Just Look at Me

Look through the faded picture of a girl, and you will see me.

Past my domineering silhouette, can be discovered- a girl running to push out thought, someone with grass stains on her knees, someone whose eyes mischievously gleam. I am not defined by my skill, nor my appearance.

I am my actions.

I am the snarky comments that should not be said,

I am the comfort given to a friend,

I am the tears bitterly shed,

and I am the crazy laughter with no end.

Look past images to imagine,

see through judgments to judge.

People are their actions with no exception.

To see clearly you must watch.

Mind of Its Own

My mind is so full, I can hardly focus long enough to type.

It's lips attempt to form words I am not sure are entirely agreeable to my heart.

It's thoughts escape through my eyes- trying to tie down a solid foundation onto someone.

It's confusion causes avalanches to occur. Obliterating any hope of neatness.

It's dreams try to sneak out by hiding in my hair, yet somehow I capture all of them and stuff them into my mouth and trap them behind my teeth. They bite my tongue, but fleeing is out of the question.

My mind retracts from any interaction. It overanalyzes the images flickering by, it rereads expressions, and it cynically snarks at random passers by.

My mind is kind, it speaks to the weary, wandering thoughts, and never hesitates to carry someone else's tired dream.

At the end of the day, instead of demanding sleep, my mind waits with me through the lonely hours of the night. It stays by my side, forever loyal. Sometimes, it answers for me, saying things with complete honesty or things of absolute politeness.

I think I will keep my mind, for now.

Brandished Words

Illuminated

The ever folding shadows

whirl around,

Thousands of eyes flicker awake.

One face shines through the cloud,

and the shadows deepen and twist away.

Fairness

Secretive lips part slightly

and bend into a smile,

the words threaten to spill out.

But are trapped behind the bars of their existence

they come out in the the laughter

and leave everyone wondering.

A Combination of Things

Apprentice, kindness, personality, humor, intelligence. These are the things (in the order) that the guys around me rate as the necessities to a girl they like. In that order.

First of all I am quietly swearing under my breath, because I am pretty sure I have been accentuating these qualities in the opposite order. Secondly, I ask- who are they to judge. I do not see the most attractive, kind, amazingly funny or smart guys before me.

All I see is disappointment. But no longer is it the girls I am looking at but myself. Why have I been defining myself with the likes of men. No longer will I give pieces of my heart away to guys who seem to be okay. I will instead begin to ward off anything that comes my way. I know I have been there only for the chase. I will no longer do that. I will live for freedom again. Because guys at this point, to me, are not worth the struggle.

Fear of Falling

What do we wish for?

We wish to love and be loved. Unconditionally.

But it will never happen

unless someone takes the first step.

A Sabbatical From Men

Remember when I used to be free? I could walk around and not care about who was next to me, or who was watching me. But now I find my life cramped because of something called a "male". Not only am I being really, really dumb and letting them control my actions.

But I am also changing myself to fit in with their pathetic noncommittal lives.

Not anymore. I am going to wait for the serendipity of love to hit me across the face. I am going to wait for it and remain constant till it finds me.

In the mean time I am going to flirt, and laugh, and meet new people. Without worrying about anything else.

You Idiot

Boys are frustrating. 'Nough said.

Swinging Thoughts

Just For A Second

I gaze inside your eyes

wanting more than wishing.

Needing you

to stop reading into my body language.

Asking you to sift through the debris on my mind.

Begging you to at least take a try.

But instead you waver one second over the next

and never stop to question what

I really meant.

Journey

Sometimes we wander out of habit,

our muscles reflexively knowing what to do.

Sometimes we wander out of fear,

not knowing what to expect.

Sometimes we wander out of love,

we wait too long in the shadows

dreaming the seconds by

and bye.

Where Did Solid "Me" Go?

Sometimes my tears are tired of hiding

Tears of remorse

of confession

of regret

of understanding

of joy

of pain

of confusion

of wanting

of cold

of sleep depravation

I tuck them inside the corners of my eyes and pretend that they are not there.

