Getting Low

for Cassie

When you showed me those scars

on your wrists, I was too young

to understand their significance.

That your pain is my pain

and that pain is what we live with.

I spent the day in my room

listening to music scream

I'M ALIVE. I am alive.

I am alive to sit in dark

rooms with you. To show

you how to find

stars that haven't reached us yet-

sparks of happiness in future instances.

ridiculous

Oh, I'm lucky

to have time in class

to discuss the clockwork of poetry,

but what I want is to sit

under my maple tree and watch

as Eric from next door drives

his snowmobile over quarter-inch ice.

Your gold Rolex

reminds me that my G-shock

is 10 bucks at Wal-Mart.

So what if your dad

took the Lambo.

I walk to class.

sex, church, love...more? an incomplete series

Her cheeks are Cardinal virtue in flame-like red,

but I don’t care for anything but her eyes,

liquid visages of the phantom of our grave.

I see a seed of it there

like a rhinestone’s cheap glimmer,

a 16^th note of our tongues and teeth,

clacking together.

I’m grounded in the mocha of her curves

like lightening to the earth.

Her fedora a buoy

in a pool of crested sheets.

Blue writing seeps into paper

to match the color of the couch

I sink into like heels

on softened earth.

The alto above me sings

to match the song of a macaw,

her melody a shade

of their vibrancy.

As her aria trickles

down to me,

I fade into rhythms

of snare drums

and a tap dancer’s feet.

The lights are

off in church.

We sit next

to white candles

by the priest,

behind the altar.

He says something

of the Word

that I don’t hear

because he is sitting

there, adjacent the gate.

I daydream of more

than his blue eyes.

An appropriate image

for Sunday Mass.

The sound of Final Fantasy battle music wakes Kate from her sleep. She knows the ring, but she can’t remember why. The music finishes by the time she fishes her phone out of her crumpled Express jeans. The soft glow of the display feels harsh so late at night. The phone beeps twice as Kate checks the call log: Peter Taylor.

“You’re fidgety, Kate” Peter says to her as they lay in the bed of his 93’ red Chevy.

“No… I’m just full of energy,” she whispers back, the quiet tone matching the soft look of her blue eyes.

“How long have I known you? Tell me the truth.”

Kate lifts her head to look in his eyes.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“Tomorrow.” His voice is a smile. “While you move into your dorm room in Lincoln, I’ll be crossing the Rockies.” He pushes up to his elbows. “I’m going to the ocean Kate. You know school isn’t for me.”

Pete raises the camera to his eye. “Put that thing away, Pete. I don’t want to remember this.” “What are you going to do once you get there? You can’t run…”

“I’ll take a picture. Then, if that isn’t enough, I’ll find something else to take a picture of.” Pete falls back on his back. “Now, watch the stars Kate. We don’t want to spoil their night.”

Kate’s smile fades as she thinks of what trouble Pete could have gotten himself into. She leaves the room to check the voicemail. She doesn’t want to wake Leanne.

“Hey Kate, it’s Pete. I’m sorry it’s so late, but it’s kinda funny because by the time you get this it’ll be too late. I know you’re the save the day type, Kate, but I’ve got nothing left.” Kate’s breathing fills the silence Pete took to gather himself. “Remember that night last summer? Well, I finally made it to the ocean. I took a picture, but you were right. I don’t know what to do now. I don’t have anything to do now. I’m sorry Kate.”

The voice on the phone informs Kate that the voicemail is over. She is breathing deeply as she pushes one to replay the message. The daze Kate feels moves her to her desk to find the picture of her that night. There’s a post-it on a package there. This came in for you, Leanne. It’s Pete’s camera. Kate turns in on and clicks through every picture Pete took of the last year, starting from the one of them packing her car for school. Her hand trembles as she gets to the last frame. It’s a picture of a dancer at sunset. The blood red of the sun is reaching out to silhouette her attitude in arabesque while she stands waste deep in the waves. Kate flips back to see the girl in picture after picture. She stares at the shots. As she twirls the loose hair he pony tail couldn’t contain, she decides she has to go. Kate opens her top draw and pulls out a sheet of loose leaf.

Dear Leanne,

I’m leaving. I have to find a friend.

I hope you can find a new roommate.

Love,

Kate

p.s. if you can’t ship my stuff home, keep it

green snowflakes

Fake snowflakes of green let me know

it's time to vacate my spot in the hall.

I went outside to be a part

of something I wasn't invited to.

To be a wallflower

when winter killed them all.

facade

Daniel says we're just a facade.

Well, that's just what you want of me,

to be okay for your own sake.

How do you deal with a kid willing to kill

himself on a daily basis?

The draft moves me toward Laura's voice.

Her tone a contradiction to the mask she fakes.

basket case

To Kevin I'm just a walk-in,

a basket case he doesn't want to deal with.

How can he say he is happy to meet me,

as if it has been so long since ignoring me?

Why is it so easy to brush me aside?

Why do I hide all these feelings inside?

snow

printed the word means nothing

or, something next to it.

I am not a snowman,

but aren't we all something

near to its existence?

I am cold, misshapen,

only partially covered,

but trying to hide more.

I'll be dirty quite quickly,

and I'll melt too.

I just wish I would melt

for you. To be complete

with your heat.

