Thursday, April 30, 2009
A Day in July
distressed, fighting back vulnerability
on the outside
but falling apart on the inside.
You came in first, she was behind you,
but she did not try to hide the pain on her face.
The tears were already forming salty rivers
down her cheeks as
she tried to control her uneven breaths,
but her unsteady hands gave her away.
You spoke first
as we sat dumbstruck,
confused. Even when you told us we
should have known,
should have seen it coming,
we didn't know,
didn't see anything.
You finally allowed the tears to fall
and so did we.
My silence scared you
but I wouldn't speak;
my opinion didn't matter at that point.
I was too young to understand,
too innocent to realize that love could die
and people change
but it wasn't our fault.
What could we have done differently?
was on repeat in my brain,
only adding frustration when I could not
find an answer.
I don't remember how you left us on that
day in July, or if we left first;
or what you said to comfort us
because nothing could.
I do know that was the only day
I ever cried about it;
after that I fought back vulnerability
just like you.
The way it is
under my skin is my heart
under my heart is eternal life
that has been promised on paper
and in words.
Under that is a new found joy of life
that carries my heavy body through seven school bells each day.
A joy that disguises the loneliness and instead
shows off my fake toothed smile.
Under my smile is a list of woes
a list that is shortened every answered request
and then lengthened again
at dawn with the new day ahead.
Under each new day is a chance to share what is the purpose of life
a chance to raise my hand when no one else will.
A chance to ask the girl sitting alone everyday
"wanna hang out?"
Under that is an awkwardness erased by the comfort of a powerful spirit
a comfort that slows down the beating of my heart
and allows each of my mixed emotions
to pour out.
Under each mixed emotion is a want for earthly desires
that never last
and never fulfill.
That I forget the next day,
that are beneficial only to myself.
Under the mixed emotions also lies
the question of why no one wants to hear,
what I love to do,
what I want to share.
I want to share what's most important to me
My sport, my hobby, my way of living.
But you,
you turn your head and ignore me,
you want nothing more than to ignore me.
You comment about me when I'm not around,
you've stopped smiling at me in the halls.
I'm a "Jesus Freak" and that's not allowed,
So what,
I hide my passion,
and then I fit in?
Not a chance.
Pilgrim Lodge
Butterflies while driving up the long, dirt camp road
The cookout tables
The fire for marshmallows and song
The capture the flag field
Trees surrounding us
The sign
Holding my stomach to keep it from bursting of nerves
The line of cars, suitcases on the white pebbles
The lodge, the cabins, the swings
The lake showing itself through the scattered trees
Familiar faces all around
Sparkling smiles and excited voices
Running to hug friends who came from a distance
Hugging everyone actually
What is it about this place?
The amazing people, the location
The activities, the atmosphere
The music, the bell
The peacefulness, the excitement
The memories created
Ice cream time
No, not quite…
Just indescribable
Who I Am
I am a person filled with joy and happiness one moment
And I am a person filled with despair and sadness the next.
I am completely normal. But then again, who is to say what normal is?
I am going to change the world, one step at a time, even if it takes more than a lifetime.
I am the son of a mother who has always been there, even when she didn’t know it.
I am the son of a father who has done so much, and still leaves something to be desired.
I am the brother of a boy whose intelligence never ceases to amaze.
I am the brother of a girl who took the focus off of me, and I couldn’t thank her more.
I am the oldest child, the favorite grandchild, and the one expected to do the most.
I am sometimes overwhelmed by expectation, but only that of my own creation.
I am called smart, and I’ve let it get to my head.
I am smart, except I shouldn’t flaunt it.
I am patient when I need to be,
And I am irrationally impatient when I don’t need to be.
I am hours spent in self-examination, with only a few paragraphs result.
I am a man who loves his friends, and it seems the ones furthest away are the closest.
I am not one to forget something if I care about it.
I am trying to be willing to help anyone, to the point of forgetting about helping myself.
I am called to help everyone, to the point of forgetting about helping myself.
I am a Romantic by nature, but rationalist by training.
I am to spend a lifetime trying to find someone,
I just wish I knew who.
I am under the impression that all good things come to an end only because we let them.
I am a reader, if I could only make the time to actually prove it.
I am a listener, because being quiet will do that to you.
I am an observer, but only of the things of which I care.
I am a rocker, or at least I would be if I could play my guitar a little better.
I am a lover and not a fighter.
I am in need, and my only wish is that I am needed.
I am a nerd, but that’s ok, because I know it, and am proud of it.
I am an athlete that plays sports for the enjoyment of having people around me.
I am consumed by music, whether it be playing in my ears or in my head.
I am blessed by my God, but only because a curse is just a blessing with an ugly face.
I am devout to my friends and my family, but to my God first and foremost.
I can do all things through He who strengthens me. Philippians 4:13
I am going to be remembered, whether it is by one person or by the world.
I am no longer afraid.
The Universal Mask
Hiding ourselves behind a mask of cheer.
How long can we keep this unnatural hue?
A mask of happiness covers what's true,
With feelings hidden deep in our own world,
Our true identities are safe from view.
With the masks' cover we are made anew,
A porcelain smile is our cover but
How long can we keep this unnatural hue?
We fear we are watched animals in a zoo.
Inside everybody's hiding something,
Our true identities are safe from view.
The world, unkind, unfeeling, has no clue,
We just want to feel safe in our own skin.
How long can we keep this unnatural hue?
Hiding ourselves behind a mask of cheer,
Our true identities are safe from view.
How long can we keep this unnatural hue?
Dear Dad
Do you know who I am?
I'm your son, we live in the same house together.
You're usually working, talking on the phone to an unknown voice
arguing over reports and money.
Do you remember when we stopped being close?
Do you remember why?
All I remember is being young and tired,
and you would carry me on your shoulders.
