back home.

These are terribly out-of-order and dated, mostly. I love to write, don't get me wrong, but I never said I was *good*. These vary from being 4 years old to about 3 weeks old. Just friends. You know, I thought, maybe he isn't worth it. He looked up right as I was thinking about my other options. But his blue eyes, wow, I've never even realized how bright they are until he smiled. I love it when he smiles. Then he gets sad, as usual, and I hate that. He hates that I hate that, but he's just a friend. We have so much fun together. He makes me smile, oh so much. Oh, he's laughing now! I love when he laughs. No, I can't ruin this. There are others. Others who are better. Better! Ha! How can you get better than this…this relaxed sense of, oh...goodness, happiness, bliss, contentment. I'd love for him to smile just for me. He hugged me. That was so great, he thought enough to hug me. This is something to hold onto forever. I can't let go. After all, he's just a friend. Where should we go now? Lets go out with our friends. He makes me laugh. I love that; it makes me feel as if everything is right. I can't let it get to my head. He walked away, where is he going? Who is he walking towards? Who is she? Ah, he likes her. I can't get in the way, he likes her so much. She makes him so happy. He makes me happy. All I can do is try to repay him since, of course, he's just a friend. He's smiling again. It's not because of me, it's because of her. That's okay, I love to see him smile. He's happy without me. That's good, though, because I love to see him happy. He makes me so complete, but I can't be selfish. I can't hold on any longer, I can't keep him from his happiness. I must sacrifice this for his beautiful smile. After all, we're just friends. I don't matter anymore. That's okay, I know he is laughing and smiling without me. I don't mind, I love to know he's happy. He made me so happy, he made me so complete. He's in love. I am in love. But I can't be in love, I can just be happy...because after all, all we could ever be, all we could ever hope for, all we have ever achieved….is just friends. untitled. Kai had no air of importance about her. She wasn’t poised or strong. Her hair didn’t rest lightly on her shoulder. She didn’t have pouty lips that were gently moistened by the morning dew. Her smile wasn’t sly and didn’t creep up on her. She wasn’t a superwoman. She wasn’t a supermodel. She wasn’t super. She was Kai, and that fit her just fine. Her flaws were many. Although not overweight, she was pleasantly curvy. Her hair was frizzy and auburn and went down a few inches below her shoulders. Her eyes were a cloudy gray-green. Her lips were thin and were often coated with chapstick. Her idea of makeup was SPF 40. Her skin was light and freckled slightly. Her cheeks were a light pink naturally. She was pleasant to look at and she didn’t care either way. "A person is what they make of themselves, and you can’t make your looks." was often her philosophy. She was hurt often by others, but she gave off an impression of not caring what others think of her. She was polite and shy but a total ham. She wasn’t a real person, and strangely enough that was her greatest quality. She had lots of friends. Many times her friends would call her and ask her to go out and do stuff with them. She was thrilled to hear this, it gave her the impression that she was appreciated. Her best friend was Chris. Chris was a goof, to say the least. He considered himself the ‘class clown’ and that’s what attracted Chris and Kai to each other. They laughed a lot, and neither thought of the other as a serious person, just a form of entertainment. That fit them just fine because their relationship was based around being with others, and so the superficial screen could remain in place for as long as needed. They worked well as a comedy duo. He would comment, she would add on or continue the joke until everyone laughed and they could make another comment and start over again. Overall Kai felt as if she was greatly appreciated and fed off of the laughs that her peers gave off. Kai didn’t have any real friends. Her friends thought they liked her, but they didn’t know who she was. Her parents didn’t see much of her, she was always out with her friends, and so they didn’t know who she was. Kai didn’t know who she was either, she didn’t have time because she was entertaining her friends and if she were to find out her friends may not appreciate her any more. She wanted more from her life. Her grades weren’t always good or always bad. She forced herself to go to work and join some clubs. She didn’t understand the fulfillment others received from sharing their feelings with those who were close to them. She thought that if she shared her feelings, hopes, dreams, worries with the people she considered friends she would know who she was. She tried. Everyone she knew was now hearing about Kai’s life. Her worries, her loves, her problems. Kai’s life was beginning to lighten up. A load was lifted off of her back. She felt like a real person. She began to want others to share with her what she had shared with them. She thought of the pleasure she could receive from taking some worry off of her friends’ backs. She had exposed herself. Her loves, her worries, her pain. She had told all of those she held dear, and many who she didn’t, about her life. Everyone knew what Kai consisted of. Nobody cared. They wanted her to stop. Nobody wanted to hear about another