Thank You

Daniel's "Thank you" made me wonder what people think of us. Why does it matter to who we are? I spoke to Kevin about how I felt, but was sure not to cry too hard. Does he need to know? No, he doesn't know. Like my dad doesn't know and never will. Who are we but real-life movies? I would really like a happy ending.

it takes one to know one

it takes one to know one

which means I was there too

somewhere close to where

you trod your shoes.

you're a day hidden

in the walk-in closet.

you're the best

I ever had.

It takes time to know

happiness, but if I smile

the world might be worthwhile.

Or I'll just be a liar,

but it's worth the effort to be higher.

When the skyline looks like finger paint,

it's alright to know we created fate.

Snow Globe

It's the type of night you want to dance in the firelight, because the world looks like it is going to sleep outside. Our home is in a snow globe. It looks pretty, but is chaotic. For some reason the state of the art stereo system from 1990 isn't playing Christmas music. Its silence heightens my awareness of the frost on the window, and the way your hair floats when you twirl. I ask you to spin again, so that I can move you into me, and we slow dance to unheard Christmas music while the blizzard carries out in our heads.

Heart to Heart

If it's not my head that's spinning,

then what is it that makes
the mirrors a funhouse?

Andrew dances after class

to a sad tune of creation.

His kicks are a fan

brushing air in a wave

of confliction emotions.

Like the anxiety I felt

in the warmth of my green suede

and the hardness of Daniel's stoop.

I told him my life's

more than you need to bear.

I'm folding towels to low tide-

uncrested tears beating

the banks of my brown eyes.

Thursday, November 12th

I walk into class to find heads bent to paper like the bodies of sweatshop children working on the shoes Kevin wears. I don't remember there being a test. Our evaluation is our lives. Can we find enough life for a prose poem, or obsess enough to write a villanelle? Goldstein didn't tell me I could, but yesterday I hiked through Neadle Woods and today I danced with Alyssa. Is that not life enough? Professor Stefaniak waves me in. I don't think I'll come again.

pirouette

I love spins because they are wild,

but I can never be satisfied with their craze.

I need complete oblivion,

a turn so disorienting I

cease to exist.

Pixelated Window

I can't tell if I can't see

when the windows are covered

in drops from the breeze

the pixelated scene is pulsing-

a heart-throb or a clouded dream.

Service on an Autumn's Night

For Hannah

I told her I would write her poetry.

What was it she expected of me?

That night on the rooftop of

Mequita's roparia with the purple

haze of the Sears Tower beckoning

behind you, we gave into our

guttural laughter until our collapse gave

heed to the creaks in the asphalt shingles.

I told you I would write you poetry.

Grand Tianguis

it was cold outside.

The type of cold

that three layers of protection

couldn't prevent.

We emptied boxes

until the empty

ones spanned the

fifteen feet of stairs.

Useless in ability to oraganize

I was ostracized

to network a computer alone.

Andres wore a blue North Face.

While he sat with me,

ability couldn't compare

to need for connection.

Daddy

Daddy won't be happy.

30,000 dollars

for that school,

30,000 I pay.

We both know

he doesn't pay.

The loans pay.

It's borrowed money

for a rented life.

I'll be in an office soon

wishing to be back

in collegiate life.

Weights crash at my feet.

Who cares about a C

in four years of glee?

the drive home

billows of mist

from the semi-truck fly

into the windshield

while I drive.

the clouds are etchings

in a baby-blue sky.

that one is a wisp,

a floating butterfly.

Reflection

an orange candle

but incrementally more red.

The shaving's of which

remind us life has been had

here in this room

in which we reside.

Moreso, in ourselves,

the hearts that have known.

Adison

there he is sitting

there in the curve

of his school desk chair.

gray as the shade

of his AE sweater,

my hands want

to have all he has.

more, I want to feel

everything he is.

Dear Journal

If I meet you suddenly, I can't speak.

-Sappho

The sky is a lilac blanket.

Swathed in the mania of the day’s passing,

My foot flutters like the wings

Of a flustered hummingbird.

I do not notice his entering.

You’re fidgety interrupts

My thoughts. His gravelly voice

Compels my heart to beat

So intensely that I’m unsure

I remember how to breathe.

Has he seen?

Does he know what it is I’ve written?

I leave you this as my last post for a week. I'll be without phone/internet for the next week. I hope you like it. It is going to be the piece I submit for Shadows. <3 PM [they didn't like it. try again next semester?]

Despair

It’s raining.

The drops darken red bricks

As they pool at my feet.

I sit outside my dorm.

And I watch

Drops hit me.

Feet pitter-patter past.

And rain splashes free,

reminding my ruined reflection

that I’m only pitter-patter,

empty chatter.

National Poetry Day(UK style)

The UK celebrates their poetry a little bit late in the year. Still, in recognition of their recognition, I will post one of my favorite poems here.

A PSALM OF LIFE

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST

TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.

Life is real ! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal ; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! Let the dead Past bury its dead ! Act,— act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erhead !

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate ; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.

Hope you have a nice night =)

The Sky Is A Lilac Blanket

For your enjoyment on this Tuesday I present you with a poem.

12 steps to the door

20 to the stairs

1,153,680 to you

60 minutes in an hour

1,440 in a day

90,720 since I've seen you

it's odd we exist so easily

apart from each other's society.

did you find somebody

to replace my company?

the sky is a lilac blanket.

should I feel guilty to be happy?

Daniel's Apology

A note I found in front of the mailboxes today. There is a heart on the other side. I think she should take him back.

