The Yellow Line

The yellow line of the road pounded against her eyes as her headlights illuminated it, causing her head to spin slightly. She was driving a little too fast. She hadn’t passed another car for a few miles and took the opportunity to flick on her bright lights, causing the yellow line to shine even brighter, again rocking her corneas. She was so happy, driving late at night to meet no one as not a soul wondered of her whereabouts. She thought the idea made her happy, but she was gravely disappointed as a twinge of self-loathing hit her once again. Here she was, alone, her ugliness keeping men away, keeping a husband and lover away. She wanted someone. She had spent the whole evening, alone; thinking of beautiful poetry, alone; watching a romance movie, alone. And people wondered why she hated herself. If no one else could love her, why should she? She looked over out the window for a moment to look down at the yellow line, guiding her down the road. Why couldn’t she have some sort of line leading to her soul mate? Why didn’t she deserve to feel special and beautiful like everyone else? Why was she so horribly ugly?

Block

I feel your vibrations in my head;
Just shut up and stop talking.
Don’t tell me that this isn’t special again.
I know it is, this is so important.

You’re beginning to tear me apart,
But I won’t let you, be quiet.
This is special; it’s magical, spectacular.
I don’t care if you leave, I’m not.

No more will my dreams be crushed-
You’re just another person to try.
Go away and find someone else, please.
I’m not letting go of the special again.

I’m so close to being somewhere great.
I’m inches from making my mark.
I can feel the magic at my fingertips.
If you stop me, who knows what I will do.

Step back, I’m warning you, beware.
I’m at the point that you should be afraid.
No one is stopping me again, nothing.
This is my time, this is my opportunity.

It is calling out
And I am answering.
I will block you before I miss this call.

Down in the Dumps

You should know by now that I write when I'm down. All of these are one of those times.

I’ve lost the grip of my past, of what things used to be.
I’m losing sight of my future; I’ve given up on dreams.
I’m waiting for a man that doesn’t exist.
I’m striving to be loved in a way that no one will.
I’m earning a degree that will leave me financially unstable.
I desire things that deteriorate quickly.
I try to fill myself with confidence that fades with a mirror.
I criticize people while the plank sits in my own eye.
I cling to a religion that my life does not represent.
I fight myself everyday to lose the battle continually.
What have I become?



I would destroy the moon, vacuum the atmosphere, dry up the oceans, burn the forests, and annihilate the human race for one man to love me. I’d be willing to drop everything and leave everything for a man to honestly believe that I’m beautiful. I would spend the rest of my life rotting in a jail cell for a man to desire my heart. I want to be loved, but no one wants to love me. Without a man to love me, my children cease to ever be able to exist; my studies are meaningless; my childhood, wasted; my future, grim. It’s over.



I was murdered a year ago
And you forgot that I was ever here.
What am I supposed to do when you say ‘no’?
You called yourself names, but none were true.

I’m not the person I was when you cared.
Hard times have changed me.
You let me go and didn’t come back.
Your luck ran out and now I’m gone for good.




I’m waiting for you, but I’m starting to wonder if you even exist.
I’m killing myself with these love songs, thinking I’ll never have that.
I don’t want a boy, I want a man.
I want to be loved, desired, wanted.
But you don’t exist.
I am not anything for anyone.
I’m sorry its come to this, but I’m letting my imagination go.
You’re free from my memory now
And I’m embracing the lonely life.

The Smell

I wrote this a while ago, but only posted it on Facebook. So, here we go.


Today, walking along Calhoun, cold wind beating against my face, warmth of a coffee warming my fingertips, I smelled something. It hit me and I could not help but stop, dead in my tracks in the middle of the sidewalk, frozen not from the temperature but from the emotion. The smell was familiar; it made me feel safe, loved, home. No words could describe it and my mind could not pinpoint its source or a name to the wonderful scent.

Continuing on my way, into the courtyard between Berry and Lightsey, I settled down at a table, pulling my coffee to my lips to be warmed once again. I let my mind relax and I let my body respond to the cold, sending goose bumps up my arms.

Then I smelled it again.

Again, I felt the feeling of delight, joy, safety, love. It calmed me in a way that nothing else can. But this time, I knew what it was - it was the smell of winter.

