Bulletproof Shell

Cold prickling
Heart crinkling
Hurry down across the hall.
For just a while,
I'll fake a smile--
I have no pride before my fall.

Sweep through the walk
Until, like chalk,
I'll simply wash away.
No impressions there,
Without one care,
Not hearing what I say.

Perception

I stand just over
5 feet tall
And so I shouldn't
Weigh much at all,
--Or so the doctors tell me.

Plastered on my
TV screen,
I hear exactly
What they mean
About the ideal female Body.

26-or something-
Different types
But 25 are
Worth the gripes
About the XX shape

Personality matters--
Just no more
Than how much you have
From head to floor--
And there is no escape.

I look to Jenny
And Dr. A
As I try to figure out
What to say
To the voice that says that
I could lose a few...
What's a girl to do?

Eat 500
Everyday,
Never ever
Forget to say,
"The dressing ON THE SIDE."

30, 26,
24, 22,
Til you don't know
What happened to you,
Or how you're still so wide...
Oh, what a ride.

Ideals

Flip through the storybook
Read about these girls:
All beautiful, all smart,
All humble and all heart,
Lovely as a string of pure white pearls.

Flip through adventure books
Read about these heroines:
All spunky and all brave,
All sexy (yet all behave),
Not one destines as a 'has-been'.

Flipping through the book of life,
Read about these drones:
All smoke and all eyes,
All talk and all lies,
But they know we all end up alone.

The Fathomless Deaths of the XYs

3 strikes and I'm out,
This game never ends,
I'll primp and I'll pose
At what my life sends.

But sooner or later
It gets a bit late,
It gets a bit tired,
And I get irate.

They're all the same,
And it's only for show,
They'll fight and they'll flirt,
And then off they'll go.

So I'll watch and I'll wait,
With my hair up in clips,
As I paint Monets
On my fingertips.

Atmosphere

Bent glass and
Shattered plastic--
Cold impossibilities.

Twanging strings and
Shaking hands,
Colliding on white keys.

Warped and twisted,
Brick red stones
Above the fireplace,

A cracked frame and
A broken shoe,
A lockless, damaged case.

Blackjack Regrets

Memories that aren't quite mine,
A different day, a different time,
A different way things should've gone.

A slightly altered history,
How it changed--a mystery--
So different as the days go on.

I am lost, it would seem,
In the soft folds of a dream,
And waking up is oh-so-hard,

I get to see the end, the 'fin',
And how it might-have-been
If I had checked my hand and played a card.

Un-Cinderella

Shreds of a dress and
Dusty pumpkins,
Sitting with the rats.

Tears unshed and
Broken slippers,
Yellow, unchanged cats.

It doesn't do to
Sit alone and
Wait for someone to come,

Because magic wands and
Faerie Godmothers
Only appear to some.

Personal Responsibility

I know I'm to blame,
Know I'm lazy and proud,
I'm immature, stupid,
Witless, and loud.

I had so many chances
And I blew them one-by-one,
I waited far, far too long,
And now my chances are done.

Opportunities fell
Like grainlets of sand,
But I closed my eyes
And opened my hand.

The sand drained out,
And it was all for naught,
Because now they're just gone
And I'll be forgot.

Just Ask For Directions

Come help me and
We can wash
Reality away.

When real life
Takes a break, then
Fantasy comes out to play.

Dreams and wonder,
Clouds and glass,
Roses and true love,

Because you know that
It's hard to stay grounded when
Dreaming of what's above.

And there's no map, no GPS,
And nothing's quite
Like it seems,

Because it's so easy
To get so lost when you
Wander around in daydreams.

Stuck on what
Could be and on
What might maybe happen,

It's so nice to
Slowly sink before
Reality pulls you back in.

So I'll fantasize
And theorize
About all my dreams, and hope,

'Cause it kills me softer
Than the gun and
Quicker than the rope.

Like Rain on your Wedding Day

I can't call it
Anything but funny,
The irony of this.

It's been so long
Since I knew
What happened--
What did I miss?

All I wanted
Was to be gone
To be anyone
Anybody at all,

But right as I
Finished packing
You came down
And so did Fall.

