not so complicated

i read their minds, and its these same lines... over and over and over again.


"i want to be wanted."
"i like to feel needed."
"i hate being alone."


THE END.

sun

The heat is stifling on this Thursday afternoon. The sun beats down on my back, and all I can think of is where I might escape the overwhelming oppression of its heat. They call this place "the melting pot." Now I know why. I quickly begin to think of other thoughts, in an attempt to distract myself from how uncomfortable I feel at present.

It's loud. Cars speed by noisily, or--just as obtrusively--slam hard on their breaks to stop. People, all sorts of people, walk by me. They are bitching, moaning, grunting, laughing, yelling, fighting, howling, roaring, talking to one another, talking about each other (“he walks too slow!” “look at her outfit!” “their kid is ugly!” ... these are just a few selects to paint a picture of the type of commentary I am currently privy to.) Even the buildings! The buildings are deafeningly tall and are ear-piercingly wide.

And here I am. In the middle of it all. Here I am, just listening. Quietly observing the little world around me.

But what I am not aware of is that the young man at the other side of the park is quietly observing me. He hasn't for a moment taken his eyes off me since I planted myself at the very chair on which I sit. He's seen every time I've wiped sweat off my brow, every tiny smile I've smiled to myself, every eye roll, sneeze, every time I reached for the book inside by bag just so I can look like I'm doing something, every time I tucked my hair behind my ear. Every blank stare I've stared into absolutely nowhere. He saw when I tripped after I got up and saw me wave my hand for a cab when I left.

The voice in his head was as loud as the cars, was as blaring as the people around the imaginary cocoon he built around he and I, and as clamorous as the surrounding buildings, inside of which he could feel people staring out at him from every window. "Say hello to her" this voice told him, but he didn't move. Not even a flinch other than to acknowledge the cold shiver flowing down his back.

Three years later, fate would bring these two together again.

tongue twister

feel hard.
fall hard.
feel the fall.
hard falls.
the hardest to feel.

half full

being able to be continually filled but never spill over...
this is the only true way to live.

introspection on the 8:55

there is never tomorrow.


all we have is the moment after the moment in which we are finished being and get the chance to become again. so, on a regular basis (some might argue instant basis, or something in and around that length of time) we get to be better, to change... or stay the same, if that's really what you want.


if you ask me (which you didn't, and I am well aware of), this is a pretty fucking horrifying realization... to have this amount of control. or maybe its that we have no control. that we are constantly trying to catch up... keep up...


to an end that we can't see / or a beginning we never knew started.

synonyms for 'happy'

i'd be...

glad,

beaming,

blissful,

cheerful,

content,

delighted,

euphoric,

gladsome,

gleeful,

glowing,

jolly,

joyful,

merry,

overjoyed,

pleased,

and tickled pink to forget what you feel like.

run

i was running away from it for so long, and i was sure i would eventually run back into it. (this has to be a law of physics, i'm sure).


so, instead of trying to get away from it, i started to think of myself as running toward that which i wanted to escape. if i thought of it like this, in a contrary-wise way, i wouldnt ever catch back up with it since i was never actually trying to leave it. and i decided id run slow, so as to never get to it.

 (as it turns out, this plan did not work... but at least i was in control.)

black hat

thanks for the memories, but you can have them all back.
it'll be magic...

lets make like we disappear.

myself

to be myself is to be outside of myself looking in and to stand above myself so as to look below at myself and to be in front of myself and look towards myself and to gaze from all directions other than outward and look back at myself and to stare into my own eyes and ask of myself, who are you? i accept these challenges.


my promise to myself is to stand next to myself and to put my own hand on my back, and to gently move myself forward.

like new

the longer she looked at it, stared at it, the more she found wrong with it. there were cracks in it, lots of them. she was concerned by this, quite alarmed by this, in fact, since she never noticed these cracks before. all of a sudden it seemed like it might just fall apart. right there in front of her. it needed fixing, that was for sure. it was run down and shabby, like a something you put in an attic 10 years ago and never went back to. yeah, something quite like that, exactly.


she wanted so badly to grab onto and keep it safe.. it was so fragile. but she was too scared, too fearful she might break it even further. and she knew that something like this could happen... breaking it more by grabbing on too tight. yes, she learned that lesson they hard way when she was 7. she was playing in the yard and tried to grab a butterfly.


after much contemplation, however, she decided she would try to pull all the broken pieces together and make it better. she'd get to the bottom of it, the parts that were broken, slowly but surely. she'd sand it down to its oldest, purest layer. she'd get rid of every crack and glue together every corner. two times over, just to be certain all was well. she'd give it a fresh coat of paint. anyone who had eyes could see that it'd be just like new. just like it was back then.

