Keep the Tempo

Wrap your arms around your children.

Cower in fear of the monstrosity.

she doesn't wear designer brands. I can't be her friend.

Heaven knows why I am not so alone in my loneliness.

My ugly hands are being stripped of their colors, slowly fading to black and white.

that's what's in, right?

One step, Two step, stumble.

I never learned how to stand on my toes for hours on end with out falling to the ground.

I grew up playing in mud and catching grasshoppers by their legs.

I stand no chance in a world that wants to eat me alive.

Close my eyes and float back to a time where climbing trees was capable of your age range.

Where hair fell into pony tails and smiles were easily given away.

Laughs were genuine and friends were made quickly with full trust and reassurance.

Back to times of being wolves and Indians in the same day.

The days of sleep overs and trampolines.

Memories of happiness and pure satisfaction at the sight of a wrapped present under a tree.

Back to the days of belief.

Open my eyes and all of yours bare down too harshly for my heart to continue beating.

Stare at my stumbling feet and continue moving up the stairs to the safety of my bedroom.

Most of my time is spent locked away in my tower because I fear the evil kings and queens outside my window.

Putting together puzzles and reading the stories of times that weren't so long ago, but were happy enough to look back on even though I'm not old.

Wind blowing through your hair as you hang out your window. One step and the adrenaline rushes out of your ears and to the ground you soon fall above.

Yes you move down, but you know soon you will be soaring up.

Mind Devouring Illusion

The sun outside is too arrogant and self righteous.


My skin is almost see-through and I've finally grown to like it that way.


But He doesn't think I should.


He would rather not become friends with the veins that will later be opened by His hands.



He may run heaven or He may run hell, but neither of them will ever jog fast enough to catch me.



I've figured out the secrets of how God created the world.


It's all just one big puzzle and I can see the outline of every piece that plays a role in His chess game with you, Lucy.


Little did either of you know that I would be the one to call out "check-mate."




Too often did I pray for patience but never received it right when I asked.




The staircase to heaven is yet to be uncovered but the map of the highway to hell is in the glove box.

Overmastering Sleep Paralysis and Night Demons

I'm all dressed up to see you.

I've curled my hair and taught my face to accept the mask I threw on moments before you knocked 8 times.

E, B, B, B, Cb, B, E#, E.

I know it's you because that's your signature.

One tear falls from my eyes and my hands are quick to wipe it from my cheek before it falls onto the purple satin I threw over my bruises that have your fingerprints pressed into them.

The door is open only 8 centimeters before you shove your way in. I fall to the ground breaking my fragile wrists and you immediately yell at me for the crackling noise that is heard throughout my body.

I sit up and you grab me by the hair, dragging me out the door and hitting the cement face first.

I feel my chipped tooth and my bleeding lip as I stand to run.

I take one step and you grab my flailing arm with your rough calluses. Stopping me dead in my tracks and flinging me right back into your arms.

You're ready to end it here and now.

Too bad I'm not.

I bite you and run back to the door as you scream out at the first pain you've ever felt from me. The blood covers my hands.

I twist the door knob and permit myself access to the safety that lies just behind it.

It closes and is immediately locked. You will not have the privilege of the safety it has granted me.

You bang on the door yelling at me from the outside.

LET ME IN!! YOU WILL HAVE TO PAY FOR THIS LATER IF YOU DON'T!!

Good thing I'm not planning on ever letting later happen.

One less thing to worry about I walk upstairs and play some soft, soothing music.

Slip off the dress and undo my hair. No longer in need of a mask he thinks is disgusting.

But it's better than not ever wearing it.

Forget all he's said, lay down.

For once the voices inside my head make sense. Just before I slip off into darkness I realize that I'm bleeding on my arms, my head, my knees, and my nose. My lip is now a scab.

I've lost so much blood that I know that the pool I lay in is a sure sign that I'm not merely falling asleep.

This is permanent.

But it puts a smile on my face.

Starring on the Silver Screen

At first I was afraid. Afraid of what you were capable of doing to me. To my heart and my dreams.

To my soft and fragile hands.

But now that I know you, have cried these tears over your dead body, I know that now all I want to do is hold you close and show you that I have always cared.

I wish now I could have said more to you before you took in your last gasp of polluted oxygen.

The time has come for me to meet my maker and to repay him in kind for all that he's done.

I told you, only truth. For 20 years I sought only this day. Nothing else existed... until I saw

you. Then everything changed. I fell in love with you Evey. And to think I no longer believed I could.

But I don't want you to die!

That's the most beautiful thing you could have ever given me.

You taught me so much. Taught me how to be strong and how to be independent.

You showed me how to teach others what is really important.

I can't help but think of what you have done for me.

I wish I could take back some things I said.

Are you like a... crazy person?

I'm quite sure they will say so.

I will never forget you.

Sincerely,

Evey Hammond

Fully Devoted

I'm dreaming of your beautiful eyes.

How I can never tell what color they really are, and how they always look at me like I am the only girl in the world.

I'm thinking of the way you smile.

The way it fills me with joy, even when I am full of despair.

I'm imagining the way you make me laugh and the way you want to spend every moment we share close to each other.

I'm remembering all of your apologies and how they are never needed because you would never do anything to hurt me.

