Don't Give Up

Jesus died for you.
He gave up his stainless life,
let them torture and kill him
for you.
Why would He do that if you were worthless?

Nausea

You're on a spinning merry-go-round,
a million miles an hour
and are told to point in a direction and jump
and somehow hit the right target.
Hit it on the first try,
or you'll suffer.

Perhaps you're not ready to jump?
Perhaps you just wish things would slow down...
but you must have a direction.
You must have a direction.
Jump! Jump! JUMP!
Don't just stand there!
GOD DAMN IT, WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH YOUR LIFE?!?!

It's no wonder suicide rates are highest among college students.

This is my 100th post!

Altruism scares the shit out of me.
For once I'd like to be loved selfishly.
If someone can say that they want what they see,
then I'll know just how much of theirs I can be.

Easy Answers

Most call me naiive,
but sometimes I wonder if they're just too afraid
to think that maybe the solutions,
love and harmony,
are as simple as I think they are,
because then they'd have to try
to achieve them.

My Ears are Cold

I cry about being a martian
while you place your arms around me,
while shaking you and the dripping faucet keep rhythm.

Like your making smiling snowflakes, sharing Santa hat,
fearful and wonderful self,
things are just cute.

You want it to show my cheer,
I accept, because your hair looks so right when it's all mussed.

Half-eyes, whole heart,
and a million cans of caffeine coma,
and I'm simply stricken.

Some say it's soon,
I say not everyone sees.
"It's complicated" doesn't mean it shouldn't happen,
because in the very eye of the tornado, it is very,
very simple.

I have two worlds,
one challenging and one
perfect; unseen.
I wonder if you know that you're in both.
One of the many impossible walls you've scaled.
Enjoy your prize.

You may be scared,
but you don't realize that you've already beaten the odds;
beaten past my fears;
beaten my brains out trying to find a reason to not take
exactly what I prayed for.

We're both still canoodling, so I'd say, as forcefully as I can,
shut up.
Kiss me.
It's not like I love you or anything.
Bazinga.

Beautiful Arms

My day has chilled my toes to the loss of sensation
and the grinding of skin as though it were bone
and the ice throughout the underside of my skin.
"Lay your cold here," you say.
I press into your heated blanket of a body,
and you absorb the shivering child that is me,
and, melting, I become
your
woman.

A Better Situation

I'm still in love with the man I thought you were,
but the man you actually are
makes a much better friend,
so I can't complain.

Love?

"Here's my heart!"
You say.
I say,
"You can have mine, too,
if you help me look for the pieces."

Ugh.

Dump me once, shame on you...
what I would give for a way
to trust another someday
for now, shame on me.

This is the strangest poem I've ever written.

Every time I go over a speed bump,
I hear the ching of my tambourine
and the clink of a dozen bottles in the backseat
picked up from places where they just shouldn't be
and then forgotten.

What do I want to be when I grow up?
Who says I will?
I'm always going to be me;
always learning.

People like the college
forward arrow to nine to five life
because there's a template.
Living without one is hard,
which is what makes life hard for those of us who do.

We live out of the box,
so people can't put us in a mental box
to store away for later.
People love films,
because reality is scary.
That's why I'm scary.

Men don't love women;
no, men love conquest.
That's why when someone says "she's out of your league"
he has to have her,
regardless of who she is.
It's why girls who put themselves out there
get trumped over and over.

Exercise is painful,
and so is learning,
and so is walking in a new pair of shoes.
Yet here I am,
day after day,
getting a cup of coffee
and sitting in one place until I finish it.

Who really knows what is healthy?

Ample Material Descends

I used to think that nobody could take anything from anyone else,
that it had to be given.
Then I realized that your spirit could be stolen.
A wise woman told me that people could steal everything but your intelligence,
but now I realize that some people will make you into a complete fool.
I then decided that the only thing that can't be taken
is a person's ability to love.
Over time, however, I realized that even that can be crippled by the most beautiful of the cruel.

Stopping to smell the roses
is not a cliche unreasonably.
Walking and thinking and smelling
give you the right kind of thoughts.
One of these thoughts finally gave way to my first break of enlightenment.

The only thing that cannot be taken from us
is the love of God.

I'm sure there's something else,
but I may or may not find it,
and I'm zen on that.

For now,
I have daily hugs of splendor,
and the most pleasant kind of distractions.

Symposium

A small-shouldered woman
with stylishly short white salt-and pepper hair and
lavender sweater
said sweet words of
reality of living life
and making melody
and blew me out of the water
and into the empty thin space where music is free to be born.

Revealing

The thing that makes me sad
about awe-inspiring music
is that I'm afraid I'll never
have real life experiences
to match these emotions.

Untalented

I have not yet the skill,
so am I a fool for trying?
Or, like everything else in life,
will my embarrassment be
the thing that makes me good
eventually?

I feel wrong.

Like my black boots no longer able to be held together by duct tape,
my sense of continuity is dead.
The world whirls around,
as does my spinning opinion of the world's whirling.
I'm dizzy,
and fall down in new shoes.

The Mediocre Composer

So many sleepless nights
that I can smell coffee in my urine,
wondering if anyone will be
feeling as inadequate as me.

Why is it so hard
to make something sound easy?
Will I complete anything to
anyone's fruition?

To my own?
To pleasure?
Or always to pain?

I am just the ruddy-faced girl
trying to turn a piano into an instrument
or at least a tool.

Wanting to put the rapture in others
that music has put in me.

All I have are words
and the songs of my heart,
which are quite odd,
but then again,

I myself, am quite odd,
and I can cause smiles,
and I know
more than anyone,

that a smile can save a life.

Fallen

A crow's feather falling
can float as a crow does
for a while,
but it is independent
and flies it's own course.

It decorates the ground
for those who look down,
and then it may decorate anything.

A Pleasant Dream

A dream
is something
that one expiriences,
enjoys,
relishes in.

Then it ends,
and we wake up,
say "Oh, that was nice,"
and continue to live the joys of the day,
that are so much better
because they are real.

My friend,
I can honestly say
that being with you was
so much
like a pleasant dream.

We are God's Children

We are all children of our Father,
and we live in the house he built for us
as brothers and sisters.

Like brothers and sisters,
we don't always agree,
but we are living in one house
and must learn to get allong.

When our Father looks around His house
and sees his children,
the children He created and loves constantly bickering,
it makes Him weep.

Congested

People don't realize the joy of loving.
Not only does in make me sad
that people aren't loving
because that means that people are
deathfully unloved,
but because they don't realize
that giving love
is like giving a hug.
You get it all back.
So love.
I wish we would love;
love the trees and thank them
for giving us air to breathe;
love the children we pass on the street
and let them make us smile;
love putting a penny on the ground
on heads
just so someone else can have some good luck;
that's as easy as loving is,
as easy as putting a penny on the street.
Will you miss it?
No, but the smile is a scary thought,
that you could enjoy something that silly,
and miss the big WHAMBAM that will bring you happiness,
even though happiness is the most silent thing in the world.
Like freeway traffic during rush hour,
we are all to busy being frustrated
trying to get somewhere
that we can't let someone else in.
I stand still and watch,
and wish someone would stand still with me.

An Odd Duo

You are a microwave and I am a cd.

You get stuff done and I entertain.

Together, we're not all that functional,

but oooh....pretty colors...

Don't know why

Don't know why
I thought of you today
of how you would cry
every time you'd pray.

Don't know why
it always made my day
to kiss your whiskered face
before going out to play

Don't know why
you had to go away,
but I don't cry,
because you're with Jesus today.

Look Up

Stop looking down.
You look down on yourself for not measuring up;
not being worth
agape:
true, unconditional love.

You look down on others for being unfair;
not giving you what you crave:
agape:
true unconditional love.

You look down all around
absolutely everywhere
for anyone who can give you
agape:
true, unconditional love.

Stop looking down.

Look up.
There is a God who is perfect
and is giving you
agape:
true, unconditional love
that will never leave
ever.

Look up.

Tired

I'm sick of running and running and getting nowhere.
I'm sick of fighting,
I just want to fall into your arms.

