Adieu, with love- Paris

"They’ll never know.”
 

These words pounded in my head and out through my mouth.  Like dreams forced under the covers.  And I couldn't deny the feeling of apprehension tearing through my vulnerable skin.  Whoever I was, whatever I was, is gone.  Smoke fills my lungs, love leaves scars in my heart and no matter how drunk I get, alcohol never passes through my blood stream.

 

I would tell you that my blood flows for you.  That my jeans are torn for you.  That my legs ache, and my bones break, and my reality stands still for you.  But love?  No.  I'm not familiar with your toungue.  I would stand on top of the Eiffel Tower and scream your name, but I'd never say I love you.  Those words are my poison.

 

I was handed a pen, and told to give them something to believe in.  No matter how many words I cross out, it can't explain my deepest feelings.  Or how the light at the end of the tunnel shines brighter than the sun.

 

Honestly,

 

You want the truth.  But darlin', your beautiful mind can't handle my truths.  My muse has always been too fickle for your tastes, and my words have never flowed like your thin hair.  But I just want to stay one more night.

 

A sinner asking for forgiveness.  A father praying for his son back.  A gun that never meant to shoot that bullet.  That's all I am.    Poor metaphors and bad choices of words. 

 

So when you told me that you were leaving, I hopped on a train in hopes to meet you there.  But that's not where the angels live.  They live inside notebooks.  And apartement rooms.  And desperate souls, at the end of their road.

 

Paris-never abandon me.  Don't leave me here to freeze.  It's 11:00 at night and you've never left my mind.  Please, just stay. 

 

And after the night when I wake up, I'll see what the morning brings.

Liza

The 20's would have been good to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We would have been sitting on top of the world.

Listening to that sweet jazz music and smoking the finest cigars.

My pants would be pressed, your lips would bleed red and we wouldn't need a television to do the talking.

 

The streets would shine so bright, it's as if anything you'd ever need in life was right there.

As we walked down the streets we would hear the tapping of feet, and singing.

And of course, the dancing.

 

You'd whisper in my ear "How 'bout it", and the way you were dressed, I couldn't decline.

We took off our coats, set down our drinks and started to move.

You took my hand, I grabbed your waist and no words needed to be said.

When that song came on, I knew it was ours.  It was called "Liza", and life was perfect.

We swung our legs and moved our hips and I don't think we ever broke eye contact.

We spun and dipped and swooned.

 

Love

 

It was funny because we weren't drunk.

We were filled with music. The Roaring 20s were good to us, and we knew that this was not just some old feeling, passed down from lovers.

 

When the song ended, I said "Shine on Liza."

 

I still remember that song, and your blood red lipstick. And I finally know why I lie awake at night and dream all day long.

 

It's because I care.

 

Liza.

 

 





my knees are bent

 

 

 

Last week a man gave me a flower and told me to enjoy life.

later that night I went into the woods and burnt that beauty.

The grass used to be greener and the stars used to shine brighter,

but that was before I let my insecurities flow out through the cracks in my heart.

If street lights shone brighter than the sun, hookers would have their way

and men in suits would have more of an opinion than poets.

Longing for something more.

The sun never really stops shining,

and lovers never lose their touch.

I've been waiting with my arms wide open ready for something to embrace.

Something worth having passion for.

It's a shame I don't lift weights,

so I could hold up all my hopes and dreams.

Blue lights remind me more of the ocean than her eyes

and I wish I could tell her that the moon is more attractive than her low cut neck line.

I've never been one to cry over broken plates

or the smell of wood burning down the road.

I've heard the cries of children in distant countries,

for their mothers,

and my prayers are still forgotten.

But I know that there is enough decency in this world

to enjoy the laugh of a newborn,

or the rising sun

that's waiting to sink into our hearts.



If you really wanna know.

Birthday by Andrea Gibson

At 12 years old I started bleeding with the moon
and beating up boys who dreamed of becoming astronauts.
I fought with my knuckles white as stars,
and left bruises the shape of Salem.
There are things we know by heart,
and things we don't.