Immediately, my mind was invaded with memories of being piled in the car with my entire family as we drove out to James Island for the Festival of Lights; of setting up the Christmas tree with my siblings as my parents looked on and prepared each ornament; of the daily changing the number of days until Christmas on the chalkboard; of being tackled by my sister at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning to wake up; of my father starting a fire as the family collected in the living room to open presents; of my brother’s smiling face as he rocked himself in pure excitement to open his present; of the smell of my father’s famous Christmas Breakfast Casserole cooking in the oven; of the sound of my father’s powerful voice recounting the story of the birth of Christ; of the yells of excitement as presents were passed out; of the joyful noise of ripping paper as each gift was strategically opened; of the sight of the tears of my mother as she was overjoyed by her children’s happiness; of crazy chaos of my brother and father attempting to figure out the intricate workings of a toy helicopter; of the beautiful love between my sister and her new husband on their first Christmas together.

Family. Love. Safety. Joy. Delight. Home. The smell of winter is the smell of home.

2011 v. 1870

2011
I sat on the bench, laptop in lap, sounds of cars running on George Street behind me, and twisting my foot on an acorn in an attempt to crush it. The Cistern was bustling around me with couples picnicking, other students studying, professors conversing over their classes, and a Charleston tour making its way through Porter’s Lodge. However, I was engrossed in my studying of Italian. I wasn’t taking an Italian class, although I would love to, but I was planning on a Study Abroad trip to Italy over the summer and I wanted to be prepared.

My stomach growled and realizing that I had forgotten lunch, I reached in my book bag for an apple. I unraveled it from the paper towel, cleaned it against my t-shirt, and immediately took a hard bite. I never lost any focus on my Italian. I was too determined to become fluent to not focus.

My English homework sat idly next to me, another language taking precedence at the moment. I knew I needed to do well in school for the trip to New York during Christmas break, but I just loved learning other languages. It took up my time, too. Speaking of the trip, I thought of how I needed to book the flights and find a hotel. It was going to be so wonderful to just get away and go to somewhere as magical and alive as New York City.

I stopped my studying for a moment and looked around me. Everything seemed so perfect. The weather was perfectly delightful, everyone I could see was happy, and I was on my way to experience the world.

Suddenly my laptop continued in the lesson.

“Cosa stai facendo?”

What are you doing? The question made me smile and I internally replied, “Experiencing the world.” I may be young, but I’m going to do it.


1870
I sat on the bench, book in hand, sounds of carriages running on George Street behind me, and twisting my foot on an acorn in an attempt to crush it. The Cistern was bustling around me with couples picnicking, boys studying, professors conversing over their classes, and a man leading two slaves to the market. However, I was engrossed in my studying of Italian. I wasn’t supposed to be reading anything, although I love to, but I was planning on a secret trip to Italy over the summer and I wanted to be prepared.

My stomach growled and realizing that I had forgotten lunch, I reached in my satchel for an apple. I unraveled it from the handkerchief, cleaned it against my dress, and immediately took a hard bite. I never lost any focus on my Italian. I was too determined to become fluent to not focus.

The shopping list Mother gave me sat idly next to me, Italian taking precedence at the moment. I knew I needed to do for Mother for her to approve the trip to New York during Christmas time, but I just loved learning. It took up my time, too. Speaking of the trip, I thought of how I needed to speak to Father of whether we were going by carriage or train. It was going to be so wonderful to just get away and go to somewhere as magical and alive as New York City.

I stopped my studying for a moment and looked around me. Everything seemed so perfect. The weather was perfectly delightful, everyone I could see was happy, and I was on my way to experience the world.

I looked back down on my book to be greeted by the text on the page.

“Cosa stai facendo?”

What are you doing? The question made me smile and I internally replied, “Experiencing the world.” I may be a woman, but I’m going to do it.

NEWS!

I know I haven't been posting much lately because school ate me, but I have big news! My dad just released his first book and all of you should check it out! Here's the link:

http://ihvs.wordpress.com/2011/11/06/pr01/

It's an amazing novel explaining how to apply the Bible to your life, but in the form of FICTION (for us young folks, that's another word for GOOD). Anyways, it's amazing!

If you're interested in buying, there are many options for us Americans, but for inhabitants of other countries (i.e. Great Britain, France, Germany, etc.), simply go to Amazon respectively.

Hope you get the book and enjoy!

