Well, I just got a Wordpress not long ago, and so I'm posting there now. I also imported all my stuff from here including any comments you have made. So, go ahead and check it out:
www.thatlittlenotebook.wordpress.com
Friday, September 19, 2008
Sunday, August 31, 2008
.:Snippets:.
Well, I haven't written any poetry/songs to almost-completion recently. So, here are some snippets of recent--and not-so-recent--ideas.
We'll start with something probably a year and a half old? The rest are probably only a couple months old at most.
_________________________
~I think I said this before
I don't want to hear these conversations anymore
Continual forgiveness of a reacurring sin
Is weighing on my heart {My heart, oh so thin}
My hands are tied
This forgiveness bind me to
Forget what I thought of you
_________________________
Had you been there
{Waiting for the smile,
Reassurance.}
Under my window where your shadow
Should be standing--
Then you would know
_________________________
In the beginning I was created
And now I'm allowing
Myself to become
Outdated
_________________________
Oh, anonomous answer website
Do you ever feel wrong
In always doing what is right?
_________________________
Stop this pain
Stop this violence where it starts
It's spreading through my body--
You never said "I'm sorry"
Stop the deaths
The bitter gunmen in the hall
They are inheriting our misfortune
Because we never say we're sorry
_________________________
We dealt the same cards
Time after time
With the same result to the
Very last time
And why should we expect
To get anything other
Than what we already have
_________________________
Okay, here's something else old:
This is the last page
Fill it as best you can
The man who knew too much
Knew when this page came
What did he do--
Knowing this is the last page?
_________________________
And this next thing is not nearly finished. And it needs more revision.
The message said, "Wish you were here now
"It's the busiest of times,
"But I'm taking these few moments to write
"Like I told you I would
"And you know my word is good--
"Even without a promise"
Oh, how I wish . . . oh
How I wish
As you signed your name
That I could have been there
~To hold you hand
Fleeting life is precious, my friend
Never do we know
{This barrier comes to take}
Our grasp away
Oh, how I wish!
Oh, how I wish!
It was me there--not you.~
No response was planned
For you were coming home then
And I didn't know then
What now compels me to fill
All of these pages
With undecipherable, red writing
That will never heal
Your wounded sister, will never return
Your soul
~To hold you hand
Fleeting life is precious, my friend
Never do we know
{This barrier comes to take}
Our grasp away
Oh, how I wish!
Oh, how I wish!
It was me there--not you.~
And I will not wait until Saturday
To try understanding
What sewn faces can never say
And why the unspeakable happened today
Oh, how I wish . . . oh
How I wish
When God heard your name
He had a different plan
Oh, how I hate . . . Oh,
How I hate!
Time and distance
Heartbeats and breathing
What they will separate
And all they have canceled
We'll start with something probably a year and a half old? The rest are probably only a couple months old at most.
_________________________
~I think I said this before
I don't want to hear these conversations anymore
Continual forgiveness of a reacurring sin
Is weighing on my heart {My heart, oh so thin}
My hands are tied
This forgiveness bind me to
Forget what I thought of you
_________________________
Had you been there
{Waiting for the smile,
Reassurance.}
Under my window where your shadow
Should be standing--
Then you would know
_________________________
In the beginning I was created
And now I'm allowing
Myself to become
Outdated
_________________________
Oh, anonomous answer website
Do you ever feel wrong
In always doing what is right?
_________________________
Stop this pain
Stop this violence where it starts
It's spreading through my body--
You never said "I'm sorry"
Stop the deaths
The bitter gunmen in the hall
They are inheriting our misfortune
Because we never say we're sorry
_________________________
We dealt the same cards
Time after time
With the same result to the
Very last time
And why should we expect
To get anything other
Than what we already have
_________________________
Okay, here's something else old:
This is the last page
Fill it as best you can
The man who knew too much
Knew when this page came
What did he do--
Knowing this is the last page?
_________________________
And this next thing is not nearly finished. And it needs more revision.
The message said, "Wish you were here now
"It's the busiest of times,
"But I'm taking these few moments to write
"Like I told you I would
"And you know my word is good--
"Even without a promise"
Oh, how I wish . . . oh
How I wish
As you signed your name
That I could have been there
~To hold you hand
Fleeting life is precious, my friend
Never do we know
{This barrier comes to take}
Our grasp away
Oh, how I wish!
Oh, how I wish!
It was me there--not you.~
No response was planned
For you were coming home then
And I didn't know then
What now compels me to fill
All of these pages
With undecipherable, red writing
That will never heal
Your wounded sister, will never return
Your soul
~To hold you hand
Fleeting life is precious, my friend
Never do we know
{This barrier comes to take}
Our grasp away
Oh, how I wish!
Oh, how I wish!
It was me there--not you.~
And I will not wait until Saturday
To try understanding
What sewn faces can never say
And why the unspeakable happened today
Oh, how I wish . . . oh
How I wish
When God heard your name
He had a different plan
Oh, how I hate . . . Oh,
How I hate!
Time and distance
Heartbeats and breathing
What they will separate
And all they have canceled
Friday, August 8, 2008
I met Hare Krishna at a Water Park
So, I went to the water park today. Originally, my friend Heather and I were going to a different one, but then it turned out no one else was and we decided on a less expensive option. We finished swimming around the same time as a large group of kids—thirty something. They were gathering in the parking lot as Heather and I waited for her sister to arrive, and we noticed their shirts said “Krishna” on the front, circled by smaller words. After a couple minutes of mingling by us they moved towards their vehicles on the other side of the parking lot. Now, I had been sitting there, thinking I should talk to them, but was too shy/afraid to approach someone. I was going to leave it be, but Heather said “that’s sad.” I asked her, and she meant that it was like a huge youth group event for them . . . but it was false. So, I asked her if we should go over there and talk to them and she said sure. Since I went to Dare2Share in February I knew kind of how I would talk to them.
We approached a girl and I asked her what Krishna was. She started to answer and then grabbed one of her friends, who in turn grabbed another. They said he was God, opalescent and everything good—that they learn like 72 different qualities. One girl said “but there are like 400” and another said, “No, there isn’t. He just only told us that many.” That’s what the small words were around the word Krishna. Stuff like “strength of the strong,” “intelligence of the intelligent.” By this time there was a small semi-circle in front of the two of us. Not long after a mother came over and started talking with me.
One of the first things I asked is if there was a beginning or end to their God, and they said no. They began to say how it is hard for our minds to comprehend that since we are limited to time, and I said that I believe God has no beginning or end. They were still kind of talking about the qualities of Krishna, but somehow the subject got on how one needs to give love to God. When I asked if it was because he loved us, the kids said yes. From this point on it was pretty much just the mom and I talking back and forth and some of the kids even left the little crowd who was listening. She said something that implied life before life on earth and I asked if that meant that they existed before they were born here, and she said yes. That they were beings in what was very hard to understand as her description of heaven, with God (Krishna.)
She said that Krishna created the earth for us . . . and we have some inward desire to experience the things that happen here. This part was rather vague. But what they were not vague about was that when they came in contact with “matter” they were stained, blemished and now had to earn the way back into “heaven.” I specifically asked if we had to earn the way, and she said yes. Basically, humans re-incarnate until they reach that certain state in which they give the unselfish, unconditional love enough to God and everyone else enough.
When she mentioned about how the earth began, I said how Christianity says that God created us to be with him, but when we sinned it separates us from him. She did not really interrupt me at this point. Once she said they had to be “good enough” I asked what they believe about Jesus. She said that he was a great “Devotee.” Here I said “Well, what about his claim to be Christ, the Son of God?” At this point she started getting more tense and frustrated, but not quite angry. Here she said how all of us are “sons of God” and began talking about how there are “different levels of knowledge.” I asked here what about the statement “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man comes to the Father, but through me.” And she really didn’t like this. She said that he was talking to the people in the crowd. And that he was a great Devotee, and went on the say how they have Devotees who disciple people who come down in a perfect line of disciples. When I said how Jesus died for the sins of mankind, so they could be forgiven she said that was the one major point wrong with Christianity—that how can you confess something and then keep doing it? Instead, she said, you have someone who helps you become more loving and unselfish. One of those disciple, Devotee people, like the kind that leads their services.
She also did not really answer when I asked, “So, if we’ve come in contact with matter and we are just completely lost, how can we ever get better or good enough?” She just kept saying it takes lots and lots of practice. Whenever I brought up Bible verses she said how there are the “different levels of understanding” and I asked if their sort of “Bible” was the highest level, she wouldn’t say that it was, just that there were different levels. This was her way of excusing Jesus claiming to be the way.
And on this note, it’s good to mention that when I asked if they believed if the God of Christianity, Buddah, Krishna etcetera are the same, she said they are not, they are just different titles for the one God. Yes, they are monotheistic. The way she said that Jesus was not really the way and that the gods are all just different names for one God makes it seem that if you end up at the perfect loving state you will get to “heaven” regardless of how you got there. After all, there is no need for forgiveness according to this, so why would there need to be one way?
I used to wonder how so many different religions have come into the world, but hearing more about Hare Krishna I realized that there is so much similar to the truth, but then the tiniest—yet most important things—will be just slightly different, making everything skewed. When we started finishing our conversation because they were leaving soon one of the girls gave us these tiny little cookies which Heather said tasted like Macadamia. They were so sweet that I ate mine very slowly. They also gave us home made banana nut bread, which I loved. Then they had to leave, so the lady asked for my phone number and I said how about e-mail address because that would work better. So, we exchanged e-mail addresses, and her name is Premananda.
I decided I want to avoid having phone conversations at all cost because then I have time to think, talk with my youth pastor, mom and dad, and pray before I respond. And just now, googling her e-mail address I found out that she must have a relatively high standing position in their community because her e-mail was at the bottom of one of the web pages to contact if attending a certain event.
