Sunday, December 25, 2011

Girl With Stars In Her Pockets

             I know a girl with stars in her pockets. They are small, like her fingernails. They are made of paper, like my dreams. Each one is unique. She tells me they hold the secrets to different worlds. That with them, she can travel to new lands far, far away from here. Her stars are very powerful, which is why she keeps them safe in her jacket pockets. Safe in her pockets, where no one can unravel them, and destroy a universe or two.
            One day, I’m going to steal her stars so they can’t steal her from me.
~~~~~~~
This is prose poem is actually a sort of summary/ synopsis for a story idea I have and have been wanting to write. I attempt to start writing the story for NaNoWriMo but... 

A Plea Against Serenity


Serenity is only for
Those who don’t have a care in the world.
She is welcome by
Those that see no wrong to letting
Life go on as it does now—
Flawed and cruel.

You may envy Serenity’s children
And their naïve ignorance,
But I do not.
I say let them have their peace…
Just as long as they keep it to themselves.
I’ve no use for it.

Serenity is not for me.
I, who prefer
to stand tall with all
my worries. Because they
are what have kept me
going ,going, going, going
-surviving-
all this time.
  
If peace of mind means
I must forget
All the starving children living in the bloody streets,
All the broken hearted souls left behind in a dark corner,
All the wrongs that stain this world…
Then, instead,

Give me War!
A chance to fight back against the status quo.
Give me Revolution!
A chance to bring change to this rotting society.
Give me Vengeance!
A chance to amend the errors of humanity.

Serenity.
I will vanquish you, and cast you out from these lands.
Not because I despise you, but because
 I dream of you.

Serenity,
I will vanquish you.
So that later you may return
To a world that has truly earned you.

But until that time comes,
I will never end my crusade against you.
I will never succumb to you,
Beautiful Serenity. 

Day and Night


Glitter falls to the floor slowly
- a dream floating in the midday air-
an idea flying in the cool breeze.

Mother and daughter awake
-their midnight adventure begins-
the time of fairytales is now.

Gently, the sparkle finds its place
by the window and lays among the dust
catching stray sunbeams.

Over a fence and underneath tables,
past the cabins and into the woods-
A memory in the making.

A sparkle in the dark never glimmers
but in the light it reflects and refracts
 reality into fantasy.

A tale is told in the darkness,
told from mother to daughter,
blessed only by the moon and stars.

The Day, The Night,
They are things of beauty.
The Day, The Night,
They are things of wonder.
The Day, The Night,
They are things of magic.
The Day, The Night,
They are things of life.

~~~
Confession: I don't like the ending very much >_>
I think I need to go on with this, make it longer and change the ending. Yeah. 

The Hesitant Astronaut


I was told
That the sky was the limit
But I that should reach for the stars
Because if I failed at least
 I would land on the moon.

I was told
To wish upon a shooting star
And to keep my eyes turned skyward
Because space was the last frontier
And one day I would reach it.

I was told. I was told.
And there was a time that I believed
All those clichés and half assed comments.

 I’m not so sure anymore.
Because there is still so much I have not
Seen right here on the ground.

Space is the mistress that
I used to dream of…
But
I have found pleasures here on Earth
That she could never gift me.

Once upon a time
I would have given anything
To leave this atmosphere
But today I finally see 
That I’d much rather stay here.

Where I can admire the stars from afar
And have the ones I love by my side.

~~~~~~~~~
Had to write a poem for Creative Writing class titled "The Hesitant Astronaut".
It's alright x3 I got to use cliches again ;D~!

postpostpostpostpostpostpost

RAWR.

I feel like posting a whole bunch of poems I've been meaning to put up but haven't.

So yeah.

READY. SET. GO

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Speaking of Stream-of-Consciousness ...


Stream-of-Consciousness
Why is my mind so scattered these days?
I can’t concentrate
I can’t even think
because every time I stop
you show up in the back of my mind
and all my focus flows to you.
I think of that day we first met
both too shy to say much
 but you laughed at my jokes
and I laughed at yours
and that day you first opened
 up to me after a long joyful night
you told me your secrets
and I told you mine
it seems that
nothing else matters
anymore
you are all I need
I want to laugh and cry and hold you tight
I just need to be by your side
 you’ve stolen my life
and I don’t even want it back
I hate that I love you
I love you I love you
                                                            I love you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Since I'm revealing the secrets of my process ;) , here's what this poem looked like once upon a time: 

Rough draft:
Why is my mind so scattered these days?
I can’t concentrate
I can’t even think
Because every time I stop
You show up in the back of my mind
And you laugh and you cry and you hold me tight
And all my focus flows to you.
Nothing else matters.

I love you I love you
 I hate that I love you
Because you’ve stolen my life
And I won’t every get it back.
I don’t even want it.
All I want is to be by your side
So I can laugh and cry and hold you tight.
You are all I need.
Nothing else matters. 

The run-ons of lies, dreams and fantasies


Oh look, another random post on how I write stuff! :D I'm pretty sure I do those more for my benefit than anyone else's. Helps me straighten out my mind, haha.

Anyways, sometimes I like to just sit down and write whatever comes to mind. Stream-of-consciousness style. ;3 Usually what I get out of it is a never-ending flow of sentences that sound cool individually but ridiculous when put together. Like the poem-thing below. There are many parts of it that I like, a lot, but then I read it all at once... and... well... it's not the best thing ever. 

What will most likely come of this is me stealing random bits from this and making them their own piece. 

