The Day That You Walked Away...

I screamed
I raged
I begged
And pleaded
I clutched
You tightly
You’re all
That I needed
Though I
Fought harder
I couldn’t
Quite barter
You over
The more
I grasped it
The shorter
It lasted
The harder
I tried to
Hold you
The tighter
I tied you
But it
Didn’t stop you
The longer
I cried out
The quieter
Was my shout
The day
That you
Walked away

yes i kno my stuff has gotten depressing again. dont worry i will write something happy soon.

Death by Suicide

within 1 week 5 kids hav commited suicide by hanging themselves in Douglas County School District....


A rope, it hangs, and soon is hung
The morning smells like rancid dung
Gritty teeth and steely grins
A merchant man with many chins
Calls his wares and flaunts his doom
Chilling all within the room
His floppy hat with a feather stuck
In the brim like a prideful duck
Lures children new each day
Brightly bouncing, shows the way
Atop a chair beneath the ceiling
Choices now are set to reeling
Dealing cards from wicked hands
Holding breath from in the stands
A slow mo drop, an instant stop
Our hearts are all about to pop
Take it back, just hit rewind
Those things they did were so unkind
Wooden doors close on themselves
Ashes hidden on our shelves
Say goodbye with whispered tears
They’ve all come true, our greatest fears

Ode to a Lamp

Winding pedestal
Carves through air
Gracefully
Pricking pearlescent bubbles
So fair
You light my way
In darkest night
And seize the day
Give way
My fright
My beacon lighthouse
On the shore
A gliding
Seagull
Can’t ignore
O dancing clouds
O crashing surf
O Carolina
Sparkling
Turf
Your mighty glow
That blinds with beauty
As bright
As snow and your duty
Is to shine
So
I thank you
Lamp of mine
I want to see you
All
The time
When I wake I can’t
But cry to
See the sun
Because she hides
You
That sun so drear and all
Her heart so hot
A desert
And I’m taught
To not
Scorn that warmth
But oh the blaze that beats
Upon me
And all that I
Would give to
See
A trickling of dew
A drop on
Lips
So thirsty because I knew
I’d never find
A one
Like you
My dulcet darling
Standing still
Alone
But that cruel sun
Will soon
Atone
That you indeed my Sweet
Are better
Than all she does
To try and fetter
You
Beneath those beams
Of golden
Hair
Feathering out
Without
A care
The strands flit here
And often there
Tickling
Like a fuzzy pair
Of mittens
Woolen mittens wipe
My brow
The crowd
To which
I bowed stood weeping At the
Sight
So maiden Lamp
Send out
Your light
To keep us all
From dreadful
Fright
In darkened winter
Cold as
Night

Imagine

Image, Imagine
A world without color
Would only be duller
But if we could do it
There’d be nothing to it
Image, Imagine
If just waking up
Could fill up your cup
What would it mean
If Love were not seen
Image, Imagine
No bruises on knees
No carrots and peas
Only sameness about
But who has the clout?
Image, Imagine
A plain perfection
So full of infection
A drastic collection
Without a connection

Precious in His Sight

Father your Daughter is crying
Her heart is breaking in two
Father your Daughter is hurting
She’s gasping and calling for you

Father your Daughter is shaking
Her faith is crumbling inside
Father your Daughter is drowning
Needing somewhere safe to abide

Ruler your Princess is trembling
Her life is falling apart
Ruler your Princess is cow’ring
She’s not even sure where to start

Ruler your Princess is fading
Her soul is drifting away
Ruler your Princess is doubting
Awaiting her rescue someday

Sovereign your Chosen is searching
Her longing for you is clear
Sovereign your Chosen is fearing
She wants to know that you are near

Sovereign your Chosen is praising
Her trust in you has returned
Sovereign your Chosen is shouting
The doubts in your Name have been spurned!



how iv felt lately...

Spook in Place

Laughing Eyes
Lazy Sighs
Flitting around the Corner
Timid Tears
Tiring Fears
Fighting past the Mourner
Silly Poking
Simple Joking
Flying down the Current
Absent Kisses
Altered Wishes
Flossing with Detergent

assignment topic was spooks cuz of halloween but i HATE halloween so this is wat i came up with.

