Quia



Creative Nonfiction

Beaumont

- 1

The same blur of faces with every passing day. The same trees shedding pine needles, cluttering

our yards and roofs. We sweep these things away only for them to return more heavily. It feels

like sinking. The breeze is continuous and we are all just trying to walk against the wind. Its

resistance and it comes often. The sky, the deepest depths of the sea and most of us feel we

are drowning. I hear the gentle chirping of birds but I’m not sure if it’s crying or singing, who

knows in this town. To leave would be a sin to some but grace to more. Yet the bittersweet

taste of youth lingers and I understand why things are easier said than done.

Hope

- 2

I’ve carried hope around with me for so long that I breathe it, my heart beats it. Hope is an old friend that greets me at the door of heartache. It holds my hand in the shadows so I don’t stray too far from the beaten path. I like to think of hope as a buoy; it sits and settles until you latch on to it when lost in the abyss of waves. I find hope in gentle eyes and kind words. Hope hides in the pages of an old book that you never understood until this very moment. Hope plays the violin on fragile heartstrings and creates beauty from the ruins. Hope is always there lurking on the outside, so let it in.

The Battle

- 3

I felt it. The darkness slowly creeping over me, starting at my feet growing further and further. A battle was beginning to take place over my heart and my mind. It was my brain that craved it. I was letting it slowly take over as I bit my tongue telling it to stop. My body was splitting into two. My hands brushing though my hair then slowly I dragged them across my down drawn eyes in distress. There it was when I looked at it, across from my urgent tapping foot, staring me dead in the eyes. Then the pounding alarm of my heart began beating faster and faster urging me to give up the battle and get out fast. I felt as if my feet were glued to the ground. But I could do it. I knew I could, I have for the last thirty days and I wasn’t going to waste them. The good won, I ran out of the classroom and let my body sink down to the floor in a puddle of tears. I couldn’t take it, I needed a new beginning.

Papa

- 4

"You're gonna be great, you know that? You're gonna be great. Just like your momma. She's

great, your momma. You're just like her."

I could be great.

But I don't want to be great.

Not anymore.

Because I could be great one day.

I'm going to graduate. I'm going to walk across that stage and receive my diploma and go on to

college.

I might go out of state, or even the country, and I'll come back with great stories and tell

everyone about all the adventures I'm having and all the fantastic things I've learned.

I might meet a talent scout, and they'll realize how talented and amazing and modest I am and

put me right smack-dab in the center of some amazing television show. Or Broadway. Definitely

Broadway.

I'm going to get a job. Maybe a crummy one, and I'll come home to talk about how horrible work

is and how much I hate my life. Or maybe it'll be a great one, and my stories will be the

opposite.

I'm going to get an apartment. And then a house. And I'm going to have a boyfriend to live with

and we're going to have house warming parties and need help moving as our lives expand

along with our living space.

I'm going to get married. And I'll need someone other than my dad to slow-dance with at my

reception. And I'll have an open spot in the front row; even though I may need someone to fill it,

I don't want it to be anyone to but you.

I'm going to have kids. And they're going to grow up and be beautiful but they're never going to

know you or the amazing stories or see your smile or hear your laugh or your wonderful accent

that made me giggle when you tried to say things.

I don't want to be great. Not anymore.

Because I could be great. I could. But the most amazing, pure, kindest man I've ever known or

loved or been inspired by won't be there to celebrate with me when I am.

Thirty Feet Away

- 5

The screech burned my ears; the crash echoed throughout the night. My eyes widened when the realization hit me. Fingers clenched, legs gritted. My body and mind in a stage of shock. My mom brought the car to a halt to admire the terror behind us. My mother and other witnesses called for help but I, I was frozen, glued to my seat, my eyes staring at the horror through the outside rearview mirror.

Through the mirror it seemed only forty-feet away, but of course “Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear” so it must have been thirty.

The cluttered intersection was cut in half by an eighteen wheel diesel flipped on its side, the trailer of the diesel broken from its cab. A few cars demolished into the street, a few cars flipped on their sides, and a few cars crushed under the trailer. Drivers from the crash shriek out moans and cries for help. The intoxicated diesel driver stumbles to the sidewalk and plants his face into the pavement.

The intersection was covered by car parts, groceries, crumpled packages, and four bodies. Four innocent victims killed right in front of me or behind me in this case. While my car, untouched, not even a bump or scratch. We could have driven off with no sign of injury or remorse. I question why it wasn’t me? My life changed in those few moments.

It seemed like a dream, like time had slowed down. The witnesses that ran for aid were walking. The clutter from the disaster was floating in the air. The small flames moved as if they were in Jell-O. So slow, just like in the movies, the character stares into the distance as the camera pans out to expose the scene, yep, just like that. I was so confused as to what just happened. So much terror inside of me, my eyes, once wide and alert, started to blur and tear. That could have been me, hit by the diesel truck along with the other. I was so close to death, so close, only thirty-feet.

Either Way

- 6

I had him once.

He left me. I never even got a chance to say good-bye. I came home, waiting for the regular barking noise but instead, it was silent. The night of the day he had gone, my eyes constantly stayed red. I kept looking and looking at all the pictures I had taken of him. I begged my mom to tell me what had happened, but all she said was that “It was for the best.” I guess I had to let him go. I wasn’t the best for him. I couldn’t be home, the times I should have been, to watch over him and play with him. I knew he needed someone more stable than me. I just couldn’t provide the care that he required. I wasn’t a typical dog-owner but he wasn’t a typical dog either. He was my first dog.

He was half of me. He had these black, scary, beady eyes but the cute, harmless way he thumped his tail and stuck his tongue out, I never noticed. Whenever I would get home, he would always come and bark at me to sit down just so he could jump up and lay on my lap. He would sniff my clothes and nudge my chin with his wet nose because he found that it made me ticklish and laugh. He wasn’t allowed to sleep in my room but of course I still snuck him in every night. He was in on the secret too though, always silently waiting for me until I came.

Because he was my half, I wanted to introduce him to my other half. In the beginning, he was scared. It took quite a while for him to warm-up to the other but slowly and surely, it happened. He started becoming so friendly. He would play with him and sometimes even wanted him more than me. The timing was perfect- he was there too, when I had him also. He- always a remembrance of him.

He was half of me. He had a reputation for being angry and hostile but the silly faces he would make at me and the way he’d always hug me tight, made me forget. When I was in his sight, he would somehow always end up right in front of me and pull me in for a big hug. He would play with my hair and itch my back to get me to relax whenever I seemed stressed. Without a fail, he’d always be there, waiting outside my class, ready to walk me to the next. Whenever I could, I tried to surprise him with cute, little gifts, which the next day, he’d always beat with something better.

He left me. He said he just wanted to “talk.” He kept saying I wasn’t ready. Yeah he was right, I wasn’t ready- I wasn’t ready for that “talk.” He kept going on and on while my throat just got drier and my breathing got faster. I fought, hard. But deep down, I knew I didn’t have the right to make him stay. I was busy with everything else that I couldn’t give him the attention I knew he deserved, the attention that he wanted. I wasn’t his type of girl, he wasn’t my type of boy, but he was my first love.

I had him once.

I had a dog once. I had a boy once. Either way you see it, I ended up with neither.

Remembrance

- 7

Age 4: I begged Mommy to let me go with Abuelita to her house in L.A. Mommy let me

go and I got happy. Abuelita walks a lot in L.A. She’s bright and always has a big purse

with the world in it. She takes a bus too and a train. People use those instead of cars I

think. That’s why Abuelita used it because she couldn’t drive. She knows the bus stops

like I know my letters. We still walked a lot there and I helped her carry her purse.

Age 14: Abuelita was walking home in L.A. when she forgot where she was. In the

glimmering city, she couldn’t find a bus stop. She had called Ma when she was scared.

