Crushed Heart Room (poem)

Put my heart in the crushed heart room

With all the other pathetic clichéd souls

Who were stupid enough to give away 

Their entire being

Put my tears in the vat of those 

Who say they’d do anything for him

But would rather just cry

Put my mind in the nursery

Of wretched obsessive teenage girls

As Taylor Swift rocks the pink sponges to sleep

But they will never sleep

Spinning constant tapestries of endless

Implausible fantasies 

Starring the one who left them behind

Play the world’s smallest violin 

For the sucker who almost 

Put her foot in her mouth

Thank God I found out before 

I wore my heart on my sleeve

But he just put his hand inside me

And crushed it

Before I could even tell him anything

So does it matter what I did?

And this isn’t poetry

I’m not doing anything really

Just trying to be alive

But why?

Trying to lose weight

For what?

Trying to keep my job

To survive

What’s keeping me here?

I can’t stop thinking that it isn’t true

That you were misquoted

But it’s the end

I can’t feed that poor brain 

Any more love propaganda

Without resistance

Acid reflux

How fucking romantic

He doesn’t think I’m worth being with 

So why should I be worth anything to anyone?

He ruined all the other guys for me

I let him do that

They’re just hot guys

I’d never date them

I just don’t know what to say or do

Can’t bother to rhyme

This isn’t a limerick

Or a Shakespeare play 

Or a Doctor Seuss book

I don’t know where to go

Why do anything?

I have to see him all the time

Hang out with him

He wants to string me along

Like a little balloon that he’ll...

...release to the sky

When he’s bored with it

Float up to the blue endless sky 

Tears blown away by the wind as he 

Walks away as if I was never in his hands

As he grows smaller and smaller

Irrelevant

Published and new poem

I can't say I'm not published now, because I am officially published in a literary magazine!  I found out about their call for submissions on Writerscafe and one of my poems impressed them, so now it is in a magazine called "Wednesday Night Writes."

https://sites.google.com/site/wednesdaynightwrites/current-issue

I also wrote a new poem, which I just finished editing today.  I don't even remember what riled me up to write this but it is kind of a culmination of my feelings on the skinny beautiful women we admire and tear apart with media.  While women are a victim of all these fads and diets and trends, I have a certain dislike (hate is too strong a word) for the people that wholeheartedly follow these trends, whether they help to enforce them and to create them or whether they are outside the trends and simply follow them...

I don't know if I should be saying more with this poem, but it has gone through a lot of adjusting (rhyme scheme, evening out the amount of lines in each stanza) and I feel proud of the finished product.  Maybe I will change it later.  I don't know at this point.  I personally like it.

Crumbling Under a Feather:

You strip naked and then

Display your protruding ribs and your gentle curves

Bask in the lust and admiration of drooling men

Glued to their MacBooks, fingers pressed to nerves

You think you are a sex symbol

Your beauty commands respect

Strong and nimble

Attention simply what you expect

But you’re wrong about your power

You’re weak, tied with a tether

A fragile, dainty flower

Crumbling under a feather

You do what they tell you to do

Tiny tits are better than sagging thighs

Body hair like buzzing flies

Cellulite

Overnight

You are a socialite

Swallow pills so hearty

Starve day after day as you become more vein

Stay up all night at parties

Prolong the pain

Hover over the toilet below

Half crying, half vomiting, hungover

Your guilty pleasures are reality shows

The Biggest Loser, Extreme Makeover

Love, sex and lust

Drive you to do this

Or maybe you just want trust

For someone to care instead of dismiss

The powder from the thick white sponge invades your nostrils

It is the bread, your red nail polish the wine

Vogue and Cosmo your glossy gospels

Your closet of designer shoes a shrine

Cocktail dresses and Gucci are your new burger and draught

Finding nourishment in Martinis, icy words

Why do you think this will make up for your past?

All it does is make it worse

Summer at University and Current Obsessions

Hello everyone!

I haven't posted much beyond just stories and poetry lately so I thought I would just generally ramble about my life right now.

Firstly, I seem to always announce my various "phases" and "obsessions" which seem to be constantly changing since I immerse myself in my obsession until I get extremely tired of it.  So, now I will announce what I am currently obsessed with.

