the beginning

Of the binding of my being

Which was bursting into bits.

Beyond the bewilderment of your abandonment  

In the grasp of a bothersome body

My blistered digits will one day behold a beam of hope

That in time will breach the barriers of my skin

And bring the breath back to my lung

Blessing me for the timely revelation

That my bleeding heart has blossomed thanks to you.

Remember?

This was actually written more for my own sanity than anything else.



Remember?

Remember?
Remember when I sat there waiting for you at the benches by the tree?
Remember when I read you my writing and you read me yours?
Remember nights sitting on couches or beds watching television series?
Remember Gumi-Gum ice cream with the gummy bears in it
and how we'd count them to see who got the most?
Remember scribbling on scrap paper, using the products as visual aids?
Remember the birthday gift I gave you?
It took me three whole months to plan out:
Michal Negerin earrings and a personalized journal.
Remember sending me weekly text messages with short story prompts?
Remember my piece about Heaven?
Remember one-on-one talks that made us cry sometimes?
Remembering teaching me everything from numbers to what really counts?
Remember forgetting to keep in touch?
Remember telling me that salmon-pink was my color?
(I still love my salmon-pink backpack best because of that)
Remember doing wake-up duty wednesday mornings and finding me already awake to greet you with a smile?
Remember the one time I ignored you and stayed in bed grudgingly?
Remember the morning of Valentine's Day when you found me waiting for you at the bottom of the stair?
Remember the first time I showed you something I had written of you in my journal?
Remember all of our talks about boys?
(who knew I wasn't into that)
Remember the time Shani and I offered you chocolate balls and you looked at us longingly like you were truly proud of us?
Remember all those times you spent reassuring me?
Remember calling me "little sis"?
Remember sitting on the porch of your tiny apartment?
Remember all those unexpected visits of mine?
(I couldn't wait to see you)
Remember the stray cats? Remember Checkers the cat (how you called him Twix because you couldn't say it) and his fucktoy Chess?
Remember when Sonya had yelled at me and I was so upset and so we went out for strawberry icicles as a pick-me-up?
Remember doing my Purim makeup?
Remember Jungle Speed?
Remember the night you left?
Remember how disappointed you were that I skipped ecology class to sit with you and Noa?
Remember sticking our notes in the Western Wall together?
Remember our silly emails and how we used them to get to know each other?
Remember how you said repeatedly that you'll ALWAYS be there for me?
Remember letting me play with your hair?
Remember back when you caught Noy sleeping in our room?
Remember showing me your high school final performance?
Remember "how much wood could a woodchuck chuck?"?
Remember telling me that I give to others sometimes more than I give to myself?
Remember me?
Remember ME?
I keep all of these sealed away,
in a compartment of my heart
where no one can reach them
and occasionally
I bathe in the great misery they leave me with
as you succeed to move on.

Sorry: A Companion Piece

A companion piece to "For a Wonderful Woman, My Most Inner Thoughts":

Sorry (aka My Sun Will Set)

I can't bear to read your response even a single bit.

My inbox reads one new message and the system's technology affords me the luxury of previewing the first line.

"Sorry"

No opening, no warming address, nothing really.

Sorry about what, Sweety?

"Sorry but I can no longer remain a friend to you,"

"Sorry that you are nothing but a foolish little girl who doesn't know what's good for her"

or anyone else for that matter.

My urgent curiosity does its duty in creating tall tales lined with seams of spite and loathing. My experience surpasses this,

though,

reminding me of what surely lies beyond the word.

Sorry,

I have been out of touch, lately.

Oh, What a phrase! What a line!

It is one I can recite back to you without flaw.

Read my lips, or my words, I don't care!

I don't care! I don't care!

I am so sick of your sorrow, and mine.

I am an everchanging creature, so don't take a single word of what I say as truth,

especially when it comes to expressions of love.

I realize

that I like to revisit old flames

and play with fire carelessly

But once again in my search for you

I found myself

and my self needs me more than it does you

And my sun will set only to rise up again once more

Goodbye

and for all the confusion,

I am sorry.

Life of a Poet Interview

Want to know more about the author behind the poetry of the Not-So-Secret Writings? Great! Your curiosity came just in time! Check out the interview I gave for Poets United "Life of a Poet" interview series. 

Do we have something in common? Is there a part of my interview you particularly liked or connected with? Do you have any other questions for me? Comments and feedback are always welcome!!

