7th period

Allen, did you know you were such a spastic friend? I liked you because of your humor. I remember seeing your pale face walking down the halls every morning, a slight red tinge to your cheeks that always made you look younger than you were. Your pale skin always looked so perfect, sometimes I wondered if you’d start to sparkle and we’d all realize you were Edward Cullen all along.

But your face, it was never too happy. You looked at the world through distant eyes and I often wondered where you went to.

“Allen pay attention” the teacher would scold,
but you never seemed to care.

You weren’t like the rest of us, we liked to goof off, but at the end we all worked frantically, believing their lies about the impending doom of our future if we didn’t leave High School with a college knowing our name.

It’s funny, our society, the way we herd our people through these one way track schools, making drones and pumping them into the world.
Then we berate them for not looking past their small mindedness and not grabbing opportunity by the horns.

I didn’t know what was out there to be grabbed, but I wanted so bad to break away from the monotony, away from the requirements and create my own world.
I think you did too, Allen. I think your faraway look saw all the things I only dreamed of. There was a plan in that quiet head of yours, and I was determined to find it.

I finally managed to do so, I chose the seat at your science table. We both needed lab partners and High School was an unforgiving place for the socially awkward.

Your blue eye’s turned to me that day,
“Hi.” you murmured politely.

I smiled, I couldn’t help it. It was often annoying how easy it was for me to do, yet so hard to pull one from you. Your cheeks, forever red, something I always covered up on my own face but found so endearing on you.

Not gonna lie, you were lazy, oh so lazy and I wanted to kill you. Force you to care about my grade in the class, but it was never going to happen while you were too busy idly bopping your head to a beat somewhere in your mind.
You looked ridiculous, but you never cared. I watched you, wondering what it was you heard, you’d catch me staring and make me feel like an idiot.

Gradually you accepted me, distant eyes began to focus and they turned to me, crinkling in happiness.
It made everything seem so bright, when your blue eyes stopped looking past me.
I am loathe to admit it, but I didn’t have any friends Allen and I don’t think you ever realized how hard those days at school were for me.
You never saw the way they treated me, or the tears I wiped away when I was alone in the bathroom.  Everything hurt and I never understood why I never had a place with someone. Why didn’t anyone want me?

Laughter always filled the halls where I sat, invisible to the world, my pen moving along worn lines.

I wrote to have a purpose, to seem I had friends, mostly I wrote to pretend it didn’t phase me.
I was the angsty artist type, being alone didn’t phase us, or did it?

Every night I went home to the place I hated. No one greeted me with a smile, or asked me how my day was. It was an empty house, but it wasn’t the quiet I was afraid of.


It was when he would get home that I wanted to die.
My mom cooked dinner like every mom does and she wasted her time telling me I’d be a lot prettier if I didn’t wear my makeup so dark.
She never asked me what was in my notebook and I even remember reading her a poem one time.
She blinked a few times,

“You didn’t write that.” Was all she could say.


I did write that mom, I wrote it with every fiber of my soul. I worked so hard on it and I felt so proud and I wanted so badly for you to turn to me and tell me you liked it.
But life is never like the fairy tales, Allen. Happy endings are easy to write and impossible to live.
No one believed in me Allen, can you blame me for not believing either?  

I had told myself, if my mother had liked it, I was going to show you, take the plunge and see your reaction, jump across the precipice to your waiting refuge. But I lost my nerve.

I showered and prepared myself for the next day, waiting in dread for the witching hour.
You know, that hour of night little kids are afraid the monsters under their bed will get them?

Unfortunately the monster wasn’t under my bed, he walked through the door, and pulling a blanket over my head would never save me.

Even after a lifetime of his comings and goings, the fear always overwhelmed me when I heard his hand on the door knob.
My breathing would come in great gasps and I cried. I begged the angels, the God in Heaven even the demons to help me. I would give anything to make it go away.
The sound of his loathsome breathing, the way he sat down next to me and slowly unzipped his pants.

I wanted to stab my ears out every time I heard it. I wanted to rip the heart from his chest, but I was always frozen with fear.
He bruised my body and I couldn’t make a single sound.
I was so conditioned and I hated myself for it. More than I hated him, I hated me, my skin, every shameful part of my being.
Sometimes I cut myself, trying to bleed away the filth. I never went too far, reminding myself that 7th period tomorrow, your face would turn to mine and smile.


You were silly that day, walking in with that bob-in -your-step. You always greeted me so enthusiastically, my heart always exploded with love, the kind of love I always imagined family was supposed to have.

Did you know how dear you were to me? Did you know  that hour of my life was holding me together in those days?
I held the poem in my hand, and brought it out, mistakenly I forgot about the bruises on my wrists, the imprints of his cruel fingers.

Your eyes ignored the paper I was handing to you and you snatched my hand, pulling it near your face to examine the damage.
Your smile fell and my heart dropped. You weren’t supposed to see, I never wanted it to be your burden, but I saw how it weighed on you in that moment, how your ignorance faded away and you saw more of me than I wanted to share.
I yanked my hand away defensively and stared firmly at the table.
Crying in class was a sure way to make things worse, so I bit my tongue, repeating over and over in my head;

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

I don’t blame you for not knowing what to say or feeling any of the things that would have moved over you.