At 13 my friend Jen tried to teach me how to blow rings of smoke.
I'd watch the nicotine rising from her lips like halos,
but I could never make dying beautiful.
The sky didn't fill with colors the night I convinced myself
veins are kite strings you can only cut free.
I suppose I love this life,

in spite of my clenched fist.

I open my palm and my lifelines look like branches from an Aspen tree,
and there are songbirds perched on the tips of my fingers,
and I wonder if Beethoven held his breath
the first time his fingers touched the keys
the same way a soldier holds his breath
the first time his finger clicks the trigger.
We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.

But my lungs remember
the day my mother took my hand and placed it on her belly
and told me the symphony beneath was my baby sister's heartbeat.
And I knew life would tremble
like the first tear on a prison guard's hardened cheek,
like a prayer on a dying man's lips,
like a vet holding a full bottle of whisky like an empty gun in a war zone…
just take me just take me

Sometimes the scales themselves weigh far too much,
the heaviness of forever balancing blue sky with red blood.
We were all born on days when too many people died in terrible ways,
but you still have to call it a birthday.
You still have to fall for the prettiest girl on the playground at recess
and hope she knows you can hit a baseball
further than any boy in the whole third grade

and I've been running for home
through the windpipe of a man who sings
while his hands playing washboard with a spoon
on a street corner in New Orleans
where every boarded up window is still painted with the words
We're Coming Back
like a promise to the ocean
that we will always keep moving towards the music,
the way Basquait slept in a cardboard box to be closer to the rain.

Beauty, catch me on your tongue.
Thunder, clap us open.
The pupils in our eyes were not born to hide beneath their desks.
Tonight lay us down to rest in the Arizona dessert,
then wake us washing the feet of pregnant women
who climbed across the border with their bellies aimed towards the sun.
I know a thousand things louder than a soldier's gun.
I know the heartbeat of his mother.

Don't cover your ears, Love.
Don't cover your ears, Life.
There is a boy writing poems in Central Park
and as he writes he moves
and his bones become the bars of Mandela's jail cell stretching apart,
and there are men playing chess in the December cold
who can't tell if the breath rising from the board
is their opponents or their own,
and there's a woman on the stairwell of the subway
swearing she can hear Niagara Falls from her rooftop in Brooklyn,
and I'm remembering how Niagara Falls is a city overrun
with strip malls and traffic and vendors
and one incredibly brave river that makes it all worth it.

Ya'll, I know this world is far from perfect.
I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon.
I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic.
But every ocean has a shoreline
and every shoreline has a tide
that is constantly returning
to wake the songbirds in our hands,
to wake the music in our bones,
to place one fearless kiss on the mouth of that brave river
that has to run through the center of our hearts
to find its way home.

And the smiles faded as he passed by

 

 

 

 

All he ever wanted was applause, instead he got dirty looks and hate mail.  He would go to the local bar on friday nights just to feel social.  With every "Hello" and "How are you" his self worth grew, but he knew that the smiles faded as he passed by.

 

He hid his fear and discontent behind alcohol and cigarettes.  He would listen to records in his room alone, staring at the wall, hoping to find comfort in the words of his favorite musicians.  He would have day dreams about running away at night, and night dreams about never waking up.

 

While walking the streets he wore a hat and sunglasses, in an attempt to avoid recognition.  With every step he would shed a tear, wiping it away with his used tissue.  On sundays, he spent the day in his rocking chair with the blinds closed, and an ash try by his side. He never was gregarious.

 

On the night that he got himself more drunk than usual, he lied out on the street in the pouring rain gasping for air, bullet wounds in his chest.  The people passing by stopped to see if he was okay.

 

There were no tributes.  No buildings were named after him.  No biographies were written about him.

 

As he lied out on the street, he looked up at them with a blank stare.  He never found the right words.