And I remember walking the dog in the woods with you,
tripping over my shoelaces as I followed you along the path
while you whistled at the dog to stay close.
I remember being excited when you came home from work,
I remember embracing you and feeling safe as I did so.
I remember you and I, Dad.
I remember wanting to be like you, why can't I feel that anymore?
One day you and I will wake up, and we'll be us again.
Until then, I miss you.
Love,
Your son.
The Next Chapter
as graduation looms around the corner.
A major chapter in our lives is about to end
and we don’t know what is next.
I know I am not the only one
scared to leave all of this. Scared to leave
my family, scared to leave my friends, scared
to live on my own, scared to finally have to
grow up. Scared the best years of life aren’t
ahead but behind me.
The next chapter brings what we all hate,
the unknown.
New faces, new buildings, new atmosphere.
It is only human nature
to fear what we do not know.
The next chapter brings the unknown,
but we can't let ourselves
forget the "known."
We all have to remember growing
up together and where we came from.
Layers
Underneath my skin is my heart
Underneath my heart is a young boy
Full of optimism, “How’s your day going mom?”
Underneath the pleasantries,
are years of heartache and worry
Too much stress from too many sources
School, college, work, scholarships
Looking back now maybe it was just one source.
Underneath that is the constant lecture
Of I told you so’s that seem to rain down like a hurricane.
Underneath my heart resides a vacant spot
Waiting to be filled up by life.
Underneath that is the hope that one day
I can look back and see a journey not a destination.
Underneath that is the belief that the little boy is not lost forever
That at some point the waves of the storm
Will push me to a safe beach where everything is fine.
Underneath my heart lives a question
What do I want?
Underneath that lives a road with so many forks
It appears as if I am in the middle of some vast ocean.
Who knows what direction is right or wrong? Seriously
Underneath that is faith
Faith that someday I will see a sunny beach
With bright blue skies.
Mom
The time of year when
Those lilacs you love,
They pop from the buds
On the trees in our yard
Puncturing the stale winter air
With white and purple aromas
And when I was little dad would
Hold me up to the branch with scissors
So I could cut some down for you
And hold them in my little hands
Out to you, under the bright lights
In the chaos of post-performance.
I was barely as high as the top
Of your bunched, pink legwarmers
When you taught me my first step,
You danced through those years
And in the breath of your floral skirt,
I followed you
Looked up at you and wished on stars
And satin ballet slippers
For half of your grace.
You belonged on the stage
But even when you put away those
Leotards and pointe shoes for good,
Hung them on the window where they
Still gather dust,
Your poise followed you always
Through life
It’s May tomorrow.
And 4 Mays ago
I thought I might have seen you
Dance for the last time.
I know I didn’t look at you the same
In that hospital bed as I did on that stage
I know that when I held your hand
Puffy from the chemo
And helped you brush away the clumps of hair
From your pillow
I didn’t seem willing
I didn’t seem caring
I know that my eyes didn’t shine for you
On slow walks through the Gibson wing
Pushing your IV cart
Bringing hospital lunches
And cards
And gifts
But no flowers
Because of the germs
To your white washed room
Like they shone for you
After Ballet Doll or Banana Phone
When I was 5
And all I knew was your light.
And I know that I ran
From what I saw
Robbing you of that brilliance,
My ears still pound sometimes
With the screaming
Shattered porcelain and fights
I never meant to cause
Angry, terrified
Words
I never meant to say
I know I made it seem like
I-tunes and Jake’s party and
High school
Were more important than you
And I’m ashamed
Of all the days I let go by
In silence
When I had watched Dad cry,
Every day was a new battle for you
And it threatened every day
To take you away,
I was scared.
But what you don’t know
Is that I was just as proud
Of your spirit
That jingled in the angel charm
Hanging from your IV cart
That resonated in the singing card,
“You’re a survivor”
That warmed you in the prayer quilt
The church made for you
That fought hardest
When your body was weakest.
Your strength was my strength
And I know it should have been
The other way around
And I don’t know if you know that
I’m sorry
That tomorrow is May
And 4 Mays ago
Every day became an unknown
And I still haven’t told you
That underneath who we’ll never be again
Is who we are
And I’ll never stop dancing
Because you never stopped dancing
Memory
is often not where they end,
Like the roots of a tree,
the branches transcend
Where pain has begun,
Is only a silver lined cloud,
Which looms in your mind,
'till the pain has been cowed
Where growth takes its stand,
In the soil of affliction,
Is a field of good fortune,
Where prosperity's an addiction
And to those who suffer,
By the hand of distress,
Fear not and have hope,
For you always progress
Another Step-mom
Why do you expect me to think she's any different?
You met her at a bar
While you were on a date with someone else.
Engagement number four
Wearing the same ring as number three?
It's obvious she's crazy
Just look at her criminal record.
Engagement number four
Don't expect me to be nice.
She let her husband die
And you refuse to see her wrong.
Engagement number four
I'll give it another month.
Swine Flu
in this germ infested nation
is the disease out of the blue,
the dreaded swine flu.
Causing problems left and right
forcing citizens to fight
for the right to education
in this germ infested nation.
The flu has claimed the life of one
to show its destruction is not done
so lets join together in this war
to make this disease no more.
Almost
a summer filled with sun and glee.
The days packed with such promised fun
are close; it's almost graduation!
But at a time that I should be glad,
I often find myself almost sad.
When I look back to remember old days
I find it hard to believe it's almost May.
I can't bring myself to depart from my friends
or think that my childhood could almost end.
Even with the future full of new people to meet,
I still find it all almost bittersweet.
Uncertainty and nerves follow almost everywhere I go,
and the desire to thank all who helped me to grow.
I don't know if they understand how much they mean,
but they've been shoulders upon which I could almost lean.
I'm almost unsure if I'll know what to say
when it finally becomes graduation day.
