Nemesis

I kept you waiting, didn't I

Crept up and well hidden

Not a sound heard in your ear; Still

You sneer at me through a hole in the wall

While faster I crawl inside your soul

Your eyes believe

These hands grow so cold

Blame your sad goals on me

Soon, my child will bellow your name

Moan from hollow depths

POLL

Yes yes, I made a poll. It's on the right side of my blog, if you're having trouble navigating through this insanity I call my blog. The poll officially closes on my birthday, for those who wish to give me a small measurely virtual gift before then to celebrate the fact that I was BORN. No biggie though. But seriously, answer it damnit. I apologize for the use of profanity constantly. It makes me feel better to spew nasty words every once in awhile. Levels my beautiful ones, I think.

Perhaps I'll never have a Blog of Note.

F**K Poetry

Yeah, fuck poetry today. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed ...or maybe I just woke up on the floor.

Just had a cigarette outside and it's drizzling a little. I had hoped for rain today. Yesterday when I went out for my 9am smoke, the leaves were running down the street and it sounded just like rain on the roof.

There are so many comforts I possess right now in my day to day existence, but where does it go? To what do I owe this pleasure?

I hate the music she plays at work. "Hey Baby" by Gwen Stefani. *mumbles profanity* In high school, my close friend gave me a No Doubt CD. Wasn't really my style, but she was hot and fun, so hey. I dwelled on "Sunday Morning" for about a day and was ready to move on....to, you know, Plato and stuff. Music then was just background wallpaper. There was no expression, no talent. Now it fills my mind and moves me. I feel his lips when they touch the microphone and I sway without moving. You'd think, with all the emo-fucking-sensitivity, these teenagers would have better taste. Led Zeppelin moved a nation, and beyond. How can you listen to "Since I've Been Loving You", and not crawl to your loved one on bended knee and beg?? What a great song. Genius. Wish I was still young enough to enjoy it more with my body.

Anyway, onward to my rant. I'm so sick of hearing about football. Is it just me? It must be. This entire state is obsessed with men in tights. Even the women. I don't get it. There are so many better things to do than watch football. Read, write, peel an orange, take a walk. It's almost like watching a group of adolescents giddy to see which rat wins the race. At least make it worthwhile and bet some money. The bore of t.v. sports, sour beer, and brightly colored sweatshirts. I'd rather run in the corn the farmer still refuses to take down. And I knowwwww there are big spiders. It's still better than football.

I hope no one I know reads this. They likely enjoy listening to Gwen Stefani while watching tv football.

YOU PANSY!

...And how do I go about getting these team members?

You stood up there
On your perilous stage
To give me a show while
You fought demons;
With fingers dangling,
You showed me how beauty
Is in every whisper, every scream
And while the microphone consumed
Your voice, I played with this
Fantastic idea of you
Arguing with your audience.

Essay Blues

Okay, so I've been going through old floppys and such, in hopes of copying and pasting so I can forget about my procrastination in regards to writing lately. I'm pathetic, I know.
Anyway, I came across this little essay I wrote in high school for English. It made me laugh.

Miranda

Period 3

May 24, 2000

What I Would Do To Change the World

There are many things in the hateful world that seem unfair or unjust. Some people would change them if they could. I personally believe that there are more things, to change in this world, than you can count. Yet, that doesn’t mean you should change them. If you were to change something that is meant to be, everything would be messed up. I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason.

One day I met a man who killed his wife. He was very unhappy with her and tried to stay away from home as much as he could. He would stay out late in business conferences and work late in his office. Although he was pretty sane and an all-around generous person, he had a low tolerance for annoying people and that’s just what his wife had become. So, he killed her. Quickly and very fashionably. I was quite surprised. His lawyer convinced him to plea insanity so he did. The court had him sent to a place to do some testing to prove he was right. In all the tests, he averaged above anyone they had ever seen. No human had ever tested so high. He started inventing things that were essential in life and staying alive. Everyone was amazed. He made history and for generations after, people remembered him because without him, there would be no us.

The significance of this story was that even though killing his wife is not good and many of her family and friends were probably devastated, if he hadn’t killed her, he wouldn’t have been found out. For generations to come, his work will be used and we will be alive because of this evil thing he did. Everything happens for a reason. So, if I were given the chance to change the world, I wouldn’t. Life is bad sometimes and brings out the worst at times, but it will all turn out for the better later on. It always does.


