I'm Feeling a Bit Determined.

There's a stiff counsel in the air

Advice is the last I desire to

Succumb to.

Circulating around my head

Too many of you

Resist what you should

Fall on your knees for.

This is not one

Of those moments.

I'm ashamed of those

Who cannot sip

On their own cherry-

Tainted medicine.

"Listen to the words

Of the Wise"

I bet a "wise" person

Spoke those words.

The greedy bastard.

Listen here,

Listen hard

For one so strong,

One with willpower,

Can do all things

That one has spoke of.

Stop succumbing.

I beg of you

Failure is just another

Point of view

That can become fiction

Through two persistent irises

And a habitual dodge

From those ever surrounding

Self-loathing critics.

The Cycle

Lying awake entitles a sorrowful story
Somewhat of an everlasting cycle
The Birth.
The Beat.
The Death.
Trapped inside of a case-like cave
Start to yearn for something more
Which in reality contains something less
The beat of your heart proves the existence of risk
Life is like a pathway of moveable stepping-stones.
Once again gasping for more
The stones lead to a dead end,
Of course.
You find joy in wrapping yourself in white linen
So blinding to the named eye but so solid
So secure to insanity.
Seven pairs of hands handle the remains of the escaped
And end your risky journey
Trapped inside a sorrowful case.

Isn't it a shame how you think so highly of something before you really understand it? Before you experience it? Preconceived notions are always a let down. They're either not quite up to par, or way down below. Bummer, i think. Bummer, i say. This isn't a perfect world where we receive truth through unexperienced experiences. Sometimes I can't wrap my head around it.

Quiet Thursday

John Peter called my name in class today.
He said,
Sitting seagulls and
Crouching crows
Kind of like
Prison partners homeward bound
Let's join in
Without explanation
And so
He couldn’t explain anymore.
Assuming the worst,
I agreed to a conversion
About lopping leftovers
Made of lead and ink.
We started coloring
Pastels on Manila paper
White crayons on a chalkboard
Nobody knew it,
We’re good at our own little crimes.

I'm not a prison partner. But i'm homeward bound.

Leather Sandals

I call this the Western Frontier.

The Western Frontier calls no names. The silence is almost unbearable. Leather sandals collect sand and grind the soles of ten thousand disturbed feet. Sweat drips and water dries. Nothing could be more fulfilling than a memoir for a man not yet disturbed from death. Reading the script too few of us have engraved in our secluded, dirtied palm. The existence of sunrays meets the distinction of trees. The repetition of a collection that marches on, past the grave, as ink splurges out from the perimeter. He took it to heart: the wise eyes of a blade, he said. Spreading through veins, it finds a home and thanks you for your services. Distorting vision, hearts pounding, pulse drifting, feet lifting. Conclusion to what cause? Crawling though a cave like Sylvia Plath, she noticed the white washed clapboards taunting her to no end...or perhaps an endless end. Pain has temporary placements and soon reveals long-lasting desires. The tumbleweed passes and hits the wind-blown sand to create one solid crater in a Utopian society. Take away the one who holds the desire to remain tangible. Say your last speech and enter the Western Frontier.

Today's been a good day.

I read something interesting today in Amy Hempel's "Collected Stories"
"I like my dinner in a bag and my life in a box."
I think it describes the nature of most American citizens. Fast food & television: Fast and Efficient. Entertaining and Distracting. Painless and Enjoyable. Temporary. All of the things that dumb you down will give you a momentary high. Not for me, though. I think everlasting joy is something that resides in things like Wisdom and Knowledge. A television show cannot possibly supply enough knowledge for me. I won't remember what's going on with Kim Kardashian and her ridiculous boyfriend. I won't become smarter by watching Heros (no matter how much i love that show). But a book is written with intelligence. It's a beautiful art form that is greatly under-appreciated. I'm glad I don't eat out of a bag and live in a box. That's too restricted. Plain. And. Simple. I thank Amy Hemple for supplying wonderful literature that I may reflect on:)

Candy Canes

Solid absence of color

Wearing a Christmas ribbon

Curved to perfection

Marilyn Monroe's lips

Designed for a hiker in need

Crossing the sidewalk

With the deprived and aged

Caucasian with a sunburn

Eye of an albino mouse

Just a newborn

Maybe a couple days

Alert thick follicles

Boys to men

Simple barbershop advertisement

Picnic blanket

Polk-a-dot boxers

Same theory, different shape

Same law, different function

Mall pictures

Presents for the behaved

Ten dollars a memory

Two inch sugar stick

Cavity craver

Dentist downer

Seasonal and sweet

Zoos with diversity

Zebra with red stripes

Admirable in a cage.

The one and only MDM.