I need you.

Need you here to hold me because you are a warm embrace and somewhere I can hide away from the world. Somewhere that I can laugh and feel loved and feel love.

You are my everything. You are my inspiration, my motivation. You are my laughs, my tears, and my shaking hands and clumsy foot steps. You are my heart, my soul, and every breath that keeps me alive.

I'm going to miss you when you leave. But I will wait.

There is nothing in the world- in the UNIVERSE- that could ever make me feel like I belong as much as you do.

You are everything I want and everything I could ever need.

Your decision no matter what it is, is what I will stand by with you. Because I don't want to let go of your hand for a single moment. No matter what.

If I could ever be able to describe love to anyone, it would be three words. You and I.

This is what I have meant to express to you today, but I can't ever say anything right in person because my tongue is always tied around it's self. But my fingers can flow with ease, so this is how I will say it.

I love you.

I love you.

I will wait because you are the one for me and you always will be. Everyone tells me that I am too happy for this to be real, but it is, and that's what makes me so happy.

Thanks for being my everything and just know that no matter what, I am always going to walk the roads with you, hand in hand.

I love you so so so so so much, forever and always.

One of Us is Not Like the Others

Who are you? Where did you come from?


Your piercing eyes and clenched jaw frighten me. They're what make me afraid of the dark.

Your eyes... Your eyes glisten with the devil and his demons.


Did you know that he has taken over?


All you demand is possession, pride, and control. But not a soul in this room will dare place it in your dirt covered hands.


No one will let you come near them with those horrifying black finger nails and bruised knuckles. They don't come near because they've seen the damage they can do.


I admit, we two are the only breathing bodies in the room, but you and I both brought home friends from the other side.


Are you frightened at the least?


Because it seems as though every one of them is watching us.

But don't worry, I promise you can learn to live in a lonely world with only judgmental eyes to keep you company.


You stand so quietly.

As quietly as this school is before the sunrises and all you can hear is the deafening echo of silence against locked doors and empty windows.


I try to speak my mind like you asked but you raise your voice so only you are heard.


Go ahead.


Tell me how you never loved me.


Tell me how I am so cruel to you and how I don't really care.


Tell me about all the fabricated stories you have about me that always favor your lies.


Yell at me!


HIT ME!


You can slash at me with your words and your hateful, devil filled prison cells.


You can make me bleed from every vein in every place on my body, go ahead take as much out of me as you can, but your slimy hands and crippling fingers cannot reach my heart anymore.


I grew a new rib cage and I made sure it was impenetrable.


Thrust out all your rage at me and tell me how I am worthless.


Just know that you can no longer scare me with your minions that hide behind the safety of your thick skull, because now I have some of my own demons, hidden inside my eyes.

Everything You Could Ever Want

Close your eyes.


You're sitting outside in the tall grass with me and you look into my eyes. What color are they?


Yours are blue but slightly pale. Are you feeling ill?


The animals all hide away from us, but the birds used to come out a long time ago. That is, until you caught one out of the air and snapped it's neck.


They don't sing anymore. They hide.


I slowly pull the blanket over my head so you can't cut me with your sharp glances.


I'm beautiful.
No you're not.
I'm worth more than this.
You disgust me.


You fill my mind with disease and leave my soul to die a slow and painful death.


Outside of the little world I created here in the dark, you come closer and shoot a white rabbit that was coming to take me to Wonderland. It bleeds from it's eye as it gasps in it's last breath.


My hopes and dreams fall limp in my arms and tears form in my eyes. I look up to you as you stand above me, gun now pointed at my frieghtened expression.


Is this what you want?
Of course not!
Then why do you tempt me?


One sound echos around me and I touch the hole in my shoulder that stinks of rust and oozes life. I take one look at my fading hand that is covered with your laughs in the backround.


One look at your joy and I fade away.


Maybe this is what I wanted.
I sure hope it is.

Green- eyed Monster

I worry too much.

My hair falls out by the strand on a normal day but today I think I might go bald.

Can you see the way I stare up at you moon, with such hopelessness in my eyes. All you can do is sit there so happily surrounded by stars that envy you because all you have to do is turn slowly around the earth and relax as the sun bathes you in it's light.

The stars are just full of hot gasses anyways. Too big to even care about being real.

Moon, you are the one I look up to. I want to be so carefree and positive about the rising of the sun and the start of a new day. Never having to worry about money, or being known for something good instead of evil like everyone else on this planet you look down upon.

I've tried to reach you before, but my hands can't grasp anything but air no matter how high I jump.

You once told me, if he makes you cry then why won't you leave him?

I replied, well would you ever leave the sky?

Skeptical Desires

https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B0dgaQIuXkaEMnBSZ2xHa1FTbk9MTUdDd1dyRFNKZw/edit?pli=1

The Madness Vase by Andrea Gibson

Jealousy is not a good feeling of warmth and comfort. It gives me third degree burns inside when I read this stupid poem that is something I could never live up to.

It starts out amazingly by stating that all she can think of is the darkness and that society thinks it isn't a good thing. I think it's a good thing. But maybe that's because that's where my thoughts are too.