****For the record, I never met any such person. I was simply bored with the elementary style essays she always made us write, so I made it interesting by making up these random stories to fit my unusual wit.***

I call this one Backyard Spider

A train passed unnoticed
In the mirror you glanced
Danced with my eyes
We played the guessing game
Same lines, a different card
Start with an object spied
I beat around the bush for
Countless turns
But I knew you'd seen
The same train as I

Raw

They have come to a stop. He says something to the others, but it's of little importance. She glances up from her hands. He is looking at her in the rearview mirror. She knows that someone of his caliber doesn't merely glimpse about. She looks out the window and is surprised at how dark it's become. She doesn't know what time it is, but she is suddenly very alive. The others are tired now, as usual. She doesn't understand how some could sleep, while others revel in the world of awakeness. She wonders slightly about this as she carefully opens the old car door and steps out.
She is anxious now. The ground is wet and soaks through her black sketchers. She likes the feel of sudden changes like that and, unlike others, savors it. He has disappeared through the thin black trees. She sprints up the hill, sliding on the leaves occasionally.
This is a race. She knows he wants her to be there, to find him. She slows down as the hill gets steeper. The moon peeks from behind the trees as she approaches the bald spot atop the hill. He stands there, just a silhouette at first, yet deceiving, for she knows his presence is most magnificent. At any moment, she thinks, he might howl at the mighty moon. He is definitely unpredictable, but she is being silly. She almost laughs out loud.
He is sad. He is raging inside. He is a flood, and she, the rain. They are out of breath and panting. Nonchalant, but eyes never lie. Not theirs.

Hmph... More later.

Art

I actually wrote this when I was about 16 years old. Likely one of the few peices I've kept so long without trashing or changing.

Curls of smoke rise deliciously
From the corners of his mouth
I imagine him twisting and turning
Becoming the smoke-filled air
A distracted tornado in
An essence of rolled tobacco
I watch him with amazement
And subdued personal interest
For he is my destiny
And stubbornly glances over
A look that is steadily intimate
I dare not falter the motion returned
For he is an art
An art to be cherished delicately.

Full White Moon

I will see you soon as the leaves turn brown
Lost inside a full white moon
Remember my eyes in their passing phase
We'll fall behind someday

And he said those words
I remember most
Lost inside a full white moon
In pride he lacked as he took her back
We'll fall behind someday

Have you lost reason, has reason held you
Lost inside a full white moon
Remember my eyes in their passing phase
We will fall behind someday

Watch the leaves turn brown as you bring me down
Lost inside a full white moon
Can he find his way when she sets him free
Will we fall behind someday
I place it above skies to decide
An answer will come eventually
Please, love, I don't want to confide
How we'll fall behind someday

All my thoughts have strayed, long apologized
Lost inside a full white moon
Can you hear them sing when you're not around
We will fall behind someday

I will see you soon when the leaves turn brown
Lost inside a full white moon
You will see my eyes in their passing phase
When we fall behind someday

I will see you soon when the leaves turn brown
Lost inside a full white moon
You will see my eyes in their passing phase
When we fall behind someday

When we fall behind someday
When we fall behind someday

A magnificent tree, tall and tangled
Sits above your glistening hair
I feel you across the grinning grass
You stop in silence
For a brief moment you turn
Breath in my aura
Sing to me in currents
Under the captured sun
They might beat your voice down
With sticks and thumps
But all I hear is you
Just you.

I wrote this before he was born....

Sanctuary

Calm but dreary

I feed off life

Once mine

Now ours

We are One

And you are my home,

My breath

An unexplained peace

Settles over my body

If you could only

Teach me to be wise

My hands

Entangled in your heartbeat

For that is all I know.

Cynical

I seem to only want to write about how much I hate you. Ha, even the walls fall eventually. I've erased it mostly from this blog to start over. So, here I go... again.

Redemption

I have caught eyelashes in arid palms
Join me in the ever varying game
Kneel down on your scabbed knees
Teach me how to pray on a sunday
In halls that have eternally risen
Perhaps I will find sanctity
In a dwelling so different than my own
Grow with me, kiss the ground as I walk
Away, he tells all but me. Besides;
In darkness, I come to love you anyway.

They are bent on breaking you, but I
Never slightly considered
Changing you, living for you
Your regret is my redemption.

Along the glass
I have caught driven glances
And long clenched fingers
Steadily holding my unease
Close your ears to all that surrounds us
Filters, clutters, unhinges
Right is wrong
Even in your chest, you feel it
I inhale this, I breath it,
I inhale you.

Control

A songbird sings for you as the sun rises, yet you still grow weary, and even elucidate to expect more.

A shadow at accompanied moments, but still here and very much alive. I contemplated, and no two minds can mingle so parallel that they become ONE mind beating restlessly in two bodies. So, in what direction will you deliver me now? In a place to call home, but to that which does not resemble where I am most comfortable.

