Wednesday, October 28, 2009


It started with a riverbank,
Forgotten and parched,
The intangible, invisible
Rift between us.

It started out small,
With only one drop of water
(Fell from the shadowed
Facets of the rainclouds
Of heaven above).

It began simply,
Limp bodies being dragged
Across states, across years, across arguments:

The days began to wane,
The moon didn't shine as brightly;

Sun a little less yellow,
Hearts a little more chilly.

"It just so happened
In such a way;
We drifted too far
To allow us to stay

In each others' dreams,
And even our

Shared mem'ries

Could not hold us together:
The glue had come undone."

And the Rift grew as wide as the hole in my heart.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Poem for my Friend

I know a girl, or perhaps a boy--
Whatever she identifies as.

She's kind in smile,
Few in words,
And lost in the depths of her other World.

She worries me so,
And that same, unmistakable,

Heat-wrenching fear of losing her to
The night, the shadows, creeping up upon
My consciousness, her consciousness...


(Perhaps it is just the way I was raised.)

Such things as these
Turn the soft shades of pink in my
Sunset-basked poetry
To a white piece of paper, white, dreary screen,
Empty diary pages,
And black, definite letters.


(Perhaps it is just
My distaste this air,
Laden with
That stench.)

Now, I know
That such things are as sharp
As the knives of demons with their pitch-fork eyes,
As the harsh calls of children spewing their parents' lies,
As the thrust of a virgin away from goodness' spies,
As the words that I rave to myself
At midnight.

None of the above matters when you're getting high,
It looks, and it seems like nothing;
But it bothers me.
It makes me write crap when I should be doing homework;

Because my fear for the future
Is as the negative-negative
Repel of a magnet.

And I dislike it so.

Yellow Stars; my World

I am surrounded
By wondrous people.

They are mazes,
And matrices,
And puzzles,

And Worlds.

Their Worlds are very different;

With Liquid pools of red and blue:
Ever-moving, bone-chilling,

"Jump on in, let's float and swim,
Flip, do tricks, and get lost for hours."

Some do not have Liquid;
Some have Flame.

In constant conflict,
Rapid, raging,
Magnificent, maddening

It engulfs their souls,
It clouds their minds,
It eats away at them;
(Although fire can be glorious thing,
If you know how to use it.)

Some do not have flame,
Some have wind.

Their hair in their face;

Throwing harsh stares
In this mockery of space;

Upon a mountain-
top, cold and empty,

I as well have a World somewhere.

I imagine
That I have neither Liquid nor Flame nor Wind,

Instead I have a blinding darkness.

Stars stretch on,
Bright Yellow stars,
In the never-ending darkness,
(For they are Invisible,
Always there, simply unseen)

And a switch lies in the middle.

I have a desire
To trek to this place,
To explore
Every barren cobblestone
Road of this dimension I call my World.

I feel the need
To discover its door,
Pry it open and dwell for a while in its depths.

I will flip this switch,
Bring light and illumination
To my vessel,

And fin'lly see the Stars within
Its walls.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Caught in a Net

One of the funniest moments in all of Lost so far. :D I literally fell out my chair. :

Out in the jungle, while trying to find Micheal, Jack and Kate trigger a trap set by the Others and get caught in a net. They eventually get out. Later, Sawyer remarks that it took them an awful long time to get back, jealous that Jack had spent that time with Kate, and implying that he thinks they were doing something else. Jack, of course, tells Sawyer that they got "caught in a net".

Sawyer replies, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jack doesn't see what Sawyer's getting at. "We got caught in a net."

"... Is that what they're calling it these days?" Sawyer huffs.

Some time later, after Ana Lucia dies (Jack and Ana Lucia were in love), Sawyer confesses to Jack, in the most serious and unfitting voice...

"I screwed her. We got caught in a net," referring to the time when he and Ana Lucia had sex.