But the thickness in my airway can't be driven back. I want to run faster than anyone could. I want to jump over a overhanging branch of impossible hight and hide in a trees arms. I want to swallow my ambition and lust for life and pretend it is not there. I want to leave my self behind in my past.

But the tears can't be stopped. I wish I could decide many things:

Which of the two great guys I fall for,

what events I will run for track,

if I will ever feel anything other than fear when I look on the face of love,

if I will ever get that chance,

if I will make it to state for my next season,

what people I will hang out with,

what I want to remember,

if I am a forgiving person or not.

Sometimes I hate being a hormonal teenage girl. But that is probably because I am chemically low right now and I will love the life I have soon enough. The inconsistency of it all threatens to stifle me. I wish I was not easily irritated.

Who am I, if I no longer have a team to lead?

Letter To a Friend

Dear friend,

You are always there. Running right next to me. Your long red hair billowing out in the wind.

Do you ever stop to think about the laughter? Do you ever wonder what next year will be like when I am not there?

We have started and ended everything together.

There is no one I would rather have striding next to me, than you. I wish you could see that love peering at you from behind my face. I am not cool, or smart, or beautiful. I am just who I am. I am silly, young, and at times very inappropriate.

I wish you could just see that I want to be there for you. And that when we run side by side, our hair swinging back and forth to the same rhythm, that we are equal. Despite our different ages, or different friends, our different ways of looking past life's surface.

I will always be there for you.

Because you are my sister. I could not give you any other name as dear as a sister. I love you for being you.

Smell the Oak Leaves

Covering the course with an array of rusty-gold browns, the oak leaves look up at me. I am speeding by them, memory at my back- searching for something to hold on to. But instead of seeing my life clearly, all I can seem to concentrate on are these oak leaves. The smell of them as I sprint by. The knowledge they hold for me, somehow they show me my own intelligence. The years spent hovering over a book full of descriptions of trees flood through my narrowing conciseness. Bur, red, pin, white, black, live, myrtle, post, and running oak trees. I try to identify the leaves by their shape, color, and edge displacement. As I attempt to concentrate on my pace I feel my life slip away. All I can smell is oak leaf. All I can think is that these leaves are the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Something inside me snaps and I find myself pushed beyond what I thought I could do. Thanks to the bur and red oak leaves.

Best is Less

There is nothing as heavy as eyelids.

Nothing as sweet as rain.

Nothing as open as a tear.

In the world there is nothing that can stop time like a flirtatious glance,

nothing can eat faster than worry,

or drinks faster than greed.

Our world is full of the most

but what is left over

is less.

Angelic Little Gesture

"You are so beautiful and you don't even know it." He says to me, placing a hand over mine. A captured moment. Who could ask for a better little brother? Pity the girl who steals his affection from me. I will fight tooth and nail to be the apple of his eye, because somehow I am the coolest girl in the whole world in those perfectly blue eyes. There we are, sibling rivalry abandoned, sitting singing off key with the radio. His small and warm hand over mine in a protective way. Never will I require a man to give me affirmation of my beauty, because that job has been taken care of- not by anyone who wants to be mine. But by someone who is mine. He is my baby brother. I remember watching him sleep in his crib before he had the ability to remember. I remember his first smile, his first steps, his childhood fears. I have been with him in the sunlight and in the moonlight. I have given him cruelty and love, bashed him and comforted him. His pain is my pain, his joy is my joy. Never has any sister been more satisfied with the brother she was given. Short and scrawny with piercing blue eyes and a mischievous smile that lets you know that he did know that it was past his bed time- he was just evading it.

Fade

The image you have

let it slip softly away

it will be best

if you forget my smile.

The smell of my hair.

And my name.

Because I never look back,

the speed which I am running at is too fast

to even want to.

Just forget me,

so that I may live less vividly.