All of this took place in slightly less than 20 minutes. After the fact Heather said she wouldn’t have known what to say, but I am extremely grateful that she was there. Because it was so good having someone by my side and without her I wouldn’t have gone over there at all. I would have ignored that urge. So, thank the one true God for friends. And thank God for the series they’ve been doing at church, because a lot of the stuff I said was stuff I just heard in the past two weeks! And thank God for Dare2Share because I wouldn’t have had a clue on how to approach them or speak with them. Dare2Share taught me how to show my respect and care for people while talking with them, and how to un-abrasively communicate through questions rather than talking at someone.
Well, thank you for reading all that! I just had to write it down really quick tonight before I forgot anything, so sorry if anything is confusing. And prayers are always appreciated. =]
Friday, August 08, 2008
We approached a girl and I asked her what Krishna was. She started to answer and then grabbed one of her friends, who in turn grabbed another. They said he was God, opalescent and everything good—that they learn like 72 different qualities. One girl said “but there are like 400” and another said, “No, there isn’t. He just only told us that many.” That’s what the small words were around the word Krishna. Stuff like “strength of the strong,” “intelligence of the intelligent.” By this time there was a small semi-circle in front of the two of us. Not long after a mother came over and started talking with me.
One of the first things I asked is if there was a beginning or end to their God, and they said no. They began to say how it is hard for our minds to comprehend that since we are limited to time, and I said that I believe God has no beginning or end. They were still kind of talking about the qualities of Krishna, but somehow the subject got on how one needs to give love to God. When I asked if it was because he loved us, the kids said yes. From this point on it was pretty much just the mom and I talking back and forth and some of the kids even left the little crowd who was listening. She said something that implied life before life on earth and I asked if that meant that they existed before they were born here, and she said yes. That they were beings in what was very hard to understand as her description of heaven, with God (Krishna.)
She said that Krishna created the earth for us . . . and we have some inward desire to experience the things that happen here. This part was rather vague. But what they were not vague about was that when they came in contact with “matter” they were stained, blemished and now had to earn the way back into “heaven.” I specifically asked if we had to earn the way, and she said yes. Basically, humans re-incarnate until they reach that certain state in which they give the unselfish, unconditional love enough to God and everyone else enough.
When she mentioned about how the earth began, I said how Christianity says that God created us to be with him, but when we sinned it separates us from him. She did not really interrupt me at this point. Once she said they had to be “good enough” I asked what they believe about Jesus. She said that he was a great “Devotee.” Here I said “Well, what about his claim to be Christ, the Son of God?” At this point she started getting more tense and frustrated, but not quite angry. Here she said how all of us are “sons of God” and began talking about how there are “different levels of knowledge.” I asked here what about the statement “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man comes to the Father, but through me.” And she really didn’t like this. She said that he was talking to the people in the crowd. And that he was a great Devotee, and went on the say how they have Devotees who disciple people who come down in a perfect line of disciples. When I said how Jesus died for the sins of mankind, so they could be forgiven she said that was the one major point wrong with Christianity—that how can you confess something and then keep doing it? Instead, she said, you have someone who helps you become more loving and unselfish. One of those disciple, Devotee people, like the kind that leads their services.
She also did not really answer when I asked, “So, if we’ve come in contact with matter and we are just completely lost, how can we ever get better or good enough?” She just kept saying it takes lots and lots of practice. Whenever I brought up Bible verses she said how there are the “different levels of understanding” and I asked if their sort of “Bible” was the highest level, she wouldn’t say that it was, just that there were different levels. This was her way of excusing Jesus claiming to be the way.
And on this note, it’s good to mention that when I asked if they believed if the God of Christianity, Buddah, Krishna etcetera are the same, she said they are not, they are just different titles for the one God. Yes, they are monotheistic. The way she said that Jesus was not really the way and that the gods are all just different names for one God makes it seem that if you end up at the perfect loving state you will get to “heaven” regardless of how you got there. After all, there is no need for forgiveness according to this, so why would there need to be one way?
I used to wonder how so many different religions have come into the world, but hearing more about Hare Krishna I realized that there is so much similar to the truth, but then the tiniest—yet most important things—will be just slightly different, making everything skewed. When we started finishing our conversation because they were leaving soon one of the girls gave us these tiny little cookies which Heather said tasted like Macadamia. They were so sweet that I ate mine very slowly. They also gave us home made banana nut bread, which I loved. Then they had to leave, so the lady asked for my phone number and I said how about e-mail address because that would work better. So, we exchanged e-mail addresses, and her name is Premananda.
I decided I want to avoid having phone conversations at all cost because then I have time to think, talk with my youth pastor, mom and dad, and pray before I respond. And just now, googling her e-mail address I found out that she must have a relatively high standing position in their community because her e-mail was at the bottom of one of the web pages to contact if attending a certain event.
All of this took place in slightly less than 20 minutes. After the fact Heather said she wouldn’t have known what to say, but I am extremely grateful that she was there. Because it was so good having someone by my side and without her I wouldn’t have gone over there at all. I would have ignored that urge. So, thank the one true God for friends. And thank God for the series they’ve been doing at church, because a lot of the stuff I said was stuff I just heard in the past two weeks! And thank God for Dare2Share because I wouldn’t have had a clue on how to approach them or speak with them. Dare2Share taught me how to show my respect and care for people while talking with them, and how to un-abrasively communicate through questions rather than talking at someone.
Well, thank you for reading all that! I just had to write it down really quick tonight before I forgot anything, so sorry if anything is confusing. And prayers are always appreciated. =]
Friday, August 08, 2008
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Toothpaste and the Little Boat that went Too Far
I myself, being who I am, take questions about myself very seriously. Like the classic one man on the jury who insists on covering all the evidence in order to serve a proper judgement, I weigh out my words, carefully formulating an answer in my mind. I re-word it several times, and then finally put it to paper {or keyboard.} Now, when it comes to things like mission's trip applications, there is no exception to this behavior. Even when I go to fill it out a *second* time. That's right, one sweaty, brain wracking, 2-hour form filling marathon wasn't enough. But it seems to me it wasn't chance that my form was misplaced, because I need to learn something.
I decided to jump right in and knock the thing out. You see, I have this pleasant memory that works something like this: I deliberate and rehash so much that if I have to write it again, I can do so almost verbatim. It came in handy that time our computer crashed in eigth grade with my first draft of a memoir. Bingo! I re-wrote it.
So, in re-filling this form about what I expect to happen, my previous mission trip experience, and my relationship with Christ, my problem wasn't remembering the content, it was the content itself. {Which I had actually borrowed from something I wrote before} Trush is, the time I described where I go for "weeks without really reading my Bible"was taking place right then. And the constant communication was more like "intermittent chatter." Not that I'm not crazy about God, but ruts are so easily dug, and so terribly difficult to pull oneself out of.
As I was brushing my teeth I was thinking over how much I love being close to God, but also how much I am addicted to a lukewarm, depression-prone state of existence. And that whole "I do what I don't want to do, but I sadly do want to do, actually" Paul thing. {Romans 7:18-21} However, that is a different topic. Anyway, there I was covered in toothpaste--nearly--and I started making excuses; telling God how "the stuff I wrote on the form isn't so far off because I'm pretty much a good person. I know everyone sins, but I'm not that horrible . . ." And here I'd hear that small voice say how all sins are equal and I said, "but, I try. Aside from the inescapable sin, I'm a pretty good person, the kind people don't mind their teens being friends with . . ."
And I went on, ignoring for about a minute before I stopped brushing my teeth and stared at my toothpaste-fringed face and said, "Oh my gosh." It struck me I'm not a "good person." There is no "aside from the . . ." Because as good as I think I am, I haven't really been trying to actively seek God, or read my Bible. And even if I was, that would never make me "good enough" to take a break. I didn't jump off the deep end, but my boat has been drifting out to sea, content with the long, long rope coiled in the bottom of the boat, attached to the dock. I forgot that even with a rope, the further out you drift, the bigger the waves get. And with the rope keeping my boat from capsiding, I had the nerve to say I was pretty good with the oars!
So, right now I'm a bit shock with my lack of behavior, and am perfectly content to say I am terrible at rowing. There is no excuse for me to live lukewarm--especially not that I am "good." And if I hadn't already shoved the toothpaste tube in my silly mouth, I would have shoved the Bible because this is where I opened up to read when I went back into my room: Romans 3. I'm sure this was no accident because the commentary on verse 24 was like swallowing another tube of toothpaste--the pleasant, minty kind though.
I'm positive we're all familiar with this passage. In particular the part that says "all have sinned and fallen short." {v 23} The whole chapter expounds on that thought. We're just not "good" people--"There is none righteous, no, not one." {v 10} And I'm glad I don't have to be a "good" person to be accepted and loved by God. Because as strong-willed as I am, I would never make it.
So, God, I want to take this oportunity to thank You for all You've done for me, my friends, and people everywhere. Please help me not to take it for granted, but to remember and act on my thankfullness by seeking You and sharing You with those around me. I know I need Your strength to do this, so thank You in advance. Amen.
I decided to jump right in and knock the thing out. You see, I have this pleasant memory that works something like this: I deliberate and rehash so much that if I have to write it again, I can do so almost verbatim. It came in handy that time our computer crashed in eigth grade with my first draft of a memoir. Bingo! I re-wrote it.
So, in re-filling this form about what I expect to happen, my previous mission trip experience, and my relationship with Christ, my problem wasn't remembering the content, it was the content itself. {Which I had actually borrowed from something I wrote before} Trush is, the time I described where I go for "weeks without really reading my Bible"was taking place right then. And the constant communication was more like "intermittent chatter." Not that I'm not crazy about God, but ruts are so easily dug, and so terribly difficult to pull oneself out of.