That's all for this Monday. Hope you all have a good day =)

I listen to music. I dance.

I listen to music and I forget to write.

It doesn't bother me to be sitting in this public scene.

This life is a gift set to song.

I try to dance to it to be set free.

The first days of Autumn

It's cold.

An autumnal breeze cuts through my gray sweater

to chill my bones in spite of their fleshy protection.

There's moisture in the air.

I feel it as pin-pricks on the bare skin of my face.

I came outside to sit for the cold-

to feel the cold.

My empty emotions exuding

what nature is producing,

its frost a reflection of my

jaded thoughts.

I used to feel empathetically-

the warmth of a summer's kiss extended

to others in an understanding of connectivity.

I lost that feeling.

Blown out by the gale that this Fall

is beginning to produce regularly.

Pelting drops- large heavy doses

of cruelty lofted in the direction

of those around me.

Do not surround me.

For I will feel what you feel

but I want only to know my pain.

It is too soon to feel guilty for

speaking as an ass to you.

Too soon to feel happy for

rays of sun after autumnal gloom.

Sidewalks

I glare out the window. The room is dark; the lights are off. My roommates are out and the quiet smothers me. I set my alarm clock for four in the morning. The desk light flicks on, allowing for a distraction from the skyline that I am disgusted to say pleases me. I don't want to appreciate beauty.

I have no reason to be angry. The world has given me a position of privilege that should be cherished. Cherished... the word causes me to cringe.

I have always been told to cherish things. "Timmy," my mother would preach, " cherish your vegetables because other little children have no food." My father would remind me to cherish the education of my prestigious private school. They wanted me to cherish the opportunities that they never had as children of poor Spanish families living in the inner city. Even my priest would impose on me the virtue of cherishing. "Timothy," he said sitting behind the screen whose anonymity provided him with the arrogance to give instructions on life, "you must cherish the life God gave you." How am I to know what life he intended for me?

The quote tacked on the wall just visible behind the flat screen of an HP monitor says to, "Go confidently in the directions of your dreams! Live the life you've imagined." My best friend gave it to me. She doesn't understand that I have never imagined my life. This life of forced appreciation is foreign to her. She really does believe in it.

They don't understand it- not Christine or the psychologist or the priest or my parents. They don't understand why I'm not happy.

I get off of my rickety dorm chair to open the previously bolted window. They don't want you to get air. I'm staring again- staring at the lit skyscrapers and passing pedestrians. There are millions aside from me. Do they possess a sense of autonomy or are they suffocating in the smog of alien opinions?

The breeze is gentle enough not to feel like an intrusion. I gather it slowly, letting it swirl and swell in my chest. Breathe in. Breathe out. The only two life functions that have ever been fully under my control. In and out. I lift my eyes to the sky and imagine that the pinpricks of celestial gas are clearly visible. In- I close my eyes. Out- I lean out of the 10th story window. In- I step outside. Out- the only dream I've had is to die.

p.s. everything on the blog is fictional

Shut the doors. Blast the sound.

they couldn't understand

when there's so much feeling all I can do is dance

I shut the doors and blast the sound

I lose myself in music

letting others dictate how

Red Moleskin

red journal

deep and inviting

open my heart

hear my crying

red journal

soulful and wise

teach me my voice

guide now my pen

raindrops glisten on the window

there is no denying the power of poetry,

but i have lost the ability to write.

raindrops skirt the windowpanes i look through

at the nightlight of omaha's skyline.

the trees bow to an unexpected breeze

that could only be the result of a transaction.

my sleep for your ability to think-

i would gladly participate in that exchange

if somehow my sleep gave back

the ability to harness emotions.

if somehow i could feel light

tickling the grass of a dew drop morning.

sometimes the only way not to lose a poem is to publish it. I guess this means that I should update again. Has anyone missed me?

-PM

The linguistic queen of school bees

I don't quite grasp the nuance of it-

the bemusing buzzing of bees in the air,

the euphony of their translucent wings

mellifluously similar to her whisperings

I don't quite understand the meaning of their exotic movings-

the honeycomb of her hair as she delineates the day-

the day of a golden Fall

when I sing hallelujahs to this linguistic queen of school bees

hackneyed feelings and emotions on fire

picturesque clouds

repeat hackneyed feelings

so I fight to regain control

of my fleeting feelings

my struggling desire to be sole possessor

of emotions set on fire

To what do I owe the honor?

To whom do I direct desire?

I am soulful

I thought I knew life, and what it meant to be living. I thought I knew soul. Of course I was wrong.

There were people there. There were so many people there. Some of them homeless, all of them poor. And we were to talk to them; we were to know their pain. I only knew shame. Shame that I had so much. Shame I had not done enough.

Her name was Jamie. She wanted to see the bridge. Bill took her there. She walked the winding cement path past the sunflower representative lights lit in red. The fountain caught her green eyes. Spikes of water enticed her childlike amusement and Bill walked her on arms entwined. They reached the center, but she ran smiling on. On Iowa and Nebraska she tip-toed. "Who rules me now?" she asked with the smile of a thousand lights. You cannot rule her smile. You cannot stop the light from illuminating such a fountain of life.

He talked. Oh, how he talked of mobile Linux and Rocket mail. He talked to his friend, and they both laughed. They had forgotten what it was they talked about. "How can we?" he asked, "I thought we were smart." They laughed again, acknowledging their addle-mindedness. They were a euphony onto themselves, pleasing each other with idle chatter. They were happy to be alive and spirited enough to recognize it.

