Tuesday, May 24, 2011


The broken shattered hand that reached out for trust and faith,
Put your faith in it, little ones, for it's all that remains,
And the more you try the less you recieve,
It can never be anyone's sweetest bitter dream.
The indecision, hover, waiting to make the right move,
The right time is irreplaceable even if you knew.
And so, glory to the cold-hearted cruel ones,
While we remain weak in the merciless chains of love,
But somehow we doubt that it is evil.
Raise your head up somehow, past the bounds of their jealousy,
Reach your hand high and up and out, waiting to see,
Because if you try the trust and faith route,
Then miracles are beyond destiny.

A poem written in the style of "Reflection" (another one of my poems).  I'm pretty proud of it.  It's more hopeful then "Reflection" is ;P

But I wish my dad could make up his mind...

Monday, May 23, 2011


The anger in the voices, I hear them all,
They scream and shout and I begin to doubt
Who am I?  Am I even worthwhile?
It's a hard sad fact when you're powerless.

It's the screaming and the slamming doors
The cracking glass on the broken windows
The walking out, not knowing if he'll come back
And wondering if you even love him.

It's the whispered prayer,
The door closed and the choked sobs,
Music's up even more, then louder,
So you can't hear a word.

It's the forgotten papers laying on your desks,
And dreams and hopes that shatter,
It's you wondering if this family can be forever,
And if he even loves you.

It's the slap across the face as your heart breaks,
Knowing things can never be the same,
And doubting that it will get better.
You've given him chances.

It's the slamming doors and screaming voices,
The cracking glass of the broken window,
The walking out, hoping he'll never come back,
Wondering if you're finally free.

It's the feeling bad because you don't know,
When it becomes empty once again,
It's the wondering if he even cares,
The regret you hold for not being better.

The knowledge it's all his fault,
The belief that it's all yours,
And your mother cries you know she's hurting,
You want to be strong but don't know if you can.

The taste of anger; there's nothing more bitter,
It freezes and burns and tries to break you
I'm hoping he'll walk away but that he'll stay
What was good, is no longer.

Is he going to walk out again?
Mama just say go if he doesn't,
I want him gone from this place forever,
I remember a happy time.

Daddy why can't you get a grip?
I've lost control of all I've known
Please just let go of the hate that's consumed you;
Either that, or walk out.

If you're gonna leave the thing that's worth it,
If you're gonna turn your back on keeping us together,
Then get out because I don't wanna see you ever again,
Oh but Lord, just let him stay and get things better.

It's not worth it to feel this pain
It's not worth it to cry.
I'm not bitter, I'm just cold.
I'm sick of all the hope being broken.

...My parents are fighting again.  I wonder if it'll ever get better.  Daddy, don't leave the church.  I already doubt if I love you.  I already doubt if you love us.
Don't prove that you don't.
Don't make it worse.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Untitled Poem

Today is today and tomorrow is another,
Just one step at a time with fingers crossed,
But I trip and fall, don't we all loose out?
With the things we forget and the things we don't know,
It seems that knowledge comes in broken-down pieces,
And in the end it seems sad and strange,
An eternity turned to dust.

I don't know what I am I don't know what I'm doing,
All I know is that I'm a terrified little girl,
And in many ways I feel so old because as I wander,
Knowledge too big for one head to handle,
Knowledge unknown is too much to handle,
It'll all be gone one day.

So I try to put my faith and trust out there,
While still trying to survive,
Who else is there to do it?  Who else could be me?
The answer is nobody.
We're born of hatred instead of love
We're given scorn instead of good,
And we could never remember how much we're loved.

But I believe in someone called God,
He sent His Only Son to Earth,
So I can only remember that I am loved.
I raised to believe that I am powerful, wonderful, beautiful,
And that the whole world is the same.
All we need is a little love,
And it's a whole eternity changed

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Events of Today.

Yaay.  I needed to type one of these!  Two events.  Yaaay.