As I was brushing my teeth I was thinking over how much I love being close to God, but also how much I am addicted to a lukewarm, depression-prone state of existence. And that whole "I do what I don't want to do, but I sadly do want to do, actually" Paul thing. {Romans 7:18-21} However, that is a different topic. Anyway, there I was covered in toothpaste--nearly--and I started making excuses; telling God how "the stuff I wrote on the form isn't so far off because I'm pretty much a good person. I know everyone sins, but I'm not that horrible . . ." And here I'd hear that small voice say how all sins are equal and I said, "but, I try. Aside from the inescapable sin, I'm a pretty good person, the kind people don't mind their teens being friends with . . ."
And I went on, ignoring for about a minute before I stopped brushing my teeth and stared at my toothpaste-fringed face and said, "Oh my gosh." It struck me I'm not a "good person." There is no "aside from the . . ." Because as good as I think I am, I haven't really been trying to actively seek God, or read my Bible. And even if I was, that would never make me "good enough" to take a break. I didn't jump off the deep end, but my boat has been drifting out to sea, content with the long, long rope coiled in the bottom of the boat, attached to the dock. I forgot that even with a rope, the further out you drift, the bigger the waves get. And with the rope keeping my boat from capsiding, I had the nerve to say I was pretty good with the oars!
So, right now I'm a bit shock with my lack of behavior, and am perfectly content to say I am terrible at rowing. There is no excuse for me to live lukewarm--especially not that I am "good." And if I hadn't already shoved the toothpaste tube in my silly mouth, I would have shoved the Bible because this is where I opened up to read when I went back into my room: Romans 3. I'm sure this was no accident because the commentary on verse 24 was like swallowing another tube of toothpaste--the pleasant, minty kind though.
I'm positive we're all familiar with this passage. In particular the part that says "all have sinned and fallen short." {v 23} The whole chapter expounds on that thought. We're just not "good" people--"There is none righteous, no, not one." {v 10} And I'm glad I don't have to be a "good" person to be accepted and loved by God. Because as strong-willed as I am, I would never make it.
So, God, I want to take this oportunity to thank You for all You've done for me, my friends, and people everywhere. Please help me not to take it for granted, but to remember and act on my thankfullness by seeking You and sharing You with those around me. I know I need Your strength to do this, so thank You in advance. Amen.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
{Part 2} Untitled Short Story
I'm guessing you mean this sentence, "She hoped it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience for me to wait for them to return?" I was undecided whether or not to use a question mark for that kind of imbedded dialogue. So, I think I'll change it to a period. ^_^ Thanks.
Well, here goes part two. I think the story as a whole turned out decently for being thought of and written in twenty-four hours. Though I secretely wish my sister had written it, because then it would have turned out much better.
p.s. In all the story is nearly four full pages with regular margins in a word doc.
___________________________________________
One day after Mrs. Clemine was replaced, the whole school had half the day off so our teachers could attend a Mental Health and Positive Attitude seminar. But I wasn’t out and about rejoicing in my temporary freedom like most of the kids. Instead, I sat at home in my tiny little room, in the tiny little apartment Mom had worked so hard to provide for the two of us. Homework could not hold my attention, so I slipped into the kitchen looking for something to eat. Mom had made stroganoff for lunch, but it sounded distasteful to me just then. Even though I knew she wouldn’t be home until dinnertime, I opted for a muffin instead.
“I hate muffins,” I said aloud. Surely, any adult would criticize me for practicing telling lies when it is so important to ones future to practice telling the truth. Of course, they had not done what I had done. I had the strangest feeling I could risk it, even though I didn’t want to. Perhaps it was simply the possibility that I could—and get away with it—that made me crave it. Me and the muffin made our way to the couch and I sat down, untouched muffin in hand. The majority of the student body secretly held to the belief that our teachers wanted us out of school today so we could witness the possible passing of a bill that would affect every one of our lives. While I didn’t want to be part of the System, no one knew how much the Supreme Court’s decision really would affect me if it passed.
I still felt slightly euphoric with what I had said moments before. As much as this troubled me I felt myself losing grasp of the grievance. There was no reason why I should act this way, but I felt myself invariably drawn to. This way I could get back at the people who value honesty so much they no longer trust my truthfulness. After all, I’ve done exactly what everyone wants so far: I haven’t been sent to the Principal’s office, gotten detention, or any other sort of demerits. Why have they no reason to believe my words?
That’s exactly what I thought earlier in the day. In preparation for future work we had all been associated with the Registers. The technology has been upgraded numerous times, and each time the machine has come out small and cleaner until it reached the school standard size which vaguely resembled a tissue box. Our teacher instructed us on how to hook up the machine and then told us to either say something true or contradictory, and then view the reading. A group of my friends all decided we would say something contradictory and aim for a certain emotion on the monitor.
My turn came and I said something contradictory to how I felt, looking for the red light and reading. Instead, it showed the same line it had present when I wasn’t saying anything: eerily similar to a heartbeat of a man in great distress. The presiding teacher began swiftly disconnecting me from the Register and said detachedly, “That’s interesting, I never knew that about you,” then immediately began instructing the next kid. I started to say perhaps I wasn’t hooked up right, or “Sir, something is wrong with your expensive machine,” but instead I walked over to my friends feeling a strange mixture fear and exhilaration.
“Hey, what’s up? Why didn’t you show red like we said we were gonna? Chickened out, huh?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled.
On the way home I tried to clear my head, but it didn’t work. I was in the same state when I arrived home. My chest was constricting, and a single thought kept pounding through my head again and again. “But it wasn’t true . . . it wasn’t, why didn’t someone tell me I was wrong?” Bitterness, my dear friend, began to take hold of me. Bitterness as strong as the kind which ravaged me whenever I thought of my father and how he left; when any memory or thing reminded me of him. I clenched my jaw and distracted myself from crying by walking back into the kitchen for a napkin. I still hadn’t touched the muffin.
“I hate you,” I whispered under my breath. “Darn you, psychiatrists and busybodies. You never knew what I felt!” I was talking out loud now. “Were you so pre-occupied when you asked how I felt about my dad leaving? Or was I so good at acting, or did you care so little that you believed what wasn’t true?” Fiery, angry tears fell now. “It wasn’t true . . . and as long as you tell me I’m right that’s what I’ll be, and you’ll never have to know.”
I won’t,” I took a breath, put on a serene composure and continued, “ever make that mistake again. Because you will only ever here what you want to hear.” I flicked on the television and stared blankly at the news headline declaring the Supreme Court’s daring decision necessitating the use of personal Registers. “I hate you,” I said, still gazing, and took a bite of the muffin.
~
By now the doctors should be back. However, either something has delayed them they find it amusing to shirk their duties. I have quite recovered from my emotional outburst nearly two weeks ago, and I’ve learned a lot since then. A lot about what I am. To some extent the Movement seems to be working. Society is weeding out the “bad” from the “good” with all these laws. Be sure your sin will find you out—they are. I have realized this, and I don’t want to get in trouble with the Movement. I want to remain out of their files—a free mind. This has become impossible, since everyone is on file; I merely want to stay in the Approved section. And so far so good. I am learning to control every aspect of my composure, and when they get what they want to hear, they will never know how false it is. Because their own creation will blind them.
I have my reasons for this: I want my freedom. The freedom to make mistakes . . . This is my reason and everyone has one for either opposing or supporting the Movement. Small, fragile families with toddlers pushed for Registers among banking officials to protect their budding investments. Filthy, old misers pushed for their use among the agriculture industry and the volunteers in their community to ensure their free food was nutritious and un-poisoned. Animal Rights advocates made sure they were found in pet stores for the use of both customer and supplier.
Yet, among all the apparent improvement, selfish motives pushed the use of this technology supposed to force out the good in people. Perhaps they were all afraid, and believed if others behaved more purely, than it would be easier for themselves. Despite their efforts to “create a better society,” they have only created an environment which holds evil intentions for me.
Stirred from my internal reverie, momentarily, I saw that the doctors had returned and the nurse had called my number. White paper covered the check-up table where they beckoned me sit. “This will only take a minute,” the doctor said, taking my personal Register from my hand. “Are you right or left handed? “Right,” I responded. Stealthily, the nurse gave me a shot for the pain as the doctor began installing my death sentence. I couldn’t help but wish she had forgotten . . . and let me feel the pain—however miniscule it would be with all their high-tech equipment. Let me feel it, because I know I will cause more pain to people than these few minutes could ever cause me. I heard the doctor say, “All done, now that was painless, huh?” and I looked up at him for the first time. He resembled my father. How fitting.
I slipped down from the table, feeling chilled. But warmth would do me no good; the cold is inside me. We heat our homes in the winter to keep from getting cold, thus breaking down our immune systems. And in doing so we create an environment where pathogenic bacteria can flourish. Within our rush to exclude it, we create a home for our evils.
The nurse outside offered me a glass of water and a muffin. I took the water and said, “No thank you, I hate muffins.” She smiled politely, and retreated. I went on my way, the Register still continuing its deathly dance.
Well, here goes part two. I think the story as a whole turned out decently for being thought of and written in twenty-four hours. Though I secretely wish my sister had written it, because then it would have turned out much better.
p.s. In all the story is nearly four full pages with regular margins in a word doc.
___________________________________________
One day after Mrs. Clemine was replaced, the whole school had half the day off so our teachers could attend a Mental Health and Positive Attitude seminar. But I wasn’t out and about rejoicing in my temporary freedom like most of the kids. Instead, I sat at home in my tiny little room, in the tiny little apartment Mom had worked so hard to provide for the two of us. Homework could not hold my attention, so I slipped into the kitchen looking for something to eat. Mom had made stroganoff for lunch, but it sounded distasteful to me just then. Even though I knew she wouldn’t be home until dinnertime, I opted for a muffin instead.