Enjoy!

Ashley

Written for ABC Wednesday

Ashley

Ashley begins to look foreign to me,

Her "A" clearly outgrew all the other letters in her name

And what is a “shley” anyway?

It must be some weird kind of snail

with a yellow shell or something of the sort.

Contorted letters pull their tails in opposite directions

only to free themselves of bond that the English culture placed them in

Even now the sight of the word burns my eyes

and I must cover them with my fingertips

to regain my sense of balance.

Ashley?

I have been summoned

Are you her?

Is she you?

No.

Who is she then?

She is a petite blonde girl

who led the cheerleading squad in high school

and kissed her boyfriend Brad on the lips every single day

she wore short shirts

and was never really nice to anyone anyway

but she thought highly of herself most of time

at least until graduation

She disappeared for a while after then

never to be heard from

until the day she popped up again

at a successful law firm

and no one around her had doubted for a second

that she had made it there thanks to daddy’s money alone.

Oh.

Yes that is she.

The asker walks away satisfied

and I mumble to myself.

But she is also a very tiny piece of me.

The Killing of an Optimist

I wrote this piece sometime in February of 2008. I am posting it up now for two reasons. Firstly, because until this day it remains among my prized pieces as it holds what I consider to be one of the best lines of imagery in my writing thus far. Secondly, this piece is now resurfacing, as many of my other pieces previously had, due to the fact that I can once again identify with the topic I had written about back then.

The Killing of an Optimist

I feel like a part of me is dying here
And it hurts more than you can possibly imagine
Like shards of glass secreting from the pores of my bare skin
I want to shout
but I have no voice
I want to cry
but there is no one to hear it
My powers have faded and I can no longer break out of this cage
With every passing moment my heart sinks lower and lower
It's a feeling so sickeningly painful
that I feel myself deteriorating from the inside out
and as I cling on to the very last strand of hope,
constantly thinning as we speak,
I realize two very important things:
that any and all sorts of attempts are useless
and that instead of standing by,
allowing the infliction caused by others to devour me,
I find that infliction of self offers an oddly comforting sanctuary that I can hide in
'til there is no more

How to be a Liar

This poem is to some extent a response to Poet's United Thursday Think Tank prompt from last week: How To.


How to be a Liar

It begins with a pact; a promise

“Don’t tell daddy,” she says

But in all of your childishness

or perhaps rather a premature intelligence

you’re compelled to know why

before entering even a verbal contract such as this

He won’t understand

It’s plain and simple

He’ll misinterpret

and someone will be deeply hurt

And from that point on

there's this suppressed, unacknowledged terror

that lies beneath your diaphragm, as you agree to keep it

a secret

Not for daddy’s sake, no

but but surely for mommy’s.

Because you and mommy

might as well have slashed cuts

at your palms

and touched bloodlines

because, just in case you hadn’t shared the blood bond before,

You now are forever entangled.

And it doesn’t end with daddy, no

(though he is long gone by now)

Pact upon pact

Bond upon bond

they pile up until the stories flow steadily like rivers

and the people

are towns, no, worlds

just settled along the bank

which is merely a pile of your own untruths.

But when she and you are in this together

You are a duo of misunderstood bandits

stealing from one life to the next

Survival of the fittest, it’s called

And the secrecy is your role,

Your duty to the sacred bond

You’re old enough!

The machine can’t function without you

You’re clearly aware of that

And, like that, it’s almost a matter of life or death

And while you did not ask to start over, again,

She reminds you that you probably need it just as she does

And it touches you nonetheless

And it’s all right,

justified even,

and when that’s the case

it almost masks completely

that you’re nothing but a liar.

Just a little author's note: This poem is freshly written, and now that I have it all on paper, I feel pretty confident in saying that this is one of those poems that I never want to read again.

A Reluctant Guest

Ever since I started yet another new journal, precisely one month ago, I am finding myself increasingly happier with my works of prose. Here is one that was just written that I would like to share with you.