One glance outside and now I almost fear
that summertime is almost here.
To reflect on things I've almost won
and to think that I am almost done,
I'm proud to say I'm almost there,
then I stop and wonder...
Almost where?
Sister
Light brown eyes
Soft, delicate skin
A smile that could light up a room.
Girls want to be her
Guys want to date her
Teachers respect her
Her parents and her brother love her.
But she looks in the mirror
At her light brown eyes
Her soft, delicate skin
And she sees nothing.
Her eyes are filled with hatred
Her palms begin to sweat
And she reaches for some pills
And a knife.
She gets in her car
She opens the bottle
And swallows the pills
Until she is numb.
She lets the knife cut her skin
She watches the blood run down her wrists
She begins to breathe deeply
And waits for the end.
There is a girl I know
Light brown eyes
Soft, delicate skin
Graduating college at the top of her class.
And now she looks in the mirror
At her light brown eyes
Her soft, delicate skin
And she sees what everyone else sees.
She doesn't know that girl in the car anymore.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The Spirit of Arcadia
Underneath
Under my skin is my heart
Under my heart are the words I never meant to say,
or atleast wish I hadn’t,
and the harsh, slurred words that danced out of my father’s mouth
and pierced the air in return,
which he probably never meant to say either,
but I’ll never know,
because I was never told “Sorry.”
Under that is a door slammed out of frustration,
an aggravated scream that sneaks its way around the cracks of the door frame
for the rest of the world to hear.
Under that are the awkward, silent days following, dragging on
for what seems like an eternity until you realize you need to talk,
because he’s the only one who can pass you the ketchup at the dinner table.
Under that are my mother’s pleads, begging me to end the tension,
and my refusal. “If he won’t talk, then neither will I.”
Under that is a swirl of emotions;
Anger.
Disgust.
Guilt.
Regret.
Under that is realizing I only have one father,
and he’s not so bad, even if he makes a mistake or two here and there.
Under that is love,
and an apology.
“I’m sorry.”
Pieces
In your car that was at least as old as us
That night
The red glow of the stoplight
Through the windshield on you as I
Stole sideways glances at you
The whole way home.
Basketball logo
On the hat pulled down over your eyes
Those little green numbers of your car clock
Read 12:03
Just past midnight and
The streets empty
Quiet
I don’t remember what we said
What we talked about at all
But I remember you,
An image so clear it feels tangible
Your one hand on the top of the wheel in
The red glow of the stoplight
I stole sideways glances at you
The whole way home.
Some obscure note of an old song
Reminds me of you
A wave of memories and
I imagine the click, click, click
Of a mental slideshow
I remember you,
But you’re like a million different pieces
Of pictures I’ve tried to tear up
Scattered on my bedroom floor
Thrown in fury against a wind that
Keeps blowing them back to me
Glued together, pieced together
Haphazardly
And they rest in the back of my mind
Not all of you,
Not everything
Just snapshots
Moments
Frozen, eternally, in time
untitled
we are all scared
and
we are all brave.
we are all built of opposing forces
and influenced
and created and shaped and molded
and transformed
into who we are becoming.
the truth is,
it's not about who that person is.
because
by the time we figure that out,
we will be different.
because we are growing
and learning and changing and listening
and understanding,
slowly understanding,
ourselves
each other
the world around us.
as humans,
we deal with challenges every day.
it becomes our choice
how to overcome them,
what to do
to make that challenge,
somehow,
less challenging.
but,
the truth is,
we don't know
how to do that.
so we let it build up
and break down
in endless cycles.
and we try to get by
learning how to deal with it
the best we can.
all that i want
is to spread all of my love
and watch it grow.
From
I am from homecooked meals, handsewn dresses
and handpainted t-shirts made from love.
I am from the bliss of summertime,
boat rides, and lying on the beach under the baking sun.
I am from laughing so hard your stomach hurts,
roller coaster rides, and long nights
spent looking at stars.
I am from sand in my toes, wind in my hair, sun on my skin.
I am from a best friend who acts
as the sister I never had,
who I can share life secrets with.
I am from a dedicated father who moved his family
from Maine to Texas and back again.
I am from Portland, a city of close houses
and close neighbors.
I am from Glenburn, a town that never
had a high school and probably never will.
I am from Dallas, a city of fancy cars and country club neighborhoods
where people lead secret lives behind closed doors
I am from Gorham, where it “takes a village to raise a child,”
and I blossomed from child to young adult.
I am from family road trips, books on tape, camp fire stories,
and “short cuts” that aren’t so short.
I am from the wild anticipation of the first snowfall,
the splendor of snow days, and the thrill of snow angels.
I am from cold chair lift rides, the pure joy
of getting first tracks on a freshly groomed trail,
and warming up with hot cocoa.
I am from a family of artists and musicians who live
by their own rules.
I am from a grandfather who knew the shame of poverty,
and a grandmother who wants nothing more than to make
her children smile.
I am from staying up too late, taking on too much, and complaining too often.
I am from high expectations, pressure, and self-drive.
I am from tears of frustration.
I am from striving for perfection but never achieving it.
I am from a time of economic struggle.
I am from effort, love, and inspiration.
I am from...
Yes, This Is My Poem
Mostly, I think, because I have to get by.
Everyone else is amazing, I know,
But for some strange reason, my amazingness doesn’t show.
I work and I try really hard I swear!
But sometimes it makes me want to rip out my hair.
I pretend to shrug it off, like it is nothing,
When really I want it to turn into something.
So with no confidence I’ll continue to write,
Staying up late, much too late in the night.
With coffee beside me and some scratch paper near,
I work something out, but not anything good I fear.
I don’t even know why I’m rhyming this piece,
I didn’t intend to, it was just a release
Of feelings I have for the moment, but soon
I’ll feel different again, like say, tomorrow afternoon.
It is now 11:00 at night and I’m tired,
My bed is all warm and I want to retire.
