day one hundred-five: all hallows eve.

oh, ghosts and ghouls

whores and tools

bring out the lingerie

its day of the dead day

a time when kids

get candy and treats

and scantily clad women

freely romp up the street

and people wonder

what america has become

and why young females

don't come home by eleven

because we're covered in nothing

baring it all

shamelessly flirting

with the beast at the ball

we're not afraid to show leg

not afraid of the dark

not afraid of being wasted youth

not afraid to dance with Angra Mainyu

so off with their heads

the "old fogies" so contrite

because they simply

strayed from the light

how can they understand

our fascination with the dark

when they seek the light

that fails to flood our hearts?

day one hundred-four: "normalcy"

i'm crazy

obsessive

feelings are repressed

i'm hiding behind

the "normalcy"

of society

i'll miss this

insanity that

i've come to know

and love

and while i'm hiding behind

"normalcy" parts of me are

shutting down

goodbye, lovely,

hello, someone new,

i don't know who i am

anymore

or even who i used to be

but there are parts of me

that society won't take without question

so i'll hide them away for now

and wait for you to come in,

accept me for the crazy that i am

and let the love begin.

day one hundred-three: what I'm looking for.

On the quest for understanding

Can you see from where I’m coming,

Where I’m going

Where I’m standing?

Theres a reason

A rhyme

A rhythm in

These footsteps of mine

I’m looking

Searching, longing

To be “gotten”

To be seen and believed

There’s a longing

That is born within

And it will not stop tugging

Until this battle I win

And there’s a riddle

To be solved

Can I be understood

And loved?

I think I can

I feel I should

Somewhat like that engine

That could…

As a child

I was told

To listen and understand

But now that I’m older

It’s not as easy as that

Listening is a step

Understanding is a leap

It’s seeing even deeper than what lies beneath

There’s a muse inside

She lives in my head

And she tells me that some day

I will be understood

But like most poets

It might just have to wait

Until after I’m dead.

day one hundred-two: "numbing."

"numbing the pain

for a while

will make it worse

when you finally

feel it"

numbing your brain

to the truth

will make it more shocking

when you finally

accept it

hiding yourself from

the problem

will make it multiply

by the time you're ready

to tackle it

pushing your dreams

to the side

will make them harder

to achieve when

you're ready to reach for them

and finding a way

around the problem

will only make it find you

in the future

when you're ready for it

to be behind you.

day one hundred-one:

it's funny how

you still feel the same

and tasted the same

but at the same time

so much is no longer the same

after kisses

lips must be bitten

there's almost always talk of kittens

and sometimes, moments of "whoa"

but usually it's just us

two friends

hugging for warmth

and for that inner feeling of "whoa"

from head to toe

that a "real" hug can give

and there's so much to be thought of

but i wont think it tonight

because i can still taste the spaghetti-o's from when

i was eight

thanks, friend

you're great.

day one hundred: poetry that doesn't rhyme.

the day i've been dreading

but also impatiently waiting for

the day with the three digits

is knocking on my door

the days flew fast

i hardly remember day one

but now here we are

ninety-nine days since

that silly little "one"

and i cannot put words

in any poetic form

my brain is stuck in paragraph

i blame university

its all a conspiracy

i refuse to choke because this feels

like a big deal

even though

it's just another day

writing poetry

like the ninety-nine i've already survived

this one will be just as meaningless as before

just another day

writing poetry

that doesn't even rhyme

it's day one-hundred

learn from me

be careful

what you do

with your precious

time.

day ninety-nine: synthetic personality.

you,

like cling wrap,

you're clear:

when held up to a light

it shines right through you

when put in the dark it

engulfs you

when held to the sky

you're blue,

or whatever shade the sky is that day

and when held above blood

you're red,

it must really stink to be you

all see through

and fake

and not your own.

you cling

and stick because you're so synthetic

that you need someone

to prove your worth

someone to use

abuse

recycle

and reuse you

a never ending cycle

of self-fulfillment

is that what you wanted to be

when you grew up?

because it's what you're becoming,

i just hope you see

that we aren't ignorant

to the synthetic soul of yours

you can only fake it for so long

before the real you shines through

or, in your case, is seen through

and it's sad, because i like the you i knew

too bad you were pretending

you were just being

who you were with

and now, the sickest part is

i miss you

with your synthetic, cling wrap soul.

day ninety-eight: the quicker.

the days

just sliding by

quicker

and quicker

the hours

slide through the glass

without

a second glance

in anyone's direction.

the comfort

has gone away

quicker

and quicker

the warmth

from our smiles has faded

without

anyone at all noticing

but me.

day ninety-seven: things that are, things that do.

