rude awakenings

long ago it must be, I have a photograph preserve your memories, they're all that's left. Been thinking a lot about that next step. About finding a place to call a home of my own. To be able to fall asleep only saying goodnight and not goodbye. Our one year is coming up soon. Two weeks away. It's been an incredible year, and I've grown substantially in these past 12 months. But I'm still that shy little girl, timid and afraid. I have my anxieties, my fears. I know he's mine as much as I'm entitled to him, and I am his as much as he is willing to have me. But the smallest of things sends tears down my cheeks, and I often don't know why. I suppose, having so much of my heart on the line, if something were to cut that line, a large percentage of myself would be gone forever, fallen to the bottom of the lake. But it's not even that. It's that I think I've found the right one. the right key to unlock me. Every day spent by his side he opens anoth

I had this dream. infact I've had many dreams like it. There is always water. Usually a lake, surrounded by forested hills. Similar to a lake in the Shushwap. But smaller, and the water is always warm. I usually find myself swimming in this lake. Last night I swam out, and it appeared to be peter hope lake. I was swimming with a guy that I had feelings for. Not scott, yet he seemed to turn into scott later. We were swimming, frolicking, having fun, then something changed. We had to get out right away. We swam extremely fast across the lake and got out and found ourselves at a dirt road leading up from the shore. We followed it and it took us to a hotel that overlooked the lake. It was packed, with all my friends and some odd movie characters. Erin had befriended the leader of the mean girls, and they were all sitting pompously in the hall. I can't remember what happened, but I'd lost scott, and I was extremely angry at that mean girl. I lashed out at her, grabbing her and s

I am learning how to cook. I am learning how to forget I am learning how to dance I am learning how to cut hair I am learning how to write I am learning how to work I am learning how to love I am learning how to live I am learning how to photograph I am learning how to draw I am learning how to theorize I am learning how to be assertive I am learning how to make friends I am learning how to regret nothing I am learning how to knit I am learning how to listen I am learning how to be receptive I am learning how to learn

I looked back at blog entries, and even though the subject matter was less than pleasant to be reminded of, it was still good, I'm glad I have written reminders so I have points of reference to gauge my growth. And I've come far. I often feel like I've had three stages in my life. The first was with Brent, and though I was a newborn in love's eyes, I soon grew to an extremely old age. My heart was always cracked and my spirit became dulled. I became clogged with darkness, became tired and dragged myself through the days. But I never stopped. I stubbornly sacrificed myself each day for someone whom I thought it was going to help. I was wrong. The first day of my second stage was the day I stopped caring about him and finally focused on myself. I was free, and I was drunk with it. Too drunk. I dove into something that made me happy, too quick. I soon realized there were other ways to get hurt. this stage wasn't that defining, though I began to learn to take things as

lightning strikes as the tides swell. engulfing the tower in a plague of uncertainty. she bears down upon the querent in the outcome position, betraying no insight. The night is dark, the only illumination from sporadic lightening licking the tower with impending disaster.

last night I had a most amazing theory (or a few) come fully formed into my mind. The meaning of life, in scientist terms, is to reproduce. And despite the cold clinical feel to it, it's true. Why else would sex feel so good? why, after wards, do we feel inexplicably attached to our partner? The climax, the orgasm, is an incredible amount of sexual energy, but energy none the less. It's the activation energy needed in creating life. That energy fuels the sperm and the egg to join, and that energy of the two parts is manifested in the newly formed being, and helps drive cellular division and growth. The child feeds of the raw emotion felt between the mother and father at the moment of conception. This energy, this emotion, is alive in each cell of the new creature, and becomes their soul. It is the spiritual energetic side to the physical life. Unable to be separated from each other because they're fused down to the microscopic level. The formation of new life is something w

Sometimes, when I hear your poetry, I don't hear the words. I just listen to the rhythm of your speech. Like waves upon a beach I let them wash over me. Not getting me wet because I forget each word the moment you've spoken it. Yet you've awoken me with the strength in your voice. If I had a choice I would play in your waves for days. watching your tone pull my tides closer to your shore And I'd explore the forests you've created with your rhymes following your heartbeat, keeping time. Let me be carried with your flow. I don't need to know what you're saying just let me keep playing with the sounds of your machine-gun-mouth firing rounds, like an attentive warrior on the battle grounds where words meet ears. let the rhythm still ring through me when the silence reappears Though I won't remember the words, an image remains like ink blurred by rain. Your poetry leaves an intricate design painted in my mind. though I won't remember the words, I remember

The sheets he wore as his toga were the sheets on which I'd lain by his side all those Wednesday mornings all those months ago. A secret understanding only me and him knew. The softness hadn't changed, and it brought it all tumbling back. All those mornings where we hung like statues in the dark. I don't miss it. I don't regret it. I only wish we'd had more courage to acknowledge what was there for what it was, without trepidation. But life lept on, we both found the people we were looking for. We were an intermediary stage. Caught in lifeless limbo and then cut off with a sleek blade the day he left. Clean cut that left no rough edges that couldn't be softened by the passing time and the finding of true love not two months later. It's all over now, baby blue.