Moving Our House

One tiny step at a time our feet slid noiselessly down the steps till we were about half way. We clung to the banister…

Mommy and Daddy are talking to the man in the TV room. He has dark hair and a big mustache, bigger than Daddy’s. His dark hair makes him look scary. I saw a man like that on TV once. He had a cowboy hat and a big ol’ scar ‘cross his cheek. You always know it’s the bad guy if he’s got a scar. I can’t tell if the man in our TV room has one but I think he probably does. Their voices are really quiet and I can’t hear what they are saying but Drewy says it’s something about our house and moving.
“Why would we move our house?” I ask.

We were close, real close. We had our tiffs of course like on the way to school when I used to poke him and bug him till he gave me a Charlie horse, or dead arm. I never cried though, I’d just poke him again till I got bored and my arm or leg was too sore to take anymore. They say when I was a baby he never wanted to put me down. He wanted to hold baby Ashy all the time even when I started crying. I know several times over the years he had a “talk” with a couple guys that hurt my feelings or that were a little too friendly with his little sister. He always had my back.

“Drewy wake up. Someone knocked on the door.” I whisper standing on the top part of the ladder. He doesn’t move so I nudge his arm. “Let’s go see.”
“Go back to bed Ash.” he says in that calm big brother way, but still sleepy. I push my lip out to pout still nudging his arm and holding on to the edge.
“Ok, ok. But you have to be really quiet or we’ll get spanked.” he says sitting up in bed, trying to look like Daddy, with his eyebrows scrunched together all funny.

I plastered on my most serious expression, trying to prove to him that I meant business and understood that there would be no silliness or this little escapade was off. The memory reminds me of in our second house when we used to plan little missions in the basement. It was dark, scary, and unfinished and we loved it. I got such a rush from slinking in the shadows and daring myself to be brave. I knew that if I ever got scared Andrew would be right behind me to beat up whatever monster lurked there.

Drewy crawls out of bed, down the ladder and we tip-toe to the stairs.

We were little mice like at church or preschool, slipping down the hall single file as quiet as can be. We jumped at every noise and over exaggerated every step. A floor board creaked and we both froze in terror and with a rush of adrenaline and excitement moved on…

We hide behind the corner when the man walks in and Daddy closes the door. Then we sneak down 1 stair, 2 stairs. We hold on to the railing, slip our feet one by one down the steps.

Secretly I collected Baby’s toys and hid them from him in my closet. But that was years later. Cap guns, light sabers, and that hammer he hit me in the head with when he was two, were stuffed into any place I could find. Sometimes if I ran out of space I would use my spot behind the pink couch but he usually found them there…

“Shhhh…” chided my brother holding a finger to his lips “Not this house. We might go to a new one. Because this one is too small, because now we have Austin. Don’t you want your own room again?” I decided not to ask any more questions because I did not appreciate being shushed.

I think that’s a silly reason. Why don’t we just give Austin away? I don’t like him anyway, he is noisy and no fun to play with. He can’t run and play like me and Drewy. And he took my princess room! Now I sleep in big brother’s room and he never lets me have the top bunk…

Is this what it’s all about: why we never got along? They took away my brand new, big girl, Minny Mouse, canopy bed. Said they put it away to keep it safe cause the baby needed my room. Aren’t I a good big sister for sharing? See how he repaid my generosity? A whack on the head with his hammer…

“Little brothers aren’t fun like big brothers.” I blurt out in a whisper voice.
“Well that’s just cause he is only a baby but someday he will be fun to play with.” he says. “I think the man is gonna leave soon so we better get back to bed.” Andrew tugs on my arm and we crawl back up a little noisier than we came. The voices get louder as the grown ups walk towards the door so we chase to the room faster. I giggle because it’s fun and he turns around to shush me again so I stick my tongue out. He smiles.

If someone told me to make a wish right then I would have wished for my pink princess room back to myself. If I were granted one now, I’d want that moment to last forever. I’d wish for the time when our childish innocence was untouched and our only obstacles included trying not to get caught eves dropping. Andrew and I are still closer than ever. He is getting married soon and that scares me but I’m so glad he is happy. Austin and I have more in common now, though we never got along growing up. I love my brothers and I hope we stay close forever.

