This poem makes me laugh. I wrote it. When you read it, take the title literally “FORWARD” — very blunt, very straighforward: like I wish I could be sometimes. But only sometimes.:


Illeviate my tender soreness,
suppress my throbbing pains;
Love, — I plead –, come back, relax to me
so that I might release this infalliable infatuation.

It ends this night,
this eternal aching (on my part);
I just may not fight fair, I plot,
so that my calculated blueprints might be successful.

My secrets unveiled in a thick flood,
my personal flood of emotional distress and agony;
poor child — that must have surprised your eyes
to the pinpoint of fright.

This night we pass by the surprise,
we turn about to our pleasure and the passion (don’t we?);
My Love, it is our turn to observe tension’s power
to the final destination of bend to break.


Bucket List!

A “Bucket List” is a list of things you wish to do before you “kick the bucket” — before you die.
A friend of mine, and me, obviously, made ours the past weekend.
Nothing on this list can be used against me; none of them have been fulfilled as of yet: they are all truthful wants, and each one has its secret meaning that you don’t or can’t know. So no judging, ladies and gentlemen. ;D

(1_) Share my first kiss with a boy I’ll remember, and who will remember me.
(2_) Bungee jump –twice
(3_) Go deep sea diving with professionals
(4_) Lose my virginity to my husband on our wedding night.
(5_) Make friends with a small town butcher.
(6_) Read a Jane Austen novel.
(7_) Visit Seatlle and have cobbler in a diner there.
(8_) Go whale-watching in Vancouver.
(9_) Explore the ruins of Old Rome.
(10_) Take a picture, personally, of Mt. Everest.
(11_) Go to the Australia Zoo in memory of Steve Irwin.
(12_) Visit Steve Irwin’s gravesite while there to pay tribute.
(13_) Meet David Mech.
(14_) Publish a novel.
(15_) Publish two poems.
(16_) Visit Vatican City.
(17_) Shake hands and have a conversation with an Alaskan crab fisherman.
(18_) Donate $1,000 to a family in need somewhere in the world, near or far.
(19_) Observe and photograph a wild wolf pack.
(20_) Meet and thank an active soldier.
(21_) Drive through and stay at a bed-‘n-breakfast in a small American town.
(22_) Sip a fruit smoothie on a Hawaiian beach.
(23_) Decorate my own house for the first time.
(24_) Take an Anatomy class.
(25_) Get a Master’s degree.
(26_) Help build something important.
(27_) Befriend a soldier.
(28_) Learn how to read music.
(29_) Learn how a clock works.
(30_) Be in two places at once.
(31_) Tour through Washington D.C. with a native.
(32_) Spend the night under the stars.
(33_) Skinny dip in a river with friends just because we can.
(34_) Have a true ‘Girls Night Out’: dancing, drinking — no guys.
(35_) Cuddle by a bonfire.
(36_) Eat at a Bobby Flay restaurant.
(37_) Watch a Civil War reenactment.
(38_) Visit the beaches of Normandy, Omaha.
(39_) Be the leader of something.
(40_) See and photograph a glacier.
(41_) Go to my Senior Prom, all dressed up with happy spirits.
(42_) Go to a real fashion show.
(43_) Visit Ireland and stay for two weeks.
(44_) Go to a real genuine music venue.
(45_) Graduate from a four-year college.
(46_) Believe in love.
(47_) Witness a miracle.
(48_) Do something reckless.
(49_) Visit Madagascar.
(50_) Adopt an animal.
(51_) Stay at a lake house.
(52_) Fly in an airplane.
(53_) Know all the neighbors on the street of my first house personally.
(54_) Have a true best friend.
(55_) Visit Boston, Massachussets.


Another poem. 🙂 I’m writing alot these days:

My yearning burns, aches,
a yearning to be like so many other
wonderful, glorified
individuals who have found their
Significant Only
and lived happily from there after.

I suppose it is my inner female romanticism that presses
this love journey to my mind;
I long to be more moving within another’s conscious
— to be adored and held, protected and treasured; —
I want to be an unrivaled,
untested, trusted

The tears come fast, and quiet.
I shed them privately,
’cause no person who is already experiencing their love’s
beautiful magnificance
could possibly remember the empty feeling of longing,
and pity me for it.
The world would see false, teenage emotions that deserve
not a second synapse of thought.

Without the first touch to her lips,
or even the possibility of an immature success story,
how will she ever achieve a worthy scene to replay
— in her mind —
when her worries run high?
And without observing herself, or anyone else for that matter,
in a fabulous marriage,
in the arms and safekeeping of a man who sees her
different from the mass,
she can only forever remember loneliness and infinite envy.

none of these love stories exist outside
the realm of characters and script,
but what of those intimate feelings
written about by muscians, screenwriters, and individuals
who claim to have observed such a
momentous love?
Do I simply trust that these same tales
are only that,

My most potent fear is for
me to never set my eyes upon thou who I will love;
to remember the embrace of another
who longs for me, for my kiss,
and my touch;
to never approach a minister of the church
in a long, white wedding gown,
and give my heart away to the only man I trust;
to not get the chance to live with this
man I adore
until the last breath leaves my lungs.
That is my fear.

