day one hundred sixty-six: eve of a new day.

on the eve
of a new day
a simple changing of days
from light to dark to light
the light simply returns
there seems to be a finality
in it's passing
more so than previous returnings to light
the ones of my past
the ones that have happened for the eighteen years
i've been alive
there's a sort of seal of
never going back
and as brave as i'm trying to be
i'm scared to death
of what this new year
is bringing

day one hundred sixty-five: life gives us choices.

out on a limb
i'm scared to death
doing the right thing
i hope i am

out on a limb
afraid to move
done the right thing
i guess we'll see

out on a limb
did life hand me this crown?
or did it fall from some
forsaken brow?

and i just happened upon it
because it's a jewel i've been lusting after
for years of my life
i just hope it shines with as much luster
as rumor has it should

day one hundred sixty-four: there will be blood.

this is guaranteed
there will be blood
when the monster breathes
it will drip and fall and splash
and dreams may come true
but nightmares follow
in the shadows
lurking behind every happy thought
there is that one filled with terror and oblivion
you don't know what to expect
or when to expected
you just know there will be blood
there will be a life taken
so lurk not in the shadows
steal to the light
but even then death might catch up to you
and only then can you even try
to put up a fight.

day one hundred sixty-three: approaching the new year.

"There are moments in our lives when we find ourselves at a crossroads. The choices we make in those moments can define the rest of our days, of course, when faced with the unknown most of us prefer to turn around and go back." - OTH

with the last days
of my graduating year
slowly slipping
away
i realize that
time for being young
has only begun
but time for being a child
has past by
the unknown
a frightful place to be
holds promises dear
and devastating
there will be tears
and trials and troubles galore
but i will not turn back
i will keep pressing on
like every year before.

[real life] [i wish i knew who you were]

mb-ink.blogspot.com

i'd like to be able to follow your blog.

day one hundred sixty-two: the lies we tell ourselves.

to deny yourself
is to alter yourself
to lie to yourself
is to deceive yourself
to deceive yourself
is to believe the lies
that no matter how hard you try to deny
will alter you
turn you inside out
upside down
and shake you for every last penny
i can only go on for so long
lying to myself
because i know that something
something isn't right
there's this feeling in my gut
and in the back of my mind
and last time, as afraid as i was,
i listened
and it came out right in the end
so this time, i'm a little more sensitive
to that Truth coming from behind my brain
somewhere deep within my chest
i will not deny it any longer
there's a certain thing
that i've lied about
believed about
and deceived about
and i'm going to let it out
i will
soon
because that's why i'm so restless lately
there's something that must be said
and it's already on paper, baby,
waiting for your eyes.
be prepared,
because it's coming.
you may need to sit down
take a rest
it's that intense.

day one hundred sixty-one: i need.

to leave

this state of mind

is suffocating me

from the outside

inside, the upside and downside

totally consumed by the sameness

the mediocrity that is

here

inside this same state of mind

so a hiatus would be nice

to escape the monotonous life

some inspiration for living

would really be a nice change

i know i'm capable of

amazing things

but i feel like my life

isn't mine to live anymore

and i'm only eighteen

but it's flown by so fast

and it's not stopping because i don't have a job

or because i'm out of school

it's not stopping for anything

it's not stopping because i'm alone

i need to escape

because time is running

and i must catch it

before my heart starts stopping

day one hundred sixty: i just listen.

to the rain

beating down my door

flooding into the open holes

in my mind

taking over my senses

wet, cold, shivering

i simply listen to the words

drowned out by the moisture

between my ears

my brain is flooded with your ideas

some would call my brain clean;

washed;

it's new

hope you're happy

i hope you're happy too

because now

all i can do

is mimic you

or drown trying to escape

the things you've made me think.

day one hundred fifty-nine: 1:58 A.M.