When we are safely in the room he quietly closes the door but leaves enough space for his hand to fit, so the light from the bathroom comes in, just like Mommy does.
“G’night Sissy.” he says giving me a big hug.
“Night Bubba.” k

His...

It smelled like leather
Not the cheap kind
Good clean leather
It warmed me often
I loved to wrap it
Around my shoulders
His jacket, his smell

It wrote in bright red
Not too dark or light
Always just right
Like ripe tomatoes
I loved to steal it
Giggle, tease with it
His pen, his words

She sounded scary
It never lasted long
She kissed my cheek
And frolicked around
I loved stroking her fur
And playing tug-o-war
His dog, his heart

I feel all alone
Without him to hold
Missing his whispers
And gentle caresses
I hate that he’s gone
Perhaps never to return
Not his girl, not his love


another assignment for the poetry group im in.

Poetry Workshop: Picture Poetry

Forever Forgotten

I am Poppies in a field bleeding for those
Lost in battle long ago
Like an ancient tribe forever lost
Crying out to us
I am Mushroom clouds that cake the ground
With powdery flakes of ash
As The sun fades to a creeping
Shadow singeing flower petals
I am Pockets laced with ebony that
Drip with rainbow acid
Into the crimson river
Forever Forgotten...

Poetry Workshop: Love

My Love

I am a warm crackling fire on a cold winter's night.
I am hot chocolate with big puffy marshmallows
floating lazily in circles, the creamy mounds melting.
I am the sound of dead leaves crunching underfoot
on a blustery atumn day.
Warm,
fuzzy,
soft,
sweaters wrapped around me.
I am the color of a gleaming yellow flame
from a deep crimson candle.
I am a slow, lazy cat stretching and circling.
Stretching each inch of its body.

My Parents

I am the smell of tobacco and
perfumey deoderant close to my nose
I am a cinimon latte with
whip cream and sprinkles on top
I am a song for every
occassion and a trilling laughter
I am a crushing hug that
makes me cry, a giant boulder on my chest
I am the color of orangey
tomatoes in a big garden salad and
I move like the wind howling
over the flower pots outside my window

i wrote these at a poetry workshop/concert and read the first Love one for open mike :)

A Cold

burning chill, blowing breeze

cracking hands, coughing wheeze

howling wind, hardened freeze

tender nose, timid sneeze


this weeks topic was cold...

Love Lines

there is one that forms the curve of your chin

my cold nose rubs up under it

there is one, a circle, in the depths of your eyes

mine gaze longingly into yours

there is one that curls your lips, caressing smile

my cheeks warm under your stare

there is one that stretches out to your sturdy hands

i lace my fingers through yours, sighing

there is one that connects your heart infinitely to mine

i hold on tight, never letting go


so i joined this new writing website that is totally bomb and the first poetry topic was lines.

A Little Red Rose Dying

A little red rose dying hangs,
fastened to the curtain with an ordinary safety pin
and the dark red petals let life slip out into the suffocating air
and the stem is firm
with a tiny drop of blood protruding from where the pin pierced it through
and the limp leaves cover the bud like a light blanket in fall
and they gasp for breath before succumbing to exhaustion
and all color seems to drip invisibly from the rose like a painting shedding its hews.
The curtain vast and billowy like the ocean during a storm,
engulfs the window frame and the striped pattern tumbles down the wall,
it is a waterfall crashing abruptly into the floor
and it laps at the carpet with a thirst that cannot be quenched
and the rose dangles dangerously above on cliff tops
just waiting to fall should the safety pin fail
and the fibers of the carpet, like furry worms stand erect
and gnaw at the edge of the curtain, holding it securely in place
and in the deep recesses of the crimson cave the shadows touch,
fondling each other with wispy fingertips, appearing and disappearing
depending on how the light hits them
and the petals grip the stem to bestow one last kiss of life
and the young flower topples down, down, down
ripped from the pin
and the bud bounces softly, once on the sea of carpet
it is a feathery pillow softening the fall
but the blood of the rose forms a puddle beneath it
and it runs deep into the carpet, soaking it
and the petals are now a grey ash
they choke out the green of the stem and leaves,
with gritty sand, scratching at the throat
and the dust settles all dried out yet drinking greedily at the life slipping away
like grass slurping the morning dew after a draught
I see a ghost of the rosebud lying there
like smoke rising from a chimney
and the heat makes the trees dance, even when they are sad
and it blinds me and makes me see things behind foggy glass
but as I look into the pooling liquid
slowly seeping out of the little red rose dying
vacantly staring back at me,
I see my lover’s face

