intrepid_heart's blog

I swore once that I would never leave any piece untitled. However, I have already recited this poem for a large crowd. After that it doesn't feel right to go back and name it.

I performed this on the Wednesday the13th at my school.

If you want to know the best feeling ever, it is when the person you write for doesn't pry and try to figure out if something they said caused you to write something. They give you full credit for it.

I keep the names of people that you love in my pocket,

Along with a list of things you cannot live without,

Because I hope that someday

I can be one of them.

There are too many apologies floating around in my head

and they remind me of you,

because you’ve always wanted me

to drape my world in shades of freedom.

I like to imagine you painting;

Dipping your fingers in creation,

Smearing ugly blobs onto the pages of my reality,

And generating characters that could set world-wide examples.

I write your words on my hands in my free time,

Wear them like the art that they deserve to be.

Because I hope to God that if I can decode them someday,

They will teach me how to love.

You are still thinking about him.

You realize it every time you search for his name in your chat list.

It's all right there, first and last,

and you laugh to yourself because he never knew

that you could have told him his first name if he had just asked you.

and you realize it when you look down and his name is written on your hand

in Sharpie-black letters that you tried to convince yourself

were not written lovingly,

and you realize it when you dream

of the way he would dance when he got excited.

The way he said,

"Loves it,"

when you had a brilliant idea,

and of all the fresh answers he would give to his own questions.

Because it takes a lot of thought-dwelling

for him to act like himself in your subconscious.

And you want to click on his name

and commence the longing

and you want to circle him in hearts on your skin,

but all the while yelling to anyone who fails to see him for who he is,

that "I have never been in love.

How do you expect me to explain an intimate relationship between me

and a friend/not-friend/not-lover-but-I-wish-that-the-option-weren't-so-wrong?"

[Beat]

Your dreams?

They're getting more intense.

You try   every   few   hours

to remember that first time he hugged you

just so you can have security in knowing that you will never forget. Read more »

It's only ever me,

getting in the way of me,

because every time you walk in the room,

you remind me that you're perfect

you remind me that I'm not you

you fill me with your voice and as I sit and write what you've asked me to,

I see your arms wave and your fingers form a gun

that's just about ready to aim.

But then I can hear your accent in my head,

the sound of the click of the trigger

and every piece of pain I have ever felt is being dumped on me

and I convince myself

that they were suspended there all along.

But that hope you grant to me

in rations so small I can barely pick them apart before I've used them up

for one night

on one moment before I go to sleep

on one second of impulse and passion and risk that I know I'll learn to regret someday,

that hope is my addiction.

Not the taste of decomposition in my mouth,

not the endorphins that find their way to every wound and dare them to heal seamlessly,

not your body or your smile but your words,

your example and your living, breathing persona.

That's what I need

that's what I have needed since I died again in September

and I can ask you where you've been all my life

but you will shake your head

and cover your ears

because you came running when I needed you.

I wish I could falter like you

pick myself up and crumble again

and again and a-get it right

and push everyone back in their seats, Read more »

As much as I'd like to believe that it's not true, I'm pretty sure I have not been this confused in a very long time.

How does it feel to wake up every morning knowing that your identity is not your own?

Is it depressing?

Is it exhilarating?

Is it ever confusing for two people who look ever so much alike, but have oddly unsimilar personalities?

I thought they were each other for almost an hour.

I thought there may be a chance that I wouldn't be walking back alone.

Or that I would wake up in the morning and love everything about my job.

But what do I do when I come back to my dorm?

I open my computer.

I look up his name, see where he was supposed to be at that time.

I didn't want that answer.

I was so wrong.

I am out of line,

out of body,

out of ideas.

  Read more »

This was part of an English assignment. I had to choose a poet and mimic their style/themes. I chose Ellen Hopkins because I love her dearly.

          Sometimes she finds the courage

          to look me in the eye.

          Sometimes she speaks,

          tells me endlessly that

she loves

          me. Tells me that

          if we didn’t have each other…

          she doesn’t know.