Utter Contentment

The happiest days of my life have all taken place in these past few days. It has been a fleeting kind of happiness. Freedom of friends paired with an upcoming dance mix together to create some sort of wild joy, which take root in my heart. It digs in deep. I do not care how shallow it may seem to some people, but dances mean a lot to me. They are something that each person can have a opinion on. Whether it be- that dances suck, or that they do not know who to ask, or that they love dances. Each person adds to the group. I keep waiting for the high to end. But it has the chance to stay high for ever. As long as I do not lose sight of what I value, it may be a happy road ahead. Because I am going to the dance in the same group as my closest friends, we all like our dates, and we all are going to make senior year the most brilliant and wild year ever!

Give Me Some Speed [workout]

Autumn is just beginning to loom its multicolored head. The sand is crinkly with leaves, and my feet dream of escaping their running shoe prisons. My feet want to run around naked and to clumsily pick up the brightest leaves and hold them as long as balance is merciful. My toes want to get bitten by the fresh air that snaps at our faces.

However, there is a work out to run. There are people to lead. There are smiles to make. There are dreams to for-fill. So my feet give up this dashing desire for freedom, and instead remain in their slightly-too-small cage. They give this up- so that times will fall with the leaves.

To Do List

1. Run alone
2. Run with my best friend
3. Run in my moon-shadow
4. Run with my team
5. Run till I drop
6. Read a book
7. Relax these last few days before school starts
8. Right the wrongs in my life
9. Ready myself for senior year
10. Really try to be a good person
11. Rate this summer

Contradictions

Are you complexly simple, or simply complex? 

A rather easy yet difficult question.  

I find myself full of contradictions.  They fill me to the rim.  They continue to confuse, interest, and bore people.  I am warmly cold;  Detached and caring; Honestly false; brilliant and hopelessly stupid.  I find myself wading through the things I thought I wanted and still wanting them.  Yet also being independent of them.  

What makes us the people that we have grown to be?  Does the angle the world sees us from effect the way we are?  

Drunk on Starlight

Sandy Feet

Under the stars

we live in the moment

fly-floating down,

to the bottom

Looking to the mountain we have to retrieve

and knowing that we are drunk by starlight.

Laughing at the openness

the world can contain

we venture back

just to reach the stars again.

Each time close my eyes to blink- I forget what the night sky looks like.  But each time I return my gaze to the stars- I remember.  What inspires stargazing?  I do not think it is the unknown.  Rather that it is what we know.  We suddenly know what we want, what our dreams are, what is wrong.  Every memory from our childhood flooding back into our vulnerable minds.  When staying up late enough to see just one star was good enough to wish on.  Those moments tide us over so we can blink.  And once we do, we forget.  But then the eyes are opened once again- and we can swim in our old summer nights.

Seaglass

Seaglass is shattered bits of bottles that has been softened by water and sand.  It comes in all kinds of shapes and colors.

"The world would be a better place if it searched for sea glass more often."  Not my own quote.  This was said by a friend after combing the beach with me for a weekend.  Everything can (and will be now) put into terms of seaglass.

When I go backpacking on the island searching for seaglass is what I do by day.  The most interesting and deep conversations have been discussed with my pant legs rolled up to my knees and my toes left sparkling from the waves.  

Nothing is more satisfying then a pocket full of the stuff.  Running down a sand dune and hearing the clinkle of the multicolored pieces.  I love each piece for the memory and work it took to find.  I just wish I could have that success in the bigger aspects of my life.

Snowflakes

In real life- we can fall in love with our own reflections, we can fall in love with our friends old romances, we can fall in love with the night sky, we can fall in love with the idea that we are in love, and we can fall in love with our dreams.  

No one can make us fall for the people we fall for.  And only the strongest dams can stop the flood of affection we feel towards certain people.  

Should we be penalized for this?  Or should we be rewarded?  

There are so many types of love out there.  They are as scattered and individual as the seasons first snowflakes.  The way we love each person we are in contact with is so different.  So grasp the opportunity to love like you never loved before- because you wont get it again.

