wanabwriter-blog - Tumblr blog

[wanabwriter-blog]

My back country roads

The trees rise from the ground like giants.

And I hold you

Amidst trunks that could hold up the sky

You cry, and I hold you

Who knew that I once week with time

Could be young again

In between souls hundreds of years old

Leaving home

Ice caps that shake the ground beneath us

And I hold you

Layers of rock that jut up from hell itself

You tear yourself apart and I hold you

I knew our crime

Our own oblivious mind

Too small to peek the mountain sky

Leaving home

Your eyes, as blue as the sea we sail on

Your thoughts as shallow as the deep end

Where are you to hold me

Your life as short as your temper

Your love only stopping to reveal

Returning home

Made me feel.

Leaving home

Is what made you reel.

People as cold as the polar ice caps

Tensions as tempered as the jungle

You told to be happy

But to be happy is to be free

Forests as powerful as gods

And lakes as clear as my mind

I see

What you meant me to be

Backroads and fewer hellos

The sacrifice we made always known

We were meant to leave home

To leave nothing unknown

[wanabwriter-blog]

Love

It's the opposite of anything bad I’ve ever felt,

it's the warmth,

it's the help.

It’s green grass growing at the bottom of the sea.

It's the crimson leaves that fall from a tree.

It's a book I will read,

and then read again.

So I could remember,

who did I befriend.

It's the sweet smell of molasses on Christmas Eve.

It's a perfectly rolled and clipped dress shirt sleeve.

It's a gingerbread house

with two girls inside,

holding a pan

making gingerbread pie.

It's a piece of gum a stranger offers you.

It’s a hidden song that gives you a clue.

It’s when I think so light my thoughts go silently.

Its when my smile stays,

quietly

It's an umbrella offered to me on a rainy day.

It's a storm that makes you dance in the rain.

It's the opposite of everything I can admit…

It's a truth quilted with flowers,

It's a feeling that stays and grows powers.

It’s every single moment I can remember.

These moments with you get better

and better.

And I never want you to read my bad poetry,

but if you do

I want you to know, it's all true.

It's the color of your eyes when you smile.

I hope it stays for a while.

And when it leaves

I hope you can forgive me.

[wanabwriter-blog]

Gold point cliff

The sun rose over me like a golden beacon of hope. Everything that it touched turned into an arc of being, once sullen but then magical. What seemed to be moments turned to days. How the previous warmth I had once felt shuddered in comparison to such heat, resonating within my very essence. Power in the pads of my fingertips and power in the palms of my hands. Power in the light of the moment, power in the complete lack of denial, power in what truth there was. I was so young, so dumb, so numb to pain, but I was me. I was smiles on Saturdays and I was tears on the pages of a book, and I was laughs shared in the midst of a silent room. I was fourteen, and I clung to my youth as if it was a rope that held me above the rest. Such a hunger, such a fire to find something worth holding onto. Youth is such a strange thing…

The clouds would never roll in, the rain would never fall, the seas would never rise and the ground would never quake. I seemingly could not misplace my feet on a path I was so determined to walk. How can I tell you what it was like? The yellow on the inside of my eyelids, the damp grass beneath my bare feet. A smell of pure ecstasy laced the air that I inhaled. My shirt stuck to my stomach and chest revealing the outline of what used to be so sacred. I could be alone in a crowd of people when my mind was high on this… feeling.

Serenity. The glacial movement of time stayed steady, beating along the rhythm of the song I used to feel in my soul. There was no one who felt it as I did. Freedom wiped under my wings and launched me into space where I saw the planets in my galaxy and the stars in my sky. They always told me the simple things are what matter, but they never knew what it was in those “simple” moments that made them special. It was the complexity…if that isn’t irony, what is? Every single part of your body feels different and within each different feeling is a different melody; With the thumping of the base, your brain is electric with meaning and potential and inspiration. That's what this moment, this second in time, felt like.

Her gaze like ice on my back, a laser pointer in between my shoulder blades. I knew she was there before she did. I heard her breath before she knew she had let it out. I felt her desire to slip her hand into mine before she even thought of it. My mind was attuned to the simple existence of everything, and I drew from that a sense of all-knowing awe. I found no meaning in words or actions, so I knew. Tricky wasn’t it, reading a presence, but I did as quickly as I would a poem. And what a poem it was, one I memorized by heart and recited the verses to fall asleep.