That was the first time we knew she forgot. Ma wanted Abuelita to live with us but she

forgot who we were, she thought we were kidnapping her. She lived with us and didn’t

have to walk much anymore.

She became too much and kept forgetting us.

She forgets to eat. She forgets to check her blood sugar. She forgets. We took her to live

in a place where people forget, but they were safe.

Age 16: Abuelita still lives in the place where people would forget. She made friends that

forgot too but would forget that she has friends. She felt lonely. When we visit the place,

illuminated with fluorescent, she thought we were going to take her home. We weren’t.

Abuelita fell this morning. She couldn’t get up. She forgot how to walk and was taken to

the hospital. Her heart stopped beating and her glow dimmed. She died that morning. The

doctors had brought her back. Maybe she’ll gleam again?

Age 17: She can’t walk. She can’t talk. She can’t eat. She can’t sit. She can’t take the

bus. She can’t check her blood sugar. She can’t even see us.

She isn’t her anymore, not my Abuelita. I won’t ever help her walk through the city,

carry her purse, take the bus, or see her radiant spirit again.

When the doctors brought her back, they forgot my Abuelita, not this motionless shell of a

person in a hospital gown.

Fish Tank

- 8

I was only six years old, so I couldn’t understand the reasons as to why my room seemed so empty without his presence. I couldn’t grasp the fact that life goes on, and that to a child, goldfish are far from irreplaceable.

I remember my parents grinning faces as they picked me up from school. “My, what a treat”! I said to myself as they took turns congratulating me on a quiz that I passed, while on our way to go get ice cream. I remember walking through the front door to my house, quiz in hand, ice cream cone in other, wondering why my parents were acting so strange, but so nice at the same time.

That’s when I noticed it.

It seemed to hit me as soon as I crossed over the welcome mat into my usually welcoming home.

Though my stomach had felt full, I was now empty. I was cold. I saw it there, his fish tank. Sitting lonely and empty, Waiting for its little friend to come play in his own world. All the decorative rocks and plants had been laid out in plastic bags, like evidence that some terrible crime had taken place.

Despite this strange sensation that made me feel hot and cold at the same time, I figured that my

parents had just cleaned his tank for me. I figured he’d be back soon, in his lonely little world on my dresser, just like always.

He wasn’t. Days passed and soon I forgot my little friend. I think about him from time to time and wonder what else they haven’t told me.

Blindfold

- 9

“Do it. Hide it in your pillow.” He shoved the pocketknife in my jacket pocket. “She’ll never find it. Trust me.” Blake assured me my mother wouldn’t find it. She would be disappointed if she found it. He knew what he was doing though. He was my friend.

“He looks like a fat mouse. Tell him he looks like a fat mouse.” I told the blonde boy he looked like a fat mouse. He puffed his chest and furrowed his brows. “You look even fatter now!” Blake howled with laughter, but the boy just cried. He ran to the field; the Santa Ana winds knocking him off kilter. “What a baby. Let the big baby cry.” Yeah, he was a baby. Blake was right.

“Let go of the rope,” Blake whispered to our group in tug of war. I was about to let go but he stopped me. “No. Wait. Run towards them instead.” I asked why. “They’ll fall faster.” He laughed like he laughed at the blonde boy. His face was almost sinister. He was right, they did fall faster. A girl—Brianne was her name—fell and skinned her chin. She cried and Blake swore it wasn’t his fault. But it was. Wasn’t it? He even told us to run towards them. Blake was my friend though, he wouldn’t do that.

“That’s the big Russian kid. Right?” I looked and saw the boy who stood alone. I told Blake that he was my friend from class. His name was Art, a Russian exchange student, and was really nice. “You should go punch him. I bet he’ll fall down.” Blake’s eyes were alive. Why? “It doesn’t matter why. Just do it.” We walked towards him. Art smiled at me. I punched his left jaw. Blake was right, again. Art collapsed and held his face. “Hahaha.” Blake’s laugh rang through my ears. Art cried, silently, and rubbed his face. The image of my friend crying made me cringe. Who did this to him? Who made him cry? Why was this kind, lovable, boy on the ground and why was this mean boy laughing?

It was because of me. I didn’t want the knife, and the blonde boy only wanted to be friends and play with us. I didn’t want to hurt Art either, but I listened to Blake anyways and did what he told me.

I thought Blake was my friend.

I was wrong.

Minor Distractions

- 10

The tone of tiny wings as they pat the air. The hum of the AC as it kicks on. A breeze comes in through the open window. The cold air lingers in the room like the stress of a paper. The air sends a shiver down my back. As I stand up the buzz from the fly stops. There is a moment of relief as I ease my way to the window and pull it closed. I pause for a minute and look out the window to see mountains poking at the blue sky with blemishes of white fluff. I sit there and take in the moment. “I must stay focused,” I think to myself as I turn away to go return to my desk.

As I walk toward my desk I notice some airsoft bb’s scattered across the expanse of carpet and go to get the vacuum. The hiss of the vacuum begins and then the bb’s roll up the sides of the vacuum tube. I put the vacuum in its resting place, the closet. I decide it is time to feed my snake. I go to the freezer and remove a preserved mouse. I warm it up and go to my snake’s cage. I open the screen and wiggle the lifeless corpse to fool the snake into believing a breathing mouse was within striking distance. The snake digs its teeth into its unresponsive victim. I release the mouse and allow the supreme hunter to enjoy his kill. I say, “Back to work.”

I go and sit at my work space. I look at the computer screen and see a Microsoft Word document open. The document is a blank white spread with a title that reads “Creative Non-fiction Work.” I pause to gather my thoughts and prepare to write. I slowly slide the mouse and click the YouTube shortcut. As I am about to click the video in my playlist, I hesitate and then exit YouTube. “I need to get this done,” I say to myself as I click on the document again.

Ten O’clock Flower

- 11

A ten o’clock flower is a flower found mostly in South Asian countries and Eastern South American countries. It fully blooms at about ten o’clock every morning and closes back up by sunset. It is a small, but fast-growing annual plant.

“You’re not allowed to leave me,” she said.

“But I have to. It’s for the best,” he said.

They were strangers up until two months ago. When they met, something in them clicked. Their

friendship bloomed like a ten o’clock flower. They talked. They laughed. They enjoyed each

other’s company. They lingered in each other’s minds.

They went out to coffee. They went out to dinner. They spent so much time with each other.

“This is the start of something beautiful,” he once said. He was everything she looked for. She

began to forget about her boyfriend.

It was bound to happen. He knew it. Deep down, as much as she denied, she knew it too. The

spark wasn’t any ordinary spark. It was the spark. He felt it. She felt it. But it wasn’t allowed.

“Your heart needs to choose,” he said. “Until then, I’ll be waiting.”

A sunrise is always followed by a sunset. The sun had begun to set on their friendship. The

flower petals started to close in. When blossomed, it was beautiful. But now its time was up.

Before she knew it, the sky grew dark. It was over. The flower had closed. He was gone.

Fast Food

- 12

From the heaviest cans at the bottom to the fluffiest bread at the top, all the groceries were in perfect order. The food cart was finally ready to deliver the food to the car waiting outside on the parking lot.

As I looked side to side, the cart and I began our way out the doors. One, two, three steps. We slowed down, a car approached. It gave us the pass and on we went. A hum sounded too close! Our only warning was a breeze that felt more and more unnaturally warm. The car apparently had never seen us. Chest frozen, heart unbeating, I let go of the cart. I had no time, I saved myself. Two steps back and the two chunks of metal clashed. The soup cans and the tomatoes abandoned the cart in a futile attempt to escape. The faithful and the loyal stayed with the cart, but they didn´t survive. The bread loaves were laying there amputated, their plastic skins covered with rubber marks, and road burn from the drag they took. The gallons of milk popped open and bled all over the road--and gave one last flip as if in protest of their death. The plastic tub of ice cream was broken, its guts for everyone to see.