Hope? One Hopes

Where We Sit

The gaps in the darkness are filled

by laughter.

From where we sit,

we can view ourselves.

What we hate 

what we love

what we want.

What shall we do?

For where we sit

we can not bring action to thought

Overlooked

A box turtle 

moving slowly along

the 

ground.

Blends in with the nearby

air.

You must search to find.

Munching on a favorite vegetable 

how did I not notice it before?

Chin Up

Let me explain to you how I deal with any sort of problem- I, hard core, keep my chin up.  I turn cold, unobtainable, and untamed.  I swivel away from tears or any other sign of emotion.  Instead I smile.  Not in a mask like way one comes to expect from a girl.  There is no mask.  Only abandoned weakness.  This bizarre complex is not a product of a sad childhood, nor have I had anything in my life that would make me react like this.  Somehow I have turned into this carefree monster without taking the time to greave at a broken heart.   Are these hormonal feelings even worth the self containment that I am forcing on myself?  Would it not be easier to just let the sadness out?  These are valuable points.  And rather than answer them I will gracelessly skate over them.  

I like to play the hero.  To fix whatever dramatic occurrences present themselves.  I like to stand tall and strong.  To rein in and curb any amount of emotion that others (weaker than myself) have failed to do.  My general reaction to a broken heart is "break it again".  My second reaction to the small pieces of myself I am left holding after rejection- is "we can still be best friends".  Where does this inner strength come from?  Is it a blessing or a curse?  For once, I wish I could be less understanding of the world.  Less reasoned.  I wish I could get angry about friends not being there.  Or about guys who know me and don't like me.  But no.  It is always- "She just got a boyfriend.  She does not have time to spend with her pathetic, pessimistic, craving acceptance, bitter best friend."  It can't be easy to be friends with a cold stone.  And the guy I fall for.  "He knows me too well.  He cant help not having the spark for me."  He would not fall for someone as boring as myself.  So I sit here.  Instead of crying- I wallow in self pity.  But only on the inside.  Because on the outside I have my chin up.  Because of times before- I know that if I hold out long enough on the outside- that the inside will also grow again.  And it has begun. 

The Learned Few

After years of criticism towards those girls so easily placed into the category of "boy crazy", I find the stories and laughter that they emanate peaceful.  A lot can be learned from a girl who is concentrated on a guy.  Even the best of the "independent, free, uncaring women" can be trapped in the net of some passing guy, whose vocabulary and summer reading list stretch further than her own.  When such a event takes place- you will find that hard to get girl- in the midst of the "boy crazy" girls.  The world needs these girls to train the immature guys.  Anyhow- I have started to enjoy the tales told of many a stupid guy.  The tales of romantic and failure, of blown out tires on a country road, of accidental phrases, of first kisses and breakups, and of the complex simplicity of falling in love.  For some the spark is easily found.  We should begin to realize that those who find it swiftly are the lucky ones.  And we who sit and wait- are perhaps not as high up on that list of greatness.  

What We Thought We Had

A happy little life that I lead.  I prance my way through life, sometimes pausing to glance back at at the world I have left behind.  No complaints about my friends or family.  Both are more than I could ask for or deserve.  I have many people listening and many people to listen to.  This is neither lonely or boring.  I have a job.  I have a best friend.  I am not untalented in the world of athletics.  My own little world revolves around me, and when times get semi difficult I can just sink into it.  Each day that passes me by, leaves me a little further from my destination.  No matter how fast I can run, or how much I talk through my problems; I just cannot seem to get back to the point which I started.  I am so turned around- I am unsure of where I began.  Now that I am free to be my own person- my once strong mold seems to have melted into unshaped goo.

What do people wish for?

