Drunken Poetry

Maybe it's just the beer talking,
But I think that I love you.
And so I wonder to myself,
Do you love me too?

I think that you do,
Perhaps you're just afraid.
Scared I just want you in my bed,
To tell my friends that I got laid.

Even under the influence,
I think I love you too much for that.
I can't tell you these words when I'm sober,
So I have these drunken chats.

In the morning we'll have headaches,
And neither of us will remember.
That we fell in love for a night,
During a weekend in September.

Things and people change,
But my heart remains the same.
I can't say I even know you,
Since I never got a name.

If only you can hear me now,
Crying out to the lonely world.
Praying you were with me,
In my bed where I lay curled.

Talent

By returning just enough of their calls,
So they probably get the picture,
That is talent.

By acting slightly bored,
Even when your heart is racing,
Now that's talent.

By keeping your cool under pressure,
Although you want them then and there,
That is talent, too.

By deftly avoiding their gaze,
While they stare a hole through you,
Is also talent as well.

But by claiming and professing your love,
In such clandestine and secret ways,
That is not talent at all,
But rather childish foolishness,
Of which I'd rather not be a part.

Drummer Boy

Upload music at Bolt

Click "Play" on the video above and when you hear the music start begin to read each stanza in about 5-6 seconds. Don't read too fast or too slow. If you time it right, the poem matches the music. Again, don't read too fast, even if you're tempted to.

---

Welcome to The Mind,
An untrained circus of thought.
Drawing energy from The Heart,
A source that's overwrought.

Creaking doors swing back and forth,
Self-propelled on their hinges.
If you think the sound is bad,
You should see the way he cringes.

They stop and he takes a breath,
The silence rings loudly in his ears.
Closing his eyes in the darkness,
His biggest fears appear.

More loud thumping of his heart,
Like a giant cymbal being hit.
When it finally ceases to bang,
The sound of the doors still emits.

Scraping back and forth,
The cogs of The Mind trying to move.
They require blood from The Heart,
To grease up the cogs' grooves.

A ringing becomes clearer,
As he tries to find the receiving end.
He struggles to escape,
When the drumming begins again.

His heart beating faster and faster,
With no clear finish in sight.
His heart is louder and harder,
With something about to ignite.

He hears faint messages from a voice,
Deep inside his soul.
But with the ringing and the beating,
He no longer has control.

The voice of The Soul and ringing of The Mind,
Mix with the drumming of The Heart.
For a few brief moments of time,
He can't tell any of them apart.

Then the drumming rises up,
It is beating wildly in his chest.
To transcend above them all,
It now soars over the rest.

It continues to beat louder and harder,
Over and over and over again.
He doesn't know where it's from,
It's there and always has been.

It simply continues to beat,
As it gets,
Louder,
And Louder,
And Louder,
And Louder,
And Louder,
And Louder,
And Louder,
And Louder,
And Louder,
And Louder,
And Louder,
And Louder,
And Louder,
And Louder,
And Louder...

Nice Guys

Why is it that a guy,
Can no longer do nice things,
Without being labeled something nasty,
Like a pussy or a queen?

So if he likes to visit her,
During her lunch hour at work,
That makes him less of a man,
And also some kind of jerk?

What if he goes as far to wait,
Hours and hours upon end,
Just because he loves her,
And feels she's his best friend?

Would that make him a wuss,
Whipped with a ball and chain?
Just give it a rest already,
Since it's your life that's mundane.

Maybe you're simply jealous,
That you can never love like him.
Instead of buying her flowers,
You sign up for a year at the gym.

But since you're such a manly-man,
Who likes to do macho stuff,
You'll probably never see,
That you don't love her nearly enough.

And while the pussies and queens,
All have something they call a life,
You'll be left with only your hand,
Not even a girlfriend, or a wife.

Missing Piece

I'm a hundred-piece puzzle,
That is very near complete.
You can see me from my hair,
Down on to my feet.

Yet in the middle somewhere,
There's a spot that's gone astray.
A piece I continue to look for,
Each and every day.

I've tried to fit things there,
Though none of them seem to function.
So I'm left with a missing piece,
At my two lungs' junction.

Lots of times it's fine,
It doesn't bother me one bit.
But I'd like to find a piece,
That maybe would finally fit.

Other times it hurts,
Reminding me of the empty space.
Desparately seeking to be filled,
And not an empty, barren place.

Walkin'

Back walkin' on the road again,
With my hand in the air.
Got nothin' but a name,
Some dirty clothes, and my hair.

I thought I'd found my ride,
When you picked me up last year.
You had your high-beams on,
As I stared at you like a deer.

Walkin' around to the window,
I'd thought I found my ride at last.
Barely did I have time to speak,
Before you locked the door and punched the gas.

I've seen you drive back and forth,
As I keep walkin' down this road.
Across counties and cities,
More than a few zip codes.

But now whenever I see you,
Drivin' to some man downtown,
I turn my back and just keep walkin',
As I lower my hand down.

People

Two stanzas per person


I trust you because you know me,
Or atleast act like you do.
You've known me ever since,
I made my famous debut.

Now you probably feel sorry,
For situations I find myself in.
You might understand me the best,
As the closest of my kin.

---

You're a phantom and a ghost,
That I will probably never see.
But if I am in bad spirits,
I know you'll be there for me.

I hope you don't hate your life,
Seeing you have it induces envy.
Because you have everything I want,
And are what I want to be.

---

Like me I know that you,
Are often very bored.
Like a blank tape run dry,
But left to endlessly record.

As we both search for change,
And answers that may not exist,
We probably both look back,
On friendships that we missed.

---

I know your name and age,
What to say to make your gut split.
What a shame I make you laugh,
But will never even hear it.

You see who I am,
Unfiltered and without shields.
You're one of the lucky few,
That to myself I have revealed.

---

Sometimes I wonder about you,
I ponder if it's all a bluff.
Somehow you make me feel,
Like I'll never be good enough.

I've stared up at the stars,
What'd it be like if they were ours?
I hope we both evade scars,
And from this loop of feelings so bizarre.

---

Even the shortest of stories,
Can have endings that are bittersweet.
But the endings are like these people,
To be without them would be incomplete.

Pro-Life

The doctor sat her down,
And in a serious tone of voice,
Said "Sherry you are pregnant,
It is time to make a choice".

How could she have a child,
If she wasn't even a wife?
Was it the baby or her,
That had the more important life?

Through her drunken eyes,
She sees a normal man in a raper.
Now she's staring down a pen,
On the line of abortion papers.

His life is on the line,
Symbolized by a John Hancock.
You'd just as well give birth,
Then shoot him with a glock.

Could he have been athletic and smart,
A Derrick, Matthew, or Brad?
Such answers are sealed as she signs,
Signs away a child she never had.

Back Home

Back home is where they say,
The heart is left to rest.
Where a pair of jeans and t-shirt,
Are considered to be well-dressed.

You can sit and doze the day,
With your feet in a river bend.
Recall your high school glory,
Perhaps your first girlfriend.

Driving past your old church,
Or where your parent's went to school,
The park where you proposed,
And the store you bought the jewel.

Recall the skies always blue,
The clouds that float above.
Here things happen for a reason,
That everyone likes to call love.

You could close your eyes,
It would still be there.
The rays shining on your face,
And the smell of home's air.

The world seems smaller,
As if it's yours to roam.
Everything seems a little clearer,
When you go back home.

Familiar sights and sounds,
Rusty, bucolic, but still in the same place.
It's something that's always there,
And could never be erased.

Friends

Let's Play

A person can make you laugh,
And a person can make you smile.
But they can also cause you to cry,
By acting wicked and vile.

A person can hold your heart,
And stroke it with loving attention.
Or they can impale it at their leisure,
In a spiteful strike of condescension.

A person can make you feel wanted,
And give you a place to belong.
But they can also oust you away,
And leave you to scrape along.

Other people are both good and bad,
This we know for sure.
What we don't know is what are you,
Evil and foul or just and pure?

Perhaps you'd like to be good,
But never gave it much thought.
You stopped reaching out to others,
Who seemed upset and distraught.

A person can love you for your name,
And also hate you just the same.
With this outline we're given a frame,
Of the pattern of life - that's all a game.

Red Door

About one year ago,
I was walking through my halls.
I kept seeing the same white doors,
And the same old boring walls.

I went through some at random,
And opened others with care.
I felt like this endless maze,
Was anything but fair.

Just when I thought,
I could not go on anymore,
I was startled to turn and find,
A red-pink, and not white, door.

Finally something different,
A little flavor for a change.
I welcomed the colorful addition,
And did not think it strange.

I peered through the keyhole,
Underneath the sliver of space near the floor.
But I didn't dare barge through,
So rather I slowly opened the door.

What I saw and heard,
Is a different story to tell.
But the image of that door,
Causes my heart to swell.

I've closed it and walked away,
Only to somehow find it again.
Every time I see that color,
Goosebumps invade my skin.

I want to go behind the door,
But does what's behind the door want me?
To find out I'd probably have to do more,
Then simply knock and count to three.

I hope that they can hear,
Because I'm knocking as hard as I can.
Even though I don't know what to do,
And I don't have any sort of plan.

