I've smiled before
I have held a cup to my lips while holding a boy's hand
I've spent the night halfway outside and halfway in
And I've been a little here and a little not at all
But I've always come back
Resignation,
Even those times when I wasn't there,
Was never an option
So I'm not saying I'm better than you
Baby
I love that laugh but I hate when it's accompanied by a cough
If your hair ever straightened
Or your pearls ever scuffed
I'm not sure I would be able to remember how to hold hands.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Things I write when I'm falling asleep in class
Sociology of War and Peace:
-Dear giver, my hands are bound to places I have forgotten the paths to.
-Hush child, you're pretty obnoxious.
-You just can't be her silverware. You can't be her carpet or her fish bowl or her fingerprint. It's not because you're not beautiful or gracious or amber enough, because you are, are you're more lifted than anyone she knows. But you can't be her table top because she is no one to be had. So stop closing your eyes and pick up your feet.
-It's like I've known your fingerprint all along.
-Hold your horses, because these are the times when we have nothing to spare.
-For once, I'm too tall to enjoy the surprise.
-Lose the shoes because there's no need to run. I'm seeking redemption, and you've solved it all.
-Carelessness out in the open. I still cannot be your apology.
-If you forgot how to speak, I'd let you read my smile.
Social Statistics:
-Your hips were not meant to bend like you have asked them to do. No wonder it's your mind against your body. Maybe try singing instead of yelling. I know your natural rhythm, but you just can't seem to keep the beat in your paradoxical mind. I'll buy you a metronome for your birthday if you're nice.
-Sometimes, I wonder if I touched the window on those below freezing days, would your window get foggy?
-You've got the cure, but, baby, I haven't even been diagnosed yet.
-I wish I could smile like a division symbol.
-There better be room left for this made up laughter.
-If you're so equal, why are you always tripping over your own shoe laces?
-You're full of red and green, you little gift giver you. Too bad she did your tattoos in black and white, though.
-It was my hand. Sorry I shocked you, but I was pretty shocked myself.
-Yea, I know I look like a movie star, but I just wish there was some genre other than horror.
-It's almost as if my hands began to crack even before I met you.
-Attention crisis= you've held my hand for too long. Not that I'm complaining, I just don't think this is an appropriate relationship for co-workers.
-If you could have grown up to be anything, you probably would have been a boat. And you would have been a good one too, since you always avoid stormy seas. You would have definitely been seized by pirates, though. It would have been too much of a shame to let you go.
-It never grew very big, that plant at the end of my bed. It did mature, though, and become a fighter for liberal ideals. I just really wish it would keep the rallies a bit quieter. You'd be surprised how loud a jungle in your room can be.
-Yes, I'm lethargic, but, honey, you're dead.
-Like a vetern on the ice, waltzing past children on new legs and people with no direction, it glides across the board. A love affair with the dry erase marker. Hating what it has to say but pleading for it to speak. Because your graces come so naturally, it's easy to slip up. Watch your aiming now. We wouldn't want you to kill your score.
-Dear giver, my hands are bound to places I have forgotten the paths to.
-Hush child, you're pretty obnoxious.
-You just can't be her silverware. You can't be her carpet or her fish bowl or her fingerprint. It's not because you're not beautiful or gracious or amber enough, because you are, are you're more lifted than anyone she knows. But you can't be her table top because she is no one to be had. So stop closing your eyes and pick up your feet.
-It's like I've known your fingerprint all along.
-Hold your horses, because these are the times when we have nothing to spare.
-For once, I'm too tall to enjoy the surprise.
-Lose the shoes because there's no need to run. I'm seeking redemption, and you've solved it all.
-Carelessness out in the open. I still cannot be your apology.
-If you forgot how to speak, I'd let you read my smile.
Social Statistics:
-Your hips were not meant to bend like you have asked them to do. No wonder it's your mind against your body. Maybe try singing instead of yelling. I know your natural rhythm, but you just can't seem to keep the beat in your paradoxical mind. I'll buy you a metronome for your birthday if you're nice.
-Sometimes, I wonder if I touched the window on those below freezing days, would your window get foggy?
-You've got the cure, but, baby, I haven't even been diagnosed yet.
-I wish I could smile like a division symbol.
-There better be room left for this made up laughter.
-If you're so equal, why are you always tripping over your own shoe laces?
-You're full of red and green, you little gift giver you. Too bad she did your tattoos in black and white, though.
-It was my hand. Sorry I shocked you, but I was pretty shocked myself.