I didn't know he danced. I walked by the open door of his room as his hips swayed to the three of the tune. His eyes were closed in what could only be personal euphoria. A loss of the self, he was lost to himself. Only the music mattered- soulful music that brought a smirk. The Spanish rhythm of El Amor.

He danced, she ruled, they shared, and I cried. Not tears of sorrow, nor of joy. They were tears of knowing and of hoping. They were tears of living. I am soulfully living.

feeling invisible in shadow's glow

I spend a lot of time feeling invisible some of it rightfully so but do I take the leap to make a difference or do I wallow in shadow's glow? melancholy is clearly a theme

I don't know life; I know how to breathe

I don't know what it means to live. I don't know life I don't know who does life. I don't know who I live with. Who I do life with. I don't know anything not how to stand but I do know how to breathe and that, right now, is on what I live evidence of my ability to be melodramatic

PM

is only popular to the point of stories no one wants to read my poetry what good is languages fragmented, unwhole what good are words placed for their play what worth is craft unhoned what then am I, if poems are home? and evidence of my ability to ignore actual words for the luxury of made up ones

don't wanna force destiny

don't wanna force it this action together what if I want you but you just walk away I've been hiding now I'm ready is it time? is this destiny? this is clearly evidence of the promise I made to myself to post every poem regardless of quality.

It's raining. Pitter-patter

It’s raining.

Sinister assaults on first semester classes,

the drops fall on red bricks.

I sit outside my dorm.

Excuse me, resident hall.

The puddles form in a forward moving

motion that the thought of

administration cannot match.

And I watch.

I watch as freshmen, sophomores, juniors, seniors

all move to solicitous classes,

each in a manner suggesting superiority…

worth. As if each is indeed worthwhile.

The classes, not the people.

The people who step in my puddles,

shattering the serenity of their surfaces.

And the drops hit me

And their feet pitter-patter

And the rain splashes free,

reminding my ruined reflection

that I’m just pitter-patter,

empty chatter.

It couldn't hurt

It couldn't hurt...

it couldn't hurt.

not me

not this

not now

not ever

it couldn't hurt to try

anymore than to cry

time to feel not to feel

I can't help but give in to nature

introverted and solitary,

I am my worst nightmare

my actions necessitated by emotions

are taxing my will to endure time.

I'm wasting myself to allow myself

time to feel not to feel

Attention! My passion

what does it mean not to remember what living means?

what does it mean to have dreams dying to vie for your attention?

ATTENTION!

your eyes and ears can give no assurance to my fears.

to be assuaged, I have to find my own passion

24 August 2009

I woke up drowsily. 2:34AM, why am I up? The question remained unanswered as I reached for my glasses. Jamie lay peacefully in his bed, he had made it back okay. I wasn't sure what to do. The flashing red light of my phone enticed me to check it. Four new notifications, all Facebook, and an e-mail, spam. I set it down, disgusted.

I managed to find my way to the bathroom. At least, I hadn't forgotten how to relieve myself. The view from the living room suggested a beautiful morning, but I was too groggy to explore it. I poured myself some juice. The concentrated fruit mixture tasted sweet to my sleep induced parched lips. It reminded me of the simple pleasures life could offer. I decided I would shower.

The water was hot, making the air humid and difficult to breathe. But it felt good. I lathered my body and let my mind fill with the emptiness of a steam filled shower. Peace, I couldn't wait to have a bathroom to myself. I could no longer claim to be using the water to clean myself, and the heat had lost its magical effect. So, I got out. I dried off and walked to the mirror. My naked body seemed thinner. It had not yet acquired the weight that cafeteria dinning would undoubtedly give it. I put on my clothes and brushed my teeth. The haircut my father had given me as a parting present did not required me to tend to y hair. I smiled.

Using my phone as a flashlight, I sought out my book. I took it with me as I tried to quietly exit the room. I walked to the neutral zone to read, but found it occupied by Nick. He was sprawled out on the sofa- resting from a night of fun. I hoped Tony, Nick's roommate, made it safely to his room. I called for the elevator.

The sickening sudden drop of the seemingly solid floor reminded me that I hated elevators. I got off in the lobby and moved to the the TV. I powered it on- some movie on TNT. I flipped the channels to find VH1. This early in the day they still played music videos. I settled in to read my book.

It was good, a satisfying sci-fi read. I called the elevator to return. The book was about distant planets and aliens- a "bugger" race that bugged humans into all but destroying them. But as my mind toyed with thoughts of interstellar travel, I couldn't help but feel something instinctively right. The reason I was awake. The bell chimed and the doors opened. I was home.

black bird

a flock of black birds in cramped campus trees

singing as night gracefully takes her leave

is this what the Beattles meant?

the black birds fly off into the morning sun

Crackberry

the blinking red light of social contempt

a vibration in my fragile equilibrium

I try to dismiss this reminder of social contract

but the shock waves extend beyond bb cal

doctor's office flower bouquet

red roses coupled pink

graced with baby's breath in between

you're frozen there eternally

I'm withering hopelessly

18 August 2009

This is for three friends. They know who they are.

It was our last night of summer before we went back to school. Carl, or Kingsworth as I prefer to refer to him, was captured in his usual state of aloofness while Sam blazed fearlessly before us. I was taciturn as expected. I like to think of myself as reflective, but no one else agrees. Anyway, Sam had taken us to an undisclosed and foreign location. Nothing but a hobo was going to stop her assault of the pavement.