The cruel irony
Of fate never
Stops making me
Laugh a little,
So here's a riddle;

If you become who you were,
Instead of who you'd be,
Is there still a change?
Or am I just me?

And if what you wanted
And what you got
Don't match up,
Has fate forgot

What you created yourself
To be?
The irony is killing me.

I built up walls,
Hid my guns,
Protected from
Everything.

And yet I
Tore them down
And gave up
Invincibility.

I was so safe
And so far from you
That I couldn't
Stand it,

So I squeezed me
Out of myself and
Soon I just
Didn't fit.

And fate is working hard
Making sure that
I'm a fool,
While I just sit and fiddle.
So here's my riddle:

If you become who you were
Instead of who you'd be,
Is there still a change?
Or am I just me?

And if what I expected
And what I got
Don't equal each other
Has Heaven forgot

What I wanted so desperately
To Be?
Oh how ironic,
And it's killing me.

No Two Snowflakes

Ripped fabric,
Blowing in the breeze,
Almost too simple,
Destroyed with ease.

Delicate and Beautiful,
Crushed without a care,
By those who professed to love it most,
But never stopped to stare

At the intricate stitching,
At the elegant grace,
Of the white, free-floating fabric,
All without a trace

Of anything but its
Individuality,
But all they see
Is tattered lace.

Memory

Breeze on the harbor,
Birds on the shore.
Maybe it's fine,
But I pine,
For something a bit more.

Sun in the distance,
Stars in the sky.
I can't place when,
But now and then,
I get the urge to cry;

For times long past,
For something long ago.
For soft summer days,
Spent in fun-loving ways,
Before winter came with snow.

A Place For Everything

Birds got their mama,
Flitting through the trees,
Protecting them from bugs and such,
Scarin' 'way the bees.

Fish got the river,
Giving them life,
Moving 'em, hiding 'em
From trouble and strife.

Pennies got the couch cushions,
Blinds got the sil,
Bogeymen got the under-bed,
Tips got the bill.

All I got is my bed,
And this pen, and this book,
My lamp and my pillow
In my own little nook.

Collecting Dust

Congratulations.
You're a real boy now,
You have everything you wanted;

The grades, the friends,
The girls, You've pushed
Away your ghosts that haunted.

Now you don't see me
Anymore, I guess
Trade the old for new,

But a small part
Of me hoped and
Wished it'd be different with you.

It's like I was never here
But you're o.k.
I'm there so you're
The other way,

You make me burn,
You're bad for my health.

It's like your faerie forgot
All about me
And now you're gone,
But can't you see
I'm still a puppet on the shelf;
Feeling sorry for myself.

You walk and talk,
You speak out loud now,
Inhibitions gone.

Like summer's here,
You're at the beach,
While I'm stuck on the lawn.

Why can't you see?
You're still the same,
And sadly, so am I.

But perhaps you're not,
'Cuz you moved on
And I still sometimes Cry.

This kind of thing only
Happens in dreams, right?
Boy meets girl, and I'm
A memory, right?

But why did things have to change?
Get back your strings, relearn my name...

It's like I was never here,
But you're okay,
'Cuz I never mattered
Anyway.

Just throw me out just
When you feel you can!

It's like a house dropped, a world fell,
All around me,
And I won't go,
And you won't see,
I'm just a puppet you left when you ran
For your life and for her hand.

Congratulations.
You're a real boy now.

By Myself at 11 o'clock

As the sky goes midnight blue,
A pleasant, even, cheerful hue,
I lie on the bed I know I made.

And while it slowly sinks down there,
The blazing sun without care
I envy even as it starts to fade.

All is calm and so slowed down,
And it take Ill I have to not frown,
'Cuz twilight always seems so sad to me.

But as I settle into bed now
Sometimes--and I don't know how--
A longing for the daybreak seems to be

Wishful thinking or a memory.

Alone

Rain trickles, skin prickles,
Frozen on the window pane.
I look out, I look about
As their car drives down the lane.

As the car goes too far
For me to clearly see,
Rain falls down, and all around
Is a crushing feeling- 'lonely'.

My days run together, on forever,
Wet tears collecting on the ground.
I watch rain drop without a stop
Til I can't hear the haunting sound.

Why My Nails Are Always Painted

Shiny lacquer
On the surface
Exudes femininity.

