It's not like in the movies
Where moments are made
by a man furiously scribbling backstage.
It's a lonely, cursed phone call
bearing this news that is a dagger
Thrust into the hearts of all.Read more »
The sound of crickets outside my window
Is repeated once,
the chirping taking on
a quality much like
Then it stops,
only for the call of the closest cricket
to continue the song.
She was born, lived, and died.
Friend was born, lived, and died.
She and Friend grew up together.
She and Friend loved being friends.
Friend and She were crazy together.
She and Friend cried as one.
Friend helped She. She helped Friend.
If Friend hurt, She was there.
If She hurt, Friend was there.
They were inseparable, Friend and She.
Friend and She went different ways.
She and Friend both grew up.
One day, Friend and She met.
She missed Friend. Friend missed She.
Neither had forgotten their childhood friendship.
They were born, lived, died: Friends.
Bah-thump. Bah-thump. Bah-thump. Bah-
Thump goes the box.
The truck drives away.
Bah-thump, Bah-thump, Bah-thump
Stepping out, a man-sized box
Occupies the porch.
Bu-thump, bu-thump, bu-thump
They sent it. Finally.
Straining to pull the tape off with my hands.
Bu-thump bu-thump bu-thump
It gives a little.
Rrrrrrip! And the tape is gone
I have it.
They told me I would be able to follow.
Thump thump thump thump thump
The galaxies, the worlds, the knowledge.
Compiled into this unassuming package
I look down.
And step inside.
A popular question indeed.
What if you had pulled out as soon as the light turned green
And that car, that car, hadn't seen
Had just kept driving and driving and driving into you
What if she hadn't been sick that day?
What if she had been in that classroom
with that shooter, that evil man,
that gun spitting a shower of death into a room of people
who hadn't begun to live.
What if he had signed up for that concert?
What if he had been there for the talent scout,
for the man who would fulfill his dreams,
the man who could take him out of the nightmare
that was, is, and will be his life.
What if we stopped wondering
What if we lived our lives to the fullest,
planning for the future,
living in the now,
And leaving the what if's
How can you document a human life?
How to find words for an indescribable emotion, the slight look that speaks volumes?
My words are nets, capturing much of the larger emotions and ideas
But it is the small ones that identify a person,
and those are the ones I cannot capture.
The curl of the hand around a pencil
A look of concentration.
We can capture so much, But
without a name to the person, they are the sam as millions
Who do the same thing.
It is the small things that our eyes just catch,
And our words cannot fathom
that create a human.
And it is our nuances
that make us different.
But not just dark,it's black. The color of death, a complete absence of color. I hear something shift behind me. I jump into a defensive stance, my small Swiss Army knife held out in front of me like a weak ward against them. I know they are here. I sense movement, and turn to it. Nothing is there. It's not safe here, in my clearing with too many trees to hide in and not nearly enough light to fight by. Turnig, I run, pacing myself for distance. The mulch crunches under my feet, springing me forward with every step. My muscles, tight with adrenaline-laced fear, want to run,to flee, and hide from the beasts. But I know that if I go faster, I will be dead from exhaustion before I get to my destination.
I finally reach the flat plain. In my starved state, it takes me longer than usual to realize my lack of cover, also meaning a lack of cover for them. Unless they were tunneling under me now. I look down, dreading the sight of the raised mound that would show their progress. The ground is as flat as everything else. I sigh, and focus on running a little bit faster. Something swoops low above my head. I ignore it at first, until i feel the familiar tiny metallic pull at my hair. I scream, and try to shake it off. This means they've found me, they'll take me back, they'll, they'll . . . Read more »
The worst part of grief is not the hiccuping, gasping sobs brought forth from 20,000 leagues under your deepest secrets.
Not the sympathy manufactured from people you never met
It's the deep weight in your chest that no doctor or surgeon can reach
The pain that you hide with that smile on your face Read more »
Maya stood at her disgusting orange locker. Under her breath she murmured "4 . . . now 8 . . . 51. Thank you for not sticking . . ." A trio of upperclassmen swaggered around the corner and down the hallway. She was a freshman, new to the school system, and alone in the hallway, so it was only natural for her ears to perk up at the word "pregnant." With her back to them, she continued to take out her books, listening all the while.