-Yea, I know I look like a movie star, but I just wish there was some genre other than horror.
-It's almost as if my hands began to crack even before I met you.
-Attention crisis= you've held my hand for too long. Not that I'm complaining, I just don't think this is an appropriate relationship for co-workers.
-If you could have grown up to be anything, you probably would have been a boat. And you would have been a good one too, since you always avoid stormy seas. You would have definitely been seized by pirates, though. It would have been too much of a shame to let you go.
-It never grew very big, that plant at the end of my bed. It did mature, though, and become a fighter for liberal ideals. I just really wish it would keep the rallies a bit quieter. You'd be surprised how loud a jungle in your room can be.
-Yes, I'm lethargic, but, honey, you're dead.
-Like a vetern on the ice, waltzing past children on new legs and people with no direction, it glides across the board. A love affair with the dry erase marker. Hating what it has to say but pleading for it to speak. Because your graces come so naturally, it's easy to slip up. Watch your aiming now. We wouldn't want you to kill your score.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
"I fell in Paul's pumpkin, and I don't even care"
If it doesn't happen soon, I'm going to do it myself.
The attempt at waiting is causing almost more grief than the act itself. Sad thing is, I don't think I'm eligible for that shot of redemption everyone keeps talking about. I've never bowed my head at the dinner table.
Maybe I can write them a letter explaining my word usage. But even then, I doubt they would understand. I've been attempting to express my words with their words for years now, but they've never seemed to get it.
I bet if I could dance, they would understand, but I threw out my equilibrium a couple miles back in order to drop a few pounds.
The attempt at waiting is causing almost more grief than the act itself. Sad thing is, I don't think I'm eligible for that shot of redemption everyone keeps talking about. I've never bowed my head at the dinner table.
Maybe I can write them a letter explaining my word usage. But even then, I doubt they would understand. I've been attempting to express my words with their words for years now, but they've never seemed to get it.
I bet if I could dance, they would understand, but I threw out my equilibrium a couple miles back in order to drop a few pounds.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Assignment
No Comparisons-
Green, unnatural walls curve inward for two feet. Topped with a fabric I don’t understand, this testament to coming of age stands tall even in the St. Mary’s air. It stands for everything the rebellious adolescent dreams of gaining when the law predicts that the mind can comprehend. Eye pleasing coordinations hide it’s natural beauty. I wish it wasn’t forced to conceal itself. Lyrics to the song of those who have already walked on don’t reflect the truth it pleads to tell. But still, it never wavers from it’s duty. An unsteady base causes the relic to dance in an angry fashion, and I can’t help but follow. I’m glad that someone has clothed it, though. Now it doesn’t seem so unruly.
Comparisons-
Your reflection is unlike that of your siblings, but that doesn’t make me love you less. While we find them behind doors unopenable, you stand proud by the welcoming bell. Your body is unlike that of shark skin, but follows the lines of a seal’s edges. What a shame it is that you have been betrayed by someone unknown. I still find your grace overwhelming. A crack to the side like a whole in the heart, but you’re not one to wear it on your sleeve. Your lengths are tattooed with words that mean little to me and even less to you, but you never let them slip. If you could dream, or if your dreams could be heard, I bet they would be filled with trumpets and ribbon for you would be the sort of dreamer who would smile and crave the laughter of others.
Green, unnatural walls curve inward for two feet. Topped with a fabric I don’t understand, this testament to coming of age stands tall even in the St. Mary’s air. It stands for everything the rebellious adolescent dreams of gaining when the law predicts that the mind can comprehend. Eye pleasing coordinations hide it’s natural beauty. I wish it wasn’t forced to conceal itself. Lyrics to the song of those who have already walked on don’t reflect the truth it pleads to tell. But still, it never wavers from it’s duty. An unsteady base causes the relic to dance in an angry fashion, and I can’t help but follow. I’m glad that someone has clothed it, though. Now it doesn’t seem so unruly.
Comparisons-
Your reflection is unlike that of your siblings, but that doesn’t make me love you less. While we find them behind doors unopenable, you stand proud by the welcoming bell. Your body is unlike that of shark skin, but follows the lines of a seal’s edges. What a shame it is that you have been betrayed by someone unknown. I still find your grace overwhelming. A crack to the side like a whole in the heart, but you’re not one to wear it on your sleeve. Your lengths are tattooed with words that mean little to me and even less to you, but you never let them slip. If you could dream, or if your dreams could be heard, I bet they would be filled with trumpets and ribbon for you would be the sort of dreamer who would smile and crave the laughter of others.
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