The lights are much brighter there You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares and go Downtown, things'll be great when you're Downtown, no finer place for sure, Downtown, everything's waiting for you I thought I saw the moon but it was just an empty penthouse suite, an eye wedged into the form of a silent sentinel, cloaked in the dark. An out of service train slides by, a slain serpent dragged through the streets to be ridiculed. Gutted matchbooks lay ravaged , sprawled in stagnant dissaray. Police siren rips night's skin, painting it's path in red and blue as it screams down the street and around the corner. Empty store fronts stare out with Moloch's thousand blind windows. And people walk on, hollow chambers of shuffling feet and dead eyes. I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn.

you're mean. you're selfish. yes you are you're selfish. you cant think about anyone but yourself. thats why we should get a divorce. inconsolable differences. you're not cut out, you're not cut out to do a man's job. and then she laughs, after he's retreated with his tail beneath his legs, at a tv show. As if she had no remorse for the heart she'd just cracked yet again.

You dont realize how much I need you. Sometimes neither do I. Not until I'm left swaying in the shockwaves left by the closing of your door, and the silence and the loneliness consume me, devour me in greed as I crumble. You hit each one of my fault lines with that one vibration, the hum of your voice speaking those two syllables. Opening the road to destruction, my shelter caved and became my tomb. A safe place only for that which has died.

I've been waiting half my life away

We are all pebbles. When we are born we are thrust into the air by the hand of fate, landing where we may into an ocean of time. We all create ripples, and they all fade with time. And on the journey to the bottom we may encounter other stones, just passing by at different angles or at paths similar to ours. They become lovers, friends, or just acquaintances on our journey to the depths. You'd think that life ends when we hit the bottom. But life ends only when our rise of mud settles around us, when all the stones you passed have also been covered up by the sludge the bottom offers us and by other pebbles who fall upon us, after us.

empty. That's how my inspirational drives feel. Nothing is ever completely empty. Only filled with something other than what we want. We rarely realize that we are surrounded, because we cannot see the air surrounding us.

Your body heat and my body heat together makes me melt. And as my edges soften they cling to yours, melding to your curves pooling in your depressions. Until there is no going back; there is no separating me, warm pools of melted chocolate, from you. the lines of definition have blurred There is no more you or me there is only us. Two solids turned homogeneous liquid Through the slow heat of an embrace we fall into each other. Marbled White swirls through the rich brown, until only faint traces mark their existence as two seperate beings, a past life.

The kitchen lights hung red it and glowing, as if I sat in the glare of two taillights, always reminding me of what was receding. The cars where tired lovers leave you perched on the empty front steps steeped in the red light of a departure, until they turn a corner and the swollen dark consumes you. And you turn keys into ever blacker halls that blind you, until you flick on the red glowing lights and sit. Silence crawls through me and settles in my mind as I bathe in the glow of the burning goodbye that burns me to ash when the light fades. And I sit. No matter how bright the day had been, the nights are always dark, no light from your sun to guide me; only a sliver of moon peeking out from behind the solid distance between us. In the hum of the taillights I can still hear your laughter. Like liquor dancing through my veins, like wildflowers, wildfires, live wires. Infecting me with the electricity of the sound, scraping mortar into the cracks where I broke down under the impossible

the sounds: the hum and groan of the tired laptop, the obedient ticking of the mounted clock above the muted television, and the desperate silent begging of the two goldfish in the large glass bowl on the cluttered table; making trickling noises as they open and close their mouths on the surface of their water though there is nothing there to eat, anymore. The smells: stale sweat from the old teeshirt hanging limply on my frame, the traces of yet another left over dinner, old vegetable soup. A bouquet of night sented stock attempting feebly to elbow its way to the front of the crowd, but I only catch a glimpse of her sweet and soothing perfume. The sights: An empty kitchen at night time. orange peels litter the counter by the sink, two pots of soup sit on a dirty stove, the ladles resting on their rims. dirty cups and slowly rotting fruit sit on the cutting board, a fruit fly their only company. Four cupboard doors open, my mother's pet peeve. (Good thing she isn't here.) The

Lets make love. Let's make the dark night shine let's make bliss and happiness, and I will make you mine. Turn our scabbed hearts into rubies; our tears into diamond skies. burn our fears to embers and watch the ashes rise. We'll complete the circle, fill in all the cracks with our heads held high, never looking back.