          I think I do, but still I find reason

to laugh

          with her, show her that

          I’m whole. That happiness

          is that emotion she can still feel,

          is what we feel when we

sing.

          But for some reason,

          she can’t seem to grasp the idea

          of living with a one-pieced body.

          I promise her that someday I will

sketch

          her a picture of all the chaos

          that goes on in my head.

          I keep that lie tucked away Read more »

what will happen to me when i run out of love to grant to indiscriminate people that i don't even really like at all but i feel like i need to so that maybe i can become close to them someday and they can fuse perfection into me when they're done evading me

what will happen to him when he realizes that he broke me on september twenty-first because my heart was already broken and that was the next-best thing besides breaking my ipod or all the pencils that i own

whoever said love is a beautiful thing never truly held it in their hands because love is fighting with yourself about whether you should talk to him or smile at him or say his name when he says yours while he greets you and never deciding in time and always being disappointed and giving up on him forever only to dream about him fifty-four days later

whats the point in being desperately in love with someone when no matter how deep you search you can't seem to find anything genuinely special about them

You'll have to follow me

because i won't haunt you

trying to be independent

but you're still alive somewhere

and therefore i need you

i need your heart beat strength heat

when all i am is cold.

Holderness School

i.

Tracking election results

Is like tracking Santa Claus before you go to bed

He’s halfway across the world

But still you find some inexplainable need

To watch him move away from you

ii.

When I get back to my dorm

I will find my anxious roommate

Having another meltdown

And I will turn toward the wall

And smirk my most “ignorant” smirk

iii.

My home state, of course,

Votes against me

But some things never change.

I don’t know if I’ll sleep tonight

Oh, no, not because

I am as directly affected

as other people may be

but because she will be there

and all the others,

sitting on my bed and talking

chattering, thinking I am alsleep

or maybe just not caring if I hear

their obsessive play-by-play.

their worry is the subject of my pride.

iv.

We cannot change the outcome

We cannot contribute to the results

It’s great that some people

Can become fully immersed in it

But if I suddenly care who runs the country

If I start to show an interest

In our coming-and-going future

Nobody think I’m cautious

They just call me a hypocrite.

That’s alright, though,

Because I won’t mind if your candidate wins

I just won’t be particularly thrilled

And I won’t hold it over you

If the man of my lesser opinion wins

I’ll just smirk at the wall

Like I always do.

v. Read more »

Now why is it

that I can only write in depth

when I am confused

and when I am clearly lying

to myself/to you/to everyone?

And when I sketch the people that I love

why is it

that they can they never exist

in my harmonious world of ruin

certainly they're living beings

to me/to themselves/to their children.

Deception coalesces readily with truth in a corrupt mind

perhaps I am just another harmless victim of uncertainty

He stumbles over to where she sits: a table spread with cheap glitter, cardboard party hats, foam cut-outs of various shapes and leaking tubes of glue that is not edible. He takes a few seconds to get his bearings. He tries to climb on one of the chairs, but he is too small. Be settles for leaning against the side of the table, hovering over her hands, hidden inside her ever-filling sketchbook. She smiles at his thick chocolate-breath, his subconscious little-kid wheezing.

He grabs at her sketchbook. Images of her drawings and poems and words of wisdom from the past year or so, dripping with glue and glitter and four-year-old saliva, flash before her eyes. She lifts the ratty tablet into the air, where his grubby little hands can't reach it. He frowns, climbs up on her lap.

She strokes his soft, staticky hair, waiting for him to settle down. As he leans into her chest she can feel his heartbeat, slowing gradually through his tiny frame. She wishes he could always be there, just like this, when things get bad. He lifts his arms out to the table again, and this time, she allows him to get a hold of her sketchbook.

She doesn't want to take away his innocence. She wants him to keep believing in the magic of the world, and in his future and love and happiness. She wants to shield him, so that he will never feel the way she often does. Most of all, she wants to know that he can continue to be honest with himself. Read more »

Why are there so many

undiscovered layers

to him

How does a pre-existing

language barrier

mislead

Where are the vibrations

of guitar strings

silent

Why am I so

underestimating, undeserving

unattentive

I innocently,

inwardly wonder

what it is you're seeing;

how your perception of the world

affects my image

in your eyes.