Monsters Are Real

- 13

I stand in the center of the room, unmoving. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. We’re all packed too tightly into in the small venue.

Time ticks down. We move closer together.

The crowd around me molds into one. A monster.

Time stops.

The monster takes one gasping breath, and I’m in the pit of its stomach as it lets out a scream.

The lights go down. I nearly cover my ears as the roar surfaces. But I don’t.

I roar with it instead.

The faint sound of an amplifier wails in front of us, and the monster snaps its eyes open, roaring even louder as it rushes forward to chase the sound in one swift movement, dragging me with it.

Four warriors tower over us. Weapons in hand, war paint beneath their eyes. The beast and I stare in awe as they take position. Silent. Unmoving. All of us.

Then a sound. Four clicks of sticks followed by rolling feet and flying arms, and the beast begins to move, some of its hair standing on end as guitar strings dance their way in front of the drummer boy.

Then the bass, vibrations coming along with it. They slither along the floor in front of the warriors - creeping their way toward the beast - moving their way throughout its body, causing an irregular heartbeat and a slow growl of excitement.

The general of the four men communicates with the beast, motioning for to it to bounce. It complies happily as the man begins to scream. The beast throws screams back.

The beast’s stomach churns, moving in circles. The cells within it fight against one another - arms swinging and jegs jumping - climbing over one another to move their way up the body to the brain. Some succeed with other’s help, lying on top to travel by hands. The heavier the person, the more cells push. Heaving, they cry out until the surfer reaches the center of it all, clinging to their brief moment of light before they’re pushed back down the beast's throat, back to where they came from.

Tempo changes, and the beast molds into an ocean. Waves surface as they begin to break against the shoreline of the stage, only to be swept away before surfacing and crashing again. The waves form in the center, breaking towards every possible angle. Slamming into the walls of the box they’re contained in, some of the fish beneath the waves tumble and fall, injured. But the waves are relentless, and crash over them without stopping.

The sounds on the shoreline slow, until they fall silent. The four warriors become small men. The ocean ceases to rise or fall and becomes a crowd of strangers once more, nursing their bruises and wiping their sweat, not sure if it belongs to them or their neighbor.

Short of breath, the beasts rests. I sit in its stomach patiently, waiting for it to resurface the next time the lights go down.

Fiction

Married to the Past

- 14

I twist my diamond ring around my finger nervously when a knock comes from the door. “C-c-

come in,” I stutter out, smoothing down my long white dress. The door opens slowly and my favorite person in the whole world appears.

My grandmamma waddles in her wispy gray hair pulled back into a tight bun, and she’s dressed

in a long shimmery silver dress. The wrinkles by her wise brown eyes smile as she looks me up and down, “Aeries! My little baby, you’re so beautiful! Twirl for me!” I obey and slowly twirl. She breathes out, “Beautiful,” and hugs me in her small frail arms. Even though her arms hold me strong and close I still shake violently. “I’m so nervous Grandmamma,” I whisper.

She pulls me away from her and looks at me with a serious face, “Why are you so nervous?” she

demands.

“What if this is a mistake, what if he’s not the one?” I say my voice threatening to break. She sits me down on the closest chair and takes my hands in her own. “Did I ever tell you about how I met your grandfather?” she asks a smile breaking onto her face. I shake my head and her eyes travel far off and I can tell she’s reliving the memory.

“Your grandfather he… was the person I found most annoying when I was a teenager. We were

total opposites. I was one of those silent girls who sat quietly obeying the teacher’s every word, but he, he was one of those loud annoying class clowns always causing trouble and yelling that stupid phrase… What was it…. YOLO, that’s the word. You only live once, is what it meant, and he lived by that phrase.

“I remember the first time I met him he was going to jump off the highest branch in a tree and

when I told him to get down, you know what he called me? He called me a kill joy. Ha! At least I wasn’t the one who was about to become road kill. I eventually got him down after spending hours talking to him, and every time I met him he was always doing something dangerous, or what he called a ‘YOLO’ moment, and I would always have to convince him stop.”

She waved her hand and said, “What I’m trying to say is, do you love him to the ends of the

Earth? Would you spend endless hours for their sake? I already know your answer. I was opposed to this marriage from the start. Marrying an ex-druggie! I couldn’t believe it- but! You stood by him no matter what, and now you’re telling me you want to leave him? I know my daughter didn’t raise you that way!”

She lifts her eyebrow up questioningly and I let out a laugh, “Thank you grandmamma.”

“Come now. It’s going to take a long time for me to walk you down the aisle. I’m an old lady you know.”

The End

- 15

The ashes fall all around me, coating my skin in a blanket of black soot. Flames reach sky high,

the light it emanates licks across the road, a fierce shade of orange and red. I look up to swirls of grey and black clouds, hot flashes of white lightning threatening to break lose from behind them. Another flash strikes, the lightning is no longer being contained by the menacing clouds.

The burning smell of fire and lightning striking at the ground all around me makes me dizzy. I

struggle to remain standing, but Radar nudges me on with his wet nose. His beautiful dark chocolate coat so soft and well groomed is a disaster. Areas all over his body are burnt leaving ugly wounds behind, but still he marches on beside me looking for her.

I limp on, holding her crumpled photo tight in my hand. I don’t need to look at it to know what

she looks like. A smile as big and bright as the moon, hair spun out of gold, and eyes the deep blue of the ocean. Her name just as beautiful as her, and just as fitting too. Rose. She is the light in the dark for me. She always has a smile on her face, always has something to look over on the bright side. She grew from a crack in the sidewalk. She didn’t just grow; she blossomed. Her beauty so bright that the people would stop and stare.

Now all I can think about is seeing her beauty shine in the depth of chaos the world has been

sent into. I call out her name over and over again, forcing my eyes to stay open even as the smoke tries to close them shut. Radar stops beside me, his ears perk up and he sticks his nose in the air. He takes one more sniff and takes off running down the street.

I struggle to keep up with Radar even as he half limps to wherever his nose is leading him. We

stop in front of a pile of rubble on the street. “Rose!” I call out hoping she will answer me. I wait for a reply, a small plea of help, my name, or even a small moan. All that returns to me though is silence, I stare down at Radar and he barks at me, as if to say she’s here, I’m sure. He paws at the rubble and I help to dig, hands shaking, afraid of what I’ll find.

My hand touches something soft and warm and I dig through the rubble faster cutting up my

hands. I pick up one last piece of debris and my eyes fill with horror. My Rose has withered away, her beauty, life, and radiance has shriveled up. Radar licks her pale white face and I smile down at him. I pat his head and hug him close to me and together we accept the end.

Morality In A Mirror

- 16

You look in the mirror and see the war going on inside yourself. Your face is split down the middle; one side radiates light and a feeling of happiness, while the other pulses darkness and success. Good and evil locked in battle over your soul.

The side of darkness and success is a horrific sight. Your skin is cracked and burnt, blood trickles from the broken skin meeting in fissures like a river taken straight out of a scene in hell. Your eye is black and soulless, not even the slightest hint of light or soul shines through it. Your

teeth, those that remain, are yellow and black with rot, and blood stained. The ugly maw that is that half of your mouth whispers to you in a low silent chant. It tells of all the things it will give to you if you let it take over. The success you will become, the riches you will have, all of your dreams and goals becoming reality, and endless amount of promises that any person would be tempted by.

The other half of your face, the side of light and happiness, is very different. Your skin is impossibly smooth and perfect as if that of an angel. Your eye is pure white and happiness seems to radiate from them. Tears of joy stream from the eye making a beautiful river upon your skin. Your teeth are pearl white and perfect, this side of your mouth does not speak. It makes no promises, no pleas, and no reasons to choose it. But instead you feel something that is so pure, beautiful and unexplainable that the only thing that comes to mind from the feeling is one word, happiness.

