Sorry for the sorta long absence, you guys — but I was at my aunt’s/grandmother’s for the past five days without computer or internet. So sorry.

But I have good news? 😀

I wrote three poems (on paper o_O) down while I was gone, that I’d like to share with you all, if you’d let me. The first is titled “I Will”:

For you
I would save the world,
I would drink the ocean,
I would walk thru flames.

For you
I would give up anything,
I would give into chaos,
I would surrender my life.

For you
are my world,
are my strength,
are my smile.

For you
are my muse,
are my love,
are my only adoration.

Now this poem, unlike many of the others I’ve given you, is not about anyone particularly. Yes, it’s a “love poem”, but just an example of one, not one of my many affectionate messages. This was simply wrote for my enjoyment, like “Sleep, my Beloved” was.
This next one is called “Gravitation”. No, I’m not writing Sci-Fi poetry yet 😉 It is another sort of gravitation:

I shall
not help it.
Whether or not it is
fair and true
for me to love you,
I can find not one snap
of doubt in my mind.

My blues
lock to you,
skimming past your face,
out of place
are the feelings
I have for you too.

As you skim this room,
you flash your smile.
I sit for a while,
watching the fine
girl sip my wine
by your side.

That beautiful side
I used to rest near,
to tickle your neck–
and breathe in your ear,
now has hanging upon it
a siren so clear-ly
weaving her song
to pull you away.

As the one before it, “Gravitation” is written for pleasure, not message. It’s almost a story idea, for me, but one that has been written since the dawning of Shakespeare’s Ro & Ju, and I do not wish to write it again. A simple poem did it for me, in meaning, in purpose.
This last one is much different in tone than the last two; it’s called “My Sweet Lies”. This poem is both desperate and rushed, moreso than the last, because it may be spoken by someone on their death bed:

Lie to me, my sweet,
lie and make me believe
so that I might accept these
delusions of grandeur
and no longer envy
those of sane mind and conscious.

Lie to me, my love,
and promise that you’ll stay here
by my side
until the last shade of white
leave my skin,
 and my thoughts lose their sense.

Lie to me, oh dear,
the dark is coming fast.
It has arrived now
to cut the tendons,
the ties,
that bind me to this world
and you.

So lie to me, my sweet,
to keep me unaware.
Tell me of great cities,
brilliant men,
and delicate pretties.
Do this deed for me,
so I can rest with peace
and comfort,
sure that my life has been
so fulfilled with wonder.


I have news & an addiction. :P

My heart has stopped aching;
my mind is beginning to spin and whir with new ideas and confidences;
I have new outlets to express my anger and my kindness,
so maybe I will not feel as alone this year coming;
and the last flickering flame that I held for any boy is,
alas, at last,
dying out.

-cheers- To new beginnings?
No, this is no poem — it wouldn’t be up to my standards 😉 — those are just a few key points that I’m grasping as I head into this 2009-2010 school year. I have a little over 3 weeks before I start school again, and I couldn’t be happier to do so. I love summer because it helps you identify with yourself and your friends more than you are able to during the fall and spring times; if that makes any sense at all. When you are by yourself for so long, the time spent makes you look at every crevice of yourself; and when you aren’t required to see all of your friends every week, the specific acquaintenances you do seek out over the summer must mean more to you (consciously or subconsciously) than others.

Some goals of mine, like finishing up ‘Jasper’ or getting a great deal more writing done on ‘Base’, were not kept. It was not partially my fault: the laptop that I work on both stories on cut out on me, and I still have to bring it to a family friend to get it fixed. But we don’t have the money right now (financial instability), so I’m stuck with writing everything I must on pen and paper, unless I can get ahold of my mother’s laptop (which I’m on now).

But other goals that I didn’t know were going to be given to me did emerge: Candy, my personal trainer, for instance. She is helpling me a great deal to see the true person under this physical image. She’s helping me to stop giving myself excuses for the wrongdoings I’ve done in the past, and to, instead, look to the future and set accomplishable goals for myself. 2008-New Years, as my resolution I promised myself that I would stop caring what other people thought of my outside, and love who I was on the inside. And truthfully, there were some depressing days where I wasn’t sure if I could keep that promise or not, but I am proud to say that I am still standing strong on caring only about my opinion, and not of those judgementals around me. That I am happy about.

Another surprising twist that my mind had in store for me this summer was writing poetry. I was never too big-a fan of poetry in the past — sure, who doesn’t like some Shakespeare; but the complicated stuff, the poems that are 3945948059 pages long and spoken with “thees, thous, and doths” always irritated me.
But now it is as if my appetite for poetry is insatiable. I like writing it and reading over what I’ve written — heck, I even like editing it. && that’s a big difference from when I’m writing on my narratives, because I loathe editing those. It takes too long, and I always have writer’s block for a few days after I edit a long chapter.