teenager with problems. They wanted her to be strong and handle her life on her own and just leave them alone. The compassion she believed in wasn’t there. Her friends stopped calling. She didn’t get a chance to be a clown again. She was viewed as a real person now. She was no longer that ‘funny girl’ who people enjoyed the company of but never wanted to take the responsibilities of being her friend. If she so openly gave her wit and wisdom to others, why bother to try to become more meaningful to her? Life, to them, was no longer a two-way street. She was alone. She was a real person, and strangely enough that was her greatest quality. The Destruction of True Perfection No One knows she was the One To attain Perfection before Life's done She ponders Why can no One care When life's so short and hard to bear… Her face rested in her hands. Her elbows, white from pressure, trembles as they leaned on the cold, hard sink. Ink-stained tears of an attempt to mask her inferiority seeped through her fingers. She sniffled and opened her eyes. The foggy mirror gave her no glance at her painting. She moistened a towel and wiped away the dripping makeup. Who did she need to impress? Who deserves so much preparation? She believed that she would look acceptable, maybe even presentable, in this war paint. Who was she kidding? Maybe, she thought, the concealers would make him see something in her that mattered. Ah, but what else could she reveal? By hiding her imperfections could she really show him she was of any worth? She stumbled into her bedroom and found the knob to her radio. "It's the End of the World as We Know It" blared through the speakers. How fitting. She sat down. What has the world come to that people must use this ritual of concealing truth to appear "appealing"? She ponders this. What is appeal? If it's appealing to conceal your imperfections, then is truth something of great unattractiveness? Since when did happiness have to come from others? When did we start using only one sense to achieve pleasure. She smiled. She's Different. Pleasure, for her, comes from an organ often spoken of and rarely used. Unfortunately, others do not see her ways as acceptable or probable. Why should the mind be used for happiness when its so much easier to search for a pretty face or a cheap thrill? Then again- her reasoning differs from the norm. Why take the easy way out? Surely laughter can be achieved other than at the expense of others. Surely beauty can be regarded without gazing at a supermodel. The "quick-fix-quick-answer" phase has finally invaded and diseased the human thought process. No longer can we find those unique individuals with wit and wisdom, purity and vulnerability, peace and understanding, the willingness, ability and yearning to know and learn. Those fine beings who care about others unconditionally and unselfishly. Her eyes start to blur. A tear drips slowly down her cheek. This young warrior who loves and learns and actually lives her life for herself, not looking for recognition but for compassion. Why must she continuously try and fail at this battlefield of life? The creation of normal and standard, "acceptability", boundaries and popularity has made this war hero virtually unknown. She stands up and gazes out the window, looking for her date. There is no place in the world for this young, fragile heart. Her numerous attempts for acceptance and love never seem to bear fruit. Her ongoing search for meaning has left her with one probable answer: but how is it attained? If happiness is the highest goal, shouldn't the karma be counted as highly as the enlightenment? She takes the unbeaten path- her hopeless attempts never acknowledged- her sense of humor and unique conversation style never noticed- her intelligence and human compassion never seen- as the smooth, cold pain of the blade sharply kisses her wrists and her rose-bearing date hesitantly reaches toward the doorbell- ready to utter the three words she will never know. He pricks himself of the thorn and bleeds Where roses grew now grow the weeds That clog the path to her untouched heart He was so close, now they're worlds apart. Never miss an opportunity to tell someone they matter, it may be the last time they hear it. Paltry Poultry Poetry Ode to a Chicken by Erin (With special thanks to Jenny and Rabea) Your wings amaze Though cannot fly They deserve praise For decieving the eye That bucket threats Your life's short span You make great pets And cook fast in pans Potatoes are good When mashed and with gravy You build coops with wood Do I look good in Navy? You often go cluck Or cock-a-doodle-doo You're not a duck Or a cow that goes moo People like you fried Or in a fricassee You've nobly died To fill my tummy The colnel is old And likes you a lot He sees you as gold- And crispy and hot You're a favorite of many And enemy to few You're dozens a penny And make a dern good soup So what does this mean My love for this bird Well, I'm awfully keen So I'm spreading the word untitled 2. Sara’s mother came downstairs in a fit of madness. Rushing to the window, she looked outside to see that the neighbors had left. She grabbed her bag, two minutes to spare. She looked out the window again, still gone. She ran the back yard, the dog sat there silently, sloppily smiling at the senseless sadness that overcame the woman. She looked outside again. The car was there, like it was before, the neighbors were still gone. She opened the front door and closed