Just the way she states how others think it should go, and that it should be perfect for the process of "fixing" her, just makes me envious. Doctors, Psychics, Nutritionists all think that she is broken. But she's not. She's just too good for them.

And the way she ends it all with her trauma's telling her that she shouldn't share the things that hurt. But how her bones tell her to do it anyways, so she does. Makes me annoyed with how terrible I sound compared to this woman who obviously doesn't belong here on Earth with us mere mortals.

I don't like the feeling of jealousy, yet it still comes over me like a wave whenever I simply see her name. Maybe she is what I will aspire to become. So fluent in this language that she doesn't have to state how she feels directly to make you want to feel that way with her. I'm very... Jealous.

Everyone's Souls are Guilty

I like my revenge boiling hot and my forgiveness slightly cooled.

I may end up forgiving you in the end, even if you don't forgive yourself, but I will never forget.

For now though I think I'm going to slam my fist into the ground and make myself known to the soft earth hiding underneath the dying grass.

Maybe I should water it a little bit, though I think the salt will just make it worse so I suck it up.

I can't be seen as a weakling in public; only the strong survive, after all.

So instead I pick the brown grass so the soil will dry out in the sunshine. I won't let it be scared if I can't scream too. Face your fears.

As soon as the patch in front of me is completely exposed and sharing all of it's secrets, I stand up and brush myself off.

Walking over the tree I have the sudden urge to cause more harm to unfortunate and helpless beings.

I kick it so the leaves fall off like my tears fall from my eyes. I wish it was raining so it wouldn't be so obvious to all the watching surveyors.

At least now I don't cry alone.

I think of the branches as his arms, as I snap them off so he can never lay a hand on me or her or him ever again.

It only takes a moment for me to realize that I've stopped breathing and so I sit and take a little time to recollect my sanity.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Counting to ten only makes it worse so I abandon that and focus on the wind blowing through my hair and brushing my face with careful fingers.

I stand up on sturdy feet that once shook from uncertainty of the freighting future I face. Take one step unsure of my balancing act I am about to preform.

More confident I stride inside and to the kitchen because I'm famished. Chocolate and Ice cream? No more like pain killers and sedatives.

Lay down on the couch. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. The fan blows wind on my face just as earlier as I slip into a world of disappointment because it's so barren, but it's better than here.

Now My Fears Come To Me In Dreams

Hold on ... I think it just died.

Please excuse me while I try to bring it back from the dead.

Ah, it finally has a pulse. Those lines on the meter prove to me that you are breathing again dear lost friend.

Where did you go? How was your journey? Did you forget your suitcase again?

You know it's been a few days since I last saw you. It's March 11th you know. Last I saw you with your pearly white eyes blinking I do believe it was sometime in February of last year. It's been quite a while my little sidekick.

Let's open up and see what you brought me back from your travels. A broken heart? Is that all? Well I'm sure you expect me to fix this as you lie here so lazily hooked up to all these machines. Barely breathing.

I suppose I could try to figure out how the pieces fit together for you if you get down on your bruised knees and beg for it.

Here lets pull off those bloody bandages on your elbows and chin so I can see all your wounds.

How many stitches did you have to get in order to fix this laceration on your forehead? It's so intriguing. It's almost as if your body has turned into a catastrophe in and of it's self. How pathetic.

How many broken bones did you have again dear? 11. Ah, well it's amazing how this doesn't compare to how I've bled myself dry for you time and time again isn't it.

Quite intriguing how the sun has dimmed down a little since you opened up your eyes, looks like everyone and everything is trying to protect you and your innocence. But you are just pretending aren't you? You know everything about the cruel hidden things of this world and you are ready to inflict them upon whoever crosses your path.

But you're too weak right now to even have the simple thought of twitching your fingers aren't you sweetheart?

Here's your fixed heart, I have some meetings to attend to so would it be alright to leave? Oh yes that's right. You can't stop me or grab my wrists to hold me back while you are injured like this can you baby?

Well all apologies and best wishes to you, here is a fresh heart for you to steal and tear apart in front of her wide brown eyes. Spilling out tears from the confusion.

I'll make sure not to warn her of your past crimes. Enjoy, my love. It's all I have to offer.

Castle in the Air

You're there. She's there. He's there. I'm there sometimes. Just a visitor. Nothing special.

The sky is always bright in the night. The stars there are so large that they shine like the sun and the moon tries too hard to make it dark.

You are always there holding my hand through it all. Sometimes the things that happen are even better than real life. But most of the time they are worse.

It seems as though in every dream where I stand there holding your cold dead hand, I end dying myself. Joining you up there were everyone claims there is a man who sits on a throne in white robes with a choir singing every time he enters a room.


Can I wake up yet?

I stand on the edge of this cliff looking down at the pond beneath me and you let my hand slip from yours. That same hand that kept me standing now pushes me down. Down to the pool of water that feels like cement when you hit it face first.

You jump and land feet first in the same place I did and make a little ripple that splashes my face with realization of how cruel you really are to me. But I hold your hand again anyway.



The ground here feels like the moss beds in the forest. Squishy and comforting. A little damp too.

The creatures here are so strange and so big, so scary yet gentle. We could ride on the back of a lioness if we really wanted to and she would be thrilled by the notion. So we try it and you loose a couple of your fingers when she snarled because we woke her.