i'm outside
1:58 am
the sky
it sparkles
the night
so clear
the darkness
is invisible
i can see
i can hear
everything breathes
the trees sigh
and i must be crazy
but to see the stars
i lie
on my back
on the frozen ground
so frozen that it sparkles, too
it reflects the sky
like water would
and breathes a ghostly breath
and when i lay
beneath the cold silver stars
i lay atop the cold silver blades
of grass that mimics the sky
and it's alright
to be slightly confused
if i'm human or alien
because i'm neither here
nor there
i'm in limbo
i'm thinking
of where i will be
in the near future
and who will find me
and take me up from this deep sleep
in the silver studded sky
on the silver blades of grass
and let me steal their heart
and keep me
with my silver wrapped finger

day one hundred fifty-eight: high school, oh, high school.

the past
such a warm fuzzy place
even if it isn't full of perfect memories
it's so nice to be there
because if you're looking back
that means you survived it
and those trials you experienced
that you thought would kill you
merely kept you stumped for a while
and now you're looking back
through the boxes of high school memories
thinking and remembering
and reliving the past
and seeing all those opportunities missed
and all those opportunities taken
and all those smiles that were spent
with people you never thought you'd miss
until tomorrow, that is
and tomorrow's tomorrow,
because those days aren't warm and fuzzy
and tomorrow never will be for certain
because you've got no control
it's coming and there's no stopping it
no staying in this moment forever
you're closer and closer to tomorrow
and when you look back on today
this moment
right now
be sure you made it what you want it to be
because it's only warm and fuzzy
if you survive
to look back
on yesterday.

day one hundred fifty-seven: the color lonely.

why couldn't lonely
be a color instead of a feeling?
no easier to describe to someone
who is blind
but easier to understand
because it's there alive and holdable
if there were a lonely colored crayon
i would hold it in my hand
and feel the roundness and the smoothness
and the papery-ness of the wrappings
and i'd use it, abuse it,
maybe even break it
and sharpen it
and it wouldn't hurt me
but lonely...
lonely can't be held
constantly wisps of it trailing
just out of reach
so you can see lonely
and feel lonely
but it's impossible to catch
to hold, to touch, because to truly
understand lonely,
would be to accept that you are
and refuse to be lonely
anymore.

day one hundred fifty-six: you can trust the stars.

"we live in a world built on promises
constructed by liars"


round, round, green
lies, lies, means,
stars tickle the darkness
like bits of truth
shining through lying lives
"never stop
never stop writing"
keep going
on and on
shoot the stars
fling them across the sky
they're just trying to get your attention
to let you know,
they aren't like everyone else
you can trust the bits of truth
if you can catch them
if you can hold them tight enough
that they wont fling themselves
back at the horizon
you can trust the stars
if you can catch them.

day one hundred fifty-five: my life.

i want

i dream

i need

coffee

dreams

hugs

i pray

i wish

i hope

fulfillment

to understand

i follow through

by doing the things that i want, 

dream, need, pray for, wish for, 

and hope for...

because at the end of my life

i'll be the only one to blame

for the dreams i never made

come true. 

i'm too compassionate

and too sympathetic

i feel the regret others have

for their lives spent

and dreams lost

and i've felt it enough to realize

there is no such thing as "too compassionate"

"too sympathetic"

because the biggest regrets in life

are usually ones that could have been

easily avoided with a little bit of love,

for ones self or others

and a little understanding 

in a tense situation.

i'm learning.

i'm dreaming.

i'm not waiting.

i'm planning

ahead, but flexible,

ever ready

to change my plans

at the drop 

of a 

word.

day one hundred fifty-four: life changes.

bones disintegrating
decompose into nothing
brittle, breaking
beneath the weight of
the gravity of a certain number of years
drop one, slip a tad,
and never again the same
the shattered bones
from what once barely skinned your hand
the shattered dreams
from what once was merely bad luck.

day one hundred fifty-three: things i'll never be.

these are the things

i'll never be:

i'll never be as bossy 

or controlling as she was

i'll not ever be that petite

i'll never be as quiet as she was

and i'll never stomp on you like she does

but still, even still

i'm not enough.

day one hundred fifty-two: oh, hello.

call it what you will

silly lust

crazy hormones

young love

foolish attraction

call it as you see it

but until you feel it

really feel it 

deep in your gut

with that pang of

"oh, hello"

that means more than

simply, "hi"

then you can call me stupid

for being who i am

and doing what i've done.

day one hundred fifty-one: your body is a land of wonder.

