venting

Inhale the rainforest

exhale a sandstorm.

I must have a color deficiency,

a malfunctioning organ that sucks the vivacity

from the landscape.

Maybe I should drink paint and fill myself with color:

lilac fingertips and vermillion bones.

Maybe then I would feel quenched.

I have drunk a lake and slept for a week and eaten a feast

to put forth nothing but infection and scraped knees

and shadows beneath my desperate eyes.

The acupuncturist dabbed scent on my sternum,

told me to breathe it in with my skin.

I thought of my pores gasping for air

like fish on a beach

and how breathing is overrated anyway.

She held my pulse in her hands and listened

to how faint it was, how fragile I really am

beneath strong hips and tough words.

She prescribed me forced relaxation and bitter pills.

I am not a Free and Easy Wanderer, I’m sorry.

I’m choking on the paint bleeding from my lips,

I am a gory canvas with a smile that I save

for the people who worry about me.

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

I drink water to keep the blue in my eyes from pooling away;

I drink paint to feel like I’m still alive.

so here i am again sittting still while you,

you swerve and dodge madly in front of me and i could maybe raise

one eyebrow and say, "Where are you going?" in a sarcastic, slightly patronizing,

what-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing tone of voice but maybe i shouldn't.

here i am sitting still and trying very hard not to become

the bad-guy here, trying very hard not to be angry so that your ridiculousness

will be all your fault, and wondering why i should bother because you're going to be

all weird-and-rushed-and-scared-of-me no matter what i do.

i am sitting here still 

and watching you shrink. it is difficult

to tower when your confidence is crawling next to my foot

& i could stomp it with no effort at all, even if i won't.

so here i am sitting still across the desk from your insecurities that came to call

and kind of finally kind of telling them that they're not my problem anymore,

or shouldn't be. how can you be sorry for anything

if you keep on doing it?

here i am sitting & fidgeting and trying to throw you a what-the-f*ck-is-going-on

sort of expression but not wanting to come across as too agressive but knowing it won't matter anyway but trying again to think of something that might help

but coming up empty. 

here i am standing awkwardly while you

teeter/totter/sort of try to be nice and i try not to look

too damn confused but know i'm failing and i know what is going on

& now you're leaving the room with nothing  resolved because i'm just that scary.

  Read more »

I won't try to present
myself in metaphor,
because I have no metaphors left for
this.

Is that what makes a challenge:
Influx and pull-away,
visions cracking
and clumping off like
lava lamps,
refusing to unify?

Maybe I'm born to
gather pieces;
to section off
the lumpen aspects,
the undesirables,
and collect them in a sieve
through which the meaning can flow,
siphoned out like
good tsadziki.

He was wrong; I'm not like
him; I'm a gatherer,
while he hunted
baby doves for sport.

Warring aspects don't become me.
I ask you, collect my selves:
I'm sick of being fractioned.

Dorothy doesn't know who I am.

I can't tell you how many times I've been reminded. I wouldn't be able to count them all. I've been told directly since I was young- eleven, maybe twelve- and was given more detail around freshman year.

My mother would kneel in front of me before we went into her house across from the cemetery where Calvin Coolidge is buried and whisper, "Remember to be patient."

And I always would.

She would sit on the porch when we came- we live a whiles away from the Red House, as mom calls it- and watch the sunset. It's always a beautiful sunset. The pines and birches frame the bottoms of the purple-orange clouds that come with the spring showers and fall storms. I've never been to that house in the winter- the Red House is stuck in summer in my head.

She would sit on a homemade and hand-painted bench and talk.

"Living alone is such a bore. Do you live alone?"

"No, gram." Read more »

The quarter is ending tomorrow. The third quarter is ending tomorrow!

After tomorrow, no more health class.

No more March.

Fourth quarter.

It doesn't seem right. The past three quarters have gone by way too quickly. And they've been so good. And I don't want them to end. And-and-

It's been a year.

I think that I can officially say that it's been a year.

I will admit, sometimes the days are hard to get through. Some days are just so hard to get through.

But I cope. I do alright.

If something is not quite the way it should be...

I've changed. I've grown. I have heroes. I have love. I have urges to jump up and give a giant hug to everyone who walks into the classroom. I have joy.

Fourth quarter.

Lately the days have been getting harder and harder for me. Just like last year.

Yes, I can cope now.

(I think.) Read more »

Today
Has been the worst,
Blackest,
Coldest,
Most depressing day
EVER!
I got up,
My cell phone was missing.
My brother had a tantrum,
And ate my Easter candy.
I had a test in my first class,
And I am sure I missed questions,
I had to memorize a French poem
In less than 3 hours,
While still paying attention
In most of my classes,
I didn’t catch any crawdads
AGAIN! Read more »

Please Ignore This

Ok, I warned you. If you didn’t ignore this, as I so nicely and politely asked, then you are in for the BIGGEST spazz attack of your life. *it might be entertaining…* This blog is just me rejoicing after finally making my decision on if I will go to the party where the guy I really like will be at a cabin by the lake, or if I’m gonna see Michael Buble.

OMG!!!! Read more »

I walk forward,
Hatchet in hand.
My unsuspecting prey,
Doesn’t hear my every foot step,
Or My heavy,
Pain filled breathing.
Even with steal-toes boots,
Just so when it’s dead,
I can stomp,
And jump on it
To rid myself of the rest of my anguish.
I must get rid of the one thing causing me
So much pain.
I must destroy my computer,
The one thing
Separating me from the world, Read more »

Ok, I had a poem here, but I don't think it would be good because I was just venting about something.... I just had a bad day today, and I don't feel like insulting the population, so I erased it... Sorry... here is a poem to make up for it.

Roses are red,
and sometimes pink,
I love the world,
so here is a wink. ^_- *a wink*