Friday, December 24, 2010

Christmas

Christmas melodies singing
Santa’s sleigh bells ringing.
Holiday lights beaming
So it must be Christmas.

To me, Santa is real,
He hasn’t lost his appeal.
He knows how to make me feel
Like the season is Christmas.

I can smell the joys
In the cookies and the toys
Opened by girls and boys
On the morning of Christmas

And even though it’s raining,
(and the shopping can be draining),
my spirit isn’t waning
Because it’s Christmas.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Spirit with Wings

Poor little bird, why do you cry?
Did your little friend set off and fly?
Don't cry all alone in the tree,
I'll tell you something to you from me.
I too had an angel, on Earth a  friend,
and what so quickly began, had a sudden end.
Although optimism is something I always lack,
Know, that while seasons change, they always change back.
Yes, she too had no choice, but to set off and fly,
but the spirit is sacred and can never die.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

F.E.A.R.

"Fear" is  continually displayed
in dangerous calligraphy on my bedroom walls.

It was once on the window where condemners could read,
on my ceiling as a greeting when I woke
and last thing I saw before I spiraled to nightmares of isolation.

I stared at it etched on my door,
and I was obligated to stare it down while I fumbled for my keys.
It was written on the blinds, on my body.
 on my homework, on the foreheads of friends and family,
 on my tuition, my bank account, my work.

Fear is now only  present when I'm alone.
Smeared across my walls in sharp,dark, cacophonous font.
With this word sky-scraper tall, I feel defeated.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Earthly Conversations


Wind is conversing with Trees
They aren't so secretive
, but no one ever listens.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

What Women Say...

   I am not vain nor self-concious.I love my eyes. I'm told I have beautiful eyes.I like that my smile looks genuinely joyful. I don't mind my hips. I love shaking them left to right,with my Ipod while I'm cleaning,doing homework, or before getting in the shower. I'm forgiving of how my body looks,I know there's no perfect mold. So I chose to love who I am.
    Women say I need to focus on companionship,women in my family wonder what is wrong with me.Is something wrong with me? I don't date. I haven't been kissed.I haven't held the hand of someone I loved and felt his hand hold me back. The women in my family curl up on the couch like a slumber party's group of gossipy girls, and ask if there's someone special I have my eye on. Each time I speak, I feel like I'm letting them down. I'd wish that they would lose interest in asking, but they never did.
     It is possible for a pretty girl to feel ugly through casual, nonchalant glances. It is easy for a girl to get the hint that there's something wrong with her without someone forming it into words. Words are nothing without the style that portrays it. I ignored them as a little girl when they'd mention boys. They'd bring it up while tying my shoes, or as we were sitting down for dinner. While my love life remains dormant, the women I'm friends with also have gone through the relationships stages, have grown up in that aspect. Some are lucky to have been blessed with wonderful husbands and wives that would conquer the moon and gather the stars in order to make symbolic portraits of their devoutness. My sister will have her first child in a few months, and I can hardly breath at the excitement of new life, and love. This is for her, her time.
    I would love to know who I am privileged to spend the rest of my life with.I would love to share my happiness and successes with someone who loves how I shake my hips to Shakira and who smiles brighter because they see me smiling back at them. On a bright note, I'm glad I haven't gone through rough drafts of love before getting to a masterpiece.
     Let it be known, this is not something depressing. I told you, I love who I am. While younger kids in my class would scribble over the black lines while coloring, I did one of two things: I would color halfway and get discouraged, or I would take my time and outline the picture in dark color,then lightly shade in the rest. I do feel discouraged. I start to think falling in love wasn't in my cards.Twenty years old and I haven't been kissed. Not once. God talks to me though, and promises me one day I will meet my someone, and he would be worth the wait. He says the secret to staying hopeful is to look straight ahead and cover my ears.
    He said to tell other little girls that love and beauty has to grow first from within, and one day when it blossoms, a certain someone will see it, admire it, and love it.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Age 4, Post Divorce

Why are you crying?
She'd single me out like the dumb kid in school.
I miss him.
My little fingers held my attention.Twisted and intermingled like the words marking my silence. Anything to not stare into her eyes.

 I just want to see my-
Shut down and wrapped shut.
Do you not love me?
The cold callous glare took hold of my insides and smothered it into submission.

No, that's not-
Tears didn't know where else to fall. One after the other they fell onto my cheeks. My heart tried to break free and run.
Then don't mention your father anymore. Go to sleep.
 I turned over,trying to hold my breath so she wouldn't hear my stuttering cry.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

*

I have a secret,
that if I die,
I wish to spread
through the air so high.

Pour through the valleys
so throughout the sky
it would be stored as a star,
and when you pass by
they'd shine down with gloats,
and although you will try
you will not know it
(I will not lie).

I have a secret,
that if I die,
will spread like marbles
across the sky.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

World, Are You Listening?

