Number Fifty I have to decide why I'm standing here. Am I here to make myself begin, do I stagnate am I doing well? As I look into the water flowing past through blades of green and nourished grass I see a vision of myself in there. It exists regardless of the human hand of God It stays no matter what the sun decides to do It makes the land alive no matter what lies near. I am that river. I decide to make myself go on, Not forgetting that I am out on a wing But remembering that I am here to grow wings. To BE wings. Sometimes I think that the best way to live life is to forget But I was wrong, Any master of stories Or tribal man will tell you, The best way to do things is to remember. I remember one night long ago When the sky was deep blue and clear, When the skies were strewn about with stars that know. I remember the way I looked at it, into the infinite. I remember the laughing that echoed through that night, Laughter shared between my best friend and I. I remember loving everything about myself, And I hated no one. There was no reason to believe that anyone could do me wrong. And I knew that there was only way that I could have a wrong done to me... through my own resistance for change. NumberFiftyOne the way i looked at it, into it into them into your eyes the way i looked into your eyes must have been very different coming from the other direction. because it failed to make you write poetry and the way i looked into your eyes sang songs to /me/ but it must have been different for you. maybe my eyes just don't inspire the way yours do. or it was just the way i looked at it, that was so different than you. NumberFiftyTwo that was so different than you to miss something, to not fixate your eyes on what you knew was important because in that one microscopic second between reality and something else when you blinked your eyes he raised his fingers to his lips and blew you a kiss and was back to smiling nonchalantly by the time you opened you eyes. NumberFiftyThree by the time you opened your eyes
I'd been awake (for nearly half an hour)
and though to you
I could have been conscious
only a moment before
for the last half hour
(eternity, and no time)
I've been watching you sleep
and you know what?
I've never had a happier half hour.
NumberFiftyFour by the time you open your eyes i will of sang you a sweet song a sweet song of death and life a sweet song of sex and lonelyness it will be bitter as limmens and sweet like candy but you will just look at it and not get it not care just not care at all but then i eat it then you get it sweet stick lemmen songs are the best
Number FiftyFive it was just a song about sex and loneliness nothing real at all just a song light as air sweet as cotton candy that melted away bitter as a pill swallowed long ago it was just a song nothing changed me at all just a song about indifferent desperation just a song about brilliant confusion just a song it's over but it's still stuck in my head over and over even though it's not real at all jenny Number FiftySix over and over you tell me 'I love you' and (every time) (oh god) All I can say to that is 'I know.'
Number FiftySeven you tell me 'i love you' but what does that mean? i know you dont at all i can tell i want you too but i know you cant i can see it in your age of FiftySeven i can see it in your fake heart i can see it every time you sleep with her it hurts so bad so just stop your 'i love you's' daddy just stop it hurts so bad
NumberFiftyEight So just stop your ?i love you?s? i can see right through them to the day the roses on the arbor wilted and you walked away without looking back and you didn?t see me cry and clutch the soft pink petals by the handful just stop reaching out to me and pretending everything is all right again because it isn?t i can see it in the rainy day the phone didn?t ring and i sat next to my friend on the tables edge and we talked quietly about it missing together missing the days we strolled through the park smiling missing the smiles and i didn?t cry just sat with her and thought about you you walked into the room and you didn?t see me. NumberFiftyNine and you didn't see me
drag my bag all through town
(rubbing a hole through its flimsy bottom)
and you didn't see me
board that train
(bouncing for four straight hours)
and you didn't see me
make the plans
(giggling, pretending that I'd not see you)
but you /did/ see me
once I stood
(in your house, amazingly)
and opened my arms to you
(you stood with your mouth open, eyes wide)
and for you to see me
right in your house
makes all the not seeing
worth every minute
(I think you might agree)
you didn't see me board that train
thats probably a good thing
for when i did
i mumbled 'goodbye i wont miss you'
i was hot with rage
i didnt like you
no wait
i still dont
all i have of yours is a picture
that i burnt today
i dont like you
i never really did
i guess im better off alone
Number Sixtyone TuChhEsss i screamed at you and tried to run fast away but then you cough me in your wed of words you sat me down and spoke nicely to me you gave me a back rub that wasn't too bad till the touches came. you put your arm under my brest and squeezed you licked my face with your sticky toung you put my hand in yours and pulled me into the bed room i screamed loud i ran for the door but a lass it was locked you pushed me on the bed you pulled off my shirt and bra i screamed loud i kicked you off i got my shirt and kicked down the door i ran away and heard your screams i was hot with rage damn you for that i go home and cry thanks to you i now hate a new person that person is you
Number SixtyTwo I go home and cry
(Today, about ladybugs)
It seems like I do that all too often -
(cry, that is)
and it's always the ladybugs
or Christmas
or dead roses
or the ending of a silly story
and never about what I should
(if there's a should to crying)
I read about girls who cry about boys (and I guess I've done that too) but not about broken hearts - and are tears meant for that, and not for ladybugs or Christmas or dead roses or endings of silly storys? and if they are, then where am I supposed to put all that extra water?
