Days

I really liked the word day in this one. I also crossed this one out right after I wrote it. I don't know why I wanted to erase it.

I'll be alright some day these eyes may still cry from day to day but I'll move on to better days each step may die-kill the day still days in which life is the day will dominate my later days

did I tell you to be kind?

did I tell you to be kind? dream me something nice please. help me out of the world. truly something nice. ok God what a whirlwind I think I'm lost dream me alive okay?

look me in the eye

look me in the eye I demand you notice me care for me I'm here don't step above or around me I request you don't miss me I beg of you put me back into darkness look upon me no more be not with me I no longer wish to be loved

Poetry

You know I never remember what I write. I can obsess over a poem for days and days. Yet, once the words go on paper I forget what it was I was trying to say. Love me straight into the storm. I don't remember all the words. Bleeding. Why was my heart bleeding? I do remember the circumstances surrounding most of my poems. If you asked me to recite a couple you'd be outa luck because I don't remember it all. Is that weird. Should I know my own writing. Should I be able to tell you each specific line? Or is the fact that the writing just flows right outa me a good thing. My poetry is an extension of my feelings. Feelings come and go. Once the words are gone I think I forget it all

Another few days of inactivity. I'm sorry if you enjoy reading my blog and I don't update when expected. With that being said life has been rather eventful. I'm finished with choir. 4 years of dedication and I don't think the director even remembers who I am. With that being said, I still must thank him for giving me my first home at a foreign school. I went in empty handed and plagued by depression. Now, I'm leaving high school knowing that I gave my heart and soul to the school, to the fine arts department, and to friends-friends I never expected to find. Also, I'm leaving this place with more knowledge than I could have hoped to gather and a new passion for writing. I have to thank my teachers for that, and my choir director for getting the ball rolling. I will never forget being called into the hallway during the first week of freshmen year to talk to him. Talk about a scary experience. I could hardly even find my way to homeroom at that time. Having to visit a teacher during lunch was horrifying. Still, when I walked into the choir room on my first day of Advanced Choir I was welcomed like a normal part of the class. It was wondrous. I must also say that I'm leaving this school mostly happy and more or less satisfied