Almost there.

I could die right now
My heart could give out
Or my brain collapse

For I have felt the sun
And I have eaten fruit picked from the tree
I have loved and been loved
And most of all I've accepted the fact that I won't ever do 10% of what I want to do
but that's okay

I know lovers will cry,
but I've cried over people too
and seen months without a light at the end of the tunnel
so they should be alright, I've made it through myself

But can I survive so well adjusted, so early?
Am I not a sitting target for smiling death?
someone that won't even fight it?

I don't think I want to die

Feminism and Masculism

This is a short response I wrote for school in response to Gloria Steinem's article, "The Good News Is: These Are Not the Best Years of Your Life".

I thought that Steinem’s essay was very well written and that she has many good points. The article made clear the reasons for college being the worst time for a woman to be truly radical or revolutionary, and why the middle age is where the real feminist activism comes out. It pointed out many of the flaws of our current male-dominated society, and the effects those have on women.

However, reading the article made me think about the role that men have in the sexual power struggles that are a central form of conflict in our society. The standard feminist ideals center on overthrowing the males that control the culture, and making the roles that both sexes play anew, and ending discrimination and differentiation between the two sets of roles. I believe that this total overthrowing by women is not necessary. While, yes, our cultural attitudes need to be fixed, they should not be fixed through force by the ones being victimized. This continues the cycle of victim rising up against victimizer, and continuing the power struggle. There is nothing wrong with one group having more power than the other; the problem comes in when the one group uses that power to force the other group to submit. The problems between the sexes are caused by male ignorance, incorrect ideas about women, and a huge lack of respect for women. The ideal method of fixing our culture’s problems lies not in having women rise up and overthrow the male dictators; instead it is in having the “dictators” realize the role they are playing, and step down from it to choose equality and respect. If men could be made to realize the way they are trained to think, and choose to think otherwise, most of our problems could probably be fixed within a generation or two. I realize this may not be the likeliest possibility, but I feel it is an ideal worth shooting for. In a sense, reading Steinem’s article on feminism and radicalism has made me into what could very well be considered a radical masculinist.

Sometimes I just can't wait

i went and kissed you
just after school
and you smiled and hugged me
said "i've been waiting for you to do that
all afternoon"

i don't know how to tell you how beautiful i think you are
the way your hair shines in the sun
or the way that you smile that just melts my heart
you make life seem realer, and i'm glad you do
because sometimes it's just too washed out and colorless
for me to tell what i'm supposed to do
or endure

can you spend every moment with me
i get cold and so do you
maybe we could be cold together, or even keep each other warm
i'd hold your hand and try to think of things to say to you
while life just moved on quicker than ever
with both of us just walking on the side

Poem started before the breakup and finished after.

I've been looking for somebody just as broken as me
And I mean that in the best way possible
And I found you, so see the above sentence
Take it, turn it over, put on the lamp
Look at it in a new light
We are both ridiculous, which is why we didn't work
But I love you and I lust you and I need you till it hurts

And that is Alright, that is Just Fine
I can still sleep at night

I'm content and fully accepting of my mortality and the possibility of death. I'm also only sixteen.

How does that work?

Should it?

For those of you that don't know, David Foster Wallace, one of the most talented writers and thinkers in the history of everything and a personal hero of mine, killed himself last Friday at the age of 46. I'm not really sure yet how I feel about everything.

The Past Hunts You

if I had the guts to open up my arm
and reverse-engineer the blood in my veins
I would strain out the gold and the god and the love
and separate them each
put one in a little jar here, and stopper the other up in a bottle
put the last one in a little cloth sack, and stash it under my bed
then I'd take a map and erase all the names of the places
and fill them in with the names of all my friends and loved ones I forgot or left behind so long ago
I could get on my bike and know where to find every one of them

Young Person's Poem

I'm gonna crank the volume knob as far as I can make it go
see which blows out first, my eardrums or the speakers
and then forget what they said, about how I have to obey
I'll chase the feeling of deciding my own future

"You will work you will work you will do nothing but work"
but I swear I will make a difference, and work for myself
because I'm young yet and can chase whatever feeling I want
and fill in all the blanks with my own answers

Riding through the night with soon to be friends of mine
we play the music too loud, or none at all
just love and don't kill and smile when they spit in your face
that's the best future, that's our own future

After Coma

my first breath after the coma was like a leap out of the sea
plunging into the atmosphere, first time in forever I decided to pump the air into me
suck it in, blow it out, suck it back in again

my first sight after the coma was the dappled afternoon ceiling
then blurred eyes shifted falling sideways down to you
close my eyes, open them again, close them, open again to you

first scent after the coma was the perfume of a flower someone placed close by my bed
small and pink in a little porcelain vase, perched on a shelf, to the left, above my head
breath it in, smell it all, breath it out, breath the smell in again

the first sound after the coma was you walking over to me
you couldn't say anything, just smiled and touched me
but it was louder than words, louder than music, louder than silence
first feeling after the coma was the love that was there with me

First day of school today. Eeep.

a poem about Hannah

If all there is is to love and be loved
You did better than the rest of us
Because I'm sure Jesus hugged people, or would've
Maybe they didn't have hugs back then, idunno