Wait a minute, what’s that I see?
I just created a poem…wow that was easy.
A Memory in Hiding
ripped and torn from years of wear, sprawled
on the floor next to piles of clothes with the
price tags still attached, never worn?
Is it cowering behind your quivering pillow,
fearful you might spot it and never let go?
Is it struggling to grip the underside of the
dining room table, waiting for dinner to finish
so it can find a better hiding place?
Is it covered in mineral powder as it tries
to camouflage itself in your makeup bag?
Is it suffocating at the bottom of your backpack,
swimming in books never read and calculus
homework never started?
Do you let it hide or do you search for it?
Do you search for it in dark alleys late at night,
with only the sound of your hurried footsteps
echoing in your ears?
Do you turn your fingers bloody trying to dig
up the memory buried deep in the concrete?
Do you look deep inside the aching walls of
your heart hoping to find something, anything,
but knowing you've exhausted everything?
What do you do?
Hair
I look like a bear,
Not a cute bear,
But one that would scare,
Children.
I wake up every day,
With my head covered in hay,
Or what looks like hay,
But who am I to say,
That .
In the mirror where I stood,
I look like I live in the hood.
I will just wear a hood.
I wish that it would,
Grow.
I try to brush it,
But that doesn’t do shit.
It’s the same color as shit,
I wish I could put it,
Up.
As I stood there and cussed,
I figured I’d trust,
A hat I can trust,
So I will just,
Leave.
I am from
I have a mom who is a friend but demands respect,
A sister who is beautiful and funny,
and a brother who is intelligent and loving.
My family is there for each other through think and thin.
I am from a woman of patience.
But, a woman who still peels out of Dunkin Donuts when you get her order wrong.
She is a woman who is free-loving, but confrontational at times.
I am from a woman with heart.
A woman who can do anything she puts her mind to and who teaches me the same thing.
I am from a woman of compassion.
She shows us how to be nice, loving, and accepting of others.
I am from a woman with a tremendous amount of stress.
Day in and day out she goes to work at three in the morning.
She works overtime to give us some luxuries of life.
I am from a woman of courage.
She shows courage in so many ways than one.
I am from a single mom with three children.
But she sticks her head up high and goes through life with pride, love and compassion.
I Am From
I am from parents who were raised in a small town
and chose to do the same with their children
I am from a family who would rather live in a small cabin on the lake
than in a mansion in the city.
I am from a family that believes duct tape can solve
any problem.
I am from a family that is faced with challenges everyday.
I am from a mother who has worked in retail all her life.
I am from a father who has struggled to keep a job.
I am from a grandfather who is losing a piece of his mind everyday,
and I am from a grandmother who struggles to keep him on track.
I am from an aunt who is so much like me that we can’t get along.
I am from a father who has so many reasons to be happy,
but rarely is.
I am from a grandfather that is unable to live his own life,
and I am from a grandmother who lives that life for him.
I am from a father who loves me, but has a hard time showing it.
I am from a mother who works hard everyday
and doesn’t get what she deserves.
I am from a family that will do anything to help each other.
I am from a mother who beamed me in the leg
so I wouldn’t fear the ball.
I am from a father who is always there for support,
no matter what it may be.
I am from two sets of grandparents who are complete opposites,
but are willing to put differences aside to help.
I am from a grandmother who is everything I want to be.
I am from entrepreneurs.
I am from downers.
I am from care-takers.
I am from struggles.
I am from love.
Sudden thoughts
Making my individuality known
Preaching independence and bold words
I'm that girl that appears not to care
Free feelings, free emotions
I'm that girl that they call "too much"
I'm that girl that defends herself
The girl that demands respect
Right?
I am a lie.
I live in a glass house
That falls on me
again and again.
A weak and frail heart keeps me going
Let myself be beaten, used
Disrespected, hated.
I am hated.
Shunned by people who can fake it
Too tired, given up on lying
I stalk the shadows
Watching the world go by
Wondering why I've never been a best friend
Wondering who's out there fighting for me
Wondering when i'll stop hearing
about reputation and popularity
They do exist
But hopefully not
In the real world
Will I find that I am still not good enough?
What will happen if I fail?
Will I still be alone?
I am not going to be that girl anymore.
Memories
College is around the bend.
So many things to do,
So many things to think about,
So many things to look back upon,
So many things to be grateful for.
Aviators
Braces
Chevy trucks
Debit card
Energy drinks
Fairs
Grandparents
High School
I-pods
Julie
Kids
Lacrosse
My pillow
Norman
Opportunities
Peanut butter sandwiches
Quirky friends
Re-re (teddy bear)
Smiles
Teachers
Unlimited texting
Virginia Tech
Walking
Xtreme Maine weather
Youth
Zillions of embarrassing moments
Love Ya
but not so comfortable that:
You know you the echoing sound of their footsteps
coming up the stairs to your front door?
Love Ya.
Or can trust them with every secret
like the time you farted in Hallmark
and had to hide in the candle isle letting the aromas of Pine Fresh and Strawberries ‘N Cream
cover up the smell while your laughter masks your embarrassment
and any sound that may or may not escape?
Love Ya.
Or can cry on the phone to them when
Sam, Harry, Billy-Bob, Clark, Mark, Al, Tracy
broke your heart?
Love Ya.
Or tells you they are on their way to come pick you up
and drive you away to somewhere,
probably nowhere,
but you say yes because you know
wherever you go it will be fun?
Love Ya.
Don’t confuse Love Ya with Love You.
They are not equal.
Saying they mean the same is like saying
Pizza by Angelo and Angelo’s Pizza taste the same.
If you don’t get that reference,
when I hang up the phone after talking to you for
46 minutes and 54 seconds,
the last words that come out of that cell phone speaker
and glide into your ear are:
Love Ya.
