A little piece of my mind
Well, as most of you know, and for those who don't, I am a very dedicated writer. I've been published both on paper and online. A lot of what I write comes from my heart and soul, and is influenced by actual events in my life. I love to write so much that I've taken various writing classes and workshops, including two years of creative writing classes at school. Writing to me is like music to the artist. That's the reason I love music so much; it is nothing but the emotion of the writer, stripped of outside views and opinions. I've selected some of my poems and stories to share; some of them have been published and some have not. I hope you like what you read, but remember, these are solely my thoughts and feelings, and no one elses. Oh yeah, and everything I've written on this page is copyrighted, but I have no problem if you want to use part of it as long as you credit me.
DISCLAIMER: This stuff is MINE, not yours, MINE! Any literary devices found within these pages are solely accidental and in no way intentional by the author. Therefore, any attempt to analyze the following will be completely WRONG and subject to punishment by DEATH! Enjoy!
POEMS
Life's Paintbrush
There is no greater challenge than seeing the page turn
On a chapter of your life that you felt was not quite ready for publication.
At first, the pain seems to collect inside
Swelling until you feel that you will burst.
But the key to survival is knowing that along the way
You learned something that you will carry with you forever.
While writing your life story
You have dipped your pen into many colored inks
To find the right shade of gray
Or the right tint of blue.
Every time you dipped into the bottle, you took a risk
At not getting what you wanted.
Think of the events of your life as the different inks.
When you finally find the ink that you've been hunting for
You feel a sense of accomplishment and of pride
And you find yourself remembering that when you go back to use the ink a second time
The green on the end was the one that was too dark.
The first time you dove into that end bottle
You had no way of knowing the intensity of the color
Yet that did not stop you from dipping.
The same can be said of episodes in life.
The first time you tried something, you had no idea what the result would be.
Now as you go back and do it again
You are prepared for what will happen.
Look at each day as a new ink bottle to dip into.
Drink in the colors that life has to offer
And remember how each one affected you.
Dip into two colors at once and see where that path leads.
Creativity is the opposite of conformity
So take your paintbrush and finish your picture the way you feel it should be done.
I Never Thought
I never thought there would come a time
when you were not around.
I never thought I'd have to deal with
giving you up completely.
I never thought we would part ways
and take a walk down paths of separation.
I never thought you could hurt me like you did,
ripping my heart out and destroying it before my eyes.
I never thought I'd get over the pain and heartache
of losing my best friend.
I never thought the clouds would dissipate
leaving life grey and dreary.
I never thought anyone could make me stop crying
except the one who made me start.
I never thought you would continue to hurt me
even after you were gone.
I never thought someone could become the opposite
of how they once appeared to be.
I never thought I would learn so much from you
about life and relationships.
I never thought we would talk about our dreams
as if they could come true.
I never thought we would last this long,
proving our love was real.
I never thought I would confide in you
without feeling stupid or embarassed.
I never thought you could help me with the problems
that I couldn't help myself with.
I never thought you could take my serious self
and show me my inner sense of humor.
I never thought you could make things better
just by saying you cared.
I never thought I would learn so much about myself
while learning about you.
I never thought I'd have the experiences
I went through with you.
Thanks.
The Grade
(A parody of The Flea by John Donne)
Mark but this class, and mark its grade,
This grand little number is what I have made;
There’s nothing wrong here, for it I am proud,
Why is your face red? Don’t scream so loud.
All this does is determine my fate,
This small piece of paper marked name, class and date.
This is the utmost I am able to do,
Remember that one day you were here, too!
I am elated; yet, you seem so blue.
The anger inside of you swells and it grows,
I can hear it grumbling from your head to your toes.
I know that real soon it will grow even more,
But why are you so mad? I mean, what for?
It doesn’t make sense to get bent out of shape,
Pull yourself together, here, have some tape.
All I hold here are some marks on a page,
It’s not like I’m dumber than others my age.
Don’t turn my room into a jail cell or cage.
“Is that,” you say, “the best you have done?”
You’d think they’d be proud of my GPA sum.
I work and I work and it’s still not enough,
No one told me that high school would be all this tough.
But don’t worry about me; I will be fine,
I’ll work at a place where people will dine.
A happening place, that’s where it’s at,
With my nice polo shirt and my cute paper hat,
I’ll look up and say “Would you like fries with that?”
Daydream
The noise suffocates me and the air is dense.
Chaos.
Commotion.
Too much going on.
My inspiration has gone astray.
Creativity is no more.
My imagination has taken a leave of absence.
System overload.
Staring at the wall with nothing in my mind,
I am alone in my world.
Then suddenly, reality!
The thick haze clears in my foggy memory,
As I return to the world I know so well.
I sit in my math class taking notes, a mindless robot in a sea of control.
The bell rings and I head out the door to continue my systematic life,
Yet once again, I become an artist.
She
She thinks like a broken record,
Her thoughts redundant but true.