Sixty Three mornings are like icy water morter that liquified and turned burned into the soft red sky my eyes burn in the morning, too.
In the morning Will you love me Still Still still /No!/ Be still fall into love with me for I'm not doing anything this weekend and i should dearly love to love You. Sixty-Five To love you. to love you, would be suicide, to curl up in your arms of steal. your coldness would send shivers straight through, my life is dead because, to love you would be suicide. To Hurt you. to hurt you, would be suicide, to look in your eyes and scream. your cuts would make me bleed, my life is pain because, to hurt you would be suicide. To Kill you. to kill you, would be suicide, to stab my knife through your heart. your death would make my world grow dark, my life is empty because, to kill you would be suicide. ~Malia (ooohhh I posted a POEM. on WIKI. wow...) comment: oh my god thats really good writeing..amazing... Number SixtySix My life would be empty. /Is that bad?/ yes...I don't know. I can't take the chance. /you Must/ no, I could never let it be /Let it be, or you shall certainly perish./ I will. My world may go dark, My horizons may slice through my soul and then vanish But at least I shall risk. ~Wind your death would make my world grow dark, i love you too much to let go. i know you know that but i want you to FEEL it every time you cut my world hurts something bad every time you burn it stings me hard i want you too tuch me and feel my tingle i want you to know that you Must (or pleas?) say i love you i cant let you go that would burn 3er degree burns on my arms that would cut sharp deep slits in my rists that would be too much.. for you and i so what do you say? ........... ....... .... .. . ''i love you''
Number SixtyEight I want you to know
that
I have this tendency to procrastinate
and that sometimes I get mad
(so mad I hurt things)
and that once I attach myself to something
you'll never get rid of me
and that I make big decisions
(without telling anybody) very quickly
and and and...
well, I'm a pain in the ass.
If you can stand all that about me,
and even perhaps love me for it, too,
then
you just might be able to love me for real.
For keeps.
(oh help)
and
Wouldn't that be a trip and a half?
Number SixtyNine You ask me to do this. I say I will. And it's true. I'm not lying. I'll get to it one of theese days. I mean to tell you I love you, Send you flowers or candy. write you, call you, ask you out. But there's lots of time. I'll get around to it soon enough. Dishes need washing, Floors sweeping, Beds making. But I'd rather dream about the future. I can do those things another day. In case you hadn't noticed, I have a tendency to procrastinate. -Lorin #70 You ask me to do this,
i know you did i do have ears
so i did
now look at me.
jail in the mind is no pritty home
but hay all get out ok.
i always have
i always will?