Wasteland

In a place white-walled and windless,
I am wandering wantonly,
Wincing witlessly,
Winning wits,
Wasting wisdom,
while watched without wear
by wicked watchdog wannabes
below winking wraiths of woolgathering whim
wishing for wantonness;
waiting...

Remember

Just because nobody is in love with you,
it doesn't make you any less beautiful.

Free Blackbird

You were my blackbird,
I was your feather.
For a while, I helped you to fly,
but now you've let me go.

You are still flying,
I am fallen,
but maybe I'll get picked up
and tucked under someone's hair.

Freedom?

Chaos turns to order

Order to chaos

And I wish my thoughts would let me go.

Doesn't Matter

Just another instance where
it doesn't matter
how smart, beautiful,
or talented I am,
I still can't get my heart's desire.
It doesn't make a difference.

What's the use of confidence
in yourself
if nobody has confidence
in you?
It doesn't get you anywhere.

Needlework

I used red threads
and a sharp needle,
and I embroidered a heart,
just a small one,
on the inside corner
of your brown gloves.
That way only you knew
that you held my heart
in the palm of your hand.
Our secret.

You made several cups of coffee,
climbed trees,
gave hugs,
played games,
and the small, embroidered heart

lost some threads;
warped
until it was a red smear,

but even though it's wrecked,
you know it's still there.

That's why you only wear your black gloves
nowadays.

Every Day

Every step is new and heavy;
every hello a broken smile.
"You are wholly precious", said He,
still, my heart aches all the while.

Today

Instead of living like today
is your last day,
like like it's your first.
All of the bad things that happened
and identities you've had
in the past
should be erased,
and live from today forward,
and have hope anew.

Polaroid

I look at old pictures of you and I
and see how quickly time can fly,
and as it does, how things can change;
how now those memories seem so strange.

I see that bright smile on my face
as it nestles into your shoulder: the softest place.
The picture is burned into my brain,
and I wonder if I'll ever smile that way again.

In those photos we were in another world,
and it's like I'm looking at another girl:
smiling, blissful, and ever free.
Is it possible that girl was even me?

Clipped Wings

I feel like a fallen angel
whose wings have been clipped.
With a little light,
I could grow them back,
but I'm living in darkness.

Forget

I feel a bit forgotten sometimes,
but maybe I should be forgetting.

Everyone.
All the pain, all the anxiety
all the bad
that has been my life up to today
and start fresh.

The past is behind me,
and I need to keep looking ahead.

Just like a recovering bulimic has to train
her esophagus to keep down food,
I must train to keep life down.

Don't look back.
Look forward.
Forget.

Reality

I wake up with a fright.
You say, "It's okay. It was just a dream."
The problem is, that my dreams reflect reality,
and all I realize when I wake up is what a nightmare my life has become.

Sorry, Paul McCartney

I believe with all my heart that
all we need is love.
Unfortunately, we chase not our needs but our wants,
and a solo heart cannot rise above.

Take a sad song, and make it better,
would be a lovely dream,
but our world doesn't want to sing,
or so to my aching, empty ears it would seem.

And if a blackbird sings in the dead of night,
it will fall on deaf ears, never a song unfurled,
because, as endless dreams suggest,
nothing's gonna change my world.

If

If you run from someone,
and that someone doesn't chase after you,
have you really lost anything?

The River and the Forrest, Part II

The river flows on to the sea,
and the harsh forest dries up.
How did it expect to live without water?

God pours rain.
It survives.

Meanwhile, the sea
without the sky
sublimates into space:
a million tiny particles -
pieces -
scattered.

Maybe

Maybe love isn't for the smart and beautiful.

I'm too scary.

More Emo Rantings ( I promise they will end)

If a man wants to get every single thing he thinks he wants in a woman,
he'll have to marry, like, 5 women,
and that's polygamy,
which is bad.

You can't calculate a relationship
that way.
The only thing quantifiable
is how two people feel about each other.

That was real,
is real,
I know it,
but I've been given no choice.
I have no voice.

All I can do is deal with
knowing what I know
and knowing that it will never matter.

My Attempt to Quantify Emotion

Chance of tears - 100%
Chance of tripping over my own feet on a daily basis - 97%
Chance of being hit on by desperate friends - 80%
Chance of seeing you today - 79%
Chance of rain - 72%
Chance of dissappointing someone I admire - 68%
Chance of blasting angry punk metal in my car with the windows down - 61%
Chance of the stupid dog on the carpet by my feet farting and then leaving the room - 55%
Chance of hope returning any time soon - 49%
Chance of a friend calling me today - 46%
Chance of me doing something impulsive and reckless that I'll regret tomorrow - 41%
Chance of a song on the radio reminding me of you - 39%
Chance of me hugging my teddy bear for dear life - 32%
Chance of me getting out of bed before 15:00 - 27%
Chance of the war ending before I die - 23%
Chance of finding someone better than you - 16%
Chance of there actually being a good movie playing today - 14%
Chance of me doing something productive this week - 12%
Chance of finding an affordable, cat-friendly appartment in a decent location in Corvallis - 9%
Chance of me cleaning my room - 5%
Chance of the world ending tonight - 2%
Chance of getting you back - 0%

My Big, Brainy Curse

I'm so smart.
I analyze everything.
I don't go to anywhere
and comer back thinking
"that was a good time."

I think about
what every human was wearing
and why,
what everyone said
and what they meant,
the lyrics of the music that played,
the way the room was decorated,
how it all applies to society,
and how it applies to me.

Then, I contemplate exactly how
and to what extent
I feel about everything,
and put each emotion into a jar.
I have a jar for fear,
anger, joy, curiosity, impatience, excitement,
love;
and when a jar gets full,
it doesn't overflow.
It explodes.

My emotions flow out
in words, sounds, motion,
and they are all as real
as the earth beneath my feet.

I don't understand the concept of
"not knowing how one feels",
because for me,
it's so easy.

I'm just too smart I guess.

My intelligence
is why I'm so hard to relate to.
My intelligence,
is why I'm so intense.
My intelligence
is why I'm so unhappy.

A Man

A man
can get shot in the head
or fall off a cliff
and he'll be okay with it.
His soul will survive.

He is not afraid of picking a fight
or racing a car.

But love?

It can't be quantified.
It's not physical
and has no logic,
so it's terrifying.

I think that's why they run.

Moving On

I don't need shit from you,
because I love you,
and it hurts to know that you'll never love me the same way,
and now I don't care what you do.
I'm okay on my own,
and I know you've made the right choice.

I understand,
so go have fun.
It's okay we're done,
but I miss you.

I may act dead for a while,
but I'll be okay, I promise.
I may wish I were dead for a while,
but I'll live on.
Still, I need you,
but I'll be okay.

I swear.

If Anyone Can Make Sense of It, I'll Give Him a Sixpence

The bloodstains haven't washed out of
my white tank top yet,
so the perfection of my coffee still makes it taste of salty tears.
God damn you, squirrel man.

Me, as the Owner of My Own Heart

Is there really a soul mate
for everyone?
For me?
Or is it a lot of snippets
with someones?
Like tracks on a CD?
Is the love that makes my life
complete
the love of someone else?
Or can it be that the love that
matters
is mine?

The Big Picture

The frogs out in the blazing blackness
sing their chorus,
and I trust another human being
as the knots fall out of my neck,
and perspective sets in,
and I realize once again
the big picture
that everyone matters,
and the world
truly is beautiful
and importantly unimportant.

Forget the persons,
love the people,
and enjoy
yourself.

Well...

That was fun while it lasted.

Please

God, please open his heart to all of me
because I love him desperately
to break my soul would be so easy
and I just want his arms around me.

Oh No!

Oh, no!
There is blood on my pear.
I should have been cutting it
with a bit more care.

A Truly Beautiful Girl

You've always been a girl,
whether we've talked in days,
weeks, months
whom I have always considered
to be one of my most cherished friends
Since I first knew you when we were still drinking from sippy cups
and watching Sesame Street
through the awkward, chocolate-filled innocence that was adolescence,
until now, sixteen years later when things are much more complicated.
You've always had an encouraging word.

