Scene 130: Rebirth

Touching down

with weary wings

flightless feathers

and wary fingers

ashes shedding

and embers molting

slowly heading

for new holdings

Scene 129: Beauty of the Night

Lights come up

eastern skies bleed

their orange and puss filled hues

drip their sludge

across the horizon

and the night

flees to the west

hopping from diamond to diamond

under the glow of the

white smile

Scene 128: Direction

Right now

Right then

Right past

what was left

when time stopped

what was freed

was our sense

of direction

On the Natures of Seduction

Your red wine against

Your pearl white wines shine with such

Intoxication

Scene 127: Adrenaline of Addictions

Embers of a warming pulse

pump through the veins,

tongues and teeth screaming false

spitting out of pains

fingers and needles in a deadly waltz

for beautiful, faux gains

Scene 126: Winter Salesmen

Innocence

in the form of a white winter morning

stained with blooming envy

and blushing love

of snow flowers

enveloped by the pressures

of rich

and verdant

wildlife

Scene 125: Toy Satisfaction

You would catch the fireflies

drinking their lights

and breathing the flutter

eating the star dyes

and skimming soft water

You would tell me the stories

of the lights in the orbs

minuscule galaxies

of minuscule glories

and vertical axes

You would give me the light

in the palm of my hand

you would smile so bright

at the little glowing land

and you would be pleased with yourself

with a pocket world on a shelf

Scene 124: Red and White in Winter

Ribbons and lace

drifting from the sky,

such colors and pace

pulsing in the light

snowing down colors

lovely white and blue

chemistry polar,

in pastel snows true

Scene 123: Coal

We used to be in awe

with the boys and girls

loaded with their coal

and they’d strut it

proudly

showing the results

of rulers

and we’d idolize that

like absolute

supremacy

until we realized

how dirty

their hands got

Scene 122: My Martini

Did you get a little drunk
From the rum soaked sun,
The tequila clouds,
And wispy mountains?
Drinking from the fountain
Overflowing with wines
Red, white, and pink
Such spirit and zest you possessed
Had you drank a little too much?
The weight seems to be hanging over
Your head,
And my voice
Never quite seemed to hurt you
Before

Scene 121: Worth (Thanks for the Memories)

Reading antiques between lines of dust
You’d breathe in that nostalgia
Remembering that imagination
And everyone who told you
That you’d be able to live in clouds of rust
As they sold to you
All that memorabilia
Years in marked books, strewn with worthless graffiti
Colors in glass frames, bursting with composed feelings
That you valued so much
But looking at the moss
Overgrown and growing on you
Those feelings you had such fuss
Are no more home
Than the mold on your heart

Scene 120: Wallpaper Stories

The wallpaper
peeling to pieces
yellows on the yawning
walls
papered in pages
telling stories of
faded colors
and ages
layer after layer
spellings of progress
and stages
so delicate
so complex
so thin
so jaded

Scene 119: Dark Flights

Dreams of darks
so twisted and vile
unable to tell apart
ambrosia from bile
as the moon barks
in the shades all the while

Dreams of disaster
reaping and ravaging
and following after
refugees alleging
that not running faster
will find havens worth salvaging

Scene 118: May Flowers from the West

The flowers know
of secrets behind the manila folders
and they hold them
knowing how
the hours go
bumping behind closed mahogany
and they hold them
knowing how
the powers flow
under the waft of their number five scents
and they hold them
knowing how
the towers blow
from the pressure of their innate stones
and they hold them
knowing how
The flowers know

Scene 117: Marvelling at Nothing

The paper moon
plastered against the blackboard
among specks of
the fading chalk’s glimmering powder
sits smiling
a crooked chuckle
looking down at the glittering eyes
looking up at its lackluster lines
proud of its profoundness
as empty
as it is

Scene 116: Maybe

Maybe I’ll ask you to dance with me
Come along
among the fields of green
turning them red, enamored with
the motion of us

Maybe I’ll ask you to talk with me
Sing along
among the verses of solos
making them harmonies, resonating with
the sound of us

Maybe I’ll ask you to sit with me
watch along
among the two heavy oceans
joining them as one, melding with
the land of us

Maybe I’ll ask you to die with me
or maybe
not

Scene 115: Cloud-falling Dreams

And the apple mists
rain from the sky
singing pink wines
and candied lullabies
calling upon dreams
of peppermint pies
and dancing about
the sprinkled dyes

Scene 114: White Ambrosia

Give me a shot
of that white ambrosia
bitter, pale
ecstatic and new
the taste of that
white ambrosia
belongs to
you



It's been a crazy few months.

I'm nearly done with my first semester of college. I'm turning in my Community Assistant application tomorrow and taking my Spanish final as well. And I have one more paper due at the end of the week. However, I've already returned home.

It's so weird, being back. It's just... Different.

Dreaming seems to have halted, my motivation seems to have dulled, and who knows what I need to deal with.

I'll see to it as it comes, I guess.

The new year's coming up. I can't wait.



PS: For some reason, I didn't realize this earlier, but for November there are 31 scenes when there are definitely only 30 days. I accidentally wrote two scenes for November 2nd. Oops.

Scene 113: We (Lightbulb Love)

We
thought the sun was old
so,
We
sought a little gold
and
We
caught a little cold
for
We
got a little bold
when
We
brought our loving holds
that
We
thought would never mold
though
We
bought those shallow souls

Scene 112: Blooming in the Dark

The daisy struck midnight
yellow on black
roots reaching for the sun
its petals lightly
dirtied from the darkly
lit ocean
stem stretching for the moon
trying
again

Scene 111: Presidents On the Street

The jingle of the presidents
sitting in a throne all white
tossing and turning,
ringing and flinging
themselves all about
trapped in the hands
wrapped between fingers
of man begging for more

Scene 110: Behind the Fore

The four of diamonds
Lays on the floor
Behind its brilliance, lying
About its stores
It’s empty, but it won’t say
Exactly why but
It knows it must lay
And lie its stop

Scene 109: Under the Mirror-blue Ocean

Running lights across the ocean
vast and lofty
wishes dance in navy motions
swift and free
sweeping in empty erosions
light and sweet
filled with all the hidden emotions
hopeless, carefree

Scene 108: The Heart in the Fog

Unspoken
Unheard
It lies in between
The pane splits
You and me
And our fingers
Trace

Scene 107: Watering

Washes over everything
The rain,
And sings over dissonance
The percussion,
And drowns out the tears,
Or at least,
It blends in
Hugging closely
It sweeps over memories
The rain



I used to love the rain.

