untitled 8-26

in my weeping willow down the street

the branches hung longer than Rapunzel's hair.

I wasn't aware that by the channel

Mitchell could be such a rebel,

and no amount of begging please

could save the life of those poor bees.

Buzzing bees, angry jackets

yellow flying at my waiting head.

Pain.

Mitchell usually meant pain

after the age of thirteen.

Too cool for me was he

then, a middle school man.

Bright, bustling age of eleven,

and I'm in search of a new best friend.

Moving on to half past thirteen

and Mitchell's there to hold me, sobbing.

I did a lot of sobbing.

Over broken bones,

or broken hearted,

I cried more tears

than Mitchell spotted.

But when he did,

and this was sure,

a helping hand

was always there.

there's a weeping willow in the backyard

Mitchell and Rocco have a game.

It's a we can do it, catch us game.

I don't catch on.

Slower and unsure,

I waddle my way through life.

Acting,

I'm always acting.

Gotta make sure they know

I'm strong.

Gotta make sure

I'm better than them.

Mom and Dad insist I win.

Do good in school,

you'll make it far.

They don't know...

it should be well.

They don't care though-

it only matters that I understand.

Gotta shine,

gotta win.

Gotta make sure they know

I'm better than them.

Lauren's acting out on a whim.

Shes fire; she's hot.

She's Puerto Rican flame.

She burns; she fights.

She's not alright.

I'll show her who's right.

I smolder, don't burn.

Passion needs a steady heat.

I'm right, so right.

Surely, I'm better than her.

I'm wrong, so wrong.

I should have never run away.

I'm fleeing; I'm seeking.

I'm finding out what's right.

I'm stress relieving play-doh,

and pacing halls.

I'm crazy, mental illness.

I'm everything wrong.

But,

I'm me.

I'm persistent.

I'm moving on.

I know that at some point

I'll be alright.

reasons i'm nervous

1) because I like you

can't you see it?

every action

is a flirtation

every hug

i want a kiss

2) because my life changed

isn't it obvious?

i'm losing friends

for a job

i'm not sure i'm okay

with the choice

3) being honest

it's a scary thing

i want it badly

but who's to say

it'll all be okay?

4) because life is scary

didn't you know?

things aren't easy

at least not for me.

Sometimes that's okay,

but sometimes I wanna cry.

it makes me nervous, being alive

with great power comes great responsibility,

and somehow I find myself with power.

Who would ever think it a good idea,

to trust me with responsibility?

But they did, and it makes me nervous,

knowing I'm a screw-up,

knowing that they trust me.

And they, they act like they'll see me,

but we know it's not true.

After this week, I'm leaving.

My life will be different,

my time not my own.

I wish that they saw it;

I wish that they knew.

I wish they understood,

that I love them too.

Oh well,

welcome to the midnight society, Patrick.

You're no longer your own.

I Dance with Daniel

We live in a world of pretense.

You expect something of me.

When we walk,

when we talk

we are judging.

We love categories.

But not with him.

With him I dance.

I know the steps,

like they've been there all along.

The steps are me,

something so familiar but frightening.

And when I'm with him I don't think

of which steps to take;

I feel,

like when I feel the music I dance to.

With him I do not pretend.

He knows who I am,

and that is refreshing.

This is not a tango we dance,

it is more like a pas-

it's slow and entirely open.

If he places me in a category

it is not to tell me that category

is somehow unacceptable.

When he judges me,

he deems me worthwhile.

He won't read this,

for that I'm happy.

But I wish I could tell him:

thank you for dancing.

to the person who bought me a thong

Thank you.

Although I do not know what to do with it,

I had been wanting a gift.

You see, Daniel promises

he bought me something,

and although I can't find

it he insists it's hidden

somewhere in the rubble of my

crumbled heart.

Underneath my sweaty sheets where

I toss and turn in the summer heat

and my mattress that has yet to see action,

are the remnants of hope

tossed aside like a pair of old gym shoes.

Filed between my chemistry notes

and Spanish folder is my joy,

neatly stored for future use

but gathering dust as we speak.