The sun had set and a golden haze hung in the air, as if each airborne particle of dust and pollen was illuminated with the summer sun while the ground I walked on was bathed in shadow. The sky was still a persistent blue, streaked with a large swath of watercolour pink and the air was thick with the scents from various white flowers growing throughout the field in which I was walking. The wind spread its wings and gained speed, leaving the young poplars to dance in its wake, their leaves creating a faint rush of musical sound. I lost myself in it momentarily, almost able to drown out the sounds of nameless faces driving countless cars on the distant freeway. I breathed deep the perfumed breeze, so deliciously different from the smog and exhaust of the inner city, and relaxed. How could one exist day to day beneath the thick layer of grime, when such beautiful pockets of wilderness existed? They don't want to, but they need to. Need...right. Their perceptions of wanting and needing

There are ants all over my counter. Climbed out from the crack between the dishwasher and the wall. up the lip of the granite counter top and strait to a lid of sugar water where twenty or so ants have drowned. but these ants are smarter. They perch on the lip, their feelers moving frantically as they slowly lower down and drink. Drink till their abdomens are swollen and golden when the light passes through. they depart in a line the way they came, their heavy bodies only making it slightly more difficult to descend the sheer vertical edge of the countertop. More and more come, seeking this oasis to bring back to their colony, but little do they know it will soon be the end of them. They taste the sweetness, not the sharpness of borax, the stench of death they're carying back to their children and their lovers, assuming the dosage isn't to high and they die before they make their way back, having travelled many ant miles only to be burned from the inside with the harsh chemical

I want you to want me to be the me you see when I'm free to be the me that got you next to me. I kissed your forehead as we fell back down to earth. purged in the fire of a pheonix's rebirth. I opened your third eye and drank your dripping energy held you so close I felt your heart clammoring behind your bones I let it's rhythm and it's tones run ripples right through me, your energies renew me. And as our hearts beat against our ribcages it gauges the incitement of excitement we're making, taking the time to find the beauty behind each caress we posess the capacity to escape, in reckless audacity. See I've got a pretty decent cape in my closet. we can don our suits in the noble pursuit of preserving this world we're endlessly creating, shaping it with our minds when we take the time to find the beauty behind each caress. We've been blessed with an amazing connection, an undying affection, a corporeal reflection of a divine creation, a sacred collaborati

Do you need me? I am here. Slipped into your pocket with your car keys my breath staining the fabric of your thoughts. I've never been more sure of something and yet so utterly confused. Why must you be so easy, and be so perplexing too. Everytime I sit down to write about you I cannot get it right. You're grey area. You're everything-white and nothing-black, mixed and mingled. You're a walking contradiction, living breathing paradox. Catch-22 and I'm caught in your web.

Now that I've seen you Stripped to the very core I know that I need you More than I did before. I steal their phrases snatching ideas like they were pliable concrete and holdable My mind can''t string the words together. Today is all we see. So tomorrow -it seems to me- is only an illusion we believe.

Saw an awful commercial. New Kleenex hand towels. "Why use the same dirty hand towel over and over? Now you can forget about the bacteria, with a new towel every time! With new Kleenex disposable hand towels." GAH! if you don't want dirty towels, it's called washing them. You don't need to fill the landfills with needless trash, just because it's convenient. As if there's no repercussion to becoming a waste producing clone. But we've been lead to believe that there is no downside Why would anyone buy something environmentally unfriendly? If we knew it was damaging, it would be way harder to sell. [even though this is so blatantly unfriendly of a product.] So the businesses simply sweep that part under the rug attempting to catch us on the hook of convenience. It's been the same thing, time and time again, for the past seventy years. We've slowy been turned into consumer drones, through the driving force of convenience. Not caring about our impa

You never notice how we've changed until we're placed into the same situation of time's past. We always grapple for a chance to redo, to press the back button on our lives and do it all again. What people don't realize is that the opportunity is handed to us on a silver platter. because we've lead ourselves inevitably back to what we know, what we've already known. History repeats itself more times than I'd like to admit, both in my life and in the collective experience. And now I stand where I once did, many times, from grade 11 to grade 12. on again and off again. You wanted to hang out. I delayed, but my conscience got the best of me. A hopeless pleaser of others. But something's changed. I could not look at your face ever again and be perfectly content. I've become privy to it all. See, you run in circles too. You hate me and then you inevitably love me again. You hurt me, because I hurt you. But you've always got that sickly smile on your

I've been living a dream. As if the moment your lips met mine you pushed me into a deep slumber. Where the trees are made of sugar and nothing matters. I walk on a bed of moss with bare feet not needing to fear the cuts of unpleasant circumstance no worries of disease or danger. I slipped into the glistening pools of your presence conjuring only ripples that faded before they reached your distant shore. We were so alive in eachother but so softly, as an angel's breath, that none of us noticed. You are the western winds, dancing with my hair leaving nothing but goosebumps. Intangible dreams of a sacred place mossy stone archways leading to a silver lit pool. I asked you if I was dreaming, once upon a time. You held me close and said this was real, discarding my question, an apple core in the Garden of Eden. But I couldn't shake it so easily. The surface too clear, begging for something to destroy its slumber, for a western wind to pull it toward some distant shore. I never t

I had a most spiritual weekend. three days, two nights in tunnel mountain village 2 campsite with Scott. Fresh air, peace and quiet, good food and endless possibilities. I put everything to rest as we entered the park. Alive in the energy of each new possibility. Fog on the ground and lightening in our hearts, we came together. As our bodies melted I felt your mind among my brain cell synapses. The air escaped, bringing us inexplicably closer, unable to draw ourselves up. We conversed with no words and flowed in each other's footsteps as if it was always this simple. And as the snow fell through the sunny skies, I climbed more than mountains, discovered more than trails. I felt more than the rain on my cheeks and the heat of burning coals. We laid each other down to rest on a bed of mosses and watched the trees dance to the rhythm of our heartbeats. We smoked the earth and steeped our laughter in waters that flowed through our lungs. Found shelter from the storm in each others