The moon perhaps?  Or a 36 on the ACT? Or the love of someone that they hold dear?  What do people really want?  Deep down what do they need?  At the core of what we are each human has a secret desire- something that they want to achieve- acceptance, grace, forgiveness, love.  Whatever it is it gnaws away at our souls until we attain it.  What do I really want?  Sadly my heart of hearts would prefer for me to remain silent on this subject.  I would be giving too much away.  I like to be a mystery and that would take away from the secret that I hold just under my coat pocket.  Something to treasure- to take out and shine- to lift us up.  Of corse it could also bring us down.  Like a secret weapon.  An automatic tear jerker.  Something that could possibly destroy whatever self confidence we hold on to.  Vestiges of hearts and hopes.  Remains of happily shattered days.  Down to our hilt- what we wish for.

One Glance

All it takes

to see me for all that I am. 

Simply 

a girl looking out a window

watching the sun fade away.

A girl glancing down to her sister

smile on her face.

A girl struggling at the end of a race.

A girl walking in the moonlight

alone but for your eyes

a girl that is waiting

no longer searching.

Moderation

Lost in the cycles of loneliness

 I sit across from you

and tilt my head

so as to see your crooked smile

I can not explain my feelings to you

because you can not understand the

pain I feel inside my heart.

This makes things stretched

along the roadside

neither of our faults

yet we somehow tripped over the crack

and fell into the bosom of the world 

Looking out the window

Waiting

For the happy friend

who seems to have it right.

The doors slide open

and locks always click in their places.

We sit

waiting for our hands to be held.

For smiles to be searching 

for something more.

Waiting for second chances

when fakeness is wiped away.

Waiting for them to see

all that is here

and more.

That is what we are waiting for.

Plausible 

So close to our outstretched fingertips

you and I sit

dreaming.

Of stories that could actually come true

not just in the flickers of our mind.

Deserved and tardy

actions will ring the bell.

Car doors will be opened

and smiles will be paid.

Wayside glances taken in,

and reality will become real.

But first we must turn our hands around the clock

twisting them into uncommon angels.

Worth It?

Boys,

honestly- boys are the connecter of the female gender.  I mean a common enemy unites us all right?  People often say that I talk/think/worry too much about boys.  In my defense I would like to put out- hey- why do you think I have so many friends? Common enemy and all- that is the answer.  

Yes, I do talk/think/worry about guys.  I talk about them because they are a interesting, drama causing species and really is there that much more to talk about?  Shallow, yes.  Stupid, yes.  Pointless, yes.  But unentertaining and boring, I think not.  I think about boys because I have a avid imagination that likes to run wild with great stories.  Usually involving my own amazing heroics or self sacrifice.  In my stories, I always get the guy.  I charm him by my blue eyes (believable), quick wit (a stretch but conceivable) , and my suddenly short, perfectly proportioned, petit body (hmmm... not going to happen).  I worry about guys because I am afraid that I will never find a guy who is going to "wear a pant leg".  I mean, I am an extremely intimidating and outgoing girl.  It would take a lot of courage/ a very interesting type of guy who would even think about wearing part of the pants.  Both of these qualities are ones that I am looking for in a guy.  There are plenty of guys who have mistakenly liked me.   Bad idea, let me tell you.  I am really cold.  I mean cold.

Quota for guys

1) (This used to be "must be taller than me" but I have given that up) must be able to make eye contact.

2) good listener

3) makes up good conversation topics at least 30% of the time. (this is a skill I am finding more and more important) 

4) makes the first move.

5) assertive

6) single 

7) not afraid of physical affection (not like pda but a arm around my shoulders would be nice)

8) is well respected in his friend group

9) the most important - that there is a spark. Plenty of great guys, but if I do not like them then I am not going to fake it or anything.

The question is: is it worth it?  

I do not really know.  Ask Cole.  I would think that it is worth it.  But I really do not know.  I hope so.  Because if it is not then I am going to be angry- that is a lot of lonely times/poetry that I have wasted for nothing.

What will come

A flash of color

will catch my eye.

Suddenly 

I notice that I am silly

to have thought that 

love could be acquired by faking. 

Perhaps you will love me the way I am?

