sin' auld lang syne

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days of auld lang syne?
And days of auld lang syne, my dear,
And days of auld lang syne.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days of auld lang syne?
We twa hae run aboot the braes
And pu'd the gowans fine.
We've wandered mony a weary foot,
Sin' auld lang syne.
Sin' auld lang syne, my dear,
Sin' auld lang syne,
We've wandered mony a weary foot,
Sin' auld lang syne.
We twa hae sported i' the burn,
From morning sun till dine,
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin' auld lang syne.
Sin' auld lang syne, my dear,
Sin' auld lang syne.
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin' auld lang syne.
And ther's a hand, my trusty friend,
And gie's a hand o' thine;
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.


good night, and good luck.


http://tinyurl.com/2r9fb

the darkest night of the year

chaos
broken
starlight
pouring
shadows
through
the
lesser
light
towards
imagined
desire
to
find
yesterday.

should
help
descend?
i
think
the
morning
should
awaken
soon.

vodka
laughter
smokes
cookies
truth.

my christmases have improved.

sensory

insane drain... the drip has just dropped and the plink on the sink is enough to drive me mad. but to walk across the room to fix it seems like wasted exertion. my drink was drank and now i'm bled dry. you'd think the quick beat that moves the life from heart to toes and up my spine would take less time, but i'm hemorrhaging thought out my ear everytime you cause me to question.

but i beg of you to fulfill the need of me.

i'm crumbling. the parchment upon which i wrote my last lines has been burned, for lack of water to quench the flames. but i will still lay with my words and coax them to open their eyes. there's a leaky pen between me and my next turned phrase, and when all the drops seep out we'll see what remains.

blink and you'll find it.

eggshells

i had an interesting experience recently.

i developed a deal with God at one point, sometime in my early teenage years, that if he thinks he gets to run the universe, he has to deal with my opinions and questions. the first interesting thing is that he took the deal.

the second interesting thing is that he just told me that i don't get to do that anymore. it was somewhat jolting... i don't think i realized how comfortable i was with that, and how odd it is to not have it. now when i question, he tells me i know the answer, i just don't like it. now when i tell him my opinions, he tells me that i'm an adult and i need to just stop talking about it and deal with it. it's rather interesting. on one hand, it made me feel kind of stupid, as i realized how obnoxious i had been to him. on the other, i think he just told me that i've grown up.

i honestly thought i would spend my whole life as a broken person. i really didn't realize that he wanted me to stand with him, and walk with him, not just spend my entire life in broken humilation.

i used to hate everything about myself. i still have scars in places i cut myself. i can still remember what it was like at night when there would be so many voices around me i couldn't sleep. i know that i used to starve myself to make me a better person, and i even punished myself when my mom wouldn't because i was yearning so much to matter enough to be disciplined. i used to cry when someone didn't like me. i used to hate myself if i made a mistake. i often ran from people who loved me, and i would push people away if they could see in. i was always angry and always afraid. the times when people thought i was righteous, even when i was young, they didn't realize that i was two people. not because i wanted to be, but because i was so fractured i could be nothing else. i wanted power to protect myself. i wanted money to make me safe.

i'm writing this because i also hid away, and was so ashamed for not being able to control my weaknesses. it wasn't until this year that i realized the depth of my misunderstanding of grace. all i needed was to give in, and let go, and know that i'm loved. i never needed to prove anything in the first place. yeshua took the weight off my back and the craziness from my mind and while i still, every day, have to choose to eat and not be afraid and to accept love and forgive i know that i can.

i have come a long way from the girl who hid in the closet to cry.

i am so lucky to be alive. a big thank you on that end goes to my parents, shawn and missy. my mom was so broken at the time that she could barely function herself. they took a really obnoxious teenager in when no one else really knew what to do with me. i don't think they did either, but they loved me enough to be honest and tell me that i was running from life. their oldest son is now their second teenager. and i am two years older than they were when they "adopted" me.

thanks:)

selah's super gatorade

"all you need is 1/4 cup of water, 1/4 cup of sugar, 10/4 cups of gator, and 1/4 cup of gatorade. and that's how you make super gatorade."






can i be 3 again, please?

so i totally forgot

how much i like creating. even though i'm so overloaded i can't really sleep (something that i will have to get better about), i wake up happy every day.

pretty damn cool.

catharsis

the smell of the spice carried on the breeze from the oscillating fan brought the sweet unattainable flavor to my attention… it would be months before i could savor the craving. rum is wonderful pain. i took you somewhere, or nowhere… and we tried again to see the familiar. that wasn’t the last time i saw you, but i think it was the last time you saw me.

the memory i will forever keep as the one defining you to me is sitting while the constant waves beating the shore reminded us both that we would never rest, but the light from the beacon piercing the fog was a comfort. i’ll keep you there.

i never knew how far away together could be.

there’s words to be known and time to be understood, but i don’t know if i think it will be something seen. i think, if it happens, it will just appear again and we will know the lost years did not destroy our family. i know you would think it trite for me to say i have cried for the lost time.

i still reach out, and i’m still turned away. your friendship was freely offered, and then quickly rescinded time and again when i failed to live up to the expectations you never shared. i’m sorry you’re lonely, but i didn’t leave.

it was like this.
and old man, who should have been young… should have been able to touch the stars that he aimed to grasp for his kind of brilliance was rarely seen… he wasted away. the cancer ate him from the inside and the sounds of his cries still echo. i know he rests in peace, but i would have more belief if it hadn’t taken years of decay to make him see his wife and his child for the first time. he was 46. i’m no longer so far removed, and i’m watching the decay start again. it starts in the eyes, when you can’t see in, and you always look down.

next comes the denial.

then alone, the bitterness eats away. that’s the cancer that took him.

that’s how it was.

so when i say that i’m waiting for you to prove that you’ll achieve what you’ve promised, take that as love. i’m believing that you will choose to live.

don’t let me down. it may be selfish to say that i can’t watch the cancer again, but it’s true.

i see a man with a light, forging the way through a dark forest that has lived in myth, only to burn at your hand. i see a lost soul finding the one he’s sought, to find that he’s the one who was lost. and there you are, filling the large footsteps you’ve left by your dreams, and the worlds you’ve painted with your rhythms and rhymes you will finally believe.

charlie brown

i meant to post this last Friday, november 25th. but many circumstances got in my way, most of which are too boring to mention. there was that bit with the giant orangutans on the subway, but i'm not sure that one was true, so i don't think it counts.