or maybe
all
just
keep
sliping
till i fall up
--Heather
#71 I've always wanted you Always have Always will I suppose and you've never wanted me Never have never will I think So I'm counting the cracks in this sidewalk thinking 5 days 5 cracks in the cement the sidewalk that I walk alone hurrying nowhere because there isn't anything to hurry home for you won't have called you won't have stopped by i'd be hurrying the shattering of my day so i'm wandering the sidewalk alone counting the cracks 5 days 5 cracks in the cement just 5 days until i can laugh and pretend pretend you're mine laugh at your jokes and all the while i'll keep in the back of my mind the thought that you don't want me never have never will and I'm pretending that soon it won't matter pretending that the way I crack inside has nothing to do with you just the sidewalk why do I have to love you why can't I hate you why can't not give a damn why can't you not be beautiful why can't you not care why do you have to say i love you why can't I be happy with that why can't I accept something so simple as the fact that I fucked this up long ago I pushed it I pushed you away while I was fighting to bring you in close and I did the one thing that could redeem myself and i let you go or at least I pretended to I let my ownership slip the lease was handed to the next girl over and thats alright i can lie so smooth I'm drowning is that alright with you? are you noticing? are you rushing to my rescue or are you busy I'm losing my breath something I can't afford to lose afterall Why does every poem have to be to a "you" that the writer writes to? why can't I speak of landscapes or music? because when I try they endlessly revert back to you the music of your voice the gentle rise and fall of the landscape of your skin it's all you everything I think is you I don't want to know you like this only in the shallow spaces of my mind I've always wanted you. Always Have. Always Will. Even though you've never wanted me Never Have. Never Will. I suppose. Number SeventyTwo everything I think is you
(today, and every day now)
it's as if
my ordinary stream of consciousness
(the part that remembers to turn of water faucets)
as suddenly rebelled on me
and insists on conversing with you instead
(about nothing, and everything,
details my head does not normally notice)
and
while theoretically I have no problem with this
(these conversations are far more interesting than my own chatter)
every once in a while
remembering
to turn off water faucets
might be handy
(if unimportant)
NumberSeventyThree everywhere i go i hear a you everything I pray i see a you everything I say is you everywhere i go there you are stairing me in the eyes i want out but i cant just rip thrugh me and on to you
NumberSeventyFour on to you forget about me. i've always been one to leave the self behind to latch onto someone else's arm and forget where i left myself. something strange happened in a land where if you can't depend on yourself, you are blown off of a mountain. something strong grew and anchored my feet i can watch while you walk away but the sand is getting in my eyes and i care more about keeping my feet glued to the ground to care that you keep walking. before i would cry after you scream so you would turn back. but now i am off of you. and on to me. Number SeventyFive and
I care more about
the swirl of fall's colors
the feel of water rushing between my toes
the wind rushing nowhere and everywhere
and
I care more about
writing bad poetry
reading too many books
playing the piano
(when the house is still)
and
I care more about
the wail of a neighbor's baby
the quiet thrill in my love's voice
the subtle frown on my sister's fave
(as she scrutinizes my life,
the way only she can)
(I care more for all these things
than whatever other annoyances may attempt to intrude)
(heaven help them, I'm full of poetry, music, love and wind)
NumberSeventySix (heaven help them, I'm full of poetry, music, love and wind) help them to know what it is they see when i whirl so fast, beyond their limited vision. (heaven help me, i am full of water, hate, blood and words) help me to realize that it is not my fault when they turn their faces. that it is not their fault it is easier to watch the slow and drab than to keep up with those of us that are made of color. (heaven help us all) Number SeventySeven
I'm
riding
the
merrygoround
(spinning faster than my
stomach,)
help, here we go again
around and around
I'm
riding
the
traintoanywhere
(speeding faster than my
brain,)
help, here we go again
back to the beginning
I'm
riding
my
emotion'srollarcoaster
(whirling faster than
anyone)
help, here we go again
around and around
circles are good, I guess they're just hard to keep up with (I'm
riding
the
merrygoround
(spinning faster than my
stomach)
here we go again)
I can see why nobody can keep up with me
when I whirl so fast, beyond their limited vision.
NumberSeventyEight here we go again you're flat on your back, complaining that you've been stepped on. do you realize, seeing you in such a vulnerable, pitiful position, makes me want to stomp on you too? and i'm one of the nice ones. don't you realize that all it would take is a little bit of strength just to sit up once and get your eyes above the dust. maybe then, summon some courage and stand on your own legs. trust me, you'll avoid so many stampedes from up there. maybe you want someone to stumble across you or lie down beside you but take it from me soon people won't be able to tell you from you and the mud you are lying in. Seventy Nine You made the mud you're lying in Sin, your one remaining feature Creature of ignorance that you are For you cannot even comprehend.. And when you look at the Earth do you see See: an open vagina waiting to be raped? Shaped by the Earth you were born Torn, you turned against her, Sure that your violence was an end Bend her until she screams and Bend her until she weeps and Bend her until she withers and dries Dies, finally, the death of a woman violated Anilated, I curl up to die as well.