“I hate muffins,” I said aloud. Surely, any adult would criticize me for practicing telling lies when it is so important to ones future to practice telling the truth. Of course, they had not done what I had done. I had the strangest feeling I could risk it, even though I didn’t want to. Perhaps it was simply the possibility that I could—and get away with it—that made me crave it. Me and the muffin made our way to the couch and I sat down, untouched muffin in hand. The majority of the student body secretly held to the belief that our teachers wanted us out of school today so we could witness the possible passing of a bill that would affect every one of our lives. While I didn’t want to be part of the System, no one knew how much the Supreme Court’s decision really would affect me if it passed.
I still felt slightly euphoric with what I had said moments before. As much as this troubled me I felt myself losing grasp of the grievance. There was no reason why I should act this way, but I felt myself invariably drawn to. This way I could get back at the people who value honesty so much they no longer trust my truthfulness. After all, I’ve done exactly what everyone wants so far: I haven’t been sent to the Principal’s office, gotten detention, or any other sort of demerits. Why have they no reason to believe my words?
That’s exactly what I thought earlier in the day. In preparation for future work we had all been associated with the Registers. The technology has been upgraded numerous times, and each time the machine has come out small and cleaner until it reached the school standard size which vaguely resembled a tissue box. Our teacher instructed us on how to hook up the machine and then told us to either say something true or contradictory, and then view the reading. A group of my friends all decided we would say something contradictory and aim for a certain emotion on the monitor.
My turn came and I said something contradictory to how I felt, looking for the red light and reading. Instead, it showed the same line it had present when I wasn’t saying anything: eerily similar to a heartbeat of a man in great distress. The presiding teacher began swiftly disconnecting me from the Register and said detachedly, “That’s interesting, I never knew that about you,” then immediately began instructing the next kid. I started to say perhaps I wasn’t hooked up right, or “Sir, something is wrong with your expensive machine,” but instead I walked over to my friends feeling a strange mixture fear and exhilaration.
“Hey, what’s up? Why didn’t you show red like we said we were gonna? Chickened out, huh?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled.
On the way home I tried to clear my head, but it didn’t work. I was in the same state when I arrived home. My chest was constricting, and a single thought kept pounding through my head again and again. “But it wasn’t true . . . it wasn’t, why didn’t someone tell me I was wrong?” Bitterness, my dear friend, began to take hold of me. Bitterness as strong as the kind which ravaged me whenever I thought of my father and how he left; when any memory or thing reminded me of him. I clenched my jaw and distracted myself from crying by walking back into the kitchen for a napkin. I still hadn’t touched the muffin.
“I hate you,” I whispered under my breath. “Darn you, psychiatrists and busybodies. You never knew what I felt!” I was talking out loud now. “Were you so pre-occupied when you asked how I felt about my dad leaving? Or was I so good at acting, or did you care so little that you believed what wasn’t true?” Fiery, angry tears fell now. “It wasn’t true . . . and as long as you tell me I’m right that’s what I’ll be, and you’ll never have to know.”
I won’t,” I took a breath, put on a serene composure and continued, “ever make that mistake again. Because you will only ever here what you want to hear.” I flicked on the television and stared blankly at the news headline declaring the Supreme Court’s daring decision necessitating the use of personal Registers. “I hate you,” I said, still gazing, and took a bite of the muffin.
~
By now the doctors should be back. However, either something has delayed them they find it amusing to shirk their duties. I have quite recovered from my emotional outburst nearly two weeks ago, and I’ve learned a lot since then. A lot about what I am. To some extent the Movement seems to be working. Society is weeding out the “bad” from the “good” with all these laws. Be sure your sin will find you out—they are. I have realized this, and I don’t want to get in trouble with the Movement. I want to remain out of their files—a free mind. This has become impossible, since everyone is on file; I merely want to stay in the Approved section. And so far so good. I am learning to control every aspect of my composure, and when they get what they want to hear, they will never know how false it is. Because their own creation will blind them.
I have my reasons for this: I want my freedom. The freedom to make mistakes . . . This is my reason and everyone has one for either opposing or supporting the Movement. Small, fragile families with toddlers pushed for Registers among banking officials to protect their budding investments. Filthy, old misers pushed for their use among the agriculture industry and the volunteers in their community to ensure their free food was nutritious and un-poisoned. Animal Rights advocates made sure they were found in pet stores for the use of both customer and supplier.
Yet, among all the apparent improvement, selfish motives pushed the use of this technology supposed to force out the good in people. Perhaps they were all afraid, and believed if others behaved more purely, than it would be easier for themselves. Despite their efforts to “create a better society,” they have only created an environment which holds evil intentions for me.
Stirred from my internal reverie, momentarily, I saw that the doctors had returned and the nurse had called my number. White paper covered the check-up table where they beckoned me sit. “This will only take a minute,” the doctor said, taking my personal Register from my hand. “Are you right or left handed? “Right,” I responded. Stealthily, the nurse gave me a shot for the pain as the doctor began installing my death sentence. I couldn’t help but wish she had forgotten . . . and let me feel the pain—however miniscule it would be with all their high-tech equipment. Let me feel it, because I know I will cause more pain to people than these few minutes could ever cause me. I heard the doctor say, “All done, now that was painless, huh?” and I looked up at him for the first time. He resembled my father. How fitting.
I slipped down from the table, feeling chilled. But warmth would do me no good; the cold is inside me. We heat our homes in the winter to keep from getting cold, thus breaking down our immune systems. And in doing so we create an environment where pathogenic bacteria can flourish. Within our rush to exclude it, we create a home for our evils.
The nurse outside offered me a glass of water and a muffin. I took the water and said, “No thank you, I hate muffins.” She smiled politely, and retreated. I went on my way, the Register still continuing its deathly dance.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Dear Encyclopedia
Dear Encyclopedia,
I am writing you to say
I have a few corrections for your
Entry on my name
To save you from a lawyers suit
Kindly tell the truth {Yes, kindly tell the truth}
I’ll try to be objective, so
Forgive me if I fail
A lover’s triangle cannot exist
If never love did
I know you go for drama and flair
Thus, I am sorry to disappoint
But I won’t be placed where
My heart is at the breaking point
Please leave your suspicions at the typewriter
Take your ink-stained fingers and leave your mark
Where there is an impressionable heart
On the record, mine is encased
In glass that’s double-paned
Second, I’m quite offended by the
Paragraph in section two
That says I fought for something
I most assuredly never tried to
I’m content to command that you
Take your matchmakers elsewhere
Or light a match and burn this page
I won’t stand by and read about my life
And find myself surprised at what’s inside
Dear Encyclopedia,
I am writing you to say
I will not take revenge
But will you kindly clear my name
{Yes, kindly clear my name}
I am writing you to say
I have a few corrections for your
Entry on my name
To save you from a lawyers suit
Kindly tell the truth {Yes, kindly tell the truth}
I’ll try to be objective, so
Forgive me if I fail
A lover’s triangle cannot exist
If never love did
I know you go for drama and flair
Thus, I am sorry to disappoint
But I won’t be placed where
My heart is at the breaking point
Please leave your suspicions at the typewriter
Take your ink-stained fingers and leave your mark
Where there is an impressionable heart
On the record, mine is encased
In glass that’s double-paned
Second, I’m quite offended by the
Paragraph in section two
That says I fought for something
I most assuredly never tried to
I’m content to command that you
Take your matchmakers elsewhere
Or light a match and burn this page
I won’t stand by and read about my life
And find myself surprised at what’s inside
Dear Encyclopedia,
I am writing you to say
I will not take revenge
But will you kindly clear my name
{Yes, kindly clear my name}
Untitled Short Story {Part 1}
Well. For some reason I got this interesting idea in my head last night. Hopefully, the end result is interesting. I've never written fiction just for fun, but here goes. It's actually kind of Science Fiction--NO, that does not mean I have aliens and strange planets--just it's set when things are a bit different in the world. Also, I haven't finished it yet. This is a page and a half. I've written two pages, and I expect it shouldn't be much longer than three pages in all. I've read through it once and edited it a bit, but I made need to change/add more depending on what I write later. Also, please let me know of any contradictions--I already found one. ;]
The receptionist looked up. “Number 1-8-8-2.” I stepped forward, crossing the yellow waiting line almost completely obscured by black scuffmarks. Her phone was ringing, but she ignored it. “Here you go. Take this and this, and move onto the room marked ‘Fitting,’” she said, handing me a small, disheveled stack of papers and the Thing I had only seen on television up to now. It fit neatly in the palm of my hand. They were right; it was virtually weightless. And icy cold. I followed her direction and headed toward the room.
~
Honestly, I don’t remember precisely when I came to the realization—it just occurred to me once that I understood, and that I didn’t want to be part of the System, whether it is beneficial or not. What emotion or reasoning drove that desire, I do not know. Which side was I on, I could not say—for or against?
People say they love what is happening, but at the same time people worry so much nowadays—what with all those children’s courts where teachers are sued for attempting to repress Expression. It was just two weeks ago my rich classmate took our English teacher to court for incorrectly Registering. Mrs. Clemine told him it was an “Excellent answer.” However, she had been thinking, “And I’ll bet you cheated on that, too. You lousy excuse for an eighth grader.” We have a new teacher now because she lost her job as well as her ability to work without a Register, or even outside the System.
But that doesn’t mean much . . . at least according to what I’ve been hearing on the news, and they can’t lie. You can’t actually see their Registers, but off-camera every broadcast is monitored. Still, I wonder. If they report something that someone else researched for them, and they don’t know it is wrong, then it’s right isn’t it? According the their standards it is, because they broadcast it in all honesty. They would be honestly mistaken. But back to what they have been reporting. They have been reporting that slowly and surely occupations are joining the System. Polls are showing that the general population prefers businesses that “value honesty.” Riots and strikes are also on the new now, though, and in alarming frequency.