"you head won't hit the pillow
without my hand behind it"
and we know now, that's not
how the song goes,
but that's not what matters
there's this thing called magic
and i'm almost a believer
because when i said that word
and you took my words
and made them your own
by repeating them to me
in reverse order
of logical alignment
it made sense
that it would be you
who might finally get it
and there are days that i lose hope,
lose heart
lose strength
but days like that night
make me remember
that words-- yours, mine, hers, his,
are not just words
but whispers of the heart.

day one hundred fifty: where credit is due.

i must say
that i must
give credit
where credit
is due
i must say
that i was
thrilled to finally
be seeing you
until that is
i noticed
that you don't even
care about
the people you "love"
and "treasure"
only the ones you've
recently been around
and that's fine,
sure whatever
i must bid you adieu
because at least you don't pretend to care
like others i know that do.

day one hundred forty-nine: life, it's wasted on the fake.

that feeling of

life being a waste

of every move

being a fake

the end

means nothing

if you never began

to let yourself dream

live

love and rely

on yourself to get you by

and when you fall

ask for help

because helping you

might save someone else

day one hundred forty-eight: bitter bite.

watch out, beautiful

here comes heartbreak

walking down the street

revenge and bitterness

raining form above

you're surrounded, overwhelmed

nothing can save you

from heartbreak's bitter

bite

day one hundred forty-seven: labels.

the foolish believe in perfection

the hopeful believe in happy ends

the caged fear freedom

and the free fear confinement

but we must not quit

for these labels need someone

on which to rest

and i just enjoy proving

the "smart" ones wrong.

day one hundred forty six: Ewan McGregor.

gray eyes

devilish grin

behind reddened lips

of passion

lips that house

a magnificent throat

which sings ballads

of only loving

imperfect

impossible

me.

day one hundred forty-five: writers block.

snippets of pieces of

lovely poems

leak and drip and try

to trip onto the

paper blank and raw

with nothing but

a feverish hand

grasping the corner

as if it is but the

edge of the highest

cliff face

simply waiting

for words to come

to my rescue.

day one hundred forty-four: provocative dance.

muscles bending

in rhythm

flexing to beats

with only mischief

and misery

in mind.

day one hundred forty-three: nonexistent things.

so

distance is just a word

but so is love

that doesn't take away

its impact on reality

words are assigned emotions

but how do you really know them?

if someone tells you love is enchanting

and enchanting is magic

but magic is not real

will you conclude

that love does not exist?

if that were so I wish I'd

made a list

of nonexistent things

so I'd just top wishing and waiting.

day one hundred forty-two: blue, brown, blue.

blue

brown

blue

brown

blue

somehow i've found the power

over you

there's a pattern

that's repeating inside of my brain

and i don't know when [or if] we will ever meet again

but i want you to understand

that this is how my life will remain

blue- the one i will not claim

the one so far back

i hate to try to regain

the state of mind i was in

such a young pup, you were just the friend of a friend

brown- well, i thought we were best friends

but bridges are burnt

and smiles fade with hurt

and so there you went

with so much power over me

blue- a simulated comfort

a silly mind game

lets toy with the brain

and see what we may gain

from this asinine competition

brown- a comforter

simply too much of a great thing

too soon for each to understand

too much love for us to handle

too much, simply too much

lets call it quits and find our way back to friends

blue- a friend

and more

but less

but somehow it makes sense

that we would listen

to that music

and call one another

"turn on the radio" "okay!"