This would be so hilarious if it wasn't so devastating . The past little while I've noticed as I grow up I become more like you. Your logical mind, your intricate brain. In some ways I enjoy it, excites me. Other times it freaks the hell out of me. I don't want to inherit your anger, your convoluted logic and your chemically imbalanced brain. I was privvy to one of your lovely arguments with my father, as he came through the kitchen door I heard you scream, as if you were scolding our dogs for something. My dad, possibly trying to ignore it, continues walking. You storm in, slamming the door in a fit of rage and, stomping your feet, signal to my dad to stop walking. You ask what's wrong, and he says "I guess i just can't do anything right." "You know that's not true! I'm not trying to make you feel that way." My dad walks away, down the stairs, and you follow, the convorsation becoming muffled by the drywall between us. I laugh despairin

it feels so good to feel so bad. it boils over like a pot of rice set on too high heat, and before you can stop it it's made a huge mess all over. But , it feels so good. You know it will pass quickly, maybe that's why you relish in it, let it take over you for those few moments like an emotional demon. You relinquish all good thoughts and respect for cheap emotional highs, how it shakes your foundations. And suddenly, it flies away as quickly as ash on the wind, in the absense of the earlier flames. And you feel foolish and weak, and empty, and life goes on as it did before, as you set about cleaning up the mess of the rice water all over the stove.

How do you write a good poem? There is no manual, no how-to for dummies. Poetry has a million forms. It is intangible, it is beautiful. It has existed since the beginning of civilization, in each culture. There may be rhyme schemes, iambic pentameter and strict rhythms, but the true poetry is what fills these lines, the words. There are 171,476 words in the Second Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary. Countless ways to twist them to your will. There are thesauruses, rhyming dictionaries and grammar books to aid you in your quest. But true poetry is what fills those words, the emotion. Happiness fear, surprise, sadness, anger, disgust. Countless ways to combine them, twist them to your will. And when the emotion is strong enough you don't need thesauruses, dictionaries or guidelines. The words melt their way onto the page as you break down the flood banks of your inner core. words bend around the powder blue lines, ink seeps through the fibers and before you know it, a spew of w

Time has stolen you away from me. You left me at the begining of the new year, it hasn't even been five months yet but I miss you like nothing else. You are my soul mate, I'm still convinced. But you've been gone for such a long time. Making new friends and not able to even send me a message, let me know how you're doing. But now you're coming back and I can't even express my excitement. It won't be long, yea!

The mind works in mysterious ways. Today two things threw rocks in my pond that I'd finally gotten smooth. Crazy, how the past can just creep up on you, tap you on the shoulder and rear its ugly face. Because no matter how much you've progressed, the past still happened the way it did. It's been six months since I've seen you and I haven't thought of you in much of a way since then. But I hate how it all changes. I get that nervous butterfly feeling all over again. I'd much rather ignore your very existence; but that's not possible. Lets see how well I can keep my stupid stupid heart at bay. I know I can do it, I'd never do anything. Never have and never will. I stay true to the ones that I've given my heart to, and it is now taken by the most amazing man I've ever met. There's no fear. It's that silly crush feeling that never amounts to anything, yet my brain seems to think it's something worth attention. I hate it. It's the feel

This week has been an emotional rollercoaster with the breaks disengaged. But I can't tell which emotion is the incline, which is the decline. There's no final destination either. No goal to complete, no markers telling me I'm going in the wrong direction. I climb and climb to get to the top. The top of what? Of nothing. I climb to fall down again. Or do I fall to get the momentum to climb up again? I could make a million different scenarios, mapping out each possibility like there was a point to it all. That's all we're searching for in life; a point. No one knows the meaning of life, no one knows the point. Because there is no point. We exist because we do. We exist because we've made it so, or something else has made it so. I'm having a very hard time following this routine life without hesitation. Something in my mind is placing resistance on these feet that walk the empty miles. The ability to see the larger picture? Or the refusal to see the smaller on

This is going to be a summer to remember. I refuse for it to be anything less. I am filled with such fervor and determination, prodded to achieve something great while I still have the chance. The world is out there waiting for me to discover it, and in turn discover myself. I only feel alive when I'm running through a pathless forest, or wading ankle deep in a cool flowing river. I need the sun in my face and the wind carrying my laughter and pushing my hair around. And most of all I need you beside me. I need you within me, all around me. How can it not be fate, when we were made this way? We fit like two lost puzzle pieces found under the couch. I feel alive in your skin, inebriated at your very touch of nakedness beneath fingertips. I want to wade ankle deep in the oceans of your eyes, explore the wilderness of your limbs, feel your laughter pushing through me, echoing in the caverns of my soul. You are beautiful in everyway, especially in the way that you make me clean and