The thing I admire most about you now, however
is the complete lack of fear you show
when you say the words "I'm in love".
I'm so happy for the two of you. I can't express it.
The love I see in your eyes is the most genuine thing I've seen in a long time.
And the way he talks about you, I just know that his eyes are shining the same light.

It's such a rare thing these days,
to see young people happily, unabashedly in love.
That's the most beautiful thing on this planet to me right now.
Your love gives me hope.

So, anyway, I thought you should know
Just being your beautiful self is enough to make a difference.

Queer

Before I knew I was queer,
I knew it was okay to be queer.
I used my Bible, and my prayer, and my logic,
and I knew that a queer relationship, done right, could be just as Godly as a straight one.
I told my Bible-scholarly friends about this idea I had,
and they told me I was wrong,
but I still told my queer friends
it was okay,
that God and I found no fault in their affections.

When I found out I was queer, I didn't tell anyone for three years.
I was not ashamed.
I just knew they wouldn't understand.

I came out, and got shit for it.
Lots and lots
and lots of shit.
Not just in the form of hate speech,
though that cut it's icy way through my veins,
but in the form of the ones I really love and respect
"Not knowing how to feel about it"

"Not knowing how to feel"
If I had a penny for every time I heard that
I could pay off congress and have gay marriage legal in every state.
For years, people can't decide how they feel.
I'll tell them.
They feel disturbed by the fact that a God-loving
people-serving
Bible-caressing girl
can be queer.
They don't like it,
because now they have to think about it critically,
because now it's not some heathen they don't know,
or even a non-Christian, misguided friend who they love anyway but don't love their choices
who's in the wrong.
Its me.

I had a girlfriend.
It was an awesome time.
It's the only relationship I've had yet
that never made me hate myself at some point.

Now I am getting so much suspicion
and people I love think I'm a sinner.
That's okay,
It's possible I am sinning.
I know I'm a sinner.
So are they.
So is everyone.

Now I am ashamed.
Ashamed of what I don't know is a sin or not.

A sin is turning your back on God.
It's doing something bad for you
because your eyes aren't on him
His Holy Spirit watches it
and you feel guilty and wrong
and you apologize and come back into the light
and it feels awesome.

My girlfriend and I went to church.
I prayed with her and for her.
We conducted ourselves in our relationship the way God commands in every aspect.
Lovingly, respectfully.

I never felt that what I was doing was wrong.

Now, with all of the pain I've endured at the hands of others
Suffering because I'm queer
I wonder if I'm being punished.

Am I so wicked that I have no conscience?

Ahh...

Any time 50 miles per hour on the highway feels like you're crawling,
Stop.
Get a cup of coffee.
Sit on the sidewalk.
Watch people move quickly.
Count how many are looking at their watches.
Be glad you're holding still.
Breathe.
Sip.
Melt.

Bubble Bath

Greyish water
full of my filth
The hot water used to soothe
now I feel like a potato in a soup
Bubbles used to be fun for play
but I just don't feel like it today
It smells nice, I suppose
if anyone will actually smell me anytime soon.

Yeah.

You fly
and fall
and fly
and fall
and fly again
and say "Oh, God, why am I up so high again?"
but then you look down
and see how beautiful the world looks from up there
and you just know.

Shelter Dog

I walk past
you look at me
with such fear in your eyes
but also
as though you hope I will come in and hug you.

I grab a biscut from the pail
enter your chain-link pen
and you back into the furthest corner
with your tail between your legs
growling.

I see in your eyes
the pain
and can only wonder
what your old masters have done to you.
What have you endured?

I hold the biscuit out,
talking to you in a sweet, calm voice
and still you growl.

I set the biscuit down and back away.
Slowly, you come up and take it.

I get another.
Hold it out.
You come close to it,
but then back away at the last moment.

I give up.
I set the biscuit down,
and walk out of the pen.

As I turn to leave
your eyes say
that you and I both know I won't be coming back,
and that look is so familiar...

Going too far in a good direction.

As a raging feminist, I appreciate the direction our society is going with its encouragement of women who put themselves in the workplace and universities. Where 60 years ago, women were expected to marry, have kids, and keep houses, and have that be their lives, now women are encouraged to go to college, find a career they love, and live their lives that way. This is a good thing.

Recently, however, I've noticed that with our encouragement of women to be anything they want, we are now heavily placing importance on all women having a career.

What does the concept of "be something" mean to today's society anyway? When we ask children "What do you want to be when you grow up?" the expected response is "a fireman", "an astronaut", or "a doctor", or even sometimes something like "a biologist", or "a CEO". Regardless of the actual response, the point is that it is, with few exceptions, an occupation. It saddens me that what someone will "be" solely depends on what that peson will do for a living. I believe that it is this way because of humanity's fascination with money. "What will you be?" translates to "How will you live?", and we all accept that living means having plenty of money. Forget smelling, breathing, laughing, loving, and caring, the question of what someone does can be, nay, is expected to be, summed up completely by how they make money.

When I "grow up" (yeah, like I'll ever actually grow up) I want to be a friend, a life-enhancer, a lover, a music-maker, a Christ-server, a dreamer, and an intellectual. As my boyfriend, Chris, said once, "I want to be me, but better."

Don't get me wrong. I'm in college. I study music and writing and hope to someday be a composer, elementary music teacher, poet, or editor. I have pipe dreams as well, such as owning a coffee shop or being a youth pastor or worship leader. I am working hard towards having a career. If I honestly admit it to myself, however, what I really want in life more than anything else is to be a mom. I want to have children to love, to teach, and to learn from, and I want a loving husband with whom I can share my whole life. That is what I want. That is what I dream of at night. I should be encouraged to follow my dreams, right?

I'm not saying that this is what women should want. I know many who are career-based women and are very successful and happy. I believe that women should be free to be whatever they want, but that's just it: I think they should be WHATEVER they want, even if what they want to be isn't an occupation.

The media these days depicts housewives, generally, as either pleasant, smiley, wait-on-my-husband-hand-and-foot, and ultimately bland women in dresses, or sad, repressed, bored, lonely women with a lot of lost dreams. In reality, that isn't the case. I know several stay-at-home moms that are very happy and fulfilled, and all-around deep-thinking, hard-working (because seriously, since when is keeping a home and raising children NOT hard work?), and awesome individuals.

A great deal of people, however, don't understand this. If I mention my desire to marry and have children, most people will immediately jump to telling me why I should be focusing on my future career and not studying child psychology in my free time. I'm not saying that my employment isn't an important objective, but why should it be my ONLY objective? Since when is finding love and creating a family not a life goal to be taken seriously? Why is there so much pressure for me to "make something of myself"before I can even think about doing what I really want to do? In society's movement to free women, it has trapped them.

I can't believe I'ts become nesecary to say this, but I think a woman (or man, for that matter) should have the right to be a homemaker if she so chooses withiout being looked down upon. To all of the stay-at-home moms out there, I admire you, for your hard work shaping the future of our planet (because that's what child-raising is) and for your wilingness to sacrifice respect as a sucessful human being for the sake of your family. Applause to you. Enjoy your lives. You are my heroes.

I just hope that as I get older my dreams will be taken more seriously.

Lonely Is So Lonely Alone

I hate it
when the one you want to be there
isn't, not because this person doesn't want to be,
but just because this person is completely understandably busy.

That way,
you have no reason to be upset
at this person for not being there
but the longing doesn't go away.

It's fine,
but still you wish your house wasn't so dark
and so empty
and
so
damn
quiet.

Perfection

Tumble through the grain
and brush new life with your toes
Some seeds can get stuck in your hair,
but sometimes that's just how it goes.

Walk into the river after
from toe to head get wetter
and after all that grass and dust
the world will all seem better.

Float on your back and look straight up
it's the purple sky that makes it so right
when you breathe the lilac and love the still
You'll realize the beauty of a lonely summer night.

For the one who woke me up.

I know we get along sometimes
like soap and milk
but it sure makes a cool spectrum.
I guess we fight because we know
we will just forget about it
and be laughing in an hour.
We love each other no mater what.
You know my every nook and cranny,
and even in knowing me so well,
you love me anyway.
You've seen me through so much,
heard me cry so many times,
and made me laugh harder than I knew possible.
You know all my fears,
all my desires,
all my secrets,
whether I told them to you or not.
You are someone I could never replace.
I love you,
my friend.

