Melting Butterfly (poem)

At first it is soft, only brief,
Once in a while a flick,
But then it grows stronger.
Suddenly it is fighting fierce,
Living, loving, falling,
An insolent choice as blue turns to gold,
Gray turns to black, the smallest change.
It is amazing how this tiny thing
From frozen in ice to sudden life
Can bring such a change of mind.

Left There (poem)

Stop child abuse and bullying, guys.

The stiff-moved tear, an almost cry,
Staring down and wondering why.
The clawmarks and scratches should raise alarm,
But hidden with care, nothing is wrong,
It's just a lie, she's trying to be strong.
The younger watches, fear in her eyes,
She can do nothing for what's going on,
There's a knife in her pocket, she'll use it to kill,
She's sick of the words that hit her down.
During recess no teacher notices,
She's drawn away and to the side.
Then she snaps, the knife comes out,
But they steal and laugh, she grabs it back and dies.
Her sister is crying for hours on end,
Finally her father drags her away.
She stares at the form, miserable,
A tiny form just simply left there.
She is beaten for something she cannot control,
She sobs and she pleads for death.
A swift motion and it's granted,
And she, too, is left.

ARGH! EFFING IDIOTS!

Can people just, like, die?  I mean, seriously?  Everyone's a pain in the butt!

Am I the Only One Who Cares?

This is just a rant, but I'm really upset.

I thought getting Daddy out of the house would allow the Spirit to remain in the household.  I mean, even when you're angry the Spirit can still be there.  I'm talking about Heavenly Father's Spirit, by the way.
Anyway, so just now my mom got mad about something - it was kind of irresponsible of me but I don't want to say what it is because it's irritating - and she said the d-word.
Now, I've had my moments, and I've cussed (and even said the f-word a couple of times).  But I'm working really hard on that because I know that it's better to keep my language clean and sometimes I like to think to myself of having the cleanest, nicest language ever as a half-joke, half-truth...
But I asked her if she really had to cuss and she said yes, because she's getting mad.  PLENTY OF PEOPLE, plentyofpeopleplentyofpeopleplentyofpeople get mad and don't cuss.  And I don't want another Daddy in that aspect.

Soo... am I the only one who honest-to-goodness cares about the Spirit being in our home?

The Dancer

There's the grace that you must have,
he says and points at the dancer.
She spins and twirls, elegance,
an echo and a reflector.
That smile she wears steals your breath,
she is the description of beauty.
I could not steal that grace,
a thought that creeps across consiousness.
But it's done, like it always will,
and she falls, collapses.
Take her place, elegance incarnate,
and she quietly cries.
A pretty face, scarred with tears,
she tries to dance and fails.
Give it back, we can only borrow,
we cannot steal from the owners.
So she recieves the grace right back,
and once again is the dancer.

Cherish

Did you know
That flowers grow,
But what a slow growth that is.
They twist and turn,
Patience and impatience,
In and out, balance of
Left and right, wrong.
A lilting tilt,
An open warmth,
What is cherished falls.
But the flowers will always grow,
No matter what the world will show,
And so this one cherished thing remains.

Live, Laugh, Love (Accoustic Poem)

Life is brief, and only once,
Inside we bring our own happiness,
Variety comes when we dare to try,
Echoing out for the world to see.


Laughter is a sweet song,
Absolutely our only bite of perfection,
Under and over, what belongs.
Goodness is in the weak laugh,
Happiness is in the strong laugh.


Longing for the something more,
Optimism and comprimise,
Very much belonging to
Everyone: Love.

I'm not a big fan whatsoever of accoustic poems.  Dislike them less then limericks, though.

Apparently...

Apparently you can't express your religious beliefs unless someone directly asks to know more, even when you strictly keep to an "I believe" thing, without them being angry and upset and whatever.
Apparently you can't add anything remotely religious in writing without someone being upset by it, especially something meant to be uplifting, unless they're the same religion.

It's so stupid.

EFY Post

There is something to be said for a friend; something more to be said to a friend who becomes a hero.  It's strange how the heroes fade in our lives, sparkling lights that touch our very hearts.  From nameless, faceless heroes miles and miles away, to someone we've known since "forever" (and eternity), to someone who just smiled at us.  They let us know: The struggles you're having are yours, but you don't have to bear them alone.  (For Christians, they've been beared in the exact same way before).  Life is difficult, but worth it.
If this is the case, then I have one request.  Let me be one person's hero.  Let me show them charity, that amazing pure love of Christ, and let them know they're loved.
You, everyone who reads this, is a spirit son or daughter of our Heavenly Father, a sister or brother to our sweet Savior, and I want you to know:
I love you.  He loves you.
You are not alone.

Poems Are Easy to Understand

"Uhhh... what, Kuna?  Have you lost your mind... for reals this time?"

