Life

Soundtrack of Life

Tune of the wind

Howling fiercely

In beautiful faces

Whistling a rhythm. Read more »

She frolicks in fields of fire

tiptoeing on dandelions gone to seed.

Careful not to step on shards of broken hearts

she’s a free spirit wandering upon clouds of bliss Read more »

I wrote this a while ago, so it's not quite up to par with my new standards... But still, hope you like it! Read more »

I like white snow falling from a blue sky

when the dust sparkles in your hair

like the way pixie dust glitters.

I like Sunday mornings

when the sun gently awakens you

like the silence that fills the gaping hole left by an alarm clock buzz.

I like long drives and asphalt below rubber

when words flow easy and conversation never ends

like a silence of years has been broken.

I like warm fires in cold Februarys

when the flame licks the snow goodbye

like the flickering reflection in your eyes.

I like the lapping waves of the endless ocean on white sand

when the cool blue sea tickles your toes

like the shells drifting onto shore.

I like starry summer nights with the moon illuminating nature

when your soul feels minute in the vast universe

like the single star twinkling upon trillions.

I like the pages filled with historic scents from a book

when the rain patters on a metal roof and the blankets swallow you

like the dark clouds against dim lights.

  Read more »

Held together by silver safety pins and burning copper wires, shining in the dimming evening

Suspended from a mast by taut ropes yet to be cut loose, sailing into an angry red and smoky orange sunset.

All I can know, all I have known, this.

Abscence of warmth from the moon. Stars are merely a sprinkling of stars. Pinpricks of light.

Deprived of wonder. Moon, stars, endless stretch of soft blanketing sky--

but that is all they are.

Remember?

Who is this "I"?

Remember? She wrote about all with wonder when she was young. Stars, moon, sky.

Boats sailing on seas, sunsets thrown over rippling waves, and even,

even what it feels like to be held together by safety pins, shoulder blades tightly strung with burning wires. Even that.

Tears sting my mind but won't come to my eyes. Tears require fractional amounts of wonder, too--slipping pearls,

soft skin in the dark, alone--

Yes, that is "life" as "I" would have defined it.

That is what's essential to be "alive".

New Years' resolutions are kind of a national joke. In fact, I just read a joke on the Internet: "I'm going to start a gym called Resolutions. The first two weeks of the year it's a gym, and after that it turns into a bar." It made me laugh. Think about it. You never hear anyone in, say, July, telling you that they can't do something because they resolved to quit for the New Year.

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.

I'm just a daydreaming girl

with no sense of direction.

North, South, East, West;

which way is the best?

Days lie before me,

leaving me excited but still disoriented.

North, South, East, West;

backwards progress on this quest.

I fear I'll make wrong choices;

I want happiness, not regret.

North, South, East, West;

my heart aches beating through my chest.

My arrow's compass diappeared

as I lost myself in this mess.

North, South, East, West;

in what life goals will I invest?

No one's around to answer my questions

or at least give me directions.

North, South, East, West;

Wrong paths leave me second guessed.

A never ending climb

on steep, upward stairs.

North, South, East, West;

My frazzled veins prove to be stressed.

Passion dragged me like a dog

to the ground, away from what I knew.

North, South, East, West;

Playing it safe won't pass this test.

Control is an issue, 

but is letting go the solution?

North, South, East, West;

Not looking before leaping, have I progressed?

Aching pressure, now I can't

start off where I left.

North, South, East, West;

Fear and worry make my time pressed.

My eyes close for me,  Read more »

The cat's word, enjoyment, as, eyes closed, it leans up to rub its sleek head into the palm of my hand. It has the same face when it lies sprawled in the stripes of sunlight and shadow, bars thrown across the floor, nose pressed to the window.

Or the word of the girl when her friend, sister, mother reaches to stroke her hair, for no other reason than because they connect in simple bonds of love and the sunlight and oceans churning in their heart cannot be expressed, but both know it. It's unexpected pleasure, lingering. The girl will remember, and later, it times when tears prick her eyes and the world seems to stab at her throat, she will swear she can still feel the soft hand lingering at the nape of her neck. And it will be something to hold onto; it will be her salvation. It will whisper to her on nights when she lies awake staring at the stars and thinking of what lies beyond. It will squeeze her heart when she is so thoroughly alone.

