nothing else

I have nothing else to share because:

1. Everyone knows who I am now and I don't like sharing my stuff 
2. Everything I write stays in my journal 
3. If I have anything else to share with you it'll be in journal jam or the slam poetry thing Nelson's holding
4. We're all graduating so who cares
5. I'm focused on finishing my online school so I can graduate so I don't have time to write
6. I wrote one more poem I was willing to share but it's on my notes on my phone that is currently being fixed so I can't retrieve it 
7. I'm probably going to delete the last 4 posts after I get credit because I posted them for credited and I don't want them to be my last anything else

super girl and robin

We met before our brains were capable of storing their first memories

Forced to be friends because our parents were best friends

Over tim tams and table forts we followed their footsteps and my first memory developed of you was "he's my best friend"

By the time it was my 12th birthday you weren't there because we became consumed in our separate worlds  and those days spent jumping fences play pretending super girl and robin were left swinging on tires

He moved

I stayed

4 years later

I moved

He stayed 

and we were forced  once again against our senior year lives to be reunited with "that kid you had play dates with"

We were grateful for our parents authority because when I saw you I saw that wild kid I could run in the mud with because he was my best friend that didn't care about cudies and when you smiled I saw that smile you got after you finished a tub of ice cream and those afternoons spent with tim tams, table forts, fence jumping, and tire swings surfaced the memory and we were super girl and robin again

But then you moved

And I stayed

And I was left with the watch we stole from that secret tree of wristwatches hanging off the branches we found 

I still listen to the ticking seconds counting down to the day super girl and robin can finally just stay

blue pen writing

I've been struggling to organize my thoughts into blog worthy words and everything I write on that massive notes list I keep on my phone doesn't make it past the first draft so here's something straight out of the journal.

simple as this

https://youtu.be/j4wW2_ZLxtw

journal entry #18

I turned 18 yesterday
I had to fill out a waiver without my parents permission and read a nonfiction instead of fiction
I can already feel my childhood wrapped in piano strings so entangled that I can't play anymore

I nearly kissed the boy I like because it was my birthday
because I wanted him to be my first kiss as an adult
but I didn't
I didn't because I didn't want him to kiss me just because it was my birthday and it was birthday tap
or maybe I didn't because I don't live up to the 18 type and still get nervous when it comes to kissing boys

My dad called me because I guess he felt obligated
because I guess he saw Facebook announce it was my birthday
he didn't say much

just hi

just happy birthday

just bye

My step dad came around
he said happy birthday and then argued with my mother
ass hole

It was mediocre at best in the morning
and then you picked me up in benjamin
that $500 piece of shit that isn't a piece of shit because you drive it
because that car is a 4 but a 6 with you in it
and became an 8 when you let me drive it
and a 9 1/2 when you held my hand
but not a 10 because nothing is ever a 10
you passed my birthday into the top 5

My college letter conveniently came on my birthday
telling me I'm 18 and it's time for the decisions in life that will dictate your life

I heard 18 too many times yesterday

I usually write eloquent metaphorical poems that avoid the use of profanity
but today I'm 18
and 2 days ago when I was 17 I would've written about wins and losses like Nelson asked in my typical style of writing
but today I'm 18
and today I'm writing that poem I should've written 3 weeks ago that was supposed to be #different
because today I'm 18 and today I'm writing whatever the hell I want even though I know the boy I wrote about up there will probably read this and it will be either a win or a loss

I wrote 18 too many times today

This poem is a mess and out of order
but one of the goals I wrote in my journal was to keep my writing messy and neat simultaneously
and I've been doing too much of the neat lately
so this is the mess I owe to the neat