I've forgotten that I don't belong here. You hold my hand too tightly for me to want to go back, even though my fingers are turning blue and my eyes are pouring out water falls of pain and anguish.

I figure that because I am hell bound in this world, I might as well stay in the place I've created here. Where the sky changes color with my mood and your emotions grow more and more distraught with my actions. But that's normal I suppose.

Are you safe?

I grab the sunlight and stick it in my pocket for rainy days, days that you think throwing stones at me is hilarious. Days you squeeze too tightly.

My toes begin to tingle as they disintegrate. Time to go back.

You cry as my hand disappears from yours and you know I have to leave you here alone for the day. But I will be back tonight! Don't cry sweetheart, maybe I can stay here, end my breathing over there and just take my journeys here holding your hand.

Not this time though.

Two brown eyes wide open, once shut, look out the window at the rising sun as they remember how she cried. Your hand throbs a little and you soothe it down by rubbing the blood back into your fingers. Another day to make it known that you are still breathing, even though you wish you were still there. With the monster who loves you and you hate him. He doesn't love you, he loves the idea of not being alone.

Open the door with tender touches and sneak down stairs to greet the day. No more dreams. I hate dreams. They are a waste of time and a good pair of sneakers.

The Golden Age

I'm sick of stating all the negative because it's the only thing the world dwells on. So I'm going to bust out of the confinements of social norms and look at the positive.

What makes me happy?

Capri suns on a cold winter day with Oreo cookies makes me happy.
Holding hands with interlocking fingers that squeeze each other tightly, reassuring that those are safe and caring hands makes me happy.
Hiking at five o'clock in the morning on a summer day makes me happy.
Watching myself make a fool of myself makes me happy.
Making other people happy makes me happy.
Playing the piano makes me happy.
Taking pictures of nature makes me happy.

Learning about something that interests me on my own time makes me happy.

Pulling pranks on other people makes me VERY happy.
It makes me happy that someone like you would want to be mine.
Laying in a field of tall grass and picking pictures out of the clouds and the stars above makes me happy.
Sidewalk chalk makes me happy.
Music makes me reminisce and reminiscing makes me happy. Most of the time.

Getting every word I need to say out in a complete sentance, without any interuptions, makes me happy.

Amazing art work makes me happy. Whether it be painting, drawings, pictures, or poetry; it's all the same to me.
Staying positive makes me happy.
Watching good action movies makes me happy.
Bruce Wayne makes me happy.
Fluffy and soft blankets makes me happy.

So even though everything I write is depressing and frieghtening, I am very happy. I have many many many things to be greatful for and I make sure that I am.

I'm happy. Are you?

Meek and Kind

They lived happily ever after.

Every fairy tale ends happily, but what happens after that happiness disappears?


Cinderella falls out of love with Prince Charming. Her slipper no longer fits her foot so she went to scrubbing floors, the only difference is this time she gets paid to be dressed in black and white and have sores on her hands, blisters on her fingers.

Snow White realizes that her daughter was the fairest in all the land when she asked the magic mirror, so she fed her a poisoned apple and ripped out her heart while she was locked away in her glass coffin. She gave her no chance of true love or it's kiss.

Aurora is so depressed because she doesn't know how to raise her own baby without her fairy helpers. She decided that permanently sticking to her nickname of sleeping beauty is better than being wrong and hurt in this life here. They found her body on the bed he rescued her from with a bloody knife in hand. Just as beautiful and asleep as she was when he first found her, just a little paler.

Mulan marries Li Shang but realizes that he is too soft for her taste. He lost her father's honor and blessing when he cried at dinner. She beats him now to show him what real pain is like.

The Beast out lived his beautiful bride. He soon went back to his old ways of a cold heart and met the angel again who gave him the dying rose in the first place. He wasn't shown any mercy and was sent straight to hell. Never to see Belle again.


We are taught as children that we are going to one day find our prince or princess. I hate that. I will never teach my children that. I want to let them know what the real world is like, because they are going to go into shock if they don't know the truth just like I did. All I know is that once I meet my "Prince Charming" he had better be a good person. I won't be swept off my feet by true loves kiss, it's something I want to work at with him. Also, he can't go by "Prince". Otherwise I can't marry him. He needs a better title then fortune and wealth. I'm looking for humble and caring.

Threatening Whispers

My bones once told me to lighten up.

Told me to stop worrying about myself and to start taking care of others. I've listened to my bones. Been obedient.I am responsible for making others happy when I can't even feel just okay myself.

I hear my bones.

They told me they were tired and achy but I don't have time to let them rest. My bones ask too much from me. They work me until I sweat, cry, bleed. They call me weak when they are the ones who keep breaking and falling apart on me as I age.

My bones are sore from how I thrash them around and kick in the walls when I am upset. The holes in my bedroom are proof that I make them angry. That they upset me.

My bones once told me to not be afraid of anything, but I'm the one that has to stop them from rattling when things go bump in the night. My bones are God fearing just because my soul is. But my soul left my body too long ago and I've forgotten how special the hypocritical religions here were to me once upon a time.

My bones told me I need to stay away from boys.

