That beat took me to another dimension.
It controlled my soul and led me to a place
where beauty didn't matter,
where size didn't count,
where I could be free.
But I was a horse with a broken leg,
doomed by injury to be left
sitting against the mirror, lost
in the shadows and drowning
in the beat I once loved.
I worked, I fought,
driving against a willpower
and a body that begged
me to stop, but I would never stop.
I was not born to stop,
never a quitter.
I was Ruffian, battling,
limping with no support to lean
on. But my spirit soared higher
than the lights that beat me down.
My heart called me,
to just keep going.
And here I stand, fighting everyday
to let my heart soak in the beat
that it thirsts for.
Nothing will ever be the same,
but I will continue to fight.
I refuse to let the beat die inside.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
As 2011 comes to a close...
As I look back into 2011, I'm seeing a life that could not have changed in any more ways. Everything is different and I've changed. I've matured and learned lessons and through it all, 2011 was good for me. I finally settled into the direction I've always wanted. I have found my significant other who has changed my life for the better. I learned what love is and I've learned how to love in return.
I've also learned that I can do it. I can tunnel through everything I need to and become stronger because of it. Over the past year, I've lost a grandmother. I've had friends walk out of my life. But I've been able to pick myself up and keep on through and come out on top. I don't regret any actions of the last year. Some of them weren't as great as others, but things happen for a reason. Everything that occurred taught me a lesson and I needed those lessons.
As I walk into 2012, I'm ready to apply those lessons. I will make more mistakes. It will happen. But I've already proven to myself that I can do it. I'm looking forward to 2012 and the challenges it will bring. I can't wait to walk through 2012 with the people that matter most; my family, Shawn and my friends. 2011 was a year of change. 2012 will be the year of success.
My New Year's Resolution
-Keep living, laughing and loving.
-Apply the lessons I've learned this year.
-Stay on track in school and be ready to graduate Dec. 2013.
I've also learned that I can do it. I can tunnel through everything I need to and become stronger because of it. Over the past year, I've lost a grandmother. I've had friends walk out of my life. But I've been able to pick myself up and keep on through and come out on top. I don't regret any actions of the last year. Some of them weren't as great as others, but things happen for a reason. Everything that occurred taught me a lesson and I needed those lessons.
As I walk into 2012, I'm ready to apply those lessons. I will make more mistakes. It will happen. But I've already proven to myself that I can do it. I'm looking forward to 2012 and the challenges it will bring. I can't wait to walk through 2012 with the people that matter most; my family, Shawn and my friends. 2011 was a year of change. 2012 will be the year of success.
My New Year's Resolution
-Keep living, laughing and loving.
-Apply the lessons I've learned this year.
-Stay on track in school and be ready to graduate Dec. 2013.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Just a small piece of advice
As much as I would like them to, words do not always cover emotions. Some things just cannot be described with words or adjectives, symbols or metaphors. Not even allegories. Sometimes, you just have to feel and let it be as it is. Because the number one rule of being a writer, it doesn't always work to write.
The Tightrope
Big topped circus, red and white and gold striping
canvas tents, hot and heavy, circles
surrounding the excitement inside.
People like cattle ushered inside of the corral
filling the wooden planks, popcorn flying
from little paper buckets.
Ringmaster takes the stage, hat tall, looming
over a red jacket. Clowns with peeping red
noses and smiles, colors of the rainbow.
Giant gray elephants, stomping in circles,
playing follow the leader. Horses chasing
in a game of simon says and tag you're it.
But then the acrobats begin to fly through the sky,
challenging the top of the canvas, making the ceiling
limitless, walking the tightrope.
The acrobats know more about life than I.
They trust the net underneath them, know their center
of balance, believe in those surrounding them, ready to catch.
They work as a team, connect as a family,
become blurs through the air, flashing
sequins and shine. They are my finale.
The clowns may laugh. The animals may chase.
The lions may roar and the juggles juggle.
But the acrobats are where life comes alive.
canvas tents, hot and heavy, circles
surrounding the excitement inside.
People like cattle ushered inside of the corral
filling the wooden planks, popcorn flying
from little paper buckets.
Ringmaster takes the stage, hat tall, looming
over a red jacket. Clowns with peeping red
noses and smiles, colors of the rainbow.
Giant gray elephants, stomping in circles,
playing follow the leader. Horses chasing
in a game of simon says and tag you're it.
But then the acrobats begin to fly through the sky,
challenging the top of the canvas, making the ceiling
limitless, walking the tightrope.
The acrobats know more about life than I.
They trust the net underneath them, know their center
of balance, believe in those surrounding them, ready to catch.
They work as a team, connect as a family,
become blurs through the air, flashing
sequins and shine. They are my finale.
The clowns may laugh. The animals may chase.
The lions may roar and the juggles juggle.
