Blackbird

Never truer words spoken.

For some reason, I'm fumbling through typing this.

My finger seem weighted down, as if by lead.

Unable to move gracefully from key to key.

I don't know what to say.

"There's nothing to say that hasn't been heard"

I'm feeling out of sorts today.

As thought I am looking at the world through someone else's glasses.

It's blurred and not right, and it gives me a headache.

I have a procrastination mentality right now.

I don't want to do anything.

Surprisingly enough, I don't even want to sleep.

How strange.

So I'm going to post a poem.

And I'm not sure how I feel about it at all.

It seems cliche and unfocused,

Sort of silly.

There are phrases I like, and phrases I despise.

It's draft one,

Of what I presume will be a plethora of drafts. It's just one. The first attempt. At a poem I want to submit to a writing contest.

I feel silly and stupid when I say I'm submitting to writing contests.

What chance have I got?

So here,

Have this to read. Enjoy? Critique.

Here. It's called "Linoleum".

Linoleum, under barren toes,

Chilled, like morning dewdrops.

Hands resting,

Gripping, the sides of porcelain sink.

An aura of cold morning light,

Autumn morning, not spring.

The chill bitter, not welcoming.

Staring, green eyes,

Into mirror, faded edges, dulled background

Of life, in this chilled autumn scene.

And a face, scrubbing,

Scrubbing away at blemishes and freckles.

Soapy suds momentarily hide the mirrored face

A guise, a veil,

Avert the eyes.

Don’t answer the question.

Nipping like the acrid winds.

Water springs from rusted tap,

And guise is gone.

Clean, barren face.

Tired green eyes.

And the smell of soap that lingers

Like the embodiment of cleanliness.

Wafting, mingling with

Smell of fall rains,

Damp leaves.

Speckled mirror edges,

Accent what isn’t there.

Encroaching borders on the paled face.

A battle that swallows one up.

The mind, predator.

The heart, prey.

Logic at war with emotion.

Bloodied, bruised bodies,

Ensue.

In the mirror,

Reversed reflection.

Of the tortured eyes.

Standing, slumped,

From cold and fear

And thought.

Feet, anchors,

On the flecked green-gold,

1970’s linoleum.

Shifting, in fall colors.

The chill runs through,

From feet to heart.

Spilt-second

Of knowing.

Green eyes become clear.

Horribly clear.

And a shudder

Forces hands to grip

Solid, to the porcelain.

A weight, an anvil,

Thrust into the gut,

The heart.

Logic falls,

Flat like the crisp,

Descending leaves.

To lie along the floor tiles.

And the feeling of fall nights,

Ushered in.

So clear

And quiet.

Still.

Still.

Heartbeat against lungs,

Thin as air, cold as night.

The only sound,

Like leaves stirring.

Dissension of crisp and clear

Fall night.

Green eyes.

Pale face.

Flecked with gold-green.

And you see.

Logic fail,

Heart fumble.

And grasp.

Cling to words,

You thought untrue.

“I love you.”

Wednesday I'm handing this (Or a further draft of this) over to one of my teachers.

I wonder what he'll think,

As even I don't know what to make of this.

Friday, I'm in Love

I've noticed something,

As I've begun driving,

Entered the first tier of adulthood.

I am aware of hard it is.

To be a human.

To support oneself, financially,

To be happy with your life.

I am aware of how horrible

Responsibilities are.

I don't want to be an adult-adult.

I want to just be an adult in mind,

Not for real.

Bills and families,

And society, and jobs.

Isn't it crushing?

Why don't they all collapse,

The adults,

Fall over from stress?

I do not want to grow up.

And yet everyday,

I am older.

Time stops for no one.

No one at all.

And everyday is another day I'll never get back.

Another day wasted.

Another day gone.

Now only a wisp of nostalgia.

A tuft of the past.

Smoke,

Slipping through the cracks between my fingers.

And it's horrible.

I hate time.

I hate things

That I have no control over.

It isn't right to hate like I do.

Doesn't it just embitter someone?

And life is not what the films and the novels and the photographs say

It is.

It is something so completely different,

Which is why we have the films and the novels and the photographs.

To let ourselves,

If only for a little while,

Slip into a land

A life,

Which is not our own.

A romanticized take on what existence should feel like.

Look like.

Be like.

A break from the reality

Of jobs,

Homes,

And families.

A break of obligation.

People make art

To escape life.

To envision life as it could be.

Should be.

And the world,

It turns,

And changes.

A little bit everyday.

And we're just specks

Of people,

Small speckles of dust in this thing called humanity.

Nothing stops.

Everything changes.

The game is never won.

Never over.

Just begun.

Again,

And again.

As time goes on.

Goodnight, good-bye, and farewell,

'Til tomorrow doth ring true.

Imagine

One) This is my 100th blog post.

100 is a pretty big number.

Two) It's John Lennon's 70th birthday!

In the style of Ted from Sixteen Candles: "Duh nuh nuh nuh nuh, YOU SAY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY! *Drums on car*"

Happy birthday to one of the most amazing people to ever live. Lennon, sir, you are truly an inspiration.

