I Am.

I am
a ravenous chip eater
a stray-dog feeder
a green tea drinker
a poetic thinker
I am
a music lover
a child ducking for cover
a winter hater
a clumsy ice skater
and I am
I am
I think I'm yours.

Hearts.

Shuffle the deck
cut it down the middle
and draw.
a one
in fifty two chance
that you will
get my heart.

River Neverending.

Our love is
a profluent force
a river
smooth and glassy--
water that never falters.
We have followed it,
paddled along
for a century
and still
we seek
the estuary.

A Transitory Swing.

Our lives
are transitory swings.
We are the
count down---
the one, two, three
before we fly
wind running
carresing fingers
through our hair.
And when we land
sneakers filled with sand
knees buckled
and laughing eyes
we must choose
to go again
or to stay
stay grounded.

An Unwanted Idea.

and ping,
the idea light
clicks on
flickers a moment
and then burns brightly
an incandescent sun
in my skull.
I close my eyes
push it away
don't want it tonight
all I want
is numbness
cold pummeling
numbness
I grab hold
pull the string
and click off
the burning bright light.

Thinking of You - Haiku.

What else is new--
listening to music
thinking of you.

- - -

I sent this to the bf in a text not that long ago. It was kind of an absent minded rhyme, but when I re-read the message I was like, "that could be a poem!" So in typical Deana fashion I started playing around with ideas. I tried building on the theme and adding to the rhyme scheme. But it just wasn't flowing very well. After about ten minutes of unsuccessful late night tampering, I said "screw it, it's a haiku." It was much easier to cut 2 words out so that it fit a simple 4-6-4 syllabic pattern than try to forcefully add more.

I guess not getting what you want when it comes to language is okay every now and then. University has been a struggle because of this: never before in my life have I had to duke it out with words. They've always just come, quietly and submissively. Since starting the school year, I find myself more concious of cliche, style, and the technical part of language. It has become a challenge to just sit down and simply write because I get caught up in this labyrinth of thoughts about how a particular sentence should be contructed, or if I need quite as many words to make my point, or if that last comma was even necessary.

But whatever. All in the day of Deana.

Dear Katy

I don't usually post things that are directed at one person. But today I feel like it's needed:

I'm stuck on your words and I don't know how to take them. I don't know how to take you. I wish there was more time. I wish I had more time to get to know you. And it is so strange that we have no classes together this semester. I spent a few hours reading your writing, wondering who you are. Wondering how well I know you, hoping I'll have the chance to get to know you better. Hoping we'll have the chance to become better friends. University is strange for me-- I feel like a part of the BCSC kids, but detached at the same time. Stuck in limbo. Afraid to give too much and afraid to put myself out there. Afraid because it's like having to start again. I'm happy I had the oppurtunity to meet you last semester, happy I got to sit next to you in Psych and Grammar. I haven't made many friends since starting school, mostly just aquaintences. But I think you're a friend.Wish I had asked you more questions about you. Regret sleeping so much too.

Caffine.

Your caffine spiked
hyper adrenaline rush
leaves a bad taste
in my mouth.
I long
for a glass of water
cool and crystal clear.
You bring me up
and I need to come down.

Twenty Five Syllables.

25 words in
already I'm blank
the syllable count
is all that matters
it's at 25.

On Writing.

I write to live
live to write.
Without these words
without this pen
I am a hand
without a thumb,
a body without
a limb.