Now it's just haunted by good memories lost.

Slowly cultivating new life, hopefully.

Scene 106: Carrying

Falling with the light, falling with the snow
the fragile little leaf,
so tender, so uncontrolled,
dances with the light, dances with the snow
smuggling its green
into the bleak unknown

Scene 105: Done Dark

In the blunt of the dark,
in the sting of the night,
in the pangs of the heart,
in the sounds of the sight,
We drink in the starts,
and shun all the nights

Scene 104: Acceptance

I wish you could see me
look inside at
everything I could be
and everything I am

I wish you could hold me
feel around
for everything that's real
and everything that's not

I wish you could love me
No, that's not it
I wish you would accept me
for my truths, not yours

Scene 103: On the Nature of Men

The vane stands proudly
Over the structure, loudly
A cocky shadow

Scene 102: Nowhere Man

Walking up and down the buildings, he stops
slips between the alley and the wall
hiding in the window and holding out hands
he screams past the pane and the glass
as his reflection walks down the street
The veneer sneering at the shadow
simply moves along
and the shadow reaching toward the window
holds onto the other side
as the mirage continues onward
waiting for the mirrored man to follow

Scene 101: Swept

Falling from the ocean
into the sky below
following the motion
of waves of swift repose

Scene 100: The Door

Hearing knocks
along the path
of stolen walks
and painted baths
missing bells
of a new entrance
from tainted wells
with such entrance


In your long walks, don't miss the new opportunities, while you stare at the cracks in the sidewalk.

Scene 99: The Purple Heart

Wading through torrents of crowds
sifting through
pushing past and fighting
dodging bullets and ploys
and thinking ahead
striving to fight
striving to live
striving to find
and protect
what’s found
what’s lived
what’s fought
and fending off
knocking opponents and lures
forcing futures and defending
knocking through
marching through the lonely graves
only to be left with
a purple heart

Scene 98: The Touch

Walking into walls
Blind
Holding out hands
Senseless
A blissful curve
Breaks between two bowls
Finding security,
Stimulation
In calloused fingers
Of
Senses

Scene 97: After Start

Beneath the rotten skin
and flaking folicles
remains
the beating heart
singing sins
for it all
drains
the ending start

Scene 96: Less than Perfect

The obelisk stands
Perfect
Above the water
Its currents sweeping
Slowly swiping
Never stealing
Until
At last
Perfection
Erodes away

Scene 95: Crumble

With bated breath
such hated heaths
will come tumbling
to the
floor

Scene 94: Different

Biting through razor blades to get to the sweets
Fighting the senses to get to the meat
You crawl through the forest on your knees
Tearing up flesh and feelings of grease
Swelling with balloons and caterwauling queens
Bathing in Nazis for suffering your dreams

Scene 93: Careless

To let such sounds
dribble from your mouth
what were you thinking?
Sloppily spilling
those loaded glops
You must have thought
you might choke
if you didn’t spit it out
though did you
have to do it
without thinking?
Then again
I suppose you couldn’t
help
but let it slip
such things usually
just
happen

Scene 92: Up the Sleeves

Touching the glass hands
to the worn bands,
cuffs of such hollow eyes
and truthful lies
wrap around the twists
of invisible wrists

Scene 91: Silence Between Hands

The silence between hands
speaks for itself
among little, subtle moves
so smooth and elegant
hiding the still
silence studded lips



Words aren't always necessary.

We can communicate on much deeper levels, and we do.

Sometimes the words really have no meaning in meaning what you want.

But everything else does.

Scene 90: Artificial

Floating away in parades of blue,
Everything green, and happiness too
Molding together silhouette highs,
Plasticine red, and white frosted lies

Scene 89: Rembering to Forget; Forgetting to Remember

Remember how you spoke, over the miles
Your voice in mine
Syllables throbbing through the silence
Breaking with promises?

Remember how you walked, through the downpour
Your hand in mine
Pulses racing past the beat of the drops
Crashing to the ground?

Remember how you smiled, past the fatigue
Your arms in mine
Beats resting in the canyons of cotton
Sleeping off the life?

Remember how you stole, around all the defenses
Your body in mine
Bubbles bursting with stems and petals
Embalming the embrace?

Remember how we loved, under the doubt
Yours and mine
Quelling the questions in queue and lieu
Of pure physical wants?

Do you
Remember?
If you do,
Remind me

Scene 88: Underneath

Checkered reflections through the
see-through panes
Incessant, unending
past muscled gains
slip into a suit of
mustard stains
buried behind
the golden manes

Scene 87: Jump on the Light

Sitting on the beaten sidewalk
I watched
as the shots of lights beamed straight
heading forward
I reached
out my hand, then withdrew
and missed my chance
to jump on the light

Scene 86: Le Rendez-vous

Columns of choreographed quips on
Gems of jocular jest
Such laughter lauded fingers
Over silly fingered zests

Lines of lyrical lulls float on
Skims of silent silk
Such passion studded lips
On quiet linen quilts

Scene 85: The Grey

Whitewashed nightscapes so statuesque
Blackened bleach stains so arabesque
Splatter silk dreams so black and white
Swirled in stitched seams of flattened height

Scene 84: The Alley's Way

Can you hear the alleys rumble?
Crying with such sharp notes
Shattered mugs and tattered shreds
Of garbage and mangled coats,
Sunken eyes and stomachs grumbled

Scene 83: On Arms

A trickle of red
smiles across the river
Just another
jar
of angst


Today was Write Love On Her Arms Day

Reach out to someone.

And spread the word.

And love.

Scene 82: The Fruit

Let me take a bite
of your loving
so red and sweet
The fresh crisp
of your nectar
Let it drip down
my chin,
all of your sweet arsenic
Let me take a bite
of your loving
so bright and clean
into the core
full of arsenic
Let me take a bite
of your sweet
poison

Scene 81: The Pit

Lifting your ears up
You hear the sound of silence
Ringing with the rhythm
Of your pulse
Deafening

Raising your eyes skyward
You see the endless
Enveloping and entering
Your mind
Blinding

Lacing your fingers together
You feel the dark air
Smothering and swallowing
Your breath
Suffocating

Scene 80: In the Market

I went into the market, cart pushed between my fingers
Pushed through the stalls and found a can of pre-school
Dropped it with my box of birth
I took a sip of water
From my bottle of innocence as I grabbed a carton of cartoons
And early Saturday mornings

Going through the aisles, I found some fresh elementary
Spiced with some embarrassing playground secrets
Got a can of oily middle school
To go along with my soccer soup
I finished drinking my bottle, and looked for another
But they were out