... Only later, when Kate explains what happened does Sawyer realize that he had it all wrong. *Insert LOLs here*

Friday, October 23, 2009

My name is Belle-Sarah

My beautiful princess flew from the door
To greet me with a smile this evening.

She is small,
She is slender;
And her eyes are akin
To chocolate and sugar.

Oh so sweet she is.

I want to wrap her body in laces,
And cradle her to my chest;
Tell her such things

That will hold her secure
In this prison of my heart.

I want to bind her to my love...

Though I want to beget
This illness from
My mind and body as well...

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Fail, Fall, Fail, Fell, and Falling

Leaves fall
From the trees.

Stars fall
From the sky and TV.

Children fall
From their bikes, hikes, and running around.

I fall
From the Earth,
Because of missing you.


That red feverish flesh of yours,
Searing like the wings of the Phoenix.
I'd like to claw it all off
Till you bleed and you vomit
Lovely pools of scarlet desire.

Feel that Electricity
As it pulsates through your body?
I can hear the tremor in your voice.

Dear, oh, dear,
I've only just begun--
We're gonna scream
Till both our heads throb.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009


There's nothing wrong with it;
There never will be.
My love has warped in such a way,
That I have stumbled upon the realization that
It is something else entirely.

(It was never "warped," it seems to me now,
No matter what I have to face,
Or why I have to face it...)

Breathing a gusty and terrified sigh,
I contemplate "when" and "how".

Nobody Knows, Including Myself

It seems...

That I just don't know anymore.

The blinds are closed,
The dog is sleeping;
I am confused.

The hamsters would be up about now;
There is a cool breeze,

Summer is long-off;
But I have it here in memories,

The frosted, bleeding sun
Is beautiful.

And it seems...

That I just don't know anymore.

The highlighter rainbow,
The acorn smiling
Up at me from underneath a tree.
The squirrel's fluffy tail
Bobbing as he runs
Has a tale to tell;

That is beautiful also.

I sing,
Sleep in my dream-world,
I am tranquil

(Yet baffled).

It seems that I just don't know anymore.

Monday, October 19, 2009

"Everyone's dying," Said the Child in Poetry

"Everyone's dying,"
Said Young Soul to Young Mind,
Born of Mother's mother and father, of Father's mother and father, and of fate
And future
And love.

Flowing and spinning and whirling,
Turning sharply around the many bends,
Tangles the red string,
And everyone
(Or no one at all)
Is dying,
Born into happiness and degenerating into suffering."

So said Young Body to Young Mind.

When Mother's mother laid down in bed,
When the hopscotch and card-games and long talks ceased,
When the moon, stars and even the sun waned;

And people were likened to dogs, raving and snarling,
It all seemed to fall apart.

Because she was dying,"

So said Young Heart to Young Mind.

Fall evenings,
April afternoons and Summer mornings;

Cardboard boxes, pretending to be foxes,
Acting out, running about, figuring it out,

Sitting close together and drinking hot chocolate
In even the most bitter of winters.
(It was warm, even in the chill: a sticky and smothering, yet comforting brown liquid, earthen, wise colors; a kind of obsession),

Growing up.

Pool visits, (they were fun), doctors' visits (they were not: shots and checkups, eyesight and hearing growing aged, surgeries, chemotherapy, bad and good news), family visits (cousins, great aunts, great uncles, distances and catching up), Pet store visits (little darlings, playing out in the sun, fondled and held close to my left breast, hamster cages, the abstract squirrels running up the trees, Animal Planet), and sleepover visits (making dinner childishly, watching television, baking cookies, writing "Thank you," notes, being grandmother and granddaughter);

These things were all you and me."

So said the Grieving Child to her deceased grandmother,
(Died, broken and lying comatose, without sound)
Held dear in her Young Mind.

These components of the Child swam in a sea
Of sticky blood and other liquids,
(The knife growing heavy in her hand as she pondered what she had done)
Became muddled, barely behind the field of her vision;

And while she was still, still crying still, still tears
For the one she loved most-- confused--
The Child wrote a poem.