I want to be your friend;

you're preoccupied.

I want to be your world;

I'm too small.

I just want to watch you

in all your perfection;

you

won't

sit

still.

Now suddenly you're him again:

the boy I fell in love with

at first sight.

We have always been parallel

(I flash-back)

but somehow your line of vision

reaches outside,

just far enough

to cause waves in the system.

At last.

I am okay with this now

because you can hear my clicking keys

but you will never know my struggle.

It has a bit of underestimated satisfaction to it.

Looking back in my journal

I said the dumbest, most naïve,

most frustrated things

Like ‘i hate your hat because you leave it everywhere’

And how I gave it back to you that one time

And I vowed never to help you with it again…

But that was only because

You were the boy who charmed me

The boy who made my first weeks here thrilling

The one who sees himself Read more »

Sometimes it's less painful

to rebuild it

piece

by

piece

(and always dread the hour

when you will find out

which shreds you are missing),

than to throw it all away

and never quite know

if you're rid

of  every 

single

fragment.

You smile at me

and suddenly I'm okay.

Not okay

like I was at that concert,

but okay like

I know I have friends;

I know I have potential;

I know I have you.

Our hugs are awkward,

but comfortable.

You'll drop your books

just to wrap your arms

around me.

And then I speed-walk home

in the freezing darkness

to East, sweet East,

but I keep glancing

over my shoulder

at the spot where we kissed.

Your hand in my hair

behind my neck

running across my shoulder

comforted me.

Your quiet, easy panting

reminded me that

you were nervous, too,

and honest,

and real, if just

for a moment.

Your nose ran up and down my cheek.

Your thumb caressed

the skin on my thigh.

You pulled away easily, fluidly

and bit your lip...

And remembering it,

I was miles from everyone

but your kiss,

your ominous presence

kept me grounded.

And the way you smile

when our fingers are intertwined

lets me know

you dream of me, too.

Hide me away from the light you bear

and whisper that it's okay

when I know that it's all a mistake.

I need to feel your warm lips on mine

constantly inspiring me

teaching me to matter to the world.

WHy iS It nOT acCEptABle

TO juST go SOmeWHerE

And SCreAM

wiLL my HAir GRow BAck

IF i pULl iT All OUt

WilL HeR BloOD reGEneRAte

IF shE DraINS it ALl oUT

wiLL yoU LovE Me

iF I'm pREttY

And BAld

ANd bLEedINg

wILl yOU maKE me LIstEN

to HUrtFUl mUSic

I find it ironically unhumorous

how your simple apology

can make my heart sore.

Yes, sore.

As in I fail to get off the ground.

I writhe in pain at your beauty.

What is a white lie?

What is the purpose?

Would you have ignored me and lived?

Truth is wonderful,

truth is hurtful.

I could care less about the details.

Proof that you know my name

was enough to make my day.

Exercise-induced asthma can't stop me now.

Adrenaline propels me; now I am free-grinning.

When I get to the top of the mountain

we'll play peak-a-boo.

Yes, peak-a-boo

as in I can't get any higher

when I see your face at the top.

Now I find it unironically humorous

that I finally smiled at you

and now I can't calm down.

it was september 21st today.

i shall never forget the date.

love at first sight does exist

maybe you've never seen me

but you have seen me.

you have seen me without looking.

usually it is the other way around

but somehow you manage.

do you know who i am?

do you know that i pretend that it doesn't matter to me?

do you think i'm just avoiding you

or pretending not to realize you stood me up?

do you realize that i have loved you since i saw you?

i will pretend that it's cool that you have her

but it's not and you finally look at me when i'm confident

but that's when i'm at my worst.

all i ask is that you don't tell.

don't tell them about the love for you that you don't know about

don't tell them that you left me feeling like a fool

don't tell them what happened on september 21.