You see the two sides began to shift and change. You know that it is now time to choose a side, a path that will guide your life and determine the final destination of your soul. There is only one question present in your mind now. Which side will you choose?

Forever

- 17

Our fingers are laced together, a sight I never thought possible. Yet, she stands beside me

staring at the open ocean. Her black hair flying back in the rough winds, that makes hearing impossible. I don’t need to hear though; all I need is her beside me. The only thing that matters is that she is with me.

The waves crash up on the cliff we stand on and she laughs, letting go of my hand for a moment

and raising hers up in the air. The wind presses her white shirt tight against her small frame and she shudders, rubbing her arms to warm up. But, despite the numbing cold my hands are hot and sweat collects on my eyebrows.

She takes her small soft hand and places it back in my large calloused hand tugging me back toward the direction of the sandy beach. Instead of following her I tug her into a hug and wrap her up in my arms. She doesn’t struggle against me but settles her head on my chest. My heart skips a beat and I embrace her tighter. With her big brown eyes she stares straight at me then rests her head back on my chest, “I can hear your heartbeat. It’s really fast.”

How could it not? Everything about this moment made my heart beat faster and faster. I lean down and give her a small kiss on the top of her head. It smells of salt and strawberries, a familiar smell to me for years now. A smell I want to know for the rest of my life, her jet black hair I want to stroke, soft lips to kiss, a crooked smile to stare at, a voice I can hear everyday. My mind is filled with her and her alone.

Without a second thought, or worry I release her from my grip. She looks up at me her eyebrows furrowed like caterpillar arched upwards, puzzled. I reach in my pocket feeling for the velvet case burrowed deep down. My fingers finally close around it and I get down on one knee. She freezes in place, a look of half terror and half surprise registers on her face. I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or not, but I continue.

I yell over the crash of the waves as she stands there, dumbstruck, “I’m sure everything I say will sound cheesy, but I’ll say it anyways. To me you’re brighter than the sun, more needed than the air, much more beautiful than a summer’s day. Life without you is unimaginable, and I don’t want to dare find out what life would turn out to be if I didn’t have you. Janelle? Will you marry me?”

I open up the black velvet case revealing a sliver banded ring with a white diamond at its center.

She stares at it and looks me straight in the eye and her mouth forms the one word I so desperately wanted to hear, “Yes.”

Requiem

- 18

Eyes roam erratically, the choice must be made. To continue onward would be to end it all, but

to turn around now might change the outcome.

Click.

Choice made. Twist and turn through the unyielding and relentless crowds. Slip into one of the

mazes openings. Try to seep into the penetrating cold brick. Inhale deeply and silently count the

lonely seconds interrupted only by pulsating thunder. One ... Two... Thr... choke on the

charcoaled air. Tense muscles pull at their harnesses.

Vivace. Molto Allegro.

Violently beat the pavement in rapid succession. Rebuked, sail only to scrape back onto the

black sandpaper. Fire races form raw shredded skin to numbed nerves. Falling upward, see a

stairway to heaven.

Sforzando. Crescendo.

Rust invades raw weeping hands. Reach the top. Try the window. Stumble through; leave a trail

of stained crystal in wake.

Foreign pictures of past... memories... blur by-

Meno mosso.

-that charge back into focus. One in particular amid the dusty, forlorn tombstones stands upright.

Of a woman in a sunlit yellow sundress, forever beaming broadly at the camera, and a child

clutching at the dress folds peering upward, forever asking why. Tentatively, extend abused

tatters of a hand.

Pace allegro giusto.

Grab the stash. Bang out the door. Race down the steps. Under the cirrus filled sky again.

Accelerando. Accrescendo.

Heave and claw for blackened air. Skid left. Dive right. Dead end.

Acciaccato.

Attempt to go back.

Sforzando. Decrescendo.

(Gasp) Too late.

Glass shatters. Refractions and rubies fill the air. Along with the dying, fluttering descent of the

last important ray of sunshine.

Finale.

Glass Box

- 19

Yes, I am what you call invisible.

I walked into the loud room, expecting a warm welcome, but as soon as I turned the brass knob of the creaky door, everyone suddenly got quiet. Their heads turned to the door, and their eyes stared as I stepped into the large room filled with all my closest friends. They knew I was there, but they chose not to see me, instead they saw right through me. Their loud amusement suddenly turned to whispering, as I observed there strange way. But as soon as they were sure they could handle not seeing me they all went back to their conversations with no hesitation. After that, no one said my name, glanced my way, or said a word to me. I tried to bud in on conversations, but it’s like there was a glass wall between me and them. I knew they could feel the warm air I breathed into the circle, smell my scent of fresh flowers, and sense the emotion I held inside. Even I could feel the tense vibrations in the air around us that made every move seem more deliberate than it really was. But no one did anything about it, my voice cried out in frustration, and they didn’t move. I reached for my best friends shoulder, hoping if I touched her she would snap out of this paranormal activity. As I reached out my hand hit the transparent glass, and bounced off. In shock, I sprang back, and walked slowly back up to my original standing. My hands felt the hard yet soft matter, like a mime in a box, I felt for the nearest opening. There was none. In anger I pounded on the wall, and the blood curdling scream escaped my lips. I ran back and forth pacing, until my common sense finally caught up with me. It wasn’t them in a box… it was me! I tried running back the door I came in with, but it disappeared just as I ran straight into the wall, hitting my head with a thud falling onto the ground. I crumpled and screamed in agony, pain, and degust. The sounds of me screaming and pounding on the glass box, of which I was trapped, made not one of them see me or hear me. Slowly, I crawled to the nearest wall and grabbed onto it like a leach helping myself up. Pressing my face against it, I looked at my friends and family, as my warm tears ran down my eyes and hit the clear box. I cried because they didn’t see what was happening… I pounded to get out because I missed them... I screamed because I hated them for pretending to not see me… and I fainted because the stress of it all was too much to bear.

Now I lay on my bed breathing exasperated breathes, wide awake from the nightmare I experience every night… everyday… and every time I walk into a room.

Mystery

- 20

Curled up in the darkest corner of my room, I stare intently at the door, the only thing other than the four meters distance that is keeping me away from her. I can feel her at the other end, staring at me. She is waiting for me to make my move: out to the window of the two story building and fall to my death or out this door and die at her hands. Either way, we both know my chance of survival is extremely low. The grandfather clock in the downstairs family room, chimes. It has been forty minutes since I have positioned myself in this corner. I tighten my blood-crusted right hand over the kitchen knife and slowly stand up. Placing my thumb gently on the flat surface of the blade, I straighten my shoulders and began to inch toward the door. Each step I take, I can feel her presence moving closer to the glossy white door, as if we are in sync. With only inches between us, my left hand instinctively reaches for the golden knob, but stops half way. Taking my final breath, I draw my gaze away from the door and focused on the knob. One hand on the smooth knob and the other on the small knife, I open the door..

Seventy Times Seven

- 21

Snow fell as Mike made his way down the alley. Was it hopeless? Every Christmas he tried and every Christmas the answer was the same. He pushed the thought away. He had to try—unto the end.

He stopped at the door. It didn’t have a sign, but the pounding music that vibrated through the door told him he was in the right place. The door opened at the first knock by a pale man in black—suit, shirt, tie, and even sunglasses. The opposition had a flair for the dramatic. Mike wore plain jeans and a zip-up hoodie.

“I’m here to see him,” he said.

The suit eyed him. There was no hiding who he was, nor was there a need. The man nodded and motioned him to follow.