Beside my Moleskines and tubes

of watercolors are brightly colored

pastels of peace of mind, waiting

to be rubbed and smeared

on the blank sheets of

my future, their tips still whole,

unused.

And there, encrypted and saved

in a secret file on my C drive

are my dreams, waiting to be unlocked.

You know,

I don't care that he has lied to me.

You see, I searched my room.

I found no iPod or fancy hat,

but I did find a map

marked with Xs on all of my treasures.

I think I'll find them soon.

I think I'll use them too.

a movement to normalcy

My greatest fears:

abandonment

and feeling weird.

Last night, I faced both.

We went to the bridge.

Blue candy mixed with Mountain Dew

made the lights magical.

My friends made them real.

I almost didn't go.

I left my room to find them

gone, but my fears were

unwarranted. "We never

left you, and we aren't going to.

Now, come back here; we miss you."

And so I went,

to hop a fence and sit and watch

bright lights reflect on moving water.

We talked of home and crushes,

embarrassments and favorite music.

We laughed and listened,

stayed silent and felt the wind on our skin.

You know, I'm not normal,

but that's okay.

Daniel says to ride the weird.

I'm interesting and exciting,

and that's ridiculously good.

I'm interesting and exciting...

the thought of it is pleasing.

Feeling Scared

When I get home

I need to be alone.

Something's off

and it's pretty clear

that alone won't be enough,

not to fight this fear.

Yesterday I told a secret

and now I have to live with regret,

not of the telling

but solely of the waiting.

Bill's in another land

and my letter is in his hand.

What did he think?

Did he read? Will my heart sink?

My soul knows something's aloof,

but it can't quite find proof.

My mind says use logic,

but then I would not be neurotic.

So fear is what I live with,

knowing I won't be normal this year.

But, bi-polar is good enough

to stay near to in the clear.

The truth of feeling

Today was a good day,

and now I'm reduced to journaling

by lamplight in my room, while eating

peanut butter m&ms, of course.

The m&ms are a coping mechanism,

the journal a habit of thought.

You see, neither really do their job.

It'd be easier if I were not.

But the truth of the matter,

if the matter is what you want,

is that feelings are fleeting

and fleeting they're permanently not.

I once saw a raindrop, perfectly clear

drop like a gem from the sky.

It shone and twinkled like a wish toward my eye,

and I tell you wish I didn't, not in that moment.

In that moment there was only me

and the drop, twice refracted, once reflected.

All of everything in the sun on rain,

I was everything in the ebb and flow of a sun-shower rain.

What do I say?

What do I write when I've written it all?

Do you want some more?

Would you like rehashings of my boring feelings?

I'm sad. I'm happy. I'm mundane. I'm exciting.

I'm bored with myself.

Perhaps some writing on longing!

Like we haven't read that before.

Daniel is off at a party,

and they are at the movie.

Dundee for all!

But not for me.

I'm in my room

waiting to be sleeping.

I want to know what it is like

not to wonder if you're living normally.

I want to live in your skin.

But what do I say?

Move over please.

I want your life.

at some point it doesn't matter what you think

She wrote love on his arm

because she loved Tommy.

She loves Tommy.

I love him too,

though I know not who he is.

This world was made for love.

When I sit alone and think of

all the pain that people feel,

I know this world was made for love.

He walked up to me after the sun

began to dry a Spring downpour.

Would you write love on me?

That's my job,

I think.

I am here to love.

I am here to talk.

I am here to care.

Being alone shouldn't have to suck.

catching wind

there are leaves on my notebook,

which somehow remind me of summer

and breezes and watching trees

through the screen of my back-door.

Trees have leaves that bend and flatter

if touched by the grace of wind.

I've felt like the leaves.

When I'm in a car and the roof

is open. When the wind ruffles my hair.

When I'm standing in a river of the Plains.

When all the world feels right

because some force is guiding me along.

When I exist and think of nothing.

These are the times I feel the wind.

There are the moments without struggle.