I continued through the lanes, eyes tracing the shelves
Found a pouch of instant first love and stuffed it in my cart
Snug between bars of best friends and birthdays
There were free samples of betrayal: the latest emotion
I tried one, but it left a sour taste in my mouth
I tried washing it out with sodas of tears and anger

The rows seemed endless, decorated with so much color
Bottles of sports and cans of clubs
It was so hard to decide between them
But I came to the checkout stand, watch in hand
The price: 17 years, 10 months, 5 days, 9 hours and
382 seconds

I paid and went to the world

Scene 79: Rewrite the Stars

You see that Romeo?
Watch his shadow grow
Reflecting off the snow
You cannot know
Him yet

You see that Juliet?
Watch her silhouette
Oh I can just bet
You cannot let
Her go

Can you see their story?
Watch it be told
A tale so sorry
With an ending cold
An age old story
I’m sure you know
Could you take it from me?
And let it go?

You see that Montague?
Hear his song for you
Can’t you get a clue?
For his feelings true-
They’re set

You see that Capulet?
Hear her slow ballet
To the castanets
Taking careful steps-
Long for you

Can you see their story?
Hear it be sung
A tale of worry
Of love that is hung
A star-crossed story
Of feelings so true
Can you erase it for me?
So I can love you?

Scene 78: The Mockingbird

The mocking bird with no song
cannot sing, cannot be wrong
but the longing, oh so strong
feels the sting of lacking’s prong

Scene 77: On the Nature of Nightlife

Indecisive lights
Illuminating passion,
Lust, life, and escape




The night.

The time where we all thrive.

Forgetting the day and its troubles.

We hide in the shadows and sporadic flashes, using them for release.

Scene 76: Procrastinating

Breathing, thinking, seething, blinking
Panting, scrambling, ranting, rambling
Fumbling, mumbling, bumbling, stumbling,
Freaking, peaking, weakening, seeking,
Praying, graying, weighing, blaming
Done



It's awful. Why do we do it?

I have no clue. I just knew that if I didn't get my poem finished now, I wouldn't be able to spend the rest of the day working on a big paper due at midnight.

If you find a cure, please let me know.

Scene 75: Perils of Abundance

The syrupped sun
dripping in effusive sludge
like little pearls
layering across the breaths,
mouths,
hands,
and eyes
swallowing
with ebullient nectar so copious
It spills over
scattering
like a pearl necklace
ironing its sweet, sticky
grime
lowering into the nose,
tongues,
fingers,
and lips
of those so yearning,
grasping,
drowning

Scene 74: Out of Reach

Sitting on the sun, feet dangling in the stars
Looking down far, looking at one
Little pebble rolling, stumbling down a hill
Tumbling against its will, praying for something holy
Oh what can we do, but watch helplessly?
Sitting restlessly, oh what can we do?


Things are supposed to get worse before they get better.

Just have to remember.

And keep trying.


I need to reprioritize my life. It's kind of in a mess right now.

I apologize for this late poem, once more... It seems to be happening more frequently...

Only thing to do is to keep perservering.

Scene 73: The Torrent

I dove into the water, swimming with bubbles
I sank to the bottom, feet gripping the rubble
The water was warm, yet still I shivered
I tried to breathe in, but stale was the river
I couldn’t breathe underwater anymore
And so I stayed on the rocky floor
Watching my pruned hands slowly wither
The water started to burn, my spine started to quiver
Then a wave of euphoria relieved my troubles
I resurfaced, inhaled, then went back for double

Scene 72: Streetlights and Stars

Let’s play along the streets, luminescent and loud
Roaring and tumbling with mechanical winds
Strutting over the sidewalk ever so proud

Let’s run under the dark mantle, immense and vast
Sweeping and blinking with twinkling smiles
Dancing over the fields of the discarded past

Let’s sing over the cities, flickering and weathered
Busied and wearied from pointless turmoil
We’re making the futures, we’ll make it together




College is kind of a bitch. Not gonna lie.

I love it to death. But it's just like a grown up roller coaster.

The highs are higher. The lows are lower.

Much lower.

And it's much easier to lose yourself in all the confusion, stress, and chaos around, especially when everyone else feels the same way. Without all your old familiarities, you just shrivel up inside without even noticing it.

Then you give yourself a pep talk, because that's the only way any thing makes any sense.

You know you. No one else does.

So tell yourself to smile.

Let go and take a friend and a step forward.

Scene 71: Unforgettable

Walking alongside the running sidewalk, sky soaked
Humble silence between the percussion
Gentle sliding and lace of fingers
Unquestioned and understood
Leaning on cold shoulders, dry from shared breaths
Proud steps underneath dew crowns
Showing off and others with firm grasps
Undeniable and unbelievable



You can look back once in while. But sometimes you need to start over.

And to start over, you need to forget what you could never forget.

Scene 70: Nothing

Something was lost
Something was gain
Something was spoken
Something was unsaid

Something is in
my hand
Something is in
my head

Something
Something
Something
What is
this something?

Take away this
something
something
something

And give me
something
something
something

Just give me
Anything

Scene 69: Rolls of Sugar

Letters embroidered all purple and black

Silhouettes dancing in haunted moonlight

planning sweetened snares and surprise attacks

with candied bears and werewolf bites

Wake to the lanterns, orange and flickering,

guiding the treks, frightening and sweet

Littered with threats and frosty bickerings

Lining up the lanes, itching for treats

Scene 68: Remedy

It’s rubbing alcohol on a wound
Or cutting cloth to make a sweater
First you have to break it down
Before you can make it better

Scene 67: Unrhyme

I tried to rhyme ‘yes’
with ‘us’
but the slant was too heavy
like finding rocks in chocolates
and burnt out outlets
it’s unreasonable
‘I’ just didn’t rhyme with
‘You’
like comparing apples to
blue
it’s forbidden
‘We’ couldn’t rhyme with
‘awe’
though it looked good
like following a move
with love
it was superficial

Scene 66: Little Darks

Something fluttered outside my window, tapping gently
I went to it, staring, puzzled
a little flutter of black, so sad and cold
I opened my window, and in it flew
resting on my shoulder

The feathery dark pressed up against my check, rubbing softly
I smiled lightly, sadly, sympathetic
the little flutter of black, so light and lonely
I patted its head, and it softly cooed
leaning on my neck

Another rapping sounded against the glass, peeking nervously
I beckoned it, welcoming, comforting
a second flutter of black, so weak and tired
I let it perch on my arm, letting it sit
sighing on my arm