They passed the dance floor filled with a writhing, intoxicated crowd that wouldn’t let a holy day kill their buzz. Down a hallway the music faded till he could only hear the bass. The suit knocked on a mahogany door.

“Enter.”

Mike pushed past the suit and opened the door.

A man sat in a leather armchair, a glass of red wine in his hand; also dressed in black, but his tie was a deep crimson. “Are you here to pick up the birthday card, Mike? I’m sorry, I just haven’t had the time. So busy this season you know.”

“You have been, haven’t you?” Mike replied softly.

“That last bit got to him didn’t it?” He sneered. “I knew it would.” He laughed, but it was filled with bitterness. “I can’t believe he did nothing!”

“He doesn’t interfere.”

“I have a different theory. Maybe he can’t stop me. Maybe he isn’t listening anymore.”

Mike bit back a retort. Do not condemn. “He always listens.”

“But does nothing,” the man said.

“You know why.” Michael paused. “He asks that you return. Will you this time?”

“Home for the holidays?” the man said, setting aside the wine and lighting a cigar.

“It’s never too late.”

Undisguised hate poured through his dark eyes. “I think I've used up my 'seventy times seven'. You know my answer. Now get out.”

“You know what he meant by that number. Why not?”

He took another drag of the cigar. “I think I like that Milton line the best. ‘Better to rule than serve’ and all that.” The man blew a line of smoke. “Now, run along errand boy. I’ll see you next year, I’m sure we’ll have lots more to talk about then.”

“You think you’re winning?” Mike asked.

“Yes.”

Mike shook his head. “You’re wrong. You’ve pushed them into his arms early, but into his arms all the same. And already people are responding with courage and hope, not fear and despair. A million good deeds will pour out of this.”

The man snarled, “Get out, Michael.”

Michael nodded, “Merry Christmas. I hold nothing against you, brother. I'll be back next year.”

And he left the man there in the dark room—alone.

The Choice

- 22

“That’s far enough Zhao,” said Special Agent Robert Davis. The pistol in Davis’s hands shook. “I shouldn’t be afraid,” thought Davis. He had been with the FBI for 17 years and he had seen his fair share of sadists and psychopaths. Still, the most brutal serial killer in America was standing less than seven feet away. “You didn’t strike me as the guy who would make the mistake of running into a dead end.”

Zhao turned, smiling. “I’m disappointed in you Robert,” he said. “You’ve been hunting me for years and you are still naïve enough to believe that all of this wasn’t planned. No, I wanted to bring you here to have a chat.”

Davis gripped the pistol tighter. “Alright.” he said, “You got my attention but if you try anything I swear I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“Relax Robert,” said Zhao. “I’m here to evaluate whether you’ve learned anything from our little game.”

“You’re insane!” said Davis. “What game? You’ve murdered 27 innocent people and…”

“Innocent?” Zhao asked. “Did you even bother to investigate the lives of those monsters? They destroyed the lives of countless people and got away with it because their money made them untouchable. Those people had murdered and stolen to get where they were and did so until I brought about justice. Real justice.” Zhao pulled out a tape recorder and tossed it to Davis. “That contains the confessions of every person I’ve killed. It’s time you learned the truth.”

Davis clicked “PLAY” and listened to judges, Senators, district attorneys; people who he had believed to be the good guys, confess to extortion, murder, kidnappings, and other atrocities. Davis couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it.

“Now that you know the truth, maybe you’ll consider becoming my accomplice,” said Zhao.

“You can’t be serious?” Davis said. “Me? Help you?”

The smile had disappeared from Zhao’s face. “Is the notion so laughable Robert? Does the system have so much control over you that you can’t decide right from wrong, good from evil? Tell me Robert, who is truly evil? Is it the man that can’t stand the fact that laws don’t apply to the powerful that he has to lash out? Or is it the man who took an oath to protect the innocent and instead defends the corrupt.”

“Enough,” said Davis. “Where is the detonation device?”

“Oh, how could I have been so careless,” Zhao said, “I almost forgot why we were here to begin with. The bomb in the Capitol Building.”

Zhao opened his jacket and revealed a device teeming with wires and a timer. It counted 20 seconds.

“My heartbeat keeps the bomb armed,” said Zhao.

13

“If you kill me, the bomb will deactivate.”

8

“However, if you learned anything, you’ll join me and let them die. Your choice.”

3. 2. 1.

Fading

- 23

The police report had gone through last night. My forensic team was the first to arrive. I watched

over them as they began photographing the crime scene. Thunder rolled in the far distance. A

man emerged from the undergrowth, water trailing down across his shoulders. A wide-brimmed

hat kept his face hidden, but I knew why he was there.

He strolled across the clearing to where I stood. Tilting up his hat, he peered down at the corpse

that lay beneath my feet. He crouched in the mud to better see the bloody wounds. His brow

wrinkled.

The man stood back up and faced me. His eyes darted around, scanning the trees. As he barked

orders to my team, a blinding light filled my vision. I held my hand over my eyes and saw

something shining among the trees.

I yelled, "I think I found something!" over my shoulder, and the man walked into the bushes. He

emerged holding a standard issue combat knife that was dripping scarlet onto the soft earth.

I gasped. My mind flooded with memories of sharpening the flawless blade as I camped in these

woods. Of holding the worn leather handle as I ran for my life among the trees. I sank down to

my knees, remembering the sharp pain as my own knife was plunged into my body.

A raindrop fell onto my face, and I blinked up to see the man standing in front of me. He tried

placing his hand on my shoulder, but it fell right through. He stared into my eyes and stated

simply, “I’m so sorry."

Broken Can’t Be Fixed

- 24

Bills are piled and scattered all along the counter, each one unopened. My mother sits in my father’s old ratty recliner staring at the blank TV. Her eyes are hollow, an empty black pit. I stare at the grandfather clock, seeing if it’s time to leave for work when the picture on the wall catches my eye. It’s a dusty picture; a picture that I now find hard to believe was taken at all.

The gorgeous happy radiant woman in the picture is now a disheveled mess. The husband she

clings to so lovingly turns out to be a lying cheating dirty old man, and the young teenage boy with the innocent eyes is actually a backstabbing heartless monster. The last one in the picture is of a girl who was shielded from the dark side of the world, but has now been scarred by the actual ugliness of living at all.

At times I wish I could run away from this harsh reality I live in, just as my brother did. I haven’t seen my brother ever since he left our crumbling family. I had begged my brother to stay with my mother and I, to help her get better. The only reply I received for my pleads was, “Just leave her Aries. Ma is one of these people that are just too broken to fix. She’s the kind of person that is once shattered, can never be put back together.”

The words sent rage through my body, and it boiled over my top, and the last thing I told my

brother was the last thing I told my father, “Get out! Get out now! I hate your filthy guts!” and then I added, “You’re just like him Danny. You’re exactly like our backstabbing father.” After I uttered those last words to his surprised face, he never came back home. Danny abandoned Mother and I just as Father had abandoned all of us. He traded us in and left for another woman.

How could you possibly abandon the woman who raised you? How could abandon the woman who gave you unconditional love. I could never do that, I will never do that. The grandfather clock chimed as it hit midnight. “Ma. It’s time for bed,” I say trying to lift her out of the recliner. She didn’t move or even react to me, so I took a blanket from the couch and covered her for the night before leaving for work.

Maybe my brother was right. Once something is broken it really can’t be fixed. Trying to fix it

maybe me a waste of time, but I will never give up on my flesh and blood. I won’t let my mother

abandon me and leave me just as everyone else has.

