Inward Thoughts.

I cried harder for you
the I have for even myself.
Streetlights filtering
through a closed window.
I can never change
any of this--
can only look outside in
and wish that
compassion actually
existed.

- - -

These last two poems I wrote about the discourse that's been flying around the memorial page of Amanda Todd, and another less known case, Felicia Garcia. People just have some crazy rude things to say about these suicides (But I won't get into that here), and I feel like it's really unnecessary.

To me it doesn't matter if all the rumors about Amanda Todd are true or not. I find it imensely sad regardless of what mistakes she made that she felt there was no other way out. That she felt like death was the only option. People who are saying she doesn't deserve the attention or she had no right to end her life make me angry. It makes me angry because if it was someone they were close to, they would want others to respect their loss.  It makes me angry because people don't have respect for each other. We're all cold, unfeeling, dead things.

When I was just a kid, like 12 or 13 (seventh grade), my parents played in a band. It was a hard time for eveyone, but I think the entire family (not just my parents) looked forward to band practises because it mean't our house would be filled with happy people. One of the members of the band was a young man named Steve. He was very shy but extremely kind. When I first thought about playing guitar he taught me to read tablature (to be honest I didn't really have an interest until the 10th grade, but regardless). He was a good friend of the family and I remember enjoying his presence. I remember one day my mom woke me up and told me he'd wasn't with us anymore. We found out he had been really sick and was always in pain. I think it hit us all really hard, and since then my parents have felt the loss of a few close friends.

So maybe it's just because I've experienced what it's like to lose someone to suicide. But I don't think it's a debateable matter by any means and I'm so tired of the disrespect people all over the internet are showing.

Anyways, rant over.

Bitter People.

Can't fight
the bitterness of you
the cold angry beast
that bursts
from hollow eyes
black hearts
the minds of skeptics.
What if
for once
things just were
and we suffered
when sacred life
slipped from the branch
a supple apple
falling
to a dead place.

We Are What We Are.

We are blood
welling in an
open wound--
the catalyst was
things done wrong.
We are batters
for the other team--
we swing left
when we think
counter culture
swings right.
I am a flower
rooted into a
rocky penisula
and you are the salt
that licks stone
as the water
leaves you.

Different And Yet The Same.

When you look at me
I'm startled  because
in no version
of the universe
do people like you
look at
people like me.
We are so
adversely different.
Different
clothes
possesions
lifestyles.
And yet
we are completely
the same.
The same
lungs
veins
heart.
The same tired soul.
Tell me then
in what version
of the universe
do we fall
the same way?

Cracked Focus.

What if there is more
than I believed there to be,
and what if there is less
than I ever imagined?
This is the thought
that cracks my focus
that leaves me with
a retina burn
of ebony strands
and eyes
dark and piercing.
And they know more
of the human soul
than I can ever
comprehend.

A Big Joke.

When I look in the mirror
I wish I saw something greek.
All I see
is what I hate.
What a cruel joke to play,
Michaelangelo,
You knew
no one could ever live up to
the great David.

Water.

My friend said
she wanted to be water
and I thought
what a clever way
to live forever,
to see everything
to be forgotten
to be understated
to slip through
fingers and teeth
and yet
carry all life
from birth
to death
to bring a ship home
or drag it down
to dark depths.

My Brother Insomnia.

Insomnia settles in
beside me
to spend the night.
His spiny shoulders
and curving hands
keep me awake
long into
the dark hours
of night.
I try to turn away
but each time,
I find myself
face to face with him
and I stare into his sunken
sleep deprived eyes
and wonder
if that's
what I look like.

Ocean.

Today I found my way
back to the ocean.
Cool wet salt
licks my feet
hands
lips.
I feel
rehydrated
almost as if
I never left
the velvet blue.

A Heart Rotten Through.

I have a heart
built with
rusty nails
and rotten plywood.
It stands on
a cracked foundation
and mold
and booklice
creep up its sides.
And every other day,
water that smells like
broken promises,
missed deadlines,
lost friendships,
and lies
come flooding in.

- - -
Tommorrow is the first day of school. My second year of university. My first school year living on my own. It's weird to think that a year ago I was feeling apprehensive about my life as a student-- I felt like I couldn't succeed, wouldn't succeed, could never succeed. This year I feel none of that. My only worries are rent, food, and parking.

I must stop using parallels as emphasis.