I could only think about how we were leaving again. Kingsworth was to head back to Ohio on Friday and I to Nebraska the following morning. Sam would have a few weeks alone before she left as well. We had already said goodbye in our own ways. Kingsworth brought us mementos: a marble and a one pound British coin. The thought of Prescott, the fourth to our group, brought us to the pier where we gazed at stars and tossed sand into a melancholic lake. Sam had to have her way now.

We hopped a fence onto a gravel path to cross a wooden bridge. Sam just wanted to stop by before our real goal- a surprise she said. So, we went back to the road. Two lefts and a right later we were trespassing into a backyard. I nervously followed, but Sam didn't hold back. "Don't worry," Kingsworth said, "this must be the Mastersons." He was right of course. For all his randomness he is always stunningly accurate.

Sam sat on the back porch for Kevin to arrive barefoot and bearing scissors as a gift. We were awkwardly and briefly introduced before Sam tended to the real matter of the visit. There they were, our surprise. Late blooming Surprise Lilies, one stem for each of us. They were beautiful.

It was almost as if Sam knew all along. There was nothing better to commemorate our friendship. A Surprise Lily, our sudden relationship. Four strangers that just happened to meet. Four people that were meant to be. The bloom only happens for two weeks in August, but it's wonderful every year. The kind of pleasant surprise that lasts forever.

Thank you for everything. I love you all.

--PM

broken pieces

we are the broken pieces of the picture of the world

come mellifulously to put ourselves together

in a mosiac majestic, an etching ethereal

sit here, stare

will you sit here and stare with me

at the great eveything, at nothing

will you sit here and stare at possibility?

will you sit here and cry with me

because we can't remember

what it's like to feel...

something, anything, everything, happiness in

possibility

eg- hope

done

done:

a definitive end to an act.

ex-

I'm done depending...

I'm returning to stories.

optional

optional experiences are presented daily. why is it i prefer the comfort of mundanity? the great perhaps cannot be reached without a foray into the possibility of optional possibilities

It's how I remember how to cry

I'm alive tonight.

it's how I remember

how to cry.

It assures me

I won't die.

I'm sad.

Humans cry.

I'm normal...

alive.

Is this world alive? I am.

i wish i could say the words come to me, as if i was evan of august rush. but they don't blaze through my soul like music graced with passionate desire. my whole heart bleeds to know this world is alive; my body trembles to feel I'm alive

Do you?

do you come to know me? do you come to pick my mind? do you want to know me- to find out I'm insanely mundane? or do you come to judge me? to presume knowledge based on words is like reading a chapter of one book without knowing that chapter was cut- edited out for more noteworthy work.

how many sets...

how many sets of lips have those lips kissed? how many sets of eyes have those eyes felt? how many sets of hands have those hands held? how many sets of every kind, and not one set of mine.

my exercise in creativity

my exercise in creativity is to live- to dream and hope- to... try and fail. my exercise in creativity is to be. Be with me?

Love Is The Movement

Love is the movement. Love is my movement towards being me, towards being free. Love is the movement that once displayed openly lets me feel fine, teaches others to be alive.

stories contain everything and nothing

I guess I'll always need people to hear my story- to know who I am and who I have been, to know a part of me and to accept it fully. I want to be loved; I want to love in turn.

Chicago's river seen from the train in July

the river glitters in filament light. somehow, its ripples aren't sad. I think it's possible to obtain a greater perhaps than our chance, but how do we break free of the mundanity? Do we choose our combined humanity?

Stagnation.Dread.Feeling.Crying.Felt

it's the feeling of stagnation or maybe it's dread no it's not that I don't know quite yet it's the feeling that had I been someone else I would know this feeling extinct now it's the feeling of feeling which feels a lot like crying we're old friends this feeling and I It's funny that you never see me cry and now it's the feeling of having felt all there is I need to feel and the only thing left is to get up and shout that I finally got this feeling out

when our two hearts closely pound

okay,

but I warn you I'm crazy

actually, I am

like one minute happy

the next minute sad

like one second there

and the next nowhere

cuz my life is a coaster

but I'll try to stall still

I'll try to stay solid

and hold to the ground

but I warn you I'm flying

and to me, the ground can't be found

and what if I tell you that

all that is only normal

that I cry alone in my darkened room

when my life is free of all possible gloom

and I run after midnight

because suddenly I'm blue

maybe, just maybe, I'm perfect for you

maybe, just maybe,

life wasn't meant to be normal

and crazy is true

maybe love's perfect

and it's the only ground around

twenty-seven friends of three-hundred and twenty-two

each with their own set of dreams and fears

unforgetable memories and regrets too

and yet of all of them

not even one

cares to say my name

something to cure this melancholy mood but what to do i haven't a clue a dance under the waning moonlight? at least there should be but I don't see any or a tear-jerking movie to forget my worries perhaps a singing number-quite cheery and gay no i don't believe any would serve to allay the fears that i have that i'll never be okay now don't be so serious it isn't as if i'm going to off myself i haven't dreamt of that in years but i'll never be rid of this feeling at least i haven't found my peaceful bliss not yet...

piano keys

like favorite piano keys-

untuned but pretty,

little hammers prick and play

at my metaphorical strings.

perhaps I'll still be able to

create a decent melody,

or maybe I'm just tragedy.

my only certainty is

that my fingers like the feel

of ivory keys

Worthless

As the sun sets over the cliche horizon

my fingers desperately grasp at the loss

of another of summer's fleeting days.