~
I’d been waiting a good ten minutes outside the door the pre-occupied receptionist had mentioned, when another out of breath receptionist decided to tell me—and the restless line forming behind me—that there had been a mistake. Evidently, they managed to miss the phone call letting them know the doctors were on lunch break. She hoped it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience for me to wait for them to return? I told her I would wait the remaining fifteen minutes or so. Behind me a middle-aged man swore. Only minutes before he had been complaining, in loud tones, to a nervous young man several people behind himself. “Sure, they’re doing this for our benefit. It benefits everyone when I’m late for work and the costumers pile up. It will benefit everyone when I’m uncomfortable and can’t keep focus because of this,” he suppressed obscenities, “idiotic little contraption.” The young man just made an attempt at nodding understandingly, unsure if that was the correct response, but it didn’t matter. Mr. Grumpy had been interrupted by the receptionist and had already found another ear to complain to, this time about the Anti-Hate and Slander phone surveillance policy. As head of the local Women’s Bowling League, the Ear was sympathetic. “It tried again and again, I did, to explain to the surveillance man on duty that it wasn’t gossip. I had no intention of persuading Louise to drop her partner, really. And then he threatened to turn me in to some society or other. I think he’s just a bigot.”
Although the group of people here with me today have been called in by their address, I thankfully don’t recognize any of these bothersome people. That may be the only upside to living in a crowded apartment. Close proximity tends to breed a desire for anonymity, so I only know a few of our neighbors, only one of them being a fellow eighth grader.
Try as I might, I couldn’t seem to focus on the information packet I had been handled, and the absence of a staple made it difficult to leaf through. So, I turned my attention to the little Thing in my hand. Which, somehow, had managed to sweat profusely, though the silver surface seemed to absorb heat. Dull and charcoal colored, the blank screen stared back at me. I wondered what it would look like when activated. Still, I knew it wouldn’t make a difference. It would never show red for me.
*Insert Interesting Title Here*
The receptionist looked up. “Number 1-8-8-2.” I stepped forward, crossing the yellow waiting line almost completely obscured by black scuffmarks. Her phone was ringing, but she ignored it. “Here you go. Take this and this, and move onto the room marked ‘Fitting,’” she said, handing me a small, disheveled stack of papers and the Thing I had only seen on television up to now. It fit neatly in the palm of my hand. They were right; it was virtually weightless. And icy cold. I followed her direction and headed toward the room.
~
Honestly, I don’t remember precisely when I came to the realization—it just occurred to me once that I understood, and that I didn’t want to be part of the System, whether it is beneficial or not. What emotion or reasoning drove that desire, I do not know. Which side was I on, I could not say—for or against?
People say they love what is happening, but at the same time people worry so much nowadays—what with all those children’s courts where teachers are sued for attempting to repress Expression. It was just two weeks ago my rich classmate took our English teacher to court for incorrectly Registering. Mrs. Clemine told him it was an “Excellent answer.” However, she had been thinking, “And I’ll bet you cheated on that, too. You lousy excuse for an eighth grader.” We have a new teacher now because she lost her job as well as her ability to work without a Register, or even outside the System.
But that doesn’t mean much . . . at least according to what I’ve been hearing on the news, and they can’t lie. You can’t actually see their Registers, but off-camera every broadcast is monitored. Still, I wonder. If they report something that someone else researched for them, and they don’t know it is wrong, then it’s right isn’t it? According the their standards it is, because they broadcast it in all honesty. They would be honestly mistaken. But back to what they have been reporting. They have been reporting that slowly and surely occupations are joining the System. Polls are showing that the general population prefers businesses that “value honesty.” Riots and strikes are also on the new now, though, and in alarming frequency.
~
I’d been waiting a good ten minutes outside the door the pre-occupied receptionist had mentioned, when another out of breath receptionist decided to tell me—and the restless line forming behind me—that there had been a mistake. Evidently, they managed to miss the phone call letting them know the doctors were on lunch break. She hoped it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience for me to wait for them to return? I told her I would wait the remaining fifteen minutes or so. Behind me a middle-aged man swore. Only minutes before he had been complaining, in loud tones, to a nervous young man several people behind himself. “Sure, they’re doing this for our benefit. It benefits everyone when I’m late for work and the costumers pile up. It will benefit everyone when I’m uncomfortable and can’t keep focus because of this,” he suppressed obscenities, “idiotic little contraption.” The young man just made an attempt at nodding understandingly, unsure if that was the correct response, but it didn’t matter. Mr. Grumpy had been interrupted by the receptionist and had already found another ear to complain to, this time about the Anti-Hate and Slander phone surveillance policy. As head of the local Women’s Bowling League, the Ear was sympathetic. “It tried again and again, I did, to explain to the surveillance man on duty that it wasn’t gossip. I had no intention of persuading Louise to drop her partner, really. And then he threatened to turn me in to some society or other. I think he’s just a bigot.”
Although the group of people here with me today have been called in by their address, I thankfully don’t recognize any of these bothersome people. That may be the only upside to living in a crowded apartment. Close proximity tends to breed a desire for anonymity, so I only know a few of our neighbors, only one of them being a fellow eighth grader.
Try as I might, I couldn’t seem to focus on the information packet I had been handled, and the absence of a staple made it difficult to leaf through. So, I turned my attention to the little Thing in my hand. Which, somehow, had managed to sweat profusely, though the silver surface seemed to absorb heat. Dull and charcoal colored, the blank screen stared back at me. I wondered what it would look like when activated. Still, I knew it wouldn’t make a difference. It would never show red for me.
Friday, July 18, 2008
One Thing {First Draft Song Version}
I'm thinking a piano-based, very open and uncluttered layout. Then at some point it will get more intense, but not too much, just a bit.
There’s one thing I’ve never told anyone
Sometimes I forget myself
And whether I’m protecting myself
Or someone else
You’ll never know
It’s the one thing I’ll never tell
It’s keeps house in the back of my mind
Don’t you think it’s coming to the door this time
I must apologize –an impersonal confession
I’m holding back, growing bark around the entrance
If time could only erase
These things I never will say
Oh, ho ho
When people ask “Can you truly keep a secret?”
There’s only trust
Because I can’t show
The one thing I’ve been safely keeping
{Faithfully, believe me;
It takes a toll and its secrecy
Leaves people with a view of me
No better—
Though, faithfully I bear}
The one thing I’ve never told anyone
Sometimes I forget myself
And whether I’m protecting myself
Or someone else
You’ll never know
It’s the one thing I’ll never tell
There’s one thing I’ve never told anyone
Sometimes I forget myself
And whether I’m protecting myself
Or someone else
You’ll never know
It’s the one thing I’ll never tell
It’s keeps house in the back of my mind
Don’t you think it’s coming to the door this time
I must apologize –an impersonal confession
I’m holding back, growing bark around the entrance
If time could only erase
These things I never will say
Oh, ho ho
When people ask “Can you truly keep a secret?”
There’s only trust
Because I can’t show
The one thing I’ve been safely keeping
{Faithfully, believe me;
It takes a toll and its secrecy
Leaves people with a view of me
No better—
Though, faithfully I bear}
The one thing I’ve never told anyone
Sometimes I forget myself
And whether I’m protecting myself
Or someone else
You’ll never know
It’s the one thing I’ll never tell
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Perhaps Part of "My Heart Can't Beat Fast Enough"
Leave me alone
Let me do this on my own/by myself
Or else I won't be strong enough
To do this when you're gone
{Because baby} One can do one thing/something
But none can do everything
And if you try
You're going to hurt me
Oh, you're going to hurt me
Look how you hurt me
Don't pick me up
Don't place me down
Don't say that I am yours to carry
Let me do this on my own/by myself
Or else I won't be strong enough
To do this when you're gone
{Because baby} One can do one thing/something
But none can do everything
And if you try
You're going to hurt me
Oh, you're going to hurt me
Look how you hurt me
Don't pick me up
Don't place me down
Don't say that I am yours to carry
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Cinnamon
Of course, it’s a beautiful day
Outside
But one is inside and feeling
Discontented.
Because something has reminded a human of
Something
Which is true, but takes away the joy found
In the little things of life
Hobbies.
And no, I don’t mean the
Fact that one day, somehow
One’s going to die.
Why is that so terrible, again?
But what I mean is that
You remember you aren’t
Exceptional; at all
In something you enjoy quite a bit
And thought perhaps you might be good at
It doesn’t matter
What it is.
Harmless, little things pop up and
Say, “Oh, yes. You’re not exceptional.”
Not noticeably “better” or “worse”
Somewhere in the grey.
Never is it one of those
Knife-in-the-heart
Pains, nothing dramatic and wounding like that
Instead, it’s like cinnamon’s
Bitter taste where you had expected sugar.
One frowns, steps back.
It robs one of an appetite—
Any desire to finish or remake the
Meal properly.
Just forget it
The lack of motivation or extreme feeling
Or extreme anything—
That is the worst of it:
It’s just
Bitter indifference
Outside
But one is inside and feeling
Discontented.
Because something has reminded a human of
Something
Which is true, but takes away the joy found
In the little things of life
Hobbies.
And no, I don’t mean the
Fact that one day, somehow
One’s going to die.
Why is that so terrible, again?
But what I mean is that
You remember you aren’t
Exceptional; at all
In something you enjoy quite a bit
And thought perhaps you might be good at
It doesn’t matter
What it is.
Harmless, little things pop up and
Say, “Oh, yes. You’re not exceptional.”
Not noticeably “better” or “worse”
Somewhere in the grey.
Never is it one of those
Knife-in-the-heart
Pains, nothing dramatic and wounding like that
Instead, it’s like cinnamon’s
Bitter taste where you had expected sugar.
One frowns, steps back.
It robs one of an appetite—
Any desire to finish or remake the
Meal properly.
Just forget it
The lack of motivation or extreme feeling
Or extreme anything—
That is the worst of it:
It’s just
Bitter indifference
Monday, June 2, 2008
The Older We Get
Like a feeble child in the mind
Progressing slowly in decline
Heading down an unknown path
Proceding from the unknown past
I'll hold to what I know
Merry, Merry, my dear child
Come comfort by my side a while,
Respond to me in simple verse--
The details I've forgotten
Isn't that a pretty little cup?