Without pause a flock waited at my window, beating restlessly
I shrugged slowly, reaching, accepting
the flutter of the black flock, so hurt and lost
I let them surround me, getting heavy
smothering my body

Scene 65: Resignations

I was too busy breathing
and eating and working
I was too lazy to lie
or sleep or dream
So I chased after nothings
and forgot something

Scene 64: Along the Sidewalk

Listening to the cheers and screams
rising up and down
I wait my turn in the line
endless
two hours from this point
and my friend asks me to leave,
walk along the sidewalk
watching
safely
eating ice cream

I refuse
my turn to ride up and down
comes only when
I’m patient
and I want to ride up
no matter how far
down
I fall
I don’t want to
walk along the sidewalk
watching
safely
eating ice cream

Scene 63: But No

When we spent the dark igniting until the stars waned, getting tired
and we paused by the door just waiting, locking eyes
when we said goodbye we took a chance, and made it hello
and you took my hand to lead the dance, and made it better
I should’ve seen through the primrose letter
Tacky, as rose colored glasses
But no
I’m not like most people

When we were walking along the running sidewalk, wet with skies
and we stepped side by side, your hand in mine
when you said you wanted the world to see me, so you showed me
and you took my hand to lead me, so you could hold me
I should’ve seen through the shallow poetry
Corny, as violets are blue
But no
I’m not like most people

When we were wasting the fainted night away, lead heavy
and you dropped me by my bay, then went sailing
when I watched you be pulled along the sea, by ruby dips
and you left my hand alone to be, wanting those lips
I should’ve been angered by the thieving ship
Restless, as love is
But no
I’m not like most people




One can choose to be angry.

One can choose to be upset.

If you're angry, you can hurt others.

If you're upset, you hurt yourself.

You choose.

Scene 62: Under the Tundra

Frozen touches
ribbons wake
suns crawl
still frozen
and starlight
crumbles

The arctic air
so cold
deafening
sleet roots
and ice
pulses

Scene 61: Their Own Reality

Tainted dew drops of grey on
faded covers so heavy and lovely
under the warmth of bodies
so simple and innocent

Scene 60: Back to the Sky

Open the night and breathe in the stars
Try not to fight in pointless wars
Raise your arms, grasp the dark
Forgive the harms, or you can’t start
The soundless sky, so great and white

Take a fistful of sound and swallow it whole
The pale moon round, take it and hold
Pocket the rain, steal away the clouds
Embrace all the pain and write it out loud
Take it up high, to the sky deathly bright



I apologize for this post being 77 minutes late.

It'll probably be later than that once I finish typing the rest of this.

For some reason, Blogger decided that after 11 o'clock I would not be allowed to update. I tried for a solid hour and all that came up was an "Error" message. So I've been checking back every half an hour or so and finally it's decided to cooperate with me.

BAH.

However, that's my only complaint for now. I will spare you of teenage angst, as I'm sure you have plenty enough for yourself.

Scene 59: Falling High

The chilled summer winds slow,
falling to a slow simmering autumn,
turning a new leaf in the diaphanous waters,
swimming along the banks,
overflowing with green, red, and orange,
peeling away the stains of the sun,
rising its lucid arms up,
downing the clouds and the stars in its gulp,
drinking in the clean lights,
extinguishing explosions of sporadic heat,
chilling the calming furnace,
inhaling all the highs,
peaking at the sighs and grins
chuckling in the serenity

Autumn is quite nice, among other things.

Scene 58: Substitute

I opened up a can of green last night
and spilled it on the floor
wiped it up with blues alright
and went to get some more

I opened up all my cabinets
searching for another
couldn’t find a single bit
of that green that smothered

I opened up my fridge instead
sifting through the things
found a little cup of red
more vibrant than green’s sting

Scene 57: Dining for Answers

The wait so heavy
in stretched out arms and heart
weighting the time out
on a balance
and tipping from the wait so slow
the tipping is low
when the waiter doesn’t return
and the wait is long
for the order
heaving the heavy heart
onto the scale
panning out flat
onto the empty plate
to weight
the wait so heavy

Scene 56: Blending

In the relentless typhoon, spinning and thrashing
thoughts of you, and all the ones before
rage through, on and on
while I sit
on a boat, raincoat soaking
brackish hair and hostile wind obscuring
my view
My hands shake desperately
trying to separate the ingredients of a smoothie

Scene 55: Absence

The hum of the curtains,
lolling longingly
green and blue hang about
the room
waiting,
watching,
wishing

The mold of the bed,
musters missingly,
old and worn lay about
the room
resting,
reaching,
reminiscing

Scene 54: No Cigars

Heaving for a shred of air,
leaping for a chance,
grasping for a touch of care
breaking for a dance;
Seeking a single little drop
to fill an empty lake,
Taking the biggest, longest hop
to span the valley’s wake
Striking a match for a candle,
to light the nighted sky;
Searching the perfect plan will
do naught but make you cry
Building a rusty iron fence
to stop a civil war
Wafting tantalizing scents,
close, but no cigar

Sometimes something is not always better than nothing.

Sometimes it's nothing that can better you.

Scene 53: Fade to Grey

Bite the dark,
don’t let go;
Play the part,
take the show

Sink the night,
use steady aim;
Drown the lie,
make it tame

Crack the black,
spare no thought;
Live the fact,
of what is wrought



Sometimes you can't find white right away.

So look for the grey.

Scene 52: Goodbye and its Ever After

Like dropping a glass tear
onto scalding asphalt
or passing a wasting year
sitting in the same chair
It’s easy

As falling fifty feet
racing the currents
or stepping out of beat
running to the tide
It’s easy

Like walking to the end
and tumbling off the earth
or sliding past the bend
without a second thought
It’s easy

But losing that tear and that year
Dropping those feet and beats
Missing that end and the bend
That’s hard

Scene 51: Marching

Wrinkled legs trudge through ceaselessly
through valleys of nights and mountains of suns
through rivers of nightmares and fields of dreams
we walk without pause
our ravaged soles
take a step
one
by
one

Worn knees creak past incessantly
past, present, and future,
past time drenched sands and old starlight
we step to each beat
as blistered fleets
march from each
note
to
note

We walk, knowing where we were
We walk, learning where we are
We walk, discovering where we go
We walk
and walk
and walk
and we
hope

Scene 50: Old Shadows

Reaching through the silver sands
fumbling for some flashes
take the negatives into hands
and hide them in some stashes

Hold them close and don’t let go
salvage the fraying edges
the only things you’ll ever know
hanging on the ledges



We've hit the fiftieth scene.