She was crying. Tears fell down her face like how light poured out of her eyes, and mouth, and heart. I uncurled my hand and opened my palm towards the treetops. Her footsteps were silent, the pine leaves and damp grass absorbed all sound causing her to float like a ghost creeping towards me.

As her hand touched mine I felt a bolt of pure energy run through my body. Her fingers intertwined with mine, her movements bold. She was bold. She was human. She was so unexpectedly beautiful.

What I wish I would have done, what impossible moments I could have enacted, outrages at the time to my untamed mind, but practical in the end. How I could have turned to face her, staring into her eyes as if there was nothing but hope nothing but joy, everything, and freedom. I could have wiped her tears away with my breath and cupped her heart in my own beating mind. What a love story my life could have been, what a love story it was. Every time I relive that moment I go through the same fantasies, the same wonders. A kaleidoscope of colors and emotions and thoughts light up my brain. Only now do I know how real that could have been. How real a kiss under the moonlight or an embrace that lasts for an eternity, could have changed everything for the better; even if it would have been only once, and ended all in one fallow sweep. A heartbreak can be mended, but how can you find another to fill the cavity in your chest? She ripped my soul, my very will to live, out of my throat and dangled it in front of me like an offering I would never reach for.

There is nothing I can do now. There was never anything-anything at all that I could do... I would do anything to do it over again... I would do anything. Oh god please, I would do anything.

There we stood. Hand in hand we faced the morning like queens atop our castle. Every bird that sang rang like a symphony of possibilities, every breeze felt like an orchestra against our skin. How do I go back to that girl, the one I used to be. How can I jump back into her skin and sink back into her novelty?

I don't remember if we exchanged any words, I remember a conversation but now I can see that I never once opened my mouth. We did speak to each other… In every moment and breath, in every blink and in every glance. Through our hands we shared ideas and with our lives heading forward, we saw far into the future.

But not far enough.

I had hitchhiked to get to where I was; Gold Point Cliff was fifty-six miles out of town and it had taken more than a day to get to the peak. Gold Point was less of a mountain and more of a cliff, it jutted out of the land like a shipwreck from the seabed. Stories have been spread that many have been spotted leaping from its height into the treetops below, and I’m sure most are true.

I had decided to make the trip when I found out that Ohara was going up there with her family. She tried to hide it from me and our friends, like a secret could protect our naive minds. After a long night of texting and calling her, I decided that it was time for me to fulfill my story like destiny. How every step I took towards her seemed like an investment in who I was, in who I would turn out to be. The fantasy of saving her was almost as rewarding as the reality in loving her.

In the back of a ruby red pickup truck named Rosey, I flew towards a girl I knew like the back of my hand… and yet loved like I never knew at all. My hair whipping around my face like ribbons of gold, every strand reflecting yellow in the day’s light. Running away from everything that had kept me safe, towards everything that made me scared and hopeless. Every time I would jump out of a stranger’s car and walk along the long stretch of road heading god knew where I would slowly move closer to an ultimatum I never actually wanted to reach. I had felt that the days of clutching my secret close to my chest were coming to an end, that soon I would be free, let loose into the world once more. I put my love at the highest price and kept it in a glass case in the back of a department store, showing only those who I trusted with its untouched beauty. I did not hope for a miracle to sweep me away into a fairy tale, in fact, every time my eyes closed, on the inside of my eyelids I would play an ending scene of a movie that condemned me to villain-hood for eternity. A bitter taste of rejection would cake my lips, but as soon as I would open my eyes and free myself from the nightmare, it would be just that.

As the ending of my first day on the road rolled in, I can remember a particular reassuring conversation I had with the trucker that had carried me through twenty miles or so into a small town.

“Where you headed?” The man asked. His old wrinkled hands gripped the steering wheel loosely, and his eyes never once strayed from the road.

“Gold point.” My response offered no real emotion, only a shallow sense of an answer.

“Nobody's got business at the gold point.” The man said. Less of a response really, more of a statement.