They forgot about that though when a man held me too close and too tightly for them to push away.

My bones hate me for even letting that become a possibility.

My bones don't speak to me anymore. They stand by watching me make mistakes everyday without a care in the world about how I can't live, breath, or move without them. My heart would be bruised if some one only laid a finger on it with out my rib cage protecting it.

They stand over there in the corner watching me with those two empty eye sockets, red with envy of the attention I pay to other skeletons. My structure tries to whisper threats to me but it's too quite from the distance it stands at.

Come closer.

Close enough to touch me so I can quickly catch you and lock you up inside my floppy cage of skin who is hopeless without your support.

I'm glad you decided to come back willingly, Bones.

Welcome back.

Faint hearts are for the Courageous

Courage is protecting others who are in need. Courage is standing up to your fears, smiling when they retreat and leave you to feel accomplished. Courage is when you tell some one you love them for the first time, and you mean it. Courage is being better than what you want to be. Courage is showing the world that you are walking around on this planet. Courage is walking around looking for people who need your helping hand. Or hands. Courage is looking at the positive instead of dwelling on the negative. Courage is being different, but in a good way. Courage is proving some one wrong. Courage is believing in yourself when no one else will. Courage is being reckless. Courage is letting yourself feel adventurous. Courage is your heart pounding so hard you think others can hear it. Courage is being determined. Courage is striving for your goals. Courage is hope for the hopeless. Courage is strength and weakness. No, actually it's more like strength and meekness. Courage is daring. Courage is fearless, nervous, faithful and faithless. Courage is stupidity. Courage is bold. Courage is being confident in yourself and in others. Courage is arrogance. Courage is a necessity. Courage is life. Courage is living. Courage is dying. Courage is sacrifice and selfishness. You only need a moment of time to create it or to destroy it. It's strong yet fragile. Courage is the world we live in. Courage is who we are, the air we breath, the steps we take. Courage is everything.

What Beautiful Scenery

Her eyes flutter open after a good dream about a life with no worries. No cares. She reaches over and taps the cold statue on the leg, "Good morning baby. Looks like we are starting over and we are free of worries this time." No more violence, because she made a final decision on wanting to have silence in it's place.
She sits up grinning at the man that is now respectful and a good listener. He used to be power hungry and hurtful but she changed that when she couldn't stand it anymore. Her eyes turn to look at his lifeless body and she strokes his chest. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... counting the new holes he has in place of a heart.

13 stabs ruptured the crippled thing inside him of which the same thing inside herself is bruised and barely beating with a new sense of hope.

She stands wrapping a robe around her ruby body with blood stained hands. She swings herself off the bed and walks through the gore on the ground, leaving footprints to the bathroom. She smears herself with the crime and takes a blood bath to clean herself of the slaughter she commit in the next room.

Flashbacks of the night before come back to her. Everything flies behind her eye lids as she runs downstairs and he gets out of bed. He goes to the door to punish her as she grabs a knife and takes him from his family to help her search and destroy the man who has taken her husbands place. She tucks it into the back of her shorts as she staggers back up the stairs, tripping over herself from the adrenaline rush. She counts the steps it takes to be in the strangers arms.

1,2,3,4,5... 13 steps to reach him.

1,2,3,4,5... 13 stabs to kill him.

One in the door way. Another as he falls backwards. Two as he crawls and holds the bed for support. Another as he falls onto the gentle pillows behind him. Five as he takes in his final breath, staining the bedsheets. Three more for good measure, and the butchery is finished. Who knew one body held so much blood?

Now clean she stands dripping with pure water that washed away her sins. Next her confession. She walks into the slaughter house and finds the knife who was hiding from the world. Ashamed of the havoc he has created.

She steps down each stair with ease, adrenaline still high but now manageable and it only hightens her senses. She walks into the kitchen and rids the blade of the vital fluid that once kept her lover and her enemy alive and breathing. She puts him back with his family in the drawer he rested in the day before he became a murder. Pulling out a jug of bleach she lugs it to the evil exhibition upstairs and pours out the liquid, dowsing everything in a steady stream of purity. Her hands no longer blood stained are pale and cold, but pure none the less. Now the confession is taking place. She purifies the curtains, the walls, the bedsheets, his shirt, her shorts, and every footstep she took through her sticky sin. No longer her sin, but Gods.

She turns and leaves it all behind. She walks out to the car and hops in with her bags she packed 13 days ago. As she drives down a peaceful road past a forest she takes off her wedding ring and throws it out the window and under her tires. She will never turn back. Never be hit again. She will no longer have to bandage up a bleeding heart, because she is now free. Of sin, but most importantly of the monster she once lived with. Freedom is the taste of victory.