it behind her. She took out her keys, the red- no the green one. She locked the door and ran to the car, 30 seconds to spare. The car started with ease and Sara’s mother was on her way to another senseless day at work. Sara glanced out of her window. The neighbors had already left. Her mother had already left. She put on her sweater, grabbed her backpack, and went downstairs. The dog was sitting quietly, quivering in the cold morning sun. She looked outside, the neighbors were gone, her mother had left for work, - she was alone. She positioned herself over the chair to sit down. No, she couldn’t. Her mother would have a fit if she sat on her chair. It was just a chair to Sara, but an antique, prized possession to her mother. A car horn sounded. Sara looked outside, in the silence and absence before was now a car with her best friend in it. She opened the front door and closed it behind her. She took out her keys, the blue- no the green one. She locked the front door and ran to the car, all the time in the world to spare. At work her mother smiled brightly at the angry anguished couple who sat in front of her. So you would like a divorce? That’s fine. Was there a pre-nuptial agreement? Of course not, then we will have to make this as painless as possible. She gets the kids? Great, we won’t have to worry about that then. We will look into it. See you Thursday. All with a smile. Two people, either re-starting or ruining their life- erasing their past mistakes- and it will all have to wait until Thursday. Thursday sounds like a good day to remake your life, doesn’t it? It’s not Monday, the first day of the week. The wretched, regretful day where early morning seems like time suspended and the night is all too forgiving- teasing those who would believe that they will get a good night’s rest, only to find that this is a mere impossibility- to be rested on a Monday night. Tuesday, the day in which hope springs eternal- eternally wretched. The day when coupons come in the mail, as do bills- when you are reminded on how much you don’t have and then how much you could save. Wednesday, the hump of the week which you could silently slip over or jump over in a fit of rage. The day when you sit sadly in a slumber-like state, watching the week’s finest television shows and drink yourself into a stupor with the specials at happy hour. Thursday, the day to get a divorce. The day when you have somehow scaled the hump and almost made your way to the greatest cluster of days men know. Thursday which, unlike every other day, can be a doorway to a hellish paradise or a gate to a relaxing coma- 3 days in a world that we like to call the weekend. At school Sara cautiously made her way through the halls, avoiding as much contact as possible with any of the other students. Her locker was pleasantly plastered with pretty people. She tried to shove her way through the jungle of hair-sprayed masses of tarnished gold and muscular bundles of blank expressions. A strong, simulated, flowery scent filled the air around her as one of the marvelously sculpted females masked her intense aroma with something someone else was wearing. The buzzing chatter soon turned to focus on one conversation. Once about makeup and clothing and then expensive automobiles and golden bands of affection. Sara listened with almost fascination. An interest was almost forming in why these two extremely privileged females should care so much about possessions- as they already possess something someone else could never have- their immense beauty. Beauty that could only come from bottles and brochures- but beauty all the same. As fake as it was, they had it—and Sara was not ashamed to know she was jealous. Sara, who couldn’t care much about her appearance for fear that she would encase herself in plastic, had never put too much emphasis on possessions. Money wasn’t attractive to her. Beauty was. Her life could revolve around the beauty of others, of things, of the world- but because her life was so cluttered with things, technicalities, other people- she rarely was able to enjoy the simple pleasures of the beauty around her. School ended, work ended. The day’s two most unforgiving activities had ceased and now the trek home was the only event left that could cause great distress. Sara’s mother walked briskly to her car, the big bulging beautiful boat that basked in the baking heat which surrounded her. The expensive expansive expansion of her ego which sat in the mid-afternoon haze, asking for it’s master to rile her up once again. Into traffic- dominating the streets- ringing the bell of war to break up the line of waiting servants. A mad rush to a home, a lover, a family, a warm meal, death. Sara stood on the corner, deciding the path to take. To go to Jacob’s house- to be entangled in the web he calls his life, was a tempting thought. To engage herself in activities shunned upon by all the normals and spat upon by the people who love her most. What she loves most, though, if knowing what beauty she could create and live through. What her life could be made into. She walked off of the corner, turning left, away from home and into a decision that even Sara knows she shouldn’t take. Sara’s mother walked up to the door and reached into her bag for he keys. The yellow,- no the green one. She slowly unlocked the door and yelled for Sara. No answer. Sara’s mother was not surprised, she often found Sara not to be home- in fact, Sara had not been home when she got home