A Reluctant Guest

Today is truly the first day in which I feel uncomfortable living in someone else's house. It was only a minuscule occurrence that happened yesterday but it seems to have changed the atmosphere nonetheless. The tea kettle had started whistling, and I couldn't help but think to myself how humorous and almost story-like it was that the whistling got louder just as the argument upstairs had. I was tired, and the thought of tending to the kettle hadn't even crossed my mind in the slightest, and as a result I was reprimanded -- and perhaps appropriately-- as though I was one of the woman's insolent children. While this scenario provides more than enough ammunition to write the story of my dreams, the reality of the incident hits me sore, in such a sensitive spot, that I cannot possible bring myself to put pen to paper and turn it fiction.

Since I had started residing here, a full two months ago, I had often stated that being in a situation such as this is a most meticulous balancing act. One must know when to act as a guest and when to play the part of a significant contributor. One must know when to be invisible and when to remain in plain sight. One must decide when to take action and when to simply butt out. I admit that I took a lousy misstep that threw off my balance and now I must bear the consequences of this disease until the weight of the atmosphere permanently settles.

Skirt Over Jeans

I had been reading poetry all day so naturally, a new poem.

Skirt Over Jeans

Skirt over jeans,

the redhead wooed me first,

with her sharp tongue but gentle touch

I wished her to love me

As she loved the girl with the jet black, short hair

And I cried

And I yearned

And I dreamed and imagined

For a day that I would be that girl confined to a wheelchair

Only to have the spunky redhead tend to me

and love me

In her flowing skirt over jeans.

I must have been a girl of less than fourteen

Not understanding but a single thing

of what I felt when I saw her

light up my eyes as she lit the screen before me.

I watched her, religiously, for 120 hours,

Deliciously, for one year and 8 weeks

and over again

as I went to school,

in both seventh and eighth grades,

with my skirt over jeans.

I ignored stares and murmurs

for I had a stronger force compelling me

to the charming, fictional redhead

who existed, not in my world

but in someone else’s,

smiling and speaking wittingly,

to her young female companion,

who had needed her only slightly less than I did

when I devoted myself

to that redhead who preferred her skirt over jeans.

In the years since,

I must have forgotten her,

lost her in the shuffle of fleeting infatuations

that I had concocted for myself unintentionally,

trying to fill the void she left within me,

that astounding redhead

with her knee-length skirt over a pair of old jeans.

Steam

Two poems in one day, aren't you lucky?! This is an acrostic poem I wrote in response to this week's prompt on Poets United & Poetry Blogroll in hopes that I can get some more writing out of me. I may have used a bit of poetic license with this one, I'll admit, but in my defense, I haven't written an acrostic poem since perhaps the third grade.

S he silently slips her hand around me from behind

T houghts of mine are interrupted as I turn to her timidly

E ager, I take her hand and lead her to the shower

A ching for love, I press her against the cold tile wall

M y hands move up and down her wet figure as I maneuver myself through the steam

My Lady in Green

In attempt to increase my post frequency, which has been rather low lately, I will post this poem that I wrote just this morning, though I am not sure if it has completely earned my approval yet. Here goes...

My Lady in Green

And here I am

subject to this hit once again

favoring the past

over my present shade of reality

Wishing myself years back

to the life of us

“For just one day,” I pray

Because she must have loved me then, right?

Because she must have hugged me, touched me then, right?

Because I must have felt her then, right?

I assume

but I cannot remember

I miss my Lady in Green

though green she is no longer

And I

I am kept oceans away

letting myself be carried up by her wave again

Compare and Conrtrast

Written in mid March 2010

Compare and Contrast

Like an old toy

cast aside

Once special

now mundane and uninteresting

My compliance

No longer refreshing

But taken for granted

as if it is owed

A debt to be paid for this hospitality.

With the passing of moments

My value decreasing

Along with my heart

Sinking lower and lower

The love I crave

A natural resource running out.

Her routine back to normal

Sympathizing becomes difficult,

Feelings conflict

And confusion is common

Spiraling heals over head

I lose focus altogether

A step out of place

Repercussions to come

You walk a thin line

Avoiding the gun

Bliss churns to sorrow

Compare and contrast

Fingers pressed to your temples

You pray this wont last

Just Words of some sort for a very special someone

I'm not exactly sure what this is, but its for a very special person in my life whom I miss dearly and seeing as I haven't posted much this month, I decided that this was worthy of sharing:

I have never belonged to anyone the way that I belong to you. You know nothing of this devotion, I’m afraid, yet it is a devotion so strong that it touches upon every fiber of my being. I am yours, yours in every which way. At times it leads me to question if I could fully hand myself over to another, when you so firmly have hold on every part of me. And I do my best to live life in spite of this fact, however it creeps up onto me as though out of nowhere, with the mere thought of contact with you. You, your name, your face, your acknowledgement, your presence in any form whatsoever forces me down onto my knees, back under this enchantment, a heavy pendant around my neck, weighing me down with this unchallengeable, unquestionable love for you. Your affection, O how I crave nothing but this attention, a sweet burst of ecstasy, infiltrating my senses, impairing me to any form of judgment that is not you.