Fighting Fate

She bit down hard on her bottom lip, forming blood in her mouth. Clenching her fists, she stared at her lingering fate. She was in a battle and she had to win, but the spinning in her head made her think that she was losing. She felt a tear fall down her face and she bit down harder on her lip to stop her emotions. She could see everyone she loved before her and she felt as if they were fading. Her battle was becoming too hard and her head continued to spin even more. She wasn’t ready to lose; she definitely wasn’t going to give up. She was young, she could fight this, but the lingering fate before her kept getting closer and closer, demolishing her oxygen, making her not be able to breath. She gasped for air and with her fist clenched tight, nails digging into her palm, she pounded at her fate. She would not let it win. It did not let the blow phase it and it continued toward her, its life drilling a hole through her. Blood poured from her abdomen, from her mouth, from her nose, from her hands. She fell on her knees, giving into the emotions as she let tears flow. Her air was rapidly decreasing as the fate came closer. The battle was ending and she was losing. She looked down at her hands, the blood oozing from the wounds on her palms and she was reminded that all through this battle, she forgot that she wasn’t fighting alone. She looked up to see a hand extended towards her, scarred by even deeper wounds. Looking up to see the face of her savior, she beheld Christ in his glory, pulling her from the battle – victory was won.

Wonderful

Her tire ran over yet another grouping of crunchy, orange and brown leaves and she couldn’t help but smile at the arrival of fall. She inhaled deeply and was met with its scent; there are few things as good as the smell of autumn.

She turned her bike off the path and through the tall, black iron gates to be met with a new scent; the smell of flowers, dirt, and the faint aroma of formaldehyde. She always thought it was amazing how the natural, beautiful smell of flowers could mask the horrid smell of death in a cemetery.

She continued on the thin, winding road around the bend to be met by a parked black SUV. The sight almost surprised her; people rarely visited the cemetery at this hour, especially when the sun has set on a chilly evening. She shrugged it off and continued pedaling.

Turning around another slight bend, she saw him - an elderly man, probably in his late 80’s, quietly sitting in a lawn chair out in the middle of the graveyard. He sat stoically, staring down at a simple tombstone marked by beautiful red roses. No movement, no words, no nothing. The sight broke her heart.

Her bike tire ran over another crunchy leaf as she road by and he looked up slowly to meet her gaze. She didn’t know how to respond exactly, but she raised a hand as a wave and gave him a sincere smile. He softly beamed a genuine grin in return and waved happily.

The whole experience warmed her heart. It was short and to a bystander, it would mean nothing, but to a girl frustrated by the world and all those in it, it was a reminder that were still some decent people out there, people that aren’t all that bad.

She continued her bike ride, pedaling hard, sweat beading at her brow, the cold air wrapping itself around her, and she was put at ease by the thought that everything is still wonderful.

Deal With It

He quietly walked up the dark steps of the dead apartment, the night air wrapping itself around him tightly, and humidity invading his lungs. Sweat hung at his brow and a tie around his neck. His suit was soiled, his hair was matted, and his frown dug a trench in his face.

He approached the door of the apartment, opened widely to allow the humid air inside. He walked in, the key in his pocket losing its purpose.

The sight was a sad one. The whole apartment was dark, but as his eyes adjusted to the darker room, he was able to see that the whole abode was torn apart. The noisy air conditioning unit in the window continued to run, but it was puffing with exhaust. Broken glass, pictures, and dishes laid strewn across the floor, evidence that something had happened in the apartment. All the lamps toppled over and the couch had a giant rip in the side.

He stood, examining the place with his stoic look. He listened to a dog barking in the distance, the air conditioner, the silence. He wasn’t sure what he should do here.

He walked over to another door, also ajar. One glance inside made his stomach flip. The room was also torn apart, but the large amount of blood on the bed made him sick. He quickly turned back to the living room, ran to the bathroom, and vomited.

He decided that he couldn’t stay here. There was no way in hell that he could go on living in the desolate home and not remember. His mind would always be invaded with the memories, with the smells, with the laughs. He had to go.

He walked outside, closing the door behind him, and he sat on the top step of the stairs, letting his body take in the humidity once again. Abandoning his suit coat and tie, he rolled up his sleeves, and stared off into the night. He wasn’t sure where he would go, but as long as he wasn’t in that apartment, he was fine.

How could he go on living? The police had investigated all they could, his family had consoled him as much as he would allow, but it wasn’t enough. She was gone.

He thought about her smile; the way she would light up when he came home and she gleamed with pride over her new recipe she had prepared. He remembered her laugh; the way she would topple over in joy when he impersonated her father. He remembered her imagination; the way she would dream of worlds beyond our own. He remembered her.

A single tear ran down his cheek and landed on his thigh. The movement startled him out of his nostalgia and he quickly grew angry with himself for getting emotional, yet again.

He looked over to his right to see a pile of newspapers, uncollected from the past few days. He reached over and grabbed the one on top, his stomach once again flipping at the sight of the cover.

“Local woman mysteriously murdered. No motive or suspects are known at this time.”

He balled up the newspaper and threw it back over in the pile. He couldn’t deal with this. But that was the problem; he had to deal with this. There was no getting around the fact that she was gone and that it was over. He had to accept it and move on with life.