When did my eyes start looking downward?
They use to look up, unaware of where I was going.
(Not caring either)
I'd blindly skip on the sidewalk,
or trudge through the mud.
I would always look upward though,
because I knew you were up, and you were looking down,
I was willing to face the ditches and holes that hid in the distance,
because I knew you were with me.
I loved that I was shielded.
You would lead the way and I would trust enough to know how to follow.

When did I start looking downward?
Tip toe, miserably mold myself to be air-thin,
and subconsciously blending in with the cement.
Somewhere along the line, the heart sunk down, down, downward.
The spirit had no option, but to set off and  fly.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

If You Haven't Tried it, How Do You Know it's No Good?

When potentially life-altering situations present themselves on a silver platter and slide across the dinning room table to my place setting, I tend to lose my appetite. Sweaty palms, and rocks settle in the pit of my stomach. The possibility of being presented with a dish of harsh reality ,also known as "failure", mind boggles me to the point where a pinch of imperfection can be self-labeled as "unsuccessful". This life course is not a doodle on scratch paper that can be crumbled up and tossed into the waste basket. What's there is what's served, and it's right in front of me. When these situations present themselves it's best to keep the lid on so no one else at the table sees. Who knows what they'd think. Normally this would be one of those moments where what others think is none of my business, but this predicament will be inevitably served and although I have never tried it, I don't know if I'd want to.

Do you get it? Do you understand what it is I am trying to say?

Because I don't.

Friday, November 5, 2010

I'm on My Way to Believing

*I found this from when I was younger. I used to look up at the sky and wish that I could leave Earth and go home. I remember writing this and feeling like no one would understand. Little did I realize that this wasn't an unusual feeling. I didn't title it, I normally didn't title things because I felt it restricted my thoughts and feelings if I did it that way, but I put one for the blog.

Eyes cascade to mother’s soil
Heel toe, heel toe
Cold chains, drooping seat
Back and forth
The night, those stars
They dance, slide across the sky
One by one
 To and fro, to and fro
Too far, so close
Swing high,
 higher! Higher!
Light, love, acceptance.
One more, room for one more.
Love me, shine for me.
Swing higher!
Light’s warmth holds my face with two hands.
Hair strokes my face forward and backward.
Almost there, please!
Hands up in praise.
Legs stiff like my future.
Jump! Reach! Beg! Soar!
Drop, failure,dishonor, shame.
 Blood slides across my elbow.
         Cry, cry, stop.
                                                                  Sniffle, sniffle, stop.
                                                                        Home.

Demon Dreams are Dreadful


She covers her eyes,and shadows away.
She's evil by night, then gentle by day.
 
She lays in the grave yard,never spoken a word.
She's silent to the grave. Nothing's ever been heard.
 
She lives on the streets, yet said to live in the dark,
in the old grave yard down by the park.
 
She lays by that same grave stone, even as we speak.
Noises squeal from the grave yard,light shines through the peek.
 
I sit by my window, looking down at her at night.
While demons dance around her, I hold my cross tight.
 
She was always such a shy person.She never looked at me before.
Then one night she looked at me while standing at the grave yard door.
 
Her eyes were red.Her soul was black.
But I still go to that window, and she always goes back.

cchhhhhh chit cha chhhhhhh

The tap dancer in my fan performs nightly

maxiford, cincinatti, shuffle turns, flaps,

then digs, riff,  and pull backs

(from single to double).

"cchhhhhh chit cha chhhhhhh"

Last night was "Lullaby to the Leaves."

He knows I miss it, and plays in my honor.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Gossip

Gossip is an old christian woman.
The pink hats and tight curls,
nylons, white clutch purse from the 60's and her worn out white high heels.

Gossip is our first language.
"Well, I don't know everything, BUUUTTT..."
the flood gates open. there's no going back.
it's done for.

The old christian woman has played this game with God for a while.
She found her loop hole, as all women think they do:



"Let's form a prayer circle everyone. Come on now, let's go. We need some prayer today. Get together.(They hold hands.)  Okay, dear Lord, I pray that Harold will stop drinking. He beats his wife every night after the bar and now Nancy is out of a job because her bruises don't heal quick enough to go unnoticed..."

(You hear that? That's the flood pouring through the gates.)

"... Lord I pray Drew will stop having sexual relations will Mary and that he will go home to his wife, Leslie, who is still facing drug rehab and is now  just had her fifth intervention..."

(No one is praying at this point. Those mentioned are sweating like demons, shifty-eyed.  All eyes are open and everyone looks around and mouths words of confusion, but not the old woman, she continues strong.)

"... Lord God, I pray Maxwell won't have to go on Welfare and lose his house to the bank. Please keep an eye out for Matthew and make sure that rash he has isn't contagious and may that be a lesson to him. AMEN! Praise Jesus."