'Bend her until she weeps'
they scream
you they me he she them us
we all like the tears
they are tastie
soft and sweet
clear and calm
fast and mad
light and beautiful
but
you they me he she them us
only like then when there not ours
(um wheres the line from the tope poem??) /And the Father will dance/ /As on the day of joy/ /He will exalt over you and renew you by his love./ Eighty-One And they will write poems for her And dance in the moonlight on the day she dies And the Father will dance And say We loved her And they will write poems for her On the day she lives On the day she smiles Sunbursts Light and beautiful number 82 We loved her or maybe just me or maybe just you but i know at least i did truely
madly
deeply
i shall always
(i hope)
but will you?
i know we all loved her...
...before she broke in two
Number EightyThree I shall always
(I hope)
dream
of horses
purple skies with
green birds, or
people in the air
wild dreams,
girl dreams,
my dreams.
I shall always
(I hope)
draw
long arcs of
color
swirls of blues,
greens and purple
wild scrawls,
girl muses,
my insides.
I shall always
(I hope)
sing
endless tunes
of love and
dreams
and unseeable longings
wild songs
girl songs,
my song.
(more importantly)
I shall always
(I hope)
love
beautiful women
sweet boys,
children and grandmothers
and butterflies.
wild love.
girl love.
my love.
-Robyn number 84 my love my love is all i have my love is all i want my love is all i give my love is all i love my hope my hope is all she sees my hope is all she loves my hope is all she cling too my hope is all she hopes for my fear my fear is all i see my fear is all i tast my fear is all i feel my fear is all i feer my life is all i have its not yours just mine.
NumberEightyFive My fear Is overwhelming Can you possibly know how Terrifying Disappointing Exhilarating Exasperating it is to think about you so much? I'm so afraid of waiting for you So scared of being hurt again Time changes so much But it would be far easier To change the flow of a river Than to stop my thoughts from wandering in your direction each day Love and dreams and unseeable longings Clutter my brain every single day Do you know how many times I've Seen Heard Felt Dreamed That Moment when I'll see you again? Have you, too, awakened again And again To the discovery that I'm really Not There? Sometimes I laugh and wonder If you'll even recognize me After this fuzz has turned my cheeks reddish-brown Maybe you'll mistake me for my dad But you I'm sure I'll recognize you Or not Time changes so much And even as I try to predict The Moment I know that it will be entirely different Than anything I could possibly imagine Erm, this was originally intended to be #84, so it has lines from Robyn's /and/ Heather's poems. --Mitchell Number EightySix Maybe you'll mistake me for my dad
After all, I've got his
sense of humor
(that wild rollicking stuff that comes from nowhere)
his eyebrows and eyelashes
(disgustingly long and thick, you know)
his anger managment problems
(blinding anger, deep)
or maybe not.
Maybe you'll mistake me for my mom
instead.
After all, I've got her
creativity
(if you can inherit that)
her body type
(a picture of her at seventeen, not colored, and it's me)
her critical tongue
(I try to curb it, it sting like hell and I should know)
or maybe not.
Maybe you'll mistake me for myself
instead.
After all, I've got my
sense of fun
(childlike, I'm told, and wild)
my eyes
(brown. The first in four generations)
my dogged attachment
(gets in the way. I never let go)
or maybe not.
Maybe you'll mastake me for nobody
instead.
and
then we'll see who
I really am,
maybe.
Number EightySeven i hear you using one of my words i guess (i hope) you can't hear the harmful echoes it stings like hell and i should know i should know how to stop you too stop your mouth with common-sense gauze before too much of your darkest truth spills out maybe you're just a shrunken version of myself a little easier to see through your brain's been washed one too many times how many times can you reinvent yourself before you destroy your core? i know how much you're hurting and how much you're hurting yourself oh, i seem to know so much but i never know what to say any more than i'd know what to say to a mirror any more than i could answer to myself if i stopped surrounding myself with distractions ~jenny I hear you using one of my words I dont know how that felt. Like someone was steping on my feet maybe. Its my words not yours. My words that hit my lips and tuched the sky. dont you do it again or i will break i will crack in two if you do it again...so help me God i will. how long can i keep your attention? i wounder i see you drifting off.. damn you. lisson to me dammit! i am here so pleas be here too...