Event #1: This is a second-hand story with a few parts with me.  There's boys A, B, and C.  So Boy A throws salsa at Boy B, and it gets aaallll over his favorite shirt.  Boy B tells Boy C and they both call Boy A the n-word without actually saying it.  Now, I hate the n-word.  I despise it.  I wish it never was.  But it exists.  So waaahhh about things I can never change.  But Boy B and Boy C are some of my friends (Boy B being a best friend) and I didn't like hearing the disrespectfulness of them using such an awful word.  I don't think Boy A was black, so... but I'm not sure because I don't know Boy A.  Not like using the n-word is ever okay.

Event #2: I got nominated for Pride of the Pride awards.  I had an honorable mention for Communicater.  YAAAYYY!  Anyway.  This leads me to thinking.
1) There are a lot of people out there who are still excited about life and are half-decent.  I think I know why - one, I can be really quiet and shy (according to my mother at certain times, I have "self-adviocacy issues").  Two, I can be really loud and all get-out-there.  I think this dual nature might be a little frighening, no?
2) All my good traits come from my compassion.  I have an honest-to-goodness heart about people.  And even when I've done bad stuff (mostly... *shiftyeyes*) it's because I've been caring about someone (including myself.  Hey!  I need to take care of me too ;P)

Anyway.  That's all.
Wow.  Shorter then I expected.

Three events in third grade.  I had my worst behavior then.
1) I told a teacher who shall be dubbed Mrs. B to go to heck.  Literally heck, NOT the other word.  One week on the WALL.  No recess play-time, basically.
2) I tried to sign a kid's slip that his dad wasn't given/didn't sign.  One day on the Wall.
3) Two boys were tormenting me and saying that in a month, they'd shoot everyone down in the school.  I responded with, "Well, in a month when I learn to play my flute, I'll call birds to peck your eyes out so you can't!"  They got to Mrs. S (who I didn't like, and never smiled except for ONCE (at me, too ;P) and didn't like anybody) first.  I had to go to the Principal's Office.  The two boys?  They got off scott-free ;-;  Me, who was a good kid except for the first two events, got the Wall for a week.
And another event:
4) I pulled on a girl's scarf because she was eating the first snow of the year, and my parents had told me that was bad.  The next snow I ate some, and was embarrassed because she saw me.  Haven't cared either way since.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011


Currently what I'm feeling about life and what I have to do.  This deep thinking is going to get to me...

Butterfly spread your wings,
Breaking on your own -
I would help but
You must be strong.

Little bird hatch on your own,
I'm waiting for you -
I would help but
Could you be strong?

Now I see you need to fly,
So I will catch your eye,
And guide you along the road
If you'll guide me too.

Baby I know you were created so new,
But right now I cannot help you -
You must do this part on your own,
It's the only way the world can be shown.

I need to ask,
Does anybody else feel so old
At so young?
A distance.

I want to run back to my mother,
Hide behind her knees,
Let her make all my decisions,
But I must stand alone.

I'll have help on my way,
And it's always the same,
Sometimes alone, sometimes together,
A cold change.

Does knowledge of death
Really matter?
When there's knowledge of "gone",
I'm sure that's enough.

So I stare at the sky and pray
I get enough of both either way,
I will come out of this strong,
And I won't walk the whole way alone.

So I bow my head and pray
Guide me are the words,
But if I leave everything on everyone else's shoulders,
I will not come out strong.

When Will it End?