Realizing that the humidity seemed to be rising, he stood up and grabbing his coat, he walked off into the night, ready to accept his new life.

Pathetic

With my blood-shot eyes and freshly showered skin,
I’ve got the cockroach in the kitchen on the back of my mind.
Exhaustion has seemed to become my greatest enemy.
I’m kind of a pathetic human being;
I’ll connect to anyone who will connect to me.
I’m on an eighteen-hour roll of being awake.
Exhaustion and I seem to be connecting real well.
I’m so pathetic; my enemy has become my friend.
Oh, well - we all have our quirks.
Another one of mine: I can't kill roaches.


You know, I'm really starting to wonder what these things are. They're not really poems or anything - I guess they're just spiels. Yea, that's exactly what. :)

I am Sarah.

I am Sarah.
I am a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
I am a short story, I have been pondered on for hours.
I am a dream of a boat off the coast of Australia.
I am an argument.
I am a feeling of determination, don’t get in my way.
I am 18 years of impatient.
I am a family, continually growing.
I am a romance, married but still dating.
I am a size 12 flip-flop, worn down by wear.
I am a song sung from the heart.
I am a temper.
I am a dislocated shoulder.
I am a joke that gets everyone laughing.
I am a future of life and happiness.
I am a thought that people wish they had.
I am me.

Spaghetti O’s and Cheap Wine

Spaghetti O’s and Cheap Wine
It’s not perfection, but it certainly works.
It kind of symbolizes who I am.
I may have Italian running through my veins,
But I’m still American.
I’m unpredictable,
Yet totally cliché.
People wonder what I’m going to do next,
But they’re not surprised when I do
Why change, what’s the point?
Chef Boyardee sees no reason.
So, let’s switch it up, make things interesting.
Tomorrow’s menu: ravioli and homemade wine.

Do you have a dirty mind?

I can feel you tremble under my fingertips
My hands mold to your shape
I can’t help but press into you just a little harder
We have to get this going faster
Your noises; they keep me going
Each one of your buttons gives me something new
I can’t stop with you
I’ve been waiting for you
All I need is to be close to you
To feel you, to ride you
I keep you going until you reach that point
Then we slow down together,
Only to start it all over again.
Go faster, we’ve got protection.
Let’s go until you’re exhausted.
My new car.

Browning

You walk by me. Another time of forgetting that I’m here. As you open that door, I realize that maybe it is time for me to give up. I’m getting older; let’s face the facts. The truth is, eventually you will finally see me and you will see my age. You will throw me away and forget about me as you look to other sources of satisfaction. You look to the filth that you and people like you thrive on.

There are others like me. We are all here, waiting for you to notice us and let us fulfill the duty for which we were born. We long to feel like our purpose was satisfied. Rotting away is no way to end my life; I need to feel like I accomplished something. Your society has made that so difficult for you, to notice us, I mean.

What will you do when your decisions and choices catch up with you? One day, you will realize that you needed me and that I could have changed so much for you. Just imagine the energy and joy you would have! It kills me to know that I will be wasted, just like the others before me that you have also wasted.

You’re opening that door again? Another twinkie, another soda? Dammit, you fool! Eat me! Eat me before my yellow skin turns brown! Eat me before you have to throw me away! Eat me like a banana is meant to be eaten!

Oreo - Home

She leaned back against him, his muscular body serving as her backrest. She continued to type on her computer, words flowing through her fingertips until she felt him shift slightly. She looked up to meet him in the eye.

“You okay, boy?” she asked him, worried that something was wrong. He just barked happily in reply and stuck out his tongue in a pant. She smiled and continued working.

This is what she had missed the most when she was gone and she was sure glad to have him back. He was her comforter and her protector. She would always need him.

He walked around the bed causing her upper body to fall backwards. “Thanks, Oreo.” She said playfully as she caught her laptop and moved some pillows to take his place behind her. “You were making a good pillow.”

He ignored her facetious statement and settled down beside her. Forgetting her short story, she closed her computer and set it on the floor beside her. She had more important business to attend to.

He was completely comfortable as she roughly wrapped her arms around him and pulled him as close as he could come. She never wanted to let go of him. Laying down beside him, his warm body let her know that this was home and that everything was okay for the time being. She suddenly didn’t care about anything. She didn’t care what problems she might have to deal with tomorrow or what someone would need her to do. She just laid her head next to his and held him as he fell asleep. He is her home.

my babyyyyy.