i spent a long time being a die-hard feminist. i'm sure this is big news to most people... as i'm so demure, and all. i swore i would never have a family before a career. and here i am. i've actually become a sap, too, which adds insult to disillusionment... only because i'm now eating crow for all the years of insulting sappy people.

i first saw my husband in a stinky rehearsal room in Tulsa, OK. he was 19. i think his forehead was the first thing i noticed. the second thing was his overly arrogant attitude, and the third was his smile.

not exactly love at first sight, but i've never been a traditionalist.

there were several nights when we drove down to the park with our friend chris crews (also a daddy now) and justin would play his guitar while crews beat his drum, and i swung on swings or danced in the sand. sometimes crews would stare into space or rant about the doors or draw instead, and i would take my insignificant talent for percussion out on his poor drum. justin would sometimes sing, and always eventually put his guitar down and take out a pack of Cherry certs. i think the smell of cherry certs would always be connected to Tulsa, OK and small parks and mishmatched music and long conversations about nothingness and long drives home in a car that scared the shit out of me every time i got in it, had the certs company not stopped making the cherry flavor.

after that, we got married. Which was, obviously, many steps removed from the previous story. these steps involved such things as neo, ghetto-rigging, gaff tape, star crunches, many jackie chan movies, huge palmetto bugs, great pizza, too much coffee, many truly inspiring moments, fun foam, wrestling shoes, road trips, power naps, and a couple of romances and quasi-sorta-not-quite-romance-so-what-do-you-call-it things. But after all of that, we got married. As you might have guessed... it wasn't traditional.

After that, we had a baby. And started a couple of companies, and i still drank too much coffee, and justin quit smoking a lot. now we have this great kid.

i tell you all of this, because as random and unconnected as the above story might sound, there's one constant in all of it: the man i call charlie brown. well, if he doesn't listen when i call the first time.

i don't think i've ever met a person of so many contradictions. but i can tell you that he got a man-hating bitter chick to marry him and have a kid... and realize that there was really nothing more that she wanted in the world than to be married to this man and have a small to moderate amount of his children.

this is less sweet and sappy than i intended... if you get one day of the year when your wife can't be sarcastic to you it should be your birthday. but i forgot to post this on your birthday, poopsky, and if i wasn't sarcastic i doubt you'd recognize me. unless i was losing my temper or lost in thought.

so here's to you, charles justin harvey. you're marginally older, quite a bit younger, much wiser, and a great amount more fun than i am. thanks for keeping me from growing up to be a too old and stodgy, immature, selfish woman. i think i might follow you anywhere, even if i might bitch the whole way that i have no idea where i'm going.

charlie brown, you're my hero. truly.

it definitly works for you that you're hot, too.

confessions, or i really need this out of my head

i just needed to vent this... it's something i've realized that i've been carrying around for a long time. and when you realize that you've been carrying around an elephant that occasionally shits in the corner of your life, i find that it is often helpful to talk about it, so at least you're not in denial that your elephant is stinky.

as an artist and a performer, i am craving specific input. i was raised in a combination of two schools of thought as far as working with a teacher. The first being that if you don't recieve correction and constructive criticism, your teacher believes that you are not capable of handling it. The second, that artists are too sensitive and therefore need to be handled with kid gloves and shouldn't be given too much criticism... or compliments, for fear they'll become full of themselves.

i spent my entire life getting extremely mixed signals. i sang for years; it's actually what i started in. i won most of the competitions that i entered in. but when i asked my teacher if i had a good voice, and if not what i could work on, she replied with "well, you definitly contribute something to the choir". what is that, exactly? when i asked my dance teacher if i was a good dancer, and whether or not i should even try to do it for a career, she said, "well, you're definitly called to this. not as called as so-and-so, but i think there's something there." WTF! when i asked my acting/mime teacher if i was any good, he said "well, your thighs are really too big to be a ballet dancer, and i think you're too shy to do any speaking parts, but you're great at mime". so i'm too fat and un-interesting to be a dancer or an actor? what exactly are you saying here, people?

i asked one of my teachers why this had been the case all my life, with everything i endeavored to do. poetry, performing, novel writing, painting, acedemics... in every case i was more or less vague-ismed out of any confidence i might of obtained otherwise. she told me "we knew you would eventually succeed, so we wanted to give opportunites to other students who might not get it later."

eventually succeed? are you saying that i'll eventually annoy someone enough that they'll give me a chance? what is it about me that cause people to be so vague... they often claim to be protecting me cause they can tell that i'm sensitive, though the things that i hear have been said behind my back usually don't imply respect for sensitivity. so here i am, at 25 with no true idea of what i'm good at. i know i'm a good leader, and that i'm good at business, and i'm at least a decent designer, and i think i'm at least unintentionally funny. but i really don't know anymore than that.

am i too abrasive? do i come accross as cocky or overly self-assured? do i seem needy when i'm asking for feedback? cause i'm not, i'm just literally starving for specificity. i HATE VAGUERY. seriously, man. can't handle it anymore.

so i have to say that though i don't really know if i can sing, or act, or dance... or at least to what extent. should i stick to christian performing, or background roles? or can i aspire for somthing more? i think i can, but who knows... i'm going to inflict it on everyone if nothing more than to recieve some honest opinion and suggestions for improvement. because currently, i'm very confident where i am confident, and i have no self-esteem where i don't. and i don't need a bunch of people walking on eggshells and telling me that i'm cute and even if i need attention, i can just ask... i need to know something definable. i grew up in the christian arts world, people. somebody give me something.

please don't reply unless you're going to be specific

example

did you mean it? in the moment,
when you looked into my words and
understood the way i see, the figurative
reality that gives the breath i breathe,
did you really comprehend the extent
of which i would depend?

the lost cadence is blamed on the true nature of being
one who only walks to a drum if she has to.

and there the beating drives, drives deep into the chords
of parched want for release. you've driven me to
the edge, and i'm begging to jump off the cliff but you hold
me back for fear i'd fly out of my skin, and lose my sense
of self.

one for the money
two for the show
three, in case we need it
four is excess, but who's practicing restraint when
beating out the time by which we stone? the small
pebbles hurt more, but the big ones crush your bones.

drive it home.
the pages are browning and tearing. who's to say, that
some distant day as far from here as the day behind
tomorrow we won't look back upon these years
as the golden days, the time of innocence.
who's to say that my own imaginings won't find
home in my true reality, and break free of
the desert of metaphors, but never lose their poetry.

the motion of time often makes me queasy. here's to
the broken drum, and the forever time.

damn the sprawl

an interesting article, about the infamous American urban sprawl.
http://www.slate.com/id/2129636/?nav=fo

funny

i have a problem with being funny. see, whenever i'm trying to be funny no one laughs, and when i'm trying to be serious it's hard to keep people's attention.

see, i think that's kind of funny. but you're still waiting for the punch line, aren't you?

um... how about...