I've never seen something so beautiful
If I remember one thing
Let me remind you what you forgot:
Take a look at the picture
Where the children play
A precious, precious day
Slipping through white, clenched fingers and fists
What my mind can't hold, your hands
Neither can
Time will not be tamed
Progressing slowly in decline
Heading down an unknown path
Proceding from the unknown past
I'll hold to what I know
Merry, Merry, my dear child
Come comfort by my side a while,
Respond to me in simple verse--
The details I've forgotten
Isn't that a pretty little cup?
I've never seen something so beautiful
If I remember one thing
Let me remind you what you forgot:
Take a look at the picture
Where the children play
A precious, precious day
Slipping through white, clenched fingers and fists
What my mind can't hold, your hands
Neither can
Time will not be tamed
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Run
Okay, well I wrote this to calm myself down a couple months ago. Because I didn't want to get upset... so instead I wrote until I felt better.
___________________________
Yes. I hate this
Though as a general
Rule, I do not use that word
What; creates this?
While we cannot always
Feel this tension—it’s so cold
We have all felt this before
Impersonal. Dark.
And I—I don’t want to be here
Anymore
I want to slip away and hide
In the strongholds of my mind—and soul
Where I have been before, Midnight
Do I—should I run away now?
I want to slip away and run
In the wilderness of our town—our home
Where feet have never been before, Aurora
Lost, in your street’s lights
Deteriorating bricks glow red and green
Fox River condemns the garbled sights
Chuckles at a one-way street—serene
Currently this dead, sub-zero night
Over yonder, not a shadow,
Though as ghostly
Stands, the young girl—thin and pale
Life has followed her here
___________________________
Yes. I hate this
Though as a general
Rule, I do not use that word
What; creates this?
While we cannot always
Feel this tension—it’s so cold
We have all felt this before
Impersonal. Dark.
And I—I don’t want to be here
Anymore
I want to slip away and hide
In the strongholds of my mind—and soul
Where I have been before, Midnight
Do I—should I run away now?
I want to slip away and run
In the wilderness of our town—our home
Where feet have never been before, Aurora
Lost, in your street’s lights
Deteriorating bricks glow red and green
Fox River condemns the garbled sights
Chuckles at a one-way street—serene
Currently this dead, sub-zero night
Over yonder, not a shadow,
Though as ghostly
Stands, the young girl—thin and pale
Life has followed her here
English Creative Writing Assignment
The assignment was to write a poem illustrating what Emily in Our Town meant when she said, "They don't really understand, do they?"
And... I wrote it in 15 minutes so... I know it's not the best. I only really like the last stanza.
________________________________
And I hear the sounds
Of rustling papers—to and fro
With all those precious words
I’ve written, those priceless words I’ve written
None of which records a precious day
And now I’m forgetting
Slowly forgetting—night and day
With all the warmness of the sun
I’ve lived, those hurried hours I’ve lived
Never “wasting” a moment of a precious day
And now I’m regretting
Each moment taken for granted—here and there
With all the unspoken love
I’ve forgotten, those rainbows . . . I’ve forgotten
Now time has left me no precious day
To relive, relive again
Would I forget again?
These things separation alone have
Reminded me, and painfully
Displayed how numbly
I once lived;
Yet never once did I live
Thursday, April 24, 2008
A Myriad of Things
So... I'll post a couple unfinished little things I've written the past couple months. This first one... I may have even written it near the end of last year. The main problem with it is the bouncy melody. So, I'm working on altering it slightly. ;] Just by drawing out certain notes and changing stuff like that it should sound better...
Maybe, as I'm sitting by the roadside
Picking flowers 'til the last train goes by
Maybe, as I wait here day and night
And it's getting cold out
It's getting cold outside
Maybe, {someday} you will call me
When you find the home you're longing
Or maybe I'm disillusioned not to plant
A cross by the wayside
{It's easier than saying you're ungrateful}
Bridge:
Darling runaway, go run away
Still you will find me, you will find me
In a different face, a different face
Love will lead you home
And I thought it wasn't your face that had turned away
That it wasn't your eyes that stared back in surprise
_____________________________________
Okay, this second one at times I really like and other times I'm like "Ick, I hate it!" {especially the first line} So, I guess I'll post it anyway. *can't remember when it was written, but not this year*
They say you can name a star after me
But why don't we just sit here and dream…
Under these stars that will never be ours
Would you dream with me?
Under these stars that will never be ours
We could write a symphony
With a note for my heartbeat
Your eyes create a melody in me
Under these stars…
Will they ever be ours?
But wishing and dreaming
Will never keep me believing
Silence can be so deceiving
She gazes 'round as the curtain falls down
Empty stage--the dance is over
Displayed feelings are left in the hands of the grave
Blank stares dismiss her heart's meaning
Chorus:
If she had a chance to dance the dance--one last time
What would she change?
Would she release those emotions inside--one last time
If she had a chance to portray again--one last time
What would she change?
Would she believe in the ones left with time--one last time/ones left with time
What we could change with one last time (repeat line)
Bridge:
I left behind
I left behind
The dances I fell behind
I left behind
I left behind
The scars on my wrists and mind
I left behind
I left behind
My choreograph suicides
For the first time…
I'm not behind
___________________________
And this I just randomly wrote sometime this year, I think when I had mono, so like February. But as you can see it is very, very, short and most assuredly unfinished. It's supposed to sound like someone confused, sharp breaths. The person is fearing death when he/she was told is wasn't so terrible.
I thought.
I mean, I did believe them when they--
Said this would be simple.
A breath.
I mean, the lack thereof of would not be--
More than a silent temple
Without a worry or a care
_______________________________
Also written when I had mono =P I was really, really tired and though, "Hmm... how would I feel if I knew when I went to sleep I would never wake up again?" I decided I would want my life to mean something... at least, I would want someone, or multiple people, to carry on whatever I started. Needless to say, I got no farther than one stanza before I fell asleep and took a nap. ^_^
If my eyes, the lids, I cannot sway--
Deeper, flows the nighttime peace
And darkness, myself, it comes to encase
The warmth it becons me, surrender
And now, farewells I'd gladly say
In all this still, will you hold my vision?
_________________________________
Finally, here is a song I wrote a very long time ago. The first "good" song I ever wrote, really. Unless I decide to count that one from... but... I'm still not sure if I like that one at all... *cough* Anyway, about this song. I had to have written it sometime in 2005 because I used an altered version of it from and English project spring 2006. Yeah. Perhaps not the most beautiful wording, but it's meaningful and heartfelt.
Verse 1:
I feel too small
To be seen, by you
And every wall
Is invisible, to you
Where can I run
Or hide
When I cannot withdraw into myself
And try to pretend
I'm just dreaming
Again
Pre-Chorus:
For I am Nothing
Who's desiring more:
The only One Thing
That can satisfy
Chorus:
Where can I run?
Where can I hide?
That you won't see me…
And what can I do
That you won't desire
To use me
I'm beginning the life of you in control
Embracing destiny
Direct my life
Let passion unfold
And offer me
No escape
Let there be
No escaping
Verse 2:
I know I'm more
Than what meets the eye
Your plan for me
Goes beyond all time
Where can I not stand?
Or speak?
For you said You'll always lead
Me, and I
Will follow
Again
Pre-Chorus
Chorus
Maybe, as I'm sitting by the roadside
Picking flowers 'til the last train goes by
Maybe, as I wait here day and night
And it's getting cold out
It's getting cold outside
Maybe, {someday} you will call me
When you find the home you're longing
Or maybe I'm disillusioned not to plant
A cross by the wayside
{It's easier than saying you're ungrateful}
Bridge:
Darling runaway, go run away
Still you will find me, you will find me
In a different face, a different face
Love will lead you home
And I thought it wasn't your face that had turned away
That it wasn't your eyes that stared back in surprise
_____________________________________
Okay, this second one at times I really like and other times I'm like "Ick, I hate it!" {especially the first line} So, I guess I'll post it anyway. *can't remember when it was written, but not this year*
They say you can name a star after me
But why don't we just sit here and dream…
Under these stars that will never be ours
Would you dream with me?
Under these stars that will never be ours
We could write a symphony
With a note for my heartbeat
Your eyes create a melody in me
Under these stars…
Will they ever be ours?
But wishing and dreaming
Will never keep me believing
Silence can be so deceiving
__________________________
Okay, here's something even older. Probably like a year and a half old... {maybe more 8} For this one I do like the tune, but I had to alter the first verse to make it decent, and I'm not done altering the second. I also changed the word "relive" in the chorus to "portray," but I don't really like it. And I know the bridge looks really terrible... but it doesn't sound that bad.
Verse 1:She gazes 'round as the curtain falls down
Empty stage--the dance is over
Displayed feelings are left in the hands of the grave
Blank stares dismiss her heart's meaning
Chorus:
If she had a chance to dance the dance--one last time
What would she change?
Would she release those emotions inside--one last time
If she had a chance to portray again--one last time
What would she change?
Would she believe in the ones left with time--one last time/ones left with time
What we could change with one last time (repeat line)
Bridge:
I left behind
I left behind
The dances I fell behind
I left behind
I left behind
The scars on my wrists and mind
I left behind
I left behind
My choreograph suicides
For the first time…
I'm not behind
___________________________
And this I just randomly wrote sometime this year, I think when I had mono, so like February. But as you can see it is very, very, short and most assuredly unfinished. It's supposed to sound like someone confused, sharp breaths. The person is fearing death when he/she was told is wasn't so terrible.
I thought.
I mean, I did believe them when they--
Said this would be simple.
A breath.