Fireworks

*Note: This didn't actually happen -_-'

---

I was miles and miles away,
From being able to see you.
Instead I was trapped in prison,
With bars painted Green and Blue.

The night crawled on slowly,
With silence filling my ears.
I could hear the people outside,
Shouting and yelling their cheers.

I had seen atleast one firework on every 4th,
Ever since I was only a kid.
And although I could hear them crashing above,
To see them I was forbid.

I knew you were with friends,
So I didn't want to call.
Which is why I wasn't surprised,
You didn't contact me at all.

Perhaps I was expecting,
A little 'How is your night?'.
Or maybe even a visit,
To sympathize with my plight.

But instead all I had,
Was a lonely store to lurk.
And to think that for the first time,
I wouldn't see a single firework.

When it came time to leave,
And I saw friends and family in the lot,
I thought of you and your friends,
On their big and private yacht.

I was a little surprised to see you,
Propped up against my car.
I said 'The fireworks are over',
You said, 'Yes, yes they are'.

Then you leaned in to kiss me,
Calling me your 'favorite sales clerk'.
And you made sure that tonight,
I was able to see my fireworks.

Thinking of You

When you feel like life is lonely and unfair,
And you don't know if you'll pull through,
Just remember that I'm always here,
Sitting and thinking of you.

When you have thoughts of despair,
That you can't seem to subdue,
Recall the times I called you up,
And know I'm thinking of you.

When the world seems way too big,
And you just want to bid it all adieu,
Think back to that night I said,
That all my poetry is from me to you.

When you're lying sick in your bed,
Missing out on life with a case of the flu,
Check out my website where you will find,
A get-well writing I made just for you.

When your heart becomes broken,
And you no longer have dreams to pursue,
Close your eyes and count some sheep,
So I can be there with you.

If only,
You knew,
That I,
Think of you.

Crush Recipe

A pint of attractiveness,
And a half cup of style.
Simmered in lust,
Topped off with a smile.

Then add a few jokes,
And a friendly punch on the arm.
Marinate it with a wink,
And sprinkle on some charm.

Watch over them for a few minutes,
With just a small tint of obsession.
And then take them out of the oven,
Once you see a rise in their affection.

Then give it a few moments to cool,
Before spreading the maybe's and what if's.
And then decide if it's good enough to eat,
By giving a taste-test and small sniff.

If it smells okay then you're good to go,
Just wrap it up and keep it cold.
But don't ignore it and allow it to mold,
Or else you'll be hungry when you grow old.

Self-Conscious Girls

When you look in to the mirror,
What is it that you see?
Is it imperfection and doubt,
Or some form of inner beauty?

Are you afraid people will see you,
Before you can shoot off a warning?
When a person truly loves you,
They think you're prettiest in the morning.

I think some of you ought to know,
That it doesn't matter how you look.
It doesn't matter if you're gorgeous,
Or that you don't know how to cook.

Maybe it's a surprise,
Or perhaps you've known all along.
But guys can worry too,
If we feel we aren't big and strong.

Stop wasting time worrying,
That you don't appear good enough.
They'll like you for the inside,
Once they stop acting like their tough.

Some take longer than others,
So perhaps patience is the key.
But if they don't like you in the morning,
Don't let them get down on one knee.

How Do You Know?

People sometimes ask,
If you believe in love at first sight.
Some say it's just a coincidence,
Like being born black or white.

But how do you know,
That the sun will always rise?
Then have its place taken by the moon,
Which fills every star-lit sky.

How do you know,
That no matter how long it rains.
It will eventually have to stop,
Leaving only a blue sky to remain.

How do you know that your grandfather,
Who's eighty-three and a half,
Will tell the same joke over and over,
And that each time you'll still laugh.

How do you know,
That your parents will always seem to cry,
After you've hugged and kissed them,
Knowing it might be a final good-bye.

How do you know that death comes,
And that each of us eventually has to go?
The same way I know you can love,
From just a simple and friendly 'hello'.

Your Secret Love

*This is a the title of a Jazz song, but it rocks so I stole it.

He thinks about her all the time,
Every day on his way to work.
9 A.M. bright and early,
With just a glimmer of a smirk.

He looks at her and she looks at him,
But they just smile and say nothing at all.
Then they both scamper back to their lives,
Praying that the other will call.

-

She sees him every Sunday,
In the grocery store downtown.
And whenever she walks past,
She can sense him turn around.

She smiles to herself and takes a peek,
Through her invisible rearview mirror.
Every Sunday she hopes he'll talk,
And come just a tad bit nearer.

-

He's known her for about six years,
And many consider them best friends.
If only they knew what the other did,
Instead of always having to pretend.

If he asked her to marry,
She'd probably say yes.
What a shame he never will,
Be able to confess.

-

What a horrific game this love is,
In which the players are all fools.
But even fools can find happiness,
If they follow the basic rules.

What about the rest,
Who don't know what to do?
They continue searching forever,
Possibly searching for you.

Shy People

We hate to ask the time so instead we find a clock,
We hate to push and shove so we find another place to walk.
We don't visit people's houses if it means we have to knock,
And picking up the phone to make a call results in nervous shock.

We are known for only saying our hello's and goodbye's,
We feel bad because we can't look you straight in the eyes.
We know deep down that we're a good bunch of guys,
But each one of us is lonely and each surely cries.

We know that on the surface nothing is as it seems,
We know that our silence is really hidden screams.
We try to talk and thereby raise our self esteem,
However the act of talking is like a balancing beam.

We sometimes feel threatened as if we're social prey,
We keep our heads down and obediently obey.
We view life as an ongoing and collective survey,
Which is why shy people have the most to say.

Song

Some Monty Python song....

Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.

So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath

Life's a piece of shit
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.

And always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the right side of life...
(Come on guys, cheer up!)
Always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the bright side of life...
(Worse things happen at sea, you know.)
Always look on the bright side of life...
(I mean - what have you got to lose?)
(You know, you come from nothing - you're going back to nothing.
What have you lost? Nothing!)
Always look on the right side of life...

You can hear it here

Just a Little Farther

That's it,
Keep reaching,
Just a little farther,
You've almost got it.

Don't open your eyes,
Just feel with your senses.
And keep grasping out,
You've almost got it.

Just a little bit more,
Your fingertips feel it,
So tantalizingly close,
Before it disappears again.

Keep clenching your fist,
At empty and desolate air.
Even though Einstein said,
This was insanity.*

Keep stretching and flailing,
In the blind darkness.
Just take care,
To not be bitten.

---

*Einstein had a quote about insanity. Check it out online.

A Message

A simple warning for each of you,
Not everything I say is exactly true.
With each word I'd add a grain of salt,
Believing in myths is your own fault.

If you expected to read my life at your leisure,
Then I'm sorry to say this is the wrong procedure.
But don't be discouraged just because of what I write,
Each poem comes from an idea - both of horror and delight.

Somewhere hidden in between the lines and phrases,
Is a message which once deciphered amazes.
But can you crack the code and see inside my mind,
Or simply read the face value with an Eye of the Blind?

These poems are the first step to knowing,
The real life that is otherwise never showing.
Will you return in the future or say Good-Bye,
Have I intrigued you enough to have you even try?

A simple warning for each of you,
Not everything I say is exactly true.
With each word I'd add a grain of salt,
Believing in myths is your own fault.

Questions

How do I fight my greatest enemy,
When it stares me in the face?
Through a rusty hub cap or glass,
Which is impossible to erase?

How do I ignore the thoughts,
Which won't seem to go away?
If I try and say I have control,
Then why won't they ever obey?

A blank white slate, a blank white slate,
I try to picture nothingness in my mind.
But the unstable thoughts fuse together,
And with my reason becomes entwined.

Thoughts and actions longing for marriage,
Floating through a life with no solution.
Forever seeking the proper tools,
To by my own hand inflict retribution.

Swift judgment against myself,
To try and get back in line.
Where everyone walks together,
As if we are on cloud nine.*

Will I make it back to the others,
Or float further and further apart?
Will I meet them at the end,
Or wind up all the way at the start?

---

*Look it up.

Shiver

People live life,
For the goosebump moments.

The end of a story,
Or closing note of a song.

When we meet that person we love,
At just a first moment's glance.

Or when we feel that person whispering,
Almost silently in to our ears.

I just thought you'd like to know,
That I wasn't simply cold,
But I did have goosebumps.

PearstraeH

I hold this pear in my hand,
And wonder how much pressure could it stand?
I suppose the pear gave me trust,
Knowing I could obliterate it in to dust.

It is soft and squishy but warm,
And might be to some an art form,
With its fragile curves and delicate girth,
To someone it must have unimaginable worth.

Yet if it is their's then where are they?
Did they leave it to me then run away?
Am I now responsible for this pear?
To cherish and hold it with loving care?

I look down at the defenseless fruit,
Which now that I see is kinda cute.
I'll keep it close and we'll mature,
And I'll always make sure it's safe and secure.