I am a horrible person when you grab my hand and I feel

nothing.

I can't show a love for you quite like some other girl

can.

Friends are not difficult to keep. Relationships are arduous to

make.

I am despicable. I am uncomfortable. There's an innocence inside of 

me.

You're great but I'm not great and we're not great but for me, don't

change.

why can i see your jacket but not your hair

why can i see your teeth behind no smile

why can i hear your words but not your voice

why can i see your eyes with no sparkle

how can i be crazy about you

when we've met once and you don't know my name

how can i be upset that our schedules would line up

in three classes if you weren't so perfect with everything you do

why do i say that you're perfect

when you can't possibly be

why would you care about me anyway

i wipe the tables you eat on

soon i'll be lighting your beautiful face

as you strut around onstage

i hope i get to know you and i am disappointed

but i may not believe in love at first sight again

i imagine sitting next to you

and pretending i don't remember your name

or flashing you a smile as you walk away

from a class i am about to enter, or vice versa

how can i look you in the eye

when i know you don't really see me

why must you torture me with art

you should know that i'm a romantic

sitting in french II and wondering

if i'll sit in your seat again next block

i wonder if i meant to take your hat

because it was my one chance to talk to you

and then i smiled at you but you looked confused

i won't be discouraged even though you're clueless

but still i believe in love at first sight

even if you don't

...I fell in love today.

Oh, no, I have,

Oh, yes, I did,

I fell in love today.

'Twas love at first sight

Or second, perhaps,

For he gathered another

To mind.

I knew him at once,

And loved who he embodied,

So it was destined for me

To fall a second time.

He reminded me of an angel

That I knew in my heart;

Beautiful. Wretched.

Perfect.

He came to assembly;

My heart led my eyes to him.

He quickly evaded them

And was gone forever.

But alas, he reappeared

A third time, in my soul

As he climbed the stairs

To sit with my grade.

He is the love of my life, my savior,

Reincarnated in my high school.

Oh, no, I have,

Oh, yes, I did,

I fell in love all over again,

Today.

You and I and me may not coexist

but that's okay because I can tell that we are similar enough

Our times do not coincide

but that's okay because we are soul mates

I've been hurt by the ones I love

but that's okay because I have still managed to love them

People mistake me for someone who is flawless

but that's okay because they will all find out that I am not

Sometimes I have nightmares

but that's okay because they balance out the daymares

I get upset sometimes

but that's okay because sadness can be soothing

I cannot write in concentrated lower-case letters

but that's okay because I can't stay focussed anyway

Sometimes my eyelashes are too big

but that's okay because they don't brush against my glasses

I feel oppressed sometimes

but that's okay because it's better than feeling depressed

I've got this picture of a couple in a city and it's night-time and there's a taxi and it's snowing and they're kissing right in the street

but that's okay because I don't know them

Everyone expects me to be responsible and do the right thing

but that's okay because I'm good at faking

There's a lot of apologies floating around in my head

but that's okay because I don't think they can escape

If you and me and I have met then we have done the impossible Read more »

She would love to be able to tell someone

that they are the only reason

she would ever choose not the leave.

(She doesn't have one.)

She wishes she had the opportunity

to look you in the eye and tell you

"I love you I love you I love you to pieces with every part of me."

(But that would make her weak.)

If she could go back in time she wouldn't change her own life

she would change yours and yours and yours

and protect you from ever feeling pain.

(But that would make you weaker than she ever was.)

She wants to look at perfect things and people and ideas

and not imagine how glorious the rush would be

to destroy everything about them.

