Special Thanks: Napster, Instant-Message RP that last for ages, best friends (distant and otherwise), BNL, Fuel, Creed, Incubus, and Star Trek marathons.

|~*~|

It’s like the dream you try to remember

But it’s gone, then you

Try to scream, but it only comes out

As a yawn when you

Try to see the world beyond

Your front door...

~~Barenaked Ladies, "Pinch Me"

|~*~|

As I sit
And I wait
For the hour to come
I wish I could hear
The sound of
Your voice
Again.
Defective metal is
All that stands between
My ears and your voice
(Your ears and my voice as well).
I miss those evening chats
Where there were no rules
No pretenses
And I could hear you
As we type away
To infinity.

Why can’t dreams
Be allowed to manifest
Themselves as
Reality?
Is there really a need
For children to die?
For mothers to cry?
For the misunderstood to be
Berated?
Sooner or later,
Someone that needs to
Stand will stand,
And the rest of us
Will wonder as others
Stand behind the one who stood,
Will unity be our destiny?
Will we blast ourselves,
In the midst of a drunken
Rage,
Into oblivion?......
The future awaits.....but
Are we ready?

They dance away
Uninhibited
To the light of the
Flickering hurricane lamp.
We watch their
Simplistic ballet as the
Gale rages outside.
Empty spaces within
Coming to life in amazement
After being dulled down
By pop-culture brain-washing vibes.
Reach out to touch them....
Featherlightfaintestoffainttouches!
Tickling the nerves beneath
Your surface, lighting up trails
Of emotion you never knew you
Had.

How many bad days
Will it take before
It’s just too much to take?
How many days can you
Draw the shades, return to bed
Before you realize you’ve
Shut yourself within?
If you seek a cure
For a conceived melancholy
In the form of another jagged pill,
You seek a life worth
Very little; For chemicals
Can you burn you within
More so than they do
The outside.

Wouldn’t it be great
If you could climb into
A picture
And fade away
Fade away
From the world you live in?
The escapism is rather
Intriguing…
I want to get away from
This world, this jaded
Modern land…
Into a place with
Clean air and water,
Where imagination is the
End-all-be-all of survival
And life itself is
So much simpler.

Empty spaces
Within my mind…
From the cradle,
I am unable to remember
The scent of the powder
My mother used upon me
After a bath.
I can’t remember
The aroma of stale ale
And sweat from my father’s
Embrace as he came
Home for the day.
The few things I do
Remember…
I have to wonder
If they’re worth remembering at all
As I grow old,
I make my own memories
The new rewriting,
The old fading,
But not entirely
Vanishing.

Sitting
Waiting quiet
Writing poems to help
Alleviate my "friend", Boredom’
Ennui.

NHS (An ode to my high school)

Tedious school days,
Pointless popularity
Cliques rule the school, but
I am not of their minions;
I still posses my free will.

She finishes her test
As I muse;
She should be my friend
Yet she never thinks to call
Unless there’s a crisis in
Need of resolve.
That cutesy sweater,
Those skin-tight jeans
(Flare-leg!!) Watch her rules
Her upper-crust friends.
You may be at the top
Of the clique food chain,
But you’re just a slave
To the scene;
Hope you don’t get lost
Out there,
Amongst the frigid glances
And drunken games.
Sure
It’s not so bad now,
But where will you be
When the party ends,
And life goes on?

Allow me
To retract that previous
Statement.
I barely understand
That world of denim
And fleece,
Of Abercrombie & Fitch,
Of doing what they call
Cool.
I prefer my own world
Of tea and N64 (And DC!)
Of poetry and PC
Of doing my own thing.
As much as I resent
High school pretense,
I cannot blame
Or put to shame
A person that
I hardly understand.

Leave me;
Keep your distance.
Do not look to me and
Don’t return to the past we shared;
Away.

Give me a moment please
To organize my shuffled thoughts.
As I fight through the disorganization
That you left me with,
I’m trying to cope on my own,
To keep living my life.
I’m too strong to give up,
My heart just won’t allow it.
So, please, get out of
My mind.

Writing now,
Oh how my eyes burn
From lack of sleep.
Slather mascara onto my lashes,
Powder up my face.
I hope I don’t look
Too tired...
It seems as though the
Makeup never quite covers
Those puffy blue circles
(colored like angry thunderheads)
Beneath my eyes.
It’s a sad fact
When you put on mascara
Just to show the world
That your eyes are open.

I
See you
There and I
Wish I could tell
You all the things that
I think need to
Be said, while
I wonder,
Wishing.

They kiss
And smile
And I
Wonder why
My imagination
Has more
Fun than
I do.

Stop and wait for me,
So that I may walk with you
And enjoy the sun.

She sits and thinks,
And takes a drink.
The numbness takes over
As she mulls over
Why she needs to drink
A toxic cocktail
Just to leave the world behind.

I sit and wait.
Oh how their eyes burn with hate.
I take the stand
With my head in my hands;
I speak, but do they listen?
I weep, but do they see my tears?
I stop my speech,
Staying silent, I shut my eyes,
And tune out their
Fiery gaze.

Iron bars
Caked with rust
Dismal sells, stone and mortar
Holding souls within.
Light shines within these cells, but
The light is faded,
Watered-down, as if
It, too, is a prisoner....

Gilded cage
The life of the rich
Is lived by some of
The poorest individuals;
They do not see their plight,
And those who do risk their lives
In flight.

Against the spiral we run
Working against the hands of time.
Against the spiral we live
Surviving, blow-for-blow, or strife.
Against the spiral we rejoice
Celebrating to spite our enemies.
Against the spiral we are born
Taking our first shuddering breaths as humans.
And against the spiral we die,
A life fulfilled, a life rewarded.

Snow softly falling
Outside the classroom window
As I sit within
And wish I could be out there
Walking amongst the snowflakes.

Disillusionment.
Naivete has been lost;
An innocent weeps.

Walk amongst the trees,
In this moonlit magic glade...
Walk on until dawn.

Rainy January day
My sister and I wait to
Go home again.
The rain that falls
Onto the brooding layer
Of cold snow
Is, in itself, dank and dreary,
Like water dripping interminably
From the ceiling of an Arctic sepulchre.
The wind blows cold and full of sorrow
Like from beyond the grave,
Howling through the bare-branched trees.
It makes one wonder how
It would feel to be lost, alone,
Out in this bitter cemetery rain,
With only your clothes to keep you warm
With only your feet to carry you onward
With only your voice to keep you sane.

Speaking in whispers,
They stand within
Each other’s warm embrace,
Searching one another’s
Eyes, memorizing their
Souls, then smiling.
The scene plays
Itself out, as
I eat my
Breakfast at my
Café, across from
Their secret (public) world.

Rapid beat and
Pulses racing; Computerized
Warbles and tunnel echoes,
Voice-over telephone style;
I hear static!
I hear static!
Freak out, mellow down
Tempo allegro
No time to stop the microburst
now I’m breathless –
Keep it playing!

Smooth, easy breeze,
And a lazy sense of contentment,
Watch the clouds roll on by
Don’t you change that channel,
’Coz the grass just grew an inch
(Footyardmiledoesitmatter?)
Staring up at the sky,
The rush of the cars going by,
Ferrying hurried folks off to
More of their hurried lives;
I’m just content to sit
On my lawn chair, and
Bake in the sun.

|~*~|