Change
No Curfew.
No T.V. Restrictions.
No Rules.
I was always right,
they always got in trouble,
I had more presents,
and all the attention...
I'm the spoiled brat?
Yeah? I'd trade it for the
world...
To not be alone.
To not be the one that saw tradition
die.
To not have to see all my brother's lives
move on while I'm still stuck
here.
You got it all wrong.
They are the one's that have had it all,
not me.
Remember
All the times we had.
The times when you were so frustrated
because you couldn't win.
Yet you never yelled,
you never cursed.
The times when you would manage to put a smile on your face
when you wanted to cry.
The times when you would make me laugh
without even saying anything.
You didn't need to.
I remember them.
Remember all the people you helped.
No matter what,
you were always there.
Remember every day
when you were a better person
than any of us could strive to be.
Remember us.
All of the times we had together.
Your love for racing,
and your love for people,
no matter who they were.
Because of this,
we remember you,
and we always will.
The Choice- a lost poem
As the sun set in Nicaragua.
A new era of me.
The battle against bad
In my sacred heart
Had come to an end.
My choice. My faith. My passion.
His love. His promises. His kingdom.
Our friendship. Our issues. Our heaven.
A godly event of fresh starts
And happy endings but still
Stumbling everyday from temptations.
I was born. I was baptized. I am saved.
Seven Minutes
And the drops of blood trickle down, staining your knee and sock.
The bruise from yesterdays game has already turned blue.
And your muscles ache as you strain to be the strongest, fastest, smartest person out there.
Your hands are on your knees, resting, as the exhaustion has hit you.
But the phosphorescent lights on the scoreboard still read 7 minutes.
Then you remember,
Each weight you lifted, each fitness test you struggled through.
Every game you have played in, win or lose.
Every coach who has taught you.
Every referee you have argued with.
Is what got you to this exact moment.
You have 7 minutes to complete what you stepped out onto that field to do.
All the cleats you have tied,
All the hands you have shaken,
All the tears you have shed,
All the laughs you have had,
All the memories that will never be lost,
And suddenly.......you realize that it was all worth it.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Confrontation
a glance at the ground
a shuffle of feet
you make the first sound
a reach for my necklace
a waiver of voice
a clench of the fist
you made the choice
a turn of the face
a sigh of stress
a shutting of eyes
this is a mess
a stillness, suspension
a sign of regret
a close-hearted hug
what a good thing we met
Monday, April 27, 2009
World Championships
take a few bites of my Powerbar,
and rehearse my steps with my hands.
Unsure of myself at one moment,
but confident the next,
I take a deep breath
and glance through the velvet curtain.
Five judges stare blankly at the stage
This is my chance,
Two minutes,
Best performance,
No room for hesitation.
Silence, then "Number 59"
My heart pounds louder with every step I take
Adrenaline surges through my body in preparation
of the challenge ahead
The bright stage lights blind me as I become
acutely aware of the heat emitted from them
The sound of the accordian becomes distant
as my feet keep rhythm to an intrinsic beat
Blood rushes to my calves, my legs warm and heavy
as I frantically try to keep them in motion.
My heartbeat becomes lounder
the pulsing blood rushes through my ears
drowning out the sounds,
as if I were underwater.
Inhaling deeply through my nose,
thumbs clenched in a sweaty fist,
I finish louder,
more confident,
more powerful.
I bow, exhausted,
but exuberant
I walk off-stage with my legs weak underneath me.
I do not need to hear the results to know that I am a champion.
There is glory in a job well done.
Remember?
that you put together
one
two
three times
where I pumped my legs back and forth
reaching, reaching for the sky with my toes
guided by your gentle pushes against my back.
It was the blue plastic ropes twisted four times
that I held onto tightly,
eyes shut, hair whipping as I gained momentum;
Spinning, dizzy, trying to walk straight ahead
Avoiding acorns hidden beneath the grass
that threatened to bite at my fragile feet.
It was your reassuring grasp,
your giant hand
swallowing my tiny fist in a warmth
that let me know everything would be fine.
It was a place far away
in time and distance
that reeked of chlorine and burnt hot dogs
and a secret sadness behind too-big smiles
and forced laughter;
the last day was supposed to be better.
It was the velvety touch of the water on our skin
in the heat of a summer night
underneath the bug ridden lights
that illuminated our man made waves and
revealed bats flying like marionettes
against the backdrop of a midnight sky.
But it wasn't the days you cried,
pleading with red eyes,
your once confident hands now unsure,
quivering, unable to hold mine;
the days I had to convince you
everything was okay.
idiot box
static
adjust
static
adjust
a voice a picture
change it
34
41
70
68
99
what do you see
see violence and death
rape and murder
exploitation and humiliation
static
static
static
blinding
blinking
flashing
bright bright bright
"here's the up to date coverage of the daily genocide"
.
.
.
"good, now that that's drained of novelty, here's the 6 hour premire of america's next top skank"
buy buy buy
sell sell sell
what do you want?
we got it!
whatever it is...
and if we don't
3rd world slave labor will have it to you in a week
27
81
13
individuality is being advertised at 20 bucks a pop!
what a deal right!
do this
don't do this
think that
don't think that
right!
wrong!
left
right
a media whore's a meida whore
more violence and death
more rape and murder
more exploitation and humiliation
oh boy, this one's my favorite!!!
TVMA
SLVD
fcc
fcc
fcc
what am i talking about?
do you kno?
cause i sure as hell don't
...or do i
you'll never kno
...or will you
CLIFFHANGER
static
static
static
static
static
mommy says:
little johnny, why don't you go out and play?
little johnny says:
fuck that
To My Former Friend:
I never thought that things would turn out this way
And it’s sad to see they did.
I try to place the pieces together
But I can’t seem to find the missing one
The one that will tell me where it all went wrong
Why we don’t speak anymore
I look back and remember,
Through the shattered pieces of glass,
Those days when you would talk to me,
The days when we were friends.