You had a future, a beautiful place you saw and worked towards, but Allen, I couldn’t follow you there…


I dreamed, as a writer all I do is dream. I dreamed us going to college, getting our stupid degrees, hanging out on weekends at your dorm while you worked on the music you so loved.
I know you’d love nothing more than to run away and make your music, but you’re the logical sort and always did the things that needed to be done.

So we’d complain about Philosophy 101 and how they choose all the typical books and how everyone in the class was brain dead.
I would be in that creative writing class, and I’d write my way to freedom. I’d create a beautiful world where our friendship would never end. I’d be happy, truly happy.
You’d go to frat parties and sleep with girls, some you’d love, some you’d regret and I’d listen about all of them. I’d laugh at you and remind you how easy it was to get STD’s and buy you condoms because I didn’t wanna be telling your mom you knocked a girl up.

The thought of it made me laugh, but the darkness would never go away, Allen.


In college I would be free, but that would be a lie. His footsteps would no longer haunt my door, but they returned in my dreams, and I never stopped feeling his touch.

There would come a day, you would ask; why don’t I date?
You’d give me the ‘talk’ the awkward talk, the one your girlfriend tells you to have, because 3 is a crowd and girls don’t share.
I’d love you Allen, but she would never see that, she would just see a girl trying to steal her boyfriend.
You would tell me I needed other people, I needed to date and do things for me, so you could stop worrying about me.
I’d try, of course for you, I’d go away and find someone. It’s not hard, college boys just want to pick up chicks and when you’re known as the frigid chick it becomes a kind of challenge to be the ‘first.’

I’d lie through my teeth, walk hand in hand with the shallow boy I hated, let you see me smiling, but it wouldn’t bring you back.
Alone in the dark, that boy would be touching my body, doing all the things people like, all the things you thought I wanted.
His hands trailing over my abdomen, sliding off my pants, kissing my neck.

The fear I feel makes me rigid. I want to scream, I hate his hands, and his kisses make me want to vomit. I can’t kiss him back, but he doesn’t care.
Every part of him is no different than my step dad, but I’m supposed to like this and I don’t know how. How can this ever be fun, I want to say no, but I don’t know how.
He doesn’t ask me what I’m feeling, his body going in the direction it wants, mine crying out beneath him.
He enters me, like I had been entered so many times before, against my will.
Thrusting his way, believing he was the first, spilling over inside of me, so much pleasure consuming him.

It’s a pleasure I hate, a pleasure I never want to feel, Allen.

But I can’t avoid it. I’ll never be normal and soon 7th period will fade away and I won’t be able to follow you, Allen. The darkness within me consumes all that is good. Maybe if I had never loved you I would have made it, if I had never known hope or seen the glimmer of beauty I always found in those blue eyes.
If I hadn’t loved your cheeks so much, and thought about your dreams, if I had ignored you like I did everyone else, maybe I’d keep trying.

But that stupid, fateful day I lept after you, sitting beside you in science was the only happiness I had ever known.

You are my best friend, I realized this while looking at the stupid instagram posts all our peers posted under #nationalbestfriendday

I don’t think you know, how desperately I wanted us to be like them. To post a silly picture of us, laughing, your red cheeks upturned, looking at me. I’d tell you how you’re too good for the world, and how that dreaming heart of yours was going to make it, because your head was so good at doing the work Even that your music played through my head each night, and though monsters came to find me, it was my safe haven, giving me a glimmer of peace in my nightmare.

But you saw my wrist that best friend day and I saw how much it hurt you, Allen, and so I purposed in my heart to give you the only gift I could.
I needed to go away, I needed to save your future from my grasp.
I couldn’t imagine it, living without you.
The loneliness was too much to bear after knowing you, but I didn’t want to die, Allen.

I wanted to soar with the stars and live my life in my daydreams, in that space in my head, the only safe space I have ever known.

In that place we get to live out our dreams, hand in hand, posting a lifetime of national best friend hastags.
I know to you it probably seems so terrible, but please know it’s not.

Laying on this bed, my brain gone from this world, my body forever strapped to a machine, never to be touched by him again.
I’ll lie here, dreaming of us.

I’ll never come back to 7th period, and you’ll never hear my voice utter how sorry I am, my steps will be erased from those halls and you’ll have to find a new science partner.
But I’m still here, and I’ll be cheering you on as all your dreams come true.

Allen, it was better to have known you and given up than to never had met you and continued on in a life that had no meaning.
Maybe one day you’ll come and find me and tell me how awesome this life was.

KISS AND RIDE

Within the blaze

Higher love, such a thing could never be
regardless of gain, that someone could love me.
I searched and thought I found
but all that’s left, deadening sound.

Of those steps that trailed away,
of those words I couldn’t say.
A higher love burned so bright,
as it guided me through the night.