The word of the baby rocking to sleep, nestled in a swing or in strong, warm arms, trusting without thinking about trust, floating on cradling currents and the flowing voices of clear song. Drifting off peacefully without giving a thought to waking. Or aging. Or dread of what is yet to come, what moutains to drag themself over on bloody hands and knees, no, none of that. Such things are banished here. All that exists--rocking, lightness, peace. A stream of song. Read more »

I see her in my mind's eye, a little girl with gold hair that flies behind her in the wind while she runs up this very road, the dirt road that has always been 'home' but doesn't always feel like it. I plod awkwardly in the cold, so cold that my purple boots make the snow squeak, so cold that my fingers and toes are biting, but she fairly flies regardless of weather. She runs when the snow catches in the ends of her hair, when the rain turns it to dripping ropes as it creates a water web over her soft, pale skin, when the wind whips bright fall leaves all around her and when the full laziness of summer heat has set in, when it's green all around, long grass dancing languidly in the occasional breeze, and there are sounds from crickets and birds and the neighbor's lawnmower, and there are posicle stains at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes are fast and eager, her grin wide and easy and as quick to show up as her flaming temper when she senses that justice is at stake and there is nothing she can do, that giving in is not an option. But she's not angry now. I've been talking to her all day as I knelt in the snow by the stream. Talking, watching, crying, sighing, thinking, wishing, hoping. All to her. Now I tell her the last thing there is to say, that I love her. She's heard it before, but this is the first time she'll know that someone means it. I do love her. She's perfect and imperfect, human, but she burns so brightly. I do love her--fiercely, defensively. I love her as one comes to love a story character in a favorite book--observing, but understanding. Read more »

Sing to me,

and with each note

your voice strokes,

I become a little sadder 

because it is painfully beautiful.

Those words were

riding bareback on a

horse

galloping in the foam

of the sea

at midnight.

Those sounds were

the training coming into the station;

the final stop of the night,

picking up all of the people

that belong 

somewhere else

at midnight.

Especially the girl with the

sad eyes,

looking scared as the 

train sighed,

pulling into the station

at midnight.

Those feelings were

the girl diving backwards

off the boardwalk

into the ocean

that no longer roared.

The pulsing silence

in her ears

became louder

as she held her breath

at midnight.

Sing to me,

and with each note

your voice strokes,

I become a little sadder

because you are resurrecting phantoms

I thought my soul had forgotten

at midnight.

You had icicles for eyelashes, 

but I was so cold and alone.

My judgments may have been off, 

but I trusted that being with you

would bring me warmth and company.

I burrowed myself into the hollow of the tree,

shifting about; unable to find myself comfortable,

but at least I was no longer in the snow,

wandering back and forth,

retracing footsteps that had already been

blown away

by the selfish winds.

You ruffled your feathers

and flew away.

The lights went dark, 

and my safe hollow

became a prison.

Today I learned that

it is not the bones that ache,

it is all of the flesh,

and nerves, and life

in between.

We are just a mess of bones

held together by: others that care,

random acts of kindness, emotions, 

love, and true feelings

that run so deep

they scare you.

There is no such thing as thick skin;

some people are just better

at hiding their emotions

than others.

My palms are open,

my heart is open

and my doors are open

to you and your words

which will probably fill me

with no good.

My thoughts are closed, 

my veins are closed, 

my eyes are closed;

I am still waiting for you

to wake me

from my sleeping beauty nightmare.

I sprinted 

too fast

for once.

It wasn't a race this time.

I rushed

and now,

I want to go back.

I recall 

smiling.

I remember

laughing.

Memories of only love,

and being loved.

Eyes closed;

face to the sun.

Summer.

When everything was okay at the kitchen table

and everything else

didn't matter.

Untaintedly lovely

Fiery brilliance of your soul

Musty great bushes

Of trampled plans

To talk to you

In the web

Of my imagination

I could listen to you everyday

For all of them

Your face, aligned with grace

Captures my eyes

Okay, I get it. But, really, why?

Just when I thought my life couldn't get any harder, someone else decides to throw down.

I am not looking forward to next week. Last week was bad enough. 

It was the second time I have held the hand of someone as they drew their last breath, as they spoke their last words. 

At the funeral though, people kept telling me and mom that, that is a gift. From who?

We both looked at each other, like, "what did you just tell us? Really? How was that helpful?"  Anyway, we've dealt with all that comes with the passing of a life, and the responsibilities.  Mom, definitely, a lot more than me. And, I know just by looking at her, she is exhausted, and I can't help her.  She's been there for me, when no one else has.  So, why does she always get 'tapped" by friends and family to be the responsible one to deal with things? We just emptied a house of every memory, just to get another phone call, to deal with another.

So, we are leaving for I don't know how long to deal with more life-ending events. This sucks. I know it happens, and it is a part of life, but this illness and death stuff is really hard, when no one else steps up to deal with it.

I guess I am proud of mom for being there when no one else will, but I don't want to leave home, but home is with her. Leaving is the hardest thing to do.