I’ve come to realize that people change,
But change is not always for the better.
I don’t know the girl you’ve become,
I don’t know what you did with my best friend.
To fight to win you back,
To unleash these months of torture,
To let you know how much you’ve hurt me.
But then again, I’m just not like that.
And keep my distance purposefully,
But you forget that I can hear your malicious whispers
And my own name echoing in my ear.
And what is wrong with me,
But I can assure you I am not the kind of girl
That will allow herself to be walked and paraded on.
I respect myself more than that.
I’m no longer interested in this so-called friendship.
I’ve packed up my memories
And I’m moving on.
You will value your friendships,
And know that if you want a true friend
You need to act like a decent one.
A friend is not a person who denies
Others the right to be themselves
And the room to grow.
Good Luck with that.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Poetry Workshop Piece- Facebook
pull the up and down lever to MY height, not just anywhere.
Energy is crucial for facebooking.
I put up my feet, grab my 3rd coffee, and keep drinking.
I hear how people praise the internet:
"The best of this generation's technologies!"
Able to obtain news feeds, CD's, DVD's, phone fees, food recipes,
oh the conveniency! The infinite possibilities!
However the smooth mouse I'm holding is paralyzed,
because the home page keeps me mesmerized.
Facebook's addicting, conflicting, amazing, and fun,
"I'm just checking my notifications!"...You know I'm not done.
Facebook's got quizzes, bumper-stickers, flair, wall-to-wall,
everyone knows facebook has it all.
Messages, pokes, pictures, videos, it's the best!
It's got status', friendships, relationships, and...family friend requests?
MOM! You didn't get a facebook, did you?
You're embarrassing me, you're pushing 52!
Talking with all my friends, learning new trends,
gossiping with my ex-girlfriends, friend requests pends, with you it never ends!
It looks like my facebooking is done,
my mother's ended all my fun.
I have to delete my profile immediately,
before my friends remember me.
The kid who's mom got facebook,
I ask her if she knows the huge part of my life she's took?
"Hours on end on this site,
taking computer time to new heights!"
She points outside and brings me to the window.
I say, "So?"
She utters, "Take a great look,
there's more to life than facebook."
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
High School
-What a slut!
He said what?
-What a Jerk!
She got a hundred?
-What a geek!
In high school,
perfection is impossible.
Rumors will be spread.
Girls will be bitches.
Guys will screw you over,
and your team won't always win.
Sometimes you will cry,
and sometimes you'll think it's not worth it.
But now it's senior year,
And as much as you want to leave,
you want to stay.
At least here you know what to expect.
And then you think, maybe high school isn't so bad.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Underneath
Under my skin is my heart
Under my heart is the caress
Of that trampoline under a starlit sky,
The breath
And heartbeat of that summer
Keeping time as we twirled through the haze
Dancers in the sun,
Music box dancers in a rhythm of certainty.
Under that is the unexpected gentleness
Of the calloused hands,
The slippery breeze, on the hammock,
In the wet grass, hiding with a flashlight
Shining playfully
On the things the dark tried to conceal
There are no secrets here.
We were poised between two worlds and
Living off the rush of the mystery,
Captivated, but we got lost
Between two worlds that summer
Under the pulse was a missed beat
A stumbled step
Like a song we had never heard before,
Louder than the ones we knew by heart.
And under that is the burn
Of that same summer sun
The softness of that room that hid the shadows
Fear taught me to create.
Under that is the voice that never faltered, faltering
The eyes that never cried, crying
And under that is a whole mess of years
Of singing cards and footsteps on the creaky stairs late at night
And wondering if maybe
Those ghosts that stalk your mind
And stay with you,
Are really yours to keep anyway.
And under that is reality.
Laughter
Floating up to the rafters of
That universal ceiling under which
Life shines brilliantly.
And a few dusty miles away
Tears
Running in little black rivers of the mascara
She forgets why she cared about
As the sun fades from a life,
And the light from the eyes
Of those with the clammy hands
Shaking, shaking, shaking
And the car ride home and the guilt
Like the deep black cloak
Of the man we imagine
Taking away the things that we love,
That rides on the overwhelming waves
Of other people’s pain,
Tears that can’t change a thing
Laughter that lost its charm
And under that
Are questions.
But my voice is
Shaking, shaking, shaking
And the ground is
Shaking
Too
They say I’ll never understand,
But the songs we sing alone
Through empty, littered streets
In the convenience store glow
Of flickering street lamps at 2 A.M.,
Are set to the same music.
The spotlight is warm, then it’s blinding
The dancers are in tears, and they’re laughing
They’re lost
But the music plays on
Saturday, April 18, 2009
you think your generation had it bad?
and rebellion's just an episode of a god awful teenage soap opera.
the full metal jacket doesn't fit
and it's too cold for naked aggression.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
the truth about april sixteenth
32 dead in a field somewhere.
One girl in a gray, baggy sweatshirt bearing the logo "VT",
Smelling of fresh laundry and musky deodorant
worn by her boyfriend
The day before.
Eight empty desks
and blank final exams
and caps and gowns worn in caskets.
Three girls laughing, sitting at the table next to you
talking about what kind of pizza to eat
later
what movie to watch
tomorrow.
One vegetarian
who found out when she was five
that her chicken nuggets from McDonald's
were just like the chickens in her neighbor's farm
only dead.
and one Purple Heart
who just got back
who thought he was safe
who thought violence like this was
an outside tragedy
who was taught to protect you
and me
against all enemies foreign
and domestic
who raced to stand
between you and the bullet
as you stood
frozen
because he didn't know any other way;
and neither did you.
Three engagement rings
bearing the glitter of happiness,
the shine of truth,
the promise of forever.