I just texted my friend saying I wrote a poem but I dunno if I should post it
am I really 18

phobia you

you were supposed to be something more
more than a biological related, 23 chromosomes, thicker than blood something

you missed my piano recitals and dance concerts to cloak your lungs with smoke and drown out your father image in alcohol

you never taught me how to clean stains off my shirt or tie my shoes
so I walk around in dirty clothes and loose laces

you were meant to help me with homework, or write a note and teach me how to play ball
I got c's in 7th grade and footballs are planted on the ground

you weren't an overprotective type of dad, you weren't any type of protective
and the nights I regret you let happen because you laid down one brick and gave up on the wall

in your dictionary being a father must be defined as becoming a stranger to your own child
because all i'm left with is a bruised mind and fleeting memories

you say the disease dictates your decisions and that's why you don't do dad very well
the disease didn't trigger until I was 15
and those 15 years you had no ammo
so what's your excuse for shooting at age 2

I got my adrenaline junky gene from you, so I thank you for all those fears I don't have
but you left me with one fear that poisons my brain with paranoia

becoming like you

french toast & marshmallow clouds

This week my days were titled A and B

Mornings were raisin toast and face painting

Machines controlled my movement from 7-9pm: 3 days muscular, 5 days cardio, 7 days of checking the mirror for that unrealistic distorted sort of improvement created by the robots who made those machines

I typed the letters I thought I saw and got it wrong

I read the same page 3 times no 4 because the words were only words the first 3 times

But by the 4th

The 4th was when the words turned into sounds and colors

And by the 4th time refreshing the page, I got the letters right

And I ate french toast this morning instead of raisin

And I forgot to wear makeup

And at 7:30 I pressed the red button and went outside

I looked at myself instead of the reflection my mind, not not my mind, my wannabe, that girl, it girl, 200+ likes girl mind sees

I skipped school today to replace white boards and blue markers with blue skies and marshmallow clouds

And next week my days will be titled french toast and marshmallow clouds instead of A and B

apologies to Nelson

The left brainers who spend their lives trying to stand out amongst 7 billion people just to satisfy the minds searching for difference:

they're fools.

Because they all in the end become the same
that in the end difference is the same.

There's always going to be that somebody who "stole" that line you said you thought of first, but they beat you to the fame.

Somebody that played the same tune,
cooked the same recipe,
designed the same dress,
captured the same picture,
painted the same landscape,
directed the same film,
wrote the same poem, book, screenplay,
and somehow became a "somebody" and left you just as a "someone".

Being different is not really about being different;
it's all just about who did it better for the mainstreamers.

So when you asked me to be different Nelson, it gave me anxiety
because there were so many drafts I could've posted and probably should've to avoid the disappointment of not being different enough for the judgement of one teacher,
but I deleted them because they've all been done before and to me it was plagiarism.

And all those great musicians, chefs, designers, photographers, artists, directors, and writers became somebodies because they said shot gun fast enough and left the rest of us someones as backseat drivers stealing the directions.

So sorry Nelson, but being different is extinct
and I left my creativity in the backseat.