Done receiving

And believing

Now leaving

No longer decieved

Or any more frost heaves

Only memories of theives

Done retrieving

And believing

Just leaving

Lives so interweaved

So many things to grieve

In utter disbelief

Done believing

Maybe even achieving

Gone, gone, leaving

Done receiving

And believing

Now leaving

No longer decieved

Or any more frost heaves

Only memories of theives

Done retrieving

And believing

Just leaving

Lives so interweaved

So many things to grieve

In utter disbelief

Done believing

Maybe even achieving

Gone, gone, leaving

Missing home, where I knew love

Was it easier to get disposed of?

Stop thinking you're really offering help

With words that are of a rabid whelp

Life once pleasant and serene

Obliterated by your daily hateful routine

I know who you really are

And I forever carry the scars

As I pick up the pieces and start my life anew

I plan to wash you away with a strong shampoo

Give your assault on my life a rest

I'm passing yet another stress test

No need to hurt me any longer

I will survive and  just get stronger

Picture this.

You're on a cliff. A metaphorical cliff. A very sheer, vertical, metaphorical cliff which is also wet with something that, if it was a real cliff, would probably be water but in this case is probably alcohol. Anyways. Your left hand is anchored securelyto a piece of rock that is sticking off the cliff. This rock is your best friend, and you know that she will always be there to offer you advice, listen to your drunken and/or just plain angry rants, and entertain you with Green Day videos. You never fight with her and she is by no means the kind of person who would decide you're not good enough for them, which is why the rock that is her is connected firmly to the cliff face. Read more »

There is something about being with a group of girls that makes me a giggly, almost-self centered bitch.

Something about being with my friends that makes me into someone I'm not. 

And finally, I have realized what they mean by, "It's so hard to be yourself in high school," even though I'm not quite there,

finally, I am understanding things about life. 

Sometimes, that makes me want to turn back, rewind the tape, back it up and pretend I don't understand anymore. Because it was so much easier to not understand. Because searching for, or imagining the answers gives me so much more pleasure, than knowing them.

There's something about being a different person, with each person I meet, that makes it impossible to be anyone at all. I have to choose favorites. "Ok, who am I willing to tune out and be a different person than they're used to?" Sometimes I have no choice. (Like when I'm with my friends, and, yes, their boyfriends are there, and, yes, my common sense switches off; who knew it could even do that?) It's when I just automatically do it, is when I turn into a stupid teenager, something I swore I would never do. 

How do you figure out who you are

when you're someone different

with every person?

Live each day to its full
take hold of that special someone
uphold that bond for what its worth
stand strong with its love
you never now what tomorrow will bring
so live each day to its fullest

end each day feeling accomplished
cherrish what it has brought you
its wind will never blow again
so rem inis in its memories
enjoying its good times
find an end to each day feeling accomplished

endure each day with strength
perservere with courage to hold true
hardships are just a small riddle to solve
take yesterdays knowledge
and deliver todays wisdom to the world
take it up to endure each day with strength

a day is as long we make them
we fill them with what we must reach
picking the different fruit of life from its trees
finding our serenity in its lights and shadows
shaping each day with our own creation
with this day, a day that was as long as we made it

The carefree days when I was young,
Exuded the vibrancy of life.

Standing on a hilltop overlooking the ocean
I felt empowered; connected to the world of life.

As I grew older, the world grew greyer
And I pondered the meaning of life.

The sky hailed bullets of pain and fury,
I hid my face, hiding from life.

Then a sunshine smile pierced through the clouds
And I learned again to love my life.

Aging with my sunshine companion,
I sat on the porch and absorbed the rays of life.

As lines carved tributaries in my paper complexion.
I grew feeble and counted down the days of life.

My skin began to glow with pallor,
Draining the vibrancy of life.

I feel there isn’t enough time

To share to this world

Everything I have to offer for it.

So I’ll live life strong

Without a fight to prove

That this is where I belong

Strange how

suddenly your brain

can go in five different directions but your body

can only go in one so

slow...

down...

        down...

                                     down, dearie

you can't be

everyone's everything you can't be,

because your heart is still

breaking and you have to fall...

back...

          back,

                         back down

to earth, (I have to

                         back down) 

to earth...

still,

spring is coming.

(I am infuriating.)

Twist twist twist

twist twist twist

twist twist twist

as I braid myself a new

bookmark I wonder if the fates

aren't knitters but braiders and this

life thing is a lot simpler than we think and instead

of stitches and needles and a ball of

yarn that is waiting to be cut it's just

three strands of yarn that have already

been cut and tied and all there is to

life is

twist twist twist

it seems almost too simple and we have

been taught that everything is more complex than

it seems that there is no such thing as a free lunch

and usually they're right it's rarely that easy sometimes a

cross on the path is simply two sticks that

happened to fall on top of each other and a shooting

star is just a chunk of rock I think it would be in

our nature, a certain irony residing deep in

our bones if life was so easy as

twist twist twist.