But the acrobats are where life comes alive.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
The After-Christmas
After the gifts have been unwrapped,
the stockings emptied,
the ham torn off the bone and
the cookies frosted and bit,
family have left with all their toys and
the world is silent.
Too silent and too weird,
I'm missing you.
I had some laughs, giggling at my cousin
as he tried to open a box filled with toilet paper
instead of packing peanuts.
My heels clicked on the tile floor
as we served up a delicious meal,
but I only wished to share it with you.
Too lonely under the blinking holiday lights,
I'm missing you.
I know it will be soon, once the clock strikes 7
when after the sun sets again,
a knock will come and I will answer,
an eager puppy wagging her tail,
ready to pounce on
you alone.
As I snuggle into bed,
I am ready for you.
the stockings emptied,
the ham torn off the bone and
the cookies frosted and bit,
family have left with all their toys and
the world is silent.
Too silent and too weird,
I'm missing you.
I had some laughs, giggling at my cousin
as he tried to open a box filled with toilet paper
instead of packing peanuts.
My heels clicked on the tile floor
as we served up a delicious meal,
but I only wished to share it with you.
Too lonely under the blinking holiday lights,
I'm missing you.
I know it will be soon, once the clock strikes 7
when after the sun sets again,
a knock will come and I will answer,
an eager puppy wagging her tail,
ready to pounce on
you alone.
As I snuggle into bed,
I am ready for you.
Friday, December 23, 2011
All I Want for Christmas is You
Oh I don't want a lot for Christmas
This is all I'm asking for
I just want to see my baby
Standing right outside my door
Oh I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
Baby all I want for Christmas is...
You
This is all I'm asking for
I just want to see my baby
Standing right outside my door
Oh I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
Baby all I want for Christmas is...
You
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Hit The Floor- A Dramatic Monologue
The world isn't as mysterious as some claim.
It may have its dark holes and its gloom,
but it has the sun and the moon.
There is magic in waking up in the morning,
there is a sparkle when it comes to facing a new day.
Even when days seem tough, seem so impossible,
all it takes is finding a groove.
Settle into that beat and rock the world.
Never be afraid to show the real person
hidden under those warm safe covers.
I knew the darkness, I knew the sure fire.
But one day it wasn't enough.
I no longer wanted to be comfortable.
I didn't want to hide under my blankets.
I just wanted to dance and burst,
explode with the addictive beat that hit my body.
That was when the shell broke off, when I stopped
hiding behind the brick wall.
Contagious, infectious and sexy,
make up glittering in the sweat of confidence,
I was me when I hit the floor.
It may have its dark holes and its gloom,
but it has the sun and the moon.
There is magic in waking up in the morning,
there is a sparkle when it comes to facing a new day.
Even when days seem tough, seem so impossible,
all it takes is finding a groove.
Settle into that beat and rock the world.
Never be afraid to show the real person
hidden under those warm safe covers.
I knew the darkness, I knew the sure fire.
But one day it wasn't enough.
I no longer wanted to be comfortable.
I didn't want to hide under my blankets.
I just wanted to dance and burst,
explode with the addictive beat that hit my body.
That was when the shell broke off, when I stopped
hiding behind the brick wall.
Contagious, infectious and sexy,
make up glittering in the sweat of confidence,
I was me when I hit the floor.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Drift Away
When a part drifts away, it is more than just a leaf in the wind.
It is not only a twig snapped from a weakened branch or
a small pocket knife just nicking the corner of a hard oak table.
When a part of the heart leaves, it is more than the small sting of a needle.
It jabs more than the padded protected tip of a jousting sword.
It bleeds more than a paper cut slashed into a finger pad.
When a piece of the heart is torn away, it is the gun shot wound.
It is the aftermath of a nuclear bomb sitting in your chest.
It is opening up your eyes to see a serial killer posed with an axe.
When a piece disappears from sight, you only want to fight as a samurai warrior.
It is the desire to embody William Wallace and die, just to find the piece again.
It is the stirring of the colonists against the British to die for hope.
It is the faith that the piece will drift back one day.
It is not only a twig snapped from a weakened branch or
a small pocket knife just nicking the corner of a hard oak table.
When a part of the heart leaves, it is more than the small sting of a needle.
It jabs more than the padded protected tip of a jousting sword.
It bleeds more than a paper cut slashed into a finger pad.
When a piece of the heart is torn away, it is the gun shot wound.
It is the aftermath of a nuclear bomb sitting in your chest.
It is opening up your eyes to see a serial killer posed with an axe.
When a piece disappears from sight, you only want to fight as a samurai warrior.
It is the desire to embody William Wallace and die, just to find the piece again.
It is the stirring of the colonists against the British to die for hope.