Abandoned Lovers

I hate writers block. I try and try and try to just spill my guts out and all I can come up with is a sentence then the train falls off the track and catches on fire, killing the millions inside. I stare at the pictures hanging on my wall and try my best to come up with a story, a topic, even two words that rhyme will do. But all I receive is a blank slate and an empty track. Besides the couple of trains that have already crashed of course. Every creative thought I had today is screaming at me and all I can hear is a whisper that is impossible to translate from each one of them. Sometimes when they speak up, the words get all mixed up inside my mouth and come out as gibberish through my fingertips. So as I lay here in bed trying to be a good listener, I thought I would at least write something so I can stop punishing myself for something that I didn't do wrong. I'm pausing too often even now trying to think about what to say about not being able to think about what to say! I sit here staring at the images I can collect out of the creases in my ceiling, and I can see how they dance for me, trying to strike an idea in my too empty mind, but all I can get is that they are swaying to the music with such beautiful timing. Anyways, I just had to say that you shouldn't be angry at me for my inability to write anything good at this moment because I am already bruising my fists from punching holes in my walls trying to reach the outside and see something splendid to write about. I hate writers block.

Basket of Goodies

Red needs to find an escape. The sky out side is depressed and about to cry so she grasps her blood stained riding cloak, yanking it from it's feeble hanger. Throwing it over her already heavy shoulders, she twists the knob to say hello to the tears that are beginning to form pools on the muddy ground. The dead streets she walks through hold treasures that give her the perfect alibi for her run-away scene she created at home. She collects a dirty apple, a half eaten cake, and a ripped up basket as evidence. Sticks she finds patch up the gaping holes inside the woven container. Now all she needs is something that can patch her heart. Placing the food inside the mismatched cradel, she tucks it into the nook of her arm. She slings her head down to watch her scarlet shoes trip over each other clumsily on the damp cobblestone. God must have lost one of his angels tonight. Body slumped from the weight of the world, her locks of hair hide her face just as curtains hide the actors before the show begins. Footsteps sound in front of her.
I'm just heading to my grandma's, officer. Heavy breathing begins to get louder and louder. Lifeless eyes turn up to see who else has decided to stand over her, looking down at the tiny, pathetic bag of bones beneath them with judgmental eyes. The cold in the air turns the warmth in his breath into a thick fog that blinds her for a brief moment. Inches away from her, her worst fear stands. She remains still, she has no intrest in showing any emotion. She remains distant, just as she practiced at home earlier that evening. She's been bruised too badly tonight to care about experiencing more pain.

Death doesn't frighten her at this hour.

Eyes pierce her skin trying to reach her heart for a quick end, but her heart is too hard to penetrate with terror, and too cold to ever experience passion. To ever feel the thing they call love. The soaked black hair on the beast's back stands on end as he angers from the lack of interest she is showing towards him. He snarls and slides his feet and body into a lunging position. The girl camouflages her eyes with the shadow from her hood and the corners of her mouth turn upward in amusment because of how naive this wolf has become. His feet lift off the ground with a mighty push, she imagines the creature that is ten times her size flying through the air and a laugh forms in her throat. She swings her arm, basket gliding in slow motion towards the monster, and smacks him square in the jaw. Perfectly. His hot head rising in temperature, he falls to the ground, shattering everything but his bones in the process. She walks away from the wretched thing and moves in the same direction she wandered towards earlier. Her head and shoulders dangling down, curtains drawn, giggling to herself. Eyes closed she listens for his strong legs running at full speed after her, wanting to rip out her throat and she can almost see the blood that would be glistening in his eyes, but nothing dares threaten her with any sound. Besides her own two arrogant left feet stumbling over the stones beneath her and the conceited rain dripping onto her pulled up humble crimson canopy, there is only silence. She remembers that this was the first time she's laughed since daddy came back. Pleased in her findings, she walks towards grandma's, picking up sticks to fix the newly formed holes in her basket of goodies.

Silently... Quietly.

Have you ever felt ignored or unimportant? I know I have. But I can't really blame anyone because I'm quiet. Always afraid of what to say and if it's going to be stupid. Something you always want to snatch out of the air and shove back into your mouth and swallow it so it can never escape again. I wonder sometimes if I am easy to forget about because of it. Because of how silently I sit here, writing in my notebook with my only two friends keeping me company. My paper and my pen explain everything I am feeling, yet I still wonder if they are using the correct spelling and grammer after all the years that I've taught them how to do it correctly. Sometimes though, the mouse and keys on this computer will become my friends, too. It just depends on who's watching and if they want to impress them.
I need to learn to speak up. But can I learn how to be the exact opposite of what I am? I can recite facts, spill out information with ease, but when it comes to someone asking me what my life is like, I stutter and shut down. My brain runs off and leaves me to die of embarressment alone. Alone. Am I stuck this way? Stuck just as an old dog can never learn new tricks? People can change right? Or are they just breaking habbits? Is being closed off a habbit?
I can sit in a room full of people but still be lonely. I suppose that having a couple of friends is better than none. I'll stay quiet. I'm not completely alone. Isolated. Unsociable. Secluded. Alone. Very Alone... Maybe not alone, just lonely, which is fine. I'm just going to sit here silently.... quietly. Waiting for the moment I begin to stutter when someone comes to speak to me. The moment I will always be uncomfortable with. But the moment I will always crave. The moment that can never satisfy my hunger. My longing for someone, anyone, to just say hello.

Fear

Fear is a funny thing because even the bravest man has some sort of fear. Fear is weakness, yet everyone thinks that they are invincible for some reason. I'm afraid that you, my friend, are afraid. We are all afraid of something. Doesn't matter if it's irrational or completely reasonable, it's still fear and fear is still weakness.