 ...and this was their love.

that sticky stuff

anything is temporary until it sticks, honey.

take your time takes forever

take your time takes forever

choke

i take a sip. the coolest of sensations makes its way down my throat. i choke on my disappointment. it's sunday. i need more to feel less.

sleep

i see you in my dreams.


long ones,
short ones,
blurry ones,
ones i cant remember or hope i forgot,
ones i talk about,
ones that make me cry, smile, laugh, want to hide,
ones i keep a secret,
ones i write about.


i really wish i'd stop having nightmares.

a different view!

i got to thinking how different the world would look if i looked at it sideways. and what a pity it was that we are forced to walk around upright all the time.

well, sooner than i could've noticed how i must've looked to a passerby, i found myself upside-down (in my frame of mind, anyway). suddenly, the sky was the ground and the ground was very much in the position of what one would think of as the sky... in so far as how the ground looks like the sky and the sky would look like the ground to everyone else other than me at this time.

so, i walked around like this for about an hour, only to arrive at this realization... my original hypothesis was indeed correct: things are very much different when you look at the world upside-down (actually, if you go back to the beginning of this anecdote, you'll see i used the word "sideways," but for the sake of the story, let us agree to revise the aforementioned wording).

i swear, the grass was greener. Not in the metaphorical sense--though, i might argue that as well--but in the literal sense. the grass held such a richness in color compared to the likes of that which i've never seen. and not just that. the flowers, they seemed to smell a great deal more fragrant while upside-down. when people spoke, they sounded much louder. "i love you" he said to her, in practically a roar. "don't touch that!" a mother screamed to her son. "ice cream... $4 'a scoop" some guy yelled, at an ear-piercing decimal. or, maybe i was listening closer (this could be a side-effect of being upside-down, too-- yet to be determined).

and i promise you this... with every ounce of my being that i know to be true... i've never felt more alive than i did in that hour of upside-downness.

then i walked into oncoming traffic.

(oh, i'm sorry, were you hoping for a nicer ending?)

a picture lasts longer

i'd like to just stare at you so hard and for so long, until my eyes explode from the inside out.

and that... now, that would be a sight for sore eyes.

mais pas de deuxième chance

secondes en minutes,
minutes en heures,
heures en jour,
jours en semaines,
semaines en mois,
mois au cours des années,
ans en des décennies,
des décennies dans des millénaires,
des millénaires dans l'infini ...


mais pas de deuxième chance.


^^ note from the author: my french sucks ass.

the end game

she appreciated that he thought we was saving her. saving her from some sort of heart-ache.

but, an ending?

thats not what she wanted, or asked for, or hoped would happen, not at all. nor did he, she trusted.

but their beginning saw an end before a beginning began.


and to that end, in the end hes probably the one who needed saving to begin with.

a mothers love

just like every other night since i can remember, i was asked to go down to the well and fill a bucket full a water. so along the trail i walked. it seemed to take longer that night. it was so hot out i thought i might like to melt into the pail i was holdin, walk home and no one would even notice it was me inside of it.


once i made it to the well, i lifted the tin pail on the ledge and sat it aside awhile. i pulled up the old rope. i somehow rigged the bucket up and it made its way down 'til i heard a loud splash. after i thought it was rather full, i used all of the muscles i didn't have to pull that pail up the long, stone wall until it made itself safely back to the ledge from whence it came.


on my walk back, the pail seemed heavier than ever before. i thought i might like to just set it down and not look back. but i knew that wasn't an option. mama would beat me silly if i came home without it.


i got back to the kitchen and i smelled somethin brewing. i guess you could say i felt some what powerful, knowing that i had there in my possession what it was that my mama needed to finish the meal. either way, it didn't make the pail any lighter.


but, boy, i must've made such a face, or let out quite a grunt, when i brought that water pail inside, because my mama... she made those winkles in her forehead and looked straight at me with her dark, brown eyes and she said:


