Society

We strive to be pure
Although we cannot be cleansed
in dirty water

Body is heavy
Mind is slow
This is how my summer will go
I need to write a poem
It has been far to long
Though it may not belong
among the great and long
this is the outcome, here it is
you can see my mind has yet to fizz
with poetic thoughts
about albino robots
I can only seem to rhyme.
Fuck it.
Goodbye.

"It's nothing."

I seem to be in a romantic mood. This one is a dream I had written out.
The dream wasn't very realistic, but maybe it's supposed to be a metaphor. I still haven't figured it out.

The beat of my heels against the sidewalk become rapid as my stride quickens. Dark alleys usually scare me at night, but now. I don’t give a damn. I was sick of the hair, my feet killed, and the dress was hot as hell. I just wasn’t going to put up with it any longer.
I can’t stand to walk any longer. The wall becomes my support as I kick off one of the shoes. “Fuck“ I kick off the other. “Fuck you.” I fall against the wall and close my eyes. It’s cool against my back. I’m trying to decide whether I should cry or scream. I pull open my purse and root through all the shit inside. They’re in here somewhere. My dirty little secret. My guilty pleasure. A half empty, or half full, pack of menthol cigarettes. I chuckle at myself when I see how violently my hands are shaking as I strike the match. The instant flame entrances me, I pause to watch it burn down. I shake it out, then light another. This one I use to light the cigarette on my lips. I gaze up at the sky. No stars, It’s all hazy. The street lamps ruin it. You can never see stars here. I slowly inhale, feeling the smoke. A voice breaks my trace and I jump. The name he said sounded familiar. It sounded familiar because it was my own. I know it’s him and I don’t want to turn to look at him. I’m too damn humiliated. I don’t know, nor do I want to know, what he is going to say. I listen. He doesn’t move. I can hear him breathing. He had been running, and with the weather this hot and him in that suit, I understand how drained he must be. I’ll still don’t say a word. Finally he speaks. “Why’d you leave?”
“I was tired of it” my voice cracks. I continue to hold in tears.
I still don’t look at him and I listen once again. I hear his footsteps. Then I hear his breath. I can feel the heat of his breath on my neck. His lips brush ever so lightly against my ear and a shiver runs down my spine. He whispers in my ear. “You know it’s nothing.”
“I..” I choke.
“Why do you let it bother you so much? You don‘t have to listen.”
There is a silence and I finally turn to him, looking into his eyes. I see him glance down at the cigarette. Only now I realize that I still have one smoldering in my hand.
I close my eyes. “Fuck”
I can’t find any words. I stutter.
His hand gently touches the bottom of my chin and guides my glance from the floor to his eyes.
He doesn’t say anything. I just bury my head in his shoulder and pull him close.

Prince Charming

The night is full of shadows
and not a single cloud covers the starlit sky
in front of you stands a stranger
he stands alone, his body a silhouette,
a figure in the darkness
yet his face is illuminted by the moonlight
and you aren't sure how he got there,
you aren't sure whether you should run
but his eyes are alluring
and you can't look away

There is something in his dark eyes
something that releases a fear in you
Yet still, you don't turn and run
You stay and gaze into those eyes
for the sheer amazement has swept you away
there is something in his eyes
something beautiful, something great
Hidden, lost in obscurity
and you can't isolated the beautiful from the horrifying

you reach out to touch his cheek
but his figure melts into the shadows
and all is silent

To daddy

My dearest father
Never have I felt as safe
As I have with you

I love you so much
And no boy will take your place
Never forget that

One day I will leave
Spread my wings and fly from here
Yet I will return

I will return home
As much as life allows me
For I will miss you

It’s you that I trust
You’ve always been there for me
This is for you dad

"Poem" by Unknown

Yesterday I found a piece of paper on the floor of the practice room and being curious and nosey I picked it up to read it, and It was a poem that was, for some reason, ripped up.
By the type of writing I would assume it to me a male, but I don't know.
I googled and I don't believe it was by a published poet. It seems to be a rough draft by the way things were writted and placed. I found them appealing and liked them. I just want to know what they were thinking when they wrote it.