Dream Girl

The first time I heard “Truly, Madly, Deeply” by Savage Garden, I was in a barn and we were dancing. It was our first slow dance. I can’t remember if there were others there because it felt like it was just the two of us. The song, though somewhat cheesy, seemed to reflect all my feelings. When we were kids I never had thoughts like that but I guess everything had changed since the incident. I needed this. I needed him. In a way we were just the same as we had always been and I knew that some parts of us would never change. I guess it’s like the rides at six flags. They change, they get bigger and better, they get makeovers or new names, but you can always expect to see at least a few that are the same. Those special rides that no matter how many times they paint, they’re still just the same old fun rides you expect them to be.
He had been my best friend since… well I’m not exactly sure how long. I suppose the incident somehow skewed my sense of time, but all that matters concerning time is that we will always be together. He is tall with dark brown hair and lots of freckles and he has a way of tilting his chin up when he laughs that makes me laugh too. His name? Well I seem to have forgotten that. What is my name for that matter? Who really defines a person by a name anyway? A name is given at birth and means nothing of the inward character. A child is awarded a name before it can even learn to speak! A name in that sense is not truly earned and therefore is meaningless. If you must have an answer his name is Love, for he is the embodiment of it. Love, Comfort, Friendship, Loyalty, Strength, Humility…take your pick for he is all of these. Among his people he is overlooked. It so saddens me that I’ve devoted my existence to him for I am the only one of my kind. That I know of.
I wasn’t always so wispy and feathery. He tells me I once walked among them, but no matter, I prefer it this way. For I have his full attention and always will. When we dance, we dance with our hearts. When we sing, we sing with our souls. When we dream, we dream of the stars. Though I’ve not much use for their foods, and drinks, and homes, and schools, and workplaces, and all the things that they base their lives around, I love their music. That song resonated deep within me, reminding me, showing me glimpses of what I lost. Sometimes I miss those memories. Sometimes I sit and think about things like the rides at six flags that I never rode, the ice cream from Dairy Queen that I never tasted, and those sappy slushy movies I never watched. Then I think of his heart beating in my ear, his cool breathe tickling my neck, and his soft steady hands cradling my face.

Wolf-Pack Feast

Snow slides sleepily through the tall aspen trees
The flakes float down like a thousand silent bees
They gobble at the meat, causing it to freeze

Seven wolves gather ‘round the still, moose shape
Grasping and groping at its hair covered nape
The shadows, they cling like a giant black cape

My father, their snarls from deep in their throats
My mother, the warmth from their beautiful coats
My parents together, two gaunt ermine stoats

Feasting and fighting o’er every drop of blood
Taming themselves and refusing the mud
Deepening the ties to strengthen the flood

For their children they survive to teach them the ways
Of life, so they live till the end of their days
As best as they can, so their own they can raise

Grabbing a hold of life by its muzzle
Prettily tearing at heartstrings, a puzzle
Exposing the flesh where, her juices they guzzle

But I linger in tree tops above as I dose
Seeing the warm breath hiss out from its nose
My parents protect me from life’s evil woes

Apple

I am an apple

My tough exterior protects me
From hungry baby teeth
Who drop me in frustration
Bruised, my skin is smooth
In places and bumpy in others
Scars that riddle my face
Give me character, wisdom
I sit awkwardly on my frumpy
Less developed side because
I have still much to learn
Not perfect or beautiful
In any particular way but
Mostly content with
My light pink coloring that
Fades into a pale yellow
Though I often envy those
Whose deep red candy lips
Entice all passersby to taste them
My simple pattern is dotted with
White speckles of youthfulness
My fragrance is very sweet
But my surface is tasteless
It is impossible to know me
From just what you see

But on the inside

My flesh is pure white
Untouched by grubby hands
Though exposed to the open air
I’d soon turn a musty brown
Juicy blood trickling down
Or odious tears, beautifully sad
Shriveling up to hide myself
Green veins slither through to
My heart, a star, unique and whole
My secrets locked away within my soul
Sour tasting but sweet smelling
They accuse me of great deceit
But my aftertaste they’d like
If only they’d eat, initially simple
But truly complex am I