One prom queen:
everybody's sweetheart
baby
honey
darling
one mathlete:
somebody's doormat
tutor
role model
son
One future president
and one burnout -
their last words
"maybe tomorrow"
lingering, floating
on the edge of a cliff
waiting
to fall away.
One Beatle’s record
playing on repeat on the third floor
of the old brick building in the courtyard;
"nothing’s gonna change my world"
echoes in the hallway.
Five unfinished papers on the
Recession of the economy
One on the cruelty of bullying -
The cursor still blinking.
One towel dripping onto the linoleum floor in the bathroom –
steam still lingering in the corners of the mirror
One son
On a break from feeding and bathing his sick dad
not knowing the truth,
as so many of us don't,
that tomorrow his father will be hungry and dirty
and that's the only way he'll know
his son is dead.
And finally
One stranger -
the one you passed this morning
on the way to the subway
and when your eyes met, you looked away.
And you didn’t smile
You didn’t look up
For one second
that could have
would have
should have
changed everything.
But maybe it goes back farther than that
Back to the skinny boy with glasses and a Superman t-shirt
in the back of your third grade classroom
Being poked and pushed and spit on
and laughed at
And you didn’t look up
Not for one second.
And today
the same skinny boy
stomped on his glasses and tore up his shirt,
Loaded his gun and set the hatred in his eyes on fire
And now there are 32 dead in a field somewhere.
Thirty-two fragile gray graves
Scattered across the nation,
thawing out under the spring sun
most of them unable to reach each other
even now.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Who Are You?
Who are you, and why are you on my mind?
Why are you still here, why can’t I forget you?
Something happened, with you I feel entwined.
You have touched my heart, and my soul, too.
My life has changed; I can now see God’s grace.
I don’t know where I would be without you.
But who are you, who in this human race?
Why can’t I know who you are once again?
Must I search so hard to find your embrace?
I must search, but will I find you, and when?
Without you I am useless, incomplete.
I find myself lost, time and time again.
But how can I search for one so sweet,
When I don’t even know you anymore.
Something has changed, and I cannot compete.
I have lost my sight of you in this war,
My focus wavered under the assault,
But you, I shouldn’t have thought to ignore.
I feel as though it was through my own fault,
So now I can only regret my choice,
And hope to bring my problems to a halt.
For when I can once again hear your voice,
And I can find who you have now become,
I’ll be able to finally rejoice.
When I find you, I’ll no longer be numb.
Once again I will be able to feel,
With you again, despair I’ll be free from.
For me, the encounter will be unreal,
And all will spring from knowing who you are.
So once again, to you I shall appeal.
Who are you?
Where are you?
Sunday, April 12, 2009
He's Not Worth It
I open the door to my jeep,
my jeep.
The evidence is there.
Beer bottles cover the floor,
and the seats,
and the trunk.
So many bottles,
all in my jeep.
I want to cry
but hold back the tears.
He’s not worth it.
I tell myself he’s not worth it.
I shut the door.
I walk into his closet.
The evidence is there.
More bottles,
more lies.
I start to cry.
He’s not worth it.
I walk out.
My phone rings.
It’s him.
I want to yell,
And tell him how I feel.
“So you’re not coming home?”
I want to but I can’t.
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I hang up the phone.
I want to cry,
but he’s not worth it.
12am he calls again.
Wait, it’s not him.
It’s his girlfriend.
I answer the phone,
“I need to pick him up where?”
I put down the phone.
I want to cry but I don’t.
He’s not worth it.
I get to the bar,
He’s so drunk he can barely talk.
I try to take his keys,
But he refuses.
I want to argue,
Tell him that one dead parent is enough.
I want to make him come with me,
But I can’t.
I walk out of the bar
And get into my car.
I cry the whole way home.
He’s not worth it.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
you think?
decay never! R
N guilt! what O
O please wrong M
dead! no
O forgive lost A
N hope iinnocent N
E fear now Y
why? T
god H
I
N
mercy? G
SAVED ME
death poem
crying
growing
learning
knowing
aging
dying
this is the death poem
futile
trying to capture
life and death
creation and destruction
in a few simple words
in a few simple lines
but it's always done
and this is me doing it
this is the death poem
we watch
as the lives of those around us
are wasted
and toiled away
cant take our eyes away
like a train crash
we say "man
i'm glad i'm not
like them
i've got a life"
you are
you don't
and they're watching yours
just the same as you watching
theirs
and they're saying
the same thing you are
this is the death poem
and we grow
keep saying "man
i'm glad i'm not
like them..."
say it so much
you start to
really
belive it
then you die
your dead
without ever living
this is the death poem
and then what
heaven
hell
nothing
or maybe your caught in limbo
jerking off to
the sound of the death march
for eternity
this is the death poem
dont't try to
find meaning in this
there is none
just take it for
what
it
is
this is the death poem
shame
you walk down the hallway
trying to walk with strength
but your head bows in shame
when their judging eyes catch
a glance of you and the hurtful
whispers commence.
whoever said "words can never hurt"
was seriously mistaken. your first
reaction is to cringe, then to be embarrassed,
but then
you feel angered.
what gives them the right to judge you?
are they all so perfect that the moment
you do something wrong it gives them a
free pass
to be cruel?
one mistake has changed everything.
maybe it's for the better, you try to
convince yourself, but then you think
of all you have suffered and just wish
that time will pass quicker and you
will no longer have to endure this
everlasting agony.
"time heals all wounds," you're told as
if that's supposed to make you feel better.
although the practical part of you becomes
your own worst enemy, believes that
you deserve what you're getting.. you still
have that other part of you that just wants
to be forgiven,
to be understood,
to be happy.