And so I looked back

I learned again what I know

and will use it as my shield

in the future that I don't.

Scene 49: The Wanting

The wanting lingers
heavy, smothering,
like pasty follicles

Such daunting fingers
boney, crackling
like iron manacles

Of haunting singers
raspy, wailing
like rusted nails

Scene 48: Were

We were
laughter, laments, despair,
blithe

We were
a story, a book, a play
a life

We were
twenty fingers, four eyes, two hearts,
one sight

We were
up, down, left
and right

We were
you, me, us,
we

We were
am, are, is,
be

We were,
but aren’t

Were we?



I don't know.

You tell me.

Scene 47: Brown Gold and Silver

Lost in a twirl of smokey blue,
drinking in thoughts and visions of you
wasting away in thunders so green,
dragging from fags before the queen

Helpless spiraling in a hazy rose
lines of white between the prose
finding the highs in a full spectrum of light,
withdrawing from fear into the night

Negativity and hostility lead to negative and hostile behaviors.

Self-inflicted or not.

So let's not spread any hate.

I heard some students talking rudely about "fags" earlier today, and how they'd like to "kick the shit out of them". Then they had the audacity to say that they weren't homophobic.

Really, now.

At the very least, you could own up to it.

National Coming Out Day is technically October 11, but for some reason, the LGBTQ Coalition and my school decided to celebrate it yesterday by making festive shirts that said "Coming out as _______" with anything in the blank (a friend, closet romantic novelist, anything).

Apparently people weren't too happy about that. But keep it to yourself, or at the very least, keep it nonviolent.

Some statistics for you to consider (source: http://www.menstuff.org/issues/byissue/suicideteen.html#gay ):

Gay men are six times more likely to commit suicide than straight men, who commit suicide successfully four times more than girls.

Nearly 40% of all homosexuals have attempted or seriously contemplated suicide.

The homosexual population is approximated at 3-6% of the total population.

Yet homosexuals make up 30% of all suicides.

Logically, homosexuals should only take up 3-6% of suicides as well. Yet the actual figure is ten times that.

Enough people die every day. Let's not knock off any more just with a couple of words.

I'm sure you all know the saying, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me".

Bull shit.

Just think, next time, before you talk. That also goes for those active Christian converters. How are you supposed to 'save' their souls if they kill themselves first?

Just think. Then talk.

You just might keep someone from falling completely over the ledge.

Scene 46: Deep White

I walked onto the sands that morning
green and blue
the grains beneath my tender toes
danced and swooned with
nothing
on their minds

I stared into the deep white that morning
dark and clean
the bubbles and foam crawled up around me
fizzing and dreaming of
color
in their viens

I brushed upon the surface that morning
cozy and cold
the brackish breezes swam through me
wishing and holding the
lines
on their lips

I took a breath and
I dove
into the
deep white

Scene 45: Shower

The lines scatter
in little spots
that fall sanguinely
to brittle dots

The lines slake
in scrolling bits
that wash sordidly
over rolling slits

Scene 44: Something

This poem is about
nothing
this part is as much a metaphor
for
nothing
as it is
a simile

This stanza contains
nada
which is as hyperbolic
as
zeroes
are in
a billion

This line is about
nonexistence
as much as litotes
are
complete
in saying
nothing

Scene 43: Roots of Love

Bites of apple smoke coursing
through blueberry veins
fertilized with amorous stems

Blots of white berries eject
into rose petal caverns
egged into cranberry buds

Bits of honey lined pollen
piling in budding blues
flower into peach touches

Scene 42: Brushes

Dabs of rosy wind
on desolate leaves
slightly,
carefully,
smear on buttered
smiles

Scene 41: Line of Liars

Down
through
the
pillar
of
words
teetering,
unbalanced
on
its
base,
fragile,
seeking
safety,
reaching
out
loosely
towards
foundations
that
will
never
rock,
reaching
out
deceptively
towards
security,
hiding
under
everything
at
the
bottom




For the really bad liars.

Scene 40: Epiphany

It’s burning snow in January
and freezing beams in June
Happiness that makes you wary
and tonics out of tune

It’s blaring stillness in symphony halls
and vibrant blacks at tierce
Crescendoing echoes in the walls
and marshmallow pins that pierce

It’s the universe in a bottle
and the all for the one
The poor man that bought all
and the unstarted that was done



It's realization.

Scene 39: Less Spoken Side of the Sky

He
screams
beneath the
musky mantel
gasping
for a
snip
of
light

She
looks
upon from
lofty planes
averting
from the
blip
of
green

Scene 38: The Permanence of the Past

Rising from the ruddy ground
stained so red and black,
pains of an immanent sound
snaps negatives so cracked

Looming in the muffled air
bleached so blue and rust
fibers of a copper prayer
crumbles to the dust

Flowing from the fervent sky
tattooed so burnt and grey,
reigns of an adamant bye
rules finality to prey

Scene 37: Senseless

The air taps on my window
pleading for me
to open up again

I say
No
I cannot
I’m waiting on
the rain
to wash over me

The air presses against the pane
begging for
entrance

I say
Sorry
I cannot
I’m waiting on
the rain
to wrap around me

The air kneels and reaches its hands
quietly asking
for my eyes to open

I say
nothing
I cannot
I’m waiting on
the rain
to return and bless me

The air laments and leaves
mourning dejectedly
at my reluctance

I say
Goodbye
I could not
I still wait on
the rain
and it returns, from my eyes

Scene 36: One Night Fall

Falling towards the sky in empty bliss,
drowning in your thick and heavy kiss,
dreaming of some carameled lies,
and singing hollow lullabies

Scene 35: First Halcyon Days

Remember the sands
of shovels and pails grand,
dirt between toes
on dusty, grainy rows?

Remember the days
of tag and hiding places
fields red like rover,
filled with ducks, gooses and clovers?

Remember the cootie shots
of circle and circle, dot and dot
with valentines galore
and Valentine’s with no woe?

Scene 34: The Stork

Ribbons beneath my feet
And bows around my wings
Taking in the gentle beat
Of pulsing silver rings

Dreams upon my eyes
And safety upon my heart
Breathing in soft sighs
The fruit of lovers’ art

Clouds around my flight
And I around the summit
The delivery of the final rite
Of Cupid’s most consummate

Scene 33: Absolution

Weeping hands in intertwined prayer
Begging knees of earnest layers
take lowly utterances of faults and vices
and strip them of their own devices

Bowing crowns in humble submission
Grounded sight in stained conditions
exorcise away the damned convolutions
and grant upon sweet absolutions



Soooooooo quite appropriately was this poem written for a specific purpose... besides the obvious meaning and symbolism....