 



Shoes that don't make footprints in the snow

 

 

You were 2,000 miles away, but I still watched for you.

Remember the time we crossed the bridge? You know, the one everyone forgot about with the paint that had faded? We thought it led to delecation. Independence. freedom.  You held up your smooth cold hands to the sky, spread your fingers and breathed in that pure air. We knew no one was watching us and that's what made it so special. We layed down in the snow and let out a sigh. Our breath seemed to float up to the heavens, as if a way to say to God "look at all we've been through."

You said something about how messed up the world is and how we, at that moment, held the key to happiness.

Now I've never been good with words, and darlin', you really made me choke. I don't know what I said, and it kills me.  And now you're gone. Not like gone to California for the weekend, but gone.  Out of sight, erased from me.

While your out in the real world spreading love with other guys, I'm stuck here looking through this fence. Looking at things that remind me of how it used to be. Meaningless things like dirt and snow and footprints. And I know that this is just a fence and I could probably climb over, but it feels like a brick wall.

You're there, I'm here and that's just how you like it isn't it? I'm sorry I was a coward and I'm sorry that I can't fix your sadness. I just hope you'll at least send me a postcard.

I wish I was singing in the rain

 

Gene Kelly lied to me.

 

 

This is not a glorious feeling.

And I am not ready for love.

 

The sun ain't in my heart, it's in my eyes.

And the rain washes away the tears.

 

I am not living a life full of you.

I want to be me.

 

So bring on the rain,

And bring on the tears.

 

And maybe when the rust is gone,

I'll be happy again.

Broken Bones in Montauk

Snow brings out the peace in my mind.

 

We could move to Alaska, but you've always hated the cold.

We could watch the sunrise every morning just to prove to God that we care, but God made the sunrise to wake the sleepers, not to accommodate people like us.

See we've been awake for some time now.  But our bones will break, and our skin will hurt and our hearts will stop beating.

So give me a sign that you're real.  Let me know you're there.  Cause I don't fear lighting, or frost bite.

I'm afraid of buying a ticket to Montauk, and you won't be on the train.

I fear that my heart beats for some dream.  A lost cause. 

Let me know you're waiting, cause I've been ready to go for a while.  My bags are packed and my bones aren't broken.

So let's go.  Let's leave while were young, and careless and too stupid to understand the outcomes of our decisions.

If I buy a ticket, will you be there?

Love at far sight: Guidlines on being normal

 

 

 

Just like the next  9 to 5 worker who ran over the dog on their way home from work, I'm a murderer.

 

I do things out of impulsion, not reason.  I leave the water running when I brush my teeth so I can feel normal.  But I haven't felt that way since 6th grade.

 

I turn off the news when I hear about afflictions.  "I'm sure they're fine".

 

I sleep with 3 pillows even though I only need one.  And I still wake up with a sore neck.

 

I could tell you how to be normal, but God made everyone different, and I'm not blasphemous.

 

This is not about a way of life.  It's about why I don't smile.  It's about why I'm taller in the morning and shorter at night, and why the phone never rings, and why I'm more comfortable being someone else.

 

The dark scares me.  The sun provokes me.  And just like the next 9 to 5 worker, my impulsive side is a killer.

 

My heart aches for freedom, my feet don't like to be contained, but that dog, was just trying to get home to his family.

 

 

 

 

Not Everyone is Happy in The New World

 

This new world came without my permission

I didn't accept

I wasn't ready for what came, and hit me like a train

I was a deer in the headlights

 

Those lights were attractive, I will admit,

but they decieved me

This wasn't really what I wanted, and the train didn't stop

It was oblivious to my rights

My God given rights

 

My freedom was stripped from me,

and now I'm a prisoner

 

Trapped and forced to conform

 

Forced to act in harmony, but this isn't my song

This is not my creation

It's yours

 

So let me be

 

Let me live while you take lives

Precious lives that were meant to do good,

but have been twisted by your sick ways

 

Let this new world flee from me so I can be free.