My Story

I have alot to share with you all, and this is one of the four things I have written since my computer was trashed. It blue-screened, I am currently using my mother’s laptop instead, and so I am not sure when I will be able to get back to regular updates for the blog. But I am going to try 🙂
I wrote this is an emotional state of melancholy — it is simply something that I wanted to get down on paper before the weak nuisances of my brain tarnished the facts and images I remember about that time period. The poetry is all mine, as sketch as it is, as are the fact and phrases. The time period was September 11th, 2001.

A story you’ve probably heard 1,000 times, from 1,000 different perspectives.

1st period, Fourth Grade

The day steel rained down;
The day over a thousand were found;
The day Americans ran for cover;
The day our history was changed forever.

September 11th, 2001 was as hectic and as sorrowful for your childrens’ generation as it was to those of you who are older. We, as children, had to sit or stand and watch as an unseen force dropped our world’s bottom right out from under it.
For me, a fourth grader sitting at a small metal desk, I was appalled at the confusion on the teacher’s television screen as the camera panned and the towers fell.
So many people died — so many jumped and burned that day; I felt privelaged to breathe, and also to live far away from New York City. As an aging teenager now, I can appreciate my teacher for allowing us to look on in silence as the deadly story was written, but I also curse her for damaging our youth with the footage of such a savage catastrophee LIVE.
I watched, with my own two eyes, the smoke billowing out from the first impact on the first tower, choking and stranding those people on the floors above it. I watched as secondary explosions rang out; as breathing, living bodies sailed towards the ground, and kept my eyes glued also to the frantic news reporter who was so positive our world was at its end.
And I saw, frozen with innocent fright, a second plane, giant, come into the television frame, soaring for the last time over the smaller New York buildings, before it carved a jagged hole in the upper middle half of Tower Two. The airliner sliced through glass, concrete, and steel like a hot knife sliding through butter.
I still recall that feeling of grounding, ultimate adrenaline as the last of my youthful innocence plunged into the streets below in a mass of steel, dust and bodies.

In one day so many firemen fought;
In one day so many hearts were distraught.
It is not a day we will ever forget–
we remember —
not as the day America was broken,
but as the day she was finally pulled together again.


(I wrote this, in humorous spirits, the first night that I was under “restriction”. It amuses me. -shrugs-):


Out of Service.

The subtle current of electricity that doth power me to do great things has been stripped from my hands.

My eyes fix back to their undialated, deglossed brown frames, while my sides begin to quickly thin. I am melting.

My connection with the outside world has been breached; furthermore, the companionship and subsequent chain of loyalty I have to my downloaded friends has been broken. I have been abandoned in a world of stagnant disillusion, and my inner computer fears it might drown in this loading world forever.

Without any cable cord or signal, the thoughts and feelings that are frequently released to my closest subjects will back up, forcing me to this pen and this parchment so much that I fear madness.

I do not blame the Retched One who tooketh my power away – I only plead mercifully, silently, that it may be returned to me before the madness takes hold and my creations are lost to this world forever.

To those who now will worry for my sanity and pledge my freedom, I reach out for you. Not virtually, of course, but literally, so that you might yank me from this putrid dead zone and welcome my eyes back into the world of activity and connection.

Wedding Date

Love, love, love, love, love, love, love.

I really do adore that movie. In fact, it’s one of my favorites. My favorite quote? The very famous:

..I would rather fight with you than make love with anyone else.”
– Nick

-dreamy sigh-


Dermot Mulroney, who plays Nick in ‘The Wedding Date’, I adore. He is both very handsome, and very good at acting. He does the “brooding, hunky hooker” spinoff very well. ;].

I actually watched the entire movie this morning (saved from STARZ onDemand), instead of trying to piece together the tidbits I’d seen of it in the past. I give it 4.5 stars; -laughs-.

The whole idea of such a flawed, epic romance makes me smile during movies, but it always gives you an empty, fidgety sort of feeling. You suddenly want that to be your story, and it never is.

I don’t know; I’m not going to get all philosopical on you guys tonight — not really in the mood.

summer ’99


That night the rain began to pour
on a young couple
a quiet, carefree pair.
There was no love affair, no three-act drama,
only the care of a pair who had done nothing wrong.

She pulled him to cover
beneath a quiet, lumber giant, and let loose
a giggle
unrivaled, that proved infectious to his jubilant heart.

The air was Louisiana thick, the weather sour,
still he held her close, in his arms, at this yawning hour.
The sweet musk of twilight fell upon them,
like a dew upon the grass,
and their soft breathing was the only thing to hear at last.

She smiled at him, and him at her,
as she swept the rain from his brow.
‘I love you,’
he said.
‘I loved you then,
I’ve loved you since,
I love you now.’

That rushed Summer feeling swept over her then;
this time with her Only would last only just to
be crushed at the beginning of Fall.
A delicate hand caressed his cheek,
as the storm drummed on,
and she kissed him
with all that was left and pure in this fight.

The fight against time,
a fight against place.
Two carefree lovers lean upon each other
for the strength they have not.

‘Summer will last,’ he spoke,
warm and loyal.
‘May it never end.
The gods might very well smite me for speaking it,
but it is you I will keep,
as close to my soul as my heartbeat.
You, the one I love,
beyond limit and compare.’

They stay this way,
a frozen picture frame of fragile care,
for the length of two months, before the calling of each
broken and bent, drag them home.
Fall waits for no man;
it waits for no woman;
it waits for no beast, no dove,
and for no sweet summer love.

Time passes, however stagnant and still,
until that generation is gone.
Another takes its place.
One more pair stands together there on a hot, rainy night,
clinging to each other
and the hope that Fall just might

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