The old woman feels worlds better. Weight off her chest.

"Oh God is good. Don't you love a good prayer?"

She walks outside to her '67 mustang and drives off peacefully, leaving the church is total disarray.

If gossip was personified, it would be the old christian woman.
She knows the game well, like most women think they do.

Monday, November 1, 2010

What I Thought Love Was as a Child

Barbie was perfect;
perfect hair, perfect legs, perfect smile
Purple roller blades with a purple too-too,
and pink helmet for her girlie upkeep.
She was my ideal woman.

Barbie met up with Ken every day
He was America's idea of an ideal man.
Brown hair, his traffic light shirt and black pants.
No shoes (he was cool like that.)
I'd put them in Barbie's electric VW bug and have them go out into town.

They always had fun.
They would meet up with friends, they would hug and kiss.
Yet in the end, they were never happy.
They'd hate each other and yell.
Barbie would cry and Ken would get frustrated and leave.
Their daily agenda was always different.
The ending the same.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Change Never Changes, Nothing's Ever Safe

Things constant in my childhood:
Adam Ant on the radio
"The Panda Palace"
Mom's scent after work
As fast as a bullet, things can come and go.
No preparation.

He sat next to me in three classes at Temecula Middle School.

Not a huge talker.
I could wring out a sentence.
6th grade, 7th grade, and 8th.
P.E., English, Math, Social Studies.
He would see it coming, and so talking was less of an interrogation.

We didn't talk after middle school.
Our simple talks were not in vain.
You learn from others, from strangers.

You form and grow and each person has a role in your life to shape even the smallest aspect of you.

Unlike people, memories never change. 
His father died, his father's girlfriend, and then himself.
ABC 7 told me so.
1,2,3.

No preparation.

As fast as a bullet can come and go, so did he.

A Clean Cut to the Heart (If You're Capable of Mercy)

You want to see me cry? Show me my loves ones torn down.
Show them in pain, silenced and beaten into submission.
Show me every detail that separates a man from a monster.
Show me what is right in America,
Show me what it is not to be white.

"For my God, for my country, for my family..." I pray for your soul.

Tell me that there is nothing I can do to save them all.
Show me a child that  says ‘nigger’, ‘japs’, ‘jew’ all because his father or mother showed him how.
Show me how you tell a black man to go back to Africa when he's never been, when your forefathers brought his forefathers here on a slave ship.
Tell a Hispanic student he's taking a learning opportunity away from a white student.
Call an immigrant an alien or an illegal when they are a citizen.
Plant these infectious seeds of bigotry into future America,
lie to your recruitments and say that you're just like them.
Make me watch it on Television, in the news, through music, and  fix my thoughts to remember firsthand accounts.

You’ll see my walls torn down and my tough-gal act demolished.
Hold me in place, and make me watch.
Whisper in my ear how lucky I am. 
Tell me I can’t save the world. 
Tell me that we’re not all equal.
Tell me these are NOT my people, and I can’t save them all.
Show me the symbols you tattoo and wear like a purple heart.
Show me you’re wrong, misinformed, malicious interpretation of love.
Show me how you take in stray children and teach them what "love" is.

Tell me we’re not a melting pot, and that a part of me will be found dead, hanging in a tree.
Tell me Racism is what we need to keep The People safe.
Show me segregation, say those words of hatred my  tongue cannot even form.
 Tell me the world is hell-bound and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

You’ll see me on my knees, begging God to forgive you, even though you’re not asking for it.
And these eyes ,that have seen this powerful wave of animosity, will never be dry again. 



Monday, October 18, 2010

Blessings

It's funny, I have two eyes and I never saw what lied ahead.
His rapid breathing and his precious cry made me soft.
This creature slowly opens his eyes and I see him.
He's so soft, so warm, and he smells so fresh.
To think, before then, bitterness struck 
the words born from my mouth
spoke harshly and selfishly
(without a thought)
abort it.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Our Not So All-of-Sudden Downfall

It shatters a thousand ways
They try to pick up the remnants
so as to leave in one piece

Authority is a dangerous gift.
The words affect them stronger than sticks,
and flog them shamefully better than any stone.

The sweet pleasure of brotherhood,
becomes just a fantasy,
along with everything else we're told as kids.

It's the scene from "The Lottery."
All are torn down,
belittled and stripped of any self-dignity.

Crowds huddle around and laugh at your misfortunes they've claimed as your own.
Stolen value is smeared into the dirt with heavy black shoes,
and kicked to the curb into the gutter's green slime.