Just Keep Studying (to the tune of "finding Nemo"

A box sits alone on my dresser.  I do not know what is in it and find myself too lazy and uninterested to go and figure out what it carries.  Does this mean that I have lost my inner child? Or does it mean that my primitive instincts of conserving energy have began to kick in?  I mean- I have been studying for exams for eternity.  It makes sense for me not to care what is in the little box.  It makes sense for me to not care about anything except the questions on the coming exam.  But I find the secret inside the box distracting.  A metaphor for my life perhaps?  It seems that the barrier of busy studying could possibly be my goals in life- to succeed in athletics and academics.  The box could be perhaps love.  I tilt my head back towards my notes, trying to block out these literary thoughts that are evading on my strictly mathematical mind.  Perhaps I am too disciplined?  That box is simply annoying me by being a mystery.  I still have not opened it thus completing my metaphor for the box symbolizing love.  Because instead of opening it I write about it.  

Best Friend

Best friends are a important part of life.  When I was little that is what I wished for, a best friend.  Someone who I could be vulnerable around, someone I could be around always, and stand up for.  Back in those elementary days I never had a best friend.  I never met anyone who did not want someone cooler, prettier, or smarter to call their number one.  It just did not click.  But then I changed schools and found someone who I could actually be around and never get sick of.  

I suppose finding that one person who you always want to talk to more, is kind of like falling in love.  It is certainly less shallow than those high school romances which I have found myself a part of.   Best friends last forever; and perhaps this is because you do not ever want to kiss your best friend, so you never have to worry about the physical attraction half of a relationship.  When I say this to the average adult (the part about best friends lasting forever) they give me the line about how their high school friendships never worked out, and tell me stories about fights and falling outs.  I really hope that this does not happen to me and Cole.  At this point, we have survived: attempts at social climbing, gossip, our awkward stages, boyfriends (only on her side), different sports, popularity, dances, races, and much more.  We have talked about the endless subjects of God and moralities.  And the constant problems of boys and other friends.  We have spent so many non-memorable hours together.  When we are around the other we can be angry, truthful, confused, jubilant, sexy, tearful, hormonal, perverted, thankful, pure, and sly.  She is the only person I can cry in front of, willingly.  She is the only person I never really get annoyed with.  When jealousy comes between us we nod to it as a complement.  In many ways we are the opposites- she is short, and flawless.  She knows how to talk to boys she likes without acting like a fool.  She has had luck in finding guys who like her  back.  She has great style, and is popular.  But in other ways we are the same- we laugh at  the same things, and comfort each other at the right times.  Both of us are gifted athletes and have a knack at making friends.  Personally, I do not like letting people get close.  I like to keep others a arms length away, it is easier and less painful to pull away.  She is the only person who I can subconsciously allow to come close.  Some things about our futures are uncertain.  What college will we go to, who we will marry, how many kids will we have, what kind of job will we have.  But something will remain constant-which is comforting because genuine best friends are few and far between-we will be there for each other.

Hurts a Little Too Much

When you say that I am not as pretty.  I laugh and say it is part of my charm.  But in reality I am suddenly analyzing my flaws.  Is it my nose you were referring to?  It is rather oddly shaped.  Or was it the way my face has been put together?  I will not lie and say that I do not care.  Because on the inside I know that I am no great beauty.  I try to ignore it, yet a part of my heart wishes for the unwishable.   It thinks about doorsteps, and hammers.  That part of my heart desires windows and notes.  It hopes for words to become full again.  So when you say I am not as pretty, you, Oh hopeless male, did not realize that I already knew that.  But it hurts just a little too much for my "clever personality", and "quick wit" to cope with.  The stick dug a little deeper into the abyss of escaped subconscious thoughts which have been noticed.  I will just have to put some tar around the edges of the pothole and call it good.

Some I know

A Girl

Papers, equation, words

fill her head.

Green eyes calculating busyness

she surveys a crowed 

picking out the stories she knows

and nodding to them solemnly.