No, no I haven't.  But think about it.
Poems are personal intrepretation.  They're about what you think and feel while reading the poems.  And then there's the straight-forwared, black-and-white ones which clearly state what's going on.  And then there's one that are a mix of the two.  Black and white, but may have an underlining meaning up for personal interp (a good example - and one of my favs - is "The Road" by Robert Frost).
I mean, I understand that feelings can be hard to get.  They're not always clear, and often mixed.  Thoughts, however, usually are understandable.
So next time you read one of my poems, tell me what YOU think of it.  Because while I may have my own meaning, poems are about YOUR ideas.

Something (I Don't Actually Know), and This is a Poem

Some call me a dreamer,
But I am what I am,
How can I change?
I hold my hands pressed together,
Trying not to cry.
It's the simplest things these days.
I taste what simply is,
The existance of regret,
A tangy memory begot
Of broken hearts and slamming doors,
Walking out and nobody knows.
The suitcase is packed,
And I undo it all.
Shaking hands, sobbing heart,
I curl up in a corner of no escape,
I reach out and pull my hand back,
I don't want their help.
The ceiling's rough and so's my heart,
And slowly we're both falling apart,
The ceiling will one day be crumbled in dust,
And my heart will one day be fragments of what was.
I scrabble for that piece of love,
That day when I was happy.
Little ones never seem to notice such idle obvious things
Such as race or hair or clothes,
Like we do know,
Just to get an excuse to discriminate.
Little ones never have had any complications
Beyond stolen crayons and minor fights,
But what I've had is a hope that silently fights,
Its only shield the love that comes in and falls out,
Again and again.
So bruised, battered, broken,
I drag myself to another day,
I swear to love and break my heart,
Because when you love the world there's only disappointments.
But I've learned something in these fourteen years,
That disappointment is better then hatred, stark and still,
And if you're disappointed you're less likely to be bitter.
So I watch the sun and fake a smile,
I listen to a song,
I'm tied together with a smile, but I'm coming undone.
And I wonder to myself,
How could I be this way inside?
How can I feel so old when I'm so young,
And yet be a scared little girl?

ABSO-FREAKIN'-NOTHING!

Here's a song:
<iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ob5i_hrmQ74" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
AND THERE IS NOTHING I WANT TO DO.  I want to do something - something - but my muse is all "blegh" and I look around and it's "No, nope, not that, nope..."  I mean, what the flip?
I've probably just been sitting here... bored... for the past ten minutes not doing anything.  I've tried checking the Neoboards, I've flipped back and forth between BT and Doll Palace stories...
And now I'm here.  I'll try Facebook now -.-

Kunabee has a gaaammeee!

Okay.  Well.  A kinetic novel.  Made with Ren'Py.  Yeah.  Ren'Py's awesome, by the way: www.renpy.org
So now I post it here.  Feel free to play it.  Comment to me about anything wrong or whatever; feedback is loved.  Just be polite!

Windows: http://www.4shared.com/file/aUOpgDth/The_Blue-win32.html
Mac: http://www.4shared.com/file/Mvj9j1oi/The_Blue-mac.html
Linux: http://www.4shared.com/file/0vEEvkhB/The_Blue-linux-x86tar.html

I'm also working on a different one (have been for a while).  I'm seriously excited, because it seems like it's possible.  The other one (which is long and actually a visual novel) is called "The Fire-Moon" and I am nowhere NEAR done.
But this is with a really long first part and a little bit of the second part, when there's four parts.  So.

Enjoy The Blue!

I Post Way Too Many Poems

It's true, I do.  I mean, look at my blog history.  Poem, poem, poem.  And then I post poems on The Doll Palace.  And on my guild on Neopets.  And... basically: People might read it, I FREAKING POST IT.
I'm not sure if that's normal o_o  Actually, fairly sure it's not.  BUT WHAAATTEEEVVVVERRRR, NORMALNESS IS BORING SO THERE! >D
Speaking of poems, HERE'S ANOTHER ONE =D
(and way too many caps ^)

Pat the ground and pat the heart,
A growth of which we are all a part,
Share this land and share this time,
I promise that it's not a crime,
To love, to hope, to show kindness dear,
How can we have gotten from there to here?

Solution (poem)

If I had a wish,
I'd wish for love to be shown and given freely,
No longer withheld, controlled, and ignored,
Instead, everyone knows someone cares,
And everyone really does.

If I had a wisdom,
I'd be wise in wishes,
They're slow to come and sometimes,
They will never ever come true,
But I'd know to believe.

If I had a belief,
It would be a belief in something bigger,
Bigger then you and me,
Someone who had a plan,
And loved freely.

If I had a love,
It would be towards the whole world,
Because it's hard to believe but so vital,
Yet it's easy to hope and hold out,
If you've never had pain.

Yes,  if things were simple,
These are how things would be,
But they're never simple,
Rather they pick the complicated road,
And the codes discourage all.