a writer

writes

a poet

rhymes

a dreamer

turns nightmares

into pretty things

a singer

sings

a lover

loves

an artist

thinks more

than most dare to ponder

a life

is lived

a day

is done

a race

isn't over

until someone has won

a test

is taken

a fire

burns

a "someday"

hopes to be loved

with real love in return

day ninety-six: i'll push.

i'm going to push

myself

so i'll become

who i dream i'll be

i'm going to push

the buttons

so life wont just be

something people dictate to me

i'm going to push

you around

because you've got to learn

to stand up when i'm not around

i'm going to push

the limit

because that word isn't in my

vocabulary, okay?

i'm going to push

and pull

and beat my way

through this jungle

and i'm already refusing to settle

so that maybe someday

all this pushing will pay off

and all this shoving will make sense

and all this heartbreak will be worth it

because it's what i worked for

and it'll be what i get

either way,

i'm going to push

so get out of my way.

day ninety-five: the artist's art.

the artist's art is to imitate light

to reproduce life

with vivid blues and greens

to play up the insane

play in the taboo

and cover up the "normal"

that society so deems "sane"

to expose the true insanity in

following the rules

to think so much that

the artist thinks things upon things

in things and under things

thinks around things and through things

then thinks them again

wondering if they are "normal"

then not caring

because "normal" is pretending to be

"sane" is pretending so "insane" is

being you.

the artist's art is to think all those things

while seeming to be quietly sitting

staring at a wall or computer or professor

when really the artist's mind is far away

in some book she once read, plans on re-reading,

or a book she plans on writing or even something not

art related (that's a lie, all things relate to art)

such as thinking about a fish who died in the namesake of a poet

in the same way that poet

did keel over

the artist's art is to be

be an art within herself

and to freely think

think a lot

and to share her art

like those "normal" people share gossip

or germs

to share much, often and to not over think it

but find the balance in thinking enough,

not too little

not too much

think, and think enough

that is the artist's art.

(inspired by: this.)

day ninety-four: cold as your soul.

i slept in a room

and dreamt of you

and i woke up

cold and alone

it was like being

in your soul

i slept in a bed

and dreamt of you

and when i woke up

i was cold and alone

it was like you left

behind your soul

i sleep and you haunt

my littlest dreams

simply hiding behind

someone else's eyes

and it's so cold

just like your

stone cold soul

day ninety-three: people change.

some days

people change

and wake up

and they are not who

they were

when the laid down

the night before

some days

people change

and they aren't ever who

they were

when they laid down

the night before

some days

people change

and they never go back to who

they were

when they laid down

the night before

some days

people change

and they never tell those who

they were

that they wont be back to how

they were

when they laid down

the night before

what i'm saying is

some days

people change

and they forget to tell

each other.

day ninety-two: i am in love.

i am in love.

and i will tell you with whom

let us begin by admiring the toes

the second toe, on the right foot is just longer than the others,

the perfect ankles connect the feet with amazing calves,

the left one marred with a beautiful imperfection that i simply adore,

the perfect calves lead up to knobby knees, inherited by generations before, i'm assured,

maybe our children with have them, (i sort of hope they do)

the knobby knees connect the toned calves to the meaty thighs, wonderfully full and strong,

the thighs rise up and widen into the most beautiful hips you will ever witness walking by,

(trust me, i know...) and those hips support the largest curve protruding off the rear of this skeleton

yeah, that booty... (i sort of hope our daughters get that, too...)

the rounded rear leads into the niftiest back, a most favorite feature that i simply adore,

the back is muscular but not intensely so, just enough, to support body, but also enough that a had in the small of that back is a most sensual touch

that back wraps around to a most soft and warm tummy, not small, not large, it does exist, and it does change with the times of the week, month, and year, but it is a most amazing canvas for such a sincerely cute belly-button...

due north of that belly-button live two mole-hills, hardly enough to be considered "breasts" but still anatomically considered as such, enhanced by a brassier during the day, and let free to be by night, the poor darlings, still just enough for someone such as this, this person we are admiring...

above the breasts comes a particularly strong collar bone connected to shoulders and a neck.

let us go east and west and look to the biceps of this beautiful creature

the wingspan wide and strong, but not as strong as in years past, the muscles have disintegrated from lack of intense use, but that is okay, they show what used to be, they are very capable of hugging, squeezing and comforting, three of my favorite things.

above the crook of the left elbow there is a dark, brown, perfect freckle.

my favorite to examine, my love, has learned to like it, too.

thin wrists connect to fingers that play instruments and write poetry, capable and talented hands, i love and adore. they are very good for hand-holding.

