2066.9

2066.9

the mountain air is quite crisp

and the smell of maples and pine

fills their lungs with something brand new.

 

At 2066 high

where the land meets the bright blue sky

and birds dare to spread wings and soar,

where they can see everything.

 

At 2066 feet

two young hearts begin to beat,

for perhaps the very first time,

together as love starts to grow.

 

Up at 2066,

above the crunching of dry sticks,

you can hear two souls come to see

without each other, they can’t be.

 

 

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The Rose

Today I will tell you the story

of a delicate rose who’s life

did not turn out as planned.

The Rose was planted in a garden

with hundreds of other roses.

Of course, she was not the prettiest.

She was plumper than the others

had a blemish or two on her petals,

and had a few extra thorns

to keep herself safe,

yet she believed in the same dream

as all the other roses:

that for someone she would be enough.

The Rose had spent many waking hours

hoping and dreaming of the day

when just the right person would

come along and choose her.

She wouldn’t allow herself to be picked

by just anyone walking by.

She wanted to be picked by someone

who would love her,

cherish her, adore her,

and take care of her until

her final day because, after all,

you can only be picked once.

She was fiercely determined to have

this dream come true more than any

other she had ever had.

But one day, a stranger came along

and right away she knew that he

was up to no go. He smelled of death.

She prayed as he began to slowly

examine each rose around her

that he would pick someone else

or hopefully, none at all so that

she and her neighbors could

all have their dreams fulfilled.

Unfortunately this evil stranger

set his devastating eyes on her.

Despite her begging and pleading

to be left alone, to not be picked,

he yanked her from the earth

aggressively, and against her will.

When the stranger picked  up The Rose,

he was pricked by many of her extra thorns

and threw her aside with disgust.

Sadly, The Rose was left plucked

and tossed to the side of the path

But still The Rose hoped that maybe,

someday, the right person would

come along and still be able to love

a rose that has already been plucked.

Alas, each day newer, kinder strangers

came into the garden and stepped over her

in search for a flower that

still had yet to be plucked.

The Rose continued to hold on,

holding in her heart a belief

that a truly good person

would come along and see

all the beauty she had to offer

to the world, even though she

had been damaged against her will.

One day, shortly after,

a man walked into the garden.

In The Rose’s heart, she knew with

almost as much certainty about this man

as she had had that the stranger that

had picked her was here to bring trouble,

that this new man was the one

she was intended to spend her life with.

This was the man who would take care of her

and appreciate her for the rest of her time.

He walked kindly through the flowers

and respected each and every one.

When he came to the Rose, simply

tossed aside, he bent over to pick her up.

The Rose’s heart beat with excitement

thinking that maybe, just maybe

she could still find happiness

and her dream could come true.

The man gave the rose a pitiful look

and said ” What a wonderful rose.

If only someone hadn’t already plucked you.

I only want a rose that I can pick for myself.”

With that, he laid the rose down delicately

amongst the other flowers

and picked a fresh, beautiful flower nearby.

The Rose’s heart fell.

She knew that this man here today

was her destiny: if only he had come

a week sooner, before her tragic event.

Then maybe, just maybe, life could

have worked out in her favor.

Instead, she lays amongst dirt and roots,

hidden by flowers still full of life and hope,

withering away to dried leaves and petals

waiting for the life to leave her worthless body

hoping that maybe in her next life

things will turn out better.

 

The Perfect Love Story

Someone asked me today

to describe the perfect love story

but the truth is you can’t.

There is no such thing.

Love is messy.

Love is unique.

Love is all over the place.

One story that may speak to me,

may speak differently to you

because we don’t have the same heart.

And the things I have felt

in my 21 years of experience

cannot ever be fully captured in words

no matter how hard I may try.

The truth is love is its own language

and it writes it’s own stories

that are intended for small, intimate audiences

and it’s not up to me to put it into words.

I cannot capture the full meaning

behind a smile’s joy

or certain looks given

or even laughs shared.

I cannot only feel the perfect love story

and hope people can catch a small glimpse

of it through my eyes

as I try to live the story.

Love is not a perfect story to be told.

Love is a life to live to it’s fullest.

 

Beautiful

You told me I was beautiful,

And I didn’t believe you.

I thought you were just saying it,

And I didn’t want to be lied to.

“Why do you think I’m beautiful?”

You blew my mind away.