"Only two, but I don't know how they got in there! "

no? hmm. well, we'll get back to that.

another bit from my youth

i've been accused of being Lucy, but if it weren't for the obvious gender issues, i think i'd have more in common with him. or maybe i'm the tiger. am i keeping it real only when someone who believes in me is watching? or can the misperceptions of jaded people cause my words to lose their meaning?

if i tripped and fell over a twig in the woods when no one was looking, would someone still laugh at me?

truth

i must say that i really think it's easier to see the everyday ups and downs when you're alone. there is no need to editorialize or translate or watch your temper and tongue... the reaction can come and pass, and then you're just standing there with this moment in your past and no ones expression to mark it by.

heartless it may be, but truthfully so.

some days it's hard to believe. why should i have faith when doubt comes so easily... slips from my tongue with silken words... deceitful only in their pretense of strength. but these threads cannot be woven to cover the falls and the tries to climb up again. i'm trying to stop comparing, to remember that different is good and i need not be skinny but then i just want to be someone more beautiful, so maybe i'd believe that i'm worth you.

or maybe not.
i think i'm lost... i think i forgot to look down while i ran and instead, only tripped and tore skin from my knees.
i think i've forgotten where i came from, and i think the rain is making it hard to see.
i think that i'm wishing that lonely only felt so, and that i could pretend i don't need you to stand.
but truthfully, i must wander and run far from home but without you, i'd forget who i am.

.

i think you must be in jest.
to say that my narrative is wrought with
consistent ill-uses, and brings only
a moment of confused attempts within
the readers brain to create an unlikely
epiphany, is a euphemism for
“i’ve forgot the wonder of poetic freedom”
for to describe the world in only
sensible terms is prose. and while such
word play has its uses, the play would
soon loose the lust for understanding
that comes from encountering the
unexplained.

yes, it’s frivolous aesthetic.

you might see a person
and call them tall, or fair skinned, or
having a big nose. but i say they are
a wandering soul in the sea of
homogenous indemnity that is the
american experience. you can see
in the style of their dress a
representation of the true
minimal idealism and worn out
patriotic soap boxes. you might say
they are just poor, and i say that
the fruit of labor is bestowed upon
those who have inherited the grace
which follows the rich, while the
meager inheritance of the meek
seems to do little to pay earthly bills.

you might say that this poetic nonsense
is only the vain struggle of a young
foolish girl who cannot bear to look
at the world through prose, for it then
looses the luster that can be found
in its dark places and hard times,
if you can turn a phrase just so.

are poetics the original spin? or is
there truly a human need to find
beauty when the cracks are discovered
in the world of the real and it’s too
late to open our eyes?

you might say that’s a beautiful sunset,
but i say that the moment my eyes
feasted upon this reminder of our celestial
position, painted upon the skies with
such grand expression it caused me
pain to see the world beneath its gaze,
for only night follows the sunset.

i think we both have our uses.

i think

i must have been about 7.
kids make fun of you for the oddest things.
when i finally convinced my mother
that the ridicule was just too much
and she should break down and
let me have chewing gum, she
grudgingly abliged. the next day,
i bought my very own pack of gum
with my very own money
and brought it to school. another
kid, who had always made fun of
me for having weird parents who
said i couldn't do the
oddest things
taught me how to blow bubble
gum that day.

that was a good day.

for

and still the tempest rages.

how do you find the stepping stones when the clouds descend upon you? i fear to lose more than my way. but the words of the wise one, spoken in haste but still quite true sink into my memory. i'm burning it there permanently, with reflection.

the desert seemed endless. the vast stretches of sky only served to give canvas to the burning sunlight. my eyes had grown weary of squinting to see... which seemed pointless anyway. who needs sight while wandering aimlessly in a desert?

i asked for rain. i should have known.

stop to listen, stop to rest, stop to ponder.
when does the race end?
i don't know, but from here i can see no end to the
running
and my wings are wet.

you say you don't understand
my cryptic lines
but you need not read between them.
close your eyes, and count to ten
then remember the time you
stopped. and did nothing else.
then look, and see what
you comprehend.

how about this one?

"to stop, and will the raging winds to cease
and mourn the time of peace
now gone, but never truly known. this
is my need, but the tides come quickly
and the shoreline is falling away
and the time to sail is close."

do you remember now, the eyes by which you see?

defining moments

"nothing has changed, outwardly. i'm still in the same little room, with the same challenges, and the same old car. but even when i had money, i did not feel rich."

"so do you feel rich now?"

"um, it has come and gone. most of the days i have, there were a couple of times that... i didn't. it was like that poor thing crept back in. right this minute... it's fine. i feel... i read something, i don't remember where, that said it's not a lack of money, it's a lack of ideas. it's just a matter of [sticking with it], and getting it there. and that's true with me. even if i had all the money in the... even if i had millions, i still have to make the choice about my car, i still have to decide where to live."

"so do you think that the problem is in making a choice and going forward?"

"that's entirely possible. i think that may be a good part of it."

"so what do you think has changed that makes you feel rich?"

"that's a good question. it just came to me... i think [pushing my boundaries] has a lot to do with it. i still have a long way to go. but it's coming along well, and i'm learning a lot that[i didn't think i could learn at my age]. and it's given me a lot of confidence. part of it could be that i am making my way, i'm paying my bills, my utilities, my rent. which isn't huge, but compared to my income... but right now, i'm financially independent."

"do you think that's ever happened before?"