Blunt are her unveiling words

she never hides behind excuses

critical and realistic is the lens

which she looks through.

But when needed she can be a shoulder

and wipe a way any kind of tear

gently.

"Why Do You Run?"

I sit here, at my computer, attempting to polish my own image of myself.  I wish that I was never nervous, yet I find myself quivering with the anticipation of what is to come.  Track State is tomorrow.  And I do not know anything but fear.  Because I would prefer not to delve into the complex issue of why I fear failure, I am going to answer a question that has been asked so many times, that it has become engraved into my mind.  "Why (on earth) do you run?"  First I am tempted to say back, "why do you breath (and please stop)?"  But the more I think about this question the more I wish to answer it.  Yet there never seems to be enough time.  So I will answer it now.  

When I was a little girl, and leaves began to fall,  I would (to avoid raking with my mom) take a shiny plastic leaf bag and unwrap from its roll.  Then I would tare it off at the dotted lines and the noise it made was extremely satisfying.  We lived on a dead end back in those days, so no dangerous cars ventured into my world.  I would run up and down the street with the leaf bag held in my arms capturing the air as it streamed behind me.  I remember the cool teal of my matching sweat top and bottom.  I remember the smell of crinkly leaves.  And I remember the feeling of running as fast as I could, until my legs would not push any harder.  There are many feelings that I have felt in this world, many tastes and memories, many friends, jokes, and laughs.  But nothing is as easy to bring back as that feeling of utter bliss.  I felt happy not because of the actions of others, or the achievements of myself, or whether people liked me or not.  I was just happy because I was running.  That same happiness hits me when I am coming around the bend of my 400m or finishing up my 800m.  It is so easy for me to slip back into the intensity of being young.  People tell me that when I am having a good race my lips are bent into the shape of contentment.  I know why.  Its because for a short while, I can reach up and touch the face of God with my own imperfect fingertips.  That is why I run.  

ignoring the learning

"What number goes in for 3X squared -18X+75=0?" My math teacher asks the worn class.

We sit watching blankly as he scribbles the quadratic equation out for us.  He turns, expecting and awaiting the bustle of calculators being tapped and pencils being steered.  He waits for us to brandish our thoughts.  Yet we stow them away.  To fill the awkward blankness that seems to engulf the room, he flips the green white board marker in his hand.  The classes eyes universally watch it spin up and down.  Ignoring the little thoughts in our head which scream, "Foil the formula!"

We wish to take off our socks and shoes, so as to climb more quickly and quietly out of the windows.  The rain has fallen, and the sun is shining triumphantly over the glassy grass.  Thick air hangs on our minds.  Pulling our eyelashes to our cheeks and our chins to our hands.  We want to leave.  Our teacher recognizes this summer stubbornness, and surrenders to it.  

More Poetry...

Mist 

It settles on my face

covering the smell of pine.

Broken tear drops from escaped dreams

struggles long past

are brought back

by the clammy reminder

of  sorrow.  

Run Away

Not sure where to turn

whether to be perplexed.

Not sure if I'm going to run and hide

or take it like I should.

Shy way from the smile,

cringe at the glow.

Knowing the hypocrisy of it all

recognizing the inconstancy 

of falling. 

Behind

It began with a smile

a pat on the back.

I turned to find someone overlooked

the easiest laugh and a teaching mind.

You held in your hand a twisted umbrella.

Arm and arm we walked

so as to avoid the raindrops,

and when I talked

you listened.

I wish we could go back in time

to reach it.  

Saltines 

Stale crackers left,

forgotten in their packaging.

Left on the edge of the counter,

each time I pass by them

I wish that I had eaten at least one.

Then I do

and spit it out.

Too dry.

Caught

I rip the crinkly packaging

off my story

and put it in my mouth.

It melts so quickly away,

until all that is left

is the after taste

bitter and harsh

compared to the sharp sweetness 

of your story.

Inadvertent 

Mistakes made unawares

jokes turned sour.

Pretend that the roughness

has been smoothed over.