I feel disillusioned. Unsure. Afraid. I guess the mask is slipping. The chemical imbalances are strong and they pull me under with greedy fingers. And I greedily comply. I hate how I'm so complicated. I hate confusing myself, and having no one to untie the knots of complexity. Just a neat little blanket to cover it all up. A beautiful distraction. I thought it would all go away. That I had found the cure. A vaccine instead of mere painkillers that make me turn a blind eye to something that continues regardless. But it was merely a speed bump. You are a rumble strip causing the vehicle of my mental unravelling to slow. The gas pedal pressure was relieved but the brake was left lonely. There is never any abrupt stop. Just transitions from one state of mind to the other. I played blissfully in your gardens but the rain is coming yet again as the foot comes back down crushing the pedal. And I'm frantically searching for some shelter. I want to crawl inside you and wrap myself in yo

I wonder where he is, where he will be, where we stand. We leave our past behind so we can create our future. The piano puts fourth its trickling voice, amazing how ten fingers and eighty eight keys can create something that pierces my soul so. White, black, white. White, I love you. You mix with anything. You are everything. You are undifferentiated and pure. Your fields of pristine melt against my gentle hips. You illuminate each dark corner of mine. Once I thought I was darkness Now I know I was only waiting for a light to show me the way inside. I am an empty shell. Hold me close and you'll hear the song. Really, it's all you and there is no ocean inside. A mere blush of blood coursing with no way out. And yet, It sings to you, tells you what you want to hear because you made it believe. You picked it up, ground worn and empty, And filled it with the rush of what it is to fly. with the elation of the safety in your hands. The subtle push of blood beneath your gentle skin cr

Andrea Hunter round one March Slam Posted using ShareThis

You are my phantom limb. You're there in an awkward limbo, a not-quite-memory. I wish I wasn't too weak to help. Nowadays my life is disconcertingly simple. I can't get used to it. The simplicity is so complicated, so confusing that I can't comprehend it. My brain is subconsciously searching for faults, grown accustomed to cracked sidewalks and leaky faucets. Finding none, I almost feel empty. I feel there is something missing, but it's probably for the best. I'm still keeping my secrets, the way I always do, only for the sake the of safety in routine. They've decreased in size, in importance, mere flesh wounds, nothing fatal that would fester the tissues of my mind. My mind is less cluttered, more emotionally sound than it's ever been. I feel I have been healed of these wounds of the past, but the scars remain, sometimes they itch, just begging for me to reopen them. Bring the memories back. What happened happened and couldn't have happened any othe

Had the best night last night. I convinced my parents to let me sleep over at scott's band member's party, and Ihada blast. All dressed in 80's best, both men and women wearing tight clothes and bright make up. Me and scott had three quarters of a two six of gin between ourselves, smoked some double apple sheesha, then I made him accompany me to the washroom where I proceded to puke. Feeling better afterwards and refusing to stay sick, we went back to the party and hung out for a few more minutes until I made him accompany me back to the washroom again to puke. After that I felt much better and we all went out to the park nearby and played drunk grounders. Then a few of us went and hot boxed scott's car while, in absolute perfect timing, bohemian rapsody came on the radio and we rocked out wayne's world style extremely blitzed. After that we went back to the party, hung out, a few of the guys were on chatroulette which quickly turned too awkward to watch. eventually

I'm working on a new idea. It will be great fun. mixing science with philosophy. best part about it? I though it up laying naked beside my love in the late hours of the night. He tells me I have elloquence that I can perfectly find the words for the feelings we both feel

I cant shake the feeling that this is going to be so incredibly hard. And I'm afraid of the potency of the things I'm feeling. Emotion is such a trippy thing. Able to make or break us. I want to flourish in the sunshine of your love but I feel like I'll be crushed by the boot heel of the world before my leaves start to grow. Before I can turn your light into the sweetest sugar. Before my roots can anchor me in the rocky ground of life to help me keep composure in a flash flood of difficult circumstance. I want to grow tall despite all odds. I want to bear the fruit of my efforts, showing it off to those who are hungry, inticing them to eat, and letting the seeds of inspiration grow within them so that they can continue the life cycle

You know what I want? I want “true love” and “marriage” and “soulmates” to stop being just words, ideas with no relation to my life. I want to realize that I’m coming to the end of one chapter and turning the page to the next. And with the new beggining it’s more about the future in regards to ’right now’. And less about the past. This is a transition where it’s acceptable to start thinking about “5 years down the road” and thinking about you still there beside me. But I’m having hard relating the check list that the adults in my life have completed, to my life. Settling down happens. Marriage happens. People find people perfect for them. It’s not an unusual occurance. And no matter how much I want to think about my future, I can’t seem to let go of my past. It’s catching up to me just when I thought I was home free. Sometimes I feel your arms around me and I want to push you away with all my force But I remember that you’re not here. That someone much better is in your place. And I do

you told me I have the look of a goddess in my eyes You have the look of a child. it’s a youthful amazement that never dies you’re young, you’re free, you’re wild