"So did you hear the Luce is pregnant?" His voice had the deep, low quality of a base singer.
"Naw, really?" The second one sounded like a mouse.
"Yeah! I know her sister, and she told me!" This third one sounded like the average, indestructible king-of-the-hill highschool guy.
Mouse spoke up. "Wow, can you see Nick being a dad?"
All three started laughing like Nick's fathering skills were the funniest joke they'd ever heard.
Maya bent down to get her books, purposefully turning sideways to the gang. Someone started whistling. She walked away before she could hear anything else, her mind reeling. Luce? Her friend, her only friend from middle school? Luce was the first one who'd bothered to speak to the new girl, saying that she knew how it felt to not know anyone. And now . . . . Read more »
I always know people before they know me.
I can see them, know about their friends and parties and gossip,
but they don't know me.
I'm the one you won't see when you walk in a room,
the one who sits behind you in five of your 8 classes,
the one named "That girl" and "whats-her-name" and "the quiet one"
I'm the oddity, the anomaly,
the one blessed and cursed with invisibility.
A few, a small few, sometimes see me
speak with me,
All those people who wish that they could be invisible?
They are the ones who look through me.
It is my turn. Each atom in my body wants to rebel, to run away, to forget the risk and play it safe. But mind beats matter, and it is my subconscious, trained to answer to the call of my name, that makes my feet push off the floor, and keeps my legs strong enough to hold me. The smooth silk of my gown rustles softly as I stand, eager to be seen in its smooth, graceful glory. I slowly pick up my tools. I cannot do this without them. The rosewood glistens in the llights; its visible beauty is no match for the audible ecstasy that it releases with the soft stroke of the horse hair. I can see them waiting for me, the conductor looking in my direction. I want, I need, to get away, to forget this dream. But a part of me knows that the risk of failure is worth the joy of feeling alive for those few short minutes. I take a step, and remember to smile. The audience sees a young girl in a beautiful dress, confident, ready, and willing to do her part. I know that that same girl, the girl that is me, sees herself as frightened, cowardly, thick-fingered and slow, as she always does just before it begins. But under the terror, there is a beautiful anticipation of those first few notes. The opening applause is like rain, rain on a day when it is falling so hard and fast that the sound covers everything. I grant a graceful smile to those who have applauded. A nod to the conductor, a smile to the concertmaster, and then there is no time to wait. I raise my violin, position my beautiful bow above the metallic strings, and that is all that it takes. Read more »
I know you see me
As I walk by
To be busy, in rush
in a rush.
But what you don't know
have lost something
Something infinitely more important
than an arm
See a person
who lost an arm
You hold the door.
If you see the person
who lost a leg,
you help them stand.
You see someone
Who has lost their friend
Their best friend
To another school,
Do you not
Simply sit with them
He smiles at me in the hallway. I am surprised and excited, so I rush off.
He sits next to me at lunch, of his own volition.
He asks me if I want to go to the football game with him. I say yes.
We are almost always together. He walks me to class and to the bus.
He takes me to the Santa Monica beach. I sit in the sand and draw a heart, with our initials in it. He takes my picture without my knowledge. As I turn to smile at him, a wave washes the heart away.
I see him with the lead cheerleader, talking.
I see the duo laughing, as if at a private joke.
I ask him about it. He says it's a project for school. But they aren't in any of the same classes or clubs.
I seehim going over to her house. He texts me later, saying that he needs some time.
February 14: Midnight
I break up with him in a text. I am crying. He never replies.
February 14: Afternoon
I go back to the beach where we went together. I say to the waves, "if only I had noticed that little warning...". I say to the sand, "thanks for nothing." I say to myself, "What a fine Valentine's Day this turned out to be."
See that beautiful blue butterfly?