If I grew paler every time you make me blush
I’d effortlessly bring jealousy to the most ancient of ghosts.
If my lips were stained scarlet every time I implore to kiss you
They could sell a pigment to Chanel’s finest line.
If I became stronger every time I hold you close
I’d have the strength to crush every household television in one petite second
Cause I know you’d like that.
If my hair grew every occasion your fingertips gently graze my face
I could be named the Modern-day Rapunzle.
If my teeth brightened every moment you made me smile
I would be blinding our friends and family into the deepest of comas.
If my eyes grew bluer every time they longed to see you
My irises would be diving boards into the Pacific Ocean.
If my hair appeared blonder every time you compliment me
Barbie would be asking for tips.
If my heart grew bigger every time I urge to whisper I love you
Well. It wouldn’t fit in me anymore. Some things you can’t sugar coat.
If my abs became more visible every time you make me laugh
P90X Ab Ripper would be a joke of a workout.
If my arms grew longer every time I grasp your hand
I’d have the ability to situate the moon and sun according to the time your body thinks it should be.
If I had a diamond for every time you made me feel like a princess
I’d have a crown that not even Queen Mary could hold up.
Well, before she was beheaded of course.
If I became smarter every time you fascinate me
I’d create sudokus that include fractions and decimals.
Yes, that’s a big deal.
So in conclusion, with all this said
I think it’s safe to say: I love you my dear.

Nightmares vs. Dreams

I do not own my own sleep
For how can one put a leash on instinct?
Cycles are the staple of tradition
Good tradition, for that matter.

Cryptic for the auspicious
Arc of the misguided
I’m stuck in a world lounging in between
The equator of an eye.

I do not desire to give merit to any nightmares under this good moon
Nor any dark and invisible worry
But neither do I plentifully nod to angelic dreams
I admit this dire shame.

Such thoughts flourish vividly under stars
And every so often slip into reality
Sliding through the thin line between tired lids
A visible fragment of imagination behind off-white linen patiently lingers.

A sliver of light pries away woeful sorrows that escape the edges of a cloud
And chains up those feasting on passion and hope
Unconsciously tying knots that morning must unfasten.

Struggles accumulate before daylight appears
Conflicts to resolve before the first morning yawn
A simplistic stretch extensively delayed
Is this the worst that can happen in a prison cell?
Fear of the imagination is a heavy load
But nothing can compare to the consequents that wait in the break of day.

Two o'clock and still studying

Just a look into my day and a couple things i said that were entertaining or something to just think about.

"your relationship isn't official if facebook doesn't say so. your pictures were never taken if they aren't posted. an event never happened if it's not in a group. nobody has a fans unless there are members in a site."

"i hope you were just as happy as i was when Single Ladies won best song of the year on the grammys. and when dear lady gaga got to play with elton john. yeah, she's definitely just as epic as him. glad to know our generation is picking their idols so well."

"i wish there was gum textbook. Chew it and know everything."

"Brough smells like a combination of plastic and blood."

"did they say Johnny Depp smells like a combination of Calvien Klein, the beach, heaven, pumpkin spice, and new car? He looks like somebody that would smell like that."

"I just tried to get into the wrong car. They locked the door when I was pulling on the handle."

"But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin."- 1 John 1:7

By the way. Download Pretty Light's new EP. Nowish.

Tis the Ocean

Finally, everything is lost at sea
Pacing beside coral reef
Empty pages dissolve in aquariums
Soaking the crisp letters with blue dye
Desiring to fill them with more than God’s drinking water
Poseidon’s trident strikes stronger than ballpoint
Yet, written façade leaves no room for judgment
These words remain sharper than a Selachimorpha’s jawbone
Gentle yet powerful as hwaels
Oh, so exquisite like delphinoideas
What a marvelous sight, the underworld
Waves crashing overhead, dissolving our fears
Transparency is nonexistent so many feet below
Rocks become the epitome of stainless doors
Once you’ve opened them, forget returning to said domicile
Stars will be the only unreachable feature in all astronomy
For the ocean will provide resting grounds
Islands personify skies
Constantly securing nothing
That’s the beauty of it all
Away floats The Book that has been so earnestly reported
No longer will there be a need for records
All in the moment
Lost at sea, yourself you may finally be.

Snowglobe

So I'm entering a poetry contest...I can enter up to four poems and I would love any advice on which poems to enter. I want to get something published, so please, hand over your honest opinion. Please and thank you:)

This one was inspired by my grandparents, even though you'd have no way of knowing that if i didn't tell you. Enjoyyyy.

(Listen to Digital Love by Daft Punk. It's a new favourite.)

Drowning into a pool of security
The crystal clear surface reveals my world
Safe: like a snow globe on my grandma’s shelf.
A wineglass shaken swift
Thumbs pulverize into semiprecious stone
Attention running past me like the blood racing my fingers.
Red water dripping
A facet curing
The background of my life appears dull.
The Little Mermaid plays on repeat
Cashews sit in an aluminum can
A harmonica waits in a cardboard box.
All the while
I’m safe in this world.
Mermaids aren’t real
Cashews can’t kill
Harmonicas don’t walk
There’s nothing to fear.
Red roses arise, thorns prodded under feet
My snow globe is parched
Chilly flakes melt
Thirst dead
Grandma's World
Gone: second in time
Spent: dollar past dime
Poof: swift deaf mime
Tangibility is moderately unreachable.