"no. there was a time... where i was paying the bills... and i had some part time cleaning, and we were getting social security. but i didn't feel independent. now that i think about it, if i had, i don't think i would have fallen for that mortgage deal. i could have thought, ok i'm $3000 behind, so what can i do to make this up. but i was in such a state, and i can say it's because i was so traumatized from your accident, but that was probably just a symptom. but then i realized, this is not how i want to live the rest of my life by any means. but right now, i am independent, and successful. i have gas in my car, i have good food... i go out to eat on Sundays, i was able to buy nice clothes, i'm [saving]. i am probably in better shape. i may not see the 26 inch waist i had before i got pregnant, but i'm in better condition. i'm probably in better health. i'm more disciplined, without being rigid and un-teachable. i'm anticipating my move, but also, i'm enjoying my life here.

and i give."

who says we're old? my mom is still growing up, and she's turning 60 this year. she isn't depressed all of the time, just some of the time. and she's getting better. she's learning the computer for the first time, going from knowing nothing and being terrified of the "beast", to typing 30 words a minute and learning how to use the internet.

if anyone thinks they deserve what they're getting... if there's anything that seems insurmountable, i can tell you some stories. i can tell you what it's like to spend your entire life thinking you're limited, and you have no hope, and then God shows up and changes everything. and if i think i have stories, my mother lived over 50 years with no hope. things aren't all the way fixed. but she believes that they will be, and that's more than i can say for many people.

" Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God's wrath through him! For if, when we were God's enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!"
Romans 5

sc

i think i just watched my worlds collide. or at least, i saw memory coincide with present existence. when that happened, the value of my remorse was lessened and i saw only one who i laughed with. you think you left only a mild impression on me, as once again i remained true to pattern and escaped when you became too controlling. you did not realize that you can't leave a mark on me by willing it there. i will defy every attempt to make me bend to fit your perception.

though i realize now that your perception was not your intention, and you tried to keep all of the chips in your pile because you were afraid that if you shared you would lose the game.

did you know that every friend is a gamble? your controlling nature only made me stubborn and foolish. it was your persistance of vision that made me believe the world would not end just because i tried to succeed.

i think the moment i realized that i still had a true friend was when i understood you were not trying to be cruel. you have just always had a really rotten sense of comedic timing, and are too insecure to say the joke when it would have been funny.

here's to the good times and the crazy, cult-ish times. i wouldn't give them up for the world.

and here's to more beautiful days.

who knows?

maybe i will run away and join the circus.

i certainly know how to walk the tightrope - constantly wondering if it will be this step or that which will misstep and send me tumbling to my doom, as i'm sure i'd miss the net.

tricky words, tricky game. is it your turn or mine? i find i'd rather stare out the window and watch the rain fall, and the paint dry on the porch swing. swinging back and forth from one who wants to play you to one who wants to just call it a game, and say you won if it would make you forget to ask me to play the next time.

too many things to rhyme. it interupts my flow.

i think 'back' and then 'sack' and 'far' and then 'tar' and there are no connections to gather the phrases into poems. so i try not to rhyme. at least, not all of the time.

would you like some sake while we reclaim our rhythm? i find it loosens the mind and sends the words drizzling out the gutter. this season brings much change. the leaves fall, the grass dies. and the bears sleep. we make cider that fills my senses with such smell, and then i sneeze. momentarily i lose my train of thought, and then i grasp at the straws of my own theology and we reset the timer and again, it's your play.

i'm watching the rain. i love the flying trapeze.

voice

if i could sing the way i want to, i'd be a violin.

the strings pull the melody right out of
my bones. the marrow within me is a concerto, in a
minor key. as the painfully excitant chords dissipate
within the air i find i have stopped breathing.

i take in a deep gulp of air into my lungs
to hold in the music.

sometimes my soul sings so loudly i cannot sleep.

happy things

"mommy, why do you run? why don't you want to be chubby?"

"when i get big, i'm going to drive a car, and a plane, and a rocket ship, and a fire engine, and a helicopter, and a gyrocopter."
pause.
"mommy, who will design the gyrocopter? do you design gyrocopters?"

"when i get big, can i have my own logo?"

"oh, i remember. i forgot that i don't know how to get to mima's house and that's why i don't know where she is. do you know where she is? would she let me have ice cream before bedtime?"

"i want pita, and hummus, and orange juice, and ice cream, and nachos."

"where does the sun go night-night to?"

"is heaven really really really really really far away, or is it just a little far away?"

"daddy, you're not very good at using your inside voice."

"i know what that rainbow means! the mcdonald's sign looks like a rainbow, and that means mcdonald's is healthy. you were wrong, mommy. so can i have mcdonald's?"

"i'm scared of the bedroom, mommy."

"i love you very much. now can i be out of timeout?"

"when i have my own puppy, can we paint him red and name him Clifford? and can we love him lots and lots so he gets really really big?"

"when i get big, will i like coffee, and beer?"

so long ago

it was so long ago when i thought i was small and you were big. i looked at your school books in amazement that i knew someone smart enough to read another language. at least a little. you told me that you didn't feel old, that in fact you were quite sure you would never grow up. but i knew better. i knew you had conquered more of life than i would live to see, and i marveled at your insight into life.

you were 23.

long driving trips on windy roads and poaring rain as you taught me how to steer your car, affectionately known as 'the boat'. i would open my bag of peach rings and you'd chew your sour candy. sometimes i was afraid to be your friend. i was afraid that you would look over and find a small, insignificant girl who was broken and confused and in desperate need for attention and you would decide i was too much of a burden to bear. but you always laughed at me when i said such things. "i'm just a small, broken girl myself." you said. "but you know what? i don't think that matters. i've already done so many things i never thought i would do. so will you."

i thought i'd never make it when you left. but i knew you were happy following your dreams, and i couldn't begrudge you that chance. i had already learned the heady sensation that came when staring down fears and believing in change.

i'm 25. i'd count out how old you are, but i'm already older than you were then so i'd prefer not to.

when you look down at your new baby and see yourself reflected in his eyes, that is when you will feel small. in his eyes you're invincible. and i still think of you as big and grown up.

it seems like a lifetime ago, but when we each get around to answering the phone the years fade away and i'm back in the "boat". you'll never be forgotten, my friend.

you would find it funny that my son just named my alligator "jorge".

lea

i love back roads.

some of my favorite memories are of riding in the car with lea, as we traveled too fast with all the windows down, and the music too loud for our health. we smoked while inhaling the fall air.

i'd get out half a sentence that was meant to be a profound thought that got stuck between my clove and my speech impediment, and she would say, "i totally agree." or not. and if not, we'd have a rousing debate about what God might have been doing before he created the universe or why pop culture must be understood even if you're a history nerd or which is better... italian meatballs, swedish meatballs, or bbq meatballs? it wasn't a fair argument, as she had never had bbq meatballs and therefore had no idea what she was talking about.