When you know you’ve found your friend, bestfriend, teacher, playmate, a real pal, your prince, your savor, your dad, your boyfriend, your husband, and you know you’re happy and satisfied with everything…that’s love. Anonymous

Do you still have doubts that us having faith make any sense? [I hope this brings me lots of controversy] I lost my faith years ago. I thought I was broken. I believed hell would burn me because God turned his back on me Because I turned my back on Him. Even at a young age, when my friend took me to her church, and we sang lovely ditties about how this God was wondrous; 'Our god is an awesome God. " "Our god of peace will soon crush Satan'" No, your god is a hypocritical god. even at age 10 I could see the stupidity in it all. And I left that church and never went back. But they did succeed by planting that seed of fear. The 'what if' of the existence of this all powerful, judging God but more importantly the 'what if' of hell. That's how they hook you. I Swear there ain't no heaven and I pray there ain't no hell, Living in fear of hell instead of living for the love of God. Now I know it's not a problem with my ability to believ

I want to write a poem that embodies you. That can appease what's long overdue. Finally let out all this pent up emotion and feeling a clamouring commotion that leaves me reeling. I’ll transform it into phrases I'll be writing words that daze and amaze us. It will translate your smile with words so versatile, that the hours trying to sew the words into a patchwork perfectly fit to cover you Able to soothe you, and transform the coldness you've let seep into your bones into the warmth of a kiss, telling you you're stronger than this, Will be worthwhile. But you know it's starting slow. Like the birth of this very earth from primordial stew, And I can’t sit through the millions of years it took in which microbes grew. To think, it took 3.9 billion years to build something as beautiful as you. And when I only have the attention span of a few hours I don't have the power to create an immaculate portrait of you. my vocabulary is too limited even with words like melli

Age is just a number, and I know I'm young but I believe I feel what you feel. " Ain't so hard to recognize - These things are clear to all from time to time" I feel like this is a seed, this is the everything-we-need, and through every waking hour the leaves uncurl and the roots of something bigger than ourselves unfurl, making their way through my veins, my heart beats like a speeding train, feeding this creation that flowers in my brain, creating a scent that only you can smell. Because its perfume is built on the love we know so well. And branches escape through every pore of my skin, reaching to let you in, searching for your grin. I want your heart to beat in time with mine, want the shine in your eyes to sing the harmony that words can't define. I want my empty flowers to be met with the lonely bees searching for their lovers, carried on the breeze on the chance that they'll bring a part of you on their wings. And that I can bear the fruit of this union

the beauty words I feel beneath your skin, the sheets of music, lucid and thin your eyes and all the phrases that appear with no sound or movement, yet I can hear. The heat that exudes, your fire feeding mine the blood that flows, the energy that intertwines creates these threadbare tapistries covering the walls of gurantees of this room we built on feelings with strong walls but no ceilings so we may sleep beneath the stars alive in each moment because it's ours.

your smile fizzes inside me as your words dissolve entering my bloodstream, bursts of bubbly energy liquid sugar high.

You make me real. Breathing into this hollow body the life of a melody. My body snug next to yours, your fingers along my neck. My curves crafted to fit you perfectly. Permeating warmth through these silver strung veins. I want your touch to wear my varnish thin I want to feel your breath melting the frost of my skin.

I know what I should be doing. What I'm not doing . Of the teetering pile of faceless obligations, the assignments and reports, the time needed to succeed, this does not belong. I'm stretched thin, covering too many bases half heartedly with the fear of failure instead of from a love of success. I told myself, mindlessly, that I could do this. I tell myself, emotionless, that I can do this. It's not a matter of wanting and not wanting, but of can and cannot. Life does not revolve around silly wants, of dreams and fairy tales. No life is wound with filaments of rigid to do lists. A checklist bored into our eyes and seared into our very mind frames. So much so that we put up with it. Day in and day out, on the hope and the belief that there will be solace at the end of this ride. But this is not a road to a new destination. This is an elevator, going down down down. Just pushing you farther into that cold cold ground, and with each meter you pass the chance of getting back

Looking back I was always afraid of my imperfections. Afraid of the conditional love I lived under, I squirmed in my ragged skin. Pockmarked on the outside, blemished on the inside. Predisposed for chemical imbalances, in accepting my fate I made it a reality. I felt skewed and broken, a cloud of darkness wrapped in layers of pale olive skin. I took silence as a bad thing, afraid of the thoughts formulating in the observer's eye. I kept half of me hidden in shadow, afrad what the light would reveal. Afraid to be myself because I'd be lonely. No one would stay once they knew how I could really be. And what was that? I was no devil, no schemer. I had no dark thoughts that merited scorn. I was nothing that needed hiding. Yet I was concealed; I was living a masquerade of generic precedences. I can't remember the reasons I convinced myself with. Looking back, it all seems so silly. Hidden in a caccoon of my own trepidations, I was waiting for someone to break me open, unfurl the