~~~~
To say that I didn’t need you
Would be lying to you.
To say that I didn’t want you
Would be lying to myself.
But the truth leaves me speechless
I don't know what to say anymore.
My mind has stopped- frozen-
I am frozen in this moment
Of utter bliss.
 I hope.
I hope it's never-ending
This feeling that has made me
Its ever willing prisoner.
Oh yes!
I can’t help but wish and dream
That it won’t ever- Ah! A Dream. 
This must be a dream.
That would explain everything.
It would explain
Why I can’t stop smiling day and night
Why I can’t stop grinning like a fool
Why I can’t stop thinking about you
Why I can’t stop rambling on and on
Why.
I .
Can’t.
Stop.
Loving.
Every.
Phrase.
That.
I.
Am.
With.
You.
And .
Hating.
Every.
Sentence.
We.
Are.
Apart.
Indeed, this is a fantasy, is it not?
It has all the perfect moments to make it so.
A stroke of serendipity bestowed upon me
While I lay awake pretending to slumber.
Perhaps this means
The stars of my mind have finally decided
I am worthy of reward—
That.
That is why they are shining so brightly,
Guiding me straight to you
By outshining the sun itself.
Surely, nothing else explains this.
I have escaped reality finally
And you were my portal- my escape.
I wonder.
Is pretending this is a lovely dream
Lying to the both of us?
If so it’s a beautiful lie
and one I’m willing to keep up,
But only until the day
The truth overcomes the fantasy.
Because when that day comes
I will let go of the hold I have on this dream
And gladly fall into reality’s arms.
Lies may be sweet and comforting,
But
honest love
can never be conquered.
Until then,
I will willingly live among these
lies, dreams and fantasies.

Friday, December 23, 2011

Story-making

Take my hand and we’ll go on an adventure.
Time to travel to a brand new dimension.
Pirates and cowboys and robots, oh my!
Hide in the shadows and play I spy.

Over the rainbow and under a troll bridge,
The portal to Narnia’s hidden in my fridge.
Let’s fight monsters and save the princess,
Like superheroes answering calls of distress.

Are you ready to go on an epic quest
To find a gold-filled treasure chest?
Dance at the Witches’ All Hallows Eve ball
And cast magic spells meant to enthrall.

We’ll battle dragons to prove our might,
Then explore the wonders of the night.
Discover a fairy world within every tree
And mermaid utopias underneath the sea.

That’s how it goes in storybooks,
Where nothing is quite what it looks.
The beautiful may be wicked hearted
But true lovers can never be parted.

Together we can be our own fairytale
Because if we believe, we will never fail.
You and I are the next legend
Our myth will be told until The End.

So, come with me and let’s go explore
this magic world, and be together evermore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I've been working on this for three days :3 Hope you like it, I'm pretty happy with it. For once. xD

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Just a quick post

I love looking through my notebooks. I always find little stanzas and phrases of things I started but never finished. Usually I stop them because I lose inspiration, but when I look back again I get new ideas. It's also really fun to wonder what I was thinking when I started writing them. I just found these:


I don't need anyone
to see me break down.
No one needs to watch
my tears flow to the ground.

~~~

Pleasure is a fickle mistress
sometimes she comes so easily
and delights you with her gifts
but other times she is so cold

~~~

Self Expression

That drop of yellow paint on the wall.
That streak of green on the sidewalk.
That sparkle floating in the air.
That is who I am.

The shadow lurking off screen.
The star twinkling in the sky covered by clouds.
The small daisy hidden in a bouquet of roses.
That is who I am.