To expound upon "One)", well. 100 posts. That's pretty crazy, if I do say so myself. In... 4-ish months, I've posted 100 times. I truly have no life. And in four months I've had approximately 600 views. I'm sadly proud of that. But 100 posts. *Whistle sound people make at an unbelievable spectacle* Could I possibly have that much to say? Apparently so. Goodness. Yay for milestones?

I'm going to celebrate such an occasion with ice cream. I was going to eat ice cream anyways,

But now I have an actual purpose in doing so. Awesome.

There's a lot I could say, I guess.

A lot that goes unsaid.

In matters of my life,

I drove a lot today. And nobody died, there were no explosions, and I wasn't nervous.

I am certainly getting a feel for this "Driving an automobile" thing.

I feel the need to buy one of those weird little pine-tree air fresheners to hang from my rearview mirror.

I think they're cute.

And tacky.

At the same time.

Oh.

I had a dream last night.

It was wonderful,

While at the same time being horribly un-wonderful.

And guess who it involved?

Yeah, that's right.

Him.

He doesn't usually show up in my dreams.

And with good reason.

Because if he did, I'd end up going insane.

But here he was.

We were at school.

At some stupid assembly.

And so he decides,

We should sneak out.

And so we do.

And we're outside of school,

And we're running around Columbus.

Of all places.

He was sweet and funny, and wonderful.

Literally, we were laughing for most of this dream.

But I remember a really weird part of this dream,

Vividly.

I was hugging him, and laughing,

And I recall every detail of how that felt.

And I hate myself for it.

I hate myself for letting this happen,

Fall so out of proportion.

I hate him for existing.

But I love him too much

(oh that sounds so stupid!!)

To actually hate him.

What gives here?

I am thoroughly distressed by all of this ridiculousness.

So I'm going to go now.

And just continue to think about him.

Dammit.

*Frustration noise*

Goodnight,

Sleep tight,

Don't let the bed bugs bite

(Which here in Ohio is a high possibility).

I cdspbi you.

aInfssnbm [fsok

Heroin

Firstly, I'm surprised I haven't used this song title yet. And yes, it's "Heroin", like the hardcore, disgusting drug.

But it's a good song, nonetheless.

By the Velvet Underground,

In case you wanted to know.

But you probably didn't.

Today (Yesterday) was Friday.

And it was surprisingly good.

Despite my bad omens this morning,

Nose bleed, substitute bus driver, the like.

It went swell.

For many reasons.

It was warm, it was sunny, it was beautiful outside.

I was alive, and not ill, and not dead today.

I drove my automobile and managed not to kill anyone.

I drove across town.

In the dark.

With multiple passengers.

So many firsts there.

I watched "An Education" (Finally!) with a friend of mine,

And I'm still pondering it.

It's a wonderful film.

Brilliant and beautiful,

Dark and revealing.

Somewhat scary.

But I loved it.

I'm still deciphering all of the facets.

So much happened in the movie.

I snickered, I came close to tears.

I was assaulted by thought.

And to think, that movie was someone's memoir.

Somebody lived that.

How tragically beautiful-horrible.

*SPOILER ALERT*

How would you feel,

To fall for this older, suave, sophisticated man,

And to have the best time of your life.

And to think you had everything planned out.

Only to see,

You didn't.

You're side-swept.

By this horrible, toppling truth.

A married man?

How would that feel?

To throw away your life,

To fall in love with a man,

Who was married?

How could one not break in two?

Wouldn't the pain be indescribable?

It would be so horrendous.

And so my thoughts got all jumbled up

With love thoughts,

About that stupid guy again.

What if such went my life?

What if "An Education" suddenly went *poof*

And my life became like that?

I spent an entire car ride across town thinking, pretending so.

But on the real-life side of this,

This stupid thing.

I talked to you today, as I sometimes do.

We talked. We went our separate ways. I was happy with that. It was a meaningful conversation.

And then, I leave school. And I'm sitting at the intersection, chatting about something silly with my mother,

When I see a car. Your car.

It took me a minute to realize,

Because you look different from afar.

But it was you.

And you realized it was me, across from you.

So you smiled. And waved. And it was cute.

And I smiled. And waved, back.

I must point out that you were on the phone whilst driving, and that's bad. Unsafe.

You can't go and die in a car wreck. Prohibited. You can't.

But I think the acknowledgement meant a lot. To me it did.

But now, I'm dead tired.

But I can't get my mind to shut up about you.

I keep seeing scenes in my head, all 1960's-ified, you and I.

There's a song called "You and I".

It's cute.

By Ingrid Michaelson,

In case you were wondering,

Which you weren't.

In any case.

"I hate myself for lovin' you."

That's a song too.

And it's true.

Because things will never happen between us.

Because fate is cruel and mysterious.

So unless by some strange miracle something strange and miraculous happens,

I must be content to chat with you.

And wave at you.

And steal glimpses of you.

Sorry to have bored you all with this,

Goodnight.

And yes,

I love you.

I feel like I should include my last two tweets, (It was going to be three, but the first gave away a major detail of who he is.)

