Supernova

Watch me as I fly away, she said. I turned away. Circles of life aren’t meant for mere humans, but she was a goddess, and I was forgotten. Is beauty worth it? The eternal question that asks us for forgiveness every day, but we cannot see past our jealousy enough to appreciate it the way it needs. We are the shameless, we are the mortal, we are the fragile beings that both take tenderness from others and turn it into our rage. We hate others for showing us kindness, but we cannot see past ourselves to give it in return. We live by other rules, and as she flies, I fall.

A/N Random spewing of thoughts. I like it enough that I will think about doing more, but here's this anyways...

She Runs

She runs, she runs, as fast as she can,
Run little girl, as fast as you can.
Tell yourself that he’s not following you.
But he is. They are watching you always,
When you eat and when you sleep.
She runs because she likes the feeling
Of the wind threatening to rip the skin
Off her face. Of her splitting dry lips
And her achingly tearing muscles as she
Keeps going, on and on, into the pinpoint
Horizon that is really never reached.
But she is only a little girl, and she doesn’t
Want to think too much about what will
Happen once the iron bars of living catch up
To her, when she is too tired to keep going,
When her legs are no longer beneath her and
She is flying.
Know not where you go,
Know not what you see.
She sees me.

A/N Woah! An update! Haven't seen one of those in ages...yeah, sorry guys. Well, I don't really know what I was thinking when I wrote this poem, because it started as like, a creeper poem, with the guy following her and all, then I decided that the guy should just be life following her, and then the end...I don't even know what that is. It just sounded cool I guess. So basically it's a bunch of ideas splooshed together, and I don't really know if I like it or not. I guess I like parts of it, but I've written better. The inspiration for this was basically the Gingerbread Man story, from which the line "run run as fast as you can" kept playing in my mind, because I realized it's kind of really rythmic (sp?) and cool, and it kept playing like a stuck record in my mind, so I was like, might as well write something, maybe then it'll go away. Wow, I'm rambling. Anyways, comment please!

forse

XVI and she’s alive.
With a lovely, detached feeling from those who know her.
And a slow, fragmented realization that she doesn’t yet know herself.
So what should she do, other than become a child of the darkest night?
What can she do but lose herself in cheap alcohol and stolen cigarettes?
A drawn in, choked breath through a filter can only make her feel better,
Even if it is with the awful taste of guilt because this might be the only (first) thing she has ever stolen.
But maybe she was meant to live this way, to taste the vicarious nature of life on the tip of her tongue as if it were her own to be swallowed.
And it is with this that she knows for the first time what it means to live through death, and see through the ghostly mask of something in your system that makes you feel and forget.

She’s so high…

It is with this that she knows for the first time the feel of someone else’s body too close to her own, and the helplessness that cannot be fully expressed through the burden of speech.
So she forgives and forgets, although she does feel regret at the sinking truth that she has just gifted away some small part of herself to someone who won’t even be back tomorrow.
It is now that she discovers that thrill seeking is not truly worth the result, because most of the thrill was lost in the seeking.
It is here that she knows what life is, but can only wistfully reminisce and wish that she had craved then what she craves now.

A/N This poem...has a very cliche idea and is not so unique, but for some reason, I really like it. The title is "forse", which means "perhaps" in Italian. Enjoy...all I want for Christmas is some comments!

For You

It's always better to be alone
Don't let anybody tell you differently
Maybe loneliness is the solution to your problems
Because you know it's not your fault you can't stand
The sound of her name
The thought of her face
The remembrance
The forgotten
Maybe it's because loneliness doesn't judge you
Maybe because loneliness will always be there
Waiting for you
Because it doesn't turn it's back on you like the day
Turns its back on the night
Because it doesn't discriminate against who it finds
Against the people looking for it, looking for something
Because it doesn't see you the way everyone else does
It sees past the fact that you have an ugly face
And at least pretends for a while that you are beautiful
Because it's always better to be alone

Is that a bird? A plane? No! It's an FAQ!!