All good

Get your shoulder cut into and you really start to see who all is important to you. These past few days, my parents and Hope have really gone above and beyond to do everything for me. I have literally had to do nothing, although I’m stubborn and I tend do some things anyways. I know things have been rough lately, as it is with most 18-year-olds, but they’ve really stepped up to the plate. From my dad going to my court date, my mom helping me getting sticky crap off from all over my body, to Hope helping me take out my contacts – they’ve been amazing. I can't thank them enough.

The Walk

I had started on the sidewalk
Until suddenly it came to an end
I had reached the hard part of town
And now I was on the grass

I continued on the grass
Until I came to the edge of the water
It seemed calm and I could swim
So I took a step and continued.

I swam for miles, as tired as I was
Until the waters picked up pace
And I could barely stay afloat
So I treaded even harder.

I almost drowned countless times
Until I saw him walk up to me
It seemed to be a miracle
As he reached down for my hand

He pulled me up out of the water
Until I was standing on the waves
He begged for me to trust him
And together we walked across the water

We’re waiting to reach the shore
We’ve been walking on this water long enough.
I’ve learned to trust him completely
I’ve learned to walk on the water.

Too Many Times

She’s been called ugly and fat too many times.
Call her beautiful once and you’ve won her heart.
Say it again and you’ve won all of her.
The pain she’s been caused has broken her guard.
She’d give into anyone who seems to love her.
She’d give into anyone who will tell her such things.
She just wants to feel important.
She wants to feel like she actually is something special.
When she looks in the mirror, nothing is right.
Her greatest talent is comparing.
One pretty girt makes her feel hideous.
Put her in a crowd of beautiful girls and she’s broken.
She’s been called ugly and fat too many times
Especially to herself.

Caught

I’m caught between a rock and a hard spot and I have to sever myself to get out.
I can’t come out of this like I did before and without hurting others.
I’ll never be the same, something’s got to go, a part of me will be lost.
I’ve been pinned for months now; do I even attempt to get out?

I’m caught between a rock and a hard spot and I don’t want to get out.
I’m loving the uncertainty; pinned under this boulder, where is the rain?
I may be bleeding out, I may be permanently hurt, but that’s okay.

I’ve got people pinned with me, this rock is on all of us.
We’ve all fallen under the spell of the unknown love: risk.
We’ll wait for the rain and the sunshine, too.

As long as I’m pinned, I’m grounded in something.
I’m stable, I’m unshakable, I’m alive.

18 years old - speeding on 61

I posted something last month called "16 years old - speeding on 61" that I wrote 2 years ago. Driving home the other day, I looked at my speedometer and this is what ran through my head.

18 years old - speeding on 61

Pushing 100 on a 45.
Yup, I'm one of those people who needs to be pulled over
Can't control my speed or actions.
Yes, I’m a different person now, unnoticeable actually.
Can't seem to recognize my own reflection staring back at me.
Have to look to risks to keep me on edge.
Sure, all this isn’t that bad.
Kind of like a friend you've always been told to hate, but suddenly started to love.
Being this way is making me a hell of a lot happier anyways.
So, I don’t care ‘cause I’m happy and that should be enough.
So how 'bout we all go 100 and laugh along the way?

Facing the Inevitable

I know it was inevitable. I mean, it was bound to happen as long as I stayed alive. I’m another year older. I was excited, I really was. Don’t get me wrong, I still am, but it’s kind of shocking and weird that I feel as if I’m watching one of those old-fashioned, rolled films. I’m watching my childhood pass by me and now it’s gone. I’m not so sure that I’m ready for this. These past few months I’ve done things that have made that completely official. I’ve made decisions that, although they’ve been fun and exciting, they make my childhood disappear. I miss the days of fighting over Barbies with Hope, getting used as Trey’s human surf board in the pool, or bickering with Ashley over how she always plays “mom”. No more silly crushes or fighting over the swing set. I long for those car rides to school with my mom and the long hours with my dad in his office at the church. I just want to back up for a little while to when a box was my castle and the cat was my prince. They’re over.

But now I’m making new memories and these ones, they’ll last longer.

Alive

Turn up the bass
And feel it in your chest
Feel your heart vibrate
Know you’re alive.

Turn up the volume
And feel it on your eardrums
Feel your brain vibrate
Know that you’re alive.

Turn up the risks
And feel it in your soul
Feel your body light up
Know that you’re alive.

The keys on the piano ring in my head
Causing a shiver to travel up my spine
It only takes one simple noise
To form a reaction.

Pull that bow across those strings
Let that violin set the mood
I need the sound, the life
We can know that we’re alive.

Beat that drum, give it all you’ve got
I need you to do that for me, please
I’m dying from this silence
I’m risking everything where I sit.