Even-toned and
Ultra-chic, it's
So smooth and so pretty.

But all it is
Is a hard shell
For the world to see, to view,

A shiny suit
Of armor protecting
The actors and their cues.

Like silk curtain to
A theater, they
Shine and shimmer bright--

But spotlights on
A stage are only
An ersatz source of light.

Guidelines

Ladies who are sarcastic
Must expect sarcasm back;
Ladies who are indelicate
Must expect a smack.
Ladies who primp and fuss
Must expect the label 'vain';
Ladies who hurt others
Must expect a bit of pain.
Ladies who avoid their love
Must expect he won't be in the room;
Ladies who water their pillows by night
Must not expect flowers to bloom.

Opp-o-sites

You live, you thrive;
I sit and hide.
You talk and speak;
I only think.
You light up the room;
I give off gloom.
You're warm and bright;
And I'm the night.
You glow like the sun;
While I'm "No Fun!"
Got light I lack;
I just refract.
You're sun on the dune;
I'm pale as the moon.
And while you glow
And brightly show
Yourself for all to see,
I'm plain...me.

5 Day Rush

1st period starts, I'm ready to go.
1st period ends and I'm starting to slow.
2nd period comes and I'm already dead,
There's a twitch in my eyes and an ache in my head.
Now that it's luch and my energy's gone,
And I really want to relax on my lawn
With a book and a coke and an egg roll or such,
3rd period's here, I'm not asking for much!
And now it's 4th period, I'm going insane,
Because in my head there's a rock that was my brain,
And after 7 hours I have Driver's Ed,
And I'd get hysterical at the sight of a bed.
Now that it's 8 I am almost done,
Just got a bit of homework that's so much fun,
Then sleep; seven hours of catch some zen
Til I do it tomorrow all over again.

Once Upon A Time

I never much wanted a castle
A glass slipper or a rose.
I played with spindles and needles
And thought 'happy' appripo.

I never much wanted a knight
Riding off on his white horse.
I was content to think and learn and grow
And let nature take its course.

Now isn't it just fitting
That a self-proclaimed realist would be
Caught up at 16 in faerie tales
And love without a fee?

Evil always seemed to go
But faerie tales, the lie.
The Bad Guy isn't always bad
and the Heroine can cry.

So sorry about the lack of posts

Summer's been gooooood to me. But get ready for a veritable literary blitzkrieg. Starting now.

Monday through Friday

Stilly, soft falls morning dew,
The world is hushed and viewers few.
The birds do chirp and sing and tell,
Monks rise to ring the steeple bell.
All is fresh and new and bright,
And glows with faintly pulsing light--
'Til clocks ring six and up we rise,
Underneath black starless skies.
While Earth sleeps we do awake,
And with our coffee try to fake,
Alertness, productivity,
Even though we cannot see
For the sleep which clouds our sight
From our interrupted night.
Up and at the crack of dawn
We trek across the dewy lawn
To get the the bus stop on time
In a wintry wettish clime.
We're off to grow up smart and bold--
Well, at least that's what we're told.

A Quick Thought Before Bed

As I lay in bed this night
I think until, to my delight
My mind goes blank and soft and slow
And I can feel me letting go.
My head sinks and my body sleeps
And my mind and soul the Dreamland keeps.

An Essay To the Idiots in the School System

Perfect.
What an ugly word.
Perfect.
What an unkind word.
How dreary is that perfect ploy
To be caught; society's little toy.
To know you can't measure up,
To know you don't have what it takes,
To know that it is not enough,
To know no one expects you to make
It.

Perfection.
The word is blasphemy.
Perfection.
Fills me with apathy.
All cold and calculated,
Knowing that you're fated
To live a life of misery,
To be somebody's little pawn,
To want but never get it all,
Not not be someone to fawn
Over.

Perfectly
Expounding a horrid lie.
Perfectly
Making one folks will buy.
"It's true, you never have to fall,
Just fix your hair and have a ball!
Who cares about the consequences!
Who cares what tomorrow will be!
Who cares what and who you trample on,
As long as you Perfect Perfection Perfectly--
Like Me."

My bad...?

So I've been lazy. But not really! Cuz I've been writing! Just not posting. Sorry! But I've like...a couple that I haven't posted. So I'll post 'em over the next couple days.