What monster could have so much power,
 make you  lower your head from the skies to Earth?
You? Me?
Both.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Belief is More Than a Polysyllabic Word

I believe in God, because He believes in me,
and in the homeless migrating out on the streets.
 He believes in the kleptos in near shops that steal,
and the atheists who swear to God He's not real.
 He believes in love despite animosities,
and in those who have labyrinths of anxieties.
He believes in the lost minds who rarely adhere
to the fact that Heaven is in no way like here.
While his children remain steadily on the ground
God believes in the O' so very praiseworthy sound
of followers crying for Lord's simplicity.
And that through all our trials of complicity,
we shout (hands high) , "I believe Lord. The king of kings!"
Just think of the unending blessings He'd bring!

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Feelings UNmutual.

I'm not good at feeling
If it's needed to be shared.
I can't bring someone close,
without being scared.
I can't quite shape it.
It started since birth.
It's like my heart's with God's people,
but is fresh-out of self-worth.

My heart belongs to the world,
 because I believe in their fate,
but I set up self-standards
and tend to self-hate.
Not an "image" self-hatred
or where I am from,
but a portrait self-image
of who I've become.

and it's easy to love
and it's easy to say
that you shouldn't judge this
or act out in this way
and it's easy to guide
and not so easy to follow
and it's not easy to fill
your soul when it's hallow.

I don't like sharing how I feel.
Or who I've become,
it's an attention unwanted,
that makes me feel dumb.
and the dumbness is numb.
and the numb is the sum
of the amount of good feeling
that will never come.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Struggles for Happiness

If something makes you happy, don't be a stranger to it.
Don't push it into a corner where you forget his face,
or insult him by naming him "stupid" or "a hobby".
It is worth so much more than that.


Happiness keeps freedom in a safety deposit box,on a high shelf.
When you acknowledge him, he feels inclined to share with you.
Happiness can resuscitate the heart beat back into your life.


If something makes you happy, don't be a stranger to it.
Don't declare war on an empty battlefield where there is no purpose,
Taking up arms when the opposing team refuses to fight.
It doesn't care who is wrong or right,
because it is worth so much more than that.

Monday, September 13, 2010

God vs. Man (My Trusting Problem)

Trust does not come to me willingly.
I don't welcome him with a warm embrace.
That part of me was not assembled properly.
It doesn't compute.
Vulnerability: hand in hand with devistation and pure heartache.
It's almost inevitable.

I feel lower than pond scum,
because I treat God like man,
believing that there is nothing he can do to fix this,
or me.
Not believing that he can make life better,
because as of now, it's a million spinning plates,
and despite how fast I spin one,
another one begins to topple.
They can't all go at once,
and since I can't do it,
God must not be able to either.

I can't ask for help and trust that it's okay,
because that's weakness,
and is frowned upon
(usually(sometimes(depending(it shouldn't be)))).

At church, we sat on stage
(The message was spoken from the center of the room).
A new perspective.
Like our new series, I felt the service done in my heart was new.
I could see the entire church praising God,
I could hear their voices,
I could see them clapping,
raising their hands to Heaven,
smiling,
giving themselves entirely.
young and old.
I saw them unite in God,
and trust what He says, He'll do.
A new concept, I know.
I saw my church pick up their shield and sword,
ready for the battle that lies ahead.
They were okay with it,
they didn't know what was coming,
and they were content.


"...and if our God is with us, then what can stand against?"

I admired that.

Monday, September 6, 2010

What I Realized





Bohemian poets view the world

in colors uncommonly used


scripting pastimes with symbols and  phrases,

bounded and shared with the masses,


canvassed as let-downs, thoughts, memories, inspirational memos.

To convey they are not alone

(neither are you).

Free thinkers and believers

optimists and under-achievers.

 Yes, beige paint can smooth out the words,

but by dawn a new story is inevitably born.


Friday, August 27, 2010

Misplaced

How much faith is enough to keep Satan away?
A mustard seed seems inadequate.
Even with this small amount of overwhelming power in our hands,
Satan tip-toes on egg shells,
casually wandering his hand in our pockets to rob your faith,
replacing it with ideas claimed as your own.

Faith does not come gift wrapped anymore.
One has to squeeze it from the seeds of the old and dried forbidden fruit.
Praying that just one ounce of faith would kiss our lips,
and protect our soul from the one who wishes to steal it.

Satan slithers silently however.
He has played the game of deception before,
deceiving God into believing he was a true follower.
A true prince of lies.


Faith and Satan weigh the same, deceptionally so.
The ideas cherished in your heart come from the heart of God.
......
or do they breed like a disease derived from the devil?
How to distinguish the two.
How much faith keeps Satan at bay?
A mustard seed seems insufficient nowadays.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Nothing

The mockingly white screen blinks "stupid."
Fingers tap on the table,but not on the keys.
Write. Think. Do something.
Inspiration runs rapidly in place.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Cool Cat Can't Breathe

This is ridiculous.
How old are you?
Yet you're back on the playground,
sweaty palms, and an over-beating heart.
The pressure building up in your gut to do something unheard of.
uncalled for.