Brother

- 25

The puppy wondered the city since birth. Hungry, homeless, and exhausted, the dog looked up at a window of a nearby house. Plastic, glowing stars in the bedroom caught his eyes. He wonders what it would be like to sleep under these stars. And in an instant, mesmerized by the room, the sun rose like bulb in the distance. The dog walked off yet another lawn. Just when the journey would continue, a fragrance tickled his nose. Creamy pasta. Charred meat. Chocolate treats. It came from a black disfigured balloon on the sidewalk. The dog couldn’t help it. He ripped through the plastic and swam in the fettuccini, clawed at the ham, and crunched down the candies.

Lost in wonderland, the dog didn’t notice the boy on the porch until the boy walked toward him. He was about to flee, but their eye contact left the dog petrified. The boy came up to him and picked him up. The dog mimicked the faint sound of a train screech. As the boy looked at his school bus, he turned and brought the dog in the house.

Adopted, tagged and chipped. He had a home. It was the day dream he always had during the nights. A man’s best friend and he was this boy’s. Every day after school the dog would wait on the porch for the boy. Sometimes they would go to the park and wrestle on the grass. Sometimes they would play catch down his neighborhood street. Sometimes they would eat at a local pizza parlor. Sometimes they found themselves asleep under the shadow of an apple tree. They were the perfect match.

One day the boy didn’t come home from school. The dog’s tail wagged in eagerness for a play date. It kept him thinking that the boy was only late and would soon show up. He had to. But as the minutes turned to hours the energetic tail began to slow. The boy never came back from school that day. The boy never came home.

School ended. It was summer vacation. Meaningless days of waiting flew by. The dog couldn’t take it. He left the house to search everywhere for his missing boy. He checked the park. Nope. He checked the neighborhood. Nope. He checked the pizza parlor. Nope. He checked the apple tree. Nope.

The heat turned the leaves orange. The cold turned the leaves white. The rain made the leaves reappear green. It’s been 35 dog years and 1824 times the dog checked each place for his boy. Each time was a disappointment. The boy never returned to his home. The dog never returned to the boy’s home. It wasn’t the dog’s home anymore.

As the dog stares at the shining, bright stars coating the midnight sky, he wonders where his boy is. His companion. His savior. His best friend. And he fell asleep under the apple tree, curled up in the cold night with his collar that still read “Brother”.

Remember

- 26

Remember when we used to call each other friends? I can’t believe that it has actually

been so long. Seeing you again, I realize that time has certainly been on your side. The lines of

your face are just as graceful as they were before. It feels like you haven’t even changed at all.

Has it actually been ten years already?

Even after all this time, I still remember the day when we first met. You gave a breath of

new life to the sullen wasteland that was my life. It was almost as if we were supposed to

encounter one another, as our personalities had almost everything in common. Even through our

differences we achieved what seemed impossible and became the greatest friends to each other.

Every day I would look forward to seeing your smile. Every night I would look forward to

calling you. So many conversations were had between us that I would trade for no other

experience in the world. When I was with you, I actually felt alive.

You were my first true friend. Never did I know happiness as I knew it with you. You

opened my heart and helped me discover the feelings I had trapped inside. Every day that we

spent together made me realize how much of a gift life really was. How much of a gift you really

were. You lit the flame to my candle that for too long had been yearning to be set alight. Years

upon years of loneliness gave me the ability to truly appreciate what a friendship like ours really

meant. Not a day would go by when I wouldn’t think about you.

Then came the time when we had to part ways. After all of the time we spent together,

you decided that I was no longer worth your time. You needed a newer adventure that could only

be found elsewhere, so you went on to follow your own path, leaving with me with no other

choice but to try to find my own as well. However, without your guidance I had nowhere to go.

As I tried to look ahead towards the road in front of me, I could see nothing but the dense fog

surrounding me. I was lost in the emptiness with no escape in sight. Now, ten years later, I can

see your light again. I can finally see where I am meant to go, and that is with you.

We’re reunited at last. I just find it sad that it had to be this way though. As much as I

enjoy the fact that I can share your company once more, I would have liked to meet you in life

just one last time.

Poetry

The Other Side

- 27

“Look,” she said, my sister pointing to the other side.

There she stood; my true flesh, my true blood.

I see my sister in her complexion, in the same way her glide.

Tell me why, oh why, as I look to my mother’s left, my eyes become a flood.

For clinging to her hand was a beautiful little girl, a gleam in her big brown eyes.

Eyes so familiar, memories begin to overtake.

All those years, full of pain and endless cries.

Protecting my kid brother, promising myself, “I will not break.”

I tell myself the same now, for Lord knows my tears are on the brim.

So clueless, my little brother, and that big eyed doll too.

That little girl, so chipper, so trim,

Will dwell in my mind, why to her, Mother was true.

I used to believe her when she would call and say she was not gone.

But what meaning has it now?

She rarely calls, she never comes, life goes on.

Clearly this is so for her too, though it kills me to think how.

Maybe, like this narrow street, she too has another side.

Maybe that angel dust has blown away,

And Mary Jane has run to hide.

Oh for that little girl, that dear little girl, if not for me she will sway.

Oh I pray, oh how I pray,

That this little angel will never see a day,

That mother will cross to the other side of the street again.

Inked

- 28

The numbers inked on my hand,

Dates, Memories, Moments.

Times that can never be replaced.

Together, casting out our troubles.

One number dwindles.

My eyes turn away.

Don’t look, Don’t count, Don’t worry.

Yet the snake urges me to peek,

I have bitten into that forbidden fruit.

Sorrow swarms,

a flock of birds creating darkness,

the sun’s touch can no longer reach.

Zero

Done, Gone.

The water swirls down,

black and murky

Clean hands.

No past, No recollection, No hope.

Alone, I must put up a brave front.

Alone, but there is still ink.

Paper Thin

- 29

Our love is like a piece of paper.

Nice and clean and new.

It's crisp

There are no folds

Or tears

Or wrinkles.

Ready to start anew;

To be used to its full potential.

Excited.

But the paper

begins to become used.

It is wrinkled.

Worn.

Tired.

Tears start to appear

And so we cover them with tape

Hoping they will disappear.

We can't lose this paper.

It's all we have.

So it continues to be used.

Worn.

Wrinkled.

And you can't iron out the wrinkles.

And you can't smooth out the folds.

And the tears don't disappear

And the tape is still there.

So soon the paper will tear

Beyond repair.

And you will take your half

As I take mine.

And we will take our separate paths

And we will never meet again.

Our love is like a piece of paper

And I can see it tearing.

The Lamb

- 30

I once met a lamb,

Everyday

She would let me feel her wool

But each time

She would shed

Now all the wool

Is gone

And she is a wolf

The Moth

- 31

What a beautiful moth

Fluttering listlessly during the witching hour

She was all alone and vulnerable

Until she saw a light

He was bright and alluring

He was calling her name

Once she saw him

She knew she couldn't resist

She was cautious

So she kept a distance

While she flew around him

He kept calling her name

To draw her closer and closer

Slowly yet surely

she succumbed to his heavenly brightness

Closer and closer

She flew toward him

With her own will

She touched him

And fell to the ground

Dead

While his light was still shining

Firefly

- 32

One late midsummer night

A little girl stepped outside of her home

Into the darkness

To follow a firefly

The glowing insect flew forward

Faster and faster,

Higher and higher

The little girl chased it

Faster and faster,

She jumped higher and higher

They were both

Getting away

They were both

Not looking back

They were both

Deep in the woods

And then she became tired,

And then the firefly

disappeared

Now she is all alone

In the woods

In the darkness

I Don’t See the End

- 33

I'm in a train

Approaching a tunnel

It was perpetual

And there was no light

Feeling So High

- 34

Feeling so high

definitely

definitely lost within the sky

but I did not smoke

nor did I toke.

Simply stole a kiss off of her

tasty, pink lips.

Overdosed, the job is done

I’ve had my fix.

Yet it’s been too long

the withdrawals begin.

Staying up until four in the morning

thinking about when I’ll kiss her again.