Hands

I'm typically not one for haikus but here goes:

Hands

soft strong competent

fingers banded with rings matte

palms I long to hold

The "I Can Love You Better" Complex

Finally! A brand new one!

The "I Can Love You Better" Complex

I am the other woman

I pleasure your girlfriends

And I flatter your wives

I am she who keeps her "working" until late at night

I slip through corridors

To see her

Using time

To my advantage

I build companionships

With my bare hands

With her

I tell her what she wants to hear

Whisper it slowly, but surely in her ear

Lather her with the attention

You’re too tired to give

I listen

And love

And appreciate

I am all that you are not

All that you are too stubborn to be

For her

I admire

I admire in ways that are beyond your wildest imaginations

I let her be who she is

No strings

Only ribbons

wrapped around her

like the gift you forgot to say ‘thank you’ for

but see,

I thank the world for her every day

Because if it weren’t for her existence

Who could I possibly love better

And how would I manage to be?

Something You'll Never Claim

An old poem from my the end of my junior year of high school (aka about two years ago). I'm sharing it with you because it has a lot to do with a great deal of what I'm going through right now.

Something You'll Never Claim

These scars,
They belong to you,
From all the times where I felt as if I was dying,
And you were too busy placing blame to be there.

These scars,
It may even sound ridiculous that I own them,
But when blood is boiling and tears burn like acid,
Sometimes you need to rip skin in order to vent the steam.

These scars,
You get to walk away from them,
Pretend they never had anything to do with you in the first place,
But I,
I am forced to wear them for as long as I live.

Hallucinogen

Another one for the blonde...

Hallucinogen

I'm still hallucinating
so intensely
so that the sight of you is present everywhere
your image projected
in things
in people
I would have never expected
completely at random
My heart comes to a halt
at the mere thought
of our gaze locking
for those few solid moments
And if she were you
A part of me would have died
right then and there
soul lifting and sinking
brain doing backflips
colors
bursting right before my eyes
My very being plummeting to the floor
with a sudden Splat!
All compensation
for my shell of a body
frozen in place
immobile
knees begging to kiss the floor
but I can't possibly move
can barely breathe
mortified
As I spiral in and out of my subconscious
seasick
my mind retrieves memories of us on demand
mistakes I've made,
most probably,
with you
A process that takes no more than seconds
to behold me
calls for a string of lifetimes
to erase
And I am left here
abandoned
staring straight ahead
senses tingling with the absence of feeling
incompetent
assessing the damage after the storm
taken aback by this trip
A fall I hope to never again take
at the sight of you

O'Brien and Forgive, Forget & Then Remember

Okay, time for another poetry update. Unfortunately, I don't have anything new going on. Though I am sincerely working on it, I do not rush these sorts of things. In the meanwhile allow me to entertain you with some of my older stuff.

O'Brien -  November 18, 2008

You've got me,
I am your submissive
I am the toy of your emotions
You like me to fear,
I fear
I nearly shake in your presence
You want me to admire,
Oh, how I admire!
All I desire
is to light up your eyes
grasp your attention for a moment longer
and make you see
how truly devoted
I am to thee.


Forgive, Forget & Then Remember - sometime in December of 2007

Sometimes I forget why I love you
Sometimes I forget you exist
Don't fret, I'll never really forget you
Just the idea of having you around.
I remind myself of you everyday
I think about you to the point where you invade my dreams
But that's okay, you're always welcome there.
I remember the past
and imagine how we'll meet again in the future
How I'll run into your arms
Hold you tight and never let go
Just like the night you left.
I dream up the best
But secretly prepare for the worst
Afraid you don't love me
Afraid you forgot so soon
I yell, "Who needs you anyway?!"
But deep down I know I do
So I patiently wait for your reaction
And when I finally receive a response
I remember all over again
Just why
I love you

Age

This one was especially difficult to write.