A figment of your imagination.
A product of procreation.
A consequence of action.
That is who I am.

~~~

So yeah,  right now these aren't much. They're jewels in the rough, ideas that still need to be developed... but this is a good little sneak inside view as to how I think and write. I have small samples like these everywhere, and every once in a while I come across one and I get hit with inspiration. So I take these ideas and I play with them and sometimes what I come up with will be just a final version of the original and sometimes it is nothing like the initial work.

I wonder what these will turn into. I can't wait to find out. :)

You Gave It To Him

You gave it to him,
His reason to live.
His reason to give.
And then you took it from him.

He smiled for you.
He sang for you.
He killed for you.
But you still left him behind.

Why?

What is the purpose
of changing someone's life
for the better, forever...

When in the end
             you break their heart?

When in the end
             you crush their dreams?

When in the end
              you take away their breath
leaving them cold, still,
               lifeless.

You gave it to him.
The gun.
The despair.
The reason.

You gave it to him,
Before you said goodbye.
As you walked out the door.
After you disappeared.

Now, you're gone
and so is he.
But I am here.
Only I remain.

Alone.

I wish you had given it to me instead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was a poem I wrote back in September or October. It was for my Creative Writing class, we had to open a book, pick a sentence at random and then use it to make a poem or a story or whatever we could think of.

My sentence was "You gave it to him." from Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Random Writing That I Felt Like Doing

I'm home after my first semester of college and I have nothing to do. Thought I'd be productive and write some. This is just a free write. I have no idea where it's going to go. No editing. No anything. Enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You shouldn't play with fire."
I looked up from my box of matches to find Gerard looming over me.
"You shouldn't play with fire," he repeated.

"I heard you the first time," I snapped, got up from my seat at my cluttered desk, and placed the matches in my robe pocket. I sauntered to a pile of books and scrolls in the far corner of dimly lit my room. From the bottom of the pile I pulled out a large worn out book. I glanced at the title, Of Dragons and Dames, and caressed the cover lovingly. "I believe you're here for this?"

Gerard shifted from his spot over my desk to face me and nodded with a fiendish grin. I tossed the heavy book to him and then sat back down at my desk. I grabbed the box of matches from my pocket and began to play with it again, waiting for him to leave. Ten minutes in dead silence passed and still he loomed over me.

"What. Do. You. Want?" I murmured venomously.

"I'm waiting for you to stop playing with those matches, Fira." he retorted and leaned against a shelf. I stared at him for a moment. His eyes were as golden as the flames I would be able to create if I unleashed my desire on the matches. That only tempted me more. I returned my attention back to the box and opened it.

Gerard's hand moved to mine and held it firmly.

"Fira. I said no," he huffed. I wrestled my hand away from him and squirmed up on top of my desk. I stood up triumphantly, keeping away from his grasp.

"You" I grinned and brought a match to my lips. "are not my boss." I blew a single flame on to the match igniting it brilliantly. I waved the flame in front of Gerard's face, his eyes darted from side to side watching it. "It matches your eyes Ger." I laughed and flicked the match at him. Gerard caught the burning match without flinching.

"This isn't funny," Gerard growled. I snickered and leaped from my desk on to a tall stack of boxes. Gerard glared at me, and I teasingly blew a flickering stream of scarlet flames in his direction.

"You ruin all my fun, Ger!" I sighed and jumped from the boxes into low pile of scrolls and empty parchments. I lay down in the pile and huffed a puff of smoke that floated into the darkness. I gestured with my finger for Gerard to approach me. I examined him as he came towards me. He was a lanky boy, with messy ginger hair, pale skin, a crooked smile and golden eyes. I laughed at how he carried himself with confidence now, when only a few months ago he had been nothing but a shy little bookworm I found hiding behind my books.

Gerard crouched down and looked me in the eye.

"I can't have you disobeying your own rules Fira," he pouted. I put my arms around him and drew him closer.

"A little fire never hurt anyone," I whispered and grinned widely, showing off my sharp teeth. Gerard ran his hand through my dark amethyst hair.

"Tell that to the book you accidentally burned last week," Gerard snickered and then smacked me over the head with a nearby novel. I let go of him and he jumped up. I pretended to rub my head in the spot he hit me.

"Aiiee, you're lucky us drakonei are resilient, or else that would have stung!" I hissed and faked a swipe at him.

"Stop complaining. We have work to do," Gerard scoffed and threw the novel at me. "And no more flames."

I grumbled and refused to budge. Gerard held out his hand for me to take. I ignored him and picked up a book. I really did prefer the time when he would have cowered at my hiss and flinched at my claws.

"Come on, you fanged, red eyed, lilac scaled dragon woman," Gerard grabbed my arm and pulled me up. "We still have so much more to discover. So many more secrets to find. Books to read. Things to learn."

Gerard patted me on the head, grabbed Of Dragons and Dames and walked away. I spat out a last spark of fire and returned to work. I vowed to make sure not to teach my next assistant how to stand up for himself. Self-confident humans would one day be the death of me.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Well... that turned out interestingly. I now have two new random characters to work with and a possible story. I think I will do more with these two sometime soon, I rather like them. I also really want to draw them. :D YAY RANDOM FREE WRITES~!!!

Also... not sure what drakonei are yet but in my mind they are humanoid dragon creatures. More humanoid than dragon though.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Hold Your Hand


I am not quite sure where to go from here.
A touch on your arm, a lean on your shoulder
Can I even hold your hand?

Let me whisper a secret in your ear
 I never want this feeling to be over
All I want is to hold your hand.

You are now my darling, my dear
And slowly I’m growing bolder
Yes, someday soon,
I’m going to hold your hand.  

Friday, December 9, 2011

Geek And Proud of It

Hey you, look at me
tell what it is you see--
Pocket protector and thick square glasses,
knee high socks and books from Honor's classes.
Equations in my hands,
calculator in my pants.
Do you think I don't hear
the names they shout and jeer?
They call me a nerd, a dork, a geek
hopin' to make me feel weak!
But they just don't understand
I don't have a need for any fans!
What I've learned from every book on my shelf
is that i need to be true to myself.
Now is the time for me to admit:
I AM A GEEK AND I'M PROUD OF IT!

I know all the elements of the periodic table.
I can recite from memory every Aesop fable.
Every Saturday night I play Dungeons and Dragons
and I'm a member of obsessive anime fandoms.
To me Magic is more than just a card game
and leveling over 9000 is a good claim to fame.
I've plotted world domination since middle school
and I really believe LARPing is cool.
Steal my comic books and I'll throw a fit:
'CAUSE I AM A GEEK AND I'M PROUD OF IT!

I collect action figures, not sissy dolls.
The only spheres I can throw are pokeballs.
I can tell you every reason Green Lantern and his light,
could never beat Batman in a fight.
(Other than the fact that "yellow"  is a stupid weakness
and Batman is the definition of epicness.)
To "Live Long and Prosper" is my life ambition
as is joining the Jedi Knight coalition.
My perception of reality is fuzzy like 18 bit:
CAUSE I AM A GEEK AND I'M PROUD OF IT!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My last few poems have been kinda dreary... So here's something fun! I wrote this over the summer and never got a chance to type it up. I'm hoping to expand it at some point... and maybe fix some of those half-rhymes...


Conflicted


Why do I still think of you,
when all I want is to forget?
I have no desire to keep you near,
you only bring me regret.

But,

how do I start things anew,
when it’s so hard to turn the page?
I am crippled by the fear
of never escaping love’s cage.

Oh, 

do I even want to breakthrough,
and take back control over my life?
I love being your dear,
Though all you create is strife.

Well,

I can’t decide what to do,
why is my head reeling?
Love or hate or pity or cheer--
I can't handle this conflicted feeling.

...

If only I could just bid you adieu.
If only that were something easy to do.