Ahem. Me posting again does not give you an excuse not to comment on the last one, even if it sucked and you hated it. If you are reading this post, scroll down right now and write a comment...it can be a bullshit comment if you want...for the previous post.

Frequently Asked Questions:

Why are you such a comment whore?

Maybe it's because I have nothing better to do than sit at my laptop and continously wonder why nobody has commented on my post. Maybe it's because I'm too pathetic to actually do what I'm supposed to be doing, so I'm sitting at my laptop wondering why nobody has commented. Maybe it's even because I need some kind of reassurance that my existence does not go completely unnoticed. Maybe I'm just that sad. It's possible.

Why do you only write depressing things?

Let me put it this way. I'm inspired by my depression. That sounds awful. Let me explain. When I am feeling down (gods, that's corny), I decide that I should write a nice, sad poem, and in this way I am healthily expressing my feelings, if you catch my drift. Therefore, I write a nice sad poem, and then I feel better about myself, because generally I like to think of myself as a poet-in-the-works, and writing another poem always makes me feel a wonderful sense of accomplishment.

Why do you attach yourself to people? Do you not have your own body?

Unfortunately, I do have my own body, and it is strangely lumpy in areas that I wish it weren't. So, the answer to the first question is that I honestly just am clingy beyond belief. Me attaching myself to people is my way of saying "I have friends!", to myself even, if no one else is listening. Sometimes I wonder if people I think of as friends just put up with me because they have to, or if I honestly have a likeable personality. That last statement was me wondering to myself, please don't think of it as me asking you to comment saying that you love me oh-so-much. Don't comment saying you love me oh-so-much. Come on, be a little creative.

Why do you complain all the time? Does nothing happy ever happen in your life?

Yes, happy things do happen in my life, believe it or not. I don't know if I'm unique in thinking this, or nobody else has noticed or something, but happy things just aren't very interesting to talk about. I could bitch for hours about something or someone that I really don't like, or even someone I do like and am just slightly angry with, but it is very difficult for me to have a happy conversation. Happy-happy-joy-joy just really isn't my style. What is my style? A question to be answered by the gods. Or God. Depending on your religious belief (or lack thereof) of preference.

Why don't you talk to me anymore?

Believe it or not, I don't actually avoid people (with some obvious exceptions) intentionally. If I'm not talking to you, it's probably because I don't see you very often, or because I'm insanely busy with work, as I will be far too often this year. So honestly, don't worry about it, it's not like I hate you or something...usually...

Well, that's all the questions I can think of right now, so enjoy yourself reading and re-reading them, and most of all, commenting!

Lost it

And then found herself
Am I a record that can only repeat itself
Am I a pen which has only so much ink
And I'll turn myself inside out
So you can see the rawness I have
IN me, not OUT there where no one
Seems to notice that every person they pass
On the street is not whole
Is breaking
They are breaking
They are broken
Where are they going
Where am I going
I'm dizzy from spinning around and around
On my kitchen floor and then stopping to see
How blurry everything looks now

Tribute

While I normally shy away from sports related poetry, yesterday's event deserves something from me, regardless of how much it sucks. A tribute, no matter how small, to yesterday's incredible match - the Wimbledon Men's Singles Final, Federer vs. Nadal. It is full of subtle and not-so-subtle references, and some puns! woot!
By the way, if you didn't see the match, I pity you, it was the match of a lifetime...

He knew what he wanted
From the day he learned the
Rules of the game
And he loved it
He learned to
Love – All
He saw the gold
On his fifteenth birthday
And he knew it was more than the game
It was love at first sight
Fifteen – Love
He knew he didn’t have
Much time at eighteen
The time was now
He couldn’t wait until
Thirty – Love
It wasn’t about the gold now
But he could still see it out of
The corner of his eye
Five years was long enough to wait
But much too sudden, missing one ace
Deuce
Advantages are nonexistent for second-best
But who is the first?
And soon he is prising the gold crown from
Cold fingers, reluctant even in defeat
Game
Set
Match