Composed 4/12/14
Description: (Day 12 of NaPoWriMo)

Sometimes I want to live
And not be loved
I just want
To look up as the sun beats down
And feel the brush of wind’s gentle hand
To look out over
The pinks exploding in seas of grass
The mulling of blues and blacks cast in the shadow
Of hazed yellow lights

I want to wander alone
In endless museums
Where my mind can grasp
Where my fingers can touch
The talents and stories of which I can
Barely comprehend
I need to ravage the cities
The forests
The markets
At my own pace
To be myself

And then I arrive home
And I want to be loved
As well as alive
Because I see you
Smiling, laughing, relaxed, and elegant
Perfectly content in the lack of my presence
And I
An individual
An outsider
Am too late to join

The ones I loved
Leave me
Too absorbed in each other

And suddenly
All that once brought life to my bones
Weighs me down and
Shatters the glass in my chest
I wish to revoke the time wasted
On my own self
Because why does it matter
If no one will cherish me
When I return?



Composed 11/16/13
Description: n/a

A single pinprick I can withstand
But when you’re around me
I am stabbed in threes
Every moment
I seize under
Small, sharp punctures
In their mass
Summon the blood beneath
And bring it out
Drop by drop
Forming into streams
Shining red and vibrant
On my paling skin

And I wither
Unable to lash out
Because pinpricks seem so

Single with a Car

Composed 9/2/13
Description: Simply, this was my night. My roommate’s boyfriend is in town (without a car), and his friend was busy so I picked him up. Then I had to (eventually) drive him home. I ended up writing this in an attempt to stay awake while I waited for them to finish visiting. Figures, as soon as it’s done, they’re ready to leave.

Leaning on the edge of madness
that comes from exhaustion
and the prohibition of sleep
Listening to the silence
that comes from lovers staying private
deafening to the mind of the lonely
and impossible to break
though you suffer
because doing so makes you
(not the time, not the rules)
the villain
But how can a villain not arise
when tortured
with consciousness
and listening
and knowing?
And then having to drive
The tormentor home?


Composed 7/2/13
Description: Another piece inspired by a mix of recent feelings and reflections. I’m not 100% sold on the title (a little too vampire connotative, perhaps?), so if you have any suggestions (or like this one) I would love to hear your thoughts!

I detest the sun
That once nourished me
Brought color to my cheeks
Warmth to my limbs
An inferno raging
Twisting in my chest
My stomach

Now the sun fills me
With different fire
It sickens me
I exhale
And erupt in flames

I flee to the shadows
Scoff at the lotus
Blushing and fragrant
In the sun’s refreshed light

I yearn
I crawl
I stand
I grow
I will thrive in the darkness
And reach out toward the sun

The lotus will fall in the shadow
The sun will shine upon me

But I will throw up my hands
And block its light
I no longer need it
To live


Composed: 7/1/13
Description: I’m going through a gray period in my writing; life is neither overly lovely nor overly horrible. It’s mostly work at the moment. It’s just rather… meh. And it’s in these periods of “meh” that it’s hard for me to write, because there is so little to express (other than boredom). However, because there is nothing overly exciting going on I’ve defaulted to reminiscing.

It occurred to me
while searching through your present
that if my past
was more like my future
it wouldn’t make a difference

Troubling Thoughts

Composed 3/6/13
Description: A personal poem dealing with a situation (and feelings) that have passed on by now. However, in the spirit of documenting my life and feelings (which is a main point of this blog), I have decided to post it. Though I have moved past these feelings for the most part and therefore this poem is not totally relevant to me at the present time, I am sure many can relate, as such feelings are a common…

It’s irrational,
that skip of my heart,
the dread that consumes my body,
my soul,
when their attention shifts.

She’s shallow,
that little voice inside me,
the one that says to smile,
to say funny things,
to laugh.

For it is not for their admiration,
those little boys with their crushes,
that causes me such confliction,
such anguish;

I feel no particular longing for their specific traits,
their voice and their laugh,
their cleverness,
their long, slender frames;

It is the object of their affection,
one so similar to me,
that baffles and frustrates me,
that leaves me fuming and embarrassed.

For why do they not prefer me:
more daring and outspoken,
more flirty and willing,
while the other hides in shame at their approach,
finds no joy in the game,
in the drama?

But worse:
why should I feel the need to compete with their object,
my friend,
one whom I cherish like a sister,
when in truth I desire her to be happy,
to be loved and admired?

Is it the loneliness,
the fear of living life alone and unloved,
stemming freshly from rejection,
that feeds my insecurities,
my need to be noticed,
longed for?

Whatever the reason,
these feelings must stay printed on this page,
locked away,
for trouble would arise if such
troubling thoughts
were to be let loose and
set upon the world.