I’m so alive at this moment
I close my eyes and wait, it happens
I know I’m alive, I know
I need to feel the noise.

Grabbing your hand shocks me
Electricity, friction, electrons
Emotion, love, compassion
I’m risking everything to be here.

I’ve never felt more alive
Each beat sends a wave through my head
My sober mind is spinning
You bring me back with your words.

I know you’re panicking, too
We could lose everything
Too easily can everything change
But this risk, this is what I need.

Days, weeks, months, so long
I’ve been surviving, not living
You’ve made me alive
The music has kept me alive.

A Special Someone

I was reminded tonight that certain people are more special than others.


She looked him dead in the eye. One eyebrow up. He followed suite. Head to the side. Again he copied. His warm body pressed up against her and she laughed at his simple ways. Wrapping her arms around him she was reminded of simple joys. Innocent delight. She looked him dead in the eye again and waited for him to respond. He simply licked her face and barked for her to play the game again.

Every time she laughs, he wags his tail harder. Every time she cries, he snuggles closer. Every time she screams in pain, he barks stronger. Every time she runs, he runs harder. He is her baby.

No matter where you are in life or how horrible things are, there’s a special person like my baby, Oreo Wilbur Williams.

i love him. <3

Writing

There’s no feeling like that when letters mold to your fingertips.
When the keys of a keyboard become your landing pads.
When the thoughts of your mind become the paint of a canvas -
A canvas, the document on the computer screen.

There’s no feeling like that when the pen becomes a baton,
Forming sentences in the form that you call your handwriting.
When the paper becomes your orchestra, only your call goes.
When your hand becomes the god of the written piece -
A piece of your heart and mind put into tangible form.

Poetry

Don't laugh, but this was actually for Mrs. Powers to help her understand me better.

Poetry is not forced; it is something that grows in the soul and pours out of the body through way of words. Poetry cannot be molded or shaped by any person; it has a definite shape with definite volume that cannot change without changing what it is. Poetry is not child’s game; it has a heartbeat and is therefore another life - it must be handled with care and carried very gently. Poetry is not quick or hasty; it is time-consuming and patient. Poetry is not a raging fire of hate and lust; it is a blanket of comfort, love, emotion, and strength. Poetry cannot be found or sought after; it is something to arrive and stay for only as long as it desires. Poetry has no mother or father; it is an orphan, adopted by nostalgia, and married to coffee. Poetry has no home; it thrives in nature, in the waves of the ocean and the leaves of trees. Poetry does not love everyone; it is introverted and enjoys the company of a simple few. Poetry is not art; it is a living, breathing being that is looking for someone new to embrace it, even if for a short time. Poetry is beautiful.


I'm on quite the roll tonight with posts. That's Starbucks, for you.

Nostalgia

Nostalgia, poetry, and coffee.
I’m on my way to heaven.
Build me a fire and I’ll be there.

Quiet and calm mood.
Relaxation calls out to me.
Forget the troubles of this world.

Romance, love-songs, and wine.
I’m on my way to heaven.
Hold my hand and I’ll be there.

Serene and perfect mood.
Happiness calls out to me.
Forget the harshness of this world.

This is the life.

Cruise Control

Another one that never got shared. This was written right after I got my license when I was fifteen.

Flicking on cruise control to keep myself legal.
Maybe I shouldn't drive when I'm mad.
Hoping I could get to take my anger out on something.
Running into a car never seems too bad.

Got to find my way in this world of people like me.
We've got tempers that blow us away.
But I don't care and probably never will.
'Cause lashing out at people seems okay.

So I need to find my cruise control -
Something solid enough to keep me in check.
To slow me down when I seem to go over board
And keep me from doing something I'll regret.

That's why God is my cruise control,
So He can stop me when the time is right.
'Cause without Him watching my every move,
I'd be slamming life's gas pedal with all my might.

16 years old - speeding on 61

I wrote this almost two years ago, but it was never shared. Wow.

Pushing 60 on a 45.
Yup, I'm one of those people who hate themselves.
Can't control my speed or emotions.
Yes, I look at pictures of myself to remind me of who I was.
Can't seem to let myself say I'm beautiful out loud.
Have to look to a future of hopeful happiness.
Sure, death doesn't seem that bad.
Kind of like a friend you've always been annoyed by, but suddenly started to love.
Being with my savior is a hell of a lot better than this place anyways.
So, differences don't matter 'cause we all hate ourselves and all die eventually.
So how 'bout we all go 80 and laugh along the way?

Windmill

Call yourself a windmill ‘cause you’re pushing me away.