Age

They say age is just a number

And a title is no more than the responsibility it entails,

So how could it possibly matter,

That she has two children fast asleep on the couch

And a husband

who likes to put his feet up on the coffee table after a long day of work

When it is she who wears the pants in the family

Not to mention the skirt, too.

She lets down her hair

Allowing it to sweep against her upper back

and it’s a magical sight to say the least

She goes to speak

and leaves me breathless in the process

unaware that she can placate the raging waters of my mind

with just a single word

Her smell is enticing

and I cant help but crave haven

between the lengths of her arms

Upon this laughter we share

She physically lifts my spirit up out of its body

and into the warmth of the bright blue skies

For a mother,

a wife,

is but first a woman,

deserving of love, and lust,

respect and sheer admiration

no matter the cost

no matter the source

and years might as well be

the number of freckles

kissed up onto her by the sun

or a sum of facts and useless know-how

amounting to zero knowledge

about the true meaning of our world

instead of a rusty old number

that we refer to as age.

Silent Smiles

another fresh one!

Silent Smiles

We speak the language of silent smiles.

Tongues tucked away behind teeth,

Lips stretched to the far corners of our faces,

We suppress words altogether,

Refusing to allow even a single thought escape from the confines of our minds.

Like such,

We converse through expressions of glistening eyes.

Like invisible laser beams,

Your icy baby blues

meet my glossy emerald greens

in a battle to take place in crowded rooms or empty hallways

Acknowledging the things we strive to deny

Those feelings,

Those actions,

What the other may or may not know

What we did our very best to hide

Because opening mouths

leads to opening doors

leads to opening more

of me

of you

of sides we never sold

of stories we never told

of love we never shared

of deeds we never dared

of dreams we never dreamed

of things we never seemed

to be certain of.

The ice begins to melt off the basketball court

And the scent of the air is slowly becoming more consistent

With that of the day we spent together

Forming the bond that shall ultimately suffocate us both

As we conceal our histories

behind the silent smiles that we’ve begun to exchange.

Telling Things and Speaking Actions

Telling Things and Speaking Actions

If I could tell you anything

Upon getting that chance to stand before you

Empty room just you and I

Face to face, I would say:

It’s okay to be loved.

I know cheating is such an issue these days

I know you’re not like that

You see yourself a loyal girl,

A woman of moral standing.

But what if I told you,

That you don’t have to feel a thing

Just stand here

Bask in the oasis of right now

This moment of silence

In a sea of high strung emotion

As you let yourself feel love

and be loved

by someone else, longing to feel worthy of you.

In the darkness of this night,

I can never think it wrong,

The act,

You letting me brush the hair away from your face,

reassuring you that all of this will soon be over,

Place three kisses on your neck

Sealing the pact of security

You can feel when you are with me,

Brush my fingers down your cheek

A promise that I’m here, for always.

Why does love have to come from just one person?

I ask you

How is accepting affection from another deemed unfair?

Please give that chance for me to show

How much I truly care

For you, that is.

And if I could tell you simply,

this one, single thing

I ‘d whisper slowly in your ear:

“You inspire me to love”

Pretty Lady

I couldnt help myself, I just had to put up another one!

Pretty Lady
She can’t sleep

Because we’re too loud

And I try to be accommodating

Anything to keep her around

At least until I get a chance to ask her

If she has betrayed me

But as time progresses

She sends off airplanes

By mistake

And laughs at the joy of life

And I love her again

Want to keep her by my side

Despite what she’s done

Or hasn’t

She’s a real beauty

I’ve known that for a while now

I chose to forget

Though she has become etched in my mind regardless

And it was the last time

The last time I would let myself fall

For a pretty lady

The Effect

The Effect

Darling,

Let go of his hand,

And come with me

To a place yet undiscovered

Let me love you,

Differently

Let me be another.

I know you do not want this

Even if you know you do

But would it help for me to tell you

How much I want it sometimes too?

Not in the slightest.

You love him

From the bottom of your heart

And maybe no one can compare

Even if I can speak of doing better

It wont matter

Not unless you want it to.

What do you do when you’re attracted to a friend?

One you know can lift you up

Take you higher than you’ve been before

Turn the world on its side to give you a new perspective

Make you know your own self worth

And make you wish you had the chance to love them

Really love them

What do you do?