Fog

As I stand on the roof of the Church and take in the early morning, a sadness silently spreads over me. The fog is beginning to lift, but at this moment in time is still creates a hazy barrier between me and the rest of the world. Between me and you, wherever you happen to be. The morning is quiet, with even the birds still resting peacefully in their nests. The streetlights still cast a dull glow which rebounds off the blanket of fog and bounces in every direction. I used to wake up early like this so I could wait for you, but you no longer come.

I remember that day you made the decision to not help the Church anymore. Instantly memories began to overflow my mind, overwhelming any existence of sensibility. We had been in this Church together for four years, and the separation back then was almost too much for me to bear. I holed myself up and made every attempt to hide my existence from others. But now, on every Sunday morning, I walk up to the roof of our Church. I allow the memories to swim around in my mind, and I feel them slowly drowning my composure. I feel myself on the verge of a breakdown every time thoughts of you enter my mind. It is because I know that you are still out there somewhere, but not here. It is because I know you will never be back at the Church with me again.

When I first came to Italy to visit you we were friends, and I still cannot discern where that exactly changed. Perhaps we were both left with no other avenue to display our affections. We were both still children when we began to have feelings. Perhaps both of us were confused, but since we had no other choice but to be together, we gradually worked things out. The wonderful thing about Italy is that the romance simply springs forth with little or no effort. All either of us had to do was simply exist, and let the atmosphere do all the work. I thought that we could stay there forever, but I still have the letter you wrote to me from that day.

You left it for me to find early in the morning, when you had already gone and left. You said you needed time to work things out, but didn't say what. Maybe it was something I had done, or maybe it was something I said. I can't help but regret whatever it is I did or did not do. If there were words to take back I would take them, and if there was something to apologize for I would, but you left me completely clueless and void. That's why I still return to the Church every Sunday, and sometimes every day of the week. On that roof is where we first confessed our love, and the sky had the same kind of fog that comes with every early morning. Every day of my life I wonder why you had to go, and where you went. If I thought that you wanted me to find you I would go looking, but I simply do not know if that is the case.

All I can manage to do now is sit on this roof, amidst the encompassing fog and dim streetlights, and attempt to recall memories of a time when my life was perfect. Letting go of them would be a betrayal of all that I felt towards you, so I protect them with everything I have. Finally a gentle breeze comes and softly caresses my face. It occurs every time I come up to the Church, and I take it as my cue to leave. Although my memories may have just driven me to a point of delusion, I like to think that you are sending the breeze. I like to imagine that it smells just like your favorite perfume, and on some days, I think that it does.

Como se dice, "It's the effort that counts"

**Ok so I haven't written anything in Spanish for like over a year now. And in my Senior year I hardly did much either since my teacher was really easy. So don't blame me if this is butchered or incorrect. Most of it should be somewhat readable by those who understand Spanish.
There really wasn't a reason that I wrote this (well, maybe there was, still not sure).

No es de tu cuerpo,
Ni tus ojos, ni tu piel.
These are simply things,
That are a part of you.

Como tu actitud o tu ceño,
Y todas las cosas desagradables.
I could not pick and choose,
Which parts I wish to love.

Quizás hay piezas,
Que no amo.
These are the parts,
Which will test us both.

Pero puesto que son tú,
Los amo.
Y espero que tu,
Los ames también.

Fly Like a Butterfly

Your destination is undecided,
Your method of travel is wings.
Unlike those that walk the Earth,
You are not attached by strings.

You are free to go wherever,
And explore limitless bounds.
Attracting attention with beauty,
And not by your smells or sounds.

Displaying an intricate pattern,
That is unique to only you.
The world is your unconscious,
Filled with dreams to pursue.

Shy and cautious we'll fly,
Avoiding their grasping hands.
Until we find a worthy candidate,
And on their finger we will land.

Spreading our wings apart,
We will display ourselves without fear.
Because the moment just feels right,
On that finger so gentle and sincere.

Standing on the Edge

He's been standing on the edge,
Peering in to the dark abyss.
He knew if he were to jump,
There'd be no way that he'd miss.

But the darkness disturbed him,
So he refrained from making a move.
He would listen to the whispers,
And hope the situation would improve.

They told him not to fear,
And to go ahead and jump right in.
But he was terrified of the dark,
And thus simply sat and hugged his shins.

Rocking back and forth he wondered,
If the dark could be as bad as this.
"You have nothing else to lose",
The whispers would insist.

Now standing on the edge,
With his toes curled over the ledge,
He closed his eyes to take a dive,
Wondering where he might arrive.

With Each Mile

With each mile that I drive,
Further away from my dream,
Something inside is pulled apart,
So slowly that it makes me scream.

I become dissected mile by mile,
Trying not to look behind at my past.
Yet I'll occassionally glance in my mirror,
And see all I love disappear so fast.

My heart begins to thud heavily,
As if it's trying to reach the brakes.
Yet my stubborn foot refuses to yield,
No matter how painfully that it aches.

Deep down I know it's best,
For both the dream I had and me,
To try and live in the unknown future,
And not in the grip of futility.

I never knew that saying good-bye,
Could ever be remotely as hard as this.
But I am glad that I gave you the chance,
To finally see that I exist.

I think you knew all along,
Sorry its become so prolonged,
I didn't want anything to go wrong,
And I think that I took too long.

Password

I was once in love with a girl,
Who lived in the southeast like me.
My heart was her playing field,
And she was my referee.

Sadly we had to part ways,
Shortly after 'Canon in D'.
Now whenever I turn on the radio,
All I'll hear is Vitamin C.*

But while in love I made a move,
At first I didn't realize it occurred.
But slowly and surely she entered my life,
With each and every additional password.

At first it was for my PC,
So I could log in and chat to her.
I'd type her name to access my account,
And with each letter my love would recur.

Then I included it in countless others,
It became my loving master key.
I even encoded it to my locker,
Using the sequence of Fibonacci.

Yet when her father became angry,
And split us both apart,
I knew the time had come,
To say goodbye and depart.

But her name still remained,
On my phone and bank account.
As well as my PC,
Or when I'd apply for a grocery discount.

Every time I punched it in,
And saw the seven stars appear,
I knew her name was hidden beneath,
And thus would shed a tear.

Then one day at the bank,
Shortly after entering "My Code".
I looked up to the teller and stopped,
And saw the smile on her face still glowed.

---
*Canon in D and "Graduation" by Vitamin C are both popular graduation songs.

I don't like fancy explanations.

I like the simple explanations,
That explain the way life works.
I like the simple ups and downs,
Not the big numbers and words.

Pseudoscience tries hard,
To sway with falsifiability.
Switching teams ever quickly,
With that sinister science agility.

Why look so deep in people's hearts,
To find answers that already exist.
Instead of helping a troubled soul,
We label them things like masochist.

Who isn't lost in this life,
Where everyone's trying to find their way?
Let's use what we know for sure,
And not sciences of a varying array.

I'm simply asking you to stop thinking,
And for once try following your heart.
Glide blindly towards The End,
Which was destined from the start.

RANDOM.THOUGHTS.INCURRED.

Haven't done this in a while:


The sunlight peers through my rear view mirror and shines brightly in to my eyes. My eyes squint to filter out the light, much the same way my heart squints to try and salvage every last drop of love that might possibly exist within. Contemporaries are perhaps what I feel like the most. If even at all. Perhaps I am old-fashioned, and thus suffer because of it. I convince myself to hate myself, then convince myself back again. I look at the bright sides of situations, to avoid looking at the dark. I have two halves like every person, and am often fighting to see which one will reveal itself. My dark half has convinced myself that my life is not worth living, to the point where I wanted it to end. It convinced me that I shouldn't write anymore. I almost thought about making a message to you all saying how I was going to stop. My dark half wonders if anyone would have cared.

My light half peeks through once I am beyond the point of no return. Once I've gone beyond the point where I don't want to live, there's always a speck of light to save me. My inspiration is greatly derived from others, and thus any form of seclusion torments me. Sadly those who inspire me are miles away, and not in my backyard, so to speak. My life has become a constant effort to search these people out, and discover them. Then my next step is to indulge myself in them, and allow them to show me things I have yet to see in life. Perhaps it is love, perhaps it is friendship, perhaps it is a rivalry, or perhaps it is something else. I try not to look for any one in particular, although as everyone knows -that- battle is far from easy.

Perhaps you don't understand any of this. Maybe you're shocked to hear all of this (though I doubt it). Maybe you like reading what kind of person I am, since I'm usually just either goofy or quiet. But when do you get to see the serious me? When do you get to see the me that has fallen for something and is in so deep the only thing I can hope but do is try to go deeper? Where is that person? Right here, which is why I say I haven't done this in a while.

I write things or do things then look back on them later and think they were really stupid. Is that normal? I think it is, but I'm not sure. Like there's things that I'll have written that I hate so much I go back to change/delete them. I think because I try to figure out too many things at once I become overwhelmed and a bit confused. I think it is for this reason that alot of people don't understand me. Perhaps everyone feels misunderstood. If you can understand the very first poem of this blog (Butterflies), then you probably understand me. That poem is perhaps the most special poem I've ever written, because it captures everything about who I am.