And this was it.

Now the midnight melody unfolds in the background:
A quiet Southern-Asian flute
(It is called an ocarina; it makes heavenly sounds,
But only if you know how to play)

As the Girl takes the knife
(Seeing the reflection in her eyes)
And tells her Young Mind that it was all a delusion:

"Everyone is indeed dying,
Because we are all mad mockingbirds,

And this lunacy knows no bounds;

We are no longer the victims;
This has gone to far,
So quit your sniveling and arise to your fate.

Or everyone
(Including ourselves)
Will surely expire indeed.
(We will all fall from this earth,
In some form of the waking world;
Not only in poetry.)

So said her Young Consciousness to her Young Mind;
Young Mind-- how will it react?

Sunday, October 18, 2009


White and Yellow and Red
And Blue,

"Twinkl'ng specks of dreams..."

What are they really,
Way up there?
And what do they really mean?

The Book says
Some great
And powerful being

Put a ball
-- called "Earth"--
In a vast expanse
-- of utter nothingness--
So that we could live
--we, the cruel and dark parasites--
And created life
--ruthless yet beautiful--
So that we could live it.

And I've no qualms,
Nor a bitter taste
For these types of things,

I digress.


When "we,"
--These "people" --

Commit such sins
(like it is commonplace),

Do we really deserve a God?

Wednesday, October 14, 2009





~"Ore wa onna da," means, "I am a woman," but said in a very masculine way; using "Ore," a more masculine, controlling form of I, and "da," more casual and therefore "manly" than the neutral "desu," to be. ...It's my new catchphrase. :D

Saturday, October 10, 2009


This is just one of the moments when you do something IDIOTIC, STUPID, AND EMBARRASSING AS HELL, and you don't know how you're going to face the world.


Hold your breath,
Close your eyes,
And hide yourself away so you won't have to face

Their gaze.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

The Sinners

Adorn her hair with broken twigs,
Crushed oh so heartlessly,
Woven to fit
Neatly upon
Her sorrowful, bleached-white skull.

Decorate her fleshy corpse
With an empty promise
And broken dreams;

Place a cross upon her chest,
And hold it close to her left breast...

Watch the forgotten skeleton burn
At the final sunset.

But hold your breath, dear;
Brace yourself,
For we will join her soon!

Blood will be shed as the final rays
Of fire disappear from the sky...

We are the sinners,
The prideful, the lustful,
The thieves, gluttons, the murderers;


We are the blasphemous,
Unforgiving, scorned,
Unloved, corrupted

Our demise,
(And our devise)
Is all but inevitable.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

"Cliched Poem; Maybe..."

Life is a river,
A flowing spate;
But I shall swim upriver
And fight my fate.
And If I so happen
To drift downstream,
Would you take my hand
And rescue me?

Furtively, it Stalks me

These are the things
That haunt me in the dawn,
Creep up on my shadows
In the dusk,
And fill my heart at midnight.

I know
That these unspoken things
Are far from well,

It's torture,
You see,
To feel these things,
But I suppose that we all must endure
This pull.

For people
Are liars!
They bite their tongues,
And the truth
Shrivels and dies on their lips,
Still warm from secret

For people
Are stupid!
What makes them conceal
The obvious,
No matter the age?

It would be nice
If we could just give in,
At least in our speech,
In our words.

I do not see the need
To carry out such tiring
Ev'ry day of our lives.

There are no masks in poetry,
So I shall express my desires there...

And there is no way to hide
From ourselves,
So I will share these
With the wind.


This world
Was founded on nothingness,
And in nothingness it will end;

Not just for I,
For this little life,
But for all on this despairing planet.

This little one,
Oh, how she wishes
That this pitiful fate were not so...

But it is not well
To shy away from the definite,
Set destiny:
Our demise.