poetry?

Im in a mood and it's tempting to turn off my phone and literally hide under the covers when I'm like this
I cant handle actual communication because I hate how stupid I sound when Im acting like an emo sixteen-year-old
so instead Im sharing a poem that I wrote about a year ago.


The sun is coming out
But I've already made my peace with the rainy blues
I faced the rain
as it fell
I sighed
as it splashed
Sneered
as it dripped

I resigned myself to wearing rain boots
Big Plastic Heavy and Bright

Then sneaking out from behind the clouds
Came the sun
So the boots get put away
My feet saved from sweaty, non-conforming synthetics
Saved for another Rainy Day
When all I'll want is the sun

After pride and Prejudice and, Zombies...why not?

Margaret March entered her home a after a long day and could hear her girls giggling and moving around upstairs. She knew that after school and chores were finished, they often retreated up to the attic to act out the adventurous stories that her Jo wrote for them. Taking off her boots and hanging up her coat, she heard them all chasing each other down the stairs to hug her and ask about her day.

“Marmee!” Joe cried, the first white face to emerge from around the corner, “We were so worried you wouldn’t make it home before the snow storm, we’ve made a warm broth for dinner.” My sweet girls, Marmee thought to herself. While enjoying dinner, Mrs. March tried unsuccessfully to orchestrate the girls into conducting a conversation while remembering to act like little women instead of a bunch of boisterous children, but she knew that society’s restrictions took a toll on her young ladies and she decided to allow them to feel at home in their own house.

The girls had all had very long days, but when the table was cleared and Marmee was settled by the fire with a pile of stockings and petty coats that needed mending, they climbed back up to the attic as if there had never been a break for dinner. Although Meg was the oldest, Jo had the responsibility of spending her day with Aunt March while Amy went to school, Beth was home schooled and Meg acted as governess for the King family. Therefore, it was up to Jo to pass on the training that she learned from the March matriarch.

Jo had always loved to write and the girls had always loved being able to entertain each other, this made the idea of the girls acting out Jo’s adventures to be the ideal cover story to tell their devoted and naïve mother. In fact, the young March women were involved in deep combat training. They were little women by day, and fierce soldiers by night. At the rate they were progressing, it would not be long before they could bring their beloved father home by wining his battles for him.

Meg was the sensible one; she kept her head clear and focused during battles. Jo was adventurous and creative; in her hands, anything was a deadly weapon. Beth was too shy, she was never comfortable talking in public, but you didn’t need to have a conversation with someone to kill them. Amy was the youngest, in another life she may have been a romantic artist, but her passion came out in her fighting.

The girls used to spend time playing with their neighbor Laurie, but as soon as Jo had begun to develop enough to fill out the bodice in her sister Meg’s hand-me-down dresses, he had begun to see her in a new light. When he proposed marriage as if Jo would be relieved to leaver her sisters and her stories behind in favor of being his wife; she had reacted the only way she knew how. Between blows to his head delivered with the broom she had been sweeping with, she ground out “I am nobody’s little woman! I am just as useful as a man and I don’t need you or society to hold me back and turn me into nothing but a breeder!”

Laurie had gone off to college and the girls had not heard from him since

a story I just made up tonight and told the boys to put them to sleep

There once was a photographer who lived alone. He was not lonely because he filled his walls with the many pictures that he had taken. One night, he was in his dark room going through the prices of developing his pictures. In the corner of several of the frames he saw a dog that he had never seen before. He was surprised that the animal had made it into his picture without his noticing but he shrugged and went about his work. After, he made himself dinner and went to bed.

The next day he was at the park taking pictures and he was surprised to see the dog that he noticed in his pictures the night before. He assumed that it must have followed him and went back to work. That night he was back in his dark room developing his photographs from the day. He was once again caught of guard when he saw a boy that he had not noticed before. He wondered if he was getting careless and needed a vacation. The next day he was surprised when the boy from the photographs was at the park. He began taking pictures of him and soon the two started talking. He was delighted by the boy’s imagination and happy spirit.

That night, in the dark room, he smiled as he developed the boy’s pictures. He gasped as he saw a woman in the bottom right corner of one of the frames, He was sure he would have remembered is he had seen her that day because she was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. He felt anticipation bubble up inside of him as he hoped that he would see her the next day at the park. He had planned to meet the boy there so they could continue entertaining each other with stories.