I thought maybe you’d have one reason,

But you had a whole list.

I’m beautiful because of my face,

My eyes, my nose, my mouth.

Even my curves add to it.

But what shook my world

Was when you said that I

Am beautiful on the inside too.

Once you left, I cried.

I cried happy tears.

For the first time in my life

Someone called me beautiful,

And I actually believed them.

 

The Rape

I am walking home from school

And I’m standing at a light.

While I wait for it to change,

I check behind my back.

I see you in the distance,

Fear conquers my inside.

I walk across so quickly,

move faster and faster.

I try  hard to distance us,

But you move so much faster.

I’m three fourths of the way home

And you are on my trail now.

You are stuck at a stoplight

I take off my shoes and run.

I cannot breathe but I run,

But you move so much faster.

I make it to my street now,

And see there is no one home.

The fear quickens my heart beat.

I realize there’s no escape.

With little time to waste now,

I open my garage door.

I hurry inside the house

Looking for a place to hide.

I know that I shut the door,

But you move so much faster.

You manage to get inside

And you find my hiding place.

There’s nowhere else to go now

And there’s nowhere left to hide.

There is only giving up

And to hope it is quick.

You drag me to my bedroom

And end up with you want.

With so few screams of protest,

And hands that are bound with tape,

There’s nothing left to do now

But let my warm tears roll down.

With your hand over my mouth,

And no will left to fight you,

You take advantage of me

Just to get what you wanted.

You threaten you will kill me

If I ever tell a soul.

I tried to sleep all that night

On the bed I was abused.

But I was not successful

And only blamed myself.

It took me over three years

Just to admit it happened.

But I still won’t say the name

For fear of what may happen.

Being hurt by those you know

And forced to live with the pain

Is a burden in which

I am very ashamed.

 

 

Memory #2

*I have decided to try something new. I’m going to start sharing memories I have. Memories are like personal stories. My mind is thus full of stories I want to get out before they are lost forever. Some are happy, some funny, some sad, but none should be forgotten. Plus they will hopefully provide ore insight to my poetry maybe even inspire more.*

 

My younger brother and I were never meant to like each other. I’ve honestly disliked him from the day he was born (not an exaggeration. just wait). It was a cold February day in 2000 (probably like the 28th/29th since that’s his birthday.  I don’t really know. I was 2 3/4.  I didn’t know what a calendar was yet) when my mom went into labour. I don’t remember much from that day, but what I do made a deep impact on my life.

Since my parents obviously had to go to the hospital and I was definitely not old enough to experience the miracle of life (oh darn), I had to go somewhere. My parents were desperate since the usual babysitter was busy, my dad dropped me off at  his co-worker’s house (he’s a teacher so I guess this was acceptable.)

Any who I had no idea who these people were (I still don’t for the record) or where I was ( a house as stated earlier. But was it in Ohio? Canada? Oz? I don’t know). I was there for some time (Again, could’t read clocks so I have no clue) with nothing to do (like really? We couldn’t take  like 5 minutes to pack me a coloring book dad? ).

There are a few things I do remember. 1.they had huge stone lions outside of their front door (very interesting decoration pieces). and 2. they had great danes. Oh my. These dogs absolutely terrified me. While yes they were friendly, we’re talking about 2 great danes versus a 2 year old (they were significantly taller than me). All they wanted to do was lick me (and all I did was scream and cry from the couch). I told the lady they were scary. She said they wouldn’t hurt me and didn’t try to get them away from me. I was afraid of dogs for a couple yeas after that.

That night was miserable and I always blamed it on my brother (It’s not really his fault, but he’s my sibling. It’s what I do). It just kinda set a bad vibe on this relationship. Not that it doesn’t have its good points few and far between, but they do exist), but the feeling is mutual. He dislikes me just as much as I dislike him. We try, but it just doesn’t work out when you don’t have anything in common (okay. we have the same parents but you can’t really talk about that for hours on end).

It’s 16 year later now and still not all that close. My first two visits home from college  happened last semester and I think he said maybe 5 words to me combined. Regardless, we do ” get along” ( by that I mean not kill each other or send anyone to the emergency room) from time to time. We do have good moments, but no one really ever witnesses them. My parents worry we won’t be talking by the time they’re both gone. And they may be right, they may be wrong. Who knows? That’s a long time away.