I was going to write a long essay.  Then I was going back to a poem.  And now... it's just what's coming out.
This writing is about the way we treat each other.  We're two-faced liars.  EVERYONE.  Even America, founded off of values of freedom and equality, is bitter.  Slavery, the way the whites treated the Native Americans...
And you know, Hitler got how to eliminate the Jews by how America pushed the Native Americans around, never keeping promises.
And the words we use to each other, MAN, we can be so AWFUL.  The n-word and the r-word (used for mentally handicapped kids) are NOT okay.  Ever.  It's always insulting people, always tormenting and being a jerk.  Words hurt.  A lot.  I don't know about other countries (or... other anything really), but I know for sure in my area it's really bad.
If we're going to continue to do this, how can we help anyone?  People are dying.  Every.  Single.  Day.  Why?  Because of something as pathetic as race!  There was a genocide because one type of Africans had lighter skin then the other type!  Not everyone's African, but we are all people.  Where has the respect for human life gone?
Having something as AWFUL as what's been happening AT LEAST in the last two hundred years shows a disrespect for life in general, I'd even go as far to say it's a disrespect to creation.  We're here, aren't we?  Shouldn't we be looking out for each other and helping each other?
Rather then killing people.
Rather then driving people to killing themselves.
Greed.  It's overwhelming.  But MAN, in my experience, all greed does it result in death and suffering.  For you Christians out there, Jesus preached of love.  "Love thy neighbor as thyself."  That's all it is.  And instead, we choose to hate our hearts out.
Hate, hate, hate.
We're all so full of hate.
It's time to change.  It's time to turn this around.
But I can't do anything but make sure I'm nice.  I can't tell you to be nice; I can't enforce it.  All I can do is stand (sit) here and rant my head off.
And now I'm just going to ask, keep asking what I've finally started asking, keep asking what I've finally learned, after two dang centuries of hatred and ignorance and probably a heck of a lot more then that.
When will it end?  When will it end?
When will we learn?
When will it end?

Monday, May 16, 2011

Tired Heart (poem)

Weak in the knees,
Giddy from the hope,
It's almost right, it's almost there,
And all comes crashing down again.

And when I scream I hate you,
It's the last time tomorrow,
For a heart that doesn't hate,
I sure do say that a lot.

I'm a tired heart that's broken-ended,
But I'll pick myself back up.
Love and smiles and laughs and hugs,
That's what I'm made up of.

Stare at the sky,
Give another shifty eyes,
Pray their attitude won't ruin the suprise,
Any goodness had is gone.

And when you scream go away
You swear you won't do it again
But you do, like we always do.
For a heart that doesn't hate you sure can hate.

You're a tired heart that's broken-ended
Don't know if you can pick yourself up
Everyone's just so bitter and cold
So silently pray.

That stillness in our hearts
Is a place that died long ago
In all the pain and frustration
We decided to just let go.

Tomorrow is another day
So instead of bad scream good
I love this screwed up world
And cross your heart and pray.

We're all tired hearts that are broken-ended
Trying to pick ourselves up.
We don't know what we're made of,
But whatever it is, it can be great.

Saturday, May 14, 2011


Someone will find me in the maze,
And they'll see the shattered pieces.
I'm not just smiles I'm not just joy
There's so much more then that.
But for now I put up a pretty mask,
Painted blue and painted black,
PLEASE, just see me.

I'm not all smiles and laughs,
I'm bitterness and my heart is black,
But I've surrounded it in love.
I'll love and not give up,
My heart is secretely bitter,
I one day gave in.
PLEASE, just see it.

I'm not all black and white
Simple is NOT what I am.
Inside my heart of love
There anger remains,
But I manage not to hate.
I'm just human, imperfect and broken down,
Every time I've opened up I get shot down.
PLEASE, just know.

One day out there I'll find my way,
They'll see me as I am.
I am small and weak,
Inside, after it's all stripped away,
I'm just a terrified little girl.
Inside the hate, inside the love,
I'm just a terrified little girl.
So now, can you see?

Friday, May 13, 2011

Talent - A Poem

Cold and hot at the same time
The still pool of water stretches
It spirals and curls through hills and ridges all within
It runs through her heart and mind and soul
To her hands, where it bleeds
And it comes, crashing like thunder
Roaring like a lion
As it breathes.

The life came from her ageless piece
An overzealous force
Then it stills again and quiets
Stopping the wild pulse
It draws away, slowly, scared,
The monsters in the light,
It runs from them, the noise,
Unable to return.

So she draws the curtains
And she draws the sword.
She cuts down the ugly piece
Of people taking joy.
They had laughed as they drunk every last bit.
Now she runs, ready,
She shall claim her property back.
She stands her ground.

The old courage of the lion
Returns and she cheers
They were brutal and merciless as they took it from her
But she shows kindness and mercy dear
She brings them down to steal it back,
She grew too strong and broke from chains,
Broke down their determined miserable hate,
And ran to find that of hers.