Melody

When music happens
my heart beats with it
that odd, wonderful connection
between heart and song
mind and music
soul and sound

My mouth opens
and sweet song introduces itself to ears
the color yellow
tasting of honey
and smelling of mimosa.

It is not a sound from me.
It is a sound God
puts deep within
indescribable joy
that I sing.

After a funeral

They line up.
One by one.
And say
"I'm sorry."
All wearing black,
and I wonder what they are sorry for.
I stand
and smile,
but not too much.
And wait for it to be over.
What I want to do is collapse
and cry and let them surround me.
A circle of love
is ten times better
that a procession of sorrys.

Then I go home and pray agian.
Dear God,
What can I do?
He didn't deserve this.
Can't we bring him back?
Isn't there anything that will bring him back?
Please?
Amen

People constantly call
wanting to take me out to lunch
and talk things over.
I can't believe they feel like eathing.
And talking.
Those are the last things I want to do.

"It will make you stronger."
they say,
"You'll be okay. Life goes on."
They don't remember the grave they just saw
that is proof
that sometimes
life
does
not
go
on.

I blow them all off.
Being a jerk
is definately
one of the five stages of grief.

Eventually protocal states
that I have to leave my room
so I put on makeup
and be like a clown
and no one will see
the real face
behind the mask.
They can't see
the sad me.
The depressed me,
the shamed me.

It's so hard
to let go of someone who's died
and live your life again.
Leaving your greif is like
leaving that person.
So guilty.

The calls have stopped by now.
Everyone seems to think that once I've emerged,
that I'm fine.
That the supporting job is done.
They don't realize,
that by the time I'm ready to talk,
that's when I actually do need them.
A lot.

Few realize
that I don't need anything from them
but time
and love.

I don't need to cry
all the time.
I just need to know I can.
And have a shirt to soak with tears.
One that isn't mine.

When?

I can't imagine
a love
that promises
not to leave.
Does it exist
outside of God?
Maybe when I truly
stop being afraid
and learn to trust,
maybe then it will come.
Maybe all I need is
more faith.
I doubt it,
though.
Love isn't really
like that.
Love can be wonderful.
It can also be gone
tomorrow.
When will I trust someone?
When I trust myself to be okay
when they leave.

The reader.

My life is foggy, but books are clear.
I block myself from my own life's story,
but as I crack open books, they crack open me.
And I feel.
And I cry.
I hate crying, but books always do it to me.
Do I read because I'm a masochist, then?
I think I read because it's easier to let myself feel
and cry over someone else's life
than it is to let mine sink in.
Then again, I always find my own life,
myself,
in the books I read.

A Self-Portrait

My name is Kaylie, and I cannot capture reality.
I capture only what I think.
I trust nobody.
Two years later and I still cry over my dead dad.
All. The fucking. Time.
I keep a wall up for nobody to penetrate.
Some people, however, make chips in it, and I hate to love them for it.
I've been left in a smorgasbord of ways.
Death. Betrayal. Emotional and physical distance.
Pure old people getting sick of my shit.
You name the poison, it's gone through my system.
Abuse. Insanity. Mania. Depression.
But I love the world.
God loves the world, and He loves me, so I don't have much of a choice.
I hate it, but I love the people,
as stupid as they are,
I love the way they laugh.
I feel everything.
Wind. Petals. Heartache.
I smell. I taste.
Oh, do I smell and taste.
And I sing.
I sing to purge everything in me out.
I sing to let everything outside of me in.
I sing to stay alive.
I don't really fall into love.
I fight it with everything I've got.
No, love falls into me.
WHAM. And I fall. Hard.
Catch me on a line and I'll take you, hook, line, and sinker.
Just remember that in that situation, the hook can't be detached.
The fish bleeds.
I'm still waiting for that one kind of love that I would kill for.
The kind that promises not to leave.
I pray for it every night.
I don't care from where it comes.
In the meantime,
I have a wonderful boyfriend
and what I would call the best friends in the world,
as well as so many random, laughing strangers
and songwriters
and trees
and chocolate eclairs.
What can I do besides love?

So, this is what happens when brainy white girls try to freestyle

I'm tired of people thinking girls are something to push around,
so I hope that you will see you can't just knock me down.
I have a rhythm, I've got talent, and I know you will find,
that the cool thing about me is not my figure, it's my mind.
Just because I'm entertaining doesn't mean I'm here to entertain,
and just because I'm a model doesn't mean I have no brain.
I walk down the street, people tell me I'm hot,
they think it makes me happy, but I'll tell you it does not.
If you're noticing my looks, that just makes me depressed,
because that means my fire and wit have yet to impress.
I know that when you see a girl, it's just a reflex
to instantly think about her in terms of sex,
but please, take a moment to look at the girls
and think about them as citizens of this spinning world,
and if you come to meet me, it's okay to say hi,
but if you're not into thinking, you can pass on by.
I know that by speaking my mind I intimidate,
but that's just a test to see who will initiate,
and I can tell you now, that you're sick in the head,
if you think that acting into me will get me in bed.
I have a body, but that's not what I'm all about,
and if you don't respect it I will take you out.

Just Thought You Should Know

When we say goodbye on the telephone,
I wait until I hear your phone click
before I hang up,
just so that I can have a few more silent moments
of knowing you're there.

The River and the Forrest

You feel so small
underneath the waterfall
when you hear the river call.
My river calls.

You call the trees your own
because the forrest is your home,
and you know you're not alone.
We're not alone.

We're not alone, here with each other.
We're not alone.
We have a Father who is here for us.
He made our love.

Lover of Mine

Lay your head close to my heart,
and I will bless my own lips
with the touch of your eyelids
as soft as a butterfly's whisper.

Let your eyes shine
always and never should a tear
fall onto your good-morning blush,
so that your perennial smile is as dry as it is warm,

as your arms heat my countenance
and your swelling chest below mine softens the realm of my existance
more so than new towels from the dryer,
and twice as comfortable as a branch of cotton.

We can escape to the land of stars apart from concrete
in the middle of the day,
for like our bond,
the sky's burning map is as present as it is invisible.

Let the blowing of the leaves
be our love song,
the deer-tracks through the tall grass our center isle,
and the wind our spirit guide,

and we can be joined with
the birds and the sky
looking with the eyes of the solar system
as our witnesses.

If

If they would listen
they would hear her pain.
They would know her sorrow.
They would cure it.

If they would look
they would see her beauty.
They would know her worth.
They would appreciate it.

If they would stop
they would taste her tears
they would feel her falling away
they would smell her sweat.

If they would listen
they would hear what she has to say.
They would help her grow to all she can be.
They would know that they have the blame,

but they just put more bricks
on her back,
tighten her leash
around the doorknob on the front door,
and whip her back to work,

and she works to drown out the tears.

Wondering...

Why is it that when I walk past
a flock of birds
they all take off unanimously
with that "whish"
that I adore
and then, as one entity,
land in the tree.
Why do they all go to the same tree?
How do they know where to land
before they take off?
Do they have assigned branches?
Why don't they run into each other?
It is for this reason,
as well as that rapturous sound of wings
that sends me running through parks of crows
screaming at the top of my lungs
just for the hell of it.

Carbon Monoxide

Cordelia Cherie was a brainless yellow canary who got the feeling of dying inside whenever she wasn't doing something.

For this reason, as well as the fact that canaries are, on the whole, very small and easily devoured, she never stopped moving. She had a very small wingspan, so she had to flap her wings very, very fast to keep herself flying, and she still couldn't keep up with, fly as high as, or escape from a lot of the other birds.

One morning, after waking from bloody, feline-colored dreams, she checked her feathers in the mirror and then flew straight out the window and into the day, stopping for none of it, but doing her best to make sure that everyone could hear her sing.

Everyone did hear her sing. She was so bright and sunny on the outside, and nobody seemed to notice how completly solidly black her eyes were, and how impossible they were to interpret. It was because of those things that she was caged and sold.