A Humble Thanks

I’m thankful for you, whom I found Thanksgiving Day last year
I peered into a trash can and surprised you squelched my fear
Of searching vainly for a shelter, by just scavenging about
It so seemed that just that morning, someone had thrown you out

Two ticks was all it really took for me to dig you up
The joyous hope I experienced quite overflowed my cup
Upon examination I found no fault with thee
Except perhaps a tiny hole beneath your right arm sleeve

Love at first sight could not describe the way that I had felt
As I wrapped you tightly ‘round me, where should have been a belt
Slipping into you I found warmth, the first time since a tot
I thank God for that person, who left you there to rot


i actually did start writing this in novemeber.... but i couldnt make it come together. after taking a couple...ok a lot lol of months to get my thoughts together i think it all worked out.

Come my Love

Come my Love; wrap yourself around me so that your smell lingers on
Come my Love; creep into my dreams and fill my senses even when I sleep
So many days I’ve longed for you, so many nights my heart has ached
I’m a wolf running ever on, stopping only to howl mournfully for you
Come my Love; let me snuggle close into your warm and protecting arms
Come my Love; do not shy from horrors and terrors but break through
Hand in hand we stride, heads held high toward the finish line together
Calling with the voice of the heart, all other sounds fade into the night
Come my Love; let me show you all you mean to me and then some
Come my Love; may my affection match yours, inseparable to the end

If I Could Play The Guitar

If I could play the guitar I’d write a song of you. There would be no lilting notes, no staccatos, or major keys. Only sadness and heartache would form the refrain.
If I could, I’d strum out a chorus for you. My tears would fall on the strings as they twanged out the tune in rhythm with the distant surf. Palm trees would sway in time and the sand would whip through the wind. No sun on the beach would warm, only clouds would shade the shore. If I could I would pour out my heart in a ballad meant only for you. The yearning, the longing, the hurting and hoping, would all find their way in my song. No words would be needed just sounds to portray these feelings inside. Oh, to rescue you from that pain. This string of notes is my rope to pull you up. Cling to it as I dig in my feet. Scraping, clawing, climbing out of the pit…I slap the wood as you fall back again. If I could I would pick out a lullaby to help you forget your woes. The darkening sky rocks back and forth. Back and forth back and forth… mournfully droning the song would continue until nothing was left to say.

The King with a Question : A children’s story

One day while a certain king was bathing in his castle a sudden question occurred to him. Why should one bathe? He thought and thought, but could not come up with a good reason. So he decided to go looking for an answer.

“Why should one bathe?” asked the king of a peasant passing the castle.
“To prevent disease.” said the peasant in reply.
The king then asked a maidservant “Why should one bathe?”
“So that one always smells sweet.” answered she.
Next he asked a priest, “Sir, why should one bathe?”
The priest said, “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”
He asked a Knight who answered, “So as not to offend the ladies.”
He asked a pig and the pig oinked back, “So the mud always feels fresh.”
The cat meowed, “To keep one’s coat shiny and smooth.”
The horse nickered, “So the master is proud.”
He also inquired of a dog, “Why should one bathe?”
The dog looked at the king as if he were crazy, “to keep the fleas off of course.” he barked. Stunned by the dog’s blunt reply the king ended his search for an answer. None of the answers given could satisfy him. With a sigh of defeat he slumped onto a stump. As he sat there he spied a puddle. In the puddle was a little sparrow, trilling and splashing. The king crouched near the puddle so as not to frighten the little bird and softly asked him what he was doing.
“I’m bathing.” chirped the sparrow.
“To prevent disease or smell sweet?” asked the king.
“No” was the reply.
“To be holy and not offend the ladies?” asked the king.
“No” trilled the bird.
“So the mud feels fresh, the bugs stay away, your feathers stay shiny and the master is proud?” asked the king.
“Of course not.” Squeaked the tiny bird as he splashed in the puddle.
“Then why?” pleaded the king.
“For sheer pleasure!” sang the sparrow as he soared up into the air, flicking droplets onto the king. The king smiled as he watched the little bird fly away. Yes that is a very good reason indeed.