I'm not a huge fan of butterflies, but I've come to convince myself that they are beautiful. They come in all sorts of pretty colors and are very attractive. They are quiet creatures and if you try and grasp one it is always one second away from your hand. They are much like dreams in that we are always chasing after them. Yet some people possess the ability to simply hold out their hand and have a butterfly land right on their finger. Do you understand the symbolism I am trying to portray in that scene of imagery? If so, then you probably understand me a little bit better. Welcome to a mind of borderline insanity and also a hint of misconstrued genius.

Dear The Floor,

I don't expect too many people to understand this.

While in my zone of solitude,
Consisting of towels and drapes.
You probably noticed tonight,
I wasn't in real good shape.

Maybe you all thought I was mad,
Since I heard that I never smile.
But I'd like to tell that person,
I haven't been mad in quite a while.

Perhaps you thought to ask me,
Each time you saw me walk past.
But you probably thought I was fine,
And that my mood wouldn't last.

The truth is I wasn't sad or mad,
Or trying to act big and tough.
I just felt somewhere inside,
That I wasn't good enough.

I drove off these thoughts,
As persistent as they are.
I'm sorry to say they stayed,
All the way to my car.

When I'm happy I think I'm annoying,
But when I'm quiet I think I am too.
I apologize for producing the latter,
I'm sorry to you all if I offended you.

The other "Red person" said something nice,
And I think that they knew "why".
Why I feel like I fall short,
No matter how hard that I try.

---

The Floor has some of my best friends, so I wanted to say sorry I guess...

Pen-Pals

Starting out last Winter,
I began to write every week.
To a young boy in Iraq,
Who I was told was named Afeek.

I told him who I was,
And what I liked to do.
In a little less than a week,
He sent me a letter, too.

He was very funny and nice,
And soon became my friend.
Every week I'd get a letter,
And then write one to send.

Every day he'd play soccer,
Starting promptly at noon.
I wondered what life was like,
In his small city of Mamoon.

He always made me laugh,
And made good days out of bad.
It was like he knew just what to say,
Whenever I was down or feeling sad.

Afeek was a kid like me,
Who was trying to live and have fun.
We both liked girls and candy,
As well as an early morning run.

But one Friday after school,
I did not receive his letter.
I thought it would come tomorrow,
But I didn't know any better.

Early Saturday morning I sat,
Wondering if I should write him back.
When my dad walked in the kitchen,
And asked if I'd heard about the attack.

"The bombings in Iraq", he said,
In a tone that made him sound thrilled.
"Some city of Mamoon", he said,
"Forty injured and eighty killed".

Suffice to say I never heard,
From Afeek or his family again.
I wonder what our country's doing,
Going around killing all my friends.

The President speaks in a serious tone,
Spouting out fanciful diction.
It's just a shame Afeek was real,
And not a work of Fiction.

In A Sec

Trudging through my day,
Partaking in the mundane,
I turn a corner and find you,
And my heart constricts in pain.

It ails because in that moment,
That brief one second of time,
I am overtaken by you,
And your ever-present shine.

In the first third of a millisecond,
My heart beats three times fast.
I wonder if yours does the same,
Or if it is me your looking past.

In the second third I see you move,
Raising an arm to wave me down.
I'm feeling acknowledged and pleased,
As my heart begins to drown.

In that last brief instant,
Before I go to say hello,
You manage to form a smile,
And it is then that I know.

I know that whatever else follows,
Will be a force with which to be reckoned.
I love each and every minute with you,
Even the first and longest second.

Forfeiture of Opportunity

I'm quietly sitting here,
And you're patiently sitting there.
I wonder, when will we be near?
I ask, exactly when and where?

It is probably from something unspoken I know,
That we probably feel the same way.
So when will either let it show,
It might be tomorrow but could've been today.

Maybe we're both waiting for a sign,
An indication that our intent is true.
But what if you will never be mine?
And if neither of us act on cue?

You will drift and wander away,
Where another world is said to be.
But it is here where I will always stay,
Even if your back is turned and you can't see.

New Story

Added 6/19/2006 at http://butterfly-high.blogspot.com/

Here's Another For Charity...Or Something

Yes the tree does make a noise, and no it doesn't. I'm speaking of course about whether or not a tree makes a sound if it falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it.

Yes, it does, because science tells us within a 99.9% certainty that things occur even if we are not aware of them.

No, it doesn't, because sound that we can not hear may not exist at all. Anything outside of our immediate reality is taken for granted as existing.

The truth is we don't know if the tree makes a sound or doesn't. We could place a recorder in the woods, but that would be breaking the rules, since the recorder would be an extension of ourselves and our reality. We would like to believe the tree makes a sound since that makes the most sense to us, and we like things to be easy. We don't like to think that the tree doesn't make a sound. Truthfully we don't know the answer, but we are led to believe one over the other. We like to think that trees make sounds when they fall even if we aren't there. It is the easiest explanation and one that we can comprehend. It is confined within our normal boundaries of explaining and rationalizing to explain phenomenon. But if someone said that the tree -didn't- make a sound, they would have to prove it. Despite the fact that neither side can provide valid proof without some form of extending our perception of reality, the side that is considered right is the one that believes the tree makes a sound. The side that doesn't think it makes a sound is considered paranoid and crazy, even though they may respect the other side's opinion as an equally valid explanation as their own.

I ask, who is truly the crazy one?

/sigh

The glass is half-empty if you are in the process of decreasing the amount of liquid in the glass. It is half-full if you are in the process of filling the glass. Thus the last action that you took - whether filling or emptying the glass - determines which term to use. If you have an empty glass and fill it to the middle, it is half-full because the last thing you did was fill the glass. It would make no sense to call something half-empty, and thereby giving it an emptiness quality trait, when in actuality its existence as a glass with water at the middle point was brought forth by filling it, and not emptying it. If a glass has liquid at approximately the half-way point and someone takes a tiny sip of it, it is being emptied, and thus is half-empty. If someone adds a tiny drop of water to it instead, it is considered half-full, since it is in the process of being filled.

Once again, saying a glass is half-empty after filling it with something is both illogical and nonsense. The liquid inside of the glass exists based on two actions - emptying and filling. The action which has most recently taken place takes precedence in arriving to a conclusion. Therefore the real question is in what way was the liquid inside of the glass altered last, was it emptied or filled? If someone asks whether the glass is half-full or half-empty, ask them in what way it was altered last. If they don't know, then ask for the five seconds of your life back. If they said they had consumed half of it, then say it is half-empty. When they say that means you're a depressed person, slap them.

Short Stories Blog

www.butterfly-high.blogspot.com

Putting some short stories based on a high school theme on this blog. Not sure how many I'll make, so check it out periodically.

Recently Added: Third Period History, Subculture

Next to come: Whenever I think of it

Would You...?

Would you paint a thousand portraits,
Even if no one gave you praise?
Would you write me pretty poetry,
Even if I hadn't seen you in days?

Would you give a beggar food,
Even if no one was there to call you nice?
Would you hug a crying fool,
Even if a pat on the back would suffice?

Would you give your time to others,
Even if your time is running out?
Would you lend a helping hand,
Even if you didn't know what the help was about?

Would you offer your seat to an elder,
Even if it meant you couldn't sit?
Would you make a promise to a child,
Even if you knew you wouldn't keep it?

Would you pretend to be someone else,
Even if you knew no one was fooled?
Would you lie to a priest in Church,
Even if over your life he ruled?

If not, then ask,
Why try at all?
Why dream without purpose,
And end up destined to fall?

60 Seconds or Less

Unrhyming poetry.

I've read Stephen King novels,
exhilarating, enthralling.
Full of intellect,
And over one-thousand pages long.

I've unleashed the beast within,
Slathered in inebriation.
Heavy metal pounding off my chest,
Leaving a ringing in my ears.

I've downloaded soft vocal tracks,
Of sentimental nature.
Soft and caressing,
To a delicate and nurturing soul.

[A stanza used to be here but I took it out because I didn't like it].

I've read science fiction books,
Like Harry Potter and The Golden Compass.
Releasing the child somewhere inside,
And believing in magic once more.

I've fallen in love in an hour,
And out of it the next.
Now I'm waiting,
For love to fall in to me.

I've gone from a self-proclaimed agnostic,
To being a believer (of God),
In the short time span,
Of just a few weeks.

None of this is consistent,
But it is all me.
A Me,
That I wouldn't trade for anything.

Simple Haikus

Once again, some people say Haikus should only be about nature, and that its actually called something else (seriyu or something) when you do a 5-7-5 poem about something in normal life or whatever.

And once again, I don't really care :)


Dear Everyone
I can only be,
That which I have always been.
You don't like it? Leave.

Why?
'Cause I just don't care,
Even if you all leave me.
Atleast I'll have peace.

Peace?
Peace of mind once more,
Rather than trying to act,
Like someone I'm not.

Cured

Every once a while,
Our eyes are opened wide.
So I won't miss this chance,
By sitting by on the side.

We only get the chance,
A couple times a year.
To let go of all our problems,
And everything we fear.

Something opens us up,
And gives us some insight.
And even though it is cliché,
It shows us a new light.

It might be a movie,
Or in this case a song.
Out of nowhere it cures,
Anything and everything that's wrong.