Having had a long week (I started the week believing it was Thursday all day, only to realized it was Monday) that felt like I wen\t through it twice, I welcomed today like no other... And of course had a fantastic time....

Now, before I go to bed at 4 am, I realize that I had not updated the poem for yesterday....

And while it broke my rule, I've become too attached to this project to let it die today. And so hopefully, any and all followers and viewers of this blog will forgive me...

Obviously, this means there will be a second poem today.


However, I'm waiting for Karma to kick in. I've been trying to amass as much good Karma as I can, but it doesn't seem to be helping. Hell, I forgot this.

Hopefully things look up starting with last night and that this slipup will never happen again.

Wish me luck.

I'll need it.

Scene 32: The Blue Screen

Loading, loading
waiting slowly
watching the
black
sands trickle
past
through the white hour
glass

Waiting, waiting
patiently breathing
eyes trace the
blue
bars filling
through
the grey mechanical
ruler

Freezing, freezing
panic slowly rising
trying frantically to
stop
perhaps controlling could
spot
or alternatively
not

Deleting, deleting
seeking to pacify
the possible overload
that
would result in
traps,
a completely erasing
zap



Well, it's been a month since I started this project.

It's safe to say I haven't failed yet... Though I still have a long way to go.

This first month away from home has been pretty much the same as the rest of my life, now that I think about it. Except the highs were higher, and the lows were lower, and never did I have to go home and choose what needed to be revealed. Everything was much more open, much more free, and much more safe.

However, I seemed to have forgotten that fact that I actually am at school and still need to kick into that mode. Hopefully I can remember how to listen.

And here we go again.

One month down. Eleven more to go.

Scene 31: Echoes in the Emptiness

The continents on the walls
sing stories that only
the lonely hear

The flicker in the halls
paint portraits lonely
of single fears

The static in the calls
tell tales so phony
of phantom cheers

The pain in the falls
sell sympathies stony
for bottles of tears



People like being alone because it gives them time to think.

I wish I knew what they thought about, so I could think of that instead.

Scene 30: Fall to the Future

Sleeping slivers of garnished light lathered onto
leaping leaves taking seasoned flight over
blinking blades of morning rime drinking from
staggering stills of nature’s thyme taking off
borrowed breezes of teasing lines enriched with
swaying swills of verdant wines wilting away

with what comes next

Scene 29: Admit Me Adonis

Show me a river, painted so silver
with diamond dew drops
and banks that won’t quiver

Show me a field, with gold songs concealed
with emerald blades
and sweet voices that heal

Show me a mountain, with topazes bounding
with pearl pink pebbles
and rose petal fountains

Show me a sky, doused in sun dyes
with ruby rich clouds
and effervescent electric eyes

Show me a life, stitched without strife
with crocheted coral patches
and perfection bleached blithe




Show me perfection.

Then if you could, give it to me.

I'd like to have some.

Scene 28: Let's Get Busy Tonight Quelling

The Crayola hemisphere
with Caribbean blues and
tropic dyes
Painted with rainbow fears
of Meridian pinks and
whitened whys

The Crayola horizons
with apple greens and
sleek pearls
Stained with highs on
clouds’ colored crops and
Greek swirls

The Crayola firmament
with piercing luster and
tye dye scents
Tattoed with purple permanent
such inherited hues and
roses innocent

Scene 27: Seasons of Loss

Rose petals on
autumed wishes
stained with
winter’s kisses
spiraling through
white abysses

Cocoa crumbs on
fallen ambitions
stained with
frozen conditions
wafting past
empty positions

Iced laces on
yellowed promises
splashed with
stark black, honest
wilting away
truth, its grandest



I almost missed today... Only a half hour left.

I've just been so distracted lately. By simply everything.

Scene 26: Palatable Placebo

Drowning dark fields of delicious deep chocolates
Peppermint rainbows and icing lined lockets
Tempting tongue candies with tantalizing wares
Promising cream hopes and candy cane cares
Filling infinity with shivering sherberts
Enveloping wastelands with carefree desserts

For all those who eat when depressed.

Scene 25: Beginning and End

Winter-tapped cream and grey-green rings
Sakura lacing against white diamonds’ sheen
Enchanting, enveloping, under the wings
Statuesque, unparalleled, of all that is seen



Your words were hypnotic
like a rabbit in a hat
playing your cards
and tapping away my perception
Your words were hypnotic

Your words were boundless
like rivers pouring life
overflowing with grace
and washing away my doubts
Your words were boundless

Your words were harmonic
like wind and strings
drumming with perfection
and blowing away my mind
Your words were harmonic

Your words were chocolate
like magic reserved for occasions
giving such sustenance
and romancing away my logic
Your words were chocolate

Your words were golden
sweet as pollen for bees
blooming past monotony
and taking away my senses
Your words were golden

Your eyes were full
Your touch was silver
Your voice was brilliant
Your zest was sweet
Your scent was glowing

But your words were empty

I wrote the beginning at the beginning of us, for you.

And the ending of us I wrote at the end.

The end is always longer. Weeks of joy are easily outstripped by just hours, minutes of sorrow.

Scene 24: The Butterfly

The moonlight cries
The pitter of its tears
The patter of its sighs
Opens up the sorrow
In all the lonely lives

The caterpillar dreams
The crawling of its wishes
The sprawling of its schemes
Drags along the spirit
Against the waxing gleams

The cloudy rivers drop
The blessing of its bounty
The stressing of its crop
Strings behind the problems
And seeks to make them stop

The Aurelia blanket wraps
The soothing of its hold
The smoothing of its grasps
Shelters past the pain
Towards the future’s haps

The white wind blows
The fraying of its breath
The saying of its rows
Carries with it hope
To all the longing souls

The butterfly sings
The flutter of its song
The mutter of its wings
Will open up the light
The door to everything

Scene 23: Synesthesia in Solitude

The cold fluorescent breeze
culminates in
wafts of light
dark
and trite

The bitter shadows
sweep through
flavors of black
sour
full of traps

The sting of kisses
steals away
tactile thoughts
grey
and lost





I used to have so much to say. I never stopped talking. Not even to think.

Now I can't stop thinking.