At the park, he looked around anxiously for the boy. When he arrived, he was not alone. He was with his mother, the woman from the pictures and his dog. They had all appeared to the photographer’s camera before they came to him. He fell into a conversation with the woman and could not believe how quickly time could pass. The three agreed to meet again the next day where he spent hours laughing with them and taking their pictures. Soon he asked the woman to have dinner with him and it seemed like no time had passed at all when the two decided to get married.

Every night the photographer examined his developing prints closely, but they held only the happy images of his world and his new family. Until one night, when he saw a small child lingering in the bottom of a frame. The next day, his wife told him that she was pregnant. When she wondered out loud if the baby would be a boy or a girl, he bet her 20 dollars that it would be a girl with dark hair like her mother and her father’s bright blue eyes.

A short and sweet piece from June of '04

          They sat in the pizza place and discussed everything but what they both needed to talk about. As the awkwardness settled in, made itself comfortable, and helped itself to a piece of pepperoni pizza, they accidentally made eye contact for a second before quickly looking the other way. Finally, she stopped twirling her hair and looked above the the grease stained table. The stereotypically white and red checkered table cloth between them had been present for 10 years worth of dinner conversations. There had been first dates and last dates, horrible proposals, badly timed jokes, sentimental moments over parmesan cheese and an endless run of reenactments of the pasta scene in Lady and the Tramp. But she was sure this was a meal awkward enough to go down in history. After a very long beat of silence the big green eyes that she had been waiting for finally raised themselves to meet hers. When she was convinced that they would not dash off to gaze out the window again, she held their attention and tipped the awkwardness out of its chair and onto the floor so she could confront it.
          What erupted from her mouth in a stream so long that it made the nile look like  tiny river in Egypt. "I don't regret it and I'm not sorry, and I really care about you. And I don't want to just be your friend, I mean I've loved being your friend but I want more. And I think you do too, and if you still can't admit that then you're just stupid. Wait, I'm sorry, I don't think you're stupid. I mean this is stupid. I just like your face, and I want my face to be near your face. So...yeah." She reflected that Freddie Prince Jr. had a team of writers behind him when he did this shit and she was at a serious disadvantage here.
          The pause that followed was not just pregnant; it gave birth, had a brief run in with postpartum depression, experienced empty nest syndrome and happily sobbed as it gave away the bride. And just as she was about to give up hope and admit defeat, she felt two hands shyly but fiercely grab hers under the table where she had been playing a losing game of thumb war with herself. They never let go, even as they stood up to leave. They walked through the door with a perfectly synchronized pace, two girls happy together. And with a swish of perfume, giggles, and swinging hair; they were gone. They left the awkwardness to finish the pizza and pay the tab.

Writing with my friend Tyler, he gave me the prompt "Pigeons". This is what i came up with

Celia had always know that it would be up to her to lead the family one day. With her father gone, someone had to look after those he had left behind. her father's life had been a tough one. By the end, he was left with just one wing and one eye. The effect was a sobering one even for the most youthful of birds. He used his disability as an advantage, turing it into a tool to be an excellent jude of character.
Many of the young birds strutted around the park like they invented the idea. Everyone respected her father, Clarence, as he was a war veteran and the oldest pigeon around. It was no secret that he had been around the fountain more than a few times. And bird who laughed at his one-legged hop or took a second too long to stare at his empty eye socket always flew away sorry. he was the patriarch of the clan and as such, he demanded respect and admiration.
Cynthia knew that she did not have as much life experience or as many battle scars as her father, but she knew that she had to act and lead the troops with confidence. Whether she felt it or not. Her brother had been lost in the great Bread Crumb Battle of '62 so her father's legacy was left to her.
When the monsters approached, so much smaller than the other giants but so much louder, Celia stepped up and instructed the soldiers to fly up and starts pooping. She also had the foresight to instruct the women and children to fall back and aim for the loud shiny things that the giant creatures always arrived and left in. Hearing the giants curse and their little monsters laugh, as they took in the once clear and now streaked surfaces of their transportation, she knew that she had made the right choice.
The monsters seemed to think that they alone owned the park, but the pigeons knew the truth. They would not be forced out of their home by hideous creatures that laughed maniacally as they launched themselves at the nobel birds. They may not be as graceful as the doves or as tiny and quick as the sparrows but they were a proud family. They were also patient. they knew that eventually the giants would kill each other eventually and the world would return to the way it was before their arrival, Belonging to the animals. The pigeons would be able to freely pick at the trash that they left behind. Celia felt deep in her downy gut that the birds would rule again one day. She may loose one wing or only see victory through one remaining eye, but she would still welcome it with a joyful heart. She would lead her troops to victory in the name of her father; Clarence the Brave.