We sit, we contrapose.

You order, I dream.

The sun rises, the sun falls.

Your sunglasses go on,

I take it's light in stride.

A train comes, a train passes.

I count the cars and wonder where it would take me if I dared let it

You glance at your watch and drum your fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

Sometimes indifference just sets in and it's less complicated. Alas, I am not passive. I do not feel passive, I do not think passively. I see you, I hear you, but I cannot adhere to that which contradicts my entire being, my reasons, my choices, my march, my passion. What is compromise but a vow to give you the key to my chains on a silver platter? Compromise does not consist of your agreement, it consists of mine.

But, oh, how you whisper such endearing things when I have given you all that I have, when I have tossed you my life.

You never ask where I've hidden my thoughts

or if they have ever existed in the first place ( I might have forgotten they existed too). I admit that I find such raw physical form erotic, those without thought. It is easier.

I no longer know.

M Y P E R C E P T I O N

You say it in tones of sadistic sarcasm
It is your time to contimplate,
A child lost in Chile.
You attempt to eradicate
My individualism,
With deepest regreats, of course.
I stand tall amidst the crowd,
My ear cocked to the wind
To catch you falsifying.
An act shown simple,
Only by a fiend, A sociopath.
Oh how upon these great pages,
You write with feverous devotion.
Would not anyone whose handiwork
Is World History?

Creedence on the speaker in the bar. Voices in the rear, slow and obnoxious. I get my nerve back and chew quickly. I hear his boots under the table and the images return to my mind.
In all format, I'm dreaming you've found that certainty. Home is here where you've lingered over the years. Just shut off the day, a sweet plea is all I need to hear. I don't remember you so careless as I do now, your head upon the desk, smirk still evident on your chin. Be it you may remember the death you brought to our door.
Your sideways stance makes me torture thoughts of gallant and misunderstood lives of the lost. What makes you think you can become better?

The sounds carry on the restful river, bold waves seen rippling through the trees. You stand beside the dark, eyes peeking beneath thick lashes. I wonder how you'd take this feeling of loneliness, my denial of keeping on, being stale tonight. Shoes walk by, faces disappear, where is your pride? I brought my hands forward to unlatch my resistance so you could see. Did you see?
On the swallowed fear you ride, a prejudiced fortune you give up.

There are the lines of the night casting bound shadows on their jeans. Only their toes shine for a ponderer's right. Valid are the songs I hear behind the stage, as they argue for untoward impending stand. Gone are the cries once he gives them a sorrow only he understands.
A healer in his own right, but the laws of passion still apply. I watch his wrists flex creatively. I wonder where he goes when all the crowds leave his room.

In all awareness
I have thought of
Reasons bound
And bent on releasing
You from me
If democracy is not stunted,
How is it that anarchists
Sit trembling
Under it's dreadful trample
And in God
You find
A nothingness so profound
You drop to your knees
To pray for
Listening unsound

The water signals in the storm. Whites and blacks, all but glitter, foretelling the end of a long spring. He passes the tree I once stood behind so long ago. I feel the gaze of the past as it threatens to speak to him now. Begone, you foul breath, you horrid sight. I'd cast you if he wasn't standing so close. His breath disappears once it leaves his lips, but I, still frightened, lead him past the tree of yesterday.

*Into the forest I run, alone in my dream. This day it comes undeterred by my wake. I live the dreams I run in.*

She calls among the sick, a small snort, whispers between the cracks and up beyond their shoulders, head to hair, back to chest, they sigh lightly. Her friend reaches out, silenced from brow to beard. What a lovely dance for two.

I go and break the ties, the passing forward in breathing space.

Toward the hills I take this broken page.

I'd keep it in eternity, if I could muster the strength,

For all I have been is unkind.

Your pride has brought you the unjust reality of your situation. What are you, but a plague in the rivers of joint living. You may only smell with your nose in the clouds. I do not feel sorry for your plight. You made a soft bed only at the expense of the soul's drought. But I, I'm only one who watches. I cannot stay, as a bird in your sky. You would prefer not to see me besides. I am destructively your truth. So cast me. My feet weighed down by pretentious hands that reach beyond the cold dry dirt.

The sun has yet to wave, dreamy days and sunset mornings. Untold is the harp that sits beside the moon in a lore song cross the distance. I let you run, provide you whisper back to me. The colors swarm on your body, unreadable only to me. WHy do I find you such a mystery? Please me, find me, I'm there in the corner. Quiet and purposely unprepared. Is this what madness tastes like? The fruit of a free childhood.

Fortune. That is what I remember.

Do you?