"you see that pail there, little girl. think of that pail like a persons heart. its big. its heavy. it would be mighty easy to quit tryin' so it wouldn't be so heavy to carry 'round...


but it takes hard work to keep it full, it takes dedication. sacrifice. and love for those who your keepin' it full for."


from that night on, i never wondered why my mama had wrinkles.

my wall

when she speaks, she sometimes falters and says too much, or more often, too little. she holds back in fear. in fear of saying the wrong thing and being hated, or the right thing and being loved. so she finds solace in ambiguity. vague is a wall she hides behind... perhaps she has just grown accustomed to doing so.

it is quiet behind her fortress. no one can hurt her.


and so she plants roses with her tears and the flowers grow tall.

the boy king

once there was a boy who walked up to the top of the very highest hill in his village. he looked down at all that his people created and he felt content.  his heart was warm. but as full as this boy was with happiness, he was also very fearful, for his father was the chief of the village and was growing very ill. soon, the boy would need become a man and follow in the footsteps of his great father who won many battles defending their people. the boy knew his fellow villagers thought he was too young and too weak to become a great chief, so he came up to this very hill hoping the spirit winds would show him how to prove his greatness to them.


after many moments of silence, the boy stood up, turned his back to his people, and walked down the hill. he knew what he needed to do.


a few days later, a passing tribe stumbled upon the land where the boys village stood. they were stunned at what they found. the noble huts were empty. the lavish crops remained unharvested. animals ran free in the puttied streets. screams and cries could be heard from the top of the very highest hill in the village.


when the passing tribe finally reached the peak of this hill, they could not believe their eyes. the young boys tribe were found bent over on their knees, facing toward the village they abandoned. in front of them, the boy lay flat on his back with a knife in his hand. his royal blood dripped towards his kneeling subjects. the boy had stapped himself in the heart.


legend will say that the spirit winds wispered to the young boy king and told him he would only be accepted by his people if he would be willing to die for them. and so, he did.

keep out of hands of children

instructions on how to love:


-stick hand in chest cavity
-proceed to rip out heart
-inspect heart while it beats
-listen to the bass line fade
-hold heart over head
-shake heart around
-squeeze heart for some fun, 'til it pops and the blood spills out


down your arm it goes. a hot gooey mess. you've always wondered what i tasted like.


well now you know.

The Greatest Decision

a lovely dress hangs on my closet door. the dress is navy. i'll keep the tags on the dress, i decide, in case i never get to wear it.

a sandwich and a cigarette

its noon. i don't remember getting here, but if someone were to approach me, i imagine i'd say i walked here. there is a slight breeze, which would be nearly undetectable if it weren't for my keen sense of awareness today, or if i had on long sleeves and long pants, and i am currently adorned with neither. i look to my right, someone is seated next to me eating his sandwich. "breezy out today, huh?" i'm in the mood for conversation, i suppose. in reply, he exerts some noise which i really cant describe so this will have to suffice: "humf?!" kind of like saying, "i really don't feel like chatting with you!" and "i do have to agree with you!" all at the same time. why are people so complicated? i'll never know why, so i settle with my age old answer.


an older lady walks by with a cigarette. her fingers are long and slender. her hands remind me of claws. but regal claws. the claws of something i certainly would want to be friends with, rather than enemies. shes close enough to hear me if i speak louder than i spoke to the man next to me. "can i bum a cigarette?" bear in mind, i don't smoke, but like i said i'd prefer to be her friend than the opposite. "um, well sure... but i don't have a lighter." how peculiar... she smokes but doesn't carry a lighter. as a non-smoker, i find this quite odd, but ah ha! just as she makes her ludicrous comment, the woman standing next to the man with the sandwich drops her purse, out of which falls a lighter. (i am the only one who sees this occur.) "its cool, i can make fire with my teeth," i say, giggling. the woman with the cigarette seems rather confused, but hands me what it is that ive asked for. her right claw gently grazes my hand in the transfer.


shivers.


"excuse me, can i borrow your lighter?"

i'll keep you

on all the trips we'll never go on.
in all the laughs we'll never have.
at my secret hide-out you never got to see.
how our fingers won't ever fit together just right again.
the smiles and tears that will never be.


we had our first kiss.
we had our last kiss.


ill keep you under the sink, behind a bucket,
or in a shoe box, high, high up on a shelf,
or maybe under the carpet,


in a little place in my heart.

our love is

.