Website: writerscafe.org

This is a really awesome website where you can post literally any kind of writing and a lot of your stuff will get reviewed.  It's really nice if you want feedback.  There are also several fun contests and I think even writing classes in which to participate.  You can even make your own contest, which is fun if you want to read writing in a specific category.  It also makes me feel kind of important, which is great because I have not been feeling important lately.

Here I am: http://www.writerscafe.org/HedonisticHermit

deviantart.com

This is another website I love.  You can post literally any kind of writing on there.  You can also find art, photography and fiction depicting the strangest things.  It's a great place to find fan fiction and fan art, even things that are rather obscure.  The quality can range from excessively mediocre to professional.  I've found some really amazing pieces of art on there.  It also doesn't censor people that much.  As long as you are over 18 or something you can see all kinds of lovely naughty images.  I've mostly been using it for my poetry and writing and I have been getting some feedback, which is nice.

Here I am: http://hedonistichermit.deviantart.com/

Notice how I am always Hedonistic Hermit?  Yup, I planned it that way.  Mwahaha!

Music:

Death Cab for Cutie

This is currently my largest obsession.  So far I have been replaying "Narrow Stairs" constantly, but I attained "Plans" today and I'm hoping on getting more albums from the library soon.

I specifically love the songs "Cath...", "I Will Possess Your Heart", "Long Division" and "Twin-Sized Bed."  Their songs are simultaneously full of beauty and energy.  "Cath..." sort of reminds me of Matthew Good.  I love to imagine a music video for each song as I listen to it.  I get kind of annoyed when I watch a music video that doesn't try to follow the message of the song and they just try to make it look cool instead but I get really excited when they get it right!  Of the few videos I've seen of Death Cab I would say that they are talented video-makers.

What got me into this band was my constant debate with my younger brother about whether Owl City is a good band and whether Owl City is copying Ben Gibbard and his various musical projects.  For the record I can hear that Adam Young is using a similar singing voice to Gibbard, but their music seems really different.

Death Cab for Cutie is indie pop/rock with some electronics and while Postal Service is more electronic pop/rock which is the same genre as Owl City, I think those two projects are extremely different from each other.

Much of The Postal Service's material is remixes and their music is much more serious and melancholy than Owl City.

Owl City, in contrast, is about as optimistic and cheerful as music can get. And I understand that happy music is not everyone's cup of tea.  You need your sad songs for break-ups, lost jobs, deaths, etc.  But Owl City, at least to me, is constantly able to cheer me up from whatever depression I am in.  It's just so happy, carefree and full of fantasy.  The songs are made up of stories of love, friendship, nature, determination, dreams, etc.  Whenever I put on Owl City I feel like I have been transported to a different world where there are no problems.  A world full of benevolent technology, warm weather, beaches, animals, good company, travelling, etc.  A fantasy of the best world ever isn't supposed to make sense, it's just supposed to feel like some kind of amazing acid trip.  And in my opinion: Mission accomplished, Mr. Young!  Also, Owl City does not do as many remixes and he uses different electronic effects.  So that is why I like Owl City and how they are different from the Postal Service.

Here is an Owl City clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z_PjqZXKcr0&feature=BFa&list=PL4C8031CE6A158D09&shuffle=413915

It is not a common Owl City track, because he isn't singing but it is my favourite Owl City song right now.


MC Frontalot

Just starting to get into him.  Not sure if it will become a full-blown phase.  But I just wanted to emphasize the fact that this amazing man has made a career out of being a nerd... wait for it... and open your mind REAL WIDE for this one... THAT RAPS!!  That's right, you are hearing me correctly, a nerd that raps.  And he raps about nerdy stuff.  This just makes the world such an amazing place in my opinion.  Also, he wrote a rap based on a famous meme ("First World Problems").

Shad and Dallas Green


Only two songs together but they are both mind-blowingly amazing.  Shad's intelligent, poignant lyrics about leaving a legacy and about listening to music combined with Dallas Green's angelic voice and brilliant improvising is basically aural crack.  Probably the best Canadian duo since Gord Downie and Dallas Green.  Okay there are other great duos, but none are coming to mind right now except Geddy Lee with Bob and Doug McKenzie.  Come to think of it, I would love to see RUSH and City and Colour do something together.  Hmmm...  One can only hope.