~~~~~~~~~~~~
Let's play a fun game everyone! It's called: "Name the random rhyme scheme~!!" :D Prize is... to be determined at a later date ^_^

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Falling

That day when you smiled.
When you smiled and your eyes gleamed.
That was the day I fell.

I only realize now how hard, how deep
I fell that day. For such a pathetic reason too:
a smile and a kind word.
For just a smile and a kind word.

I tried so hard to stay away from you.
-The boy my friend liked-
But when I finally started to get away
You went and made me smile
And I fell deeper.

With those eyes that make my heart melt
And those thoughts that make me stop and wonder
You've ensnared me with your perfect imperfections
And now I’m falling so fast
I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.
I don’t think I even want to... because

I’ve fallen,
Fallen hard,

For you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I started this one several weeks ago. Then I finished it. And then I forgot to save it and lost it. Which made me not want to redo it but I had the rough draft in my notebook so today I decided not to be lazy and redid it. Yay.

Also, I like patterns and playing with structure. There are a lot of things I do to my poems that I know most people won't really notice unless they were to analyze it. I do those things just for my pleasure, they're fun. In this poem, I had fun with the number of lines in the stanzas. The pattern is 3-4-5-6-2-1 , and there are 6 stanzas. See, random fun little things. I love fun random things.

I also occasionally enjoy cliches. It's a guilty pleasure xD

Adding comments to clarify myself is cool too.

I'm not really happy with this poem either... I'm usually not happy with my poems...

I also wonder how much people read into my poetry... beware people, poets exaggerate and come up with situations that are sometimes unreal. Poets are the actors of writing. Prose actors... that's a cool idea... I should do something with it...

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

An Unfair Game

Every day is the same.
He is never there
even when she calls his name.
The moments are rare
in which they do not blame
each other for their
problems and shame.
One day everything will tear
itself apart and burst in flame.
No one ever said life's game
of love and hate was fair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A random poem I wrote the other day while talking to my friend Alex :D
Also I couldn't think of a good title so :P
Actually, I'm not really happy with the whole thing, anyone have any suggestions for perfecting it?

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Commentaries


Based on the Commentary poems by Suzanne Buffam


On Wind
When the air
decides
it's time to be free.

On Fire
Like passion,
it always dies
if it isn't fueled.

On Shoes
Touch the earth
and feel its worth
with every step
you take.


On Pencils
Best used to
write down your
soul.

On Windows
Remember,
the work both ways.

On Rivers
Down, never up,
always running away
Nature's furious coward.

On Shirts
This thin shield
protects
me from your preying eyes.


On Lies
Like sadness
they are always lingering
in the background.

On Mountains
They were created
out of an ancient disaster.
Calamaties aren't always bad.

On Sleep
Close your eyes
for 8 hours
and then open them again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
UPDATE:
Wrote these in my Creative Writing class :P We had to write poems fashioned after Suzanne Buffam's poems, the topics were suggested randomly during class. So they're my random little thoughts on these subjects... I really love Buffam's poetry though, I suggest you look her up. Also, that last one is something one of my friends says a lot.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

The Words of Hope



 When all the world's against you,
and all your dreams are

 out of reach, remember me.
Take comfort in what I once

meant to you and in what you
 once meant to me. Remember

 that life wasn't always this harsh
 and that happiness is attainable.

Do not forget Hope.
Do not forget me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just a quick little something I wrote last night as a facebook status... I was feeling poetic ;)

 I figured it was a good idea to post it here too. 

Defeat



I’ve reached the point where I’m ready to scream.
Life was starting to seem like a lucid dream
But of course you had to come along once more,
You, the wicked beast, from my ancient lore.
You have returned to cause me pain— that stinging pain—
But this time, I’ll disguise my cold tears with colder rain.

I confess, oh yes, I confess
 That when alone in your frigid darkness
It was easy for me to get lost and scared,
And to believe that no one even cared
 That I was slipping, falling, dying
And in the shadows— always crying.

