- Everyone knows who I am now and I don't like sharing my stuff
- Everything I write stays in my journal
- If I have anything else to share with you it'll be in journal jam or the slam poetry thing Nelson's holding
- We're all graduating so who cares
- I'm focused on finishing my online school so I can graduate so I don't have time to write
- 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
- 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
Monday, May 23, 2016
nothing else
I have nothing else to share because:
Sunday, May 22, 2016
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
Monday, May 16, 2016
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.
Sunday, April 10, 2016
Sunday, March 27, 2016
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
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 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
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
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
Sunday, March 20, 2016
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
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
Sunday, March 13, 2016
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
Sunday, March 6, 2016
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:
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.
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.
Sunday, February 28, 2016
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
Saturday, February 27, 2016
adronitis
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
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
Sunday, February 21, 2016
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
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
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Sunday, February 7, 2016
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
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
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
Thursday, January 21, 2016
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
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