Just do it!
Will anyone be watching?
Crap!
Just tell them it's stupid.
Then I look like a wimp.
I am not a wimp.
...
Crap!

So I do it.
This is not the kid from the playground.
She's grown up now.
Against my Aunt's wishes,
the frilly black death trap
incircling my cousin's black dress,
clawing and scratching at her neck
like a kitten with claws,
shaped in a feminine fan,
front to back,
but formed like a torture device
proudly planted by Satan himself,
was unstitched from the seems of her dress.
The day before her sister's wedding.

Take it out Alexa, I won't say that it was you.

Her mother, my aunt, repetitively said no,
but the advantage of my cousin's wild youth
took hold of me and told me yes.
So I unstitched it, flawlessly, but hastily.

Please God don't have Auntie walk in.
Please, please, please God.

Then I remembered that God isn't on your side,
not when you are doing something bad.

Oh I am so bad.

The dress looked perfect.
I felt like the kid from the playground,
but after she has proven her bravery.
when the kids begin to oooo and ahhhh
and when the head cool cat says you're pretty legit.
I'd never let them know that every second I was braking the law,
I was shouting to myself,

CRAP!

Friday, August 13, 2010

A Note for Future Reference

As for mortals, their days are like grass; they flourish like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more. Psalm 103:15,16.


When I die, my memories should live on without me.

Don't let them die on my account.

The human shell that forms what defines me here on Earth will decompose.

Because it shouldn’t define me, it’s disposable.

My looks will blend with the soil, my hair will thin and become like hay,

but immortal me that resides in this soul will refuse to be forgotten.



I would never wish for loved ones to cry for me,

And they shouldn’t be allowed to wear black at my funeral.

Admire me for what I offer, my inner beauty.

What I’ve learned from death is that you cannot live your life passively.



I don't know what I'll be remembered for, but I will be remembered.

Joan of Arc was a martyr at nineteen.

Rosa Parks proved the word "no" can inspire a new era of thinking.

Emily Dickinson's sheltered poems have been an uplifting inspiration to aficionados.

I'm not sure what my accomplishments will be, but like them, I'll live wisely.



So that each day I live, eases the thought of death in the future.

I'll fulfill a purpose.

Touch souls I can reach, and never fear death.

Because death is never an excuse for the end and should never be feared.

From the hospital, a woman with cancer and six months to live, can be hit by a car and die.

A man who parachutes from the sky, staring death in the face, can live to be a hundred and six.

No one gets out of life alive.

So live each day intentionally.

All good things must come to an end, right?

Ignorance says yes, but who really decides?

Don't let yourself die a stranger to the world.



If you got something to offer, hand it over.

With every life, there is a purpose.

With every purpose, lies opportunities.

Take chances, make mistakes.

I promise the world will remember you for them.




Life is brief, uncertain, like a shadow, like a flower that blooms and fades, like a cloud… So teach me Lord to ‘count my days that I may gain a wise heart’ (Psalm 90:12).



Mental Note: Amen.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Full Throttle

Brace yourself world!
I come full throttle.
Like a ninja warrior,
sneaky, assertive (but with a feminine style).
You might never see me coming.
You ambush with ninja stars of soul piercing heart ache,
or an occasional  bomb combusts into a ritual of disappointments.
However,I've been trained, and  your moves are predictable.
I see them coming like distant rain clouds.
I'm ready to look you in the eye,and tell you that you're weak.
For every event that appears bad in our lives,
there is an underlying good,
and you've done so well sweeping it under your rug of lies.
I can't help but smile.
I know that this annoys you world,
but my indestructible moves, make me undefeated.
While you've made your choice to go against man,
I've learned mankind is not  hopeless.
Watching you get angry brings me joy,
because you've sat and watched me suffer,
for as long as I can remember.
So now that I'm older,
you're not so skilled.
The student has surpassed the teacher.
I go against everything you trained me to feel.
Sorry to break it to ya toots, but I'm on hardcore woman.
Fifth degree.
The worse kind.

Mental Note: Don't take life so seriously, you'll never get out alive. :)

Sunday, August 1, 2010

The Nature of Purity

Purity is tied on a string,
it's something I always bring.
Yet when sin tips the cradle,
it's branches are fatal,
and batters the heart of the king.


Purity is held in both hands 
(and usually no one understands).
but with a sinful kiss,
it flies off your wrist.
and fly away if given the chance.


Purity dances to the wind.
Precious to those who have sinned.
Then sin brings it down.
Like a brick to the ground.
and good nature is suddenly pinned.


Purity all along
reminds us where we belong.
Through the hazadrous waste
of satan's bad taste.
it remains almighty and strong.


Mental Note: Be the best you can be in the flawless image of God.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Waiting...

I am always waiting....

I sit with prayer hands, counterfeit smile, and legs crossed.