Another transformation begins,
And awakens my beast within.
Creating some miracles of Nature,
And some devils from men.

---

No idea if anyone will understand this. Oh well \(^_^)/

Alone For a Night

She's got the house to herself,
Sitting quietly in her room.
Hoping that someone will come,
To take her away very soon.

A man enters stealthily,
But she does not put up a fight.
And he whisks her off her feet,
Deep in to the night.

Where was she going?,
She couldn't see it was so dark.
An abandoned warehouse for two,
Or a night-time stroll in the park?

Would he make her a true woman,
And expose a hidden intent?
Or drown her in a sea,
Where all ex-lovers are sent?

She thought back to her room,
Where praying is all she would do.
Praying this man would come,
And give her an 'I love you'.

---

Since I'm afraid no one understands what I'm trying to say most of the time, I thought I'd break this one down.
This poem is about a woman in her home who is wishing for the true love of her life to come walking through her door. A man comes in to her house, and dreamily 'whisks her off her feet'. Both we the reader and the woman are wondering if she is being kidnapped or something else. She can't tell if she's going to be taken to an abandoned warehouse (where she will most likely be raped and/or killed) or for a stroll in the park (a romantic thing, with someone you love). She wonders if she will fall in love with the man in one night and make love to him (make her a true woman), and by doing so confessing his own feelings (exposing a hidden intent). She compares this to drowning in a sea (something a kidnapper/murderer would do), but blends it back with the thought of having a lover (this "sea of ex-lovers" is the love that people once had for someone else. Much debate is taken place on what happens to love after it is gone, and where it goes). The woman thinks back to her room where she was praying to God for a person in life that she could have loved and also be loved in return. Taking in to consideration God's mercy, and also his mysterious patterns of intricacy, the man is to be guessed to supposedly be a man that the woman will fall in love with, and live happily ever after. When contrasted with the horrible fate that could've befallen her, however, we ask ourselves if such miracles can truly happen in life. Two people can wish to have something mutual, but if it is never expressed (certainly not by anything as extreme as barging in to someone's house, even if that is wished for by both parties) then it will never be.

Who Will I Be Today?

More unrhyming poetry.

When it comes to others I ask,
Who will I be today?
Bold and daring, shy and weak?
It seems to change so fast.

It's painful by myself,
When I have no form or shape.
But often in the company of strangers,
I feel afraid to let it show.

People tell you to be yourself,
And forget those who don't like you.
Yet when support is what you're lacking,
Facing rejection can be lethal.

I feel sorry for others most of all,
Who are trying to get closer.
I wish to tell them to step inside,
Where I am eagerly awaiting them.

Yet I know in the end,
It is ultimately up to me.
To go out and find them,
And try to make a friend.

Will this fear overcome me,
And my ability to step forward?
Will it hold me back and away,
From perhaps finding the best thing in my life?

Maybe it would be better,
If I knew how long I had.
So I'd have no regrets of being me,
And living my one and only life.

People weren't meant to live alone,
But in the company and arms of others.
So it is for these others I seek,
To help me live and love.

Speechless

If you have about an hour and twenty minutes free, watch this video.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-8260059923762628848&q=911+loose+change

I watched it last night because I was bored.

A Yearning

How heavy is your heart?
Mine weighs about a ton.
It's always reaching out,
Reaching like the sun.

But its rays go unnoticed,
And vanish in to space.
To distant lands of darkness,
A forsaken and lonely place.

Here and there they graze a star,
But it will not belong to me.
That love is meant for another soul,
Which will summon my jealousy.

I cannot buy it and I cannot dream,
To possess this crafty devil.
All I do is stare at others,
Who love on a different level.

Each part makes it whole,
I want to give each one a chance.
From the carnal passion of love,
To a beautiful romance.

But alas I dream in futility,
For dreaming is all I shall do.
When hope shines a ray on me,
I can only sit back and rue.

Perhaps if I was a sinner,
I'd be a bit more closer to Hell.
But atleast I'd feel a little love,
And have an "I love you" to tell.

Separate Blog

http://just-another-angel.blogspot.com/

Proofreading not guaranteed.

Prologue: 5/29/2006
Chapter 1: 5/29/2006
Chapter 2: 5/30/2006
Chapter 3: 5/31/2006
Chapter 4: 6/1/2006
Chapter 5 (P1): 6/2/2006
Chapter 5 (P2): 6/2/2006
Chapter 5 (P3): 6/3/2006
Final Chapter: 6/3/2006

What form of monster have I become?

Like a routine I live my life in a fashion where everything is expected. Locked away, far out of the influences of others, I convince myself that I am living this life for myself. Yet I know that the deepest wishes that I possess will never be fulfilled unless I change my life. Yet letting go of this past is perhaps the hardest thing that I will ever have to do. Yet if I don't, I see no end in sight. I see no end to it consuming me daily, until in the end I am left with an empty shell - lifeless and void.

I'm trying to make the choice but I don't know if I have the courage to go through with it. Just once I'd like someone other than my sister, mother, aunt, or any other family member to give me support. I appreciate their's, but just like the addiction that consumes me, every sensation loses its impact after repeated use. Honestly I can't say I want help from them anymore. That may sound harsh, but I don't know any other way to put it. I don't want help from people they think can help me, either. I'm stuck in a rather bad routine of living, and I don't see how I'm going to break out of it. There must be something I can give myself towards 100% that won't consume me the way that this has.

Somewhere along this long road I've forgotten what it means to live. It has been an emotional struggle and I'm tired of fighting this losing battle. I've lost many things, including my sanity at times, as well as my heart. I've been lost in the dark pits of obsession, as well as greed. I've been overjoyed one day, only to be shot down the next by the slightest little occurence. I've cried for people that have probably forgotten me. I possess memories that fail to die, and end up consuming what little humanity I have left. I simply cannot shed that which has created me in to what I am today.

So He Sat Me Down And Said...

That he didn't possess the will to live. An immediate response to this might be: Why? I didn't jump the gun, however, since I wasn't fully within my rights to do so. After a while though, I began to wonder myself, why a person would lose the will to live. Perhaps some complex combination of an ongoing lifestyle with mental health issues. The fact that I do not know these problems makes it easier for me to try and find a solution.

I'm actually a little distressed at taking on this task. Thousands of people are certified to make psychoanalysis diagnosis on people, and I'm just one person with no training or anything of the sort. But it is at times like this that I hope a small shred of wisdom will come before learned responses to text in a book. I would hope that the faith this person put in me would be based on who I am, and not the evaluations I have undergone to warrant giving out my help.

So I ask myself the question once more: Why would a person lose the will to live? First, I have to ask myself what does it mean to have the will to live? I suppose one way of seeing it could be able to look forward to something in the future. Having hope that you will make it through any storm that comes your way, and have the sun shine through once more. Being able to pull yourself through any hard situation or dilemma and overcome staggering odds that you cannot begin to comprehend as imaginable. Perhaps these things are what it means to have the will to live. Still, I think that the permanence of the will itself is grounded in the lives of others. This is where I think this dilemma takes place.

All the problems that people have with themselves stem in some way from someone else. There are biological disorders to be sure, but for me it is very hard to blame everything on something biological. Saying that you are depressed simply because it is the way God made you is nonsense in my eyes. I believe that everybody has the ability to overcome any trials that stand in their way. Life is a continuing process of overcoming problematic periods and difficult days. Life is not an entirely enjoyable experience, as I've stated before. People who look too deeply in to trying to find some truth to things often get lost in the world, where they ultimately feel alone.

Loneliness is perhaps the biggest part of losing a will to live. When a person feels as if there is no one in the world to understand, comprehend, or relate to their feelings, they feel alone in the world. The ironic part of this is that there are more of these people than meets the eye. People hide the fact that they feel lonely inside, and so therefore fail to meet other people like themselves. One can blame spiritual loneliness on many things. They can blame it on shyness, on the ignorance of others, or on external factors such as having bad friends as a child. But in the end, the only people who are in control of our lonely status are ourselves.

We continue to live in a life where the biggest person who can change it is ourselves. Often times we lose sight of this fact, and live through others, or for others. We try to do things to meet the expectations of others, and not ourselves. We live in such a way that is to benefit others or improve the opinion others have of us. Living in such a way will lead one to lose the true reason behind living. It isn't about the others in this world. It is about you. The individual - the self - that has control and power to change the environment and perceptions within it.

Stop saying that you can't. Stop telling yourself you won't. Stop living in a life where the best thing you can do is tell yourself you shouldn't. Rome wasn't built in a day, and likewise people won't change within one. This life that we live in isn't one to be taken lightly, but also isn't one to be taken too seriously. We all die in a matter of years, for none of us are anything that is special. Humans in general are not special beings. We die like everything else, and thus continue the cycle of life that naturally occurs. The force behind this cycle, however, is the will of the beings within it to exist, thrive, and flourish.

No matter how brutal or intimidating the storm you will always make it through to the other side, where the sun awaits you to shine.

Back and Waiting

Nevermind (I think I understand).

45567

She's so vulnerable,
Lieing there in her bed.
Passed out and away,
While dreaming occurs in her head.