i can't have gatorade without thinking of
christmas parties
i stopped smoking because it's boring on my own
i'm eating grape jelly while i still can
i don't miss your ketchup... but there's no
one to listen to my crazy ideas.
at least not at 3 in the morning.
i haven't been in the mood for music
and stargate isn't nearly as fun
i'm reading all of your books
we should argue about them
when you come home.

i'm running out of meaningless subject lines

there are days when i feel invincible. those days, i hold my head high and i laugh long and hard and i look everyone straight in the eye.

this is not one of those days.

time

there's a time to remember.
smelling the scents that haunt from the past
remembering the way the light hit your face
looking back to the person you were, then.

there's a time to forgive.
taking back the selfish insanity
that drove you to forget who you are.

there's a time to move on.
this time has begun, and will keep going...

light from dark
deep from shallow
truth from lies
pain and sorrow
from foolish tries
joy and truth
from letting go.

the ways of yesterday won't work anymore.

the line in the sand has been drawn, and while i will step forward
i still regret what was lost.

okay

so i think i'm temporarily out of words.

let me see.













yup. goodnight, i'm going to rest.

september 11th

1991
it's an unusual experience when a family day of remembrance
becomes a national day of memorial.
i woke up this morning and thought of you immediately
which is odd, because over the years your presence in my thoughts has
become quiet.

14 years later
i find myself only older, not much wiser
i drink my tea and stare into the unseen distance often just like you taught me
occasionally i remember our arguments on matters of taste and aesthetics. is it too late to tell you that i find i agree with you on many things? and that fact is unsettling?
i must say i still try to outdo you. i still try to outlive you, though you're quite dead.

once, you were a good man.

you loved poetry, and laughed more when it rained.

i learned more about life on long car rides to tent meetings than anyone has taught me since. i would look out the window while we passed miles and miles of grass and leaves and rocks and small towns and listen to the seamless harmonies saturating the air of our car by your favorite barbershop quartet, being recounted by your 8-track. endlessly winding and unwinding the lace of my sunday best around my finger, i would listen and often interject as you and mom would debate whether i'd be a soprano or an alto.

you taught me long division one night as we drove to Baskin Robbins, where i was still astounded they could have 31 flavors of anything. i remember thinking that i should get you to teach me algebra before you died... you were a much better teacher than my school system could afford.

the first computer i ever owned was inheirited... a texas instruments beast of a thing, with a 7 inch monochrome monitor. as my memory of you faded, i would spend hours willing my mind to recall the instructions you gave me to turn it on. i could never remember, but i got it on. my mother gave it away two years later without asking. don't worry, i did eventually forgive her.

i suppose my need for absolute fairness and my opportunistic nature are qualities you passed to me as well. i find that the harder i'm pushed down, the more fervently i bounced back.

i think you would have bounced back eventually.

my son asks me all the time where you went, and why you had to die. he doesn't understand words like "cancer", but he understands that you went far away, to a place we can't fly an airplane to, and you're not coming back. he tells me he loves me more often now. i think he's afraid i'll leave. but i told him that you had most likely convinced god to put in a golf course and an ice cream shop. i'm sure you spend quite a bit of time traveling faster than light... how many stars have you counted? i think we got up to 53 once, before i fell asleep. when you carried me in and put me to bed i remember thinking that i was lucky i had a strong father, or i would have to wake up and walk to bed myself.

words, words, words.

in the beginning, God created heaven and earth. out of nothing. and he saw that it was good,
and called it good, and so it was good.

i can still see you, in my mind. in my mind i still only come up to your waist, and i have to walk really really really fast to keep up with you, though the fact that my pace makes me slightly out of breath does not slow down my speech. 'audra, take a break from questions and just listen," you say. "you'd be surprised at how much you can learn by listening."

i am still surprised.

here's to the good times. 14 years is long enough penance to pay, in the purgatory in my mind. from here on out, you're Grandpa Almond. and you're far away, and it will be a long time before i see you. or maybe not. but i tell my son i love him as often as i can, just in case.

i've decided that i'm going to remember you from my favorite times. like watching the kite you made me, probably the most carefully engineered kite in the neighborhood, plummet gracefully to earth time and time again. we got it in the air for a good 15 seconds while you ran down the street.

carefully sculpting the nose and ears on our very first snowman, and then listening to mom gripe at us while we warmed our hands as it's much easier to sculpt a snowman without mittens.

lying in the grass for an hour, trying to ignore the ants, as you kept promising me that if we waited just a bit longer the leaf would catch fire. it did.

grilled cheese sandwiches with grape jelly, learning to read with 1 kings, watching bad sci-fi that i always claimed to hate but didn't really, because it was one thing we had in common.

caramel popcorn.

repeatedly questioning you about common sense. "it's common sense because it's common, audra. everyone knows it."

"well, i don't, so it must not be that common."

you told such horrible jokes. but your eyes crinkled when you laughed, and though i always rolled my eyes i would laugh too. and once you got sick, and stopped telling bad jokes, i learned as many as a could. you never laughed. but you would look at me and occasionally smile.

i still save you the orange popsicles. until i remember that i don't need to. but then i have a whole bunch of orange popsicles, and no one else in the house likes them, so they're all mine.

words.
i hope they mean something.

steps

stomp jump
giggle wiggle
squirm learn
find uncover
laugh shout
cry sleep
rest fall
climb leap
scrape burn
break cut
love soothe
touch run
give take
wake sleep
lose forget
sow forgive
reap deny
embrace try
long reject
comfort neglect
creep loud
soft down
up left
right dream.
fly.

the rules

"To love justice, to long for the right, to love mercy, to pity the suffering, to forget wrongs and remember benefits - to love the truth, to be sincere, to utter honest words, to love liberty, to wage relentless war against slavery in all its forms, to love wife and child and friend, to make a happy home, to love the beautiful; in art, in nature, to cultivate the mind, to be familiar with the mighty thoughts that genius has expressed, the noble deeds of al the world, to cultivate courage and cheerfulness, to make others happy, to fill life with the splendor of generous acts, the warmth of loving words, to discard error, to destroy prejudice, to recieve new truths with gladness, to cultivate hope, to see the calm beyond the storm, the dawn beyond the night, to do the best that can be done and then to be resigned - this is the religion of reason, the creed of science. This satisfies the brain and heart."

