But I still have my secret weapon; This, my brave and hopeful heart.
It's been one of those weeks that just sap my energy completly.
I want nothing more than to just spend friday and the rest of the weekend in bed, sleeping or reading.


I hate fighting with you.
Even not fighting with you,
but still knowing that something is brewing;
something is just under the surface.

Goodevening,
if seeing you across the room
makes me smile this way,
then move a little closer.
Darling if you see me staring,
its the man I finally see.
I can't explain how
in the car I saw the man;
and he not knowing
how he means to me.
Fingers speaking to skin,
I cannot say how I knew then
the man was hiding.
I drink in your grave face and
cool mannerisms,
as you recklessly indanger
and enjoy.
My cheek feels yours;
if you care to know, it was warm and sweet.
Grave face and careless hands,
you look at me.
I am aware of your eyes, and how even though your mouth is grim, you are sparkling.
is that for me?
Your tongue tells me
my eyes are celery in the sunlight m'dear.
And my stomach flips.
Pity for the world wells up,
they are not in my place.

For Now, Heavens In New York

He had no poise
no drop dead looks
and yet,
this little crooked smile
played on his lips

and something about it became him.

Maybe its the lighting
Maybe its the timing.
his shirt
the way coffee jumps in my stomach.
maybe its me.

Maybe its me sitting here
with fresh eyes
and unused to clean air.

Maybe its the way the sun came out, or how he said "excuse me" so politely.
Or how the birds are out again, after so long.

Maybe its him.
And Me.

"[it's scary/it's glorious]"

you are the elephant in the room, fast asleep.
We tiptoe about you, careful, ever careful, so not to rouse you.
So you won't awaken and crush us all
[me]
Your weight, importance, cannot be discounted.
One day you'll open one weary eye
and see me again
- awakened and infuriated, you are less large gentle bumbling elephant, more calculating, wild, preditor animal. -
and you will try to reclaim me
with bright scary eyes
large fumbling hands.
And he who tiptoes with me
shall try to slay you.
How do you slay what also exists in the mind, as real as outside?
How do you banish what will mearly
easily
return?

She is wearing rags and feathers, from Salvation Army counters

it's odd, knowing that
everything i've regretted recently,

has lead me here to you, and your absense.
Every lover
with eyes that warm and hands that tear;
Looking around my workshop

[as it is tonight, just that] I see evidence
of myself in everything:
the stickie note above the bed, the cup of coffee and glass of water. A pair of heels. A kleenex box perched percariously on a stack of books. 5 notebooks in plain sight.
The absense of you.
The dreams [nighmares] skulking on the cealing, reaching down occasionally to tickle my face or pull my hair.
If I were brave, I'd deal with them.
Banishing some, letting others go - after tender goodbyes - and helping a few down, making them adjust and adapt to reality;
'til I once again have control

[in the absense of you]

a voice whispers : there is
poetry
in the dark my darling, and what are you?
Sandy gritty eyes [my own]
peel open to have a look about;
What poetry where? Who's darling am I tonight?
"What I am" has little consequence tonight - while voice unseeable whisper, priorities shit to accomidate them [& besides, the only part of that statement that is new to is not that]
What poetry?
The stuff in my mind, the words of madness' voice? Or is it perhaps under my pillow? At the foot of my bed, or hiding in a cup? Hovering above me [ in such case, perhaps it entered with our friend here]
I blink at the sand in my eyes.
When did time move from 1 to 4?
Why am I afriad - when did I find the time for his nightmare?
I shiver.
4 to 10am.
The poetry came with the sun.

I'll try to be brave like you

A foundling

He left himself on my doorstep,
abandoned in the shabby
basket of his own ribs.

My heart wept custard:
I took him in.

Warmed in the kitchen,
he swelled, absorbing.
He will not leave.
I am afraid to move him.

What should I feed him?

He never talks. He sits
in the middle of the kitchen floor
staring at the bright scars
traced on his body, fascinated.

At first
I thought that they were notched
on him by pain
but now I see

that they are only the coloured pictures
of places he once
lived, and think
that no-one else has ever been.

Sometimes, when Steven and I are driving,

we'll sing together, this song or that one.
Often:

"
The flower said I wish I was a tree
The tree said I wish I could be
A different kinda tree.
The cat wished that it was a bee.
The turtle wished that it could fly
really high into the sky
over rooftops and then dive deep into the sea.
And in the sea there is a fish
A fish that has a secret wish
A wish to be
A big cactus
with a pink flower on it.
And the flower would be its offering
of love
To the desert,
And the desert, so dry and lonely,
that the creatures would appreciate the effort.
"

I've spent my day waiting around for him to get home from work, so we can have dinner, then go to the carnival.
(First one of the year! YES!)
Expect pictures everyone!

























Close your eyes, clear your heart.
Cut the cord.
Are we human?
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital.
My hands are cold,
and I'm on my knees,
Looking for the answer.