“Nobody but me, ” I said.

Twenty or so minutes later when the truck had slowly come to a stop, I grabbed my bag and slowly opened the door. My head turned upward at the night sky, every fiber of my being told me to jump out and never look back, but something turned my head ever so slightly to look back at the old man. I just barely heard him say

“Everything gets better in the morning.”

[wanabwriter-blog]

Memories you left behind.

Do you remember promises kept secret

by those I wouldn’t trust

But you knew I must

when we tossed and turned

Do you remember boys and girls

Throwing fits if they didn’t fit

Truly unbreakable schoolyard clicks

Do you remember looking over the edge

Holding yourself and crying and lying

They said we would define sanity

Trying to see into the abyss

Do you remember standing up and falling over

Finding our legs no longer supported us

Because we had ran and ran on a timer

Do you remember tripping

And falling

Falling down and down

Until we drowned

Have you remembered our scars

Our skin an etched surface tethered and hard

Have you remembered them healing

Revealing all of our secrets

When the clock struck twelve

Because our minds raced onward

Unable to stay still

Or have you forgotten

[wanabwriter-blog]

The winds

What do you call the mind-numbing cloth that wraps around your brain

too rough to be a blanket  

do you call it an ache or a pain.

Could it be the way your body moves when you're on the stay still

made mill of thrumming in the mind

your hind eye made blind turn catcher in the rye

you’re tossed up

turned lump

in the behind

Section of your throat

that dry’s up when your eyes turn to moat

Water

Dripping down your spine

pine trees take the time

To create a line

down my driveway driving

on a highway

I am not staying still not touching crime

but still somehow

behaving blind

trying to reach into the darkness that is all to lived in by you

inevitably so

they are cruel to you.

Chewing gum and sniffing glue

a world that is still young and rich

to who

no longer me, never you.

An action without consequence or order hence

It is a world without

you

that is not old or knew

but childlike and torn through

By the winds

I try to send them away

but they still awaken blue

sky’s with cherry blossoms

spotting it

like pink seagulls.

What do you call a cry of sadness

a reckless outburst justified by none.

Totaled out a credit card lays and ways a tone

on the mind of a boy or a girl too young to have fun

Too old to believe the word could save them from responsibility.

Run and run and run

the winds are chasing...

they pick you up

will you become a cherry blossom in the sky

flying so high

that you worry become’s numb.

You try to paint the color of baby cheeks to protect yourself

But the pigment of the sky absorbs you until

you become

much less

than a petal in the sky

you became

someone else's lie

much less than a human life

But at least you became the blade of a nife

Yes the colors of those petals in the sky are ink black

messages to those of us who wine and dine

while your restless mind was silenced for the final time

they took a chainsaw to your roots

and shears to your petals

how they liter the sky

How

you were much more than a petal in the sky

I can hear them scream redrum

All because your cheeks were not the color of bubblegum

a cry of redemption

still a stun to those

who stay still in the wind

I am one who stays still in this wind

As it blows you away.

[wanabwriter-blog]

sight with blind eyes

If all the legends are true then one thing is for sure. If your tall tales hold up like sturdy tree stumps that have been hacked away slowly than one thing is sure. If the lords and ladies of lands a strange have written in their manuscripts accurately than one thing's for sure. If I am true to my heart and my voice hath not tremble than I am certain. And so on my discovery of who notes and don'ts and does, a tricky thing it is to fall in love with you. I presume if all of these things gain merit in their righteousness than I am sure to whack my head on a low hanging branch or run into my cottage door because love is blind and so am I so blind I will hold thy hand of god... But wish to be holding yours. The masses will tell me of my betrayal to the book of sacred duty and importance but still, I will cry to hold your hand I will cry to lay in your bed I will beg to smile at you in the wee hours of the morn. With the church bells ringing I will always wish to be me up there on that high peak smiling at the man I love… I guess mary jane never really loved her dearly departed husband but nonetheless. I hope, you, the lord almighty will understand my inner conflict oh so painful and with many grievanceses I offer you my resignation. And when I turn in my badge of honor and trust to run with actual blood in my veins and love in my so long empty beating heart, I hope you, the lord almighty will know that my love for thy king is no less. I simply cannot live without another more beautiful soul than any other who every awoke and to a breath on this planet so green and so vast and so vengeful. I hope you, the lord whose love is great and long as the rivers run wild, will accept that love as it is this is more powerful than a hurricane or a wooden spoon against my cheek. Burning and searing this rejection for society I am willing to bare, his skin is too sweet and his eyes are too clouded with clarity for me to turn away.