Wanting, needing

have to have it.

I’m a fiend.

I’m addicted.

When will I kiss her?

Today, tomorrow?

Next week, next month?

One Day

- 35

One day you will

one day I will.

All we have to do is find eachother

and we will become

what they crave

what they need

most importantly

what they want.

We will become the definition.

We will become Love.

Stronger than others

lasting longer than others.

Noone can stop us

no one will stop us.

Jealousy will rise

when they see us kiss

when they see us hold eachother

when they see us speak a language only we speak.

We will become love.

One day.

Just Another Old Man.

- 36

I’m an old man with tethered hands.

As I lay on my deathbed I realize

I was living a lie.

Nothing mattered.

Nothing at all.

Not the hugs

not the kisses

nor the laughs.

When it all comes down to it

You’ll never last.

You live alone

you die alone.

Life is scary.

Life is hard.

Life was scary.

Life was hard.

Never laughing

never smiling.

I wish everyone else was dying.

Dying like me.

Dying so slowly.

I wish I could be all you ever wanted.

Life is scary.

Life is hard.

Life was scary.

Life was hard.

Darkness to Light

- 37

Have you ever lain awake at night unable to fall asleep?

At first the silence of the night is peaceful

Thinking of every little thing in a big blanket heap

The thoughts of my future make me wishful

When the clock strikes 12 is the moment the peace of night turns dark

The pleasant thoughts of the hours before turn twisted

The only sound that enters your mind is a distant dog bark

Sleep is something my mind refuses but body has endlessly insisted

Sometime in the early morning I realize just how alone I really am

I sit there alone with the silence buzzing in my ears

The darkness closes in on me like a battering ram

I think of all my biggest fears

Then the sun comes up, the darkness fades

And the light invades

A Strong Girl Not Yet Grown

- 38

I am a strong young girl not yet grown

I wonder if this is how things are suppose to be

I hear children crying

I see parents fighting

I want everything to go back to how things were

I am a strong young girl not yet grown

I pretend I don’t care

I feel the world turning upside down

I touch my memories

I worry that things will never change

I cry when I can’t take it anymore

I am a strong young girl not yet grown

I understand what’s going on is not my fault

I say it doesn’t matter

I dream of being happy someday

I try to be the best I can

I hope dreams come true

I am a strong young girl not yet grown

Her

- 39

Our relationship was never the best

She constantly made me sick and nauseous

While with her I got a pain in my chest

When she was near others I was cautious

She is killing me, driving me insane

Sometimes I believe that she will hurt me

I feel as if there has only been pain

Should I give up in order to be free?

Don’t get me wrong, there has been some good times

I have felt accomplished and very proud

The effort put in helped keep me in line

I could even brag about her aloud

Despite the hardships we are still in love

When it comes to track, nothing is above

Birthmother

- 40

Overflowing tears

Her one daughter is taken

The one light she has

Never to be seen again

“I will find you,” she whispers

Lies in Painted Glass

- 41

Many look and see an untrue reflection.

In it they see so many flaws.

Roots beginning to show, that spot in the middle of their face.

Really just, slight nearly unseen imperfections that

Only they seem to notice.

Rarely does one truly see

Something more than just what is in their soul.

Why?

- 42

The room is cold and uniform.

The syringe dampens your pain.

As your hourglass sand

Drains its last grains,

You tell me you aren’t sure.

What’s going to happen,

You are sure

You’ve always loved me.

My eyesight blurs.

I hear the high-pitched notes turn solid.

I wonder why

Such an innocent person was taken.

I wonder why

Your time was now.

I wonder if

You look down upon me from paradise.

I drag about the world,

Trying to find my place

In a universe

Hell-bent to naturally bewilder

Both me and you.

You Say You Love Me

- 43

You say you love me, running your fingers through my silk hair

I whisper back that I love you too, hoping this is not a mistaken affair

You tell me to not be scared, just follow my lead

But I wish I was somewhere else, not about to lose my virginity

Yes, you’re kind, sweet and amazingly cute

But will you use me, then give me the boot?

You take my hand, intertwining our fingers into one

I blush in embarrassment, wanting to run

You run your finger along my cheek, caressing it so

I smile from your ways, before I knew I’d say no

Yes, you know I’m wrapped around your finger

But will you miss use the trick, and leave me to linger?

You get closer to me, wondering if ill draw the line

I almost lean away quick, until your lips touch mine

You know me well, my tricks and teasing ways

I wish you didn’t; now I won’t be able to sway

Yes, you have experience, not that I care

But will that be enough, are you even rare?

You are ready to go, trying not to let me notice

I feel the tension in the room, wondering if it’s worth it

You start to take away clothes, one by one they disappear

I tell you to stop; you can’t help but see my fear

Yes, you know what I can do, know who I am

But why does it matter, why do u care about them?

You “shhh” me gently, putting a finger to my lips

I try to speak up, not wanting to take a ride on your trip

You give me a pleading look, which quickly changes to wrath

I spring up from under you, getting away to take the right path

Yes, you thought I was she, not as beautiful though

But the truth is I wasn’t, why did you think I was so low?

You grabbed my wrist, trying to pull me back down

I ripped away screaming, not caring who was around

You smiled in optimism; you knew there was no one here

I ran through the door swinging open, trying not to shed a tear

Yes, you knew me well, researching did you aid

But did you know I’d do that, know I’d be afraid?

If You Could Do Anything

- 44

If you could do anything in the world, would you do it?

If you could climb as high as anyone had climbed, would you do it?

If you could scream at the top of your lungs, would you do it?

If you could read some one’s mind, would you do it?

If you could step into someone else’s shoes for a day, would you do it?

If you could believe in angels and heaven, would you do it?

If you could catch the winning baseball at a game, would you do it?

If you could sky dive from a hundred million feet in the air, would you do it?

I know I would if I could do it.

But the one real question is…

If you could kill someone at the push of a button, would you do it?

Could you do it?

Everyday

- 45

Everyday feels the same, every hour feels strained, and every minute I come closer and closer to my fatal end…

Everyday you see me with him, everyday you wish into the silence, and everyday your head has to wrap around the thought of not being able to love me…

Everyday she wants to feel the quick pain, everyday she goes deeper and deeper, and everyday she wishes she could go back to the way things used to be…

Everyday I wish to go some place new, everyday I want to erase my past, and everyday all my mistakes come back to bite me in the ass…

Everyday she wants to lust over men, everyday she wants to change and everyday she is trapped by the mind games they play that she never will escape…

Everyday is someone’s birthday, everyday a new life is born or made, and everyday someone dies in vain…

Everyday she awoke to sunshine, everyday she was the gorgeous, bubbly girl everyone knew, and everyday she dreamed of picking up the weapon and fighting with herself to the end…

Everyday is a new day, everyday we discover something new, and everyday you meet someone that will one day mean something or, maybe, everything to you…

Everyday I want her to be her not me, everyday I see her try come to life, and everyday I die inside because it’s my entire fault…

Everyday she eats what she thinks is right, everyday she says she won’t besides this very last time, and everyday she does over and over again, wasting her fragile body away…

Everyday he knows she’s watching, everyday he makes her eyes follow him once more, and everyday he plays the violin made with her pink heart strings, sore with sin…

Everyday you know I love you, everyday you turn away, and everyday you wish you had the strength to come over and talk to me…

Everyday we wake up and plaster the fact of mischief on our face, everyday we pretend like nothing in our perfect little universe is wrong, and everyday we find some way to make some one else’s life seem worse than our own…

Everyday you think someone matters is the day that they will never matter to you. And everyday you think something is right is the day that it will become wrong to do. So everyday you think that your whole world is going to implode on its self once more is the day it finally will.