But this time things will be different.
I won’t bow down to you. You’re not my master.
Your dark cold prison can no longer hold me,
I will free myself from your icy shackles.
 I will run. Run. So far from here.
And I won’t ever return to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh look another elusive poem has been found! Huzzah!! :) I have a few poems planned out for posting in the next few days, so enjoy my activeness everyone! I also realized I haven't really been writing anything about my poems or anything. Just posting them and that's it. So yeah, what you're reading right now is a random blurb involving me talking about my poems. Yay.

...

:)

Monday, November 28, 2011

Dreams


You had a dream last night about a perfect world, but when you woke up, you forgot it.
But I remember it.
I remember you were crying and then he made you smile.
I remember you were dying and then she saved your life.
And the sun was glowing blue and the sky was shimmering yellow.
And you found something you thought you’d lost forever and you put it in your pocket. But later you found it was gone -lost once more. And your pocket had a hole.
What was it that you lost?
Perhaps what you lost was an old souvenir from when you visited that far far away place long long ago.
Or it was a small silver key that shone in the moonlight.
Perhaps it was a lie you told. A lie that grew and grew and grew until it swallowed you whole.
Swallowed you whole like when you fell in the ocean and did not wish to come back up.
Until you saw a light in the dark and it burned with all the colors of your heart and somebody told you to grab on to it and never let go.
And you did.
 But it hurt.
 So you let it slip from your hands.
But I was there to lift you back up. And bring you back to shore.
I remember you dying and I saved your life.
I remember you crying and I made you smile.
I wish the world would be as beautiful as it is in my dreams.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Missing You



I went to look at the starry sky
hoping to see you twinkling—smiling down at me.
But all I found was a cloudy filled night,
cold and empty of light,
empty of you.

My dreams are still infected
with the broken wishes I made to you
but did not have the time to keep.
Unfulfilled promises—
unachieved goals.
This is what my nightmares are made of.

I have run away from the world
to escape the shadows in my heart.
In this new barren place I’ve come to,
there are no traces— no reminders,
and you become nothing but a figment of a memory.

Here there are no singing yellow daffodils
And thus I see no ghosts of you gardening them.
Here there are no whistling tall trees
And thus I have no desire to climb them with you.

No birds flying high in the air.
(You used to want to fly with them.)
No butterflies hiding in the bushes.
(You used to find them in the flowers.)
No songs for me to hum softly in the night.
(You used to fall asleep in my arms.)

Here, in my new haven, there is nothing— nothing
because you were my everything— everything
and now that you’re gone
what is there left for me?