Eventually she was bought by a man who promised to take good care of her forever, because she was so beautiful and talented. So he took care of her and she sang from her pretty little guilded cage and chirped when he asked her to, and stopped singing when he asked her to, and he found all of her birdseed for her. She just ruffled her feathers and preened, for she couldn't think of anything else to do anymore, and loved it when the man came home and hated it when he left, because she didn't have anything else.

After a time of this, the man inevitably became subliminally bored with her, and her chirping began to make it very hard to watch t.v., so he donated her to a mining company. She was very bright in the dark of the mine shafts. Her death saved a few lives and destroyed a few minds, that pretty little, noisy little bird.

The Waves

I float along
resting here and there
sharing with many
trusting nobody.

I'm safe this way
but am I happy?
Could I ever stop doubting myself enough
to stop doubting how everyone feels about me?

Could I get rid of the thought
that nobody could love me
and think instead
about how I could love them?

The fastest way to learn to swim
is to jump off that high dive.

I almost think I'd risk drowning
for that refreshing, cushioned fall
into the enveloping waves of friendship.

Blues Band Rocks My Socks

Ah! Sweet, rapturous music
pouring from my lungs at full force!
Purgation of the soul
leaves me cleansed, exhausted, and rested;
peices me together;
keeps my heart full.

Friends Forshadowing?

It's been five months since you two ended.
You've been a mess ever since and you're sick of feeling like you do.
All I can say is that this will pass,
and that I'm praying for you.
As for me,
I"m sick of being scared shitless of ending up feeling that way too,
because he'll tell me great things, like that he truly cares about me, and that he'll be there for me, and all I can say is that I hope those things are true.

Snippet

Like the sound of an orchestra tuning up before a concert,
the dissonance in my head turns into perfect unison
when I focus on the Lord,
my life's director.

Oh Well, What the Hell, Might as Well

So I usually stray from love poems, because I find them to usually be cliche and lame, as well as just plain not my style, but hell, this one just keeps coming out of my mind, so here it is.

"Quiet"

I want to go into the rain
I want to go for a walk
I want to kiss your llueve lips
and then talk and talk and talk.
I want you with me as we both get wet
I want to be with you because that's the best it'll get
I want you to hold me in your arms and never ever never let go.
And you can do this all you want,
because when it comes to your arms
I will never say no.
I want to be your only love
and stay forever yours.
And you the sole boarder of
my warm secluded heart
Pay me with kisses so we never have to be apart.
And I'll carry in your baggage,
forever away to cart,
for in my welcoming chambers
are all necessary amenities.
As the animal rages inside
wanting to tear flesh and feast,
the words "I love you" sincerely, softly spoken
calm the silent beast.

People

Kind of Dr. Seuss, but what the hell?


With some people it is better if you both just let alone.
With some people you can stop and say "hey".
With some people you can walk into the same coffee shop
acting as different characters every day.

Some people are nice to hug.
Some people need to take showers.
With some people you can talk
until all of night's 1oo, 200, 300 hours.

Some people you can beat up for fun.
Some people you can tease.
With some people you can argue
over the best kind of cheese.

With some people you can cry.
With some people you cannot.
Some people will cry with you
and they never mind your snot.

Some people tell you secrets.
Some people tell you lies.
Some people tell you everything
before saying there goodbyes.

Some people are good for talking.
Some people are good for a laugh.
Some people you can tell
that they look like a giraffe.

Some people stay for a day.
Some people stay forever.
Who knows when people will leave you, really?
Some people don't, however.

The people who leave are pointless
The people who stay are gold.
The people you seem to want to stay
sometimes leave before they get old.

Some people make you dinner.
Some people make it well.
Some people make it not-so-well,
but still make your heart swell.

Some people break your property.
Some people break your heart.
Some people break your spirit.
Some do it simply when they depart.

Some people you should cherish.
Some people you should let go.
Some people you should just thank God
you had a chance to know.

For some people, you thank friends.
For some people, you thank your mother.
For the joys of some, however,
you have yourself to thank, and none other.

Mildly What-the-Hell

Kaylie isn't good when she's sleepy. I tried to write something, but it turned out like this. I thought it was funny enough to be worth sharing. This is why sleep is important, boys and girls.

The Bible is X-rated. It is. I don't know why Christians give everything G-ratings. They keep it G-rated because they can't offend anyone. It's very sad, because our message is so exciting, yet, because of our fear of offending, we are now boring. I'm so tired of daisies-for-brains Christianity. Don't think about it and faith is easy to come by, but it's when we study and think about things it is when our faith is strong. It is when we ponder the Bible that it speaks to us. The Bible is not G-rated at all, so why are Christians? Good people aren't just uncool people because there are so many times when excrement occurest to nearly blameless people. I for one am very attractive, but every story addresses this. This story was not summerizeable. I don't like the self-righousness of so i don't know what's the Japan and I need to sleep junk food fix the it all. I am so tired. I need caffine and to stop stressing! This is probably an interesting class, but my brain is trying so deperately to shadow. I blame pineapple. Why? I think that nice a piece of music because they all have the right chords, but the peices that play the wrong ones and nobody will be able tonally it and they'd love it despite the bad pile of shit under Omelas bad. Instant answers to religious questions is pansy ass and will get you nowhere. Where religion dies and a true relationship with Jesus Christ begins is where things get turkeybutt the moose you ponder Christ the closer the you come to him! The hard stuff is what makes him so great! If being a Christian is easy, you're doing it wrong. Its the faith battle in your head and the desire to grasp that makes Christianity worth it. If your faith is based in fairytale churchland themes then your relatinship with him will be just as empty. You get out of everything by not thinking but you, in turn get nothing back. Intern. That's a funny word. A God you can understand would be less than yourself.

So...I think I had a point...maybe?

Things I Hate Hearing

"What did you do to your hair?" - Can you really not tell? I usually respond to this by telling them that I did the opposite, such as when I cut my hair short and dyed it hot pink, I'd respond to this question by saying "I got extentions and bleached it blonde. Can't you tell?"

"What are you reading?" - Obviously if I wanted to talk to you, I wouldn't be reading. I'm in book land. Leave me alone!

"Calm down." - Ugh! If I'm upset, there's a reason. Try calming me down instead of ordering.

"I know you better than you do." - Do you? Do you really? I sure as hell don't think so.

"Manga? Aren't those those comic books they print backwards?" - Okay, if you don't know what's wrong with this one, you're beyond hope.

"We live in America. America is a Democracy." - We live in the United States of America. There are two Americas and they contain quite a few contries, some of which are not democracies.

"So anyways..." - Anyways is NOT A WORD! "Anyway" is a word.

"Where's the ___ at?" - "At" is a preposition. "Pre" meaning "before". Therefore, if you end a sentence with it, you are wrong. Besides, "Where's the ____?" is a perfectly acceptable sentence. WHY DO YOU NEED "AT"?

"Why are you so proud of being a freak?" - I am a freak. I accept this. I am proud of who I am. This does not mean that the two things corelate. I do not do strange things so that I can live up to my "freak" label. I do unorthodox things because I like them better than the normal way.

"Don't make a scene" - I'm an ACTOR for Pete's sake! Besides, making a scene is fun!

"I don't listen to the words. It just has a nice beat." - Really? No. You are listening to something promoting the objectification of women, homophobia, racism, and a whole other lot of bad, therefore, in a way, you are promoting it. The fact that you are to lazy to pay attention to the shit that you put in your head does not excuse you from what it portrays.

"That movie's old! I don't wanna watch it!" - This one just makes me sad. So many classic movies have great scores, acting, stories, messages, directing, and so much more! Just because it doesn't come in high definition or have some "hot" actor in less clothing than is nessecary, just because it's sound quality is slightly less and won't come across on your super sub-woofer does not make it unwatchable.

"I want to get married, because I don't want to be alone." - Nobody is alone because they don't have a significant other. Seriously. There are so many wonderful people to reach out to; friends, family, mentors, heck, even animals are all there with you and you can do so many effective things in this world with or without a ring on your finger. Enjoy yourself, and if love comes, let it. If it doesn't, move on.