But I'm afraid too. I'm afraid of a lot of things.

I'm afraid of being lonely. I'm afraid of disappointing my mom. I'm afraid of being obnoxious, so I keep my mouth shut. I'm afraid of sharing things about myself. I'm afraid of going home because I'm afraid of my dad and how, slowly, my mom is taking his side. I'm afraid of not being recognized. I'm afraid of the city at night. I'm afraid of looking bad. I'm afraid of being judged. I'm afraid of hobos being inside dumpsters every time I approach one. I'm afraid of being rejected. I'm afraid of the future, which seems so hopeless right now. I'm afraid of showing who I really am. I'm afraid of looking weak. I'm afraid of being a disappointment. I'm afraid of girls because I'm terrified of the drama they create. I'm afraid of how opinionated I am. I'm afraid of becoming transparent. I'm afraid of the dark. I'm not afraid of getting hurt physically, but being hurt emotionally is a completely different story. I'm afraid of revealing secrets. I'm afraid of squirrels. I'm afraid of growing old. I'm afraid of wrinkles and sags. I'm afraid of being rude. I'm afraid of remembering but I'm also afraid of forgetting. I'm afraid of disrespecting and being disrespected.

See I'm scared too. Maybe of a lot or a lot less things than you, but I'm still just as squeamish as you are. The key to being brave is standing up to the fears you have and showing them how unreasonable they are. So that's what I'm going to do from now on. Is prove to my fears exactly how weak they are. Exactly how strong I am. After all, fear is weakness, right?

Falling

I can hear my own heart beat pounding.
"Are you ready?"
The voice is drowned out by the thumping in my ears and the roar of the plane's engine. I nod my head timidly and I feel all the life leave my body, my face turns pasty white. I slip on my straps and I feel suffocated by the buckles that go across my chest. Wind thrashes my body back and forth. I glance out the open door and my stomach flips upside down when I see the white clouds beneath me.
"Are you ready to go?"
The voice is patronizing me again. As I look at the face the voice belongs to, I beg with my eyes for this face to put me out of my misery. My mind shuts off all reason and turns the faucet of adrenaline on too high. I look down at the world again and quickly nod my head. they prep me one more time, checking every safety requirement to make sure I am ready physically.
No one could ever prep me emotionally.
"1..."
The voice is counting down my seconds of life I have left.
"2..."
The seconds I have left until I begin to live.
"3..."
Seconds left until I become... a bird.
"GO!"
I take two long strides towards the door with eyes closed. I jump tucking my feet underneath me as I fly out of my safe haven and into the wide open horizon. It stretches so far that it seems endless. Just as the possibilities now seem endless. It feels as though I am weightless and the wind pushes on my chest so I can no longer breath correctly.

I look down at the earth I am falling too quickly towards. Am I insane?

The wind is rushing through my hair and cleansing my mind of thoughts and I soon forget that I am even falling. It feels more like I am flying. I can feel the water residue collecting on my body as I fall through the clouds that were once below me. The clouds that I would look up at while standing on the planet I am now gravitating towards. I approach the ground and finally pull the tiny string that is my life line. My parachute floats me down to the Earth, giving me just a few more moments to feel worth more than just another person. I am literally on top of the world. I am now only inches from the ground so I point down my toes and take my first step on soil. It feels like the this is the first time I have ever walked on this soil, but I have been here before.
I stumble at first but quickly learn to stride with grace. The precious air around me calmed and makes me feel at home. In a state of peace. I smile and laugh as I take off my gear that once kept me safe. Now completely confident in the protection of the worlds arms. I completely expose myself to anything I was once threatened by before I jumped.
Before I fell... in love.

Why I am who I am

"I am who ever you say I am. If I wasn't, why would you say I am?" -Eminem

I was just listening to this song, and I started asking myself why I am who I am? It got me thinking about who I think I am. Who other's think I am. My mom thinks I am a good kid, and is proud for who I turned out to be. My dad thinks I am selfish, untrustworthy, and irresposible. The kids at school all think that I am always happy and a little intimidating. My best friend thinks I am depressed and as scary as an ant. So what am I? Why am I me?

I'm me because whenever I hold a secret, I don't ever let it out of my sight. I'm me because when ever I feel like a musician I sit down and practice playing. I'm me because every one of my outfits has to match perfectly or I will start over again and change until it does. I'm me because I have a high tolerance level and you can't do anything that will bug me. I'm me because my only pet peeve is waiting in line. I'm me because I know at my house I'm not loved so I spend my time in my home. I'm me because whenever it rains I sit outside fully dressed until it stops, no matter how cold I get. I'm me because I do believe in God, but at the same time I don't. I'm me because I think texting is annoying after about an hour of doing it. I'm me because I forget everything about myself but will remember everything about some one else. I'm me because I don't care who you are, you will be my friend. I'm me because I was raised to keep to myself and not except any help from anyone but to do everything you can for anyone else. I'm me because I have a.d.d and just lost focus on this post. I'm me because I am raised by my family, go to school, have friends, and lose friends. I'm me because of everything I've learned from everyone and everything. I'm me because of you. So thank you, for helping me create myself.

I think of you.

I think about you. I think of you like a pig thinks of flying. Like rollercoasters think about riding. Like frowns think about smiling.