Coffee Shop Musings

How shall I describe the way a graceful hand grasps a delicate pencil or how curving letters form beautiful words? Shall I tell of the smell that’s found in a book or the salty taste of tears gently kissed from a soft cheek?
A warm cup of coffee sits lazily, invitingly, with steam floating up. Dimmed lights warm treasured works of art hanging on the wall. Reds, browns…colored tapestries of splendor. Big band music wafts through the room.
Shall I tell of the horns and the saxophone? How they drone a lively tune…and the crooner, he cradles each note in his hands. His voice caresses the soul. What justice can words do feelings?
Sunlight streams through the windows. Wooden tables, leather sofas, floor lamps in colorful patterns…and the people as similar as they are different.
How shall I portray the people? Would you hear of their charming smiles and romancing airs? For to be in such a place as this, one must lead a romantic life…or at least some semblance of one.
Who can describe things only felt? The person who can capture a perfect moment in words should be honored as the wisest of men. The art of appreciating beauty is the highest of all achievements and best of talents to possess. For if one can see beauty, one can see the heart and therefore (I am convinced) the world. Find me the one who can describe a moment and I will show you a person to love. A dreamer perhaps…but a lover of life and for life to be sure.

Misère

Misery cloaks my shoulders
He is my second love
Holding me in his worn embrace
He fits me like a glove

I gather his gaunt form around me
His threadbare cloth is fine
Good enough for the likes of me
I’m glad to call him mine

His sickly aroma comforts me
His clammy flesh does too
I desire him above all lovers
Because I can’t have you

Rancid breath wafts o’er my neck
As he kisses me gently there
The passion that lights his fiery eyes
Leaves me with nothing to spare

As he inhales my fragrant perfume
Gnarled fingers coil my curls
He is drawing my innocence out
With the fasc’nations he unfurls

Horrors march ‘cross my line of vision
Enticing me to grab hold
His buttons hold me securely from safety
The hollowness turning cold

Without Love I have only Misery
I fall for him and crawl
Tis better to feel him surrounding me
Than not to feel at all



I LOVE MY HOMEWORK!!!!!

Teen Drama Queen

I’ve stood on the stage for my entire existence
The constant strain and proper persistence
Has not put an end to my hollow subsistence
Yet has strengthened the pull of my futile resistance

Proper and on display is how I’ve been always
I’d like to slink in the shadows and play there some days
The techies are ominous with their emotional ways
But they nod to me knowingly with a black hearted gaze

My father he told me I’m young and I’m twisted
For seeking that life, my cheek he then kissed it
My days I know are numbered and listed
But I can’t help but thinking it’s gone and I missed it

Freedom adventure and all that’s in between
I can’t even describe all the wonders I’ve seen
As I sing my solemn solo I am quite keen
To the fun I have missed as a teen drama queen


this was an asignment for skool so not neccesarily my personal thoughts...

For Us Both (Enough Love)

She shuts the door as the screaming
starts and we play like nothing is amiss.
I am terrified and I know she is too, but
we pretend that nothing
bothers us.
We pull the cereal box out from under the bed
for a snack.
We both know lunch won’t be forgotten today
since I am here. We munch on it anyway
to distract us from the ruckus
downstairs. She shows me the stick
she hid so that they can’t
hit her,
but they do it anyway.
The bruises on her back have almost healed.
I know there will be fresh ones soon.
Her mother adores me
and treats me well.
I’m not sure why.
I hate it when her mother yells at her and tells her
she should be more like me,
or when she gives me ice cream but not her daughter
because she isn’t perfect like me.
I am not perfect.
Why does she say these things to my friend?
When she is bad
or just forgets, I get her toys.
I don’t want them. She is sad
but I let her play with them
and share my toys when she
comes to my house. She stays with my family
a lot and she is happy.
I love her like a sister
though we don’t always get along.
I never, never, never
want it to be my fault. I tell her mother that it was my fault.
I get ice cream,
she gets bruises.
If I don’t take it her mother might yell at her more.
It makes me sick but I eat it.
Her tears fall and I want to go home. We walk
down the street.
Love is there.
Enough,
for us both.

a true story from when i was a little girl...