(via writeoneleaf) You can sky rocket away from me, And never come back if you find another galaxy far from here, with more room to fly, just leave me your stardust to remember you by. The song played in the background as your words took mainstage. You took my hands in yours. “This song describes how I feel perfectly.” I smiled at the sweet nothings, a sucker for romantic antics. But the meaning of them never made it’s way fully to my brain, the words were never digested by nerve pathways and stored in the memory bank of understanding. To me it was just another phrase, another one of your statements I didn’t believe. But you believed it to be true, only because you knew I wasn’t going anywhere, you knew you didn’t need to worry about letting me skyrocket away. I saw the way you coveted my warmth, grasped with your fingers to keepe me close. Acting in a way that betrayed your words, you spoke an unknowingly hypocritical statement. You had no imagination, couldn’t fathom that I would one

school is making my head explode. my social life imploding, battery acid calculators corroding burning holes in broken skies burning tears in hollow cries stiffled sighs. thinned out over too much space thinned out till I leave no trace too quick of a race I can't win if I don't get stronger. I can't keep up at all -not for very much longer- watch me faalll

Listening to the speedway words, a thousand amazing metaphors spewing forth at a speed faster than my own formulations, attempting to find inspiration in your recitations but all I find is frustration because your creations are more than I could ever create. And though your rhythm is stuck in my mind, it's too small, too confined, the words get backed up, I've got too slow of a flow rate. You seem so in tune with everything that's wrong with this world, and turning every emotion into a slew of words more beautiful than anything you can mass produce, you break loose from the abuse of this modern society, with no variety, Britney spears on MTV, singing if you seek Amy ...while thousands suffer in Haiti, as we wander blindly, the city's heart beats unkindly beneath the gold plated streets, the vileness hidden behind thin sheets, hiding the intolerance and the moral defeats behind a veil, so frail, but well crafted in every detail. And this blindfold, wrapped neatly, indisc

Is it better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all? This question has been asked so many times, by poets and cynics alike. Often there will be two groups with very different opinions which are based on their past experiences. For someone disillusioned by the subject of love, it is more than likely that they’ve had unfavourable experiences influencing their opinion. Broken hearts are quick to judge, hesitant to continue on that path of love because of a bump in the road. But in pulling off to the side and cutting their trip short they’ve put a premature end to all the things they could have experienced. We as people grow from the situations we are placed in based on our reactions to said situations. When placed into the circumstance of love, if we risk the broken hearts we have the opportunity to grow so much more than if we take the safe way out. The cynics who’ve been hurt and broken by love’s throes would disagree. They are perfectly content, living in peaceful obliv

mhmm. So happy. Don't my eyes say it all?

We pretend to work because they pretend to pay us. This quote blew my mind, and just stirred up all the muck that is modern society from the bottom of the clear pool that is this world. 9-5, in out in out, clocking in, zoning out. working endless dead end jobs to scrape by with the measly slips of paper they (and who are they , anyways?) give us in return for being the hamsters in the wheel, the rowers in a slave ship making their slow progression to nowhere. I am so disillusioned with our society. It may be in part by my disappointment in myself at my stupid mistakes made in university. Life just seems so difficult at times, and I feel stuck in an uncomfortable limbo, knowing I've made a mistake but having to wait a month to right it. I'm so hard on myself. I always challenge myself, probably because if I fail I still know I succeeded more than other people I know. But I've set my self up for surmisable failure. I'm putting the pressure of so much weight onto my shoul

it's a battle of two noises. Each one moving up in scale to be seen above the other trying to drown the other out. until they're both s loud as they can go and no one has won. All that's left is aching eardrums, no more room for thoughts no where to run to find that silence. I dreamt we were all going to die. And I was the only one who knew. I was so afraid, in the beginning, but near the end I'd come to grips with it. There's freedom in acceptance. I don't know what I'm saying anymore. I'm in one of those moods.

you’re somethin special babe. Lets run in reckless abandon to somewhere. Make the snow melt and bring the sunshine back. Bring warmth back into my bones. Do you know what I’m afraid of? Of placing too much faith in you. Of forgetting what makes me happy without regards to you. Of giving you my heart and feeling odd and empty again. I always fall too hard, to fast. But I can’t shake the feeling that this is something different. A Fresh of breath air

You make time disappear. Making the hours fall and the seconds evaporate. Disintegrating these chains, this trepidation is crumbling, leaving in its path lucid calmness. Your skin shines nakedly liquid bliss in your eyes and heat beneath fingertips. You've taken my inhibitions off the shelf tore out the pages and burned them with your smile and I am ripped clean, washed in the smoke that makes everything clear washed in the pool of your love. Shedding the grime of the past, soothing the wounds of yesterday anointed with your touch. We mix perfectly in acquiescent currents green and golden coming together I'm caught in the oscillating whirlpool beneath your veins entangled with your every move Lovely and beautifully. when I am with you I never want to leave. I could live on the sustanance of your laugh I found and island in your eyes country in your arms. where I could live athousand years

This shirt sums up my new year's resolution; to have a perfect balance. :P

I'm in an awful mood. School is depressing me, I'm only 8 days in All I want is to see your smile again.