I'm sure sometimes, we all have that crushing, overpowering need
to just
get the hell out.
Hop on a bus
head downtown.
Establish ourselves,
be independant,
be happy.

Are you happy?
Are you alright, dreaming of home,
in your own safe bed?
Do you close your eyes and see me
like that day?
You on the ground,
eyes to the sky,
me shaking if mirth,
on my knees to help you up?
Do you see as that,
or do you see me as my nightmares?
Taken over, small and glass.
Somedays I can't be sure
which you think I am.
Somedays I'm not sure which I actually am.
Somedays I want to sneak out my window,
because someone threw rocks at it.

I feel lighter since I've met you

Take a deep breath, steady myself...

Here I go.

You said I love you,

and I contridicted you.
You corrected yourself, humbled.
You told me you're falling for me.
And some how before I could question you,

the subject was quickly changed.

I'm in a bit of a whirl and a tizzy.
Were you just being your odd,

ironic sort of funny?
Do I really want this?
Do you?

Is this finally more than it's been,

finally closer to what I may have wanted?

I'm falling too.

I'll find some answers tonight,

one way or another, mark my words.

Today I was awake for the sunrise

There's nothing left to do but move forward,

I'm finally ready for something good.

I'll make friends with my past,

and try not to show that I'm scared.

I'll tell them I'm sorry,

tell them the truth.

I'll make sure they know

that I loved them.

The people in our lives save us

a little bit, each day.

For the first time in a long time,

I think I can make peace with you.

Maybe soon,

I can make peace with me.

I've been kinda down lately.
I don't know, maybe too many sad songs.
But you know when things all just feel...
too much?

Yeah.



I can't tell the difference between
black and white anymore.
It's quiet here today,
and I can hear the quiet
even if I hum to myself.
It's hard enough without feeling
like I've killed
this little part of you.
It was quite a lie
to make me think that this
was more than it was, I suppose.
My fault, or yours?
Cause I stood still,
I closed my eyes,
I let you take
all you wanted from me.
If I'm not to blame,
If I'm not the reason,
then what am I?
Heartbroken is extreme,
but battered and bruised sounds
close to me.
And nothings riding in
from the distance
to save me.
I've contridicted everything
I ever wanted.
I've left behind everything from
before
and am left
only with these
fragments
these bruises that
refuse to yellow and fade.
This hand that still aches
from that too-hard-squeeze.
Who am I,
now that I am no longer
defined by what you do?
In the night
I know I am defined by what you did.
By what I allowed.
I see you in every pair of hands.
You saw the terror in my eyes that day.
And you dare to ask me
why.
And you dare to beg me
and I dare to cry one more time,
before I fall asleep to be defined again.
I am doomed
to know that this is
unchangable,
and I am responsible,
that my anchor crushed me
and I am lost inside this quiet tonight.

Wow, it is chilly out today.

My friend had to work today, three shifts.
One at his full time job, two djing.
One of his djing jobs was outside near my house,
so i walked and brought him coffee and we hung out, got a bite to eat before he took me home, afterwhich he headed to his next dj gig.


Work. I've applied at McD's.
Wow, right?
Places like that crush my soul, but really,
as a teenager, I can't be picky about where I work.
Money is money, right? Right.
Really, what is there available for someone like me.

Qualifications:
- Writes 3 hours a day, at least
- Daydreamer
What is there out there for people like us?
Tom's a Dj. I wouldn't mind doing that actually. When I'm 18, I'll give it a try. The program he uses is really cool, and I could definitely be a great Dj.

But anyways, McDicks.
Well, what can I say? It can't be all that bad, right? All jobs suck when your young.

Take me home, I don't want to be alone
tonight


Once I saw you leaping over obstacles,
and I smiled, thinking how your energy was complimentary.
I lost sight of you for a while.
I forgot to look at you.
Once I saw you again, making your way uphill,
dropping everything for me,
and staying with me.
I didn't lose sight of you again,
but I guess I lost perspective

I guess I lost sight altogether.
And now?

I find myself content to play it by ear.
Is this really me?
I find it hard to believe.

Is this really how it is?
Is this really

real?

Alright so I'm redoing this post.

It was too screaming, although satisfying :)

One of my best friends, Tom, went to NYC to audition for theater schools.
He auditioned for three.

The Atlantic,
The AADA,
and some other place

As of tuesday, he was accepted into #1 and #3,
waiting on the letter from the AADA.

Wed he calls me.

He got the letter.

He's 3 for 3.

And whats more,

The AADA, the best theater school in North America
gave him an $8000 scholarship.

I did NOT accidently add an extra 0.

Eight thousand dollars.


I freaked out, majorly. As did he.

Tom is so talented. This is nothing less than what he deserves, working three jobs and all.
It's not a surprise, but it's exciting nonetheless!
Not surprising, but unreal!

I'm still full of bubbles and joy for you baby!!!!!

Him and I are going out friday night to celebrate.
We're going to cause a scene. :)