NumberEightyEight i seem to know just how to smile to make a stranger glow. but i must have skipped class the day they lectured on keeping eye contact and keeping friends. i seem to know exactly what to say to make a room full of strangers laugh (loudly and it fills me up with warmth) (but then that warmth recedes when they all leave and i am without a friend who knows my story.) how long can i keep your attention tell me what to do to maintain contact. i seem to know an awful lot about laughter but not much about you. fill me in on how to keep your friendship. TheNumberEightyNine Your friendship how can i put that into words? Your friendship, is like cotten candy, stick and warm. Your friendship, is like sunshine on my face. Your friendship, is like the morning after a big storm. Your friendship, means the world to me. Your friendship, I couldn't live without. Your friendship, is like my right arm. Your friendship, is me all over. Your friendship, is you up and down. Your fiendship, is us all together. Your friendship, what simple words that mean so much to me.
NumberNinety (posta be eighty-nine...but it's got a line from both...)
Today is the last day
I'm Seventeen
and I'm living it up,
(being me all over)
playing my music,
painting, drawing, reading
whatever.
I can't tell if these are avoidance manuevers
(to keep my head busy)
or not.
I'll admit I'm worried
I seem to know an awful lot about
being Seventeen
but I might be hopeless at
Eighteen,
and then where will I be?
But not to worry, I won't dissapear, I'll stay
Seventeen, and
Six, and
Two and Nine and Eighty-Nine and Thirty-One.
I'm a good multitasker.
NumberNinetyOne Playing my music, I let out all the feeling I've been keeping inside so long. Little bits of Anger Humor Joy Grief That have been shut up in me for Hours Days Weeks Months Slip out Through my fingertips Into the piano And come out again Carried by little chunks of ivory Attached to tiny hammers These mysterious sounds Speak for me far more clearly than my Voice Or pen Possibly could Listening To the music of others Gives me the strength To make my own Reading and hearing The words of others Gives me the courage To put my own thoughts in ink Themes and ideas Slip into my head Sometimes unnoticed And come out Through my fingertips Through my scribbling left hand In unending and surprising combinations Fueled by the constant And constantly wonderful Cycle of Creativity
The sky was telling me that I wasn't alone it was that dark tea-stained air that murks around Creatively seeping into the most Interesting places before the sun stealthily breaks in And I put my suitcase down on the ground and poised, perched on the edge of the porch, watched the light twist itself into the horizon in unending and surprising combinations of artful images The trees whispered enigmatically to the dark and the dew was still thick and settled on my shoes. -Landis TheNumberNinetyThree The sky was telling me that I wasn't alone but i still didnt care My friends where screaming, yelling and praying out that i wasnt alone But i still didnt care My Mother and Father saw it but didnt say anything. (God rest there soles) I still went for the deep plung alone just the same I got out as you see I am alive.. ...to some To others I am dead and never will live again I took the deep plunge...... .......the deep plung to the knife
NumberNinetyFour the knife stares at me. it can, you know, the knife sees all. it sees my knees weak and my hand tremble it sees the black of my heart, when the edges get burnt. i let it sink into the red, passion, alive parts though it stopped pruning death but started stunting growth. my hand curls up and away now. the knife is a thorn and it leaves me bleeding. why didn't i realize, sooner that the knife watches, and it never sleeps. --RoyaBoya NumberNinetyFive I pick the knife up and -squeeze-. The knife stares at me. That cold hard deathy stare that chills me to the boan. I scream out in pain, "tuch me if you can tuch me if you dair tuch me if you want to. Just do it right if you dair for i will fight this time. i will fight to the teeth to the boan to my sole but whats different is that this time i will WIN" NumberNinetySix The knife stares at me as if to say "i know your skin so well I know the cold sweat on your arm the sound of your deep breath should i do this or not? the knife stares at me no advice just an escape tightens my grip on it's handle and waits will i be strong today? or will i give in again to the cold steel? will i remember the person who stood with their arms around me tight and wiped the tears from my cheeks will i stare back at the knife and throw it to the ground? NumberNinetySeven Remembering all those Who stood with their arms around me tight While I wrestled with myself Over my own worth as a human being I feel gratitude washing over me like hot steam Not solid enough to touch But most undoubtedly there.
NumberNinetyEight So close, so real. But not solid enough to touch. There, enough to ache for predict, remember, relate back to anything, everything. But not solid enough to hold me as I cry for wanting, needing hunting for a way to solidify our lives together.
Number NinetyNine So close,
so real.
Distance
is only distance.
(at least in theory)
The real is real either way. Some people say it's healthy, somehow, to yearn for what is missing I say, if you yearn, go search for what's gone. If this is So close, and so real, Distance is only a hinderance until the rubber band snaps us into real life.
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