what's in a name?

Don’t take away my name
The one thing that stays the same
In this twisted game
Of ignoring, pushing forward, forgetting;
Pretend we never met, change this setting
But I’m betting you remember my name.

Get the hell out of my bed.
At least, the version that's stuck in my head
From the times we spent all day
Close, whispering, in that comfortable way
Didn’t matter what we’d say
You may remember my bed.

I’ll change my sheets, cut my hair
Pierce my ear, try not to care
That you pierced more than my heart
But you don't remember that part.
Next time I'll be more cautious to start
I'll be more than a name

an exchange

"Here's your sweatshirt back"
"Forgot you had it. Do I have anything of yours?"
"No" Just everything.

replay

You charm me but disarm me
I should learn from my mistakes
and yet I mistook your words again
and increased the stakes
til the wound was opened
But I'll pretend I misunderstood.
"Sure, it's all good."

keep me where the light is

The performers felt the energy blossom within their souls like the flowers of early spring as they waited for the curtain to open. The young buds in bloom were anticipating the sunlight’s radiance, which would nourish their dreams and allow them to thrive in the only environment conducive to their existence. In the darkness backstage, the actors were exposed to their own thoughts, their own despair, their own sorrow. And because the young actors yearned for warmth, for belonging, for sanctuary, they sought to absorb the sunlight of for their souls- the spotlight. And since they struggled separately offstage, they sought the comfort of struggling as one, together, in the act known as theatre. Thus the small parts and the leading roles and the crew members became whole, under the brilliance of the lights.
When the curtain opened the most wondrous of all magical experiences took place: the actors worked in unison to tell a story to the audience. Stories were woven from individual people; people who, for the duration of the show, forgot about all previous misfortunes. The burdens of homework, college applications, the looming future, the daily family argument; they all vanished as the curtain opened. The warmth of the spotlight washed away every sliver of disappointment. The actors became the characters and parts of a new world only they could live in. A grand transformation had occurred, right in front of the audience.
The individuals that once were Leading Male and Sound Engineer and Prop Manager and Dancer had all become Performers, working towards the same goal: expressing an idea to viewers. Try to leave an impact on just one person; fuel someone to feel emotions, someone who had forgotten that happy tears exist; touch one person’s life. There. A single tear trickles down someone’s face and the Performers have accomplished a world of good. Each allows the spotlight to fill their souls, and in return the performance heals the souls of onlookers. Thus a cycle of pure fulfillment develops.
Each night the show’s power cured broken individuals; the Performers savored every trace of the bonds formed among those who put on a show, they basked in the comfort of the spotlights, they experienced the high produced by the sheer energy from standing on stage, they discovered how to channel their talents into a kind of entertainment so exhilarating and precious that everyone in the room could sense the love that was put into each line of each scene. Live theatre is a spiritual process.
Each night the show offered an escape to the audience, who had not the slightest hint of how the production was created. The illusion produced requires perfection, creativity, and insanity. The pre-show rituals are endless and distinguished among each Performer.
Want to sing a prayer before we go on?
Sure, let’s harmonize to the one we always sing. It’s so soothing.
I know. Let’s go in the corner. And we have to whisper.
True. Don’t want anyone’s body mic to pick up the sound.
And each night, catastrophes were avoided. The shows ran smoothly despite the one leotard that somehow walked out of the dressing room, the cues that were called a millisecond too early, the props that were set on the wrong side of the stage, and the inevitable costume changes that had to be executed in under a minute. Every second is valuable.
Hey, can you unzip this? It’s a fast change.
Of course. Remember to unclip your mic before you switch shirts.
Got it. Thanks.
Conversations are hushed and brilliant solutions must be reached seconds after an obstacle arises because the show continues no matter what. The spotlights will proceed to glimmer down on the stage and those who grace it. The story must be told regardless of the mic that stopped working in the second scene or the embarrassing wardrobe malfunction caused by the pants zipper that broke during a lightning fast costume change. It’s a wonder individuals are willing to subject themselves to such uncertainties, potential humiliation, and stress.
But in some, the energy will always continue to blossom within their souls like the flowers of early spring.

girls in the mirror

we
we danced
we danced together when we were younger and didn't have a care in the world as we strummed our blow up guitars to the music in a toddler's mind standing on top of a toy box.
but now, we dance around each other instead of with.
we live in separate realms where we think separate thoughts.
we live, love, and meet
together occasionally when we dance to the same beat. But these moments are fleeting.
The same bathroom mirror reflects the same conversations we have every morning and the shared moments that sometimes only occur while getting ready on chaotic mornings, in transit to different moments with different people thinking different thoughts about the world than we did.
but we did, we always will be those girls in the mirror who were reflections of each other only captured by the reflection in the mirror.