An Ode to the Wild

 

To the mountains who taunt me whenever I look out the window.  One day I might give in.

To the leaves whose beauty exceeds that of the biggest house.  Embrace me as an old friend.

To the streams whose sounds resemble that of a symphony.  Never stop flowing.

To the wild horses who gallop in the pastures.  What's it like to be free?

To the clouds who bring the rain.  Thank you for your tears.

To the wild.  I'll be there soon.

Which way?

   "You're going the wrong way!"

                                                                                   "Shut up!"

I can't forget

I remember when Summer days would never end. When the sun was our friend, and our friends lived down the road.  When we woke up at 8 and felt fine. 

I remember water fights and forts and Pokemon battles and valentines day cards. And the love notes. The love notes that meant something.

I remember getting the last star in Super Mario 64, and beating bowser for the 5th time. It never got old.

I remember my first PG 13 movie. It was spiderman. I was in love with mary jane. And I closed my eyes at the kiss scene.

I remember trick or treating for 4 hours with my best friend. I lost half my candy but it didn't matter, because the memories meant more. The haunted house, the dares, the leg cramps, the crunched leaves.

I remember when my sisters were home. I remember monday nights.  I remember when my brother came home for Christmas. I remember being happy.

 

Cigarettes and closed blinds

We sit around the fire watching the flames fluctuate.  The wood turns black like the end of your cigarette.  Lights shine through the window from the city, and gunfire.  War is happening, and you think that I will protect you.  What gave you that idea?  Was it the money?  Or the house, or the ornate coffee tables?  They will not protect you.  I will not protect you.

I tell you to stay, but you go.  You tell me ‘forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest’.  I’m left alone in the apartment room hoping to find solace in the words of the music playing from the old record in the corner of the room.  You expected me to follow you, but I didn’t.  Now I am left alone in this room, in this world.  Do I dare go outside?  I closed the blinds in hopes to erase the memories, but I forgot about the broken down door.

The town went to hell, and I wonder if you paid a visit.  I hope you found what you were looking for.  While I’m left burning photos and putting out the fire, I wonder why you ran.

This is not about you

Blood

It keeps you alive which makes me want to live.  Funny how that works.

Blood makes me think about life which makes me think about death.  Which makes me think about Heaven and Hell and why I can't stop thinking about Heaven and Hell.  And why I can't stop thinking about you.

Because I hate you.  I never liked your smile, or your eyes, or the smell of your hair.  I liked the idea that was you.  I liked the idea that there was someone who cared.  But your eyes say more than your words.  And your eyes don't lie.

Now, I'm not complaining.  I don't question why volcanoes erupt, or cats land on their feet, or why blood is red.  I don't question why you left.  I'm sure I'll find someone else with perfect teeth and blue eyes.  But the snooze button on my alarm clock makes me happier than you, and homeless people make me cry just like you (but for different reasons).

So here's to the homeless people who make me weak, and to my alarm clock which is the reason why I get up, not you.

You Didn't Like Carrots

We sat on the swings not realizing that there were other people within eyes distance.  I would think about how we would grow up together and be married.  How we would have kids and we would be a family.  I didn't know what you were thinking, but it was okay because I had a feeling you were thinking the same.

We hadn't kissed.  We didn't have sex, but I loved you.

I held your hand, well at least I touched it when we both reached for the pencils.  I knew I loved you.  I waited in the lunchroom everyday so that we could sit together.  You would have my carrots and I would have your tater tots. 

You didn't like carrots but you took them anyways, because you loved me. 

People would tease and call names but we didn't listen because they were just words coming out of childrens mouths.  We were mature. We loved each other.

But now I've moved on and you have to.  I still wonder if you are in love with me.  I wonder if I'm in love with you. 