i never liked crayons

I never liked crayons

I chose pens and pencils

I never drew outside of the lines

I was confined by the lines

I stuck to drawing on papers

I never left my fingerprint on the wall

I wore tights and danced with my hair in a bun

Instead of dancing with my hair out

I spent hours learning keys and theories

Instead of just listening to the music

I cared too much about A's 

Instead of just not giving a damn before it really mattered

I always said my please's and thank you's

I never spoke past my please's and thank you's

I only ever wrote essays

I hated writing

Now that I put the pens and pencils down

Drew past the lines

Painted my bedroom wall

Hung up the ballet shoes 

Put away the sheet music 

Submitted my college transcripts

Forgot to be polite

And enrolled in creative writing

I think I like crayons now

adronitis

Let's skip past how you've been, where you're from, what you do

Let's dive heart first with the head following

and leave our hearts in the deep end

because there's comfort at the bottom of the swimming pool

Let's get to know the organs before the skin

so our heartbeats are in sync 

and our lungs share their own oxygen

Let's create a playlist of our minds

and listen to shuffled thoughts on replay
 until the sound is memorized

Let's sneak out at 2am

because with the silence of traffic comes the loudness of words

Let's say goodbye to hellos and hello to familiarity

because I have a diagnosis of adronitis 

and only you can cure it

not a wall

i am a brick waiting to be cemented into a wall

a wall that on its own is a wall 

but with perspective is a canvas 

a wall sprayed with paint and powdered with chalk

with the purpose to not look like a wall

with copied and pasted words speaking sounds 

that vibrate through the bricks to be heard 

bricks that on its own is just a brick

but with perspective is the easel of the canvas

the canvas awaiting the brush of colors, sounds, and words

to stand out amongst the walls of walls

of bricks

i am one brick

that wants just a stroke

a letter

a line

to become apart of the whole that makes that wall

                              not a wall

i can't write about love,

because love is in its youth and too young to be written about.

cute girl

A boy said to me I couldn't be told a trial he was going through because I was a cute girl

Just a cute girl

As if being a cute girl means to impress me you have to suppress anything deep

As if being a cute girl prohibits my ability to be deeper than cute

As if being a cute girl means if I speak past cute I must be emotional damage

As if being a cute girl means I can't be competitive because that's too aggressive

As if being a cute girl means if I don't distort my face with makeup I look tired and sick, and if i do I'm lying about my appearance 

As if being a cute girl means if I snort and cackle instead of closed mouth laughs then I am no longer a cute girl

As if being a cute girl means if I voice my opinion then I must be one of those feminists and no boy likes a feminist

As if being a cute girl means I can only earn a salary of 5 digits because any amount over 6 digits degrades the male to feeling unworthy of being the "man of the house"

As if being a girl means I can only earn 79 cents for every dollar a male makes

As if being a girl means in lesser developed countries I am reduced to breath air and pump blood for two reasons: to please the man and bear children, preferably boys

As if being a girl means in the more developed countries women's rights were passed a mere 97 years ago out of the 200,000 years humans have been recorded to exist

As if being a girl means 97 years later there is still a silent segregation between sexes

As if being a girl means in Utah if I wear a bikini, dresses mid thigh, and swear then I'm a hoe and no righteous mormon boy would marry a hoe

I'm not a feminist who is going to flash everyone because nudity doesn't represent any relevance to the imperative issues of gender equality

But the fact that humans have existed on this planet for 200,000 years and we're still not perceived as equals is an injustice that has been overlooked by the men who see us just as cute girls

Or maybe he was just calling me cute

But what do I know, I'm just a cute girl

your tag

I found a hat the other day

Not one that was stiff and ordinary with conformity

But one that rejected symmetry with the remnants of wear

One saturated  with the stench of uniqueness

With scuffs and stains and picked loose threads

Much like the scuffs and stains and picked loose threads of mine

But similarities only accentuate the differences

And so the decayed hat intrigued me

The deterioration exuded a history I endeavored to devour

And so I followed the tag to you

And that hat I found the other day

The hat that was just a fraction of your closet

Became a fraction of all I love about you

behind scenes

I am the face of the 60s

at least I was

time is a luxury you can't afford

with the expense of beauty

and those only recognized for there skin

are left frozen in their prime

only to be remembered as a face

a face invincible to aging

and yet here I sit

a shriveled relict

I was not unfamiliar to fluorescent lights

and the weight of powder smearing my face

all just to create the essence of an angelic character on screen

a screen which projected me to a pack of wolves

prowling to devour my youth and beauty

every pack has an alpha

an alpha who boxed me too young

for me to even realize who i was

the alpha who concealed my apprehension of fame to its pack

all buried underneath the surface of my own image

I was howled at to endure manikins pecking at my flesh and bone

all just to transform my personage from the core to the skin

into an idealistic perception of perfectionism

and only to be placed in black and white paper walls with black and white paper people

for the feast of the wolves

under their alpha

my mother

I am her golden daughter amongst the black and white

Tuesday Weld.