Now I only have the nights where
I find myself looking up
To where there should be a sky.
 I still hope to see you there
Twinkling
—smiling—
Smiling for me.
~~~~~~~~~~~

For Elsa. I miss you <3 Je t'adore <3

From Solitude to Friendship



            It was a warm sunny late afternoon and there was nowhere Peter wanted to be more than outside enjoying the weather. Instead, he found himself roaming the dreary empty school halls of Melode Private Academy for the Musically Gifted. It was his own fault he was there of course. He had left his cello in Music Room 3, for the fourth time that week, and if he didn’t fetch it his mother would surely kill him. Still, Peter couldn’t help but sulk over his unfortunate situation.
            “No one should have to be here afterschool,” Peter whispered to himself. “It’s mad eerie, and depressing too. These hallways are usually crammed with students and buzzing with gossip, but now… now it’s just… silent…”
            Peter stopped in his tracks. Just as he had declared the halls to be silent, he had been hit with the realization that they in fact weren’t. There was a quiet melody echoing through the hallways. A soft and melancholy sound, faint, feeble, yet beautiful. Peter frowned a bit, where could such enchanting  music be coming from?
            Curious, Peter began to follow the sound to its source. To his surprise, he found himself exactly where he had been heading to in the first place: Music Room 3. Peter was perplexed, who would be here so late after school? Sure he was still around, but he definitely didn’t want to be. Peter carefully placed his hand on the door handle and turned it. He pushed the door open slightly and peeked in.
            Sitting on a black chair in the middle of the room was a girl. She had long wavy light brown locks, which were held back by a grey bow, a dainty figure and fair pale skin. She wore a gothic styled black dress with grey lace and frills, as well as black knee high boots. Peter remarked to himself that she looked like a fragile porcelain doll. He continued to observe her and realized her eyes were closed and her lips stuck together in a slight pout. In her hands, the girl held a violin which she played with a skill Peter had never seen before.
            Peter opened the door fully and took a loud step into the room.
            “Hello? Is someone there?” the girl gasped and carefully placed her violin down on her lap. Peter thought this was quite an odd thing to say. The girl’s eyes fluttered open, and Peter noticed they were an icy blue grey. The girl turned in Peter’s direction but her gaze seemed to go right through him.
            “She can’t see me,” he realized. “She’s blind.”
            “Hello? Hello?” the girl repeated, her voice shaking.
            “Sorry for interrupting you…uh…Miss,” Peter answered. He cringed slightly at the word ‘Miss’. It wasn’t the sort of thing he would usually say, however, he felt like using any other word would surely break the strange girl he saw in front of him. Peter smirked slightly at the idea of a girl that could be physically hurt by words, it seemed silly… but then again this girl looked so delicate it could be possible. “I just came to get my cello that I left behind.”
            “Oh,” was all the girl said in response.
            “My name is Peter,” Peter said. With his usual confidence, he walked closer to the girl. “What’s yours?”
            The girl just glanced away blushing, she could sense him standing right next to her and it made her nervous. Her delicate slender fingers ran up and down the side of her violin.
            “That was a beautiful piece you were playing,” Peter said, hoping to get her to speak.
            “Oh thank you,” she whispered finally, and a small smile appeared on her face.
            “Who’s the composer?” Peter asked, leaning in closer to the girl.
            “…I am…” the girl admitted, her face turning red.
            Peter’s jaw dropped. He could not believe this fragile looking girl had composed such a melancholy song. “That’s amazing,” he said. “What’s it called?”
            The girl froze for a moment. Her smile disappeared, replaced by a sad and lonely expression. Concerned, Peter put his hand on hers but she pushed it away and stood up abruptly.
            “I have to go,” she declared and ran out the room clutching her violin close to her chest, leaving behind a shocked Peter.
            “What just happened?” Peter mumbled to himself, feeling thoroughly confused. “Did I do something wrong?”
            Peter waited a few minutes to see if the girl would come back but she seemed to be gone for good. He fetched his cello and returned to his mother who was waiting for him in the parking lot. During the ride home, Peter’s mother questioned him relentlessly over why he took so long to get his cello. However, Peter did not listen. His mind was focused on one particular blind stranger and her sorrow-filled song.
~~~~~~~~~~~
            The next day, Peter kept an eye out for the girl. He thought she was interesting and wanted to know more about her. Peter searched everywhere for the strange girl, in the hallways, in the classrooms, in the cafeteria, but he could not find her. It was as if she were hiding from him, lurking in the shadows, just out of his sight.
            Since he was unable to find the girl himself, Peter decided that he would make the girl come to him. After school, he returned to Music Room 3. He guessed that there would be a good chance that the girl would return to where he saw her last. Peter sat inconspicuously in the corner and waited. And waited. And waited. Until, finally, he heard the quiet creak of the door opening.
            Peter watched as the girl came silently into the room. Her black dress had been replaced by a grey one, and her hair bow was now white. She moved gracefully to her chair, took her violin out from its case and began to play. Peter recognized the song; it was the same one he had heard the day before. He closed his eyes and let the music envelop him. The notes were low and soft, and as delicate as the girl who was playing them. The song was morose and haunting. It seemed to carry all the grief of the world in its measures.
            When the song ended, Peter opened his eyes, curious about what the girl was going to do next. He observed her carefully, waiting for her to play another song. The girl sighed heavily and rested her violin by her side.
            “Solitude. It’s called Solitude,” the girl said suddenly. Peter’s eyes widened in surprise. He wondered if the girl was talking to him but how did she know he was there?
            “The name of the piece I just played is Solitude. Last time, you asked what it was called, didn’t you?” the girl turned her head in Peter’s direction. He was certain now that she knew he was in the room, but before he could answer, the girl picked up her violin once more. The song she played was new. It began like the end of Solitude, and then changed gradually. The sullen low notes from the previous song became mixed with lighter happier notes. The new melody was a motley of grief and joy and it was just as beautiful as the first melody. It seemed like the song was about to become happier when the girl stopped abruptly.