Ten years later Celia still had both eyes and both wings but she was loosing her life. An old bird now, she told her story to the younger pigeons. She told them the story of her father and urged them to continue striving to create a new world. Soon, she would be gone but her pigeon dreams would fly on in the hearts of younger generations.
She was given a heroes burial next to her father. Their new balance shoe boxes sitting side by side forever. Every time the monsters launch an attack, the pigeons retaliate with their only runny self self defense. Always keeping one beady eye on the future. A future where birds roam the streets and parks freely. Strutting and squawking without fear.

A really short one that I wrote 4 years ago...

Alice was fat. Fat in a way that women, and even men, were really not allowed to be. She was unavoidably and almost humorously fat. It was the first thing you noticed about her, and for most people it was the only thing they could see. Alice was more than just rotund or zaftig. She wasn't just big boned. She was the real life version of the scene in Charlie and The Chocolate Factory when the girl turns into a blueberry. She even thought it was funny to wear all blue and guess how many people were thinking of calling the oompalompas to come roll her away and squeeze her out. Alice was morbidly obese. Huge even.
Except for when she sang.
Alice singing was a spectacle that people had to actually see to believe. Whenever Alice sang, her face would light up and her excess weight would seem to just melt away. As she continued to sing, you would realize that the pounds of flesh weren't just seeming to disappear, they were actually evaporating off of her body. Which brings to mind the question; if no one is there to hear or see the magical fat lady sing, does she still slim down faster than a desperate prom queen digesting nothing but laxatives for a week? Well whether it was for a large audience or just a private concert for herself and her stereotypically large number of cats, Alice always did go from a "before" to an "after" picture of a member of jenny Craig by the time her song was done.
Perhaps she would have achieved world wide fame if Alice had a beautiful voice to accompany her act. But proving once again that someone out there has a sense of humor, fate chose to play it out a different way. Though Alice had always loved to sing and always looked beautiful doing it (or by the end of it) she sounded even worse than what we imagine many of out pop stars would without the aide of voice enhancing technologies. The beautiful face that emerged from the several chins piled up in front of her neck was a stark contrast to the squawking and shaking that could barely be identified as musical notes and lyrics. But Alice chose to sing anyway, and many of her fans chose to bring ear plugs and only listen with their eyes. So while most fat ladies singing will signal the end, Alice's songs always looked like a beginning.

Ever had a nasty case of The Mondays?

*It was the kinds of that that begs to be pinched, to be tickled, to be slapped....anything to get it off your back and onto something more interesting. Anything to make it just loosen its grip or fade away completely. Go back to where it came from. Probably some dark room where other miserable days like itself could sit around a cramped table drinking black coffee, smoking unfiltered cigarets under a single, swaying light bulb. No doubt trying to top each others stories about the people whose entire weeks were ruined by a simple flick of the wrist, just one turn of events and a half a month is swept under the rug of misery. Its all in choosing the right person. The kind who enjoys a good wallow.
No matter how many bright lights were turned on in the house, the sleepy effect of those dark and dense clouds sitting above her head felt permanent. Just as disconcerting as someone precariously waving a dirty diaper above her head close enough to radiate heat. The velcro threatening to rip and make a bad day just that much crappier. No matter how loud the music was played, the steady beat of the falling rain was a musician with an amp that far out powered the speakers surrounding her ipod. Hot tea could sooth her temporarily, but it couldn't fight off the cold that had worked its way into her bones. Sleep seemed to just enhance the exhaustion that had seemed to set in before she had even woken up that morning. She had found a worthy opponent in that Monday. The word itself seemed to sound more like a threat that just the beginning of a new week. Even her mother heard the trepidation slightly shake her voice as they spoke in the morning.
It was impossible to ignore that had this day arrived a month earlier, it could have been sent away with its tail between its legs by a pair of arms and a flash of a smile. A very particular set of arms and a grin formed by a particular mouth. She would have sleepily opened one eye, looked out the window, and stated the very obvious "Its raining" and he would have let her wear his arms like a thick sweater dug out from the back of a closet. His grin could have replaced even the heaviest darkest load of crap with a sparkly clean shine and the slightest trace of lemon zest.
She had seen one too many Life Time movies and read one too many paper back books to allow this any longer. She could follow a sad movie montage with a peppy one of her loosing weight and running up some set of stairs representing a metaphorical larger set of stairs while a well known 80's hit plays in the back ground...Or she could cut the crap. And take out the trash. So she did the one thing He would never have allowed. She grabbed an actual favorite old sweater (one so ugly that she had never allowed herself to wear it in his presence) and left her shoes and cellphone and walked out into the rain. And when she got tired of walking, she ran. And the day had no choice but to make itself a cup of tea, pull on its stretch pants, and sulk in a corner trying to tune out the sound of its friends cackling laughter.