Vulnerable to what,
I still don't quite know.
Perhaps by getting closer,
She'll allow it to show.

The world continues on,
While she is passed out.
But she'll never hear your cries for help,
Not even if you shout.

She's luckier than she knows,
She can get whatever she requires.
But there are things in life I'll never get,
No matter how hard I desire.

To Protect Something

To protect something that you love is perhaps the greatest gift that God gave to humans. We are able to give our only life that has been given to us, in order to prolong the lives of others. We can do this not only because it is the way we have evolved, but because many of us are naturally good creatures. I will use this space to encourage you to find something in life that you will protect with your life. This will be something that means more to you than your life.

If you cannot think of such a thing, that does not mean that you are selfish. It simply means that you have not lived enough yet. I believe that finding such an object in your life is a part of going through life. Everyone should have someone or something that they are willing to lay down everything for. Soldiers do it for their country, parents have done it for their children, and lovers have done it for lovers.

Would you die today for someone that you love? Does there exist an individual that you would give your life for, to know that they could continue living? Perhaps there never will be such a person in your life, or perhaps that person will never know. But to protect that which you love with that which you use as a means to live, is not a power given to the weak. A goal that I want everyone to have, is to find something they wish to protect, and protect it with their lives.

Without anything worth giving your life for, you have nothing to protect. Without anything to protect, you live to exist. If you live to exist, then you have already lost sight of what it means to live. Living is not about breathing air, eating food, and having your heart pump blood. It is about the constant realization of the changing state of the universe, and your efforts to force that change to go in a positive direction. You can do this by protecting things which are dear to you, and protecting them with your life. There are people who read this that I would die for, and they will never know.

It is not selfish to not want to die by protecting something or someone else. It is human nature to want to live. It is upon freeing yourself from this fear however, that you truly begin to live. I am not saying that people will completely free themselves from the fear of dying. This fear innately comes with the hearts and minds that we possess. It is knowing that your death will not come without some sort of purpose or meaning, and that your passing will merely cue the continuance of something much greater. This continuance of life will always exist so long as there are people out there who wish to protect something or someone.

What do you wish to protect?
Love?
Pride?
Honor?
Or perhaps...
A life,
with your own.

Flames

It's funny who ends up teaching you things. Sometimes they aren't even real people, but just creations of a mind that far surpasses yours. Who taught me, and what did they teach me? That is far too big a question to answer in one night.

Instead I'd like to ask a question that maybe you've thought about, or perhaps you've just passed off as common knowledge. Why do people give up? Is it because they've reached a point where trying no longer holds meaning? Is it because they do not care deeply enough for what they are fighting? Is it because to go on any longer would be too painful?

I suppose loneliness goes hand in hand with giving up on things in life. When you no longer have support of friends, you no longer have motivation to continue. Everyone in life relies upon other humans for some sort of purpose. Normally it is to help keep each other sane and feel alive. We use others to validate our existence in the world. Without others, we would be lost souls on this world. So naturally, when others abandon us, or when we abandon others, we give many things up. When we are alone we are scared, timid, and fearful. We are afraid that we will remain that way forever, and so we cower with the fear that nothing will ever change. With that knowledge we force things to change by giving things up, and quitting.

Even deeper than the role of others on giving up is the role of the self. Being able to motivate oneself is a difficult task to accomplish. And don't think that it ever comes without some support from other people, either. Self motivation is always the result of reinforced and applied support through friends. You can never accomplish the greatest feats in life without the use of friends. Your friends can only take you so far, however. They can push you right up to the bar, but it is your job to go the final mile. You ultimately walk the last leg of every race on your own. No one can walk this for you. While supported through friends, you must have the inner strength to accomplish that which your heart desires.

We move on through life often times spending more time asking questions than finding answers. Why is this? Why do we always ask ourselves questions about life, but rarely go out to seek the answers? Why do we give up on finding the answers of life? Why do we stop knowing what it means to live and give up on life, to float through existence as if time held no meaning?

You don't always have to give up, though. No matter what happens, you can continue moving forward. Even if it's on your own. Even if others tell you it's impossible. Even if no one has done it before, and you know that the odds are against you. You have the power to never give up, and continue to live, and not merely exist. You have the power within yourself to always and forever be the kind of person that you love. Life is no mystery. Its true answers lay right within your heart, which you have had to yourself all along. This individual power to always move on, and never give up, both roars and diminishes through time.

The question you have to ask yourself...

Is will you roar,

Or diminish?

A Thousand Things To Say

There's a thousand things I'd like to say,
From the hard "I love you" to the easy "Hey".
But I have not the courage to say either one,
So they call me shy, and they watch me run.

The truth is I say these things late at night,
Where there's no one to hear, and no one in sight.
I say them to my self, over and over again.
Don't know how I'll tell you, and also don't know when.

If only I had the courage to call you up somehow,
You might even be waiting, waiting for me now.
But how am I to say, the things I say at night,
When being in your presence, induces a shyful fright.

Some may say if it isn't natural, it wasn't meant to be,
But those others don't understand, or see what I see.
They don't feel the growing fear, of rejection in my heart,
There's a thousand things I'd like to say, but my lips fail to part.

The Truth About Life

What is the truth about life? The truth is that there is no truth. There is never one answer. There is never one explanation that is correct. There is only a set of explanations that a majority of people believe in and follow. How one person lives is different from another person. The reality that this person's life shapes for them is innately different from any other person's reality.

So big deal, people see the world as different. Why make a fuss about it? Because people are constantly asking why we are here, which religion they should follow, how they should live their lives, and what happens after they die. The answer to all of these questions is individual and unique. Not everyone believes the same things, and not everyone ever will. Through history, those who attempt to make everyone believe the same things do so by violence. Conformity, obedience, and forcefulness are never successful means of getting people to change against their will.

So why talk about it? Why waste time out of your life making you read this? I hope that you already know what The Truth is. I hope that you've already figured it out for yourself, and live by it. But many people have not figured it out, and lead empty lives until the day that they die. They live in a world that they will never understand, under a creator that they never understand. Religion is hypocritical and contradictory. It is a means of humans to give a valid purpose to life. I'm sure that you've heard this before. Many people call it horrible logic, some people call it rhetoric. Who is right? Everyone. You can't be wrong in believing something if that's what you're always taught to believe. If you're lead to believe something in life, and find that belief to hold truth, then it is your truth.

Everyone goes through their lives living in a way that they find suitable. And everyone does this task differently. Everyone has their own view and scope of the world. And this scope can be shifted as the person sees fit. Their truth of reality can change simply by how they view to perceive it. It can change daily, as I'm sure has happened in your life from time to time. There are thousands of biological explanations for these occurrences, but deep down there is no one Truthful Answer as to why we do this. As humans we are constantly changing what we believe is the truth. It is so fragile and thin, that people strive to know a deeper truth, when in reality, no such truth exists. They go throughout life meeting dead end after dead end, and end up frustrated. Life wasn't meant to have an end of the maze. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. The light has existed all along within your mind. It is up to you whether or not you choose to see it.

Passion

Take me by the hand,
And lead me towards my dreams.
So I can be lost in this life,
Where nothing is as it seems.

Just remember to be gentle,
While my soul continues to seek.
To love with this love that I love,
That carries me from week to week.

Something truly magical occurs,
In the world each and every day.
But nothing ever happens to me,
So I continue to sit and pray.

I'm praying for this passion,
To come and sweep me off my feet.
I'm tired of living an empty life,
The drum of my life the same old beat.

I have no true identity,
That I can call my own.
I am shaped by this world,
And what it to me has shown.

I'm running out of people to be,
So perhaps it's time for me to see.
That I can move on in to eternity,
Where you exist, waiting for me.

Sometimes I wonder...

I wonder if two people who are destined to fall in love have ever stared at the same star in the sky, and asked themselves if they would ever find someone to be with. I wonder if they did this on the same night, at the same time, in the exact same moment. Perhaps they were continents apart, or cultures apart. Perhaps they speak different languages, and live their lives differently. But even still, their wish to fall in love remains the same, as they stare at the same star in the night sky, and make the same exact wish.

I wonder if they will ever meet, and if they will fall in love, or if something unexpected will happen. I wonder if they could pass each other on the street, and never know it. Oblivious to the love which is desperately trying to work between them. I wonder if they see what has appeared in front of them. Perhaps they are unable to see, and will forever be unable to see. Perhaps they will never get the chance in the first place. Perhaps the wish they both made on that night, will simply fade away with time, in to the infinitely growing depths of the past.

I wonder about all the people out there, who stare at the same sky, at the same star, on the same night, at the same moment. I wonder how many people out there, are staring at the stars, like me. I wonder how many might possibly be staring at the same star I'm staring at, on the same night I'm staring at it. Perhaps no such person exists. Perhaps they do, but I will never meet them. Or perhaps I have to find this person, so they can watch the stars with me, and I can make it true.

Or perhaps...
They never existed in the first place.


Nah...

Life is too miraculous for that.

I found myself staring at you, when...