but we wont over analyze these thoughts

because we're always allowed to change

our

minds.

day one hundred forty-one: out of control.

out of control

losing my soul

heartbreak

cannot take

this shouting

this headache

remove yourself

remove me

lies

hypnotize me

with your lies

you're missing the importance

of your actions

and your words

there's a sort of condescension

and hypocrisy

for every thing that echoes from your mouth

and every blow that comes from your arms

it's funny: the way you lie

just like i once did

the way you ruined an evening

like i have done many times before

maybe that's why i see

your silly lying

hypocrisy

day one hundred forty: shape of smoke.

think of the shape of smoke

all fluid

and bendy

it waves and winds

into the sky

interrupting my time

with the child within

the smoke is a poem

that suddenly stretches out before me

tempting me to put down the dr.seuss book

that i was reciting to us (my inner child and i)

and grasp the poem

before it slips further

into the sky

"...shape of smoke"

is a mere illusion

a distraction

a temptation

oh, the lovely shape of smoke

all covered in demise

day one hundred thirty-nine: when?

when did this become

some silly popularity contest?

some silly beauty game?

when did this become

this, this, fake thing

that isn't pure like it once was

who made it this way?

can we ever take it back?

and make it that happy

because i don't think

we are powerful enough

to bring it back

from such a torn and stained

state of being.

day one hundred thirty-eight:[untitled]

ignorance

ignoring

entrance

entrancing

hide

just hiding

beneath the skin

fly

i'm flying

defiance

defying

dreaming

the dream

within

holding

witholding

emotion

true feelings

that seep through

and stay within

day one hundred thirty-seven: i'm the toy.

theres an old toy

that you must give up

because if you do

your parents will provide

a nice shiny new one

and so you do

but as you go through life

with this new toy

suddenly something happens--

the toy breaks

and you just wish

with all your might

that you had that old toy

back again

because even though

it will never be the same

and even though it was old and worn out

that toy was comfortable

and easy to play with

it was your favorite

and there might not ever be another toy

just like that one

and the new ones might be shiny

but the old one had spunk...

something you cant really buy

or explain

but you keep telling yourself

even if you had that old moldy toy back

it wouldn't be the same

or as fun

as it was before

so buck up

smile

and let me go.

day one hundred thirty-six: afraid to go to sleep.

afraid

to sleep

to shut my eyes

afraid

i'll meet

my own lies

inside my head

there's no disguise

for what i'm feeling

here tonight

i'm

afraid

of loving

of losing

of dreaming

but at the same time

i'm so

compassionate

i've lost myself

somewhere in the dreams

so how does it make sense

to be afraid to love

but compassionate

to be afraid to lose

but to have lost myself

and to be afraid of dreaming

but to be living a dream?

it doesn't

and that's me

i'm afraid to go to sleep.

day one hundred thirty-five: change in the tide.

this worrisome feeling

wont leave me alone

why do i worry

for you

this strange new feeling

wont get out of my gut

why do i wonder

when it will end

there's a creepy tide

rolling inside my soul

and it's going to take over

i'm losing control

there's a change in the wind

and a shift under foot

and i'm not fighting anymore

i'd rather just let it happen

because sooner or later

it'll happen

why do i worry for you?

day one hundred thirty-four: not even love.

intoxicate

your mind

with memories

unwind

the thoughts

of yesteryear

when all we had to fear

were thoughts inside our minds

not actions--

never defined

only imaginative instances

when we had all our defenses

up

and nothing

not even love

could bring us down

day one hundred thirty-three: there are tears.

there are tears

and they wont stop

because they carry

the biggest fears

from my brain

out my eyes

around my nose

down my cheeks

together at my chin

where they are released into the air

just to begin that water cycle

all over again

there are tears

and they wont stop

because they carry

the biggest fears

and the biggest fears

are the hardest

to overcome

day one hundred thirty-two: lonely soul.

constantly wondering

how many more days

i can simply make it

pretending that i'm okay alone

pretending that lonely

is my favorite state of mind

because it's not

theres an archaic ache

inside my soul

to be matched with someone

someone much like me

but much different, too

and there's this part

that wont shut up

no matter how long i suppress it

it returns with roaring glory

"you're alone..."