*First sentence provided by Michelle back in '05

A fairy tale

Once upon a time there was a small girl who lived in a large castle. She did not know how long she had been there or if she had a family somewhere missing her. She shared the castle with her large dog. He was nameless, just like her.

Every morning she tied up her long red hair, leapt out of the huge bed, and went downstairs to prepare her breakfast. She ate eggs that had been laid by her own chickens and cooked in oil from olives that she had picked and pressed. Her tea was from leafs thats she had grown and sweetened with milk she had squeezed and honey she had harvested. The land that her castle sat in the middle of was vast, fruitful, and hers alone to work. She had no knowledge or memories beyond it.

When she was lonely, she and her dog would go into the library where the walls were lined with books and sit by the fire so she could read them stories. The books sat on the looming shelves without any decipherable order. They were not grouped alphabetically or by size or color or content. Their words brought her peace and contentment but like her, they were closer to chaos than order. Like her, they were left that way by a person unknown without explanation or apology. At night, by the warmth of the fire, the voices of the stories made her and her dog almost feel surrounded by something other than silent space and each other.

She did not know how time passed, but she knew for certain that she had been a little girl once and was now something older. The bed eventually seemed to shrink under her and she no longer had to climb onto the kitchen counters to open the cabinets. She felt certain that if she had a Family surrounding her, they would have taken hundreds of pictures to document and remember the change. She had found an old camera and set it up on a tripod to take care of the task herself. The result was one room lined with the portraits she had taken. The change was slow but clear. If she squinted and ran along the long wall it was almost like watching herself grow in a video. Her face changing with whatever mood she had been in as she dutifully took each photograph. Documenting for her own enjoyment, smiling at herself through the lens.

One day, while eating lunch, she heard a knock at the door. It was the first time it had happened so she took a moment to sit in silent confusion before racing her dog to the door. Throwing it open, she watched a young man smile at her with interest. He was taller than her but she felt an instant recognition that his age must be close to her own. He told her his name and when she could not respond wither one of her own he gave her one. When she had no history to answer his story of where he came from, he happily gave her one of those too. He came in and stayed.

Slowly, her once constant routine was altered. For the first time, chores were occasionally forgotten or replaced as he joined his life with hers. They created her past with words and changed her present with laughter and love. He moved out of the empty room he had originally taken and into hers. Watching him age, she knew she was doing the same.

One day she woke to find him gone. If it had not been for the slight changes; his face in her once solitary photographs, notes and drawings they had made each other, a name to call the dog, she would have thought he was just a vivid dream. Maybe the result of a late night snack of tomatoes.

Eventually she was able to find a new life that blended the people she had been with and without him. He left her something new and exciting that she had never imagined owning. He gave her a past full of memories of days that did not blend together in a wave of monotony. He gave her a way to mark time. To prove that it had existed.

She wondered if he would return or if someone else would arrive in his place. Just as she had come to realize when she had stopped being a young girl, she realized she was no longer young at all.

He never returned. No one ever knocked on her door again. Though she had done it occasionally to try to imagine what it had been like for him. Just to stand where he had stood and feel the hard wood under her hands as he had.

One morning she did not wake. Her plants became over grown by weeds and her books collected dust. Her dog never left her side. If she had ever discovered a reason for her existence, it had been whispered to her dog in the corner of the library. A secret used by the two of them to stay warm as they huddled together fighting off the dark loneliness. Long forgotten.