8395

it was a morning not unlike any other morning.
and a day not unlike any other day.
and the evening turned out to be a night not unlike any other night.

Wind

the wind wildly composes
a vicious score to be heard.
a melody of twisting, turning tunes
push and prod against the thick air.
branches pound and stroke the keys.
leaves swirl in the melody, harmoniously.
and in times like these,
moments from the past
flash across my inner mind.
all at once,
and all too much.
they string themselves,
bead by bead…
oh, this necklace i wear
of
confusion
and
serenity.
i tug the strings but they endure.
no matter my countless attempts.
i try to forget.
to anguish and suffocate
the embers of putrid memories
which stifle my breath.
their once diminutive presence,
now regrettably monumental,
choke me in my self-deprecation.
…
…
but
then!
a cruel companion joins me.
pity.
our eyes lock
and i embrace the storm.
waiting, waiting,
without a care.
dedicated.
steadfast.
i dare my foe to draw her sword.

University (Incomplete)

(P.s. I never finished this one... maybe I will one day. Enjoi!)

Evening holds steady,
the dark of night invites and tempts young souls.
Winds press on, pushing and prodding,
from corner to corner we roll.

Like careless dancers we fall,
the ground begins to spin.
Each advance we take,
leads us further into sin.

The world, a messy palate,
colors stream together and blend.
Inspired artists seeing new views and hues,
we marvel as we bend.

Clouds

We float along together on this day,
as the sun kisses our backs.
The wind moves us,
hurriedly,
from place to place,
with no destination in mind.
In awe of the view,
seconds, minutes and hours collide-
nothing seems to matter.
Cares and fears;
insignificant.
We never cease and we do not speak.

All is said with nothing

between the clouds and I.

As She Looks Through a Window

The tips of trees dance together in the cold breeze.

Roofs of row homes scale the desolate sky.

Where is the sun today?

Who is to say she will ever return?

There was a time she glistened;

wrapped me in the warmth of a tender embrace.

I danced,

trampled dandelions,

carelessly.

Yellows, greens, pinks-

the purple of my twirling dress-

mixed together.

A Monet masterpiece,

come to life.

But now, what now? I have tired of dancing

and have forgotten steps.

The dandelions have wilted,

unrecognizable from their former selves.

The once vibrant colors blend…

a dull brown.

The sun, she has gone away,

leaving all but a memory.

How I long for that embrace,

if only for a moment.

If only for a moment,

I will be fine.

Gladstone Station

The warmth of the sun beat down on her face. She heard the low, muffled horn of the train sound-off.

"Landsdown," poured over the loudspeaker.

She kept her eyes closed. The back of her eyelids were the perfect canvas for her imagination. Thick, van-goghy swirls of dark greys and browns soon morphed into something that quite resembeled a face. Blurry at first, the face approached her and soon became a person she knew. And not just any person she knew, but a boy she knew. 

"Gladstone Station."

The door to her train cart swung wildly open and made a starteling noise, not unlike its usual intrusion.

Realizing she had fallen asleep for just enough time to see him again, her eyes opened. She noticed the sun settleing comfortably behind a cloud.

Her stop is "Swarthmore." Just three stops away.

A tiny part of her, the part of her she keeps secret, hopes he'll be there to pick her up.

Cherry

Warm nights. Long nights. Fireflies flicker. Red water ice stains on our upper lips. I kiss you. Cherry.

We held hands. We were young.

Promise

he looked down at her (he was much taller,) and he said, 'one day, i promise to tell you the secrets of the universe.'

he smiled and winked.

in a moment of ponderance, she quickly realized that she wasn't certain when this 'one day' he spoke of would happen. or if it even would.

in keeping with the tradition of the hour, though, she decided she was not concerned with the here and now (please do realize that this sentiment of aloofness was rather out of character). after all, his was a promise of the future, a time and place over which she had no control.

for good measure, she winked back at him.

and so, despite her normal tendency to do the opposite,

(she would later admit that this next part of the story i am about to tell you was because she fell in love with him that very day)...

she decided to believe him."