"there's no getting out..."

"there's no one there..."

and the lies it whispers

i nieve-ly believe

because lonely is the saddest state

the saddest state of mind.

day one hundred thirty-one: come, death, lay with me.

ghosts laughed

and they cried

and they listened to

the midnight rhymes

and they let the leaves fall

from the trees so tall

tumbling down

laying on the ground

i lay beneath the surface

never to be touched

by such a beautiful leaf

only a root

digging in deep

penetrating the being that is me

breaking through the fibers

that create my soul

and it is selfish

with its unholy craving

to suck the life

from my life filled bones

come, death, lay with me

beneath the stone cold ground.

day one hundred thirty: nails on a chalkboard.

fingernails on chalkboards

raw in circles they go

breaking the silence

breaking the flow

of sanity and the sane and the perfection

and the fingernails they are dirty

beneath them is mud and sand

and they separate the nail from the flesh

and tear the insides apart

much like an arrow through the soul

would separate the marrow

lets just fake the smiles

and pretend our nails are no longer dirty

and scrape our beautiful chalkboard

until the demons cry their last.

day one hundred twenty-nine: lets be there for one another.

lets waste one another

use one another

let the tensions relax

lets face one another

embrace one another

let the fusion begin

lets watch one another

grow and mold and ruin

let the massacre begin.

day one hundred twenty-eight: broken pieces, broken dreams.

anxiety

lies

sometimes i'm ugly

inside and outside

i want to rip something in two

and fit it back together

in a whole new way

something of an art

like that time you took my heart

tore it in half

shoved the pieces back together

and laid them in my hands?

that was my biggest art project

and it taught me that life never goes

the way you want

but that's the artsy part

you get to figure out what to do

with all the broken pieces

and all the broken dreams

of yesterday.

day one hundred twenty-seven: comforting conformity.

i wonder if i'm crazy

in the head sometimes

because i realize

how much easier it would be

to just settle for less

than what i want

and it tempts me

the mediocrity

it tempts me with its instant gratification

and its long eyelashes

and its fleshy flesh

its comfort and conformity

and i just think to myself

it would be so much easier to make this bed

with someone standing on the other side

to tell me if the sheet is lopsided.

day one hundred twenty-six: clone.

you take something that nobody wants

and turn it into something that everyone craves

and call it yours

your concoction

your mixture of human

almost a new person

then you leave it all alone

like some sort of silly baby clone

and hope it does alright on its own

well now its turned upside down

and turned inside out

and all around

and it's just not alright

to leave it cold and new

and just let it find it's own

cause it's not who it wanted to be

its what you wanted it to be

but that doesn't make me any less human.

day one hundred twenty-five: why do you get it?

i don't expect you to get it

that i want to be alone

but that i still feel

lonely sometimes

that i'm kinda crazy too

but sometimes you do

and it makes me miss you

even more than i used too

so i almost wish

you didn't understand so much

because now it's like i'm missing

part of me and all of you.

day one hundred twenty-four: who understands?

Who Understands?