now back north to the neck, the neck really only supports the head, i have nothing poetic to say about such a body part...

the rounded chin and small nose, coincide well with the tiny ears that will never stop growing,

the eyes, both different sizes, visibly when no makeup is worn,

but the deepest blackish brown you shall ever witness, with a blackish-purple ring around the iris, it is such a treasure to see...

oh! eyebrows! how enviable, when tamed by the wax and the tweezers, the eyebrows naturally

arching where they should, just needing occasional attention, this i do love.

above the eyebrows comes the strong, tall forehead,

topped with brownish-blonde, sometimes called dishwater blonde, hair.

the hair is in perm recovery, but smells like before, it has the most wonderful aroma like a rare flower in springtime bloom, year-round, when not chemically taken from it,

the person?

well, i am looking in a mirror,

because i have come to love my body,

because it deserves it,

just like me.

i deserve love

that only i can give to me.

day ninety-one: relief is here.

there is relief there

but also fear

and resenting

there is relief here

where i am

i have finally found it

but where is the

bull-blown, insanely amazing

peace?

it's back there

or just ahead

hinging on a simple

"yes"

or "no"

answer from you

even though

my decision

has already been made.

day ninety: the meaningless order of sameness.

the point of this project

was to change things up

to make me change

the words i think

when poetry is made

but now that i look back it seems

that i've just fallen into a daily pattern

of sameness and nothing productive

but putting the same words

in the exact same meaningless order

on the internet page in front of you

will i ever get anywhere like this?

probably not

will i give up trying to break the mold?

probably not

are my words important even if they are monotonous?

sure

will they be any more important when they break this pattern?

no way to tell, really

i guess ill just have to find out

see you on the other side of this mental block

hopefully.

day eighty-nine: i know this will be misunderstood, but it must be said.

nights like this

i miss you more

and more

and

more.

nights so cool

and chill

and more

and

more.

nights where coyotes

howl and scream

and more

and

more.

nights when the moon

just seems so near

and more

and

more.

nights like this

i simply miss

the sound of my name

and more

i miss the sound of yours

and more

rolling of a tongue

and more

and so i'll whisper it

and more

into nights like these.

fix my heart.

day eighty-eight: running from myself.

sometimes i feel like

there's just too many shadows

and they're covering the walls

and there are people from your past

that just wont let you fall

and i just want to fall so far

into a shadowed room

just to stay a while with you

but i don't think i can

there are still claws in you

let them free

pull them out

but that's too much to ask about

so i'll keep running from these shadows

and skirting the doubt

and someday i'll realize

that i didn't take the easy way out

and that all along i was just really

running from myself

and the me i see in you.

day eighty-seven: hello, stop.

hello

stop yelling

i can hear you miles away

hello

stop shouting

your kids can understand a whisper

hello

stop being so loud

we are right here in front of you, literally

hello

stop swearing

your kids don't want to know what those words really mean

hello

stop

you need to breath worse than me.

day eighty-six: sometimes misunderstandings.

sometimes misunderstandings

can end the world

sometimes misunderstandings

can change a life

sometimes misunderstandings

are the best thing about my days

sometimes misunderstandings

make me question my ways

sometimes misunderstandings

make me think about the "what if"s

sometimes misunderstandings

make me want to take long, long trips

sometimes misunderstandings

are what life is made of

and sometimes misunderstandings

make people fall in love

sometimes misunderstandings

aren't amiss at all

sometimes misunderstandings

are ways we actually tell all

sometimes misunderstandings

are not meant to be misunderstood

sometimes misunderstandings

are truth in a little red hood

day eighty-five: that newness.

newness

it's refreshing

theres a change

in the suns setting

newness

it's reviving

the feelings

i'm associating

newness

it's riveting

i cannot wait to see

what happens next

newness

in finding 200 plus miles

of road i've never seen

and finding my way back

from where i've been

to who i am

to where i'm going

to finding me.

i was sitting in a parking lot

dreaming.

"sleeping in love's parking lot"

like that time before

waiting for myself to show up

and nothing more

and a journey transpired within her mind

i saw things about myself i hated

i saw things i love

i found a newness that i never saw

i was capable of.

day eighty-four: interrupting myself.

choking on self-hatred--

self-demise--

wishing life would quit--

or i could just quit life--

oh, melodrama

bouncing inside my brain

(at least you seem to rhyme

and that's the only good thing

i have to say about you)

sometimes i feel like i'm crumbling--

stumbling and tripping

through my own thoughts--

and sometimes i think what people thing

about me is the truth

so when i hear the things that hurt

i pretend they are fact--

and so i use that as an excuse

to feel the way i act

and i pretend that i am

all they say i "am"

and that makes me feel less

like a human being in the end-- anyways

i'm not a knock off of another

i'm one unique indiv--

what?