If there was a solution,
The solution would be for all,
Rather then just one or two,
It could save us if we only tried,
The solution is too hard to find.

Entwined Idea

It is strange how things turn out.  Sephosa and Lyran never expected to become entwined.  Mates in life, now they are eternally connected, forming the Heart.  Or so the legend goes.  As the statues and paintings of them hang in shrines abound, people have forgotten the Old Way.  Some believe Sephosa and Lyran do not exist, but they do.
Sephosa has grace and compassion, a tenderness to all around.  She provides protection and healing to N'yun.  Lyran is cunning and devious.  He tricks, but only those who have greatly hurt others.
Worshipped as gods, Lyran and Sephosa have forgotten they are only great spirits.  So the Greatest One has anger.  Yet in anger, there is mercy.
So Lyran and Sephosa will have their spirits trapped within two mortal lovers.  From here, they can do nothing but influence those who they are trapped in.  And N'yun will continue to worship them, until Lyran and Sephosa can cause the lovers to change.
If they fail within these mortal lifetimes, N'yun will be destroyed and Sephosa and Lyran will be seperated.

Interuption for the poetry.  Tell me what you think. *pokes above*

Gimp Rocks

So uh, I was messing around on Gimp.  I created this:

In my creation of "Old Man Stan" as I called him, I found out OMG YOU CAN MAKE LAYERS OPAQUE!!!!  I saw a fairly cool example of that, so I wanted to do it too!  This is what I produced:

I call it "Entwined" after the opaque lettering.  See that?  I'm really proud of this one.  GLOWING SNAKE... things.  I wanna create graphics for a website or forum or something now, LOL.

Anyway, I'm determined to incorperate "Entwined" into... something.

Whole

It starts out a piece of perfection,
But chipped, one single flaw,
That can save or break,
Crack or heal.

Some choose to work hard on that flaw,
So it's nearly invisible,
Almost completely healed,
And barely there.

Others, forget it or maybe they ignore,
And it cracks, spreading,
But they remain whole,
Just cracked.

And most break
No longer whole,
But a piece remains,
Always lost in time.

Some who break search forever,
Always looking for the piece,
They have a memory,
They are never complete.

Others work hard,
Patching with prayer and love,
They will be whole again,
They earn back the trust.

Most try but something pulls them back,
Everyone sees but nobody helps,
They're too scared but some aren't,
And they offer a guiding hand.

And the ones who recieve help,
Can go many ways,
Help comes in many forms,
Help comes in many ways.

Some accept the help,
And pull themselves out fast,
Out of the pit of despair,
Out of their own hell.

Others ignore the help,
They say it never comes,
They hate themselves and blame everyone else,
And fall back down again.

Most accept the help,
And then over time they gain love,
Faith, hope, dreams, and trust,
And find their place.

So in silence some sit,
Making themselves whole again,
So in silence some stay,
Wanting to be whole again.

In a rare case,
One shatters the person,
Someone else,
But they live on.

They always gather help,
They always love,
Fixing themselves with needle and thread,
And they do everything they can.

They pull themselves together,
They always stick together,
I was broken by another,
And I am whole again.

Regret - An I Am poem

I am the place of regret,
Where all go to in time,
But mostly those forgetful.
I wish that they would learn,
The people who tread in here,
It's only mind and mistakes are ordinary.
I understand how hard it is
To live and love
But how can we forget why we are born?
I say, "Can you not see?"
And they ignore  my words,
Or maybe they can't hear.
I wonder who knows such things as joy
When all I see is pain in their faces,
And it's not alright.
I am the sadness that they hold,
When they make a mistake,
And never do they learn.

Peace

Echoing halls and echoing hearts,
Both are empty, all a part
Of a grander scheme, a broken dream,
But still some find solace and peace.

The lightning-quick change as the river flows,
Falling off water falls and falling off hope,
There are some who sit in the middle,
Theirselves and at peace.

Five Questions

Why
Do we always assume
We are better?

What
Happens when we say
We have never?

When
Will we show what we say,
We have had enough?

Who
Will be the first to smile when,
We forget love?

Where
Can we go after all is lost and,
We think it's okay?

How
Can we possibly forget
What we share?

Re: Trinkets

My mother wrote a poem called "Trinkets" on her blog.  Check it out: www.myspacebetweenmyears.blogspot.com.  In response to that poem, I'm going to write a poem of the same name.  It shall be short.  It also turned out longer then I expected.

The box remains closed,
Yet with shaking hands it is opened,
And inside she places three things,
Hope, faith, and dreams.
Never let them be broken,
For they are my trinkets,
Her whispered words say.
And as she rids herself of the past,
The future dawns anew,
And with love and tears,
She gives it her all,
For no matter the misery,
The self-hate given to denial,
And regret, and unable to show his love,
She will always show what he never could.

And now I'm going to post another poem.