(Written 10/21/08)

they lock the doors,

so i stay inside;

they threw away the key,

so i live without hope;

they take my will,

so i am useless;

they twist my words

and i am broken;

they make me feel guilt,

so i live with my tears;

they feed me bitterness,

so my heart grows cold;

they take away my voice,

so i live in silence;

they take my innocence,

and my soul grows black;

i cannot walk through locked doors,

or love with a bitter heart;

who understands when i say

this is painful?

who understands when i say

i want out?

day one hundred twenty-three: today.

and suddenly

reality

feels so far away

try as i might

i refuse to fight

the feelings of today

somehow they are relevant

and matter here and now

and maybe someday

someway somehow

i'll stumble upon reality

and this will fix itself.

day one hundred twenty-two: evil all around.

evil evil all around

seeping from the vents

evil evil will surround

the sleeping children's tents

evil evil all around

breathing like a beast

evil evil all around

waiting for the feast

evil evil all around

slinks and slobbers in the night

evil evil all around

waiting to take a bite

evil evil all around

devours the rip red fruit

evil evil all around

it might be coming after you

day one hundred twenty-one: dear mine.

dear mine,

i am here

waiting for you

not to come "sweep me off my feet"

i can do without the showy

romantic cliches

but to show up in the shadows

and to, maybe, catch me off guard?

i wonder if you really do

even exist?

are you waiting for me to find you?

well, maybe i will.

i wont promise a dream come true

but i can promise to love you

like no other will ever love you.

treat me "right"

love me much

dont neglect the smallest touch

just be there

be around

let me enjoy finding

what i have found

don't expect me to dive right in

i'll be hesitant, at least, my friend,

but i'll be yours if you wait out the storm

and let me walk the tight rope

i'm stringing along

let me walk it for a while

to prove i can walk it alone.

day one hundred-twenty: my "Scream".

my own scream

in my own ears

echoing

from distant years

eons of ions

displacing the tritons

of the deep

black hair

whipped around

splayed in a frantic frizz

a billion dots make the sky

a brightly dim yellow and red

the minuscule dots

touch and cross

to make a cloudless sky

and on the bridge that black headed girl

stands face in hands

there are two walking away

their shadows hold five hundred

there are devils crawling up the bridge

like trolls from deep caverns

and a scream

infinitely painted

upon her paleish face

keeps her frightened of the mob

and of the devils' face

but when studied closely you'll see

a glimmer in her eye

that glimmer there remains

the change she will bring upon the world

if you just let her try.

day one hundred-nineteen: only the lonely.

isolation

insomnia

the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

insanity

is ianthine

(or so I'm told)

the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

ichongram

left in the sand

the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

footsteps fall

away from it all

the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

sleeping ictus

is the soul

the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

refusing to sleep

ideopraxist

the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

ifsoever ignivomous love

did my soul take over

illaqueate my pulse

my whole being

my heart would simply slow

because you see,

as i've mentioned

only the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

day one hundred-eighteen: invincible me.

there are days

that i am invincible

its not just a feeling

i really am

and i can do anything

too

i can break anything

go anywhere

make something happen

that wouldn't happen without me

but the other days

i roll out of bed

and

before my feet hit the floor

the world has defeated me

today i'm afraid to put my feet on the ground

i'm afraid to see

if today i'll be weak

or invincible me

the days i'm weak

i'd rather just lay here

and hide from it all.

day one hundred-seventeen: maybe someday i'll stop running.

there might be a day

when i need to catch my breath

(much like to day

it's safe to bet)

that i'll need a second to stop and rest

there'll be a place where i must crash

and maybe a place to burn for a second or two

and there might be a day

that i'll stop running

and doing and being and seeing

long enough to pause and be

just silly little me

maybe someday i'll stop running

long enough to catch my breath...

but i don't see that day,

i'm doubting it'll ever get here

and sometimes i think thats good

others i feel like i'm outrunning time

either way, i think i'm looking for that day

the day i can be me.

day one hundred-sixteen: i don't feel.

i don't feel you

there anymore

because you aren't?

because you never

really were?

i don't feel you

i don't feel a thing

i'm growing numb to this life

to this pain.

you helped me sense

the realness within me

and the fake things too

you helped me feel

the things that were made of me

and thanks,

but now i don't feel at all

so now i'm left to wonder:

is it better to have felt then not,

than to have never felt at all?

day one hundred-fifteen: my puzzle box.