Thoughts on Thoughts

I wonder what I'd do if I could hear people's thoughts.
What would people do if they could hear mine?
Probably they'd all become bitterly depressed,
because I'm 1) a constant downer in my head
and 2) usually thinking about how stupid most of them are.
That's one that people argue about:
Are people inherantly good, or inherantly evil?
I reject both claims and supposit my own:
that humans are inherantly stupid,
and that is what we must overcome.
I wonder if listening to people's thougts would confirm or deny my claim.
Would I realize that I had completely misjudged, or would I see in actuality that people are run by greed, lust, and ignorance?
Sometimes I think my whole disestablishmentarianism bit gets old to people.
Sometimes I wonder if it's actually going anywhere and based on truth,
or if I'm just kicking up dust because I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I didn't.
Is saying "everything is wrong" really making me right,
or do I just assume too many things about the world?
Take my fiction proffessor, for instance.
I totally misjudged him.
I thought he would be a total Republican jackass.
Not to say that all Republicans are jackasses,
in fact, there are several points on which I agree with Republicans,
but, well, we all know the type'
the war-is-God's-way-America-is-the-best-country-in-the-world-we're-all-burning-in-hell-because-of-those-damned-homosexuals type of Republicans.
Don't lie. You know at least one.
Who would have thought that in actuality,
a middle-aged Catholic priest has the same biews on war as a gothic college-aged rebelious heathen.
Crazy.
I didn't know there were other Christians like me;
ones who think;
ones who are pacifistes,
especially outside of my demographic.
I am pleasantly surprised by my miscalculation.
Maybe there is hope for His will to be done on earth if there are some of us here who believe that God's battle is not slaying other human beings.
Also, take for instance this really bubbly sorority girl in my poetry class last term.
I automatically saw her intense gaze at me all throught class as an obvious sign that I was being judged, as I have been in the past, as a good-for-nothing freakazoid with no feelings to hurt.
Little did I know that she was watching me write, because she saw "Ask me about Jesus" painted on my backpack and knew I was a writer/composer,
and she wanted to know how to ask me to help her write a worship song.
With my life of being judged,
I now automatically judge others by labeling them as judgers.
Anyway, this rant is going nowhere.
I guess what I really wanted to say,
is I wonder how much of my wizard angst is founded in truth against the poison of humanity,
and how much of it is me being cranky and pubesent and taking it out on people I should like.
It'd be nice to see what others think of that.

The Pointless and Very Heavy Things We Carry

If this offends, disreguard it, but I must vomit words or they'll corrupt me into further convulsions of sociopathological misanthropic apathy and somebody might end up missing a limb or a reason to stay alive; maybe both. (I aim for the crotch.)

I was reading a short story recently by Tim O'Brien, a Vietnam veteran, called "The Things They Carried". It is as story about his army unit in Vietnam. I then got to a part where he said, and I quote,

"They carried the soldier's greatest fear, which was the fear of blushing. Men killed, and died, because they were embarrased not to. It was what had brought them to the war in the first place, nothing positive, no dreams of glory or honor, just to avoid the blush of dishoner. They died so as not to die of embarrasment. They crawled into tunnels and walked point and advanced under fire. Each morning, despite the unknowns, they made their legs move. They endured... It was not courage, exactly; the object was not valor. Rather, they were too frighened of being cowards."

This reminded me of exactly what I hate about the world. Really? Is pride really so powerful? I mean, I know it is, but this reminder is excruciating. Man! I hate that! All the shit that's going on in the world? All of it is to fit this macho-man image? We've killed and are killing millions of people all over the world, because we have to fill the image of "bravery". We can't fail. We have to fight and kill; murder and commit suicide on the battlefield because nobody's willing to say "Hey, I'm not going to do this," because we're all afraid of showing meekness? Really? Gah! I can't express how angry I am! Humanity is so dumb! Maybe I'm just an angsty college kid, but still! Gah! I could puke right now I'm so hot in the brain. This can't be good for my blood pressure. Still. Am I the only one who sees how moronic this is?

No One

No one should be too cowardly
to admit to fear.
No one should be so macho
as to resent peace.
Nobody should die
to avoid the shame of living.
Nobody should be too pretty to be above character.
Nobody should be too strong to hug
or to lean on another.
No one is too wise to hope.
Nobody should be too proud to love.

The Kind of Realism that Doesn't Suck

Oh, the reality of reality!
Love,
Life,
Grass,
Dirt,
Cars,
Blood and Toothpaste!
Pain,
Joy.
They're all so real!
Feel them while you can.

...Happy Earth Day?

Could you just step back and look a little?
Look at the world.
Dying.
Who knows how to really fix it now?
Because we're all dying too.
It's crazy like that,
to think that in a few breaths we'll all be gone from here.
Leaving it's poor, withering leaves to share our fate,
and what of the future?
Think past your own, for just a second.
Think to the future beyond your futile, minuscule life,
and then continue to pollute the air, the web, the sky
with all of your trash and hate.
Are you that egocentric?
Can you really not care?
Think of your ansestors who did all that they did to get you here
to the fortunate place in which you now lazily sit.
Look at the screen you're staring at now and think about it.
It's there for a reason. So are you.
So, are you actually going to not do anything about it?
Really?
Get over yourself. Or does stepping back to look strain you too much?
Poor baby.
Poor generations of babies.

"+100 exp. lvl up."

I knew she was coming. Her shift started at this time every day, and she was never late.

I heard her before I saw her; the clomp-clomp of her feet clad in more duct-tape than actual black boot. I saw only the thick soles remaining below every neon color I knew existed. Never before her had I seen so many colors on one person, yet they were all perfectly in place and still shrouded in darkness by her leather jacket and black angel tatoos. Still, what caught my attention about this girl, time after time, wasn't her devil-may-care attitude or the way she always had her hands on her hips, no, it was that amidst all the color and devil-may-care manner, her eyes lined thick with black never crinkled, and there was never a trace of a smile on her red-painted lips. Ever.

"Hello!" I said, completely unsure as to why. I believe that my toungue was forced to move by the secret powers hidden within its new painfully acquired peircing.

She just stared. Well, why shouldn't she have stared? Here was some strange dungeons and dragons nerd that got his toungue peirced because he fancied the goth girl that worked at Starbucks just walking up and saying "hello". Hell, I'd stare at that, and I am unable to make eye contact for more than five seconds.

What had I been hoping for? I don't know. Maybe she'd think it was cute. Maybe she'd think it was the stupidest thing she'd ever seen. Maybe she'd leap across the coffee counter, knocking over foamy cappuccinos and smearing her elbows through customer number seventeen's espresso con pana, just to beat me up for being so dumb. I'd be okay with all of those things, as long as she looked at me.

I don't know what I had been thinking when I got the peircing. All I knew from the first time I saw her long black and purple hair flick across her shoulder as she handed me my vanilla-hazelnut steamer was that I had to do something. The peircing was just the first something that came to my mind.

So, the next thing I knew I was walking into an innappropriately dark and smokey shop and signing a release waiver saying essentially that if I died, it wouldn't be their fault. Shortly, a big, surly, grey-bearded man with arms covered in naked-mermaid tatoos was strutting out and saying in a gruff voice, "I hear 'yall's wantin' a peircin'!" I could have sworn his smile was mocking me. Oh, well, no use backing out now, I thought, so I followed him into a back room that appeared to be sound-proofed and sitting in a leather chair. "Stick'er out!" tat-man ordered, so I obeyed, and too-late closed my eyes after catching a glimpse of a needle thick enough to give Shamu his shots. Her shots? I don't know. Why was I even thinking about a stupid whale when I was about to be skewered by Dog the Bounty Hunter?

Sweating bullets, I'm sure, I whimpered, "Is it too late to back out?"
"Son, I've had one fella' back out o' this chair in my thirty years o' doin' this, and he was nine."
So, shivering, I thought to myself, what would Sephiroth do? Needless to say, I stuck my toungue out again, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and...

I only cried for ten minutes. The pain was worth it though, because I now had a silver stud secretly sealed away behind my teeth to remind me that I was no longer a chicken-livered geek. There, I thought, I did something. Hopefully something to give me the courage to say "hello".