Education at its finest

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=zDZFcDGpL4U

A fantastic video by Sir Ken Robinson on school

Stone

There was a girl I knew
Who found herself saddened, yet wise,
So after a couple of heartaches
She bound up her heart in ties.

At first it seemed to give relief,
No ache or sting in her chest,
But a heart of stone only has so long
Before it is not at its best.

Slowly but surely, the form fell away
Smoothing the edges and corners,
Until there was only a rock in the cavity there,
With no one left to mourn her.

One day my friend with the heart of stone
Met someone unlike any before.
And then a new ache started up in her chest
One she thought would be there no more.

Her awakening was painful, as the rock
Was chipped and reformed back into a heart
Yet my stone-hearted friend couldn't feel again
As she and love through the rock, were kept apart.

(Alternate, happy ending, replace last stanza with:

Her awakening was painful, as the rock
Was chipped and reformed back into a heart.
So my stone-hearted friend and her found-again feeling
Were never again to be apart.)

Merry Christmas.

Wow, I haven't posted in a while. It's been hectic. Sorry.

I just wanted to say (as I won't be on tomorrow or Christmas) that I wish you all a very Merry Christmas. I am reminded almost every day of the kindness and giving present at this time of year. And though the sentiments of Christmas have been said "many times, many ways", I feel that the words of Jeffery R. Holland sum it up best, as he references both the holy account of the Christ child's birth found in the Book of Luke, and Dr. Seuss' childhood classic, How The Grinch Stole Christmas. He says:

"You will recall from Dr. Suess’s holiday “horror” story, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, that the devilish Grinch determined to rob Who-ville of every holiday treat. In a nefarious scheme in which the Grinch dressed as Santa himself, he moved through Who-ville taking every package, tree, ornament, and stocking.

We now come upon him as he leaves the city, chuckling to himself in delight over the pain he will have caused children like little Cindy-Lou Who.

Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Crumpit,
He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!
“Pooh-Pooh to the Whos!” he was grinch-ish-ly humming.
“They’re finding out now that no Christmas is coming!
“They’re just waking up! I know just what they’ll do!
“Their mouths will hang open a minute or two
“Then the Whos down in Who-ville will all cry Boo-Hoo!

Part of the purpose for telling the story of Christmas is to remind us that Christmas doesn’t come from a store. Indeed, however delightful we feel about it, even as children, each year it “means a little bit more.” And no matter how many times we read the biblical account of that evening in Bethlehem, we always come away with a thought—or two—we haven’t had before.

'And she brought forth her firstborn son, and [she] wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and [she] laid him in a manger.' (Luke 2:6–7.) Those brief pronouns trumpet in our ears that, second only to the child himself, Mary is the chiefest figure, the regal queen, mother of mothers—holding center stage in this grandest of all dramatic moments. And those same pronouns also trumpet that, save for her beloved husband, she was very much alone.

I have wondered if this young woman, something of a child herself, here bearing her first baby, might have wished her mother, or an aunt, or her sister, or a friend, to be near her through the labor. Surely the birth of such a son as this should command the aid and attention of every midwife in Judea! We all might wish that someone could have held her hand, cooled her brow, and when the ordeal was over, given her rest in crisp, cool linen.

At this focal point of all human history, a point illuminated by a new star in the heavens revealed for just such a purpose, probably no other mortal watched—none but a poor young carpenter, a beautiful virgin mother, and silent stabled animals who had not the power to utter the sacredness they had seen.

Shepherds would soon arrive and later, wise men from the East. Later yet the memory of that night would bring Santa Claus and Frosty and Rudolph—and all would be welcome. But first and forever there was just a little family, without toys or trees or tinsel. With a baby—that’s how Christmas began.

It is for this baby that we shout in chorus: “Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the newborn king! … Mild he lays his glory by, Born that man no more may die: Born to raise the sons of earth, Born to give them second birth.' 'Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before! ‘Maybe Christmas,’ he thought, ‘doesn’t come from a store.’”

(full Christmas address may be found at http://lds.org/ensign/1977/12/maybe-christmas-doesnt-come-from-a-store?lang=eng)

With that, Merry Christmas, and a very happy New Year.