["Solitude is as needle to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character." -- James Russel Lowell]

sometimes i long for solitude

and no one understands

there's something in being alone

with thoughts and feelings

and figuring out what they all really mean

and how they all fit

like a jigsaw puzzle

of a million pieces

all inside the box

that is my brain

and they must be taken out

in solitude and pieced together

one by minuscule one

until a few match up

and fit together

to make a little bit of sense

but solitude doesn't last forever

and into the bustling world i must go

so the pieces may be pulled apart

and hidden away again

only to be shaken up

by the noises and sounds of the days

so i'll live my life

longing for that solitude

or someone to help me piece together

the pieces in my puzzle box.

day one hundred-fourteen: avoiding the voicing.

avoiding

the inevitable

voicing

the opinion

avoiding

the problem

voicing

the pain

avoiding

the inane

voicing

the crazy

avoiding

being lazy

voicing

the inevitable

day one hundred-thirteen: that ringing.

that ringing

make it stop

that ringing

from the clock

that ringing

here it comes

that ringing

behind the drums

that ringing

in my ears

that ringing

so many years

that ringing

will it stop?

that ringing

from the top

that ringing

in infinity

day one hundred-twelve: time for me.

time for me

to liberate

to live

to love

to lie

time for me

to find

to flee

to forget

to fly

time for me

to escape

to emancipate

to examine

to elaborate

time for me

to be.

day one hundred-eleven: where real beauty lies.

sad how you

cant see

that i am

beautifully me

because you're too

wrapped up in you

sad how you

wont see

that my God loves me

because you have to be

a certain size to please yours

sad how you

must bring

the hateful words

to pull me down

because you cant see

where real beauty lies

[inside]

day one hundred-ten: the lover's cry.

"...let him never die..."

oh, how a heart can be torn

twisted, smashed, burned

and still survive,

"...one question haunts and hurts, too much! too much to mention... was i really seeking good or just seeking attention...?"

sometimes the things we wish

for those we hate or those we love

aren't what they need

are only what we want for ourselves

but we're just too afraid to attempt

to change ourselves

"is that all good deeds are when looked at with an ice cold eye?"

so, i'll question my deeds, my actions, my thoughts

i'll look at them from every angle

mix them around, and examine them again

and i'll pray that my good deeds

that my lover's cry

is really what we both need

"somethings i cannot change, but till i try i'll never know, too long i've been afraid of losing love i guess i've lost well, if that's love it comes at much too high a cost!"

so instead of asking you to change

i'll see myself through different eyes

i'll make sure i realize

that i'm really me...

"and if i'm flying solo, at least i'm flying free"

and it's probably best for you,

and, well, for me.

day one hundred-nine: that cat.

what i need

is a strong willed

independent

nearly hateful cat

because no matter

how much it hates you

you feed it,

you love it,

you even cuddle it,

and it'll always be there

because secretly

it loves you too,

only secretly

because cat's have

that independent air

in which they live

and an image they must uphold

just like everyone else.

day one hundred-eight: to speak the language.

wickedly despicable

gravity defying

mind blowing

tone envying

phones ringing

pause the life

and let the music happen

find the rhythm

find the rhyme

follow them

into no-time

hear the laugher

stand and clap

feel the low notes

tickling your diaphragm

let the high notes

take you higher

make you feel

that much lighter

let that music take you over

because music:

"music s too strong a language

for me not to speak"

day one hundred-seven: funny now, funny how.

funny how

you can't hear me

over your own complaints

funny now

that you're saying those things

because that's the opposite of how i feel

funny how

life works out

funny now

that you don't matter as much as i'd like for you to.

day one hundred-six: incomplete.

i dont

think in complete thoughts

not ones that end in periods

but ones that end with blanks

fill them in

if you'd like

but it wont matter to me

because my sentences are never

completely

complete

anymore

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.

day seventy-five: please stop.

please stop.

please just stop

trying to force me into

a silly cardboard box

and trying to make me fit into

the container you want me to look like

please stop.