She discovered it, laying still,
On a bed of fine silk,
It was unmoving, she thought it just missed her,
She shook it then drunk it all up,
Nothing did happen.
Then she realized the truth and sobbed,
Bitter in loosing her friend,
Her victory suddenly lost.

So she crawled on home,
Trailing dead hopes and dreams,
She was like the rest,
Another broken clone.
Home was the only thing driving her.
She prayed she was still loved.
The tears were wet and cold
And she felt a heat inside.

She made it home and grabbed a paper.
She stared until it burned.
Word upon word her hand created,
Telling of her loss.
It was beautiful, a masterpiece,
The best she had ever made,
And she felt it stirring inside her,
Once again she was brave.

She stood upon the highest mountain
And yelled it to the world,
“I am not yours to own, I’ve claimed it back,
Now get up and stop being clones!
I am my own fantastic person,
And you are just the same.
The control you let them have over you,
Well, you should be ashamed!”

The world bowed at the force of her will,
And people trembled in their shoes,
Everyone felt the power,
As hot and cold travelled over hills and ridges and valleys all within,
Through minds and hearts and souls,
And dancers danced, painters painted,
The beauty had new feet,
All because of she.

Her work was done, she was tired,
So she slowly traipsed on home,
Nobody said thank you,
Nobody said hello.
She had saved the world and they couldn’t see,
For she was merely she,
And heaven knows a little girl could do nothing grand as that.

But she smiled and still walked,
At the very least she knew,
And she discovered something nobody ele remembered,
Miles could drive them apart,
Years could keep them away,
But this self-created thing was not lost,
For the talent is in you.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Yay Story!

When it's not double-spaced the story's about a page and a half on Word.  It's not as long as it looks (or sounds), I promise.  Anyway.  This was an old story I wrote in sixth grade.  I titled it "Universe Common Ground" but I'm not so sure I like that title.  I'm not fond of the ending anymore, either, so I'll probably change it and save the story with the original ending and the different ending.  Here ya go.  Enjoy.

It was fall. Golden-brown, red, yellow, orange, every color, spreading across the expanse of the land, as colors started their plummet, falling away from the trees, from life, until all was a bleak brown, waiting for the first snow. The snow would creep across the land, like a bunch of ants that would look around, wanting food, willing to carry more than their weight to get it to their home. It would move slowly, inching, waiting, ever gentle, chillingly soft. And then it would pounce upon the food, the life, the strength, drawing it from the land as it screamed, ‘DIE!’ and fought as fierce as it could, a violent and powerful force.
The trees were long asleep, sitting on the earth, having talked with it, as they did every year. The rocks and mountains were a force to be reckoned with, for they made up the Earth and without them, there could never be anything else. The land pleaded with the trees, every fall, as the first crisp smell of brilliant color crept in the air, and with it, a warning that it would fade. ‘Please don’t sleep,’ it would plead, ‘For I will be alone, and there would be not a soul to talk to.’
‘Sleep is our survival,’ the trees would always reply, ‘For that is how we are as ancient as you, all sharing stories of the land to one another.’
‘But you are a friend, and no other truly talks to me, no other can remember,’ the land would plead again.
‘We will return when Spring sets its hand on the land, and then we can talk for all of the Spring and Summer. We promise,’ the trees would answer every year.
And so the land would admit defeat and wait, fighting against water as the water tore at it. Water oozed death, a force that pulled at it. Though fire would kill, it always said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I must.’
The plants would always reply, ‘We know, and we need you, for there are dead among us and those who cannot have seeds, and this will clear room.’
It was a mutual understanding among fire, rocks, and plants of death, but water tried to kill.  Water was life, and it despised that, so it tried to be death.  Everything needed it, everything alive.  It was resentful, it hated that fact.  If only it could be like fire, unneeded, giving death…
Winter walked in the land, gliding, graceful and sweet, a child with an elegance that came with adulthood and was always there. But then her brother would always come in, plowing his way, knocking the child aside. The child would fall behind, but made sure the transition was soft, as usual.
Spring would come in, letting Fall and Summer fight Winter away. Spring was the peacemaker, for Summer was always eager to come. Sometimes Fall would come early, letting Winter come early as well, and so Summer and Spring feared that Fall would join Winter’s cause, trying to kill, but Fall knew it only existed because of Spring, and Fall could understand. Winter never understood, never knew that without Summer it would not exist.  Summer needed Spring and Spring needed Fall, and in a never-ending circle it would go on. Spring was the peacemaker for many reasons, for it is not just a giver of life, it is existence, it is hope, and it is all things beautiful and good and pure. Spring is ancient, always there, and in future times it will still be. Winter can’t exist if water didn’t exist. Summer is lazy. It would not fight without Spring by its side.  Fall is sleep and sadness and that will always be.
But Spring, Spring needs nothing really for its nature is to just exist. It is the light at the end of every tunnel, for it is the spirit of good. As everything grew, as the trees woke up, they would say, ‘Here we are again! Let’s talk!’ and they would talk with the earth, telling the dream they had while sleeping.
The land would tell of the ones now dead, how it cried and how it wanted the fire to come so it did not feel the dead roots digging in its skin, lifeless, calling for nothing.
Fire always came saying, ‘The poor trees, it’s the saddest…  They are ancient, and look what happened,’ and all would agree, solemn at that moment. But Spring required celebration and happiness would reign again.
The seasons, rock, fire, and trees spoke an ancient language, a language of life. Water - and thus Winter - spoke the ancient language of death, but all could speak the neutral language among them, and so the fight would rage on.
Spring, with its never-ending peace quest, would always succeed and so it will, on and on and on, because there will always be good in the world; for existence is good, progress is good, light is good, even darkness is good. And so every year, Spring would step in, gentle as could be, and succeed, though its fighting was meek.  It was gentle because Spring feared to harm, and it won because good has always been and will always be and so Spring will be too.
And this, for those who do not know, it is the cycle of the Universe, the pulsating blood, the instinct of survival that exists in everything, nonliving and living. It is not an instinct. Rather it is a power, a magic of old somehow escaping the burial that always, except in survival’s case, came and forced it back, allowing new things.  The instinct of survival.  It was the one thing that everything in the Universe received and held tightly to.
The instinct of survival, yet, was even more than that.  Spring was the soul of it.  Most importantly, Spring was love.