She sings like a homeless man,
Always wailing the blues.
She floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee,
Defenses seldom let down.
She remembers what he yelled at her,
Before he knocked her out.
She runs like a spotted cheetah,
Away from the endless pain.
It’s the middle of the night; she has nowhere to go,
As she stands there in the rain.
She scurries past the corner store,
Where she worked almost every day.
Past the gift shop, the pharmacy, the newspaper stand,
She knew she could not stay.
So off she went into the night,
Without a second thought.
She and ran and ran and never looked back,
For fear she would be caught.
So to this day she keeps on running,
From her dreary past.
No one knows her life or name,
They never stop to ask.
They stare at her as she presses on,
A subject of their joking.
They couldn’t know what she’s been through,
The life that had her choking.
So if you see this timid ghost,
Do not get in her way.
She has a thought; she has a plan,
She knows she can not stay.
She walks alone in the dead of night,
Searching for a home.
A far off look invades her eyes,
She feels completely alone.
She clings to her few possessions,
With a grip as tight as death.
She's exhausted from all of the running she's done,
She stops to take a breath.
She looks throughout the peculiar town,
With fear upon her face.
Something doesn't feel quite right,
Then she's gone without a trace.
Was she ever there at all,
With her little forlorn eyes?
It's hard to say, no one could hear,
Her silent, pleading cries.
Oh yes indeed she was so real,
She passed through town that day.
But she didn't make a big impression,
For she knew she could not stay.
26 Excuses to Give a Teacher
Aliens abducted me.
Ben Affleck proposed to me.
Calculator broke.
Dracula was on TV.
Eleven car pile-up caused a traffic jam.
Forgot my book.
Got sick.
House was foreclosed.
Immigrants invaded my room.
Jerry Lewis telethon.
Kitty gave birth in my backpack.
Lottery winners included my family.
Mom wanted to get a head start on Christmas shopping.
Not allowed to think on days ending in –day.
Oh, it was for a grade?
Practicing a new religion that requires us to play Nintendo every night.
Queen of England came to my house for tea and cookies.
Rats infested my house.
Seventy-six trombones came marching through my living room.
The dog ate it.
Uranus was not properly aligned with the moons of Saturn.
Vaccinations were half off and I had to bring my sister in for hers.
Woodpeckers attacked my dad’s wooden leg.
Xylophone practice lasted longer than expected.
Yesterday was national "no homework" day.
Zebras escaped from the zoo and I had to take care of them.
Reflections
Your words cut through my heart
A thousand tiny knives
My stomach clenches
My breath is short and shallow
It's over, you say, I'm ready to move on
Don't trip over my memories
On your way out the door.
I put my heart and soul into making you happy
Yet I was upset
And so you pulled away
I have nothing left inside me
Save the empty void of feeling
How can what was once so right
Turn out to be so wrong?
Forgive me, you say, I'm sorry
But sorry won't dry my tears
Or pick my lifeless body
Up off the floor.
I know that forgiveness is what you want
But the question is can I give it?
Two years have passed and now I find
It wasn't what I thought.
I'm sad to think we gave it all we had
But our all was not enough.
Yet as I sit here drowning in my misery
I do not have regrets.
You Think You Know Me
You really think you know me, I tell you it's not true
Because you are accusing me of things I didn't do.
So maybe one kid on the street is having unsafe sex
Is that a reason to believe one teen is like the next?
You really think you know me, I tell you it's not true
Because you are accusing me of things I didn't do.
So maybe one kid on the street is dealing with cocaine
When does that give you the right to say we're all the same?
You really think you know me, I tell you it's not true
Because you are accusing me of things I didn't do.
You think you'll get away with this, I tell you that you won't
You really think you know me, I tell you that you don't.
Hair Spray and Peppermints
She teases her hair with a comb and plasters it down
With a can labeled 'level five - extra hold'.
She smiles and winks at herself in the mirror
Then grabs a handful of peppermints,
Sucking on one as she stuffs the rest in her pocket.
She comes downstairs with a cloud of perfume
Circling over her head; perhaps she used too much?
That doesn't matter now
He's coming to pick her up in half an hour.
Her hair spray is giving her a headache
But the peppermints help to relieve the pain.
She sits on the doorstep with her purse in her lap
Glancing down the street when she hears a car engine.
The car turns into her neighbor's drive
And she goes back to playing with her hair
Which no longer has the volume and beauty it once did,
Now only that dull, sickening aroma.
She twiddles her thumbs, there must be a good reason
As to why he hasn't shown.
She plays with the dirt in the flower beds
As she slowly munches on another peppermint.
Any minute now.
She sits in her bedroom
among a scattering of tissues
no longer dressed for the night.
Her tears flow freely, her head pounds more and more,
a handful of candy wrappers line the trash can.
He didn't show, and never called;
she waited at the door until ten.
She just wants to forget the night
and get on with her life,
but she'll never be able to forget the smell
of hair spray and peppermints.
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