brain, stop screaming

hormones, bug off

thoughts, stop repeating

eyes, focus please you're making me irritated

please go.

go away for a little while

let me be alone long enough

to really miss you

not you,

the other one,

the one behind you.

the funny thing is

you'll probably read this

and you'll ask me if this is about you

but it's not

because it's really about me

thats the beauty of poetry.

you is me are you,

or at least it could be.

day seventy-four: mental well being.

things to think on

things to pray

things to sing

and things to say

so much whirling

around inside my skull

but there are deadlines to meet

and things to do

so i'll just have to find

something to think on

something to keep me focused

on anything but you.

day seventy-three: love and hate.

i loved

to stand

and conversate

for four

hours straight

and to just be

and to hear

and to just see

the things

you've been becoming

and saying

and doing

and it's not

that i'm letting you

control my happiness

it's that the things

that you had to say

were exactly what

i needed to hear

fall from your lips

oh, the irony

of love and hate.

day seventy-two: bipolar, love.

there's this knot in my throat

and it misses you

there's a kink in my heart

and it hurts for you

there's a place in my mind

that still thinks about you

and sometimes there's a me

that comes out and admits

to wishing things were the way they were.

why would i want that?

i wish it were mind games i was playing

i wish i could be angry at you

but you're just not that kind

and i'm not either

i wasn't "happy"

i wasn't where i needed to be

so where was i, exactly?

and why do i find myself wanting to go back?

day seventy-one: my own me.

my own me

who is that

exactly?

i've never seen

that megan before.

does she live around here?

must be from up north...

or maybe west

maybe she's out there

in the desert sands

being happy herself

and hiding from this

insanely sad world...

or maybe she's not even

from this planet

maybe she's on mars

being happy alone

finding joy in alienation...

where do you think she is?

i think there's a slight chance

that she's just buried

under all this pressure

and worry

and that she's inside me

i know she is

and she's busting out

so watch out

because you might not like

to see her smile

i hear it breaks hearts-

that truly happy smile.

day seventy: i'm alive again.

there's a steady beat

bouncing from the drums

hitting my feet

and wiggling up

to my hips

and my hands

resist the urge

to stand still

instead a sway escapes

a clap sounds

there's something under my foot

that deserves to be stomped on

or maybe my foot just feels like

it needs to express the music on it's own

things like this make me

remember a dream

the dream i had

when i was young

to sing and dance

in front of thousands

to play a violin

like someone before, only better

and with more passion

because music is something to share

so here i am

alive again

swaying to the music

i'm making.

day sixty-nine: you changed.

it breaks my heart

to have to say

somewhere behind

your eyes

you've changed

my words are rushed

i'm sorry

i must explain

somewhere, something

behind your eyes

isn't the same

i'm not asking you not to change

i want you too

i want to, too

but i'm afraid

of the change

that i sense

behind your gaze

because i feel like

it'll break me

and i don't want that.

i want to stand tall,

change

and be me.

day sixty-eight: when i grow up.

there are things

i want to see

people i want

to touch

things i want to be

when i grow up

when i grow up

i'll conquer the world

but don't worry

you will hardly notice

because it's just something

some were born to do

i wont let you take my light

you may not steal my life

and squeeze my passion into some

magical potion of a cocktail

you can't have my secrets either

the deepest ones that are hidden

somewhere deep inside this poet

there are things i want

things i want to be

to do

to see

to touch

to enjoy

to be a part of

to be

and i'm not sure if

with or without you is one.

i'm just praying

i'll figure it out.

day sixty-seven: too...

too close

too too close

close enough to feel

you

too nice

too too nice

too nice to be real to

me

too deep

too too deep

too deep to find a way

in the right direction

too grand

too too grand

too grand of a time to

stay away for too long

too long

too too long

too long since we've been

comfortable in our own skin

too beautiful

too too beautiful

you're just too beautiful

for me.