It

- 46

It…

Its there

But its not

I can see it

But not touch it

I can touch it

But not take it

I can sense it

But not hear it

I can pay for it

But not get a receipt back

It can hurt me

But won’t catch me when I fall

It is really simple

But no one gets it at all

Everything around it seems perfect

Until you yourself step into it

Yes everyone wants it

But not everyone can grasp it

This mysterious thing

I have explained

Is love

Still a mystery it remains..

Sometimes

- 47

You.

Stranded, on a deserted island, without a volleyball to confide in.

Why?

You read the book, but you hate the story.

You find it hard to leave the TV, it's your eye of the storm.

You submit to the internet's duct tape ball pit.

As long as you're not thinking.

But,

sometimes,

yes, only sometimes,

You do think.

Why?

Why force yourself?

Is it the only way you can win hide and seek?

Sometimes,

You look in the mirror, but staring back is the one you abandoned, snared in self-pity.

Sometimes,

You want to smash that mirror, and put a mosaic in it's place.

Sometimes,

You feel defiant. It's finally time.

But then you must overpower reality.

What will come of your virtual reality?

You often face a hill that seems insurmountable.

You navigate and discover some seemingly ingenious way to reach the summit.

On top of that hill, you often find nirvana.

Why would you want to abandon that?

Who would?

You consolidate.

It's for the best.

As long as you're not living.

A Heart Is Like A Garden

- 48

A heart is like a garden,

With virgin, unbiased soil,

Meant to nurture precious seeds

Sown by daily toils.

Seeds of anger, fear and envy

Grow into twisted, savage thorns,

Bleeding the garden dry,

While leaving it barren and deformed.

Yet seeds of hope and seeds of joy

Can survive a bitter chill,

And tender seeds of love

Can bloom more brightly still.

Seeds of laughter fill the garden

With flowers of every hue,

While seeds of dreams and memories

Bloom colors old and new.

While the soil is unbiased,

It is tilled by a Gardener’s hand.

Only through this gentle care

Will a flower’s roots expand.

Words

- 49

Vibrations through air.

Can hurt, heal, help, or express.

Meanings behind sounds.

Time

- 50

Manmade measurements.

Countdown to expiration.

Life ruled by minutes.

Koi

- 51

Koi chills in the pond.

Swag on another level.

Feeling like Rick James.

Irresistible

- 52

She likes dark and rich.

Sweet and creamy is good too.

Chocolate? Or Man?

Words

- 53

Her words

Empower,

Your words

Drain,

Your words are a foul wind,

made by self-want

Want of pain

Want of control

Want of ego,

Her words are a storm

powered by another want,

Want of success

Want of victory

Want of strength,

Something,

Your words lack.

Emotional Distress

- 54

Breath held and lungs collapsed,

Blood now blue.

Absence of circulation and lungs void

A muscle pumps and creates a beat.

Exertion the only sound

Pupils expand while skin chills,

And hairs salute empty space

Solutions can’t be found and help is absent

Drugs may serve

Color fades and lids drop

Darkness is left to fill,

Thoughts and dreams invade,

And soon you are frozen.

Petrified in place.

Interrogation

- 55

An answer is required,

Because there are enemies

Counting down minutes

Days and seconds until

Enemies are ready to strike.

Friends are using you to

Gain access to your

Heart and mind

The First

- 56

After seeing him,

Because of him

Calling anyone else

Drops from my mind

Even those I thought I loved;

For he was perfect

Golden of mind and

Heart and soul so pure that

Ice melts in his presence

Just seeing him

Kindles unknown feelings

Longing to speak to him even

Momentarily chatting evokes

Notions I have never thought

Of; if I could keep only

Priceless memories of him.

Questions never asked

Reasons for asking questions

Stored in my mind forever,

To be only thought by myself.

The Cold Season

- 57

After the leaves fall,

Before the flowers reappear

Color will be washed away

Drained by the falling rain

Enough snow to fulfill wishes

Frost will cover the earth and the

Ground will be blanketed in

Heavy white snow and hidden black

Ice that is treacherous on roads

Just let the sun come out

Kindle the light and joy in people

Lusting for the Spring to appear

Most run and enjoy the light

Not inside, evading the cold

Open faces full of happiness

Playing in the cold season of winter.

Fading Summer

- 58

Summer is fading

The winds grow cooler as the

Autumn approaches

Another Day

- 59

Another day has

Begun, only to

Cause a big

Disagreement, and

Even dreading to

Feel; lost and confused

Masquerade

- 60

Begin the dance.

Lock the door.

Put on the mask.

Shape the curls.

Brush on the paint.

Plaster the smile.

Look in the mirror.

Look away.

Begin the dance.

Laugh like the others.

Cry like the others.

Act like the others.

Stop the dance.

Lock the door.

Take off the mask.

Pull back the curls.

Wipe off the paint.

Plaster the door.

Look in the mirror,

Don’t look away.

No Title

- 61

It descends, though not from heaven,

onto those who require light.

It rises, though not from hell,

to face those engulfed in darkness.

It’s voice, though never spoken,

is heard by all around.

It tries, though does not always succeed,

to defend its beliefs from doubt.

It is beaten, though never defeated,

by the evils that oppose it.

It falters, though never falls,

under the pressure of it’s peers.

It’s enemies, all who oppose tradition,

would like nothing more than it’s corruption.

But it’s weapons; it’s tools of choice,

are of heart, mind, and will.

The Meek

- 62

There is something about me. Something is wrong.

I'd tell the whole story, but it'd take too long.

My problems are common. My problems run deep.

Every day and night, until I go to sleep.

Her eyes, they dart, from person to person,

hinting at a future that's likely to worsen.

I attempt and fail, accepting my reprieve, but all the while refusing to believe.

Taking my time to misconceive and to grieve, waiting for my wholesome feelings to leave.

I watch others with maliciousness and contempt,

Searching their debts to find they're exempt.

I slash and I tear at my heart with such a fluster, using more hatred than the damned can even

muster.

I drop my feelings into a well, so I may claim that they are deep.

I force my feelings into a shell, so I can hope that they will keep.

I say more than one farewell, so that my feelings will not seep.

I hide and I dwell from the ones who excel so I may tell the critics that all is well.

I run to the smiling building, so steep,

So I may end it all with a weep and a leap.

Human Catalyst

- 63

Less like an animal

And more like bacteria,

With legs and fire.

Spread over blue-green skin,

Set to pauperize its host.

Left to roil in prosperity.

But the self, a shell.

Encasing mind and bones.

Soft and solitary,

Fickle and fleeting,

A catalyst for destruction.

Stay

- 64

Don’t go my love

Don’t leave me alone

Please my dove

Give me a bone

Can’t we stay

Forever this way

Life is lonely without you

Beside me everyday

I love you boo

No matter what people say

I’ll love you forever

And a day

Please stay

Ranting

- 65

The way you look at me like I’m curdled milk.

The way you call me back when you know I’m not there.

The way you slip past me in the corridor.

The way you turn the other cheek, look the other way, send me away,

But to where?

Where can I go?

To where must I be sent if I can’t stay here

But I can’t go there?

Falling

- 66

I’ve been here before

Same feeling, same fear

It’s a kind of numbness,

Confusion. But all the while

I know what’s happening.

I’m falling.

Up, to the heavens,

Down, to the earth,

In love, in a hole,

Into nothing.

I’m falling.

I watch as it speeds toward me

I wait until it nearly slaps me in the face

Because it’s not until then

That I have control,

That I know it’s even real.

Arms flail, feet kick,

Trying to grab onto air.

Or trying to tread in it like water.

In your mind I may have expected

That brief moment of realization.

A warning time to recognize,

Collect and decide

on my opinion.

Because it’s what I’ve been taught.

What I’ve seen.

But the truth is,

It is never more clear until I’m in it.

It’s like my heart or mind or nature

decides for me.

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