Scene 22: Before Bed

The vacant caverns of the night
Single breaths to the light
Weightless hands and weightless arms
Dreaming of such nightly charms
Finding photos, rummaging through
Searching memories in light of you

The lonely breaths on linens white
Of witless prayers in the quiet
Silent solos of chapsticked lips
Heavy hearts and hope eclipsed
Empty eyes and clear space
Over lingering wafts and outlines traced




I've been trying to find something to talk about these past few days. There's just too much in the swirl of life that sometimes it's hard to tell what's shit and what's water. Unlike my metaphor, my life is not actually heading down the toilet. It's spinning around and I'm just dazed and confused as to what's happening.

I suppose I'll just let my poetry talk for me. Maybe then I can look back and figure this all out.

Scene 21: Tonic of Life

The change in harmony, how it went
the first to
the third to
the dominant

The augmented cadence, and minor sixth
diminished,
progression
to the fifth

The fermatas and legatos, chorus mottos
held
released
so subito

The dynamic change, so piano
decrescendo
accelerando then
sforzando

The perfect chords, always major
so ready
so safe
for a fated return

Scene 20: Gifts from Lady Snow

Come and see the caramel canes
lined up on ninety seventh street
with dew drop buttons and frosted panes
down at the house of old Scotty

Come and see the flaky schoolboys
eyes tracing the powdered diamonds
fixing for their cola joys
blowing dust from their high runs

Scene 19: Year of Enterprise

Spring spray
only for
four
dollars

blooms the man outside the store
fliers blossoming
through the wind
surrounding him

Spring spray
only for
four
hours

today, beams the man on the corner
display shining
like the sun
showering him

Spring spray
only for
four
people

falls the words from the man
face browning
almost orange
reddening him

Spring spray
only for
four
seasons

wilts the man on the curb
fingers frosted
with withered wishes
smothering him

Scene 18: As the Mantis

The nails, the skin
what they held within
such sweets, such sins
of greys ghastly grim

The body, the legs
the thighs, how they begged
so carnal like cleggs,
erotic rotting eggs

The eyes, the lips
in unspeakable grips
The toes, the hips
of an unholy script

The hair, the face
of untouchable grace
such lulling and lace,
embalming embrace

Scene 17: Perfect Insanity

Still weather storms
Through ageless old swarms
Of frozen sunlight
And melting moonlight

Quiet thunder wails
Through wind-patrolled jails
Of free imprisonment
And blissful malcontent

Lost wishes found
Through noiseless sound
Of sudden, foreseen shocks
And suspended, ticking clocks

Sane perfections disturbed
Through purity perturbed
Of old unhappened events
And forgotten joyous laments

It's hard to explain.

Old feelings ruining something perfectly good.

It's utter confusion.

Scene 16: The Tale of Jean Caddow

Traveling through the central lands
Through woods and mountains and icy sands
Lived a man named Jean Caddow
A chimney sweep that few did know
For everywhere that Caddow went
Was a place with myrrh’s stale scent

Poor Caddow was simply cursed
For where he went occurred the worst
Any house attended he
Did witness death so tragically
Living on the streets alone
Just Jean Caddow and his jackdaws

Jean Caddow went house to house
To try and escape the clouds’ cold douse
But nowhere would they let him in
Despite his pleas and weary grins
So cold Caddow huddled down
Beneath the sky and nearly drowned

But Jean Caddow was luckily found
By a tender-lipped maiden, crisp as sound
Whose eyes and voice made songs of joy
With every glance and whisper so coy
She walked Caddow home and sat him in
And hospitably poured him a glass of gin

Oh dear Caddow was in perfect bliss
In comfort and warmth of this sweet miss
And offered to clean and service her home
To clean each little cranny, chimney and stone
But the tender-lipped lady politely refused
And to her own room did she herself excuse

So Caddow went to bed, tender and mild
And dreamt sweetened dreams, and awoke with a smile
Secretly he cooked a heavenly meal
Of potatoes and eggs, and tea with fruit peels
He knocked on the door of his gracious hostess
And quietly to god did he the meal bless

But no response was heard to Jean Caddow’s knock
Nothing but air and a gentle, quiet clock

Scene 15: The Nature of Love

Haikus dance upon
Fallen stars holding love’s hands
Done without warning

Love is nature.

Scene 14: Faux Escapade

Dancing leaves
all red and green and beautiful
flirt and chase
through the shadows
of trunks and branches
dressed somberly

Skipping leaves
all young and free and weightless
flit and skirt
through the tangles
of branches and wind
blowing grievingly

Walking leaves
all simple and careless and charming
wish and reach
through the wails
of wind and night
dawning longingly

Falling leaves
all single and hopeless and beaten
crawl and fight
through the snarls
of night and roots
snatching jealously

Scene 13: The Negatives

Restless breaths
of sinewed hands,
calloused eyelids,
and worn out bands
slowly reaching
through the sands
of copper grains
and silver lands

Haunting steps
of hollowed eyes,
withered soles,
and rapacious whys
quietly mourning
through empty skies
of lily mists
and ecstatic flies

Flickering sights
of immortal pasts,
empty futures
and nature’s last
wistfully longing
through broken glass
of mosaics shattered
in shriveling grass

Scene 12: Magic Under Cloudy Nights

Sparkled glitter
Railing sirens
Dazzling blossoms
World defying

Under shards
Matching sparks
Simple contact
Roses’ marks

Scene 11: The Room

The room
is dark
with midnight
and beetles

The window
is bleak
with haze
and grime

The door
is locked
with chains
and cement


Everyone has one.

Scene 10: Musical Thievery

And the crystal notes
flutter in the air
striding and riding
and strutting with flair
They envelope and send
fantasies and charms
of buttercream suns
and velvet red arms

And the studded beats
trumpet through the air
marching and waving
and moving with care
They snatch and swipe
feelings and hearts
with gleaming green eyes
and raspberry lips tart

Music is beautiful.

Scene 9: Silence

Cold sunlight
bouncing off the stars
sinking in the grass
and drifting to the walls
wet with white

Feverish breezes
whisking through the walls
smashing to the skies
and melding with the bars
built as bluffs

Unfound passion... It’s just great when no one knows.

It’s great when it’s shared.

But everyone loves secrets.

Scene 8: Single

Seek
find
greet
approach
touch
Shake
kiss
walk
hide
bed
Lie
sleep
creek
wake
look
wonder
see
Shake
plea
deny
weep
Bang
Sleep

Scene 7: Prayers of Another Trinity

The coconut clouds
And effervescent eyes
Of mosaic glass proud
And desirous green guise
She beams

The goldenrod rays
And twin dancing stars
Of long bated days
And futile, empty wars
She dreams

The amber tainted hopes
And magenta studded prayers
Of inescapable slopes
And dusty, neglected layers
She screams



So I've lived in my dorm for two weeks now. Classes started a week ago and the weekend is coming to a close.... Well, as much of a close as anyone considers 5 o'clock in the afternoon to be.