These are the moments we cannot bottle.

untitled 2-28-10

Bill and Ken have gone

and I use their room to doze off.

Lots of stage 1 this week- vivid dreams.

They come to deal with the stress;

my life is a thorough mess.

I didn't call Paul.

For whatever reason some friends

rely on me for strength I do not have.

I'm sorry. I am sorry.

I should have been there for you.

I shouldn't have left you to gloom.

I shouldn't have rhymed and I shouldn't let you cry.

more please

last week I wrote poetry like my tears

were words dripping onto pages.

My eyes are dry tonight.

I knocked twice.

For my double effort I received zero response.

We had a good thing going, you and I.

Daniel says he bought me a gift

and I do not deserve it.

I am a little kid.

I tease and prod and thoroughly annoy.

Why do you put up with me?

It can't be for my laugh-

high-pitched and rarely real.

It can't be for conversation;

I make poor small talk.

You must feel sorry.

I'm sorry I suck.

Still, tonight I knocked.

my heart tapped me on my shoulder and whispered in my ear

which is how the night started

in a room across from home.

The K's tried to win a round

from a stance of plain unknowing,

which meant nothing to the seriousness

of their opponents calm throwing.

I cared not to play

save for Daniel's carefree dancing

and E and B were just a fit

of amusing teammate fighting.

Fighting. I am fighting

an undefined category of more adult feeling.

I know that I am not unhappy,

but I do not know, concer to Spanish,

the feeling that we define as happy.

But if this is what it is,

feeling free to display feeling.

Then, I think I can do happy.

I think I can live happily.

When a world of bright lights

on curtained hardwood stages

is vacillating between being safe and tumbling

the scintilla of hope contained

in my uncategorized responses

is supported only by friends

who are closer than I imagined.

I gave effort to looking

straight into Bill's eyes,

but entropic tears blurred

already clouded sight.

Fingers trembled in inch long hair

and then he hugged me.

Apoyar- to support.

Amor is to love,

Romantic in Spanish.

In English to love

is being fully supported.

SBST '10 (her eyes make the stars look dull)

It was Tuesday.

We ran outside. The stars

were bright in the crisp Wyoming air.

Friday came.

She was sad.

He was angry.

We were disappointed.

She checked out.

I don't know what happened,

but an eagle flew by as we drove out,

carrying our prayers to heaven.

Dear God, can we make it?

SBST '10 (Hydrate, man)

Hydrate, man

Hydrate, man.

Fill your emptiness with cheap thrills

and easy girls- guys too if you want it.

Hydrate, man.

Let yourself be so full of your

own thought and of your convictions.

Hydrate, man.

Fill your time with fake conversation

and superficial friends.

Hydrate, man,

but when you want to be fulfilled

remember to pour yourself out.

SBST '10 (4)

There was feeling tonight.

They say that you cannot forget

your first love, but I don't know

if that is true. I have yet to love.

But I have lived.

In living I have felt

and there was so much to feel tonight.

I felt them close to tears,

and I remembered the warmth

of salted water on my cheeks.

I felt their joy

and I lost myself to tribal music,

drums leading my feet.

I felt their smug attitude

and ignored it to supplement my mood-

pensive but not notably so.

I felt his agitation,

it reminded me that we all feel.

Then I remembered that I hate feeling.

I hate feeling vulnerable.

I hate feeling open.

I hate feeling judged,

but I need to be judged to love.

SBST '10 (3)

there's an aura about her

akin to the glow that surrounds a candle.

It starts bright and moves to illuminate

all those around it.

I think it starts in her eyes-

sincere emotion thinly veiled behind green,

she reaches out to touch everyone near her.

She is a ripple in a pond.

We are a disturbance too.

Everything we do will move.

We are an action; there will be a reaction.

SBST '10 (diamond)

We sit in a diamond and

a diamond is a person-

the center, the heart.

We sit in a square

because we care. In this place

this group is my drum.

It beats. We beat.

Each thought, each word,

is a pulse, a pull

at my heart.

Meaning that I care and

for this week, this time,

this group is family.