Love is blind like I am willful, and to know my true thoughts on life and not regret them is a beauty I have yet to find in another...aside from him. I will divorce my ideas and my beliefs and my control hypothesis to simply be in his presence and to breath in his exhale and to feel what it is to be with him so simple so wonderful. Thy holly image may never cross my mind again, and I may never put my hands together in prayer for your... greatness, for I have moved on from my sanctioned obsession...I have moved on to a concept so new and so great and so warm, I have moved on to true happiness and bliss.

Love is blind like I am free, now, with him.

[wanabwriter-blog]

mathematics

As we do the math and calculate the numbers the factors and the ex-ponents, draw the line under our addition and the minus next to our subtraction and dot the eyes and cross the tees and draw the v’s in the square root sign and finally reach the conclusion, the illusion of an ending point that we find after two parallel lines that actually never really mean the end because theirs always another problem to solve and another graph to plot and a rate of change that is all to fatal.

God, as we do the math, we slip away into who we are. The numbers are our thoughts and we each are a problem that needs to be solved but has no conclusion no ending in sight no real motivation for aptitude because we are our digits. And when 2x starts to represent me I can find a beautiful simplicity in being an unknown.

As we do the math and we sigh and roll our eyes or crinkle the edges of our minds because in our thoughts is a lump the size of every factor of x you’ve ever calculated and the water works are going to turn on because you 

don’t

understand.

Well I'm doing the math, and I’m sure you are to. And the numbers aren’t ling to me and it may not be pretty but at least their as concrete as the 43rd digit of pie. And as I watch the calculations stack up and rack up the benefits and the dream crushing down sides I realize that when we have solved our problems our eyes are closed and tatted on the inside of your eye lids is a simple answer that we should have guess at all along and your last breathe is the final tap of the key board that finalizes the ultimate equation that we’ve all been asking our selves.

What in the actual fuck does x equal.

[wanabwriter-blog]

Nah

My ex: I think we need to brake up...

Me: nah

My ex: what,

Me: nah

My ex: so like we're ov-

Me: nah

[wanabwriter-blog]

A shot

An answer for a question, you swore

A question for an answer I got.

I can hear your voice, you say whore.

Needless to say I downed a shot.

[wanabwriter-blog]

Ice-cream Sunday

Do we anticipate Sundays as they are? An ending to something that feels almost perfect at the moment, and when we look back was it actually that impactful? Sundays are like the last day of summer and school all mashed into one, an ice-cream Sunday if you will. Get it, Sunday BAHAHHAHA. Sorry, anyways. I used to think of Sundays as a death sentence because they aren’t Fridays and they aren't Saturdays but guess what, Sundays can be whatever they fuck they want to be. Their wild and unpredictable and a lot of people waste them, but when they're over a sort of peace settles over you. Its a day of preparation for the new and the old, and it's a perfect 24 hours to look back. Or forward. Or slightly to your left. 

So it’s Sunday, and I think I'm glad it is. Sitting here now, I realize I don’t need it to be anything else.

[wanabwriter-blog]

Im totally fucked.

ME IN EVERY SITUATION EVER

[wanabwriter-blog]

Me at prom

Random person: Omg! So like who did you come hear with?

Me: Oh, (points at boy across the gym) him, lol

Random person: Omg! You guys are like such a cute couple!

Me: (curls over laughing) Lol no he's gay.

Random person:...

[wanabwriter-blog]

Netflix

Look, Netflix... today I spent my whole entire day binge watching one of your shows. I was COMPLETELY unproductive. And honestly, I would love to blame you, but I can't. The truth is, I know it’s my fault, and that I shouldn’t use you as an escape goat. I will try much harder tomorrow to resist your all knowing fabulous engaging entrancing essence, and carry on with life. 

ps. HBO sucks