It is the faith that the piece will drift back one day.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Procrastination
open laptop
sign in
stare at screen
open word document
type five words
stare at screen
drift to tumblr
sign onto facebook
stare at screen
play solitaire
check email
stare at screen
noon then midnight
stumble on pages
stare at screen
ten minutes before class
freak out
stare at screen
sign in
stare at screen
open word document
type five words
stare at screen
drift to tumblr
sign onto facebook
stare at screen
play solitaire
check email
stare at screen
noon then midnight
stumble on pages
stare at screen
ten minutes before class
freak out
stare at screen
Birth of a Poet
Between the rattling shelves of library books
cross legged on the ratty blue carpet
stained with the wheel skids of the returns cart
peacefully sat a tiny girl, surrounded in books
of adventures and fantasies, of pirates and treasure
but the real gem was really gold, a delicate
gracefully bound book of poetry by the mystical
poets of the century woven with the silver lace
of the moon and the stars. As she sat so quietly
her mind drifted into the daydreams, began forming
words where they were not before as a new poem created
itself, ready to set fire to the wick and begin
the birth of a poet.
cross legged on the ratty blue carpet
stained with the wheel skids of the returns cart
peacefully sat a tiny girl, surrounded in books
of adventures and fantasies, of pirates and treasure
but the real gem was really gold, a delicate
gracefully bound book of poetry by the mystical
poets of the century woven with the silver lace
of the moon and the stars. As she sat so quietly
her mind drifted into the daydreams, began forming
words where they were not before as a new poem created
itself, ready to set fire to the wick and begin
the birth of a poet.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Living Room: A Love Story
white walls tinged beige
green automan
brown table
black futon,
red rug.
clanking pots,
boiling water
pasta
tomato sauce
plates
and cups.
DVD player hidden under wires,
26 inch television
a copy of the Princess Bride.
fluffy blankets,
open window
jeans
and belts,
little socks.
comfy t-shirts,
a black headband,
a baseball cap.
arms wrapped tight
a delicate kiss
turned into 2.
lights flicker off.
green automan
brown table
black futon,
red rug.
clanking pots,
boiling water
pasta
tomato sauce
plates
and cups.
DVD player hidden under wires,
26 inch television
a copy of the Princess Bride.
fluffy blankets,
open window
jeans
and belts,
little socks.
comfy t-shirts,
a black headband,
a baseball cap.
arms wrapped tight
a delicate kiss
turned into 2.
lights flicker off.
Anniversary
You don’t remember that night in Hawk Hall 439,
all settled around the room,
uou jumping in and out of the door, but I do.
You might not think back to the night
on the Ferris wheel when my eyes
were on you, not my date’s, but I do.
You somewhat know of the day you taught
me to drive, leaving your hand over mine
on the steering wheel, teaching me, but I do.
You know more of that drunken night at the
bowling alley, where you first took
me by your hands and held me, but I do.
You remember the night, that by moonlight
you held me close and our lips
met for the first time, we do.
all settled around the room,
uou jumping in and out of the door, but I do.
You might not think back to the night
on the Ferris wheel when my eyes
were on you, not my date’s, but I do.
You somewhat know of the day you taught
me to drive, leaving your hand over mine
on the steering wheel, teaching me, but I do.
You know more of that drunken night at the
bowling alley, where you first took
me by your hands and held me, but I do.
You remember the night, that by moonlight
you held me close and our lips
met for the first time, we do.
Your Portrait through the Eyes of Another
You study intensely, those papers before you
the lines, the details, every inch changes the game plan.
A simple dot could be a door, a window.
Clank falls the ruler and your eyes dart away from the table.
I have distracted you as you reach over for a silent kiss.
A chastised child as I order you back to work.
The scribbling of the eraser, long lanky fingers
graceful with pencil and paper. You are unaware
of my attention. My silent scribble is much like your own.
Deeply absorbed, studying, concentrating,
eyes dart from drawing to reading words to calculator.
Another distraction, but not myself.
A forgotten acquaintance, once maybe friend.
But now is not the time for socialization.
It is time to work as you delve back down to the drawings,
head bowed to work. A scratch of the head,
a bounce of the foot, it is early in a night filled with work.
But you know, as well as I, that it will end,
it will come to a close,
as you will bring me home,
wrap me up in blankets
and slowly, but surely,
rock to sleep.
the lines, the details, every inch changes the game plan.
A simple dot could be a door, a window.
Clank falls the ruler and your eyes dart away from the table.
I have distracted you as you reach over for a silent kiss.
A chastised child as I order you back to work.
The scribbling of the eraser, long lanky fingers
graceful with pencil and paper. You are unaware
of my attention. My silent scribble is much like your own.
Deeply absorbed, studying, concentrating,
eyes dart from drawing to reading words to calculator.
Another distraction, but not myself.
A forgotten acquaintance, once maybe friend.
But now is not the time for socialization.
It is time to work as you delve back down to the drawings,
head bowed to work. A scratch of the head,
a bounce of the foot, it is early in a night filled with work.
But you know, as well as I, that it will end,
it will come to a close,
as you will bring me home,
wrap me up in blankets
and slowly, but surely,
rock to sleep.
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