            “Why did you stop?” Peter asked. The girl turned away from him.
            “I don’t know how it ends…” she whispered. “My Solitude is changing. I have no idea what’s coming next.”
             Peter smiled and approached the girl. He grabbed a chair and sat next to her. “Well I have to confess I like the change. I was worried when I heard Solitude. It’s such a sad song…I never thought a pretty girl like you would be able to write something so gloomy.”  
            “What’s that supposed to mean?” the girl pouted and crossed her arms to look offended, but Peter could see her blushing. “I can write whatever I want.”
            “Oh I didn’t mean it that way!” Peter laughed. “It’s just that I could tell that you put a lot of emotion in to your work, and it saddens me to think that someone could feel so much sorrow and loneliness.”
            “Well… it’s none of your business how I feel,” the girl retorted and stood up to leave. “You don’t know me! You’re just some stranger that won’t leave me alone.”
            The girl reached down for her violin but Peter moved faster and snatched it up.
“You know something? You’re right I don’t know you,” Peter said with a grin and held the violin behind his back. “And I’d like to change that.”
            “What are you talking about? Why did you take my violin!” the girl exclaimed and reached out at Peter trying to grab her violin.  “Just give it back! Please!”
“Okay,” Peter said but he still kept the violin out of her reach. “But first, I have two requests.”
            “What?” the girl said and scowled in frustration.
            “First, I would like to know your name,” Peter leaned in close to her and whispered in her ear.
            The girl was silent, and her face reddened which just made Peter’s grin grow wider.
            “It’s Emy, my name is Emy.” she said at last.
            “Nice to meet you Emy,” Peter said. “My second request is that you let me be your friend.”
            “My friend? Why?” Emy asked.
            “Because you are a very talented composer and I think you’re cute,” he smiled. “It’s every guy’s dream to have a cute girl be his friend.”
            Emy scowled but then nodded. “Okay. Now give me my violin!”
            “I’m hoping we can be good friends, Emy,” Peter said. Then he placed Emy’s violin in her hands, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, keep working on that song!”
            Then he quickly ran off, leaving behind a shocked Emy with her hand pressed to her cheek. Emy sat back down in her chair. She felt confused. For years she had been alone, staying away from others, immersing herself in her music. But now, she was alone as usual, but she did not feel lonely. Where there had once been only Solitude, something new was growing. So Emy did the only thing she knew. She picked up her violin and began to play. She began to play something new.
~~~~~~~~~~~
             Emy waited anxiously for Peter in Music Room 3, as had become her habit. Two weeks had passed since that first day she and Peter met and the day had come for her to finally show Peter her masterpiece. He was late. Emy sat down on her chair and propped up her violin on her lap.
            “Sorry I’m late,” Peter barged in. He put down his cello by a corner and sat down in his chair next to Emy. He took a moment to admire the girl. Emy was wearing a white dress and a small pink bow in her hair. Peter smiled. He liked the way lighter colors looked on her. “You look really nice today.”
            Emy said nothing and instead just began to play. Peter listened silently as the now familiar notes of Solitude filled the air. When Peter recognized the subtle notes that signified Solitude’s change into something else, he grinned. This was the reason he was there now, to find out what that something else was.
            Like before, the melancholy notes of Solitude slowly turned more cheerful. But this time, when Emy got to the part where she had stopped previously, she continued instead. The song picked up pace and the notes got higher and the melody became lighter. The song of sadness transformed into one of happiness.
            Emy finished the song and put down her violin. There was slight smile on her face, something Peter rarely saw. Emy waited patiently for Peter’s reaction.
            “What is that last part called?” Peter asked.
            “Friendship,” Emy answered. “The whole piece is called From Solitude to Friendship… So, what do you think?”
             Peter smiled and leaned in close to Emy.
            “I love it,” he whispered and then kissed her on the lips. Peter jumped out of his seat and grabbed his cello. “Teach it to me?”
            Emy laughed and nodded in agreement.
~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a warm sunny late afternoon and there was nowhere Peter wanted to be least than outside enjoying the weather. Thankfully, he found himself in the merry empty school halls of Melode Private Academy for the Musically Gifted. It was by his own desire he was there of course. He ran to Music Room 3 with his cello in hand, for the fourth time that week, for if he wasn’t on time Emy would surely kill him. Peter couldn’t help but smile over his fortunate situation.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Trying to Impress


The sweet taste of his name on her lips.

The soft touch of his hand on her hips.

Her heart fluttering rapidly,

A butterfly imprisoned in a cage of ribs.



She can still sense him now

Even though so many nights have past.

He still haunts her every hour

Lingering in the shadows of a memory.



The tranquil sound of her sighs against his embrace.

The teasing scent of her kisses against his face.

His heart pounding anxiously,

A lion held back by the shackles of fate.



He can still see her there

Even though the daylight has gone.

She still dances in his dreams

Lingering far away from his grasp.



Every moment they spend apart

Only serves to bind them tighter together

For they are impressed forever,

Forever, in each other’s souls.





Thursday, June 9, 2011

Walk by the Wood's Edge

Walking down a quiet road
        by the edge of the woods
Crisp leaves crunch underneath
        my slow and steady step.

A cool breeze runs through my hair
        and a lone car rushes by.
A bird sings a sweet melody,
        and a tear drops down my cheek.

I cannot shake this heavy feeling
        that weighs down my every breath.
I cannot shake these sorrowed thoughts
        that weigh down my hollow soul.

I'm waiting for the pain to disappear
        and for normalcy to recommence.
But I know things are never going to be the same,
        because missing you'll never get any easier.

Nevertheless, I will keep on walking
        down this quiet road by the wood's edge.
And, I will do my best to rise above
        this grief that is weighing me down. Because

 Every step I take
        is filled with dreams.
Dreams of things that were,
        that are,
That will one day be
        my reality.

Number 2

You use me only when it's convenient or necessary.
Once you're done you toss me aside
and don't even bother to pick me up when
I roll off your dusty desk.

If I become too dull for you,
you just cut me up until I fit your needs.