in over a year, but she always feels the need to yell for her- as if some day she will appear and the façade of dysfunction will cease to be. She opened the refrigerator and closed it quietly. Walking slowly she sighed and walked into her living room. She stood in the middle of the glamour- the expensive antiques, the Persian rug, the large-screen television—all unused and in perfect condition. It was her fish tank, her world to view but not to interfere with. Sara’s mother went back into the kitchen and looked into the refrigerator again. Empty, as always. Cold and empty- for if she put food in it it would become imperfect. She looked out the window, the neighbors were home. She clutched her heart. She hoped that they didn’t see the awful state she was in, her clothes somewhat wrinkled- her hair somewhat imperfect. What impression would that make? What would the neighborhood think of her if the word was out that she wasn’t at her greatest. She started to hyperventilate. She would sit down, but where? She walked frantically around the house, her head spinning. Sara stepped out of Jacob’s car. She pulled her backpack out of the tattered and torn back seat. The car door slammed as she looked up at her own piece of suburbia. A shadow fell over the house. The bright light that once shone on the perfectly-lined-up rows of flowers and hedges had long ago disappeared. The house didn’t look as warm and welcoming as it usually appeared. She walked up to the door. No key needed now, the door slid open silently. Sara heard a faint whimpering in some part of the house. She went around the corner to see her mother weeping on the stairs. She looked down at the mass of tears and makeup on the perfectly clean stairs. In one hand she could make out a bottle of pledge, just in case tears fell on the stairs. Enough. Beauty could not be perfection- otherwise nothing would be beautiful. Sara opened he backpack and pulled out a small gun. Trembling she held it at her mother. Sara’s mother looked up, not changing her expression when met with the gun. Sara looked away and pulled the trigger. Once, twice, three times. A heap of bloody, lifeless flesh was gathered on the stairs. Her mother had not changed. Sara saw the walls, painted with the bright red. She smiled. Beauty, perfection had been attained. After all, misery is never part of true beauty. Tragedy, Misery and Melody Chaos strikes a whole and it stays together Fragile minds shattered and reformed to make Stronger bonds than ever before Misery created this harmony Sweet and mellow, tiny shaken souls Stand brighter now than ever Sweeter songs sung, but never so Sincere. Lose so much of the souls of today To make a new life for the souls of now Fresh new lives starting from tears Exploding into existence Hush little world, hear the calls of Your long-lost ancestors. Hear the Cries of a billion people gasping. You can’t ignore us now, you can’t Shove us back into your shoeboxes And bell jars When you’re weary, we’re on your side You can give us hope we already had Be a child and unaffected to feel why Innocence is only lost by choice. Toys Stay the same, the mind only changes. Kiss our foreheads to soothe our pain And we’ll return with that love Sad to only have harmony with hatred But now lessons are learned and smiles Returned. No reasons are needed for harmony And peace, love and happiness—for reasons would Make selfless love a selfish chore Last night everything was right, the rain was gone. Come tomorrow I’ll be on my way back home. Smile like sunshine, odd how it warms the room with its glow Smirks so innocent and real, tilt of your head, dimples show Hugs that encompass everything you mean, soft and sweet Squeeze me tightly, forever, same every time we meet In the morning I’ll call from a roadside telephone. Songs now bring tears to me, make me think of times past Who was I to wonder whether or not this would ever last? Don’t forget to kiss me… and you did, whenever you did leave Why did you have to let your heart and life and mine interweave? One night doesn’t mean the rest of my life. Take me home, back to where I was insecure and unknowing Back where I felt safe in worries and frequent questioning When you were nothing but a name, and I was nothing but a thought Was I ever someone to you, was I really the one you sought? If I go, It’s not impossible… But you, you, your sweet embraces, words and love are still here And now I feel different, unknowing, I’m scared and unclear To lose this is maybe what we need, to clear our minds and hearts What am I to do with this love, then, if we are to part? Possible is probably wrong. Puppy love and crushes, who knows that from deeply falling In love with someone who is just like you, always sweet, calling Me his angel. You fall in love as I just fall apart. You see me here And want to take me away from my pain—yet all I have is a tear. So let go, ‘cause I’m afraid to try. But it wasn’t I who questioned us and this, it wasn’t my doubt Not until I saw what I didn’t want, and using all my clout I tried my best to mould and shape what I felt was right And so it was me who caused the pain, I started the fight. I hope someday you’ll understand. Here we are now, Here’s where that story ends. But where’s the new page, where the new story tends To be written and takes the turn we should have always taken? I’m ready to be co-author—and write these feelings that can never be shaken. I want to try and make it right, I don’t know if I can.