I hate how I want you, long for you to be near, when you're with me I'm excstatic but I hurt when you're not here. you're like a drug; I'm addicted, you alter my mind. not illegal, but still of the deadliest kind. This is old. But if fits with the drug theme of the song I'd tried to write. He was a different drug. He was my heroine, my cocaine. You're some new type of drug. like chocolate, or music. He was caffeine and you are matcha. Such a subtle relaxed high, with no withdrawal. There's no track marked love on my arms, only a flush in my cheeks and a smile on my lips.

But in Love we disappear. I can't finish that song. The rhythm isn't right. I have no structure anymore. This is where sea and sky meet. In a holy joining of ended worlds. I am the water. Able to take the shape of any mould I choose, Having no real shape but only that which my surroundings provide. I can live everywhere. Invisibly in heat, harshly in winter, but beautifully in the middle. Wonderfully when I can stretch out, lying between earth and air, in indescribable quantities. There is so much going on beneath these layers but often it is unseen; hidden beneath a rippled surface, dazzled by cut fire of the sun, moved by running air. I move effortlessly, I am staying still in one place yet I am everywhere in my path, the future and the past. Beautiful in my delicacy when I am calm, beautiful in my fierceness in the wake of a sudden storm.

Write one leaf about holding hands. (via writeoneleaf) Your hand, calluced guitar-string worn fingers -so warm and safe- finds mine, -so small and soft and timid- so easily. The way your fingers lace within mine, how your thumb strums the back of my hand as though I was your instrument singing a simple song of happiness in absent minded thought. One day we’ll find the lyrics

I was always in search for some silly recognition. digging deep to their inner crevices hoping I'd be discovered as "amazing" So I could see myself as beautiful only if they thought so too. It was a complicated web of vicious circles Leaving me nauseated and disoriented but the habit had formed, running tracks in my mind. Yet suddenly the wheel has stopped spinning. And in wake of my new calmness, the mud has settled and there's a new world to discover. Take my hand and come with me? I am simple when I'm with you. And my waters are still. I've been pulled from shore to shore by the tides of infatuation and emptiness, my toes barely grazing the sands of safety. never allowing myself to be rooted in one place, for fear of upheaval in the end. But now I find myself on the warm beaches, I've been washed up on an island lazing with my feet planted in the white sand I've found myself with a new and wondrous world to explore Take my hand and walk with me?

You have the music at your fingertips and I have the words on my tongue. Let's make something beautiful.

We are always searching for the moments that leave us speechless. Those times when words escape us and in their place is only raw emotion. Your eyes speak with more words that language holds. And I should revel in those feelings, in their rawest forms, and embrace the silence. But this is where I'm always hoping to find the words. Universal sentiments are not made real with phrases but the other way round. My tired sentences search for new light. And when I put the lyrics to this soundtrack, capturing this energy, my words are revived and revitalised for they are filled with you With that look in your eyes. We exist in perfect balance. No longer afraid of the incongruity of the past. Your eyes mirror my mind. No longer living an effigy, this is the real thing. What makes me act is not an obligation Not selfish and not obscured by my insecurities. My head is no longer controlling my movements I am pulled forward with a naked desire to be with you. Simply and beautifully. My heart at

The new year is littered with silly words strait from the part of my brain you've squarely targeted. You're in my blood like holy wine. Making me stumbly and silly. Under your influence. I apologize. This is what I tend to do when I have nothing else to occupy myself with.

you fill my pores with an incomprehensible feeling. This is too quick isn't it.. It's the shivers of a new feeling slipping into the comfort of your smile. I've been afraid of eyes all along they'd look at me with emotions I couldn't mirror back. I hid from them feeling invisible If I looked away feeling safe. the searchlights in their pupils boring into the emptiness in mine. I squirmed like a frog on a disection table crawled away from it all feeling like a stranger in a strange land. But your eyes allure me. beckoning with some strange magic. But it did not feel magical. It felt real. And I felt undressed with your eyes not violated, remaining fully clothed, you peeled off the layers of false securities. A pureness, amazement, oh I wish I could write better It's nothing too incredible. I said I wouldn't do this. And here I go . "..I'm sure that one day true love will come my way and i can put all this cynicism behind. But if that day comes you wo

New year. another mile in this endless road of time, mindlessly winding. The promise of a 'new start' is fashioned from disillusioned hearts. Feeble minds need the push of fresh beginnings. I never made any resolutions, no losing those last 5 pounds, no eating better, nothing. Yet something has been handed to me an a silver fucking platter. uncannily, easily, perfectly. I'm still wrapping my head around it all. My best friend moved away, but in her place they left an amazing person [though no one can replace by p-tree] I'm going to learn from this. Take life in all it's love and glory and take nothing for granted. New people are everywhere waiting to change your life. You just gotta open your eyes. Open your mind. and that's my 'new year's resolution'

I had no reason to be over optimistic, but somehow in your smile I could brave bad weather How does this sort of thing happen? It's the sort of event that makes you believe in miracles. If I thought there was a God, that there was fate and all that lovely mush, I'd be inclined to think this has been set up divinely. But I don't, so it must all be serendipity, if you believe in that either. I don't know what I believe in, only that I want to believe in this. In you .