Life away from home is incredible... Speaking from personal experience, I've never really lived away from home from an extended period of time. Never stayed with a relative for the summer. Never went on an extended trip with a friend. So this is entirely new for me.

And it is enlightening.

So much has happened.... I was worried that I may not be able to do this project and see it through. Though it's still very early, prematurely early, to say this, but I feel like I must.

I've simply got a feeling that this will work.

Let's take it week by week.

And so we'll go. Again.

Scene 6: Fifth-Degree

Parading down from vehicles’ hotwiring
Laughing up flames and fingertips firing
Sweltering, sizzling, and simply expiring

Red devils dance and sparks sing
And fires circle and furnaces swing
Melting and smelting simply everything



Arizona is so, so, so hot.

Scene 5: Street Corners

A woman came up to me and
asked
for a second
I looked at my watch
and gave her the hand

A man came up to me and
asked
for a hand
I looked at my wrist
and gave him my watch

A girl came up to me and
asked
for a penny
I looked at my pocket
and gave her a thought

A boy came up to me and
asked
for a game
I looked at myself
and gave up my day



It's been one of those days.

Still.

There's beauty in the mundane.

Scene 4: White on Blue

Champagne stains
On cyan skies
Sweet marmalade
And silver ties
Holding wrists
Just so tight
And making lists
For the night

Linen spots
On midnight heavens
Chocolate shots
And cupid lessons
Holding arms
Breathing breaths
Whispering charms
For what comes next

Lemon beams
On aqua horizons
Unending dreams
And coupled eyes on
Holding hearts
And sharing time
The perfect art
In perfect rhyme




The day cycles just so nicely....

So nicely.

Scene 3: Unplayed Roles

Swaying in the willowed park,
Fraying leaves and broken hearts
Setting suns on setting eyes,
Empty hands and tearless cries

Dreaming in the drunken dark,
Tulip nights and senseless art
Canvas white and pastels black
Of weightless hands and heart attacks

Sinking in the starless bark,
Window panes and uncast parts
Huddled knees and ankles tight
Of fractured colors once so white



I don’t really know where this came from.

However, I suppose angst is constantly in the hearts of teenagers, even if they’re having the time of their lives.

It’s not that I’m lonely. On the contrary, I’ve never felt closer to people, or life.

So I guess I’m making a tribute to what I was missing before I found it, as I know so many others are looking for it.

But don’t worry.

I’ll wait for you to join me on this side.

Scene 2: Three Little Gods

Three little gods woke up one day
And three little goddesses got up to play
The gods watched the girls with love in mind
As the girls pranced and danced for flowers to find

The three little gods decided to make
The three little goddesses something next wake
To romance and tease their gay little hearts
A promise they made, and so did they start

The first swooning god, on that first little day
Made music from air, made music to play
Halls of allure, and operatic gold rays
Of such immaculate songs, with diamond details
To sing and to charm, to praise and to hail
Though to his little goddess, proved to no avail

The next love-struck god, when it came to his turn
Created shows of light, and the stars that burn
And constellations of promise to show his deep yearn
Such beauty and hope filled that lonely sky
Filling the horizon so deep and so high
Though it resulted in nothing but a heartless ‘Goodbye’

The third little god, went up to his goddess
Slowly and shyly, to follow his brothers’ antics
Presented to her, flowers for her quaint bodice
Blue bells, they were, so pure to behold
Such petals they held, far richer than gold
She smiled and took them, and to her heart did they hold


So I already have homework. Which is a terrible nuisance, to say the least.

However, a reading for my class called the Human Event called for old creation myths around the world. And it really got me thinking.

There was a story from the Bantu people in the Congo River region of Zaire that had an interesting story about the creator Bumba, and how one of his sons, Chedi Bumba, wanted to create something beautiful, but only managed to create the bird known as the kite.

And that really just stuck with me. How strange some stories are, and yet how memorable they become.

Simple things, then again, are often the best.

Scene 1: The Sparks of Autumn

The spark in autumn
From the embers of summer
Such a thing to remember
In the shades of September

The breezes of autumn
From the tempests of summer
Such a high that possessed
In the feelings most blest

The droplets of autumn
From the monsoons of summer
Such a sky in maroon
From the shades of the noon

The pebbles of autumn
From the towers of summer
Such a memory empowered
From the love-filled hours



Only and hour and half left of today.

Not a good way to start a project that needs daily updates.

But life is just so amazing right now that I don’t ever want to leave the new people that I’ve just met.

It’s so strange.

Thrown into a new surrounding where you know very few people, everyone just seems more willing and friendly than I’ve ever seen them.

And though classes have started today, nothing has really changed yet. Time keeps moving and we keep moving, but we’re still living like we have been for the last week.

It’s amazing, really. How all this works.

But why question something wonderful?

I’m just going to ride it and see how high this coaster will go.

Scene 0

Follow me through lands of ink,
Paper and stories,
Love and grief
Watch my wand paint portraits of them,
You and me,
Now and then



Life.

It’s such a complicated, mysterious, beautiful thing.

At its brightest, it steals the unknown.

At its darkest, it steals your soul.

Many find that the pubescent mind is short-sighted, arrogant, and over-dramatic. They find that the actions and reactions in our life are drawn out and exaggerated like some beachside caricature. But mostly they find us to know nothing, think of nothing, and do everything. Or, so they claim to have found.

But it’s simply because we have nothing else to which we can refer. We do not have years of heartache under our eyes or decades of life in our veins. But what we do have are months of detachment in our arms and seasons of growth in our bodies. And with what we are given, those months and seasons are what make up the longest years of our clocks.

We are not over-dramatic. We can live only by what we have.

We are not arrogant. We live only by what we ourselves learn.

We are not short-sighted. We live by only seeing what’s important now.

For what’s important tomorrow may never be real.

Live loud. Live experience. Live sight.

And most importantly, live alive.

My freshman year of college has started. I have lived in my dorm for six days already. Life has already started to change. Classes start tomorrow. When that final ingredient is in, this miracle-grow formula of life post-high school will finally take its full effect.

365 days of growth and experience
365 poems of love and despair
365 scenes of the world and its people

1 Year
1 Blog
1 Show

1 Life

Come with me, and we’ll begin.