You take time for granted...

because you know when you're through,

I'll be sitting at your home

and my world comes to an abrupt halt,

until you decide to grace it with your presence.

You know what keeps me coming,

and you know that mostly it's not for you.

My optimistic heart tells me that you want to love me,

that you want to be like the ones in the movies.

I don't say this because I don't want to be cold,

but I think it's evident that we're strangers.

You know nothing about me,

and the colors in the mental portrait I created of you is slowly smearing "failure."

When will I learn?

The joke is on me,

because I'm still waiting.

Mental Note: Focus on God. God is all you need. God God God.

Friday, July 23, 2010

I Envy The Poor Man

I'm envious of the poor man.
He sleeps under a canvass of stars,
and drinks up the dew from the grass in the morning.
He has no earthly items;
He can go anywhere with the clothes on his back, an empty plastic water bottle, and a radio.
He is not bound to a job, or bills, or responsibility.
He is not ashamed to go against the social norm,
and doesn't always shower or feel the need to shave.
He may wear his coat and beanie in the sun,
and collect cans and bottles from the trash,
but who is to say he isn't happy?
How can we look at him and pity him?
He lives off the Earth like the good Lord intended.
We say he must drink, do drugs, sleep with skanks in an alley.
Some may, but it's not originally by choice.
We pity him, chastize him, make him inferior.
For what purpose?
Because he isn't living the standard of life Society claims as appropriate?
Even then people aren't always happy.
They continue to want more.
The poor man is happy with his bottle of water and his radio.
He sees us in our cars, in the nail salon, coming out of the movies, and he knows.
I envy the poor man.

mental note: We think we know everything there is to know about the ideal form of living, but we have no idea. Not the faintest idea.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Insecurities Galore

Why is it so hard to believe we're beautiful?
Four of five bridesmaids can say you look beautiful in your wedding gown.
Hair pinned into a princess bun with one curl flowing solo by your ear.
Pearls draped across your neck, more makeup then you'll ever wear again in your lifetime.
Your white dress has boning that makes your waste look slender and sleek.
The kind of look ideal for a man's hands to rest while taking his first dance with his wife.
The dress has a poof just right and shoes sparkle and match the glowing smile.
Like Cinderella, you're ready to step into that room full of people and show how beautiful you are.
Your father kisses you on the cheek and wipes his "first tear in five years" off his face.
The man you love (who loves you to the moon and back) waits for you behind church doors, nervous, but confident.
Lined up before the doors open, you can't help but look at the one woman who said nothing to you.
Insecurities galore.
"Is there something wrong ? Do I not look pretty?"
Point proven.

Mental Note: To say you're not pretty means you think God messed up on you. Give yourself a break, you're beautiful because God makes no mistakes.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Roots of Understanding

Running without a purpose
is a selfless gift straight from the heart of God
that lets me know He is here.
Running, jumping, ssssprinting
bare feet, full of joy

To admire his creations,
and  to not misuse them,
but live as one WITH them
(a creation among other creations),
is worship, the best kind.

Loving God.
Living God.
Breathing God.

The roots of understanding and compassion lie deep within the soils of our Earth,
(which from the ground, it breaks the surface and progresses through our toes, into the roots of our veins which eventually pulses through our heart).
We never stop to listen, and our heart knows,
because God lives there, and his knowledge is infinite.

Mental Note: All God's creations tell us more of who He is. Listen.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

miscellaneous

It's ironic when
The things that I find funny
no one will laugh at

I can stress at work
and know when I'm home, I'm home
and that work can wait

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

With words unspoken,

my heart is now broken.

Take it as a token

of my surrender.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Unfamiliarity

I don't know how to feel
(or what I'm feeling).
Things I never thought I would say
I've said out loud to others
and unhealthy emotions I would never express
I've let brew inside of me,
willingly.

Brewing, this boiling substance that wraps up
all anger and hatred
into this balled knott
pulls downward
in the pit of my stomach.

It sits there
and it weighs me down,
down so much
I've had a hard time
bringing it up
and letting it off my chest.

My tear ducts have this unfamiliar pressure
and my eyes have this tingling sensation,
but no tears form.

My chest hurts,
and as a result my breathing is anything but regular.
Like a dog on a hot day, I'm panting.
I have been running to catch my breath,
and I still am.

I don't know how to feel,
mainly because it's an unfamiliar feeling.
Do all these emotions together form something entirely new?
Or is this just me not knowing how to deal,
or what to do?

God help me.

Mental Note: You don't always have the answers, but you must always keep looking forward. Focus and what makes things better, not what brought you down.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Rhythm

I look over the pier,
and feel the water undulate,
synchronizing with the salty winds
and swaying like a pendulum
beneath my feet.

There's a fisherman not too far off.
I see him toss his net over the sea,
and pull another one in.
I can feel the water move through the wooden planks.
The sea tumbles onto the sand.
High tide, low tide.
on the shore, thrown out to sea.