Characters I wish Were Real

 Wilfred

 

 Buster (Arrested Development)

 

 Dwight (The Office)

 

 Kramer (Seinfeld)

 

 

I'm Frustrated

 

 

 

This is how I feel about this post. I'm Frustrated.  I'm frustrated with school.  I'm frustrated with people who are fake. I'm frustrated with teachers because they keep giving me stupid assignments that make me want to pull my hair out.  I'm frustrated with parents.  I wish they would just shut up sometimes. I'm frustrated with my mind because it keeps telling me things that I don't want to hear about. 

 

 

Things I do in my spare time

 

 

 

I Want You to Listen

I want you all to listen.   I want to know when this world become so hateful that people would rather die than be themselves.  I just want to know why I can't walk into a damn store without feeling insecure.  And I'm sorry I just swore, but I want you all to listen.

I want to know why I'm afraid of this post.  Why I'm afraid to voice my opinion.  I'm afraid of the fact that this post isn't going to help anyone.

If we're all like God, and God loves everyone, why can't we?  We tell each other it's okay to be different but the second we are, there's no end to the hate.  Race, same sex marriage, gender, social status, religion.  These are all things that we discriminate against without real reason.  If there was no discrimination or hate, we would all feel free to be ourselves. I hear you say that you don't discriminate towards others and I just want to say to you Bull crap.  We all descriminate in one way or another. I just want to know why.  These feelings are the reason for my depression. The reason why I hate being in this twisted society.

So why do I waste my time with this post which is on a subject that many people have talked about, and written about better than I have? Maybe I'm more afraid of not voicing my opinion. Maybe I just want myself to listen.

Birds By Chef'special

I wish people would stop yelling and start listening
I wish birds would start talking and stop whisteling
Cause they know thinks that I don’t know
Seven of them sitting on that wall
Staring at a lost soul and fly away
Too close to the window
I’m looking for some info
Can I trust Google Maps’ photographs
What’s flying like, are you free above
Is it really that worth, dreaming of
Or does that to get old like making love and alcohol
Or that track you wrote that made them all dance on the dancingfloor
But the dancing it ends at four
When the dancing people have to go
And there is nothing left for you to role, than home
Sun don’t shine at night
Oh no, it don’t
If only you would just open your eyes
I know i’m not alone
Is it alright if all these words don’t mean nothing at all.
I wish I was from a broken home
To explain the fact that i’m cold and alone
But my family is golden so it’s probably just my own fault again
I wish does seven birds came back
and told me why the earth deserve is wack
Cause it ain’t sync what we deserve and get
Or do you think we should work on that
Sunday evening, monday is eager to kill me like he did last week
I’m not the guy you think you need
I wish that you start missing me
And start distinguishing you and I
But we are the same and you’re in my mind
But rain replaces snow and that’s just pretty fucking lame
The sun don’t shine at night
Oh no, it don’t
If only you would just open your eyes
I know i’m not alone
Is it alright, if all these words don’t mean nothing at all.

Am I a hipster- doofus?
                           - Kramer

Can't Stop Thinking

I can't stop thinking about you.

I think about you to the point that everything else becomes a blur and I feel like I'm lost in a world of emotion.  Emotion that makes my stomach turn, my heart beat faster and my legs give out from underneath me. 

I've never been good at showing emotion and because of this, it eats at my soul.  I want so bad to tell you how I feel, and it definately won't come out at the right time. Guranteed.

I think about you like plants think about water.  Like books think about being read, so everyone will know whats on their mind.  I think about you like fathers think about sons. And mothers think about daughters.  I think about you like music thinks about true meaning.  I'm thinking about you like Paris thinks about people coming in hopes of inspiration.

I can't stop thinking about you.

I wish I could

I wish I could tell you how I really feel about you.

I wish I could tell you how you are responsible for my lack of sleep.  The reason I lay awake at night thinking about how we could be together. 

I wish you knew how much I think about you.  Not a day has gone by since the day we met, that I haven't thought about you.  I wish I could tell you that.

I wish I could tell you that I don't care what other people think.