But you did a really good job
Like, a really great job
And even if you didn't believe, you were better than the rest of us
because you did it right
I mean, not everything, no, you messed up here and there
but not like in the big scheme of things
otherwise I probably wouldn't be crying
I don't think any of us would be

But you did good and you will be missed
For love and hugs and smiles and so much more
And I'm writing this without even thinking if you're watching
And I'm sorry sorry sorry but you know I love you still
and we all will. always will.

heebies

I got the heebie-jeebies, and I know now why that's what they're called
they feel like that.
you shiver, as they crawl up your spine and down your arms and you flap in the non-existent breeze like a stupid stork and uhh
feel the bugs crawling on you and you can't help your thoughts
sometimes it's easier to believe that there's no right or wrong way to act, until someone does something wrong
you just don't want to be the one to do it, and oh god
the heebies and jeebies
get off of me you bugs

Two standing together, one apart

little children standing on parking ramps with sticks in their mouths
are breathing in poison, trying to look cool
look adult. but they dont

they look smaller
childish
little kids playing with dangerous toys to convince themself and the world that they are grown

and they're not
but they will. too fast
far too fast already
and they don't get what I already understand, you have to play in the sand box while you still can
because soon you'll be too big and you won't fit inside

Me and Eden

Just over the ivy strewn wall is the garden that they all call Eden and I am not yet inside
just beneath the leaves and vines I hide
Crouching in the litter, biding my time
I am humming to myself, and thinking secret thoughts even I cannot divine
And I would revoke my membership in that eternal land of joy, if I could break the inscrutability and hold the thoughts that are mine

RUN

I need to jump in a car and get out of here
I'd love to walk, but I can't do it fast or long enough
The road won't vanish beneath my feet, and the sky won't touch me with its light
So I run! And my breath crunches the air, and the impact of my feet jar my spine and
I run! The scenery blurring on the edge of my vision and the startled people stumbling out of my way as
I run! Living, while they plod in the mud to get to a job where they sit and work for nothing but money!

Same old statement but with a greater insistency

There's a sky overhead and a bridge underneath
and I'm bouncing on my heels and grinding my teeth
Waiting for the right moment to speak
now I think it's arrived, and I open my mouth so to pour out my mind
Telling you all everything, it's just like breathing

I'm saying that I, I am a star
a reassuring phrase printed on a sticker, stuck to your ceiling
Something to guide you when you're lost in your nightmares
a get out free card for when you feel like you've lost all meaning

I mean, I know I've said this before
but I'm pretty sure I'm a key and a door
Someone who will change everything if I'm asked to
just ask me to quick, and you won't be confused
You'll find out that my derivative anthem has real meaning

A Summer Evening With A Best Friend

this is a cloud in the sky that looks like a dragon
and this is the reflection of your eyes reflecting my eyes reflecting your eyes reflecting...
and that is a little boy riding his bicycle
and this is a city park and it's 8 PM and I don't know when we got here but it's been awhile
that's alright though, that's just fine

so we can stay here a little longer, take a few more sips of wine
enjoy the evening air, breeze coming off the water
maybe go on the swings, until you hiccup, and stumble, and I have to catch you
and it's time to go home, so up you go honey
I can carry you off to the car if your legs are too tired or just not working right

now we can enjoy the sunset with the wind keeping us awake
with the windows down, and the music loud
some local band that's filled with friends that's singing about a lake
and a girl
and some mistakes
and the world
and the lyrics don't matter, it has a nice beat that I can drum along to
with my fingers on the door
and your smile sings in harmony while your foot taps on the floor

Brief Break

I will be in Chicago for a church service trip from the 20th-27th, so there won't be any posts this week. Sorry for the delay.

Run Run Run

Let's not slow down, let's speed up
Let's hit the gas, gain momentum
Hitch a ride out of town, you & me
And hang out with the sunsets and the rockstars
Look for eternity in children
And newborn youth in the old

Ah! Man! that's what I want to get away from too
the rigid rigidity of my poetic form, the concrete-infused rhymes and punctuation
I want to write poems that live! that breath! that lust!
that stab and run and drive recklessly and live more fuller than their readers, than their editors, than the dull men setting type and chaining them to pages
I want to scrawl my poetry! in sharpie on a bathroom wall, with a ballpoint pen I found in the street in a notebook I picked out of the trash, spraypaint on the underside of a bridge, jotted onto a postcard- these are the forms I want my poems to adapt to!

I am tired of sitting at a keyboard
Staring at a screen
pressing keys down, and giving you all exhausted rhymes that don't aspire to live, just mean (but to live is to mean, more than anything else!)

Ode To A Chair

Oh, chair!

You lift me up, you defeat gravity without any effort at all
You've held so much weight, so many bottoms
How many years? far longer than I've lived
Chair, you soldier, working on through spills of food, burns, scratches
Initials carved into your skin
Chair, you trooper
You are braver than me
You sit silent and bear your load
Drag your cross without complaint
Chair, I salute you

I just read The Road and it made an impression on me, but what kind I don't know

"Hey"
"Hey. Why'd you wake up"
"Are we okay"
"Of course we're okay"
"Are you sure"
"Of course I'm sure"
"I don't feel safe"
"Baby, you're safe, I'm here, I'm watching, you're fine"
"…"
"Okay"
"Okay"
"…"
"…"
"Are you sure"
"I'm sure"