Smiles faked through the background

leaves begin to fall

each accident searing

permanence 

as if it had been forgotten.  

The Taste of Childhood

"Please."

the small voice rang

"daddy please can you get me a frosty?" 

before the smile reached his lips she knew

what words would come out.

It was their routine

"Spoiled"

he stated proudly,

pulling into the Wendy's drive through.

Such happiness was a hot afternoon

quenched with a joyful frosty.

Do not eat it to fast

or you will get a ice cream headache.

Don't forget the innocents of easy bliss

while you text your friends life's busy nothings.

Never wipe the halo form around your mouth

given to you by the gray, smooth frosty.

Never let him lose his proud smile.

Poetry... I know so interesting

The pull of secrets to this
empty page
the anticipation of an empty moment,
captured under a glass jar
like a spider,
and tossed outside.


I am a watermelon
sweet, more water than substance.
Red, bitter around the edges
cold and full.
Spit out the seeds.



Things we only knew
from our whispers.
Or from the tap of free rain.
Stories told around the campfire
while tilting to avoid smoke.
They sit in there glass cases
and stare out at the faces.
who never understand.

My Sibs

I have a brother and a sister. I love them very much. We get along freakishly well, most likely because of the age difference. My brother is five years younger than I and my sister is nine years younger than me. Both of them are more mature than I was when I was their age. Both are excepting of my strangeness. When I mentioned to them that I was possibly going to college far away they cried. It made me rethink ever leaving them. I do not know who I will do it. The search for a well suited college is going fine but I doubt that I will be closer than 6 hours away from them. Which makes me sad. My brother and sister will always be the base of my life. They will always be in my life. I tell them everything that is age appropriate about myself. I truly enjoy being in their company. Whether it be taking my brother to soccer practice or watching my sister dance. They always come to cheer me on at a cross country or track meet. We could spend eternity together.

Who I am in a nutshell

The ever pressing question in high school is "who am I?" Every person knows who they are- we are just in denial. We all want to be the popular girl, who laughs at the right times, who has cash to spend, who is attractive to everyone. Lets face it- every single girl has a unspoken dream of walking down the hallway and seeing the boys head's pivot to follow her silhouette. To be unobtainable and to be unmatchable. To be a challenge. Then there is the dream of being the klutz of the world, of being a unnoticed beauty- a flower waiting to be picked. To be seen by the most popular boy in the school. Boy meets girl, Cinderella story, game over. When we ask the question "Who am I?" we know the answer, but it often is not the one we wish to receive.
Because I asked the question I shall answer it myself. "Who am I?" Well... I am a girl much loved by her family. At social occasions you will either find me at the center of a laughing hoard, or in serious discussion on the edge. I am not a "wild beauty" or anyone who would make boys heads turn, but I am not ugly, mirrors do not crack when I walk past or anything. If anything, the boys turn because they have something to say (most likely mockery) to me. Not because they want to check me out.
I am plain, there is nothing too special about me. But I am OK with that because there is nothing wrong with being plain. I like looking at the stars and reading books. I enjoy singing (terribly off key) and feeling the wind on my face. I think the reason I have friends and how I get along with so many different people is the fact that they are drawn to the simplicity of me. I do not want to hurt, I want to listen and be listened to, I want to feel true and bold feelings. The biggest misuse of the word "plain" is when it is paired with the word "shy". I am not modest in either my speech or (as many who know me know) my actions. Why not live life freely if you are plain?
I have many answers about myself. I am not afraid to have faults. I am like any other teenage girl, in the direct point of wanting to be romanced by a tall, wavy haired boy. I think I am quite similar to those around me and people are drawn to this pact of familiarity. I have to points of mystery in me besides the fact that I am a woman and all women are mysteries. I am plain and true. In the busy and complex world someone who is plain stands out.

a fresh begining

I realize i can be whoever i want to be on this blog and no one will know... I feel like a mystery but i am a girl so this is not a foreign feeling.