I wish I could tell you everything that's been on my mind.  How you make me feel better about myself when I'm with you.  How nothing else matters when I'm with you.  I wish I could tell you how you make me feel when I look into your eyes and you look back into mine.  The way my knees get weak and my heart beats to a new rythm. 

I wish I could tell you how hard it is to love someone and not be loved back.  Even though you tell me you love me, I know what you really mean.  That we're just good friends and nothing else, even though I want more than that.  But I'm just a stupid teenager! What do I know about love?  I'm not supposed to know anything about love!  All I know is that this feeling is something that I haven't felt before, and it's controlling my mind and my heart.

I know that other people say the same thing about you, but with us it's different.

It's different. 

Those Freaking Mountain Goats

I'm afraid of wind shield wipers. 

I'm afraid of getting head butted by a mountain goat.  Cause one day they might just say screw it and give me a good beating.




I'm afraid of birds sitting there and staring at me thinking: look at that confused person, stuck on earth not able to fly away free.


I'm afraid of redheads with mustaches, because they're just so gosh dang intimidating.





I'm afraid that I have too many fears and that I worry too much.

I'm afraid of waking up one day, and realizing that I'm not reaching my potential.  Even though I don't know what my potential is.

I'm afraid of not caring.

I'm afraid of old people judging me.



I'm afraid of being in love, but not being loved back.

Love

What is Love?  It's such a simple, yet complicated word.  People have been trying to define it forever, and we still don't know what it is.  Maybe it's not meant to have a definition.  Maybe it's too deep to have a true meaning.  Perhaps love is found in a sandwich, or the sound of the birds chirping on a perfect day.  Perhaps love is found in a high five, or a hug, or maybe the sound of your best friends voice.  The fact is that love is different for each person. 

I can't tell you what love is, no matter how hard I try.  Whatever love is, it's not something that comes around too often.  Cherish every moment that you have with it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iBaPplviA8o

My Life

My life seems to be going in a strange direction.  I've got parents who don't understand who I really am; I have friends who don't know the other side of me.  I feel like ive been living 3 lives: what my parents want, what my friends want and what my church wants.  If I keep living this way I am going to lose it.  What do you want from me? What am I supposed to do? Who do you want me to be?  These are questions that torment me everytime I lay down in my bed.  It seems as if I am hit with a brick and I am brought back to reality.  Every time I walk in the doors of the school, I put on a mask of emotions.  Every one thinks I'm happy and my life is perfect, but in reality, I am living in a personal Hell.  My thoughts torture me to the point I feel like giving up. 

Everyone expects me to be close to God, but right now I feel very distant from him.  It's as if we've never really met.

I want to leave this place and live in a world where everyone understands me.  Until then, I'll be cursing the sky waiting for the day my life falls into place.

Human

Love is a foolish mans game.  We as humans seem to fall in love with anyone who gives us the slightest bit of attention (inspired by Eternal Sunshine).  One day we love, the next day we might hate because of something the person said.  If love is really that special, why is it tossed around from person to person without true meaning?  I would like to say that I have loved (so I can fit into the mold of society) but truth is I haven't. 

At this point in my life, love is nonexistent.


"Why do I fall in love with every woman I see who shows me the least bit of attention?"

-Joel

Either way I look at it, this introduction (maybe even this blog) is going to suck. To some people it won't be deep enough, for some it won't be funny enough to catch their attention.  For some reason, I feel like my writing is not good enough.  Society has made me believe that I cannot share my true feelings.  Hopefully this blog will change that.


I chose Kramer to be the theme of my blog because he is my hero (for those of you who don't watch Seinfeld, shame). He goes through life with the idea that he has all the answers and doesn't give a crap what people think about him, and for the most part, his life falls into place. Gosh dang what a life. Unfortunately, I'm not even close to Kramer. I don't have all the answers, and I do care what people think about me. I'm just another typical teenager going through the awkward stages of life.


God strike me with a terminal disease.