By the time you noticed it,
It was already fleeing to a safer place
Was it a simple butterfly
Or was it a frightened fairy?
Look up at that dark shadow overhead
The one you assumed was a hawk,
Gliding silently in the noon day sun.
It was a predator,
but a bird, or proud dragon?
Watch the dolphins dance through the salty ocean waves
their tails slicing through the surf,
Was that a blob of floating seaweed,
Or the golden hair of a mermaid?
You''re watching a forest fire, consoling friends
In the midst of the fiery inferno, there is movement
That must have been a few trees falling
Though it looked like the wings of a phoenix
Are these myths truly
the fairytales of the ancients?
Or are they real creatures
Who's very being disputes our modern world?
The front door opened abruptly. A girl ran out into the dreary, rain-filled night. Her laughter made the streetlights seem brighter, and the eerie light that streamed from the windows felt warm and welcoming. She ran out into the middle of the street, laughing. The hems of her jeans dragged on the wet ground under her bare feet. In the center of the road, she stopped, and threw her arms out, as if attempting to embrace the world and everything in it. Then, grinning, she twirled around, inviting the rain to caress her pale face, to seep between her fingers, before falling to the asphalt below. as abruptly as she had started, she stopped, and fell to the ground, laughing joyfully.
The rain falls outside
falling faster, with more ferocity
back to the constant
I play the violin
but lots of people can say that
i enjoy reading
though that's often a characteristic of a writer
I like to laugh
most everyone enjoys laughter
I can keep my grades up
anyone who can take tests and pay attention can get an A
not my grades
not my laugh Read more »
Can be good
But most often
A growth in society
Leads to new people
With new ideas
It also leads
To more crime
A growth of population
Requires more houses
That cut away
At the flaming mountains
Of the fall.
There could be apartments
All wanting to live here.
Means more demand
Will want to be able
To visit huge malls
And shopping centers
With hundreds of stores
The new buildings
Will cut away
At the landscape.
In Twenty-three years
Will be forced to become
Forced to create more jobs
For more people
From Their lively summer green
To the forbidding winter white
Will they be
thinks that moving on
going to highschool
leaving the school
something to be looked forward to.
it is a rite of passage
a release from the old
the beginning of growing up.
It is new guys
It is those things
for me, as well...
But for me
moving past the innocence
leaving the clowning guys
for lewd ones
leaving the crazy friends
for frightening cliques
leaving the teachers I know and love
for those that are terrifying and strict.
it is my small annoyances
of uniforms and earrings and colored socks
morphing into fears
of what to wear in order to make peole like me
how not to spend the year in a corner
how to find classes,
keep my GPA high,
keep my social life in check,
that highschools are rumored to be dripping with.
it is facing my fears without backup,
without my friends behind me.
it is boy problems
without my walking ditionary of answers.
It is moving on,
all in the one word.
it is life
and everything in between.
but i will go on,
make new friends, Read more »
I think of him often
his laughing grin,
is kind words.
always a helping hand to reach
a smile to encourage
what is wrong with me?
but more than ever.
but more than before.
but never about joy, or peace.
but it's a fitful one, full of nightmares and fears.
but only when her tear ducts can no longer hold the pent up flood.
but not when she needs to,
never when she needs it most.
she sees things
not her dreams of the future, but fears, death everywhere.
and worry about the consequences of helping
but what are the consequences of
waiting, Read more »
A gloomy, gray day
A timpani roll plays overhead
Deep, Menacing, Foreshadowing
The sky darkens
Mother Nature becomes
The world takes on an eerie peace
A dangerous silence
Crashing down to Earth
Lightning cracks and shatters the sky
Yells and throws fire
Crying with fury Read more »
That girl you saw
You know the one
The one staring out the window hungrily
The one with eyes that had seen and gone through so much
Only to be defeated again.
The girl you saw
The one you ignored
The one that was begging, hoping, wishing, praying for you to look up
And save her.
The girl you saw
While walking through a bad part of town
The one who was your age
That girl was doomed.
Doomed to cater to the wishes of men Read more »