I know we’ve got a battle on our hands, but you’ve run at the first sign of bloodshed. Just imagine. Just put yourself in my shoes. I’m the one getting shot at. I’m the one they want to kill. Yet you leave me alone on the battlefield.

These are the times that we really need to be together. Its times like this that we’re really supposed to show each other how much we care. Why is it that now things are tough, you’re not standing by me? I get it, it’s hard, but you’re leaving me alone and that’s the last thing I need right now. It’s only making everything worse.

Do you get what I’m trying to say? You’re my best friend, you’re my family, you’re so important to me. It’s hard for you to comprehend that this is happening, but I’m the one that’s having to not just face the facts but run into them head-on. I need you and you’re leaving me.

Call yourself a windmill ‘cause you’re pushing me away.

Dig

This isn't aimed at anyone in particular, but it encompasses other emotions.

I’ve been digging my own grave for months.
I went from a shovel to a bulldozer in a week.
And in another week, I was so deep I couldn’t get out.
So, why stop and let that grave have use?
I’m digging more now, but this one’s for you.
For all the crap you did to me, I dig your grave, too.
If I’m going down, you’re going with me.
They say if you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.
I say if you go out without a fight, you’re letting the world win.
Watch out ‘cause I’m on my way.
I’m not letting you have this battle.
You’re going to see my true colors - I’m not black and white.
Just look into my eyes and see that red-hot fire.
Yea, those flames you see, that’s hate.
The hate I have for you.

Favorite

Okay, so this one is kind of funny:

I've got holes in me dating back to when you'd run around screaming
I've got scars on me that no one even knows what they're from
I've got stains on me that would even gross the garbage man out
I've got stories woven through me that speak of the years before
I've got secrets in my pockets that you'd try to hide away in class
I've got a brand name so old even the historians don't recall
I've shrunk
I've been big and I've been tight
I've been with you as you've changed
But no matter what, I'm still your favorite pair of jeans

Hands

This is for one of the most important people to me:

Around 28 bones. Cartilage. Ligaments. Blood vessels. Tendons. Nerves. Who would’ve thought that the hands of the people you love would be so precious to you? A simple part of the body; able to do so much.

It was the hands that held me when I was seconds old.
It was the hands that baptized me.
It was the hands that hid the tooth fairy’s dollar.
It was the hands that gave me my first Bible.
It was the hands that wiped away my tears.
It was the hands that thought to fix my broken toys.
It was the hands to tear open those well-packed gifts.
It was the hands to make me the best breakfasts.
It was the hands that I watched give my sister away.
It was the hands that fight for our family daily.
It was the hands of my father.

Strong hands that have done so much for me.
I look at them shake when he’s down and I feel my whole world shake.
I watch him hold them out the window like an airplane and I’m reminded of why I love him.
I see the scars of life on his palms and it is made clear that he has fought for me.

He was my first love.
He is my protector.
He is my teacher.
He is my friend.
He is my father.

Who would have thought that his hands would mean so much to me?
Who would have thought that he would be the one I fear to lose most?
Who would have thought that I would have such an amazing man for a father?

Burn

She fell to her knees on the hot pavement as she let out a mortifying scream. The rocks beneath her sliced through her tender flesh, but the pain in her heart outweighed all else. She blinked hard, attempting to clear her eyes of the blur of tears and found herself horrified again at the sight before her. The view still shook her core, it still made her loose her breath. It was gone. Not just her house, but her whole life. To anyone passing by, the sight would simply be sad; a house, engulfed in flame, burning down the remnants of a family’s life, but it was much more. The lives of two people are engulfed in those flames and the lives of two people are gone.

She reached down and grasped her hands together, still able to feel the touch of her husband’s strong hands. Only seconds early, he carried her out of the house to safety, only to grab her hand and promise her he’d be back before he ran into the house once more. She was naïve, she believed him. She had hope that burned higher than the flames in her house that he would be back and he would return with her precious angel. Her hope was murdered, however. Neither of them returned and both were gone.

She wondered why no one had saved them. Why had no one been there? She tore herself up inside, thinking of how stupid she had been to insist on living so far from civilization years ago. All she wanted was some privacy to raise her beautiful daughter and now it had cost them their lives. She had never felt so alone before. She wanted him to hold her, she wanted her husband to come say that everything would be alright. He could never do that again though.

She slowly stood up on wobbly feet, barely able to compose herself enough to catch her balance. The tears could not stop and her heart could not calm down. She was in overdrive. How could she move on past this moment? How could anything good come from this? She wasn’t sure of the answer, but she was sure that there wouldn’t be anything after this. She would be alone and she would always be tormented by the loss of her precious family. She needed them and without them, she could not go on.