When you work with nature's rhythm,
instead of going against it,
it all seems to go smoothly.


The wind, the water, the fisherman
one after another,
in tune with time,
never out of sync
(you might think you've found just a moment of imperfection,but it wouldn't be)
It's a symphony.

Mental Note:
You tell me...

Saturday, June 19, 2010

We Went on a Walk

We went on a walk.
Just Jake and me.
Brother and sister.
Both with iPods on,
phones in pocket,
with shorts and a tank top.
We talked about life,
(and not the life you tell people when they ask how you're doing. Real life. How we're really doing.)
We talked about girls.
boys.
movies.
music.

We went on a walk that turned into an adventure.
We climbed over tree roots, laced in the brim of the Earth.
Ran to the top of hills that lead to a handful of nothingness.
Jumped over ditches (or fell into mud found in ditches).
We didn't know where we were going.
Shoes came off and I allowed my feet to reach out
and meet with God's soil.

We went on a walk that turned into forty minutes
of nothing
and everything wonderful at once.
Not even the best of cameras could capture these moments,
even in the best of pictures.
(Pictures saying a thousand words would not be enough to describe our afternoon).
We smelled dinner cooking from every kitchen on Meandering Trail.
"Mmm, that's our home."
" No Jake, that couldn't possibly be."
" I know what I know. I'm part bloodhound."
I just laugh.
We never do this.
Why don't we do things like this?
I love my brother.

Mental Note: Gratitude. Have it.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Atria del Sol

I don't want to grow old.
The world turns on you
and betrays everything you worked for.

As a child, it works with you.
As a teen, it's always against you.
As an adult, it's a group effort.
When you're old, it turns its back on you.

I went to Atria because I was forced to.
I stayed at Atria because I wanted to.

So many people believing that there was nothing left to live for.
Preparing their wills and getting religion because they're ready to die.
It was heart-breaking.
The kind of thing that makes you want to cry out of hoplessness.
Which is something they feel each day,
but it was a new feeling for me.

I still believe the world is a good place.
I wonder if the world turns against them,
to remind them we're not of this world.
Or  because it was never on our side to begin with.

My hand instantly goes to Bess's knee
as she lays cold, half-naked on her bed.
One foot in this world, one foot at God's gate.
I see her ribs, her sullen face.
My heart breaks to see my friend so weak.
Emaciated. Alone. Dying in front of me.
The sign above her head reads,"It is the wish of Bess and her family for her to die peacefully. Please do not sneak food or Ensure. Thank you."
I wonder when is this ever okay?
Without realizing it, a tear slips onto my chin, and I immediately wipe it away.
I'm still working, I'm still on the clock.
Wipe the tear and fix your apron, you've got work to do.

To me, the world turns against the elderly because they're too slow to keep up.
They inch their way through their days with walkers and canes, complaining about the room temperature or why they serve lunch at noon instead of eleven thirty like at the other retirement community.
They get left behind.
Jesus wouldn't leave me if I fell.
On the contrary he'd pick me up.
I wipe the tears because, although it's sad, you need to give them a reason to smile.
to live.
to remember what it was like when the world was kind.
and show them that they haven't been left behind.
I notice they've fallen.
and I'll stay right there and help them back up again.

Bess' ribs pushed against her skin.
She was practically dead, physically, mentally,emotionally.
No one comes to visit except the employees.
I stand next to her on my lunch break.
"It's just me Bess, don't worry."
Her eyes close again and I pull the blanket from under her legs and put it over her body.
Wipe the tears, and go out again into this world, take it down with me.
I'm not of this world anyways.

mental note: Don't feel sad for those you will leave this Earth. Enjoy what you can of this world, and know the one you're waiting for will never disappoint.

Monday, June 14, 2010

JUMP!

It's interesting to me, the things that change in ones life
and what always remains constant.
No matter what school I went to, it was all the same.
"Ms. Mary Mac,Mac,Mac all dressed in black,black,black."
and I would jump.
Traditional or Double Dutch
they both brought me the kind of joy that makes you involuntarily laugh out loud.
"Cinderella dress in yella, went upstairs to kiss a fella."
The plastered smile would never let go.
My brown sandals would start hopping.
1 2  3 JUMP, 1 2 3 JUMP.
I'd spin the circles and touch the ground.
I was good at it.
It made me HAPPY.
Sometimes they'd go faster to try and make me fall.
1 2 JUMP, 1 2 JUMP.
but for the most part the games never changed.
Any playground you go to,
they're all the same.
I get taken back when I hear them sing:
"School, school, don't be late. Sign your name on the golden gate."

Mental Note: Appreciate the little things that make you smile.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Making My Peace

I've decided I love you
,but will never be like you.
I couldn't.
Don't have that in me
(and wouldn't want to either).