Friday, May 6, 2011


If I could ever go around the world,
And see all there is to see,
Then would I still be able to be
All that I am?

If I could ever change the face of mean,
To all that is kind,
Then would I still want to say,
I'm not really anything?

If this world was something else,
Would it be better
Or would it remain all the same,
Just nothing wanted?

If this world was really perfect,
Would it be great
Or would it be without
All that has meaning?

If you stared your fears right in the face,
Would you be stronger
Or would you just be bitter
And lost?

If you knew all the answers,
Would you answer every question
Or leave them to
Wither and die?

If we knew that things would get better,
Right from the very start,
Would we ever willingly die
And loose our way?

If we knew that war was worth nothing,
Would we stop all wars
And eventually stop all fights,
Or would we just not care?

If we had more then apathy at our wings,
Bitterness and cruelty that fly,
Our own self-created hell,
Would it be love?

If we actually cared about innocence,
About what is good and right,
About the world around us,
What would we decide?

Monday, May 2, 2011

Deep Thoughts

Some of us need to listen more.  After all, we were given double the ears then the mouth for a reason.  Others need to talk more.  There's a mouth there for a reason, too.  What would happen if we watched and listened and talked more?  If we were more open-minded?
What would happen if somebody stood up during the Holocaust?  Somebody who was your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, every-day German citizen?  Things would have changed so much.  Been so much better.  But we can never know.
If someone had the courage to stand up, then things would have been so very different.

Today we watched a video in first period.  It was about bullying and standing up to bullying.  It had a very big message.  I thought about a discussion some of my friends and I had (it's stupid, pointless, etc) and wondered if THEY listened.  There is a difference between listening and hearing, after all.  Listening involves processing, which I did.  I do believe they heard.
The messages shown every Monday almost have something to be learned.  EVEN from the good kids who want to do their best (like myself and my friends).  After all, friends can go too far when teasing.

And, unfortuanently I would write more, but I was in a much better mood for this third period-ish.  Argh, why can't I have my laptop and blog in the middle of the day during the week? D<