Television:

Family Guy

Reasons?  It is extremely funny and I have finished all the other shows I like.  But I have developed a crush on a couple of the characters (the two Goldmans) on the show, so I hope they will show up in future episodes!  I actually really love the new seasons of this show.  I have been watching backward and I have reached seasons 1 and 2, but I don't want to watch them because the quality is so old-school compared to 3-10.  I'll admit to liking the slicker look.  And Meg's early voice really annoys me in those seasons.  She doesn't sound nearly psychotic enough.

I'm also following The Office and How I Met Your Mother.  The Office is starting to get better, which is exciting!

Summer Courses:


I am done the fourth year of my degree, but I still have another course requirement and I want to get an English minor because I really like english and reading literature as well as writing.  Therefore I will be doing a summer semester and a fall semester and then I will graduate.  Whenever I tell anyone this they look at me oddly and fake enthusiasm.  I don't know why they disapprove of me getting an english minor and spending extra time at university so much.  It really annoys me, but I'm trying not to let it bother me.  I may be doing a creative writing course in the fall which would be really exciting.  I love to write, as you can tell right now.

Right now I am taking two courses in a period called intersession where they jam material into a small period of time that is shorter than a normal semester so I hope I will be able to keep on top of my work.  I am taking a course that is a survey of British Literature from the 18th century to 20th century (my first online course) and another course that covers Canadian Literature that is Contemporary (post-1980).

I'll be reading The Underpainter (Jane Urquhart), Three Day Road (Joseph Boyden), Soucouyant (David Chariandy), The Englishman's Boy (Guy Vanderhaeghe), Silas Marner (George Eliot), The Playboy of the Western World (J.M. Synge) and A Passage to India (E.M. Forster).  I pray that I survive...

I'm trying to find a job in this university city but so far not too much luck.  Once I get into the groove of things I'll probably start getting determined and maybe finding some work.

Wish me luck and I hope this doesn't end up being too stressful!

New poem

I wrote a new poem at 4 am since I couldn't sleep, although I eventually did.  Lately, due to lack of classes and stuff to do, my sleep schedule has been 3 am to 3 pm.  It's exam time right now and all I have left is a vocal jury.  For this exam I sing five pieces for three "judges," which is like American Idol but the songs are better and the judges know what they are talking about.  So all I've been obligated to do is practice an hour every day, if that.  I hope I can go back to normal or somewhat normal soon...

Here is my poem...


Beer:

Cat call in the distance at three am

Someone far away is hot

And someone far away is horny

Decisions made with beer goggles

As you half-sleep in a bubbly, pleasant haze

There’s more evidence for evolution

Than skeletons and theories

I think as I hear a college girl

Shriek just like a chimpanzee

Below on Spruce Street

Far away noises sound so close

They are inside my tiny flat

Invading

How frightening it would be to venture outside so late

On a saturday night

And soak up the stupidity

Violence at the slightest provocation

Passive-aggressive friendliness

Walk past a bar

Would I make it home alive?

The city lights cast a morning glow 

on the trees and the now-grey sky

It looks as if the sun is rising

But, no, I’m still here in my warm, fluffy bed

Half-asleep, half-awake like most nights

When will I escape this vampire’s schedule?

I long for the early mornings of my youth

Seven am, the darkness lingering

Birds chirping, parents yelling,

Reading on the school bus

Innocence, naïveté, thinking life was so difficult then

But it wasn’t

That was just the beginning

The jock population skyrockets after two am

Because nothing good happens then

Birds, maybe robins, singing at four am

Everything is backwards at this hour

And so much more frightening

Terrified of even leaving my room

Down the dark, empty hallway

Maybe I’m just jealous 

I wish I had some friends to be stupid and drunk with

Some men and boys too

Even just some alcohol

A cold glass of beer

To help me sleep

To taste

So bubbly and bittersweet

Pop with a punch

I must imagine my glass of water as a mug of beer

And hope...

Wallflower

I haven't posted for a while, but don't give up on me if anyone is indeed reading this.  I just wrote this poem a few minutes ago.  As you can see it is about my experiences in school as a shy person.

Wallflower:

Little wallflower at the back of the room

Sitting pretty, waiting to bloom

Watching the others in their gaiety

Dreaming of tiny steps to spontaneity 

If you have something to say, say it

But even when you do, you delay it

Sitting in the back all alone

Where have you hidden your backbone?