Blue Jay

The sun came out today:) I'm currently blasting Pandora in my prison-cell of a dorm, as i reflect on my wonderful day. It's days like this that make me appreciate the city in which i live. The potential of the sun's beauty is way too bright and warming for its own good. I suppose thats why it only comes out every so often. You can't spoil the spoiled more than necessary. Almost done with Rant by Chuck Palahniuk (by far my biggest writing inspiration). Here are a couple things i learned form dear Chuck today:

"Sometimes the death of one person can justify the death of an entire culture."

"What if reality is nothing but a disease?"

"There's worse ways to be dead than dying."

"Death is a tragic event, but stopping the flow of traffic is always seen as the greater crime." (i feel that this quote is particularly true due to the fact that many people are more emotional about waiting in their car for a couple hours than the life that just lost a few decades.)

Now, I swear that this book is not all about death: just the couple chapters I read today. But anyways, i thought those were some nice quotes.

Oh.

Here's what I came up with today.

If I could touch your voice

I know it would feel

Like the feathers of a blue jay

A melody so smooth

My fingers would barely touch

For fear of tainting

Oh! To keep something so pure

So holy as an unheard symphony

If I could touch your voice

Chrysanthemums would bloom

From cracks in thy palm

Which you hold so creased

My thumbprint would engrave the stem

My heart would beat in the petals

Each palette pigment would shape into song

Your collection of beauty would grow

A withering album reversed in slow motion

If I could touch your voice

The smallest of ears would cry

For a pleasure so big, so pronounced

Would shake all earth with jealousy.

Marching through Vienna

Photo by Stephanie Parsley @ www.epitomeoftheart.blogspot.com

Today's been a busy day. Time to write.

Fighting the break of dawn
A brink of light fades into ash
All night will soon see time
The slow and sudden pain of fire
Deeply stings like a marble of ice
All will fall like a fear-struck bridge
Sturdy for others, weak in the cracks
Out of sight you ask me to run
Crying convicted shame in the streets
Star-cross these hearts
And divide these vows
For no longer do we pray as we wait
Pompous parades march through April
We ourselves created this marvelous scene
A beauty to behold in the streets of Vienna
For all may enjoy any goodness we wrought
And bestow as many pleasures we bring.

Unescapable and Always Returning

I've had a marvelous weekend. Up till ten o'clock tonight that is. Spent the past three days with my amazing parents, who I've missed more than summer air misses the fall breeze. I must admit, i absolutely love when the parents come up for multiple reasons. First, the first embrace of the visit. Probably one of the most comforting tangible experiences i receive. Second, conversion, of course. Third, the food. I love to be fed, considering I don't have ample time to eat in college, nor do I really feel attracted to college food. Tomorrow they'll drop me back off at my dorm and my family-less college life will continue once more, besides the ample calls I expectedly dial, of course. Biology test tomorrow. A hard one. Started studying at 10 and four cups of coffee later, it is now...4:15? Awesome. I love losing sleep over a subject that has absolutely no relevance to my already insignificant major. But no biggie. I'm just a room away from my parents, which surprisingly makes studying much easier. I probably sound like quite a family-attached kid. Honestly, I'm really not...well, i haven't been in the past. My love for my family gets stronger and stronger every day as i increasingly realize, they are the ONLY people that will never leave my side. No matter what, MY best interest is in the heart. I'm their baby and the last thing they want is to bring any kind of confusion or pain into my life. My mother is my best friend. My father is my biggest role model. I have great parents. Enough said. Oh, but i can't forget my sister. The one person in the world whom no other bond could top. I'd do anything for her and i know she'd always have my back. Though I miss her so, i can only pray our relationship will get stronger, even if we see each other less (because of our hectic schedules and what not). Anyways. Now that I threw that out there.

Decided to write something a little more light-hearted...maybe a bit easier to understand. I don't think this one will require you to get inside of my head to understand. It kinda has something to do with...eh...Mornings: the unescapable and always returning.

Woke up too early
A bed made for a casket
Cartoons too dumb and dull
Roadrunners colliding
Tea burns my lips
Salt turns into rubber
Smoke burns my lungs
Clouds unlike cotton candy
Burning, burning, burning
Soap can disengage the strongest of dirt ties
Splish, splash the water on my face
Riding to exhibit knowledge
The only wisdom playground I deny
Voices too loud, lectures too long
Escaping is a joke—without a laughing audience
Weaving tutorials at noon
Stringing to be unstrung
Just like life and all its existence
Coming to a close
Reflect to the beginning
Crosswords and word searches
Thoughtfully resting beneath my lead
What an exciting morning I own
This watered-down orange juice will routinely hither
My umbrella toothpick protects a striped straw
That’s more shelter than I expect
But what is the point of expectations?
Mornings come, wanted or not
Once a day we experience the first choice
To escalate or decline
An aspect that remains valuable
For each footstep of the risen will coincide
So let’s hope for all sanity
That this will be a good morning.