-From 19th cent. freethinker Robert Ingersoll's "On Science and Reason," in What's God Got to Do With It?



what happened to our faith that allowed science to claim credit for the above statement?

jonah

i never wanted to return to the place.
i cut myself from the branch of my tree
and planted myself in soil far from my beginnings
and cursed the seed that bore me.

i never wanted to remember
i saw no need to understand my race
and i didn't care to empathize with the people
of the place that broke my father.

i never wanted to care
i hardened my heart and never looked back
for fear the evil behind me would turn me to salt
i named the place i went to righteous, and never went home.

but i remember
i can still plainly see the look on his face when you tore
away his hope
i can still remember what i wore that day, the day he
began his dying
i remember thinking you foreign and strange
when the people i thought were my own
turned away their eyes
and covered their ears
and never spoke of us.

those people of the place
those people who said we had no home
those people who sent us away to roam
you're floating away
your bloated remains causing a stench to fill the air
and i'm still trying not to care

but still, my single branch has no roots
and i find myself, without my permission, returning there
in my minds eye i see the light that should be there
i see the hope he had for you, the place from whence he came
you said i wouldn't remember
that i was so young, and i'd forget
but i can trace the outlines of your face
even now
and i'm still filled with regret for what you gave away.

i am jonah, and i was born in ninevah
i am of the place.
we left all that was known to find us a home
and now, it's floating away.

but i remember more than the pain you caused
i remember more than your foolish words
i remember the tears he cried for you
i remember the prayers he prayed for you
i remember that you have a name
and a place
and when the waters recede
the curse is paid

people of the place
do you want to remember? or are you content to
forget the slavery that was beaten, the fears that
were overcome
the victories that were lost with selfish blood
have you sold all your children?
have you forgotten your name?
do you still carry the burdens of the place from whence
you came?

i am jonah, and i was born in ninevah
calloused and stupid and fearful am i
but he paid a lot for your hope
so i will remember. and maybe, learn to care.
i still don't want to go home
i'd rather roam.
but maybe, someday, i'll tell the stories there
and you'll remember that you were made to stand tall
and you were given a bright light.

time

"there's a time to forget
and a time to destroy
and a time to burn
and a time to weep
and a time for drunken forgetfulness
and a time for hurried callousness
and a time for unforgiveness
and a time for lost love
and a time for backstabbing and hatred
and a time for insensitive rubbish.

but there's no time for me.
why are the poor dead at your feet?
it isn't too late to remember your name
it lies at the tip of your tounge
if you close your eyes and think of me, you'll remember
and you'll never be the same
drunken ones, my lost ones, it's time."

, * ? ! .

pause, and remember.

it was like this. a man, sitting on the corner,
trying to find words to express his frustrations
but finding none adequate he was left only with
rages and he gave away his soul to have someone
listen. the torn and drenched pages that represent
his mission to make you remember the
story he tells
float away in the deluge of missplaced intentions
and disregard of the warnings given. and here
he is, homeless, and all anyone can say is he's black
and looting, and his stories are lost under presumption.

how many tales of adventure, quite true, have we lost in
our modern age?

with there be anything left - with God and myths deceased-
for the future historians to remember? our will we be passed
over as another dark age
an age of wars and foolish regrets
where none have a name?

somehow

i thought we should be grownups by now.
but instead i find hidden secrets and lies at every turn
i don't know who to trust
when your own family pledges love
and cuts down the ones you believe in
who is the right one
and who is the believer.

i thought by now i'd grown a thick skin
but useless defending only wears me down
and yet, you know just the way to twist the knife
and still, i let you give me the blame
and even more i grow to never know you
and somehow it was all me.

but still, somewhere i find a shred
of remembrance that truth was there
and still, somewhere i can't let it go
though it would be so much easier to
stop the caring
and yet, i know that wouldn't be me.

therefore, i still believe.

wisp

i watched an era end today.
it was carried away with smoke on the breeze
the ashes fell to my feet
time has met me here.

new days, new ways
shedding the skin of long remembered wishes
to be fulfilled
to be reborn

fire has cleansed.
i missed the day i was given my name.
i shall miss no more.

my very own place

i'll paint you a picture of the place i call my own with words.
i can see as far as you can imagine
i can run faster than the wind would care to blow
but i choose to take it slowly
there is nothing here that isn't mine
and yet there's nothing here i can define
the beautiful weight of chance and dreams
is the cover upon which i sleep and when i wake, the
sunshine is my drink.

you should be so lucky.

a friendly take

take it back, and let it be
i thought you could see me
i thought you knew well enough
to leave it alone
but now we're crowded into unforgiving space
and the place is lost behind the clutter of
knick-knacks

i thought i knew better
i thought i'd be taller
i thought that when push came
to shove i'd always forgive
i thought i was wise
i thought i knew fools
i thought i was safe
from losing a love

take me home please, i'm drunk on
the caring and the hangover is
a bitch when the sun finds my face.
i never knew it would be painful to
learn to be happy.
would you please look away when i cry?
please try to ignore the elephant in the room
shitting in the corner
he'll be done momentarily.

at least you know why.

the font size is for ben

one last non-poetic post, and then we're back to business as usual.

this was just priceless, and poetic in it's own sort of way.

when questioned if they're serious, the goverer general just replied, "well, we're serious about being funny."

maybe you should move here, tav.

http://www.conchrepublic.com/

so...

have you ever been sitting on your couch having just finished your dinner that occurred much too late in the evening and began to wonder what the purpose of the British Commonwealth is? well, I did. and for starters, it's not the British Commonwealth... just The Commonwealth. there's the obivous point that i figured out all on my own, that the commonwealth is for "common wealth". yes, and I even went to public school. for more interesting info, click on the link below.

http://www.thecommonwealth.org/Templates/Internal.asp?NodeID=34457

the internet is your friend.

lullaby

dream away the daytime
float into the dreamland
tears are stars, laughter is night-breeze
come away and rest

morning hides its brightness
moonlight breaks the darkness
tears in the sky are raining down
float away on the river

dream river, carry me homeward
the night holds me close to its own
the sunrise will sing and the daytime will carry on
but the night brings dreams in whispers
the rain runs to the river.

daylight sooths the shadows
sunlight warms the flowers
bright lights awaken, dreamland subsides
but my soul will live on the river

dream river, carry me homeward
the night holds me close to its own
the beauty of daytime holds harshness to my eyes
but the night brings dreams in whispers
the rain runs to the river.

posterings, part 1

death is like the ocean
a little is taken,
a little replaced
no matter how much the land’s shape
may change, the currents will always remain.

tide in, tide out.
another is born to take my place
another goes farther, a faster pace
but what is the distance? the point is still
no matter how fast you run, you die.