"keep this feeling
inside the room you sit in
where the ink falls like a thunderstorm
from the walls
this feeling
you can't handle
keep the truth inside
and feel this truth run through
like the rain outside



let these stars guide your way
and not to clocks but to
green grass all around
i swear it wont be less
than perfect


perfect like the eyes you hide from me.
skewed and sorrowful are these fingers you witness
the start of a perfect ending"

-Unknown

A Poets Lure

I started to write a "book" that i'm sure will never finish, about the highschool thought and experiences of a free-spirited girl. Here is the first page or so, tell me if you want to see the whole thing and be updated.


Her thoughts on school:
I walked casually into the classroom. My bag was heavy with books, and it was silent. I looked around and not a single person was talking. This is what Mr. Shawn does to you. Nobody is lively before our oral presentations.
Mr. Shawn is tall, dark, handsome, and scary as hell. He has one of those voices that rumbles when he talks. I usually find it humorous when I think about the fact of him teaching my poetry class. He seems like the kind that would teach P.E. or at least Math. But he is a great teacher. I don’t think I’ve enjoyed a class more than this class. The day before a quiz, he asks us question after impossible question. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has driven a few people to tears. Yet, when I walk in the next day and sit down I realize that I understand more. It makes you think. He overworks us, and makes us learn it the complicated way, only to make it simple. Still, people seem to hate him. Me, I respect him. He forces us to learn. To me, that makes a good teacher.

relationships:
.... But I have one belief. If our record collects don’t match. I can’t even begin to think the relationship has a future, because the single thing that I hold in the highest regard is my music, and since I have an odd collection. It’s hard to find someone I actually would date, and truthfully, I don’t mind that. I haven’t found anyone else. Sure, you can call me feminist, or shallow, but really I don’t mind.

Wyatt...
He has this curly black hair that falls just at his dark eyes, and although he is my best friend, I am not ashamed to say he is sexy as hell.

People:
You could label me a hippie, but only if you wanted to piss me off. I don’t believe in labeling. People are people


Life:
Cause I’m an oddball. How I am doesn’t necessarily match my raising, but it’s me. I like technology and science although I grew up in the country. Half of my life I was without any of this, fifteen minutes to the nearest town, with strict technophobe parents. That’s where the artist part comes in though. I hate the television, and always have, so when my family sits down to watch it. That always gave me time to draw or write. I think I’ve been getting better and I don’t plan to stop growing. There is only one thing I really wish there would be more of in my life, and that’s travel. I want to see the world, but I’m not exactly blessed with the money for it. So, I have never seen the ocean, and I might just have to wait another 10 years before I do. So right now. I’ll settle for the dreams. Cause I’ve got a whole life ahead of me. For now, I can just sit and draw the countryside I’ve been so fond of for my whole life, and when I say country side, I don’t mean in the middle of nowhere cornfield thing. I hate that. I hate agriculture, and considering I’ve never been out of Iowa, you can probably tell I’m just a little bitter in life. What I mean by country side isn’t that. The countryside I love is the wide space, the trees, and the vast long ocean of sky. It’s the only place in America where you can really grasp the idea of “freedom”.

Good Morning

A bike makes it’s way slowly towards me. A little terrier running along. I see this stranger every morning, part of my busy routine of life. The old man, with his shaggy white hair, is beginning to look similar to his friendly dog, and his friendly smile always seems to warm those chilly mornings. Although…this morning….he seems slower.
“Good Morning” I chime.
He passes with a smile. I turn and watch him fade into the distance. Then, stuffing my chilly hands into my coat pockets, I make my way into the school.
It’s the same the next day, and the next day, but each day he seems slower than before.
This morning, the dog slowly trots along, and as I greet him with a friendly salutation, his smile is diminished, and once again he fades into the distance.
Now, I walk along an empty sidewalk, the first warm sunshine of spring shining through the budding trees. I don’t see the stranger, and I wait.
He never comes.
I feel a sudden chill and stuff my hands into my pockets.

Then again…this morning isn’t so warm after all.