Well, it did that. Now what?

Still, that blank stare from those cool blue eyes.

"Uh, that's all I got," I explained pathetically.

Dejectedly, I was about to book it out of there before those gorgeous eyes shot lasers through my heart, when the most miraculous thing I could have ever asked for occured.

There it was! Her lip slowly began to curve! In that magical moment, what only I could recognize as a smile was born across those angelic lips.

It was fleeting, gone in a moment, and replaced by her usual blank mien, and then the lips parted to say, "My shift hasn't started yet, but I'll get your usual once I get behind the counter," the same way she would have said, "I'll scrape the bunyons from that elephant as soon as I'm done shoveling dog crap," and she turned away.

Then, however, that shiny hair flowed from one shoulder to the other as she once again turned her face to me.

"Oh," she said with an almost-smirk, "and hi."

Norovirus: day two

ugh...my aching me!

make it stop.

why?

so many classes to make up.

blargh.

had to cancel my job interview, as well.

I was going to be modeling for one class for an entire term.

Steady work? Nope. Go vomit some more. Do it.

...sigh...okay...

Fever Dream

Disclaimer: I have Norovirus. Ignore this post if it disturbs you.

The sky is blue and open. We are all there, on the roof, just laughing. Laughing because there is nothing better to do. Not because there is nothing good out there, but because laughing with friends and loved ones takes the cake as far as good things to do go.

One by one they leave, with various college-ey things to do, but it's okay, because you are there, and we talk on and on about everything wonderful, just as we always do.

Eventually you leave, because at some time everyone must, and I lie alone to watch the sky. I watch it, and it turns purple, like a bruise. I get to the sidewalk, and everyone is talking about a tornado. I look on the horizon, and there it is.
Obviously a tornado.
Obviously deadly.
Obviously headed straight towards campus.
Doom.

I head inside the house, and he is there. He follows me around as I frantically try to call 911 for some kind of help. No connection. And old friend calls, and I beg her to stay where she is, away from Corvallis, and to stay alive. I try to call you. No connection. I try again. A woman answers. I hear laughing voices in the background.
"Hi," she says, "We're having fun right now. He can't get to the phone."
"Please," I beg, nearing tears, "please, it's an emergency!"
She hangs up.

I pace frantically, not knowing what to do. In the living room, I see party decorations being set up. Out the window, I see the cyclone coming closer. I dial your number again. No connection. Again. This time, I hear you answer.
"Hello?"
"Hey! Oh thank God!" I reply.
You start to say more, but it gets quieter and quieter until I hear nothing.
"I don't know if you can hear me," I start, the tears flowing now, "but please, we are in danger. Look at the storm and get to somewhere safe." I am sobbing now. "Please, please," I beg in hysterics, "please don't die."

Nothing.

I overhear the head of the house and some of the snobbier girls talking.
"What is this party about?"
"We've got to distract the girls, so they don't know what's going to happen."
"Right. I'll get the music started."

Girls come downstairs, all dressed up and start to dance. Beats from the bass pound knives into my brain. I collapse, helpless.

He turns my head up and tries to dry my tears. I don't let him. He says "you keep begging people not to die, but I won't. I will never die. I will never leave you."

Of course I don't believe him, so he leaves.

Oh, well, I think. I might as well go get ready, so I head upstaris to put on my dancing dress.

So Often We Forget

I've been feeling for a long time - years- that God has been trying to tell me something big, but I could never hear the words he was telling me. They were simple: "Hey, I made a world! Check it out!"

There is so much beauty here that I'd been overlooking!

The smell of the tulips
A grandma sword-fighting a five-year-old boy
High-school-aged kids drawing narwals and girraffes with sidewalk chalk in the park
A rastafarian homeless man playing two trumpets at once
The glorious cream filling of a chocolate eclair
A bearded old man with a high-pitched laugh
The longing we all- yes, even I- get to be emotionally close to each other
As the Calipooia would say, "Ixt Tumtum" - We are all one heart.

Why do we take so long to remember just how great it is to be alive?

Silence

Today is the day of silence, on which thousands of people world wide will say nothing for a day in order to bring attention to the millions of people who have remained silent about who they really are because of bullies and intolerant people in the world.
Being quiet has been good for me. It brings me back to my early teen years during which I said very few words to very few people. I kind of missed it. There's a peace that comes with listening to everyone around you and not being expected to imput. At the same time, when people are callin out to you "Why are you participating in 'gay day'?", it is very difficult not to verbally tear them to pieces. I guess that just shows that we're really better than them - that we can have a peacuful protest without saying hateful things to others.
Anyway, I haven't posted a poem in a while, so here:

"Disgusting Love"

She met the love of her life six years ago.
They instantly became great friends.
Now they are all each other has.
She clings to her love in times of deep distress,
and when she is joyous, she shares that with her love as well.
They will be in love forever.

Every time she reaches out to hold the hand of her love,
the people surrounding her give her distasteful glares.
If she gives her love a kiss, those glares turn into words of hate.
"That's disgusting!" they shout bitterly.
She has fallen deeply in love, and for it she has been labeled a lowlife,
promiscuous wretch.
Why? Why would anyone oppose something so beautiful so publically?
Simply because the love of her life is another woman.

Metal

So my trusty friend Baine and I were sitting around figuring out how to play the intro to "Enter Sandman" on his bass guitar, Lucy Cielo, when the constant erotic imaginings of his masculinity deduced that there should be more "Hot Chick Rockers". I concur. There should be more of us. Well, correction, there should be more "Attractive and Mentally Stimulating Female Rockers", as I neither have an elevated temperature, nor am I poultry. I don't know when this became about me, but hey, I do believe that in my role as insecure goth girl I am allowed one egotistical moment a month.
Anyway, girl rockers are awesome for many reasons.
One: Black lipstick on somebody who has the presence to wear it. On a bleach blonde sorority girl trying to be "different for a day" it is the most annoying thing ever, but come on, who doesn't love night kisses, where everyone knows from where it came.
Two: Long hair is way better for headbanging. This is why I am madly in love with the cellists from apocalyptica, but our country's need for more long-haired guys is not the purpose for this blog. Since we are not in Norway, females make great headbanging alternatives that can be quite aesthetic.
Three: Short-styled hair just says succincly, "I kick ass."
Four: If more girls start rocking, we will have fewer Brittany Spears', Fergies, and Taylor Swifts on the market. 'Nuff said.
Five: They are not impressed by your stupid Abercrombie and Bitch-oops I mean Fitch- polos. A man will actually have to be a man to get one of these women, or else us queer chicks are all the luckier.
Six: There is nothing like the smell of empowerment in the morning. (It's the lipstick)
Seven: They actually took the time to get good at a skill. Not any skill-music, and not just any music- ROCK!!!!
Eight: Guitars are just sexy.
Nine: Drums. Let me spell this out for you: she has sticks in her hands, and she hits things hard. As a drummer, I may be biased, but honestly, I feel 10x less of a mediocre cliche when I'm laying out a solid beat.
Ten: The occasional fedora.
Eleven: Rock concerts mean lots of bodies. Sweaty dude = gross. Sweaty girl = awesome.
Twelve: I'm sure nobody can tell, but I am in fact an advocate for non-traditional clothing. (See, there's that scarcasm thing I was talking about.) Different is cool. When will people learn this?
Thirteen: Flyleaf does NOT COUNT!!!! Take the black dye out of her hair and that CHICK is Lindsay Freaking Lohan. (I put this because Baine wanted me to mention her rock scream)
Fourteen: Heart, Within Temptaion, and Nightwish are all proof that average-looking women become hot when they rock out. Evanescence is proof that hot women make the rest of us want to hide under a bag when they rock out.
Fifteen: (this is Baine now...) Bassists, there are few thing more worthy of the title "fearfully and wonderfully made". Seriously, all other instruments are over rated. What is more....how should I say this....glorious? Than a woman rocking out to a rhythm she played down herself, moving her body to a heavy beat while fingering one of the sleekest instruments in the world. Allow me to be male for a moment.....drooooooooooooooooooooooool........
Okay, well, now that I've wrestled my computer back, I think I've proven my point, and now I'm off to eat the brains of mortals - It's humans VS zombies week at OSU.
Loli out!