But oh no, oh no, your days must be
darkened with the regret you feel until
others are satisfied with the amount of
torturing that they consider you justly
deserve, that you are forbidden to have
any form of happiness, and must accept
the torment that both yourself, and they
bring upon you.
all you can do now is wallow in self-pity
and never give up hope .. that everything
happens for a reason, and that in the
future you will be grateful for what
happened because it made you stronger,
but for now, you must accept the misery
Monday, April 6, 2009
a funny feeling
when you have been outside for awhile
and the sun starts to pound off of your back
and you can feel the sweat drip down your back
and you wish that you hadn't left your sunglasses in the car
which you hoped that you parked below a tree
because otherwise, it's gonna suck
when you sit down.
you know that feeling
when you touch someone's hand for the first time
and you might try to make it seem like an accident,
but you both know that it was on purpose.
and it keeps happening
until suddenly
your hands are clasped
and you never want to let go.
you know that feeling
when the snow is falling so hard
that you can barely lift up your foot
and place it in front of the other
until you get to your destination.
and you think that you will lose feeling in your fingers forever
and your car still feels so far away
even though you parked as close to the front
as you could.
you know that feeling
when your stomach suddenly drops
and no matter what anyone says,
tears will fall from your eyes immediately.
and you try to stop it
and you pretend that your bottom lip isn't forming that weird shape
and you start to lose vision because your eyes get so small and filled up
and your breath starts to come unnaturally
and suddenly, everything is overwhelming
and you just want to curl up in a ball
and let it all out.
you know that feeling
when you first walk outside without a coat on
and you didn't have to start your car up a few minutes before you got in it
and you even dare to unroll the sun roof,
even though you know it will make you freezing.
and you blast your favorite song
and you smile the whole way there
because spring is actually, actually on it's way.
you know that feeling
when something really isn't funny
but you're with your closest friends
and for some reason no matter how hard you try,
you cannot stop laughing.
and your eyes start to water
and your stomach is killing you
and your voice seems to disappear
so you're just laughing up silent air.
but you're so overcome with that emotion
and that feeling
and the inexpressible experience
that you have to let it happen
because if you don't
you might explode from
all
of
it.
yeah..
that one.
you know that feeling?
me too.
Underneath
Eyes
In a way that no one else does
The eyes that make the decisions
The eyes that hold the barrier inside
The eyes that have built the walls of support for eighteen years
These are the eyes that see the world
In a way that can find the strength in anything
The eyes that can pick out that perfect outfit for a friday night
The eyes that have watched the sweat drip down my forehead
The eyes that turn from brown to green after shedding a nights worth of tears
These are the eyes that see the world
In a way that represents individuality
The eyes that wear smudged mascara
The eyes that watch the rain stream down the car windows
The eyes that wake up every morning to stare at a blank white ceiling
But most of all,
These are the eyes that have grown,
Have seen live,
Have lived life,
Have laughed and cried
These are the eyes that belong to me
Friday, April 3, 2009
Revelation
Speller: Me? May I have the definition please?
Official: Certainly…
A short stubby girl
Who buries herself in books
So that she can avoid wondering
Why she isn’t skinny
Why she isn’t pretty
Who eats constantly
Because she is bored
Because she is frustrated
Because she is lonely even though
She has so many friends
A girl who chews gum
When she is nervous
Because smacking gum
Takes her mind off
Walking with her head hung down
A girl who does not like to brag
To be too smart
Because she wants people to like her
Afraid to speak her opinions
Because they might be wrong
Or they might make someone angry
Tugging at clothes
Trying to hide her own flesh
Hums to keep herself from
Hearing snickers and cruel jokes
Passed from mouth to mouth
As she travels down the hallway
Who is good at listening
To other people’s problems
Because she wants to know
That there are others who are
Just as lonely
Just as frustrated
Just as afraid
As she is.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Late Night Thoughts-3 AM
Another sleepless night
Come from my waking eyes
Awake in the dark
But when closed for a moment
A nightmare emerges
Teeth falling out
Being eaten alive
The dreams of a deranged slumber
Became an insomniac
Not knowing what to choose
Because either way, is a way to lose
It was never about him
No one wants to see
Sometimes just didn't know how to be free
Got help most times
But everyone gave up
Making the same mistakes again
Begging myself to avoid them
There's no way to win
Or make everyone love me
Apathy
An apathetic world turns its back
I sit here in the dark
To find my soul in this black
What did I do wrong, what is it I lack?
There isn't a choice
To be alone, or suffer the pain of loneliness
There is much to live for
When morning finally comes
But still stuck with this decision
That tears me apart
Pulling out my hair
My veins bulging from my head
I scream inside, fearing my chances are dead
Only a solution, with no substitution for delusion
I yawn, I sleep
In my heart, there are these secrets I keep
I can be wanted in one way
Or not wanted at all
It's a risk of the longest fall
But there is nothing more to do
These tears that I cry
Are no longer blood on my pillow
Another sleepless night
With alternatives to consider
Coming from my waking eyes
Awake in the dark
But when closed for a moment
The answers come, I believe.
-Diamond
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Underneath
Under my skin is my heart
Under my heart is my faded torn nightgown I wore for ten
years as it crept up my ankles, then knees, then thighs.
Under that is my mother who took out
the hem out not once or twice
but five times, inching the small seam carefully
because I could not leave behind anything I loved.
Under my heart is my father’s baseball mitt, dangling from my too small hand,
the smack and sting
of ball against palm, seconds before a boy ran past my base.
Under that is the baseball flung out of my hands at my father’s head for
no reason I remember now.
Under that is the silence floating between us
before he said slowly, quietly, “Get in the car.”
And under that is the gap between us now
can span.
Under my heart is my daughter's icy toes against my shin each dawn,
arms thrown tightly around my neck.
Under that is her whirling spin which makes her dizzy with joy
Under that is my fear she’ll remember only anger
for her exuberant hula hoop routine or
my curt, “Not now” when she
tried to show me her poem about wind and lonely dinosaurs.
safely
to shore.