Gut feelings are hard to shake. IN some cases, that’s a good thing that can keep you alive (for example if a man offers you a lollipop you should probably say no). In other cases, it prevents you fom having good experiences. So the moral of this story is not to judge a book by it’s cover ( unless it’s twilight. judge away there my friends).  Just because it looks bad, doesn’t always mean it will always be bad. Keep that book on your shelf because maybe someday you’ll want to read it and it could become your favorite.

Memory #1

*I have decided to try something new. I’m going to start sharing memories I have. Memories are like personal stories. My mind is thus full of stories  I want to get out before they are lost forever. Some are happy, some funny, some sad, but none should be forgotten. Plus they will hopefully provide ore insight to my poetry maybe even inspire more.*

Sometimes I am thankful that the only time I was ever truly bullied was when I was very young. I was a strong 5 years old that could still bounce back. If it had never happened, I probably never would have survived high school. I would have been too protected and too sensitive to the things that were said in the hall. If you can’t laugh at yourself, even just a little, you’re doing life wrong. But back to the story that made me who I am.

I remember kindergarten was pretty much hell. I mean, going to school and being amongst strangers for any amount of time is scary, especially for young kids. I remember that it was extremely harsh for me because, simply put, I had no friends. It’s not that I wasn’t trying. My bully just was quicker at it than I. It was rough. My bully,( let’s call her Diane), and her friend ( let’s call her Kelly) were somehow able to get all of the other girls to turn against me. She didn’t have to do anything to the boys because they believed cooties was just about the most terrifying thing in the world.

After much work, I was able to befriend one person ( we’ll call her Jasmine). She was the only person who would occasionally talk to me or sit next to me on the bus. It was nice to not feel alone sometimes. Unfortunately, loyalty wasn’t a thing back then. Diane and Kelly were the popular ones and what they said goes. If Diane said jump, you jumped. If she said move, you moved.If she said, don’t be friends with her then that’s exactly what you did.  This unfortunately happened quite frequently. At the time, I didn’t really blame Jasmine. I didn’t want to drag her down with me. Besides, she was just following orders. At least she always said sorry to me. None of the other 9 girls n my class every did that.(rude)

There were many things Diane and Kelly did to make my life miserable, and I definitely did not make my life easier by throwing up on the story time carpet (important lesson of the day: soup+ spaghetti-o’s= a no-no). After that day, it mandatory by Diane that no one was to sit on the S s part of the carpet (It was an alphabet carpet. I threw up on the S so it sort of became my territory I guess). That was also the only spot anyone ever left for me to sit, so when I did, they’d point and laugh ( jokes on them, I had the best view of the picture books there).

She also would’t let my put my pencil case with everyone else. I often had mine in a section by myself. (I called it the V.I.P. section. aka Very Important Pencils). Occasionally Diane would offer to let me put my case near the other girls (this was usually when one of her little pose was out  sick) Usually this was followed by whispering and snickers, but I was too young to care. I just wanted to feel like I belonged. I was naive to think every time this happened, she had changed. That just was not the case.

The most specific memory that sticks out in my mind happened in April that year. It was warm and getting close to earth day. Our teacher was taking our individual  pictures to make into a craft project for earth day in class this day (I know because it still hangs in my kitchen at home). That day, I happened to be wearing an outfit my Aunt had made for me. It was very pink. It had magenta leggings with big roses, and a pink top with sleeves that matched my pants.( I should also mention it was a tank top, but met the school dress code.) I loved this outfit just as much as the other ones my aunt made. I was proud to wear and these girls tore me apart. They shamed me for showing my shoulders and breaking the rules ( that’s like a big deal to 5 year olds, or at least it was to me). And they were relentless. They were trying to get the teacher to get me in trouble (which wouldn’t happen because I was fine, but since Diane said I wasn’t, it must be true). I went home in tears that day and told my mom what happened and I never wore that outfit again because it haunted me ( still kinda does whenever I pour of cereal, just saying) with bad memories.

It did get better. I met my best friend to this day on the first day of first grade. I also discovered my love for music that year. Diane moved in the second grade and once she did, all the girls suddenly became nice and wanted to play and such. All in all it wasn’t that bad. Moral of the story: nothing everything that is bad now, stays bad forever. Just keep pushing forward. ( and also wear whatever you want. Nobody dares to mock my amazing peacock pants)