You asked me what I was doing. Perhaps for a moment I found myself lost. Not lost within the beauty of your face, which is normally the case, but lost within the beauty of your person. Everyone goes through life, always searching for a person that will be special to them. I went so long feeling lost and alone, that once I finally found you, I didn't think that I could ever let go for any reason. That's why I find myself staring at you sometimes. I just get lost in how wonderful you are.

It isn't even about me when I stare at you absentmindedly. It's all about you, and what you stand for in my life. It isn't just a person who I can say that I love. It isn't just someone to keep me company, since without someone I am alone. I could have that kind of company at any point in my life, but I never wanted it. I always wanted to wait for the chance to get something much greater, and I hope that I have. No, I'm almost certain that I have. I'm almost certain that I've found you.

Everyone has their own opinions on what is needed to make it work, and tips for enduring long years with someone. Everyone has their own plan for a successful relationship with another person. But I don't think of any of that when I stare at you. I just stare at eyes which I once dreamed of, and a face that I often fantasized about endlessly. Time stands still in this state, and I find that the world spins around me underneath my feet. I don't even know how long it goes on for, since I am being swept away by who you are.

I wouldn't call this love that I feel when I stare at you. I feel that passively, now. I cannot quite describe it, which is why it probably intrigues me in such a way. I feel bad because I cannot confess this feeling that I have when I stare at you, and yet, I'm not sure either of us would understand if I did. Perhaps I'm reaffirming my existence in the world, an existence proven valid by you. People gain a reason to live through other people. Without other people, there would be no other reason to continue to go on. We rely on each other, and the kindness and love from one another, to thrive. So I rely on you to thrive, and I hope too, that you feel you can depend on me to be there for you. So that we can thrive together.

So I know you asked me why I was staring at you, and I know that this explanation was a little long, but that is why. That is why I stare at you, with my trance-like gaze and quizzical mouth which could be both a smile and grin all in one. That is why I stare. So I can even for just a moment out of the day, remember the person that I cherish most in this world. Remember the person which keeps future dreams alive, and buries past nightmares. Remember the person that, I hope, will always be there. To love, and also, to be loved.

404.483.6127

There's nothing that you can't do.

The only person holding yourself back...is yourself.

Your reluctance to take action and move forward stems from uncertainty and a lack of confidence in your self.

You have one life to live. By being nervous or anxious, and not acting, you aren't living.

It will not matter tomorrow, in ten days, or after you die, what course of action you took.
So why should you worry about the outcome of following your heart?

Why do we delay, and hold ourselves back, when the answers to the riddles that plague us are right in front of us?

There's no reason to delay any more. There's nothing to be gained from going to the next level in life.

You can't do it alone. You'll need support. I'm not saying that I can give it to you, or that I'll want to give it to you.

But I've been inspired in some ways to help.

So if you need help.

Call me.

Densha Otoko

Download this television series off BitTorrent or something. It's worth it.

Twilight

Am I awake, is this a dream?
Nothing here is at it seems.

Outside pounding is the rain,
Twilight crashing through my windowpane.

The pictures crowding in my mind,
The coming of dawn, the approach of time.

It comes with the day,
Words I'll never say,
I take a look,
My Twilight's gone away.

Is this real,
Is this a dream,
You let me feel,
What I've never seen.

I'll give you a moment,
Even if you meant to say goodnight.
So I can selfishly savor,
The beauty of the Twilight.

Angry

I can't write, but I want too.

There's too many lights on in the room.
There's too many distractions. Too much movement.
Too many smells.

I read from some guy today on some website that a good writer can write anywhere, and if someone needs to be in a "zone" when they write, or in a particular environment, that they shouldn't be writing.

Only one thing I want to say at the moment.

Fuck that guy.

Simplicity...Anything But

I'm the desert,
Rough and dry.
You're the rain,
From the sky.

I'm the plant,
Who cannot run.
You give me life,
You are my sun.

I fall in to the deep,
Knowing I can't swim.
You grab my outstretched hand,
Before my fingers reach the brim.

Like a lost stray,
Searching the night for food.
You open up your door,
Greeting me with cheery mood.

A symbiosis of the heart,
If you feel the same in return.
I look in to the starry sky,
As my life becomes a nocturne.

Good-Bye, Friend

This is a good-bye from my heart,
So tired, worn, and jaded.
Because you were a friend to me,
And I feel obligated.

"See you some time soon,"
Is a lie I told myself that day.
I knew I wouldn't see you,
Until in my grave I lay.

Living in the past like this,
Thinking of who you are,
Blocks my future ahead,
And leaves my heart ajar.

Like a rain that has abandoned,
A dry and broken city of sand.
Granting a little bliss,
And then abandoning the desert land.

But the people in that city,
Now angered and full of jeers,
Can now cry because you left them,
And water their land with tears.

Wolves

A pack of wolves moves silently through a dark forest. Around eight in total, with three to four young pups. The male lead wolf guides them, about ten feet ahead. The move slowly, for they are in unknown territory. This thick Alaskan forest could hold many dangers, and if a wolf makes but one mistake, it is one mistake too many. They are playing Russian Roulette with five bullets.

As they are walking, the leader wolf continues with caution. Nothing seems out of place or wrong. There are no strange scents in the air, and everything seems oddly calm. Then, in a split and violent second, a trap latches around the wolf's leg, and holds him prisoner in agonizing pain. The wolves behind him begin to panic. A few male wolves come to his side, but the females flee in to other parts of the forest. The females run right in to traps that are waiting for them. One by one they run through rope loops hung up like invisible string. They are immediately suffocated when they continue to run after being caught up in these devices. The pups, running after their mothers, likewise meet the fate of several more traps strewn about the land.

In the span of about a minute the entire wolf clan was killed, save for two or three male wolves. These wolves must now continue to try and survive on their own, which will now be significantly harder. Their struggle has only begun, as they begin to form a new life.

---

The traps were set by men, who will skin the wolves and sell them so a rich person can be a little bit more comfortable.

Dogs

There's lots of people in my neighborhood with dogs. Almost everyone has a pet, but most of the people have dogs. Two of my neighbors in particular have very nice and friendly dogs. Chet, my neighbor to the left, has a cute little dog that he takes care of and loves alot. Gary, the guy across the street from me, has a dog too. Gary doesn't take very good care of his dog, though.


Chet always takes his dog out for walks, and lets him run freely through his yard, and chase squirrels and other animals around. Gary leaves his dog in an outside pen which is about the same size as my bathroom. I don't think he cleans it out but once a year, and his dog is always restless and cooped up. I feel bad for him sometimes. I think he might be jealous of Chet's dog since he is always seeing him run around in the yard across the street.


Just recently Gary bought one of those electric collars that shocks a dog when they try to run in to the street. After we finally told Gary that his dog needs to be let out more, he went the route which required the least effort on his part. We told him that the shocks hurt very badly, and that he should feel what it's like before putting it on his own pet, but he declined. Gary's dog could run around now, but if he ever went to far, he would fall to a shivering lump on the grass and just shake before standing up on wobbly legs.


One Sunday afternoon both dogs were out in their owner's respective lawns. A cat from a house down the street (Ms. Petersen I think it was) came running down the middle of the street. Chet's dog made a bee-line for it immediately, and was running way too fast for Chet to catch up. Gary's dog likewise took off, but after about ten feet he was well past his safe zone, and immediately crumpled to the ground. Since he was outside of the safe zone, he continued to get shocked. It wouldn't stop until he returned to the lawn. Chet's dog was still running after the cat. Then in the span of about three seconds, an SUV which avoided a stop sign ran right over Chet's dog, leaving it lying motionless on the pavement.


Chet's dog was bleeding and dead, and Gary's dog was being electrically tortured and alive. Chet ran to his dog, but immediately saw it was a lost cause. His dog was gone as soon as the SUV hit it. He ran over the Gary's dog, ripped the electric collar off, glared at Gary's house, and then let go of the dog. The dog ran back to his pen, where he would spend the remainder of his dog years - cooped up and (if at all possible for a dog) insane. Chet buried his dog in his backyard after giving is a proper funeral. There's even a little tombstone and everything.


Gary's dog always used to stare at Chet's dog, and I never knew what it was. I always thought it was jealousy. I always knew deep down that he wished he could be as free as that dog, to run around wherever he pleased. I wonder, does he still feel that way? Is Gary's dog the lucky one to be safe from danger, yet nearly imprisoned? Are the few years of joy that Chet's dog possessed more than Gary's dog's worth of life? Sometimes I ask myself, knowing the outcome beforehand, which dog I would rather be at birth. Would I bet Chet's dog, knowing that I'd die sooner than expected, but free for the period of life living? Or would I be Gary's dog, who I know would live a long life, but also one more or less entombed within a pen of wire mesh, too afraid to move out in to a world where the fear of danger is worse than death itself.


Which dog would you be?

Which dog are you?

Guardian Angel

When I was just a young child, the other kids would used to always tease me. It was either my clothes, my hair, or the way I walked. I don't remember having any friends for a very long time. I just remember being very lonely and sad. Very sad for long periods of time. I was not good at talking with people, so I got made fun of. No one was there to stick up for me but myself, and I couldn't do it.