But editing, writing, and understanding poetry is effortless.

ALSO I’ve come to a decision! In college next year, and for hopefully the next four years (after my Snr. year of course) I will be double-majoring in Psychology and English. My minor is going to be Zoology, only because the #1 college of my choice does not offer Zoology as a major.

I filled out my first application form this morning, for Moorhead-Fargo Minnesota, “MNU”. 😀

It is my top school.

My other choices: Twin Cities, MN (Minnesota State College); Seattle, WA [state] (University of Washington); and Billings, MT (University of Montana: Wildlife Conservatory & Forestry).

But Minnesota really sounds like the right place for me. I talked to a current student there (over the phone), and I was asking her all sorts of questions like campus size, people diversity, club diversity, & whether or not they have a Greek system. Because the Greek system fascinates me — I’m not sure yet if I’d like to pledge a sorority or not  (maybe too intense and “judgy” for my taste) — but the whole culture satisfies the inner-psychologist in me. =)

As a sidenote, to all my procrastination-loving peeps: http://omgpop.com I’m addicted to Balloono.


This is my oldest poem I could find to date. September, I think.
It has been altered, edited to make it sound better, but it is still the same idea with alot of the same words:

I could feel the electricity,
through my jacket sleeve,
as I pressed my clothed hand into his,
letting this guide pull me along
to wherever he might wish.

The reluctance to drop his hand was unbearable,
but he made the first motion.

I remember my thoughts
spinning, unsure,
when he reached out to me.
Come now, he said,
and I marveled at his porcelain skin
before laying my hand in his
and following him after her.

Such a simple,
minute action
should not send me into such a hyperly aware,
smiling state.
But it did.
It was forbidden,
yet still I craved it.


Oh, c’mon! You know me and you didn’t expect a vampire poem eventually?

Fanged debauch,
cunning trickster,
whom draws the very breath
of birth
— life —
from its helpless victim
after victim.

which does not see the difference
between the rich and the poor,
the good and evil;
at a glance, its lazy glare
only registering
warm-blooded or cold.

A thirst which cannot be quenched,
throat screaming
with delicious agony;
hands that cannot be warmed
by campfire light, or steam;
two eyes drowning in red,
blazing eternal anger,
filled to the chilled skin
with the blood and breath of its prey.

— the life of a romanticized vampire.

“They Who Do Not Know”

Wow. Yeah. This poem was kind of out of the blue — it was the Fourth of July, and after Katrina was asleep I couldn’t seem to go to sleep, so I got up and jotted this down really fast. I perfected it a little bit once I woke up. 🙂 What do you think? Should I trash it?

The starworks burst
and their colors fly,
rushing fast to their finale,
and seen to be a beauty by the eyes
that watch them die.

As she splits the evening crowd,
visions set to the sky,
she has to only lift her arms high,
to the beauty
confident and sound:

‘Just before the ideas of July,’
she declares,
her tone as icy blue
as the satin gown she wears,
‘you will all have your wishes,
your fourth of July dishes,
and (why)
you doth cry?
you haven’t a blue.’

The celebration of a distant independence
has the subtitute of mistake,
and repentance.

And as each starwork bursts
and each color doth fly,
the sins of your present,
and the knowledge of your past,
cancel out,
leaving us all insignificant playthings
at the ends of which strings she holds.

“By the Starlight”

I love poetry at this point. :)!

The stars blink at me from their heavenly canvas.
They are lighthouses to guide me,
flashing beacons millions of years older than us all.

I watch one flutter and streak
across the pitch blackness,
and disappear without a word.

I fantasize that someone, somewhere,
maybe here on Earth,
or out on some undiscovered planet,
watched that flame die out with me.
It makes me feel somewhat less alone.

Ah, and there is another!
One more joyous kinship drawn together by the night sky.
I marvel at their beauty.
I admire nothing but open.


This poem was actually one I typed out on my phone and saved to my drafts a couple months ago. I like it because of it’s “star-crossed” tone. So this isn’t exactly my best work, but is another one of my little creations I wanted to share with you all. If anyone is even reading this anymore 🙂

“Sleep, my Beloved.”

Yep. You guessed it.

Another poem.

He curls up here beside me,
pressed arm against arm,
leg against leg
–I feel safe, relaxed;

Snuggled against my warm beloved,
I feel his every breath
–I can sense the flicker of each thought
as it brushes his mind.

With extreme reluctance I move
to arise and meet the morning,
but his arms tighten,
as a vise,
 holding me to him as he sleeps.

The subtle ways he tells me
he loves me
–even while unconscious–
warm my heart to him,
and each night another part of my soul
is placed in the palm of his hand
to do with what he wishes.