I've succeeded in failure; typical of my absent attainments.

Yes, I have done nothing with myself.

Why should you be surprised?

It's not like many do...

Patrick Miranda

clamors greedily at possessions

to realize no necessity

when i live with nothing but

contempt in my arms

I'll find glory

in your loving grace

if I

make my eyes windows

show my heart upon my sleeve

let the world see

that there's love free

for anyone but me

I will;I'll see

WeBook poetry contest

Hello my not so active blog readers. WeBook is having a poetry contest for their latest book. I was hoping you guys could help me narrow down my selections for entry. You are allowed up to the entries! If you have a favorite you would like me to submit let me know. Here is the link to the site. Have a great day =D

Reader Participation?!

I get tired of listening to my own words. So, if there is anyone that actually reads this blog and would like to write a little something of theirs in the comments on this post, go ahead. I would happily read anything you've got! Well, I hope you are all having a good summer, if it has started for you, and will find something fun to do with your time. Chat with me anytime!

Scout

hmph. I ain't gonna be no scout not in any sense of this word i'm not going to precede the army and i'm not going to sit around the campfire i'm not scouting anything for you unless it is to scout your heart and find humanity alive and well

Language

language is a language connecting me to you and everything in between if I can inhabit your words make them my body's poem I can touch your mind and maybe find a passage to my soul

sunlit wanderings

words come in vivacious play, the tinkerings of sunlit wanderings. my mind connects to yours in the center of sun's glowing dust- motes! with music notes! if this life wasn't a dance I wouldn't know where to go

my internal vent comes with a valve and its key is turning on the spell of water whisper's murmur, murmur the splash of which creates a pool and in its cerulean serenity you'll find my heart in turbulent sound

poems live where life is and yet I have no life living quietly in this sin. So what am I to do? give up me to become you? just so I can have these damn words to write on this forsaken forgotten paper? do you believe me to be that shallow as if I am the waters we are wading in

satellite

word up literally this word is about satellites and sad old nights sad because they're ending this time we have to spend together under starlit skies and summer sighs staring at satellites and sparkled skies with the moon orbiting and our minds racing just one touch sends out that tingle and just one look is forever my memory

it's that grating feeling eating at your every nerve you don't know to what to ascribe it there is no cure to prescribe it except to get out and live and throw your worries to the wind

drop

read them separately or together. I like them both ways drip... drop... drip... drop.... Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Dripdrop dripdrop. The sound of my heart's slow out-pour. It increases at the thought of you. As skin heated and signals flew. I felt the first drop of morning dew. drip drop it wasn't as cold as you drip drop in this warm summer air un beso in a dim lamp's glow un besito and i watched you go drip drop your eyes eternally memorized drip drop my tears beginning to flow

Over one year gone

I realized today that I have gone past the one year anniversary of my blog. Ooppss. Well it has been an interesting journey. Don't you agree? I was just thinking that things have changed since I started this project. I don't have the same need people to know my thoughts anymore. I'm not desperately lost. Don't get me wrong, I'm still adequately confused. But, I'm no longer screaming for help. I've got a lot of things figured out and a lot of good friends to help me out. Life is an interesting quest. I hope you will all continue with me on the trip. With Love,

someone crash into me so i can feel what it's like to be you and you can feel what I'm like too oh please come crash into me and become for me a lover please

there i go again letting my obsessions take control i don't want my computer to own me i want to stand alone

Mike Williams

is more than how you see me height is just your misconceptions defined let my passion display my character let my loyalty be clear

clamors greedily at possessions to realize no necessity when i live with nothing but contempt in my arms I'll find glory in your loving grace

make my eyes windows show my heart upon my sleeve let the world see that there's love free for anyone but me

when I learned to run I ran for the touch of wind through my hair when I learned to swim I swam for the caress of water on my skin when I learned to sing I sang for the joy of life within when I learned to dance I danced for the freedom vindicated now that I'm old I've forgotten the meaning if only I could regain that wondrous feeling

This is the presence of spirit spirit? what spirit? my spirit No! your spirit. His Spirit. It must be true that Her spirit is the true spirit in this blessedly forsaken experiment whatever spirit is present it flows between you and me and in that transfer we enter into eternity

well what am I without tradition am I free or more tightly bound I do not need your stinkin tradition I need only find my own train of thought

on my way can't follow now I need to follow my heart's will for the win I'm looking for more need one more for this instance and maybe if I find it it'll be enough I can't know- I only hope

so tell me that I'm special and that you really care and when you leave tonight I'll solemnly swear... to live life to its fullest to live life for love to be your special someone and dance with you til the end of our days

I'm not your savior I'm not your shining star what if I'm not a doctor what if I don't succeed will I be your failure? will you disown me?

what right do their pressures have to command me my life is not your blank pages to write as you see best fit what am I? your mindless beast? to do your will unwittingly? I want to sing. I want to dance. I want to break your iron-clad chains I want to find my own will's way.

i'm lost and i only want to be found
I'm lost and I only want to be sound
I'm lost and all I need is someone to know
all I need is someone to hold
someone to speak
to love

is a closet poet i feel lost in a world-turmoiled where majors and minors are classes necessitated but what of those that aren't favored do we forget our other feelings? maybe i am meant for this but maybe i'm that you restrict

March 17th 2009

Today, March 17th 2009, is my 19th birthday.