You wait it out until that perfect silence

The challenge, the defiance

Of delivering the right answer

When everyone else just stands there

But it seems it will never come

You’d rather they think you were dumb

Instead of watching the heads turn

And feeling your throat burn

And it has to be something meaningful

Something wise, beneficial

Because this is the leaf upturned

This is the incense finally burned

You must be wise and reveal a profound truth

Or the silent one will be seen as the dumb mute

But not too weird and different either

Or you might as well be having a seizure

As you speak there is such an unjust silence

And as you finish an applause like raw violence

For despite your careful wording

They will never pay attention to anything but asserting

Asserting, asserting is gold

Asserting yourself and being bold

Being confident, being nude

Being exposed, being rude

Even if you proved the professor wrong

Even if in three seconds you wrote a song

Even if you recited a hundred digits of Pi

All they care about is that you are speaking and that you were once shy

And that

my friends

is a spectacle

Divorced Men

A poem I wrote last night.

Divorced Men:

I miss you
You always smelled like flowers
Like a woman
I wanted that scent
so I could breathe it in every day and feel you
picture you
put in on and become you
I still want to become you
You're perfect
Your dirty blond hair
Your moon-shaped glasses
Your shoulder bag
Your salads
Your smile
Your quick wit
Those rebellious ears that stick out
Just like you do
In a crowd
The freckles and tiny hairs on your arms
Your slim fingers
So perfect
So immaculate
So precise
Your forest green cardigans and white dress shirts
Your tweed jacket and pants
Your ancient blackberry
Your voice
Smooth as milk and honey
Your exercises
Your books
Your mind
Your ring
Which you no longer wear
What do divorced men do with their rings?
Do they make love to them?

Brain Droppings for the Reindeers

Hi folks,

It's Christmas Eve eve and my Grandma is visiting but wrapping gifts so I can't come down, so I might as well write on here a bit.  I've been looking through my old notebooks (a habit I enjoy immensely) and I've decided to post a bunch of crap.  Enjoy...

I Heard That... (May 14, 2008):
Some things last longer than others
In conclusion, always remember..
An eclectic mix of documentaries
no one fit the description
engages in matters
walk out the door with government property
Missionary work
I could work on math, but...
poop
saying your name over and over
Is this your water?
Nooooooooooo!
Saturday night
I don't always either
Thank you
Buh Bye
they're working on setting it up
fall schedule cuts back
This is just an incredible honour for someone like me
I smell vomit
You know
This afternoon
bright bright
it's not even a good story
fail this class
this year and
something good
but
harassing me
unnecessary violence
he opened the glass door
the pile is growing

**This poem or song was based on random phrases I overheard during the course of a day.  So technically I didn't write it.

Candy (May 14, 2008):

Now we're talking.  I craved candy.  A nice, classy dainty neat treat.  Every day after school at Hillcrest I would go to the convenience store at the plaza nearby (right next to the dentist's office) and buy a paper bag full of candy.  Other than the amount you could get for just 75 cents what I liked most of all was the variety.  Swedish berries, Big feet, cinnamon lips, licorice fizzlers, candy cigars, Swedish fish, Popeye sticks, Double mints, fuzzy peaches, sour cherries, and Tootsie Rolls.  Every day I would try something new.  It was like an unhealthy food fair.  But my favourite and unfortunately the most expensive was Candied Cigarettes.  Chicago, New York, London, Paris.  I loved the role-playing.  Right down to the price tag, it was cigarettes without the nicotine.  I remembered the disapproving looks as I was driven home pretending to smoke the lovely Popeye sticks and chocolate rolled in paper.  I snickered every time.


Catharsis (May 24-25, 2008):

Catharsis: The audience's reaction after a tragedy (a play that has a sad ending).  The audience learn what they should not do and generally feel better about themselves (at least it didn't happen to me...)

Reaction after a happy, fun romantic comedy?
You remember the funny parts, re-sing the catchiest songs, congratulate the actors on a job well done (if you know them), go home, sleep tight.
Don't let the bed bugs bite.
I always have the same reaction.
But it's nothing like bliss or catharsis.
Those are my alibies.  I pretend.
It's always just been... inadequacy.
I definitely hate it, but what I wouldn't give to be up there with them, star of the show...
I'd make it real, fun, intelligent, even historically accurate.
UN-Broadway.
Because who really likes "the way of the broads?"
They push their voices until they're as nasal as anteaters.
It's always been more about the acting for them, anyway.
But I could act!
I'd probably even have fun!
They make it seem so easy, like they live in a perfect world.
Anyone of their mistakes, I spot and then I cash in.
I could do SO much better!
I know I could do so much better...
until
drama class
I tried so hard, but it's no fun
acting when you know everyone
wants, wants, wants
what you don't:
"That's not how you do it! A doctor has to know exactly what to do!"
"Scream!  People have to hear you!"
"That's a dumb idea!"
"Come up with something!"