unique?

okay, so everyone is.

now there's no point.

so, have a nice day.

day eighty-three: the ruiner.

it's funny how

some of the best things

in my life

were ruined by others

but now,

as i've aged

i've become

the ruiner

i watch the movies

i read the books

i see what "love" is

and i know

that i've had

many chances

to "have" this type of

affection

but i've become the ruiner.

i've taken bloody handprints

to Mona Lisa's smile

and i've let children color

on ceiling of the Sistine Chapel

only it's not even that

my sins

are that innocent and

forgivable

i've become the ruiner

of my own happiness

and i hate myself for it

with a hatred as strong

as the hunger that kills it

so, thanks self

for royally screwing up

again and again

i'd hate to see how happy i might be

if i hadn't ruined it all

with my own hands.

day eighty-two: alone.

i want to be alone

i want to be secluded

i want to be left alone

until i get there

then i get so alone

that i feel lonesome

it's quite sad

because i used to know what to do

when i was alone with me

now i'm just not sure

what to do

other than wish i had someone to talk to

sometimes i guess

it's just wanting something

that i can't have

and when i get it

i don't remember how much

i didn't love it like i thought i would

so, i want to be left alone

and i want to remember

how to be myself with me

and just be happy here

alone

again.

day eighty-one: could you just...?

could you just

really listen?

could you just

really hear me?

could i just

follow my own rules?

could i just

make up my own mind?

could i just

breathe for a minute?

before you run me over

with your endless questions

and trivial statements

about who i am

and what i've done.

would you mind

ignoring my bull-headedness?

because that mass behind my eyes

(brain?)

it hurts

from all these thoughts

and all this frustration

and because i'm just tired

of assumptions

being thrown at me

and i'm tired of assuming

i know who i am

because i don't have a clue.

honestly.

day eighty: yesterday.

yesterday

i was supposed to write this

yesterday

so i'll just writ this now

and change the time stamp

at the bottom, there.

and now you wont ever know,

unless, of course,

you looked at this blog yesterday.

well, and of course

the fact that i'm telling you now

informs you of my fib.

so, i lied.

i wrote this today.

not yesterday.

but i guess it doesn't really matter

because you read it anyway

just not on yesterday.

day seventy-nine: what if what if what if.

what if we said hello

and never said goodbye

what if i was happy

and didn't have to lie

what if there was something

actually keeping us alive

what if we said hello

and never said goodbye

what if i admitted to treason

even though that'd be a lie

what if i told you i missed you

a little less of a lie

what if i stopped handling

your heart with such care

what if i just watched my own back

and wasn't near as scared

what if i admitted to treason

even though that'd be a lie

what if what if what if

i asked it a million times

what if i stopped saying i'm sorry

and actually wasn't sorry for anything at all

what if you were just crazy

and i was the sane one

what if there were a million words

to describe me accurately

what if i used them all

in some silly poetry

what if what if what if

i asked it a million times

sometimes i wonder

if "what if" will be the last thought

to cross my insanity-filled mind.

day seventy-eight: there's something.

there's something

special in that hug

something old

something new

there's something

magical in that love

something old

something new

there's something

familiar in that kiss

something old

something new

there's something

in that bond

something old

something new

there's something

right here in front of me

something old

something new

i'm just too close

to really focus

and see what

it really is.

day seventy-seven: bitter washes away with tears.

bitter

i can taste

the bitter

in my soul

like a foul

odor it seeps

from certain pores

and glands

bitter

because i fear you

because i fear who you've become

i'm afraid i'll be like you

and then where would i be?

bitter?

bitter

stop looking over my shoulder

and trying to explain things i already know

sure, you're my boss, but your communication sucks.

just shut up,

i'm

bitter.

bitter

because you love too soon

but so do i

so i'm mad at me

for backtracking

but it worked

so i'm less

bitter about this.

bitter

about the screw

that screwed me

out of sixty dollars

to screw in an old screw

sixty dollars is at least worth

a new freaking screw

you old perverted screw.

i should have been more specific

about what to do with that screw.

cause i'm

bitter.

but don't worry,

bitter washes away with tears.

day seventy-six: my missing word.

i'm writing

wasted words

pointless phrases

silly syllables

rhetorical rhymes

lying lyrics

and it's okay

because it's what

you want to read.

well, news flash

this is about me.

me finding me

becoming me

and being me

and i'm me,

don't get me wrong,

but i'm still searching

for something

a missing

(word.)

(something.)

(description.)

(word.)

i'm on the search

for my word

in this world.