I happen to believe that birthdays start with the night when the clock strikes midnight. Actually, scratch that. Birthdays are the culmination of an entire year of living and growing. Well, my night represented my year well. By 9 o’clock I’d gone from happy to sad to pissed to bored to apathetic to nervous to content and back to uncaring. Yet somehow, somewhere in there, the turmoil of the night had begun to brew. 11 o’clock came about and I was finally leaving rehearsal. I was upset but wasn’t going to let an unknown apprehension prevent me from accomplishing what I needed to. That is, I needed to dry my jeans and put clothes away.

I placed my jeans in the dryer and decided I needed to sit down to clear my mind. Therefore, I sat on the steps leading to the basement of Gallagher hall. No one came to find me and I increasingly lost control of my emotions. My eyes began to glisten and my mind focused on thoughts of leaving. I needed to be further removed, farther away from the pressures and implications of the world. I left my steps to go down the stairs. I found myself underneath the stairwell hidden from all else. I felt the need to cry but didn’t know why. My heart thumped painfully in my chest. I knew not what to do. The clock struck twelve; I sang happy birthday to myself.

Tears welled but few dropped. I heaved, searching for breath. Steadying myself I examined my surroundings. There was a pipe offering firemen an extension to connect their house, a box full of hall decorations once used, a floor spotted with gum, and a door to the basement behind me. And to my right was a penny face up. The face was marred with a blighted green blemish. I pocketed it, wondering of its luck. I got up and went back up the stairs. My jeans were not quite done.

I decided to purchase myself a birthday feast: Twix and a 20oz Mt. Dew. The snack led me back towards my room. I reached the door but heard voices within. I attempted to make my retreat, but the voices overcame me. Friends merrily celebrated my birth and I could only stare blankly and mumble thanks. They knew something was off but abandoned me anyways.

I went to remove my jeans from the dryer. I was losing control. My heart was zealously beating blood through my veins. My thoughts raced. I made myself fold the jeans. I returned to my room and placed the jeans in a drawer. Then, I escaped.

I bolted out of the hall and walked down the mall towards the east side of campus. My pace steadily increased as my gasps for breath became more pronounced. I reached 24th street and I began to jog. By the time I hit the baseball fields I was in a full out sprint. I made it to the benches of Morrison Field and stopped. I didn’t know why. I placed myself on a bench and allowed myself to calm down. I didn’t know what I was doing but my mind wandered to thoughts on the meaning of life. Per usual, no conclusion was made. I began to feel silly. Only in movies and novels do people actually run away. I’m nineteen and I have friends and family. I am lucky. So, I got back up.

My trip back was slower but more enjoyable. There was a sense of involuntary relief. I gaily danced my way back to the dorm. On my way, I met a black cat. Somehow we crossed paths. I gave pause to ponder the implications of the meeting then continued.

I reached the circular bench outside Gallagher’s prison like walls, but couldn’t yet go in. I called my friend Cj. He agreed to meet outside. During the twenty minutes I waited my brother called. I began to stoically pace, and by the time I worked up the courage to enter back into the world of this school, Cj made his exit to the outside. We sat together for a while. His childlike sincerity made me feel safe again. I smiled at him as we got up. He gave me a playful shove and we walked to the door. The goofball had forgotten his shoes.

My life is a lucky penny new and blemished. Things are clearly well enough- enough to bring a smile- but will a blackness cross my path as I move into tomorrow? Cj and I didn’t heed the thought; we went back to our lives.

it starts with rehearsals and regrets on birthdays it goes through rejections and recognizable imperfections and friends that forget and stranger's disbelief and bruised bodies noticing only ego's injury i sat alone in this theater you came to join i tried to smile you tried to be fair i'll give it my all if you give me a clue so tell me i'm special and that you really care and when you leave tonight i'll solemnly swear...

well this is a melancholy mood poetic in that movie way the skies weep tears to human joys oh look poetry for you human melancholy seems a favorite word of late. I can only rhyme this with date dates! valentine's, I mean Singles Recognition Day it just went by in a flash of the eye it didn't make a difference to me it's not like I had a game to play. Did you have a guy? but hey the bell is ringing symbolically time to leave this dreaded class see ya next time if you last

crying in church and panic attacks lost ipods and broken souls i think i must be going mad frenzied searches and heaving sobs pop music and bitter numbs this is me i'm yours

logan heart is indifferent to the feelings and emotions of others not in the sense that he doesn't care just that he doesn't care for at the moment your pain only increases my apathy yes apathy i can use the word if i so please i don't govern based on your lease why is it that we don't speak yes you who spends his time gabbing away do you not notice me or do you simply not care for my existence ahh i see you simply don't care for my appearance sorry if i didn't come across as nice i simply don't give a shit i rent emotions but i don't pay

i don't care to write about love when love only brings painful thoughts of your mystery do you care do you really? why'd you bug me did you really? thoughts of pain and jokes about hate what is it to you what I do if i turn right is it wrong to pirouette on left?

how scared I am to become the drop an atom in the river's death I fear myself in the mirror's reflection what will happen if I fall to blue and can never climb to white or gray

what time to wish depends on the clock you pick-- I chose the one best for now, what happens if life chose another one?

what maddness to hear them speak contradicting stories in every lie you're too talented for this but not good enough for me how crazy must one be to let the world dictate their very being?