One time, while walking to class, I was "accidentally" tripped to the ground. I was carrying my books with both arms around them as if they were my child. They went flying across the ground when I fell. Some people stepped on them as they walked passed me, jerking their feet violently and ripping pages out of my books. Someone spit on the back of my head, and another person stepped on my fingers when I tried to get up. I had to bandage them for a few weeks until they healed back to normal.

One day in the lunch line, I was waiting to get my food. I liked that day because we were having pizza that day, and I liked pizza. Even if I got made fun of and laughed at, I was happy if we were having pizza. I stood in line with my lunch tray, and waited my turn in line. Someone behind me in line was laughing. I got my pizza, and decided I would treat myself to chocolate milk. Chocolate milk costs a little more, but I wanted to be extra happy today. I was walking to my table that I eat at alone, and someone hit the bottom of my tray with their hand. My food went flying and the milk spilled all over me. I went back to get another, but they were all out. The two kids behind me got all that was left, which was more than they could eat.

In gym class we run around outside usually. I ran with the other girls, and the boys ran with the other boys. The other girls made fun of me because I hadn't developed like they had. They laughed at me when we got in to our gym clothes. I tried not to blush. I don't think I succeeded. Sometimes we did this exercise where we use two long white poles and smash them together with a partner while someone jumps between them in the middle. I didn't like this exercise, because if your partner went too fast or delayed, you would smash your fingers, and it hurt alot. My partner would always be someone who did that, and I didn't like this game because I always ended up bruising my fingers very badly, or causing them to bleed.

I had one friend once in school. It was a girl named Sally. Sally was kind of nice to me, but I could tell she didn't want to be too nice. One day while we were out at gym, someone switched my school clothes with dirty sweatpants and a sweatshirt with something bad written on it. I got in trouble for wearing the shirt, and after that Sally never talked to me again.

---

Three dashes. That's what separates the past me from who I am explaining now. Three dashes. Just those three dashes explain how I came to be, and how I exist now. Those three dashes explain the trials I went through and the depression I suffered. They explain my resolve, and struggle to avoid killing myself to end my emotional pain and suffering. Those three dashes embody my self perserverance to continue to live, with hope as the only thing to hold on to. Hope that one day, I might meet a person who is nice to me. I look back, and see I was the kid that everyone picked on to make themselves feel better. There's always a kid like that, and I was that kid. But when I was so young, I didn't know such things, so I needed other ways to survive. And the hope that I would meet someone who liked me was that hope. The hope that a person might actually care about me.

In my freshman year of college I met that person. He was everything that I wanted in a friend. I did not and never did have courage about myself. He had that courage for me, within me. He showed me how to stand up for myself, how to defend myself, and how to love myself. He taught me how to enjoy life, and how to live. He taught me the things which most people take for granted. He taught me so many things about life and how it works, and what one should expect from life. I cherished my life from that moment on, and if I could I would thank him every day for the rest of my life. But I can't. I'm left with one final question I want to ask him, but I can't. I can't ask him why he killed himself.

I don't know the reason. I don't know his personal life. I don't know what events transpired in his life to lead him to such a decision. This person had taught me so much that I didn't know, and taken me so far above my previous heights. How could such a great person take their own life? Even I, who knew nothing about living, decided I would not take my life so long ago. Back when I was teased as a child, I still held on to hope. I never let go of that, despite what ignorance I possessed otherwise. But him...did he not have hope? Did he not have anything to live for? He seemed so wise beyond his years, yet at the same time hopelessly devoid of any real sense of purpose. Perhaps I was so busy accepting his help in trying to fix my life, that I didn't help him with his.

I don't really know what happened to him, or why. I don't even know where he was buried, or I would visit his grave every day if I could to thank him. He was an amazing person to helped me in the hardest part of my life, and for that I am forever grateful. He was, and always will be, my guardian angel.

Even if he didn't believe they exist.

Crying

I'm crying, crying, crying,
But I don't shed a tear.
Just a swelling of my heart,
And a growing presence of fear.

I'm crying, crying, crying,
But no water touches my cheeks.
Just a balloon inside my stomach,
Expanding for weeks and weeks.

I'm crying, crying, crying,
But there's no way to dry my sadness.
Because no wetness is on my face,
This crying induces a scary madness.

I'm crying, crying, crying,
Silently on the inside of my chest.
My insides are about to burst,
I just wish I could cry like the rest.

This Is The Meaning Of Life

I'll stand on your shoulders,
If you stand on mine.
You help boost that guy up,
And we'll reach the top just fine.

We'll keep climbing on each other,
Up and up, towards the top.
I say!, what a pyramid,
Keep on building, don't stop!

We are all here to help each other,
Reach the very tip of this thing.
I'll give you a mighty lift,
So you can stand on top and sing!

But after your done don't forget,
To reach down your hand to pull me up.
So I can join you too!,
And we can drink from the same cup.

We're all in this together,
Even though there's nothing at the top.
So just keep pushing others forward,
And they'll push you too! (Don't stop!)

Make-Believe Love

I find it funny how here and now,
Letting my heart run wild is something I'll allow.
I would leave my future and forget my past,
For a fantasy life with you at last.

But that fantasy world would be in my head,
Make-believe in my heart, and not alive but dead.
It would exist in dreams, where nothing's as it seems,
And never in the real world, where the sky's sun gleams.

Is a heart so strong that it can leave all it has known,
Or so weak to abandon what it's life has shown?
If you asked me for your hand, I would say OK,
Even though I don't know you, or anything else to say.

Can a person inherently love too much perhaps,
Even people who are fake and exist as an imaginary lapse?
I want to be their friend, who they can call at any time,
And who sings them silently to sleep, with a bedtime rhyme.

Loving these things which aren't real, catches up in the end,
Where a heart stands lonely, and has no more room to bend.
Perhaps just a distorted mind, can create love out of thin air,
The root of this insanity, is having love but no one to share.

What Am I?

It's a riddle. Not about me. Have fun solving it.

How confused can I be,
If I can't know what I see?
How hard is it to know,
What my heart tries to show?

Freud said a life comes in two,
I'm either mad or horny (is that true?).
If you give me attention I latch on fast,
Slowly injecting you with my haunting past.

I might be straight but I could be gay,
Only a psychoanalyist can truly say.
Open me up and peer at my mind,
At your own risk, see what you can find.

Probably a tangled mass of hopes and dreams,
Tarnished and scrambled, busting at the seams.
Fixable by you, or destroyed beyond repair?
Is this Love true, or a precursor of despair?

You are two people, so which is the one?
Which is the one, who is trying to run?
What am I? I am really confused,
Just What Am I, I have forever mused.


Just what am I?

How Are You?

"Hi there, how are you doing?"

Blah.

Why do people always ask this? If the meeting is informal, the answer will always be "I'm doing OK/Alright/Pretty good/Great/Good/etc". And that can be a lie. This is why I don't like small talk.

When you ask me how I'm doing, I can answer in one of two ways:

a.) The socially acceptable and expected response of how I am doing OK/average, or above-average/Good. You'll say the same, and then we'll have some common ground to go off of.

b.) I can tell you the way things really are, perhaps giving you (a stranger) too much information at once, and freaking you out.

I usually use A sadly, because it is what is expected.

But what if I used B? What if I told this person that I'm actually not doing quite well, and that I'm going through some very deep personal problems with my lifestyle and life decisions? Do you think that other person would lend an ear in empathy? Or would they run with their metaphorical tail between their legs?
Who knows? I know I never will.

I think this is just one of those social things that everyone else gets and I'm still questioning.

The World

You either perceive reality as good or bad. Things are inherently bad, and if good things happen you are fortunate, or things are naturally good, and bad things disappoint you. You are either upset, or overjoyed, depending on your take on the world. Do good things happen in a bad world, or do bad things happen in a good world? Either way your reaction will be the same, one of acceptance or one of denial.

If you deny that bad things will happen to you, then you will be upset when those bad things happen. If you accept bad things for what they are - which is a defining aspect of the world we live in - then you can move on easier. Expecting certain things from life is never good. Especially when you don't know if you can make them happen. Don't expect anything from yourself. Just be who you are, and live how it makes you happy, and enjoy the best times when they come. Attempt to always have good things happen, and you will be even more disappointed when they don't.

Much of life is not fun or enjoyable. This isn't pessimism. It's reality. And you have to learn to deal with the reality of the world if you wish to be a part of it. Assume that you will have less fun and more struggle in your life. Then when you have fun and enjoy life, you can appreciate it. Everyone goes through hard times. Everyone will be sad at one point or another. You will be sad in the future at some point. Maybe it's in a different state, on a vacation, on a date, or by yourself, but it will happen. Just as you know that at some point in the future you will feel physical pain that hurts very badly. But do you wake up in the morning each day fearing that physical pain? No, because it comes unexpectedly, and fearing in general isn't healthy.

So don't fear that bad things will happen, because they will. That's like fearing that you will at some point in your future be hurt emotionally and physically. It might be stubbing your toe, or someone telling you that they hate you. It's going to happen. You can't stop it. This isn't pessimism. It's reality. Learn to deal with it, so you can understand the world better and be able to be an integral part of it.