("I promise I'm not a psychopath... yet," she whispers.)

i cannot get rid of that feeling inside me that you were always too good to be true and maybe you were a little too mature and fun and perfect for me

but beauty has a price, i suppose.

i always thought that i did not deserve you and that's why we would never be together and that it was too much of a risk to admit that i was head over heels in love with you

but now it's the other way around.

one bad choice is all i need to know about before you're out of the picture because you're not sorry and i thought you were strong but apparently not

so hold it over me, why don't you.

go ahead and hold your head high above everyone else's and flaunt your pretty face and your muscles and act all the while like it doesn't mean a thing to you that every girl in the world has a weakness for you and then try and break away from it by trying out dark secrets until you find one that suits you

and pretend like you don't even care.

this night

the air is still because it's too focused on

thinking about you

is the last thing i need right now.

mark the cell

where he who commits a crime will spend his Read more »

Do you remember way back when I said that our voices were in love with each other?

The hour after I gave up on you for the hundredth time?

...

I think they still are.

---------------------------------

It was the tint on your voice that made it hard for me to continue singing. I was soiling the beauty of it.

It was the way that you laughed that made me want to allow myself to listen to your music for the first time in five months.

I hate how when I try to type the word "hard" to describe the situation, it ends up as "heart."

---------------------------------

Just reminisced on the first blog post I had written for you. About you. However you want to look at it. It gives me the shivers because I can hear you right now, loud in my head. I can't understand your words because they are so far away from what I've been dreaming about for seven whole months now. I feel guilty, and confused, about where we left off. Where we've gotten to without the connections we once shared. You make me feel uncomfortable and alone and... fantastic.

That is all for now and I promise... but I may or may not keep that promise.

It was obvious from the very beginning that the freshman girl liked me. It was also quite obvious that there were about a handful of people going out of the way to get us together. It must have been more obvious to her than to me, though, that I was not interested. Rumors can be blamed, I suppose. Once someone comes up with a new opinion and shares it with someone else, it is immediately considered as Truth in the halls. This was how every single person in the school, whether they knew me personally or not, was suddenly included in the decision-making processes of my personal life. Once the idea got out that me and that other girl, the junior that I had never spoken to before, should have a "thing," everyone was dialling in and voting for her over the freshman girl. They liked the drama of the situation. I, on the other hand, did not. That is all I have to say. If you wanted a heart-wrenching confession of how I loved the freshman girl and wished she hadn't given up on me, that's obviously not what you're getting here. Because, yeah, she was cool. She had a nice smile. She was shy, and smart. But I guess I always knew it could never work out. So I moved on... mostly.

-Him. That guy. The one you thought you knew everything about.
 

i wish i could tell her that i cry even harder when she's the one cheering me up.

i wish i didn't have to hold back tears every time i imagine her voice. or when i hear her name. or when i see her in the little things others do, and know that they cannot live up to what she gave me. or whenever i remember.

i wish she could wrap her arms around me and simply swallow me up. because if i disappear into her, then maybe one of us will survive alone.

i regret concealing the words i always think to myself: i love her more than i love myself. i miss her so much it hurts.

Lately I've been getting this crazy idea like I am expected to write about things that might interest other people. Apparently it's a pretty common practice among these so-called "poets." I mean, a whole lot of them actually enjoy what they do because it allows them to seek out people who might understand their scrambled thoughts. I suppose maybe I managed to do that for awhile. But then my personality always gets in the way of that, and I start rambling about things that no one cares to read. Maybe I'm doing that now. But maybe it doesn't even matter because I have been labeled. I sure hope so; it would save people a lot of trouble and translating. Not to mention time. Because I don't write about bunnies or spring or even what happens to me on a daily basis. I write my real thoughts. I only post them online so maybe people will understand that I am crazy and that's why I act and think the way I do. Or maybe if something were to happen to me someday it would let everyone who thought they had labeled me correctly know that they were wrong about me. That I'm not some goody two-shoes who does nothing but study. Because that's not me. All the free time I have is devoted to obsessing over things that are not normally obsessed over. I wonder if there is a name for when you don't have a particular personality disorder, but in fact, your whole personality is screwed up. But I'm okay with that. All I really mean to say is that I don't know how to write like a poet. My English teachers have always called me a poet. That was when I really tried to write to please others. When I finally gave up, I became this. And I have loved living every second of my nonsensical, chaotic nothing. If poetry was meant to be beautiful, then I guess I was never meant to write it.