She took a step towards the house. The fire was getting stronger and the strength could be felt as heat on her face. She made her decision. The fact was that she had no where to go and nothing to do without them. There was nothing she could do to fix it though. She had to make this right in the only way she could.

She took another step towards the house and the heat intensified. It calmed her and made her feel at home. Honestly, she would rather burn alive than live without her love and her angel.

So she walked in the house before it collapsed.

UNO Cards

Not too sure where this came from...

One of these days, none of this will matter.
It'll just be you, me, and a stack of UNO cards.
We'll be rebels in this world.
We'll be the envied ones.
We'll be the ones that aren't afraid to be different.
We'll play poker with a stack of UNO cards.
They'll make comments
And they'll make fun
But really they're just jealous that they never thought of it.
We'll have crazy ideas.
We'll solve world hunger.
We'll find a cure to cancer.
They'll be jealous and wonder who we are
But really we're just the kids with the UNO cards.
Really, we're just us and we are awesome.

Anger

Again, this is more of a reflection.

I can feel the red-hot sensation run through my entire body and down to my fingertips. The clenching of my fists can not contain the emotions that run through me and completely encompass my mind. Nothing can contain the fury that I feel and nothing can stop it from pouring out. In an animal-like scream, I yell out, anger pulling on my vocal cords. My anger is something indescribable. It is deep, eliciting from the core of my being. Never have I been able to keep myself from this feeling and again, I fail. With a deep breath, I exhale the remnants of my emotion and find myself completely exhausted. I have to learn to fight this.

Parents

Something in those blue eyes was pulling at me in a way I can never describe. Something in his tiny heart screamed of his innocence. Something in his helpless hands spoke of vulnerability. Something in those precious brown hairs painted beauty. He laughed and it brought tears to my eyes. His innocent, sweet, childish noises created a new space in my heart, all dedicated to him. There would be no other man I loved like him. His tiny hand grabs mine, only fitting around my index finger and I can’t help but give my lips a home on his forehead. I shall always love him. I shall always protect him. He will always be my son and I will always be his mother.

He scared me with his beauty. He frightened me with his innocence. He terrified me with his sweetness. I knew I had to protect all of these things. He was something I could not explain. He was the first man, although tiny, to break my mask. He was the first one to bring out the fear in me. He was the first one that won a kind of love that I cannot explain. I reach for him, ever so gently. He knows who I am and I smile knowing that he is more than special. His gorgeous eyes look up at me and take my breath away. I need not touch him to express my love and compassion. I look down at him as he falls asleep and I feel tears fall from my eyes, breaking my masculine mask. I shall always love him. I shall always protect him. He will always be my son and I will always be his father.

Developed

My legs are fully developed now and I can stand on my own. I can make my own decisions and fight my own fights. Something has changed in me and it’s the power and drive to be my own person. I feel powerful. I feel strong. I feel strengthened. I feel ready to face the world. I feel ready to be in love. I feel ready to fight for my beliefs. One of these days, you’ll see me and you’ll wonder what happened. You’ll wonder how you never knew me. You’ll wonder how you never fell in love. And I’ll be there, ready to remind you of what you’ll never win; to remind you that I am better.

Pawns

My speedometer was nearing 65; not too fast, but definitely fast enough to get a blue light special. The weather was dark and dreary, as was my mood, so the speed didn’t matter to me anymore. I was nearing the end of the road where you have to make a decision to go either right or left. The truck in front of me had made his decision and was slowing down. The red flash of his brake lights nearly burned my eyes with the starkness against the gray sky and faded trees. For any normal person, this would be the time to put your foot on the brake.

But my leg was lead. It did not move. I was subconsciously making a decision, whether I was realizing it or not. The truck was slowing down and had made it to about 25, but I was continuing on, doing nothing but speeding up. Finally, my speedometer was pointing to 75 and the seconds were coming down to nothing. I had a second to decide the rest of my life. I could let it go, let go of everything that has ever weighed down on me. I could totally be free from all the stress and anxiety that has tormented me for so long. Or, I could brake and give in to the world around me. I could give in to being like everyone else; a pawn in a giant game of life.

Finally, my conscious outweighed my true desires and the bumper of the truck in front of me did not make contact with my car or my body. Instead, I slammed on the brakes and took the turn, pulling along behind the truck. I audibly laughed as I stared at his license plate as I know the ignorance of the man driving the vehicle. Little does he know that I almost used his truck for my leisure. Little does anyone know in this world of me or anyone around them.

We’re all just pawns in this game of life.