I mean, the lack thereof of would not be--
More than a silent temple
Without a worry or a care
_______________________________
Also written when I had mono =P I was really, really tired and though, "Hmm... how would I feel if I knew when I went to sleep I would never wake up again?" I decided I would want my life to mean something... at least, I would want someone, or multiple people, to carry on whatever I started. Needless to say, I got no farther than one stanza before I fell asleep and took a nap. ^_^
If my eyes, the lids, I cannot sway--
Deeper, flows the nighttime peace
And darkness, myself, it comes to encase
The warmth it becons me, surrender
And now, farewells I'd gladly say
In all this still, will you hold my vision?
_________________________________
Finally, here is a song I wrote a very long time ago. The first "good" song I ever wrote, really. Unless I decide to count that one from... but... I'm still not sure if I like that one at all... *cough* Anyway, about this song. I had to have written it sometime in 2005 because I used an altered version of it from and English project spring 2006. Yeah. Perhaps not the most beautiful wording, but it's meaningful and heartfelt.
Verse 1:
I feel too small
To be seen, by you
And every wall
Is invisible, to you
Where can I run
Or hide
When I cannot withdraw into myself
And try to pretend
I'm just dreaming
Again
Pre-Chorus:
For I am Nothing
Who's desiring more:
The only One Thing
That can satisfy
Chorus:
Where can I run?
Where can I hide?
That you won't see me…
And what can I do
That you won't desire
To use me
I'm beginning the life of you in control
Embracing destiny
Direct my life
Let passion unfold
And offer me
No escape
Let there be
No escaping
Verse 2:
I know I'm more
Than what meets the eye
Your plan for me
Goes beyond all time
Where can I not stand?
Or speak?
For you said You'll always lead
Me, and I
Will follow
Again
Pre-Chorus
Chorus
Friday, April 4, 2008
It's Often Said And Done
There isn't a father in the world for me
Cancer squared and divorce have taken them
One by one -- I'm the fatherless son
Yes, that's what I have become -- one of the million
Who walk this earth, and raise there own
By books and intuition -- I haven't had an education
On fatherhood
There isn't a hope in the world for me
To be the perfect father of which I dreamed
Chance after chance -- I have made mistakes
Yes, that's what I have done -- and asked for forgiveness
Try to improve, and take a chance
By trial and error -- I haven't given up
On fatherhood
Cancer squared and divorce have taken them
One by one -- I'm the fatherless son
Yes, that's what I have become -- one of the million
Who walk this earth, and raise there own
By books and intuition -- I haven't had an education
On fatherhood
There isn't a hope in the world for me
To be the perfect father of which I dreamed
Chance after chance -- I have made mistakes
Yes, that's what I have done -- and asked for forgiveness
Try to improve, and take a chance
By trial and error -- I haven't given up
On fatherhood
Even The Strong Are Mistaken
You can be the stone tied to my neck
I'll let you
And you can be the final say
The last word is in your power
If I have to stay, I'll stay
Play that game; say
I have more to do here
Don't let me shake the ashes from my feet
Ashes of your letter--
Sign, seal, and deliver
Tie the stone around my neck
I'll let you
And you can be the final say
The last word is in your power
If I have to stay, I'll stay
Play that game; say
I have more to do here
Don't let me shake the ashes from my feet
Ashes of your letter--
Sign, seal, and deliver
Tie the stone around my neck
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
One Thing
There's one thing I've
Never told anyone
Sometimes I forget it, myself
It's the
Untouchable.
Unspeakable.
And whether I'm protecting myself
Or someone else
No one will ever know--
It's the one thing I will never tell
Never told anyone
Sometimes I forget it, myself
It's the
Untouchable.
Unspeakable.
And whether I'm protecting myself
Or someone else
No one will ever know--
It's the one thing I will never tell
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Wait For The Rain
This is part of a song with little revision.
One side to every story, just one side is seen
Kaleidoscopes dance with images no one's ever seen
Here--the railing's rusted. {hold tight}
Clear--a harmless endeavour
For the emotions of those left behind
But whose tire marks will they find?
No obstructions, but those of my mind
I won't hurt them this way
I'll find slicker pavement someday
Anywhere, anytime: just so the sun won't shine on me
{There will be no note to leave}
Accident they will only believe
::Wait for the rain
Wait for the rain
*overlapping:* You promised to dance with me in the rain
Chalk lines;
Will they be outlines--
Or faded memories of childhood playtime(s)?
That the rain came and washed away;
Colorful portraits riddled with mistakes
One side to every story, just one side is seen
Kaleidoscopes dance with images no one's ever seen
Here--the railing's rusted. {hold tight}
Clear--a harmless endeavour
For the emotions of those left behind
But whose tire marks will they find?
No obstructions, but those of my mind
I won't hurt them this way
I'll find slicker pavement someday
Anywhere, anytime: just so the sun won't shine on me
{There will be no note to leave}
Accident they will only believe
::Wait for the rain
Wait for the rain
*overlapping:* You promised to dance with me in the rain
Chalk lines;
Will they be outlines--
Or faded memories of childhood playtime(s)?
That the rain came and washed away;
Colorful portraits riddled with mistakes
Monday, March 17, 2008
My Heart Can't Beat Fast Enough
We stay together we're both going down
Six feet under the ground
We stay together and we're both going down, d-down, down, down
I gave you a chance, I lent you my heart
But your pulse hasn't strengthened at all
I'll give you my hand, but you can't have my heart
It's done you no good at all
I'm enabling you--something I swore I'd never do
In enabling you, I'm making you weaker still
I'm pulling my heart away
I'm turning away, are you turning too?
I tried everything I… could
We stay together we're both going down
Six feet under the ground
We stay together and we're both going down, d-down, down, down
'Cause
My heart can't beat fast enough to live for…
To live for both of us
My heart can't beat fast enough to live for…
To live for both of us
{To live for both of us
To live for both of us…}
If it's weakness so be it--I'm tired
--Pulse is falling down, falling down
Almost flatline
It's just a matter of... time
**The following are some more rough-draft ideas to incorporate**
I said take your time--
And you took all my time
That I didn't even know I had
How can I lie
How can I pretend that
I am not responsible for you
Co-dependant, co-dependant {you have chosen this too}
I am responsible for you and myself too
Co-dependant, co-dependant {recovery for you and I requires}
*chorus?*
Oh, how I miss you
We stay together we're both going down
Six feet under the ground
We stay together and we're both going down, d-down, down, down
I gave you a chance, I lent you my heart
But your pulse hasn't strengthened at all
I'll give you my hand, but you can't have my heart
It's done you no good at all
I'm enabling you--something I swore I'd never do
In enabling you, I'm making you weaker still
I'm pulling my heart away
I'm turning away, are you turning too?
I tried everything I… could
We stay together we're both going down
Six feet under the ground
We stay together and we're both going down, d-down, down, down
'Cause
My heart can't beat fast enough to live for…
To live for both of us
My heart can't beat fast enough to live for…
To live for both of us
{To live for both of us
To live for both of us…}
If it's weakness so be it--I'm tired
--Pulse is falling down, falling down
Almost flatline
It's just a matter of... time
**The following are some more rough-draft ideas to incorporate**
I said take your time--
And you took all my time
That I didn't even know I had
How can I lie
How can I pretend that
I am not responsible for you
Co-dependant, co-dependant {you have chosen this too}
I am responsible for you and myself too
Co-dependant, co-dependant {recovery for you and I requires}
*chorus?*
Oh, how I miss you
I Am Not So Fortunate
The mirror may have disappeared
Tommy, you still remember:
Will they go away?
Will they go away like Mommy?
Perhaps they never leave, I think
I am not so fortunate
Fairy tales speak of werewolves.
That hideous beast with an
Involuntary, momentary transformation.
The image may have disappeared
Your skin, it still remembers:
Welts must slowly fade away
But they will not disappear like Mommy
Mommy will always come back, so I think
I am not so fortunate
I have seen a wretched werewolf
That hideous beast which leaves one
With a terrible, painful memory.
Tommy, you still remember:
Will they go away?
Will they go away like Mommy?
Perhaps they never leave, I think
I am not so fortunate
Fairy tales speak of werewolves.
That hideous beast with an
Involuntary, momentary transformation.
The image may have disappeared
Your skin, it still remembers:
Welts must slowly fade away
But they will not disappear like Mommy
Mommy will always come back, so I think
I am not so fortunate
I have seen a wretched werewolf
That hideous beast which leaves one
With a terrible, painful memory.
The Way Memories Work
I can honestly say I know nothing of it--
Yet, stay a long while
You will know nothing but it
This is the way memories
Disappear; like our child in the closet, who
So often, through breaks and knotholes
Allures the seeker with giggles and
Heavy breathing; while phantoms occupy
The empty spaces, the lack of history
Haunting: blank faces and silences encases
No--alludes--this lack of substance.
It alludes.
Yet, stay a long while
You will know nothing but it
This is the way memories
Disappear; like our child in the closet, who
So often, through breaks and knotholes
Allures the seeker with giggles and
Heavy breathing; while phantoms occupy
The empty spaces, the lack of history
Haunting: blank faces and silences encases
No--alludes--this lack of substance.
It alludes.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Eastbound on 70
This is a song.
The miles drag on and on – guilty conscience doesn’t help much
I won’t sleep ‘til dawn – or ‘til the pavement has been broken
~And the bullets hit the windshield
Though they clatter to the ground the wheels take them ‘round and ‘round
When the bullets hit the windshield
They penetrate my heart – I have brought them whence I left them
I say you can’t read my mind unless you know my apologies
By name {I could have written you a list of things I swore I would never do}
By name {my mind is closed door save for the demons unlocking to torment me more}
Counting deeds and weighing words {I’ll never get out alive}
My current state {a blood list of my sins}
Now torn away {follows me, owns me reveals}
Reveals a terrified man; running again
~And the bullets hit the windshield
Though they clatter to the ground the wheels take them ‘round and ‘round
When the bullets hit the windshield
They penetrate my heart – I have brought them whence I left them
You found me out – I swear I will return soon
You may own me now but – Eastbound on 70
I may return as something new – westbound; inbound
Sweet Aurora, Pandora doesn’t live here anymore
God save my soul.