And now what’s left, fire a blaze
left behind in the maze,
this darkness, my blanket haze.
Your higher love, I believe be true,
but that higher love has made me unglued.

As I watch you go,
and depart my soul
leaving me behind
to pay the toll.

A higher love I could not regret,
but this higher love I can’t forget
because a higher love did make me see,
but this  higher love has abandoned me.

SR

Make your value, don’t let them dictate it

Being a writer can be a discouraging gig. Very few of us actually make a decent living from our craft and we spend an inordinate amount of time receiving criticism for hours upon hours of content creation, from people, who have probably never imagined anything and put it to paper.

It is a huge accomplishment to take an idea from that little place in our brains and make it realized on our pages, creating something cohesive and exciting.

So much thought, so much passion, so many brain melting hours on plot, and fixing sentences, so carelessly thrown aside by someone who probably doesn’t appreciate the craft and is in search for something easily marketable.

Through it, we keep on trying, we keep creating, keep entering those contests and continue to keep our work relevant in this world that wants everything given to them in a picture.

Don’t be dismayed, literature will always be a corner stone in all societies, never let them convince you otherwise. Take criticism with a grain of salt and appreciate YOUR hard work. It;s yours and it doesn’t need to live up to someone else’s.

Today I am trying my hand at screen writing, something so foreign to me but I want to try so why not?

make today productive, don’t let the negative get you down, keep writing, one day you will see the appreciation you deserve.

short and (not) sweet

Through 28 years of life I have met people I wish I hadn’t. Although, sometimes I think going through those experiences helps me to appreciate the relationship I have now.

Sometimes my poems are a short thought. even though I always feel like they’re not enough, I think this one gets it’s point across.


Untitled

More pain than joy,

searching for a prince,

loving that boy.

realizing I’m nothing more than a toy,

but these feelings only serve to annoy

because as a child all I can do is destroy.

Still waitin

I’d ask how you are,
but there’d be no truth.
I’d ask if you’re okay,
but you’d never answer.

I’d stop you in the street,
but your feet would keep on walking.
Sit at your table,
laugh with you over coffee.

I’d tell you the things I should have said,
I’m sorry you’re a good friend,
just the way you are,
As I sit, watching you from afar.

But you kept on walking,
and I kept on hoping,
you’d look back,
and see me waiting.

Am I a fool for waiting?

Write, without stopping!

A wise person said to me recently, everything you write does not need to be a masterpiece.
I think as writers, we never want to produce or share things that are less than perfect. This makes it hard for me to post as often as I’d like to, because writing amazing things takes so much time and effort.
We also forget, a masterpiece to us is not always received as such to our audience. My most beloved poems, are the least looked at.
To the people I wrote them to, they are cherished, but sometimes without that context it’s hard to relate to a very emotional poem, because it doesn’t leave a lot of room for someone else to insert their own story.

So today it’s share a poem you don’t like day! Let’s see how our ‘bad’ poems become something more to someone else.
And, if anything, realize that everything we produce is getting us closer to being skilled in this art!

Unsatisfied
The yoyo effect takes root
in my life,
as things get better,
to bounce back into strife.

Purpose seems imminent,
but crippling feelings;
that say you’re insufficient
begin to return,
my life, no one’s concern.

I see your face,
as it fades away
the melody of your love,
a lingering sway.

As my heart falls to pieces
imagining someday, oneday
lingering kisses
in place of your dismisses.

A love lost is better than regret
I can never be sorry
that for you, I lept.

You said you didn’t know love,
but its fear that keeps you from

hearing my words,
seeing my face,
letting us merge,
keeping pace.

Lingering thoughts
live within
the endless nightmare
of my greatest sin
a battle, never to win.

Maybe a day
a day will be
on that day, you will see
see how much of my life can’t be
without you standing next to me.

Trying, everyday

Daily blogging is like poetry, you require something to write about.
Sometimes I am lacking, alright, a majority of the time I am lacking.
I’d say I am pretty undisciplined in my craft and have a tendency to float around until ultimate inspiration hits me.

Sometimes I feel like I’m addicted to the genre of my poetry, which to me feels very painful.
I mostly write the hard things, the painful things, the things I want to make people cry with and it honestly sucks a lot out of me.

Sometimes I get so consumed with those feelings, always chasing that ability to feel them and find them.
For whatever reason in the last year I have experienced a lot of pain in the friendships in my life. It’s been hard and lonely and I found myself writing endlessly about it.

I’d really just like to know what’s on the other side of dark poetry. Leave my dark cloud and be able to move my soul for something lighter and convey it to the world in a meaningful way.

So here’s my attempt, which was written before my terrible friend decided to stomp all over me.



Friendship’s Wilderness
There is a love
that I would describe
one so needed
I can’t set aside

The world so dark
I couldn’t see
until your star
did shine for me

A strange new land
you led me to
face to face
not sure what to do

A fearful hand
I would describe
brought me a joy
that won’t seem to hide

Into the wilderness
my brand new friend
weaving our way ’till these hearts do mend
forever sure
I will defend
because you gave me
the strength to try again