I give up.  A play is a play is a musical is a musical.
A play is a musical, not a concert.
And when I stand there on the stage, I either don't know who I am or I am afraid to show who I am.
That's me.
The one in the shadows.
They all know me.
But it's not me they're looking at.
I'm not the one putting on a show.
I just want to be rescued.
I want to be loved, even noticed, for being the calm, cool, collected fan that deserves a chance.
After the play, I just realize.
Wait a minute, I'm just me...
Just myself.
Just a girl.
Never a girlfriend.
Never a diva.
Never a star.
Never a temptress.
Never loved by the crowd.
I don't have a public.  I have a family.  That's it!
But maybe that's how it should be.


Spain: A Rhyming Excercise (May 2008):

Spain
France
Rain
Pants!
Pain
Can't
Hurt him.
Rain
Dance
Brain
Chance?
Gain?
Sham?
Flirting
Cane
Ants
Cain
Aunts
Pain
Who wears the pants?
Who wears the pants?
Insane
Disco Dance
Insane
Disco Dance

Spain
France
Rain
Pain
Rain
Brain
Gain
Cane
Cain
Pain
Insane
PANTS!!!!

** One of my sillier pieces.  It could be a song, I guess.


The Green and White Snake (July 8, 2008):

Words were never spoken or exchanged.
"The GO Train is here."
The only five words anyone there ever thought they needed to hear
besides
they weren't words
they were mentality
the briefcases
purses
newspapers
click-a-clacks of heels
rustling of zippers and keys
scrapings of sandals
rollings of bags
sharp noses
blank eyes
all pointed at their exact target
click clack
click clack
a steady stream
of everyone and anyone
men with full black business suits
girls in Gouci and jeans
ladies in Reitmans
men in checkered shirts and khaki shorts
like ants they piled into the
green and white
snake
dreading the fatal announcement
"last call!  Last call!"
they accelerated
full grown men and women
whipping and thudding and click-a-clacking
the wind pushed them back to their cars
the ground screamed "Stop!"
but they didn't listen
a woman
all in blue
who could raise the dead
with her clacking
daintily ran as fast as she could
"DOORS SHUT!" the conductor's voice was muffled
and he followed through
in a spurt of perseverance
soundlessly
the doors closed
At least the adults knew one thing
no amount of noise could open them
so they didn't try
the blue-clad woman slowed to a stop
the GO train had gone
she slumped in the middle of the station
the wind urged her
but suddenly
the train came again
always there
always gone
CLICK CLACK
the heels revived
click clack
click
clack
clack


You're not a friend (July 2008):

You're not a friend
who was certain I'd never be there
I didn't have a friend
to cry on my shoulder
I had a monotone, crackling wall for company
I was plastered to the wall
I believed it as eternity

I planned my escape:
How can I pull away?
but you, the wall, stood fast
You rejected my blood and tears
as I tried to saw my hand off to escape

You hated me
And as I shook your plaster off,
pulling away from you,
I found a tar fence
barbed wire
sticky teeth

You hated me
How I knew a few things that you didn't
But how you clung to me!
So tight that it became your revenge

You froze and became a block of ice
You hated me so much that you would release me
with a quick slide and slip I was free
but it was the most cold, painful freedom I had ever felt
I couldn't even return your rope
without slipping and falling

Now I can see through you
I can see the other rooms
I can see the people, the places, the world

With you I was bound and blind

But tonight I'll pass you by
And maybe, if I'm dreadfully unlucky, I will taste that frozen tar
and vomit

Each gesture was an insult

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay, that's enough for today.  I'll probably feed the reindeers again tomorrow if I get the time.  Lots of material to use.  I'm thinking I might change the layout.  At this point I think the current layout makes my writing kind of hard to read.  And I want something a little more interesting.  I'm pretty excited for Christmas!
But it will be pretty different without mom.  It already is though.  It's a seasonal pain, not a pain that only happens on Christmas day.