I think I relinquished it back there
God save my soul.
Unweave the chords I sworn I’d never woven before
The miles drag on and on – guilty conscience doesn’t help much
I won’t sleep ‘til dawn – or ‘til the pavement has been broken
~And the bullets hit the windshield
Though they clatter to the ground the wheels take them ‘round and ‘round
When the bullets hit the windshield
They penetrate my heart – I have brought them whence I left them
I say you can’t read my mind unless you know my apologies
By name {I could have written you a list of things I swore I would never do}
By name {my mind is closed door save for the demons unlocking to torment me more}
Counting deeds and weighing words {I’ll never get out alive}
My current state {a blood list of my sins}
Now torn away {follows me, owns me reveals}
Reveals a terrified man; running again
~And the bullets hit the windshield
Though they clatter to the ground the wheels take them ‘round and ‘round
When the bullets hit the windshield
They penetrate my heart – I have brought them whence I left them
You found me out – I swear I will return soon
You may own me now but – Eastbound on 70
I may return as something new – westbound; inbound
Sweet Aurora, Pandora doesn’t live here anymore
God save my soul.
I think I relinquished it back there
God save my soul.
Unweave the chords I sworn I’d never woven before
Friday, February 22, 2008
I Thought I Was Stronger Now
Friday, June 8th, 2007
I Thought I Was Stronger Now
Is strength in the weakness?
Letting down your guard
Living out emotions
As they are tearing you apart
There is strength in mercy towards your
Enemy
Bleeding yourself to make them complete
You can't ignore them when they weep
Memories are not admitting defeat
And love—
Even when two weeks late
Is the love you have given instead of
Hate
Don't withhold justice. But.
Never abandon the broken
For a promise, even if broken
By one
Continues with the other—
Nothing else can be done
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Untitled Poem {Silent Plea}
This is my desperate cry for help
Save me, save me,
Because I can't save myself
And this is my very last cry for help
Hear me, hear me,
There is no one else.
{I can't hear myself}
I'm out of time, I'm out of blood
I've drained my resources
I've searched up and down the streets for my counterfeit recourses
I'm silent in my composure
I'm saving up for my disposal
I won't send for the comfort I need
{Why won't they come to me?}
I know they won't set me free
But I'll give in if they want to see
{Why don't they ask me?}
This is when I need you
And this is when you can't hear me
Because this is when I won't ask
I've tasted this cup, and it's not bitter, but sweet
Deception is always sweet
And now, when I drink you won't hear me scream
Because this
This
This is my silent plea
Save me, save me,
Because I can't save myself
And this is my very last cry for help
Hear me, hear me,
There is no one else.
{I can't hear myself}
I'm out of time, I'm out of blood
I've drained my resources
I've searched up and down the streets for my counterfeit recourses
I'm silent in my composure
I'm saving up for my disposal
I won't send for the comfort I need
{Why won't they come to me?}
I know they won't set me free
But I'll give in if they want to see
{Why don't they ask me?}
This is when I need you
And this is when you can't hear me
Because this is when I won't ask
I've tasted this cup, and it's not bitter, but sweet
Deception is always sweet
And now, when I drink you won't hear me scream
Because this
This
This is my silent plea
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Rather Untitled...
V1::
Rainclouds have come today
Oh, please don't go away
Rain drops, keep falling down
So my tears won't show, when they hit the ground
I'm crying again
I thought I was stronger now
I'm trying to find
A cure for my emotions
I cherished the sight: a glimmer of hope
In your eyes—they're so lost
And now I'm sharing in your torment
Here my cry
I've changed my melody
I'm no longer lost
And the past is behind me
Chorus:
{Your tears are in my eyes
And your cuts scar my wrists
Your pain is in my heart
I'm torn between hope and grief
I'll always stand beside you
Will you take what hope is mine—
Make it yours
When will you take what hope is mine, (and) make it yours?}
V2::
Something's wrong or not the same
Winds of change have touched your face
How can, I let you know
How your wounded soul, wounds my own
And there's no more denying
You pain and confusion
It's gazing through your eyes
And declaring war on your heart
I feel, your despair
Do you know this affects me?
Could I do the same—
And give you some of my peace
{Chorus}
Bridge::
This is me mourning a past I can't change
This is me mourning a friend lost and gained
Emotions that are not mine
Dare to consume my mind
The gnawing that lurks inside
Is evading the grasp of my mind
Rainclouds have come today
Oh, please don't go away
Rain drops, keep falling down
So my tears won't show, when they hit the ground
I'm crying again
I thought I was stronger now
I'm trying to find
A cure for my emotions
I cherished the sight: a glimmer of hope
In your eyes—they're so lost
And now I'm sharing in your torment
Here my cry
I've changed my melody
I'm no longer lost
And the past is behind me
Chorus:
{Your tears are in my eyes
And your cuts scar my wrists
Your pain is in my heart
I'm torn between hope and grief
I'll always stand beside you
Will you take what hope is mine—
Make it yours
When will you take what hope is mine, (and) make it yours?}
V2::
Something's wrong or not the same
Winds of change have touched your face
How can, I let you know
How your wounded soul, wounds my own
And there's no more denying
You pain and confusion
It's gazing through your eyes
And declaring war on your heart
I feel, your despair
Do you know this affects me?
Could I do the same—
And give you some of my peace
{Chorus}
Bridge::
This is me mourning a past I can't change
This is me mourning a friend lost and gained
Emotions that are not mine
Dare to consume my mind
The gnawing that lurks inside
Is evading the grasp of my mind
Monday, January 28, 2008
Dear God,
I miss you
Though, this silence is simply my lack of communication
And I miss you
Because I don't have nearly enough
And it's my fault
Just, I do not know what to say
For the beginning
Middle
Or End
I'm past square one,
But I cannot remember how I got past it then
I have this aching feeling inside
Whether it's my desire to cry
Or my reaction to this state of
"Lost"
I do not know
But I do know I could use a hug
And I could use a friend like you
Dear God, I love you
And I miss you
Though, this silence is simply my lack of communication
And I miss you
Because I don't have nearly enough
And it's my fault
Just, I do not know what to say
For the beginning
Middle
Or End
I'm past square one,
But I cannot remember how I got past it then
I have this aching feeling inside
Whether it's my desire to cry
Or my reaction to this state of
"Lost"
I do not know
But I do know I could use a hug
And I could use a friend like you
Dear God, I love you
And I miss you
Saturday, January 26, 2008
It Should Be Illegal {Repaint}
This is a song, not a poem. =] Written... sometime 07
Here's an idea of what it sounds like: http://media.putfile.com/Yesterday-and-Today-Repaint
It should be illegal
To feign second glances
Pretend that we're meeting in the same circumstances
It should be illegal
To go through these motions
The same way as last time when so much has changed
Yesterday and today
Have no right to appear the same
Save me my dignity
{It should be illegal}
Let's quit pretending
Give me my peace
Repaint these walls
Repaint… these walls
Stop mocking me {mocking me}
Your color should have changed
You should be hanging {be hanging}
A tribute to what won't be again
I don't want to see things the way I saw before
Because they aren't that way anymore
I don't what to see thing the way I saw before
They aren't that way anymore
I know why this happened
I know when this happened
So how could this happen
To me I shed my tears here before {shed my tears here before}
Alone with a locked door {alone with a locked door}
Beyond these walls I'll pretend like nothing has changed
Because they scenery has stayed the same…
Stop mocking me
Yesterday and today have no right to appear the same
You should be hanging
Save me my dignity
Let's quit pretending
Stop mocking me
Give me my peace
Repaint these walls…
I don't want to see things the way I saw before
Because they aren't that way anymore
I don't what to see thing the way I saw before
They aren't that way anymore
Yesterday and today…
Have no right to appear the same…
Friday, January 25, 2008
My Sweet Tear
This is a poem. ;] Written October 2006.
Is there freedom in this numbness?
Or am I disguising my pain…
Say, can removing the stinger
Relieve the sting?
What has become of my self pity… or any self care
Am I holding my breath to bask in the joy
Of saving air
Is my answer a novocain
Or is it a cure
Do I only love my self for loving others more?
…But in missing breaths have I lost the chance to give
Come to me, sweet pain
If only to remind me
That I live
May I feel long enough to know
I am not hiding myself from change
Come to me, my sweet tear
In some pain there is nothing to fear
Wash away the heartache of numbness
My sweet tear
Have I gone too far this time?
Refusing the sorrow knowing you will make it right
Do I need to feel to understand
How only you can relieve me of my pain
Is there freedom in this numbness?
Or am I disguising my pain…
Say, can removing the stinger
Relieve the sting?
What has become of my self pity… or any self care
Am I holding my breath to bask in the joy
Of saving air
Is my answer a novocain
Or is it a cure
Do I only love my self for loving others more?
…But in missing breaths have I lost the chance to give
Come to me, sweet pain
If only to remind me
That I live
May I feel long enough to know
I am not hiding myself from change
Come to me, my sweet tear
In some pain there is nothing to fear
Wash away the heartache of numbness
My sweet tear
Have I gone too far this time?
Refusing the sorrow knowing you will make it right
Do I need to feel to understand
How only you can relieve me of my pain
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
An Explanation
Well, I just decided to create a blog to hold exclusively my written works. =]
So, I won't have a regular schedule for posting here, but hopefully when I do post you find it worth your time to read.
I'm guessing you know who I am since you are reading this, but in the event that you do not, I am Amanda. {Or Midnight} And I'm currently fifteen.
So, I won't have a regular schedule for posting here, but hopefully when I do post you find it worth your time to read.
I'm guessing you know who I am since you are reading this, but in the event that you do not, I am Amanda. {Or Midnight} And I'm currently fifteen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