Because they relate to this stupid love-thing.

Another stupid thing. Today you remembered one of my poems. Quite well, too. And that was last year. It made me quite happy. :)

Day 3 of tweets about you. I saw you in your car. You smiled and waved, I smiled and waved. Things were good. :)

Day Tripper

97.

The number of blog posts I've written,

Soon to be 98.

And somehow the number seems counterproductive,

Seems like it's just a measure by which my life is falling away.

97 is just a label for my procrastination.

My rants, and heartaches,

Feelings, and musings.

If you could call them that.

I think 97 just became my least favorite number.

The embodiment of my failures?

Or something worth it?

Is this blog worth the time I spend on it?

It this whole blogging-experiment just a catastrophe

From which I am now inseparable?

Where else can I go to spew my brains?

Nowhere.

That's where.

Truly, this blog is the only place in which I can let things go.

It burdens no one but myself.

While if I dared speak such things to actual human beings,

I would be a burden. I would be a distraction from their life.

I would feel guilty.

And if I kept these thoughts so closed up in my head,

I would go insane.

Not literally, just pop-culture connotation of crazy.

But I would not feel good about that, either.

The internet is a savior.

While also being the worst thing to ever happen.

97.

97 times I've come to vent.

I can promise many of those venting sessions included

Stupid, stupid things about stupid, stupid guy.

I can promise many sound ridiculously teenage,

So angst-filled it's disgusting.

And I apologize from the depths of my heart.

But what can I do?

I've got to just let it all go somewhere, at some point.

And here.

Here's where things get said.

Get heard?

I'm not so sure about the hearing part.

I don't really care.

So long as I can type what needs to be typed.

97.

I hate that number.

You know that by now,

If you've stuck with this post,

Until this point.

To anyone who actually cares to put up with my bullshit,

I salute you, and thank you whole-heartedly.

But what's made you stay?

What makes you read?

AKA- Constructive criticism. Lay it on me, folks.

I mentioned how ridiculously stupid I feel because of that one guy, right?

(You're probably grumbling 'only a million times already, geewhiz!')

Have I exhausted your will to tolerate stupid rantings about stupid love things?

If I have, I'm sorry. I'm surprised you held out this long.

If you haven't, wow. Do you feed off of teenage angst? Or something like that?

Because I seriously don't know how someone could stand it.

But.

I've probably mentioned him 97 times.

(more like 97,000.)

And I'm mentioning him now,

(What a surprise)

It seems like I can only talk to him without being overcome by fear

When I'm talking about literary-ish, smart-ish things. Poetry.

When I'm in my element,

I actually make sense, sound coherent, and am not left quaking in my boots after every encounter.

Heh, quaking in my boots.

I don't wear boots,

So I have nothing to quake in.

I think I've exhausted this 98th blog post.

Congrats on making it this far.

Adieu.

People

"What did they do in the old days when they felt askew?"

I like this song, "People".

Again, I'm not quite sure why I'm here.

I'm an impulse blogger, I guess.

I am about to just spit drivel at you all.

That there, was a use of my english vocabulary.

Was my action meritorious or unctuous?

Is it both?

We may never know.

I just mistook the cereal I'm eating for a different kind of cereal.

How silly of me.

And I apologize for offending my bowl of Frosted Flakes.

It's obvious they aren't Special K.

That's like mistaking The Beatles for Justin Bieber.

It just doesn't happen.

Alas.

I am just stalling.

I am here for no other purpose.

Than to procrastinate.

Do you find it odd,

That I write in stanzas?

I find it weird,

It just happens.

No conscious effort.

No awareness of what I'm doing.

My mind just defaults to this.

Poetry-type, stanza-filled thing, here.

And I know that people write books in this way,

Not just poetry.

But you can't write essays, emails, or papers for school

In stanzas.

Nobody would understand,

And ultimately

I would fail.

Essays are written in paragraphs.

But what are stanzas, but

Condensed versions of paragraphs.

A line break separates thoughts.

And I know that's what punctuation is for.

But isn't a line break more prominent?

It gives you time to think.

Completely breaks off a thought.

Gives you a breath.

I like stanzas more than any other way

Of clumping words together.

I enjoy how they look.

They're pleasing.

Eh, I'd better stop.

I have things to do.

Things that must get done.

I bid thee adieu.

And for today, I will sappily say:

I love you.

Mexican Radio

I don't know what to say.

How is it that I'm so often at a loss for words?

Or more so, the ability to put words together coherently,

To tell the story that needs to be told?

It's 6:33 am.

And I'm listening to "Mexican Radio"

And it's really out of place...

But I still like this song a lot.

I have nothing significant to tell you,

I guess.

I'd like to say something beautiful and eloquent,

I'd love to leave you inspired.

But I'm not that good.

Not good enough to make my words have meanings

Beyond the dictionary.

And while I've always hated the phrase "Not good enough",

It's one of those horribly depressing phrases,

It works here.

So today is...

"Whatever",

In teen speak.

I like to see "Whatever" as an opportunity.

To make things better,

Awesome.

So I guess,

Go make today "whatever".