Another thing that is bothering me is that my grandparents on my dad's side of the family have bought an obscene amount of presents for us.  They do have a lot of money, but it makes me feel guilty and bad for them.  I wish they didn't feel like they have to splurge on us every Christmas.  But it's always the same every Christmas.  They buy us a bunch of things that we don't even need most of the time, just to demonstrate how much they care.  But that's not how you show that you care.  Rich motherfuckers do the same thing when they beat or rape their wives to try to minimize their guilt, only they buy them expensive jewelry, clothes, cars even year-round.  Meanwhile, grandma constantly criticizes us because our house isn't completely spotless, because my brothers have hair that is longer than average ("they look like bums off the street!"), because we've stopped going to church due to atheist/agnosticism/buddhism (mom is dead so she can no longer force us to go every sunday), because we have left-wing views, because we don't throw away enough of our stuff, because I'm too introverted, because my brother does pot, because my brothers' grades aren't very good.  She focuses on the negatives.  She's even insulted our now-dead mother on several occasions, saying she didn't know how to discipline us properly and other unpleasant things.  Often, when she's over, she insists on cleaning most of the house because we aren't doing it right.  I actually prefer my mom's side of the family.  Grandma and grandpa on that side were poor and still are pretty poor, so grandma would give us bargain books or books from her formidable stash in the house that we could take a turn reading.  Grandma loved reading and shared her love of books with everyone.  Every Christmas I knew I'd get books from her, but I loved her presents.  They were thoughtful and small.  Grandma died around the same time as mom, and I will miss her so much.  She was an intelligent, chatty, open-minded woman.  A notorious pack rat, bookworm and feminist.  Probably one of my favourite people over 60.  These days my mom's side of the family doesn't even exchange gifts.  How do we fill that oh-so-noticeable void?  It doesn't even need to be filled.  Just gives us more time to chat with in-laws, listen to and play music and eat scrumptious food.  As soon as it's over I can't wait for the one next year.  Christmas with dad's side of the family is also nice.  I love to see my uncles and aunts and cousins and grandparents on that side, especially in a situation where they have to be nice and behave, but they really don't need to give us that many gifts.  I'd be ecstatic with only one gift from them.  Anyway, I should go to bed now. 

Stay tuned for two interesting make-believe professor encounters...

Ugly choir girl

Okay, I lied.  One more.

Ugly choir girl:

She always sits in front of me
Face full of zits
Frizzy tight curls
Tacky clothes
Thin as a pencil
You're so greasy
You're pizza
You're macaroni and cheese

Why are all the girls in this choir so hideous?
I get sick to my stomach
when I look at you
you are the smell of sickening sweet
an arts major
insecure
fishing for notes
following the leader

And worst of all
you're blocking my view of him
You negate the bliss I feel when I see his face
He's looking at me now
But you can't let him see me
I think he loves me
But you're blocking his view

Who else would he want in this section?
And then I glance behind me

Big busty girl
Blond greasy hair
Bangles
Eighties chic
Blue eyes
Brown coat
Big tits
Red pouting lips
She's not ugly
But by logic she should be

And I realize I'm a fool
It's her
He can't stop looking at her

I'm getting annoyed
He can't control his head
Always turned to my corner of the room
What does she think of this?

But she's gone
I won't see her until tomorrow
Was he looking at someone else?
At me?
I ponder the mystery
Leaving choir and the pizza-faced girl
with a smirk on my face

Maybe I'm not an ugly choir girl

The Walrus and the Narwhal

One last poem for today.  Note: I want to make most of my poems into songs, so some of them have choruses and verses and such.

The Walrus and the Narwhal:

The results are in
I couldn't resist
I had to find my future
So I opened the box
and had a little fun
All I ever wanted
was the narwhal and the walrus

I dusted it off
the plastic green box
from my days of innocence
full of tiny noble animals
from every kingdom
So precious to me
I couldn't ever give it away

I dusted them off
and put them in couples
everything in pairs
everyone in pairs
Just like our world
And I wanted the walrus
but what choice did I have?
So I added some consolation prizes...