crashing into the sands of time
a castle is built and washed away
with all we have made, we think we know
with all we have seen
we think, and know
and yet what is there?

a rock, some sand, some sea, some sky
a few wanderers asking why
many fish in the sea who don’t seem to care
and none of us grasp the depth of where
we came from.

or the point of where we’re going.
or the simplicity intrinsically built into ourselves
too much we take, and little replace
it’s no wonder we all must die
it’s a wonder we still must try

to find the home we think is ours. and bury our toes in the sand, and watch the moon control the tide, and forget the beautiful things until we almost die. then, it seems so simple.

ocean

the smooth, crisp scent
the fragile state
the oft remembered seldom place
at the end of nowhere, a left at the second
time i lost my patience with life
before you get to the insanely fast speed
after you past the one thing you need.

i need little.
no need to buy
just flesh to touch, a care to hold
a moon to light the evening by.
where is this soul when not here?

i think that i must really try to always
return
i think i must begin to fly.
where better than here?

my roots flow like the seaweed
swaying in the currents
entangling my toes when i attempt to run
and yet, i find nothing edible
just breathing in the salty sweet taste of free
access to the blood of the earth
to the current that carries us all.

i think that i must find a way to keep the ocean inside me.
and perhaps, also, a star to guide me.
and maybe, one day, a moon of my own.
and a boat.
and a horse.
and an island.
there’s little i need, truly.

b

a
small
thing.

such a small thing, really.

it was like this... i was sitting and watching the world go by through
the window, while i savored my steaming hot cup of ginger spice
i saw you walking down the sidewalk, cares in hand, ready to be tossed
away and i noticed you notice me
but only for a second
and then you glanced away.

i thought that day, maybe things had changed
maybe i was different, while you were still the same but then
i realized you hadn't even slowed your pace when you saw me
and then i realized you only saw your own reflection on the window.
at least you aren't vain.

i think when i die i'm going to be reborn as a firefly
its name doesn't need to be known, just a flicker in the night
sky and yet how many smiles have been made by a firefly's dance?
a chance at romance and yet it all slides past me when the current
changes and the tide leaves. here i'm standing on dry ground, aching
and cracking under the beating sun and yet, i can give it no water.

or maybe the time will be only remembered, and not reborn. maybe
you'll find me deep among the pages of those who made changes and were
then relegated to the monotonous list you're quizzed on in high school. on the way
out the door to your next period of time and then you find yourself
wobbling a bit, as i did, and unsure of your step or direction. but a chance encounter
with someone who lives on wishes and dreams with a side of bacon for breakfast, and
you're on your way.

or maybe i can really change the world. maybe my enrichment teacher
was not so amiss when she looked me in the eye and said, "you can do it, you know." if only
she knew how big i would make it. can it truly begin?

or will i fade?
at least i'll enjoy the shade in the dim shadows of memory
or maybe i'll just
go. more pleasant that way, i think, with no illusions of achievement
or lust after true fulfillment but i know my nature and that would never be.
so here i sit, thirsty.
can you make it rain?

vanishing man

once upon a time i knew a man
with a desire
a man who would stand
in the water with the
waves crashing against his
toes, craving the moon
shine
he would seek to find

a man who wanted to be
who thought he
could be, and so he ran
hard, and fast, and
believed he would win
heart beating so fast
it seemed he would
burst
he often asked for directions

he used to be,
oh he used to be
i sat right there
and watched him be
i've seen his eyes
and held his hand
and watched him find
the promised land.
he used to be.

the other thing

that fell behind the fridge
buried in dust bunnies, next to the remote
(i must have tried to put it in the freezer)
i picked the dirt out of my fingernails
set it back on the shelf
and marveled at my resourceful nature.

so it's missing a few pieces
and the eyes are misshapen
and its toes are deformed

but it's mine.

i got it for christmas... i think '87
i wanted one because sally, down the street,
said they were wonderful
so i saved up my pennies and brought it home
i carried my knock-off with pride.

it sat on my shelf
with its misshapen self.

i think that's it.
how much can you say?

a new thing

so i'm working on a project that i've mentioned to a few of you about.
i don't think the words in that sentence were in the correct order... but it's all good

i'm writing a book for children about life and death.

it is as yet untitled, as that usually takes me a while.

all y'all peeps should let me know what topics you wish someone had talked about when you were little. not in the answering sort of way, just in the talking and listening sort of way.

things

i drink wine
and savor the flavors of the
appetizing dishes that life creates
even the bitter ones
(bittersweet are often the best)
i occasionally giggle
but don't tell...
i thought i was made to be cold, and distant
but the new path that i've chosen
where nothing is frozen, and everything is odd
i think suits me better.

why is this novel?
well, you see...
i thought i could break me
and mold me and shape me
i thought i knew wiser

but i found i know little
of living or dying
when death's all the meaning
the ones left behind
should be mourned.

i saw my face in the man that
we buried
but maybe there was more to
him than that...

secret

i'm going to be a girl for a moment and give you my favorite beauty secret.

everytime i feel the need to say "does this make me look fat?"
or, "would you think i'd be prettier if my skin was clearer?"
or, "i hate my calf muscles"
or anything such as the above my husband makes me do an exercise.
"say it, audra. say, audra is beautiful."
i mumble a response, vague syllables designed to fool my listener.
he never buys it.
"say it so i can hear it," he says.

i should probably have just said it, boldly, and then said thank you.
it took me forever to stop reacting with tears or yelling or wanting to hide
i haven't the slightest idea why

audra is beautiful. there, i said it. i'm going to pretend those aren't tears, that i just need new contacts. even though i changed them yesterday... i must say, i've been holding my head high a lot more... and i think i'm funny... and i enjoy laughing, because i've stopped caring that my nose crinkles when i do so
i still avoid crying when possible because it makes my eyes puffy for days but i think i'm getting better.

maybe my husband is right.

so

so long ago.
i think, so long
the lines of your face have smoothed in my memory
or the time i think of was before their existence.
but now...
now is what?
a dream? a wish? a future oft revisted time?
they say i've lost the best years
but it took me all of them to find you
and i don't want to lose the ones i have
missing you
but i can't remember where i put you.
a box? a thought? a wishing well?
deep untold secrets that we're too close to share
and yet we know
everyone knows
i'm not good at hiding, unless i'm lonely
but now i'm surrounded, fenced in, and yet
still sanity comes sometimes
not all the times
but enough times.
to know i'm not crazy, i mean.

every day i meet my future self
sometimes i love her, sometimes i want to hide
things become so prosy sometimes
but i'm still a turner of poetic ramblings
and the chaos is best remembered.
so someday i can look back and find myself again,
should i forget me.

i wonder what it's like to be a grown-up
my grandmother, at 80, still said she didn't know what
she wanted to be
but at the end, i think she decided to have a family.
so that's what we remember her for.

would i lose all again to keep you?
don't let me get sated and drunk on my memories
or so lost in perfect moments i stop reaching higher
i was made to go higher
never
stop
climbing
and now my wings are restless.
i hope they don't atrophy
but i stil don't know how to fly
someone push me off, please?
i'm tired of waiting.

god, please make it worth the waiting.