i feel alone when the room empties except for me and no one thinks to say come join me

my soul is dancing both in joy and sorrow emotions translated through motions of my body don't ask what I'm thinking listen to the music and join in the feeling

I don't know you I never can you won't notice when I am gone if I go today will the world be the same did I change anything? is it all the same without me?

don't think just write about the things you didn't want to hide the smiles you didn't want to fight the tears that sallied down your face and maybe you just wanted a friend maybe you didn't know where to begin

point plie stretch through first to second explode opposition hips pause one down up slide can i just dance if i feel it it will look best

stand i never seem to stand the other day i jumped seven feet in the air but normally i sink right into the earth ya know that bluesy feel i stick well to it because my feelings are shallow not in that connotative sense but in that every thought is close to the surface of my skin if you but pricked me you could see everything within

i'm not sure what i'm feeling but i'm sure i'm not liking days worth of feelings without ever once writing how i'm stressed by it all and i just wanna call but i can't find the time when the bars are unfound and i didn't want to cry before a strangers eyes but that's why we're friends isn't it my brotha man? and i didn't mean to hurt the nicest little guy but it isn't easy to do what your heart tells you to maybe i'm just confused maybe i'm melancholy maybe i'm stupid and maybe i'm worthless maybe i'm used for words i can't remember and maybe i dance but never had a chance maybe i'm crazy maybe i'm blue right now i'm in darkness just thinking of you

our torn and scattered lives are like the affairs we never meant to hide and the parties with their wild youth are past us in our forlorn stoop is that why i feel so lost i wish i had that youthful hope to find a purpose someday

who knew while sitting on a windowsill shadow reaching out to green that people walking by could mean everything is serene

lock

it's all about the locks life that is it's about our locks whether you leave yourself open or turn the knob on companionship sometimes i can't help myself your large hands push the button all by themselves

lock

you stopped by just to say hi and then you left a quick Hello Goodbye I faked a smile a hearty laugh just to watch you walk right out my door i turned the lock and shook the knob as i dropped in heaving sobs

if life is but this frantic rush then let me jump off of this boat i don't need constant dreading worries i don't need silly social sorries but i need a group of friends and i need to understand don't wanna pretend i love you comprehend?

change

if I could only change it's been this way for who knows, hey it could be anything i could have been like you with your wild nights and your hot jock walk or i coulda been him totally talented and assured i could have been anything i could have been happily ignorant, but i'm not i'm not you or him or her over there i'm someone different i'll gladly live with it

dance

dance! into darkness into light with a disco rock the funk pop and lock plie and pointe just let it go dance to be free and do it without worry if salsa means life shake those hips tonight

if I cannot smile know only that I need to if I am kind to you know it is because I love you if I love you know it is because I know you and if I know you know that I see you you're faults and strengths and I accept you even if you won't speak a thing of yourself

i think it's done and then the shiver crawls down my back i can't escape my heart won't let me my mind is reeling i think i'm fading

you walked closer my arms they freeze then quickly I scramble scribble- I've gotta get the words onto paper before you see my heart races my hands tremble my nerves scattered you approach my side

I sigh, relief soft rays luminescent grace my face I'm okay

I breathe in relief the oxygen's returned the night has cleared I have control I feel whole

why so intense? these waves of pain of fright-fear! they steal my air my chest heaves tremors rack my knees and my feet dangle free I feel close to gone I fear I'm falling down

I need support I can't rely not on you well, not with him he'll tear me down he'll turn me out don't let him laugh please, don't laugh yourself

I was steady if not treading you had to leave I started drowning falling into black come back soon bring me light hope is my only lifeline

breathe in breathe out try to steady try to calm gotta hide tell them lies I can't cry gotta fight stop these tears gather strength I cannot cry I can't let myself die

as if you want to be a fool what is this? let's play it cool did I just rhyme? this game is vapid hello let's not knock your brain around one of us needs to keep this together it ain't gonna be me not when you're off trying to die? serious?

veins

the blood coursing through my veins matches only the adrenaline pumping in my heart and the energy in this place is matched only by the force of gravity between us two the crowed erupts in cheers around us but i have eyes only for you

oh you're boring like this bland food too dry to eat alone and too rich with more more of this and more of that do you really need the grapes wine and whine all you want in the end you're just dessert i'm the main course of course

you're my television need i say it? while i sit here in my room you're out basking in the moon with that bright red cup and an affinity for hook-ups as you recount your fun i wonder like it's like to run be the program and not the viewer it's more fun when you do her

yes you're night the very essence of fright you bite into me like dreams gone sailing and when i fight back your current sends me flailing i'll not drown this time the stars are burning

finite

finite over? forever? she smiled and I waved the door closed and I cried just one tear for golden locks and the red door that ended it all

now

do it now i mean to say don't wait i'm tired of waiting i'm tried of relying on everyone else to make myself happy today i'm leaving today i'm going today i'm doing whatever I need to be strong it's in this now and at this moment life is here for the taking that's all i'm saying

wealth

wealth money? no... wealth is more than that wealth is more than this wealth means i'm happy because i have not gold but love bask in the glory of something good pure and wealth wealth follows angel tears

meant

meant meant home is where the heart is i was meant for you and in the place where i know i was meant to succeed my heart is in the two my body cleaves in dread what meaning is this meaningful division i must seek?

at each years end we drink to celebrate this year I dream to drown lets party hardy forget restraint