I'm bound to get one of them
The Walrus who slouches
The Ant who never listens
The Turtle who talks to himself
The Whale with the deformity
The Praying Mantis (too religious!)
The T-Rex with the family situation
Or at least the Shark who seems a little gay
I entered with seven ballots

So I paired the world off
the animal kingdom
inter species was the point
but it couldn't work
I got the seal
Probably beautiful
but not who I want
Dissapointment ruled me
And I had to know what happened
Maybe I just wanted power?
Well they all found other species
Probably forgot about me
even the Walrus
he got an old Elephant

The feeling was dangerous
nostalgic
but all I ever wanted
was the Walrus and the Narwhal

Hospital Whisper

Hospital Whisper

Your voice was so cold
when I told you
Different, inhuman
I never experienced that
I guess I thought telling you
would change you
into a superhero
who would save the damsel in distress
The girl who lost her mother

Pitch black
But my eyes had adapted
I knew from the start
you were a douche
But I've become blind lately
It was just like
Just like you were
Talking to a patient in a hospital
at night
As if you were about to rape her
Maybe you're a vulture

But I don't think you feed on that meat
It was just so fake
And I regretted it
Thinking I could trust you
You don't care
I guess
Why would you?

I want to know
how you work
How you've become this
but it's too late
I leave tomorrow at eleven
No time
No time to even give you a chance

And we both say "you" so much
Me because I loved you
You because you wanted to lead me on

I guess that's all it ever was
just trying to catch a fish
And every time you asked me about school
it was just to know your fucking deadline

I still hope it isn't true
I pray for flowers or nice words
But I know deep down
nothing will happen tomorrow
Time will tell
Just prove it to me

Maybe I have to cry
I was really hoping not
But the way things are going
it probably won't take much

I loved you
It seemed you were the only one
who noticed my glasses or my hair
No boy ever could before
Now I know why your act was so important
Or do I?
What's in it for you?
I'll never know

And I still hope it isn't true
I wish for flowers or nice words from you
But I can tell you're bored stiff
You know all the tricks
and you just want the loot
you'd rather stare at my flat chest
And daydream until I'm trhough

Mom would never approve of you

Spring Cabana

I decided to make a different post for whenever I post poetry.  This is probably the one I'm most proud of of the poetry I'm posting today...

Spring Cabana:

Like a holiday in a person
The ultimate diplomat
Gilded with tweed
Won the Euclid and the Fermat
Child prodigy
And a perfect gentleman
A perfect gentleman

You were Atlantis
when I first met you
I was so terrified
that I couldn't impress you
You were so perfect
So beautiful
You smelled like flowers

Had to know what the smell was
What flower?
Where are you from?
What are you?  Who are you?
A breath of fresh air?
An angel, a fairy?
A devil, a liar?

You packed up your Viper's tongue
Your lyre
Your childish analogies
It seems you have a taste for
skinny pale intellectuals
with unusual but not improbable hair colours
And now you're in Florence

Did I scare you away?

Today

I think the time is wrong on this blog.  It's 1:24 am for me but it says 10:24 pm or something on here.  I don't know what's going on and I don't know who to change it.  Just letting you know I am 3 hours behind the times, which is fairly depressing.  I'm so tired.  I can't wait to sleep.  I should be doing my french homework, but I will first post this poem I wrote.  It's repetitive at times because maybe I will turn it into a song.

Today is my last day
I having energy drinks
I am giving them hope
No one will see this
Who would know where I stole this snippet from?
Very vague
But I don't care
I have to write this poem
I don't know if it's a song yet

I stared blankly at the screen
for a couple minutes
What the hell does he mean?
Is it the last day... forever?
But maybe it's the last day
and then he has a big vacation
recovers from that back injury

Today is my last day
I am having energy drinks
I am giving them hope
Drugged up like the guy
who went to Vegas
How could you understand me?

But that woman said she missed working with him
Does that mean he's gone?
Does that mean he's leaving?
Leaving me?
How could he?
My heart is crumbling
I wish this was a bad dream

I used to long for Today
Today is the last day
I am having energy drinks
I am giving them hope
I'm sure it has nothing
nothing, nothing to do with me

Feeling hollow inside
I have to stop caring
about that nerd
with hidden depths
hidden depths
he's a puzzle
I'll never finish
never finish

Today is my last day
I am having energy drinks
I am giving them hope
When there is none
And I'll miss you (you don't miss me)
I'll miss you (you can't miss me)
I'll miss you (you never kissed me)
I missed you (you never missed me)
I guess I missed you
You never missed me
You never missed me
Have a good one