But someday I'll be too worn down to sharpen
and you'll just replace me with someone new.

You use me. Abuse me.
Bite me. Chew me to bits.
And then deny the scars.

But if I try to leave a mark,
you can simply erase my words
and with them, the proof of my existence.

Honestly,
I know that I am only temporary,
and that one day you'll exchange me
for something more permanent.

I just wish that until that day comes,
you'd treat me like I was number one,
and not just number two.

That Smile

That smile.
What does it mean?
Don't look at me with those teasing eyes,
and expect me to know your intentions.
I'm tired of your double entendres,
your sarcastic, and impatient sighs.
What is it that I'm not seeing?
You've got me lost and confused
with your unsolvable riddles.
Why don't you just remove the
veil that covers your heart?
Show me your true self.
Tell me what that smile means
and let me be yours
forever.

Brightest Star

Love is that brightest star in the darkest night.
I can never grasp it, no matter how high I climb.
But I will never stop reaching for it.

There are nights when that brightest star,
shines so brightly that I can feel its warmth
from the tips of fingers to the core of my heart.

But those nights are few and far between and easily forgotten,
when compared to the nights during which that brightest star
is diminished to a weak sparkle lost in the stinging cold darkness.

Still, a sparkle is better than nothing at all.
And I will keep on reaching for my brightest star
until those nights of cold and darkness are gone
and forever replaced with the warmth of that brightest star.

Lost

I am lost in the dreams of tomorrow
      that will never come true.
I am lost in the worries of today
      that will never go away.
I am lost in the memories of yesterday
      that will never return to me.

I am lost in the love
       you smothered me with in those first precious days.
I am lost in the lies
       you told me when I would lay by you at night.
I am lost in promises
       you made to me but never bothered to keep.

I am lost
Lost
never to be found

I am lost
Lost
never to be found

Swollen Geography

Bright open eyes that twinkle
                 like fireflies in the night.
Loud melodic laughter that rings
                 like bells in the morning.

Eager to learn, eager to experience.
Nothing escapes her notice, and
she becomes filled with the beauty of life.

I wish I had a map.
     so I could read the swollen geography
           of her heart.
     and keep here eyes and laughter
           with me forever.

Change

Red to Blue.
Blue to Green.
All these changes make me want to scream!
You try so hard to keep up with the latest scene,
that you've gone and left behind your dreams.

Green to Yellow.
Yellow to Pink.
There's too much going on, I need time to think!
Your expectations of me have reached the brink,
Let me go now, or soon I'll sink!

Pink to Orange.
Orange to White.
I will never give up this fight.

Violent Sunset

Violent Sunset

What will we do now?
Now that the violent sunset
of our youth has burned away.

The warmth that once
colored our cheeks
has drained away and left only ice.

And the memories that
filled us with sweet joy
have been subtly laced
with bitter sorrows.

But none of this matters.
I will survive the passing of the sun,
the stillness of dusk, the haunting twilight,
just as long as you are with me
when the dawn finally breaks.

Meaningless

This poem is meaningless.
No really, it is.

There is no symbolism,
   no hidden allegory.
You won't find any motifs
   much less any allusions.

There is no point to this.
It's just theme-less prose.

So don't even bother analyzing
a single line, or verse.
Don't put words in my mouth,
this is just a sentence, nothing more!

Yes, this poem is truly meaningless.
I didn't even make it rhyme!
I'm just wasting your time.
So go on, turn the page,

Because this poem is meaningless...

..to you.


Elsa

On March 20, 2011, my mother passed away. She was an amazing person and I miss her everyday. This is a small speech I wrote and spoke at her mass. It would mean a lot if you took a second to read it.

Elsa.

There are many words I could use to describe her, but none would ever do her justice.

Because my mom was beyond description. Beyond mere words.

I could tell you that
    her hair was raven-black,
    thick and silky smooth.
I could tell you that
   even though her eyes were dark,
   they still shone brighter than stars.

Or I could choose to tell you about her unconventional personality, her ability to inspire hope in the darkest situations, and her inability to understand sarcasm. But whatever I chose to tell you will never be enough.

Because Elsa was so much more than all those things combined.

All I can tell you is what Elsa was to me.

To me, she was a loving mother, and an endearing friend.
She was someone I could run to when I was feeling down, and needed a warm embrace or kiss.
She was a person I respected and loved, and was respectec and loved by in return.
She was my motivation, my inspiration, my everything-ation

Yes, to me Elsa was everything and I learned so much from her life.

From all the adventures she told me of, and I experienced with her - like the time in the Chitwan National Reserve in Nepal when we woke up in the middle of the night and stole a green banana- I learned to never be afraid of new situations and to instead take those new situations as opportunities to experience something different and special.

From her long 11 year fight with cancer (or as Maya says 10 years and 11 months, Maya likes to be precise)- I learned to be determined and to keep on fighting to reach my goals and dreams, to never give up.

From her vibrant personality - and knack for moving around the furniture every month- I learned to be unique, to think in new ways, to be unconventional and different from the crowd... and some basic interior design skills.

But most of all, and this is something I learned from her everyday life, I learned the importance of love and a caring smile.

Elsa lived a life full of love.

There was the love she received:
   Love from her incredible family,
  which is a lot of love if you consider it's ridiculously large size,
  I meet a new relative at every family gathering.

  Love from all her friends around the world,
  which is another unbelievable amount,
  since Elsa made friends everywhere she went,
  and she went to more places than I can count.

And of course, love from Ze, love from Maya, and love from me.

So ,what did Elsa do with all this love?
She gave it back tenfold.

And this exchange of love, that occured everyday in her life, was evident in her smile.

Elsa knew the importance of a simple, caring smile.
A smile that is full of love is one-of-a-kind, and that's how hers was, one-of-a-kind.

Elsa's smile could light up a room, and win the heart of any person.

I think it's her smile tht I will miss most.

Well, there's a lot more I could go on to tell you about my dear mama, but like I said before, it will never be enough.

Elsa was a very special person, and I;m sure everyone here agrees.
She will always be in my thoughts, in my actions and in my heart.

I will celebrate her wondrous, love filled life forever.

Elsa, I love you.
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