I see the children look up to you.
They trust you so much.
Believe you could move mountains,
and fly if you wanted to.

I see the children when you let them down.
Like their hopes they saw in you were destroyed.
Like you could have saved them,
and you chose not to.

I get furious all over again.
I remember that hurt.
Hurt as a child is worse than hurt when you're grown,
because it's so new.

I remember seeing kids during recess.
Laughing with their friends and living in a world
that I already knew didn't exist.
They probably thought they could fly.
Probably believed they could move mountains.
They believed anything they were told.

I decided I will never be like you.
When I say I'll be there,
there I will be.
When I promise to do something,
it's already done.

I couldn't stand to look at my child's face
and see the disappointment and hurt I have grown up with,
and continue to feel now
(though my skin is thicker now than then).

I could never ruin the innocence of a child's fantasy.
Or intentionally show them how to tear down love.
All I will do, is show the child every day of their life,
how to live, love, and believe that the sky is the limit,
and with God they can move mountains.

Mental note: God forgives you. So, forgive others. Learn to let go.

Dreams Remind Me of a Small Child

Dreams remind me of a shy child, never speaking his mind.


When you talk in your sleep late at night,


Dreams try to speak.


They inform you of your forgotten world,


nestled in the cracks of creativity inside your brain.


Improbable improbabilities and whatever what-not’s


your inferior part of your brain conjures


stimulates within your crevices of your imagination.


It implores to be spread onto a mockingly white sheet of paper,


Or shared through artwork and other forms of appreciations.


It desperately wants you to remember what it was like to be a child.


And live in an unreality.


When you wake, you say, “What a strange dream I had? What did I dream?”


That’s your dreams shying away.


It tip toes past your eyes and quietly resides in the back of your mind,


And backs up into your invented world, slowly closing the door behind him.


Mental Note: Don't let yourself grow up on the inside.

I've Got This Thing

I have this thing with people.
Where friends or family from one group cannot mingle with another.
I call them "bubbles".
They can't cross.
These bubbles cannot cross.
I get anxiety GALORE!
I have this thing where having them cross results in ultimate destruction.
Some call this a "problem", some say "psychotic".
Define either words for me.
You'd see.
It's all a matter of opinion.
What does society think?
Because along with being given the power to assign cacaphonous connotations to words,
society has got their own thing where what they say apparently goes.
Therefore my little "thing" is a "problem."
Screw that,
and them.
Thank you very,very much.
Just an F.Y.I. Society,
you're going in your own bubble.
Don't feel special.

Mental Note: God loves my quirks. He made me this way.

Ode to You

I, for one, think your voice is seraphic.
My friend says your voice sounds like a thousand angels pissing on an orphanage.
Try telling that to an orphan.
"Her voice sounds like God's helpers peeing on your only home."
Some people you just can't use the term "friends" loosely with.
I tell ya.

Mental Note: Laugh often.

You Could Have Called the Angels

You could have stopped it.
I would have nothing bad to say.
I wouldn't blame you.
I sinned, not you.
you're perfect.

While the world was weighing you down with callous glances,
and cold-heartedly shouted,"crucify him! CRUCIFY HIM!"
You lay nailed,
remained calm,saddened by what the world has become
God's creations against one another
we're tearing eachother apart like the plague.
yet you hold no grudges

We know how to live.
We know how to love one another,
what to say,
not to say,
not to kill,
or lie,
or cheat,
or steal.
Yet we live wrong.

You could have called the angels.
They could have filled the sky and blocked out the sun
and mirrored the darkness we have allowed into our hearts.
You could have shown you were the son of God.
They would have changed their ways.
For the time being.

You could have called the angels
and aborted your philantropic desire to be
the ultimate sacrifice.
but you didn't.
I look around Jesus,
and most people don't even think about you.
They don't wish to know you.
or be like you.
have a heart like you that touches non-believer's souls in every way.
They forget.
Or worse, were never told.
You sacrificed your life.
How sad is it that we cannot sacrifice our drugs,
alcohol, sex scandals, our gossip, our constant need to be better than everyone else,
our lies, our heavy burden of sin,
For you?

We are sheep, so easily distracted off our path.
While we sit here on this temporary soil
we sin, we shout, "CRUCIFY HIM!"

Jesus, I am sorry and I love you.

Mental Note: You show me what selfless love is.

Ode to Nature

I’d rather spend my days

Listening to the wind’s sermons

Beneath the trees alongside the pews of flowers

And sing of praise with the sparrows


Mental Note: God is everywhere.

A Side Note

I don't know what made me make this blog account. All I know is, sometimes I need to write what I'm thinking. It's my way to step back and review my life. I forget in all my chaos that God has a plan for me, and that by staying focused on him, I could live a much simpler lifestyle. I just need to stop, breath, and remember God's simplicity. After I write my thoughts down, I'm reminded of God's love.