Utopia

I've been reading a lot of stories about utopia, and I'm wondering if, what if, our society magically turned into one? People never read stories that have no conflict, if there are any out there. They wouldn't be beliveable or accepted. Why? The sad truth is that nobody will accept the fact that there is true happiness, because people find happiness either stupid or booring.
My friend Baine has a sticker on his guitar case that says "If you're not enraged, you're not paying attention." I'm not saying that I disagree, but isn't it true that a lot of us look at people who are peachy keane with the world and assume that they are just too dense to see the horror in the world?
Also, think about it. If everything is fine, humans don't know what to do with themselves. I was accused recently of not being able to relax because I would just come up with something new to stress about, just for a sense of normalcy. It's kind of true. Have you ever just taken a day, two, or three without thinking of something upsetting? I've also found in myself and in others the constant mistrust of homeostasis, let alone euphoria alltogether. When everything is fine and dandy, we wait on our haunches for the other shoe to drop. I know I for one am extrordinarilly guilty of this. I don't trust this "peace" thing, and as for rejoicing? That's right out!
It's all a bit sick, really. It's just a commonplace conception that a utopia cannot be there without some kind of horror. I partially believe that. Everyone has monsters in their heads, yet I am beginning to question why there must be darkness to be light. Do we create evil just to make happiness possible? If that's so, what would happen if all the evil went away? What would we do? How long would unceacing joy last before someone snapped and broke it up with something terrible just because he/she couldn't handle the joy? Would everyone be on edge, just knowing that it will end? Would we end it just to make things right?
This is, indeed, a most intriguing paradox.

Fairy Tale

I was asked by a proffessor if my life was a fairytale, and wheteher it should be or not. I am absolutely not living in a fairytale. Fairytales are not tragedies, and my life is one giant string of sucky events with no end in sight.
I am not a fairytale heroine. For one thing, has anyone ever heard a fairytale heroine use scarcasm? No. So there goes that delusion, if anyone reading this made it past one conversation with me with that one still intact. They make pills for that now, FYI.
I am not pretty or kind or fair. I am an average looking, blunt, scarcastic, cynical psychopath that likes to hear other people's happy stories and that shit happens to for no reaon apperant to me. I am all of the former things because of the latter events. The crazy thing is though, I like that. I'd like to allow myself the ego to think that I am much more interesting than any two-dimentional fairytale heroine could be. I love my dark attitude and my quirky demeanor, and God bless my scarcasm. What would I do without it? If I danced around a house singing and cleaning and talking of how wonderful everything was all of the time, well let's just say that the story wouldn't end like a fairytale and would involve a sawed-off shotgun.
In fact, I am pretty sure that a fairytale would ruin my life. The shit that life throws at you lets you know when to take a shower.
If this was a fairytale, I might be a bit more encouraged, because in fairytales all of the crap happens to the heroines in the first part, but because she dreams hard and works harder, everything works out for her all right. My dreams are powerful and I work for them harder than anyone else, but I know that in reality better people by far than me who make me look like a lazy blob get screwed over every day. It's not fair. Nothing in this world is fair. That's why all fairy tales take place far, far away.
Besides, my prince would't be riding in gallantly on horseback or, for goodness' sake, sparkling in the sunlight. He'd run in smelling like trees and sweat, carying an M14 and yelling "GET OUT OF HERE, FOR GOD'S SAKE SHE'S GONNA BLOW!!!", prefferably in a scottish brouge.

Zobmie Apocalypse!

So I was supposed to write a short story about a time that I was horribly shattered and disilusioned. Well, this week is Humans vs. Zombies, so I figured since this class is already a crock of shit I might as well have fun.

Casper the Unfriendly

I met him the day after the first zombies were reported. I was walking behind the bushes, photographing. A risky job, to be sure, but since my infected roomate took over my entire residence hall, and since free food and ammo was provided for any photographers willing to take the risk of working for the zombie field guide, what else was there for me to do? So, while zombies were after my brains, I was out after their profiles.
There, I saw one. Well, to put it correctly, I smelled one, and then, after blinking the stench out of my tear ducts, then I saw it. Lurking there; dead. It sensed me, and I heard that spine chilling moan that anyone who's seen a George Romero film can only identify as a member of the undead.
It started towards me. Quick! Snap! Quick! Snap! Quick! Shoot. Hit the shoulder. DAMN! Cock. Fire. Head shot. Then once more, just to be sure. Took one more shot of the now once-again-motionless corpse, kissed my M16 and my Cannon 450 for getting through another one, and was stet to go take in my shots.
Hey, it was a dangerous life, but hey, what did I care? In a non-disgusting way, I also belong to the world undead. For you see, this is a shitty fantasy written at 2:00 am by a college student, so I am a vampire.
On my way up the elavator in the zombie press building, I heard a ding, and then the elevator stopped to let in the most bad-ass guy I've ever seen. Bleach-blonde hair thinly tried to veil his electric blue eyes. A small snarl escaped from him and in the process revealed a pair of unnaturally pointed canines, but his heaving chest betrayed that he was still among the living. My eyes crossed his leather-jacketed torso to the red band on his arm: Zombie Relief Force- and then down to his left hand where I discovered a very distinct pentagram.. He was a self-made werewolf.
So rielieved to meet another freak in the demented world that my life had become over the last few days that I couldn't hold myself back from introducing myself, I said "Hi, I'm Lolita; a photographer."
He looked startled at my direct eye contact, and then responded, "I'm Casper, the clan leader of the ZRF."
He followed my eyes to the mark on his hand, and to his clawlike fingernails. "A monster," he reavealed, "because it takes one to fight these damn things."
"I understand." I said.
"I'll bet you do." He responded ambiguously.
I couldn't contain my curiosity anymore, because I'd heard such horrible stories about werewolf transformations.
"So...," I pondered, "Does it really hurt badly?"
"Like a thousand bitches released from Hell itself," he answered gravely, "but not as much as watching everyone you care about die, so here I am."
I nodded, admiring his courage.
"If you ever need help," he added, "you know who to call." He gestured to the ZRF hotline number written on my hand.
Ding! And the ride was over, my courage soaring.
Over the next few days, I "fought" undead the way that a hawk "fights" the fish it plucks from the water. I knew that if I ever really needed, that I could have Casper there in seconds. With this knowlege, I slaughtered hundreds of the things, and felt better with each kill.
Then, three days later, I was walking back from my kills when I heard a sound like I'd never heard before. It was a low, gutteral, bestial moan like something you wwould hear from a Mayan death whistle auto-tuned by Daft Punk. I turned around to see a massive, hairy, undead beast raised to kill. Teeth bared in a snarl that went all the way up to the violently blue, dead eyes.
Casper's eyes.
Sometimes even tho most promising of heroes aren't enough to overcome your battles.
Wondering what it would be like to die a second time, I cocked my gun.

Here we go!

Today I am simply
and quite succinctly
the girl in the black dress
riding the red bicicle
contemplating the jonquills
behind the brick building.

Hey! I'm a blogger! Woah!

So, I've read some of these, and I don't know if I fancy myself a writer, but I'd like to be a better one, anyway. We'll just have to see if anything comes of it. I think I'll start out just with my poetry, because that's the only thing I really think I'm good at. We'll see if I get confident enough to write anything else. Maybe I'll even share some prose or some of the "dear diary" style stuff that other people blog that I love to read and hate to write. I guess I just want to get better at expressing myself in general, and this seemed like a harmless way to start. We'll see. I just want to get better at writing mostly, and the best writer I know is my cousin Samantha, so hopefully blogging has something to do with how good she is. Maybe. We'll see. Anyway, like Proffessor Looking Wolf says, "I'll tell you a story, if you'll listen."
Should I start by sharing a poem? Why not?

"\00b 4\g3l5"
There are angel interns
watching over my life
They screw up
but hey, I'm eveywhere I shoudn't be
yet here I am
so they did something right
or maybe not quite
but I think I preffer it that way.
Sometimes ice cream belongs on the ground.
The ants get a meal
and I get to watch.