I'm thinking about you like pictures think about memories. Priest think about preaching. Like parents think about preaching, but the only thing either of these two do is preach, preach, preach, but not a single one will follow the words of their own speech.

I think about you like ears think about closing. Like laws think about breaking. Like cells think about locking.

I'm thinking about you like the damned think about sinning. Like the holy think of repenting and like the sinners think about confessing to the priests who keep on preaching.

I think about you like pencils think of paper and paper thinks of pencils. Like girls think about boys. Like boys think about gaming.

I'm thinking about you like game makers think about addicition. Like addicitions think of money. Like money thinks of corrupting.

I think about you like coffee thinks about it's cream and sugar. Like a cake thinks about it's icing. Like strawberries think of chocolate.

I'm thinking about you like rings think of marriage. Like married couples think of babies. Like babies think about growing up.

I always think about you. You are always on my mind. Obviously, I'm in love and that's why my mind is infested with thoughts of you. I hope this sickness never leaves my body in withdrawl. I think of you.

Family? Who cares.

Why does family mean so much to us? I understand that in retrospec, they are the only ones that can carry on our lives through our names. But hey isn't that kinda selfish?? I thought, at first, that family meant you could run home and feel safe and loved. But the statistics say other wise. Whenever 1 in 4 teenage girls in the United States go home, they are abused and/or neglected. In the next twenty four hours 1,439 teenagers will commit suicide because they don't have a relationship with their parents. There will also be 2,795 teenage girls that will become pregnant with in that same time, and 80% of them only had sex because they don't have a sturdy relationship with their father. Sexual abuse within the family has been reported up to 80,000 times in the year 1995. In the next twenty four hours 3,506 teens will run away from home. Every two hours a youth is murdered by someone they live with. A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds and more than 5 children die EVERY DAY because of child abuse. About 30% of abused and neglected children will later abuse their own children. The cycle continues. I don't know about you, but this doesn't sound like family. Yet with the media, and with the news, stories, and maybe even how we were raised, family isn't family anymore. It's simply the people you live with and who will carry on your blood line. Let's get real. It shouldn't hurt to be a kid. It's ridiculous how often all of this happens to kids we know, and I pray that maybe one day family will mean something again.

What is Love?

Love is a surprise hot chocolate in the morning when you didn't ask for one. Love is explaining you are having a bad day and then not ten minutes later being sat down in front of the t.v. so you can laugh at "Family Guy." Love is whispering to each other about who is the most amazing out of the two. Love is watching "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" and laughing at him complimenting how amazing the sundance kid's hair is. Love is spending every day together for 12 days and thinking that it has been such a short amount of time. Love is not caring what others think when he wraps his arms around you in public. Love is him begging you not to wear make up because he thinks you would be beautiful with out it. Love is eating only appetizers at Olive Garden in a suit and a dress. Love is going for ice cream afterwards. Love is saying no a million times but he is just as stubborn as you are and persists on buying you things. Love is saying the room is a mess when there's nothing that could possibly be cleaned. Love is going to school just to see his smile and hear his laugh. Love is being on the brink of tears but being strong and holding them back. Love is watching "How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days" on the tenth day of being in a relationship. Love is being in a relationship that is a secret from his parents. Love is seeing him every minute you can, but it's not enough. Love is watching the super bowl and he still kisses you after seeing you angry because the Patriots lost. Love is sneaking in kisses on the cheek whenever he possibly can. Love is buying a couple of Dr. Peppers at McDonald's just to help us think of things to say when we get to his sister's. Love is the way he whispers that he loves me at least ten times a day. Love is the way he stares at me and then gets mad at me when I turn my head. Love is the way he already knows who I am better than I know myself. Love is going to school every morning with him. Love is holding his hand as he kisses each of my fingers. Love is slipping a Saint Christopher pendant over my head for protection and sealing it with a kiss. Love is holding hands in church. Love is listening to him sing his heart out. Love is him listening to my heart beat whenever I'm around him. Love is falling asleep in his arms. Love is trusting him with everything. Love is what I feel whenever I'm with him.

Intro

I am 18 (finally) and have realized exactly how stupid high school really is. Don't get me wrong, there are some amazing things about it, but when you stop to think about it, all it really is about is hormones and drugs. I am one hundred percent in love with music. I play the piano, uke, and guitar. I want to learn how to do dubstep and play the violin. Classical is by far the most expressive in my opinion, but I can't get over the sounds they can make with a computer. I am the mother of my three siblings because my parents basically ignore us and have ignored us since I was around 6. My favorite color is red. I am in to psychology and when I graduate and get out of this hell hole I want to become a psychologist for children and teens who have dysfunctional families. My favorite food is my mom's chicken and broccoli cassarole. I am ready to move out but I refuse to leave my siblings with my dad. I have an amazing boyfriend that stands up for me and is just as stubborn as I am. Possibly even more than I am. My favorite animal is a sting ray or manta ray. I am very independent and if I am offered any thing I will feel as though I need to return the favor. It takes a lot to make me fall in love, that's why it's weird that I am in love. I feel as though I am invisible to everyone and I always will be. I am happy to be in creative writing so I can learn and have a good time.