I'm irked.

That's realy it. I'm just irked. Territorial clients make me irritated.

someone cheer me up, please!

London

At Least 30 Dead in London Attacks
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/4661059.stm

persnickety

the simplicity
of insatiable profanity
requires incorrigible persuasion
and reiterant loss of attention.

but the possibilities
to inaugurate mischievousness
in inundatory possibilites
of manipulating the outcomes
requires great tenacity.

do you maintain the proper encumbrance?

Ahem.

please note that what follows was brought on by my own psyche, and has nothing to do with anyone else. you see, i used to be known for writing really angry, depressing poetry. i think that i was so angry and depressed that i had wanted everyone else to feel as bad as i felt... and i'm good at making people feel badly with my words.

now i am not only angry, but still partially so... i think when i stop being angered by the idiocy and injustices i see around me, i will be dead. and well decayed.

who gets to say that they know who i am?
can you answer the whys and the whats
can you unriddle the questions that drive me insane?
i think not.
you're so fake.

they hde behind walls, crafted with critique
who's cool enough to find friends with the pretentious set
and here you read this, and say it's not my best
and you're right.
yet who writes my words, but me?

why is it needed to edit to fit a mold
who thinks i'm too weak to be better
who has the right to hold me back from who i am
but there's the kicker.
i've lost me before...

your words, so carefully sculpted to mold
what i needed to hear then
it was years ago, and when i want to dance
they still pierce me
and instead i stand.

you thought you knew my weakness
and you thought you could protect me
but don't hide your own shit in me, and make
me think it's mine.
i believed you.

how many years have i fought what you told me?
will the little girl ever die trying?

i visit your grave, and i wonder
if you could have chosen a different way.
and then i meet others who think just like you
and i wonder.
am i the one who's insane?

take me away, please.
the novelty of brokenness has worn off.
i rationalized the reasons, and gave you the words to say
and now i'm tired.

who broke the music?
why can't i dance?

anthem

who writes the anthems while the artists wait tables
who cares to hear them when the country's unstable
how can they start a revolution when no one believes in war
why create an army if we don't know what we're fighting for

which way did freedom go?
i think i missed the ride
free passes to the new world
where it's free to die inside
we call it abandon, we say we're a new way
and here we are laughing as we burn

fiddle away and i'll strike a pose

we have neither friend, nor foe
who invites the bully to dance?
but we all just wanted a chance
for freedom
the will to choose

beat your drum to bring in peace
and get shot down when you've got nothing to say
the bullets don't stop for fuzzy ideals.
the anthems are gone.
who lost our way?

fractions

i found another piece of myself i had lost today.
it was hidden in plain sight, next to
my pride, on the bookshelf. i took the lost piece
and placed it where it belongs. i'm always losing
things i thought were in a safe place, like the time
i found my glasses on my face but had spent the entire
time i was looking thinking i was blind.

can you help me remember to look for all i've
lost? i doubt it's truly hidden. like that one time
i put the lettuce in the freezer and the milk
in the cabinet... i think i just need to remember
to not forget.

the great curse of being a strong person is
thinking that you're strong. why, just the other
day i spent the entire time i was with you
thinking i was right, and yet i forgot that i
really just wanted to have breakfast with you,
which has nothing to do with being correct.

how silly was that?

interesting....

You scored as Existentialism. Your life is guided by the concept of Existentialism: You choose the meaning and purpose of your life.

“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.”

“It is up to you to give [life] a meaning.”

--Jean-Paul Sartre

“It is man's natural sickness to believe that he possesses the Truth.”

--Blaise Pascal

More info at Arocoun's Wikipedia User Page...

Existentialism		85%
Utilitarianism		75%
Divine Command		70%
Hedonism		65%
Justice (Fairness)		50%
Strong Egoism		40%
Kantianism		20%
Nihilism		10%
Apathy		5%

What philosophy do you follow? (v1.03)
created with QuizFarm.com

deep

some are shallow.
some can roll with the waves, take it on the chin,
and still look unruffled.
i am not as these.
i am too volatile, too much
to process life and keep my cool.

but do i care?
does the infuriating right
make a wrong?
can i let it go without getting another
callous
see, there's my fear.
i took so long to let go
of the hardness
the coldness
inside me.

i'm afraid that too much hurt
will make me want to
run away and
i'll follow my selfish desire.
the need to control
to contain the inability
to walk when the driving rain
is in my eyes
guilt blinds me.
fear binds me.
how does peace find me?

where is the safety
when all i want to do is close my eyes and hide
until it's over.
but i won't.
i'll face it again, and stare fear in the face
i only hope i don't succumb
to previous addictions.

to see is to do in my head
but that is not truth.
to know is to carry in my world
but that tears me too.
to let go, and not concern myself when in truth it is mine
is a virtue i only experience by
accident and as soon as i feel it, it's gone.

please don't let the lost ones suffer.
if i can't defend them at least promise me that.

tired

sometimes i wish i was invincible. the hardest thing about emotions to me is when you know that based on the inevitability of the situation, you're going to be feeling what you're feeling for a long time. it wears on me, trying to understand how to feel. i feel rather small and insignificant today.

but i'm glad i can't save everyone. i'm not as cool as God. and i think that i have kept people from seeing him clearly before, because they always had to see him through me.

but i still wish i was stronger.

wishes

make for dissapointed dreaming.
you say you see it all, but you're forgetting the truth of choice.
i see the truth, but i'm choosing to be suprised.

hello

hello, world.
you will sometimes be afraid. Don't
hide your eyes.
How bright the day and dark the night!
but shadows soothe and moonlight calms,
dear world.
the darkest, scariest monsters will never
stay hidden, dear world.
rest now, and sigh away your cares.
the earth will spin without your efforts.