Sit back and endure the pain a little

Every time you see them smile

Knowing that you were not the cause

You are merely part of the effect.

An Oldie

I wrote this piece in the fall of my junior year of high school, making it at least two years old now. I was really proud of it at the time. Now I'll tell you that its nowhere near my best. However, it seems fitting to what's been going on with me lately. It's untitled.


I don't want to be your friend anymore.
I know it sounds childish
But it hurts too much.
Our times were good
I wont deny
But we grew
We grew older
We grew wiser
We grew apart
And I guess that's okay
I've realized that now
And hard as it may be
I'm willing to let you go
It's all up to you now
You could give this another try with me
we'll attempt to get back what we had
Or you could walk away
It may take a while
But I'll be okay
And if in the end, you choose to walk
Please, I ask
Don't look back.

Something to Believe in

Fresh off the press:


Something to Believe in

Give me something to believe in

I say

On the very day when I bore witness to a miracle

I was absent

Living life as it is meant to be lived

Disproving all that I had been before

Is that right?

The wall displays my path of life

My favorite sayings and my moments of light

No more videos

Alone again

Alone, alone, alone

How come all that I write is loneliness?

Why is it that the time is right

But the people aren’t?

I try

But my neck is stiff and my arms are tired

I rest

I toss and turn and try to get comfortable

I write about knights

That are women with long blonde hair

Saving me maybe

But I never finish the poem

The scenarios are wild

But not unthinkable

And I’ll admit

That I have wasted too much time believing

Each week is its own chapter

I think

In this book of ours

Perhaps interrelated

Perhaps stories all on their own

Never to be relived

Stuck in towers

We whisper our secrets to the wind

And each other

And for once she completely understands

That I have done nothing wrong here

That I am the victim who refuses to be victimized

For even if I may seem broken

Broken pieces make me whole

I am human

And I’ve had my moments

That make me want to burry my red face in shame

Ashamed of what?

Of being me I suppose

For the gifts I bear may be too heavy a burden

For another to accept

I put them away

For later

For another

Repeat the same mistakes

Lather with love

Rinse with righteousness

Repeat, Repeat, Repeat

Say I’m sorry to the mirror

For I no longer talk to you

Whether its your fault or my own

We stopped keeping count

Stopped counting on each other too

Because caring for one is simpler

Than caring for two

Leading me to believe

That I may need something new to believe in

For A Wonderful Woman, My Most Inner Thoughts

This is for you:

I read your responses the moment I receive them. How could I not?

I love you, I love you, I love you. I have always loved you. Before I had words or feelings that accurately depicted love, I loved you much. I would let you be everything and anything you wanted to be for me, without complaint.

You are my sister, you are my friend, you are my lost love, my first love, the one who got away.

I am addicted to your love and affection. I need you by my side at every waking moment. Perhaps I have forgotten, or gotten used to life without you, but this will forever be true.

I would do anything for your love, anything to be in your arms, lay my head on your chest. Don’t you see? You are the raw definition of my love.

I try to forget.

Here's another:

Its saturday night, and I'm bored so here's another poem for your enjoyment. It's also pretty recent, from this last week actually.

Free (from me) - February 1, 2010

I am so empty
Nothing inside me
Only the taste of blood on my fingertips
its bittersweet
just like this solitude
From which I'm:
Too sluggish to move
Too frozen to change
Too tired to love
Me,
The she who's too tiring to be loved
weeps
sleeps
continues to keep
keep on trying
Trying, crying, dying
dying to be
To be free

Two Recent Poems

October 2, 2009

Alone Now
With only my pain to remind me
of my undying love for you
of how I'd take a knife to my back
a bullet to my chest
a needle in my arm
all to keep on loving you.
And I pray
as they poke and prod me
I pray
but entirely for you
for every drop of blood they extract from me is yours
For whom I'd get down on my knees
tear out my heart and soul completely
averting my eyes
from the light which blinds me
from the infinite glow of happiness
that is you.



January 4, 2010

This morning I woke up alone,
With the memory of her
still dancing around within the folds of my brain
Touch me
Feel me
Run your fingers down my body
Grab my chest with both hands
Know me
Love me
May I call you?
Could I have your phone number?
Allow me to hear your voice once more
Want me
Need me
Bring on what you had promised to deliver
As I lay here waiting
Still longing for you
years after your departure
Hold me
Soothe me
make all the demons go away.