Scenes from a Fifth Grade Wallflower

He was a new student from Arizona who entered my 4th grade class.
He spiked his bangs like the rest of the boys did to look cool.
He once blocked a goal in gym class by doing a perfect center split.
He did martial arts at the talent show on the last day of school.
He sat next to me in Ms. Conron's 5th grade class, the first time we really talked.

"Isn't it funny how we never talked until recently?" he asked, eyes shining.
"That's just because our seats are next to each other," I replied coldly.

He moved away, he moved back, and then entered the lives of others. He easily slipped out of my own, something that tends to happen after elementary school graduation.

One day this past spring, I walked to my bus alone. He was walking towards the school, and our paths crossed for a flicker of a moment. He looked up at me and waited to see if I would offer a hint of recognition, warmness, anything. I smiled and waved, he returned the greeting, and we went off in our separate directions.

"Truck fatally strikes Warren Township teen on Route 78." He hasn't been in a class of mine since Ms. Conron's fifth grade class, and now he never will. You can hardly know someone, but when that someone is gone, your mind becomes illuminated with the ghosts of conversations past.

random memory

I remember when I was in elementary school, my dad took my sister and I for a ride to the supermarket. He explained that some people were not as lucky as we were, and then proceeded to describe to us what a ‘random act of kindness’ was. The words seemed important, but I did not yet understand their meaning. We reached the supermarket, which had some people shopping who looked like they wished they could buy more. Those people must have been the not as lucky ones my dad had talked about before. My dad gave an envelope with some cash in it to a father and son who were shopping nearby, and they thanked him graciously. I don’t remember the amount of money in the envelope, but that is not what matters. What matters is that right then and there, the mysterious words clicked. I learned that anyone could perform a random act of kindness, and the result made the receiver happy, which in return made the giver happy.

Second Decision

I've found that just being with the person you love makes all the problems in the world evaporate. Easy solution, no?

Unconventional Drawing Lessons

We are trained to draw neatly in our coloring books,
simply constrained by law to create uniform looks,
but my imagination prevails over ordinary tales.
Even crayons are confined
by the color names the companies have defined.
Jungle Green, Aquamarine, Atomic Tangerine-
what do mere labels on wrappers mean?
Pink Flamingo, Desert Sand, Sky Blue-
these names serve to hint towards the specified hue
represented by each described entity.
But I live in a world without prescribed identities.
I dream of orange flamingos roaming through a green desert.
And purple! Purple shall illuminate the sky,
for I live in a world where I don’t hesitate to ask why.
So I’ll rip the wrappers from my child’s crayons, setting them free.
I’ll unbind her mind and just
let
her
see.

my life rhymes?

Little black dress and nowhere to wear it to
I'll pretend I didn't get dressed up for another night I won't spend with you

Nature's ugly dance

Our faults, they cause earthquakes.

To hault human nature makes

the impossible task,
for we hate to unmask our imperfections.

We challenge fate and ignore our affections

and let the lava bubble below the surface

where no archeologist could uncover our purpose

but then again, neither could you or I.

We fake for no known sake,

and it takes some time to awaken

the person behind the fault lines

which move, shift, and grind
away at the faults of others.
Subtle attacks, muddled facts,
misunderstandings, blundered landings-
each carries us farther from who we are meant to be.
It would be nice if everyone was born with a weather forecast for natural disasters.

to over-love, a verb

I find I tend to over-analyze but
my mind's nothing but paralyzed
since these memories turned to lies
I know the what but not the why's
all the hand-holding, hello's, and hi's
were nothing more than...wait let's rewind
I was happy but naive
but your actions, they deceive
but me, I have my flaws too
I over-think, over-love, over-believe
I think I over-believed in you
so I'll organize my thoughts
separate the truths among the knots
try to connect some dots
but this isn't done with such ease
so please, let the truth be simpler to handle than the flaming arrows you have thrown my way.
because me? I crave you
every time I will save you
but it's nice to be saved too.
so here's a slam in return for the slam you gave me
because this poet's words provide some sense of free
from the you who I never could leave

because the us is something
in which I still believe.

first decision

I sit here and wait for the words to flow from my fingers to the screen
but how can I describe jealousy's worst shade of green?
I sit here and use napkins because I can't find any tissues
but what I really can't find is the source to my issues.
I sit here and create problems when there clearly are none
but my soul's at war with my mind and it's unclear which has won.
I sat here and felt a sense of catharsis as my thoughts and the screen coincided
which only leads me to believe that I have decided.

Locked In

Well I'm locked in my house due to the weather, am not enthusiastic about studying for midterms, and I've decided to start one of these. Right now I just want to follow other blogs of friends, but I'm pretty unsure whether I'm the type of person who blogs at all. I like words I guess. At the time however, I am just undecided.