Happy National Dance Day!

Just wanted to wish all you guys a happy National Dance Day! This girl has the following playlist keyed up for an amazing night:

Numb by Oh Land
Bangarang by Skillrex
Hands in the Air by Timbaland
Chasing the Sun by The Wanted
Some Nights by Fun
Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men
Out of my Mind by B.o.B. (gotta have some good hip hop in here.)
Heavy Eyes by Oh Land

and lots more of Fun.

So get moving, get dancing and goof around! Stretch, work on those splits, do whatever and just celebrate!

National Dance Day > Olympics

Numb- Oh Land

Note to myself to do choreography on this at some point. It fits my dance style so well.

That Summer

Before that summer, I had cried buckets,

he had broken my heart, left me scattered.

That first week of freedom in May

was frost heaves swallowing up a road

only to find a sinkhole waiting at the end.

During that summer, I stumbled,

fighting for footing. Little did I know

that summer, I would find the power

to put left in front of right, push

harder and just keep running.

The end of that summer, I played

on top of a cloud, swimming in the fluffy

whiteness of poof. I had achieved

three jobs and one, all set to hire.

I would not be holding a sign on the

side of the road after that summer.

No, I had stepped up to a managing

job of a corporation. The CEO

knew my name. This girl was ready.

For that summer, everything sparkled in sight.

The White Lady of the Easton Church

I sit, looming, waiting with my red eyes
to play games on the visitors. A smokey hand
laid silently over the top of the marble headstone.
Fallen strands of black hair swaying as footsteps
march in the snow. The crunch of ice, they jump
and I laugh.
Slinking through the winter's chill, crawling
up behind them. A fingernail dipped in crimson
rests on a blue coated shoulder. They know nothing
of the true horror in death.

Some say I drowned in a sinkhole. Others claim 
I died after killing my husband. No. It was much 
more horrible than that. A foggy figure rises
from the oldest headstone. I raise a slender
blood dripped finger to the garnet lips,
red eyes meeting red eyes. A wicked smile,
curling at the corners of bloody lips. They snap
photos, those naive fools. The bluecoat turns,
realizes and feels the chill of my wrath. 
I breathe in the life, oh the flesh, tormented 
eyes wide, he is a statue standing so low
to my magnificence. Finally they realize
and I laugh.
Floating back to my stone as I watch
the weaklings scatter like mice from a bomb.

(Note about the poem. I'm not sure about the end, but I like the creepiness this is going toward. This is actually inspired by the song The Here and After by Jun Miyake.)

Stuck Like Glue- Sugarland

I'm totally in another one of my country moods.

Escape

Breaking through the fog, feet pad the dirt underneath
dodging roots, leaping over fallen logs, flying,
not noticing even the patches of sand where my foot
sinks into the ground, nor caring as the river rapids
rush by side by side. I do not race the river.

It starts at a slow pace, a quiet jog, but then kicking
in, a burst of need to get away from what's behind.
I used to walk this path with you. We had kissed
while walking along the riverbank. But now, I am queen.
The newly muscled legs taking the slopes and ditches
in stride, the freedom contagious. I never thought
I'd be able to face this place again. But it has become

mine. I have left behind the us, hesitant and worried,
and tried to replace it with the power rippling
under crafting abs, the forming biceps, quads of steel.
I don't yet know the power of this new me, this new self
that is able to run through the branches, duck under trees.
But I want to try. I want to know me.

Some Nights- Fun.

The only question I think I need to pose before this clip is: What do you stand for?

Bangarang

I blame Adam for the Skillex addiction. That is all.

History Book

Leather bond, sides torn, the pages are stained
with the coffee you used to make. The engraving
rises to the surface, taught a lesson by dirt.
Inside, it crinkles, once crisp. I flip through the book
remembering all the history that lies in its inner
depths, under the flesh of ink. Chapter One,
two, three, each year of life recorded with a delicate
quill. But then, chapter 19. I run my fingertips
down the middle, sharp edges of torn papers
run in a wave down the pages. The end of chapter 19,
the beginning of 20, has been ripped out. Flipping,
the middle of chapter 20 sits blank as I pick up
my pen and take a deep breathe, beginning to write,
as the end of chapter 20 and on appears on the page.
Job.
Job.
Run.
Job.
Swim.
Celebrity.
Run.
Job.
The words keep repeating, forming a pattern of ink
down the page. Am I really that boring? Head buried
in hands, thinking, pondering as the words flow
out of my brain. Etched not in a fragile calligraphy,
but a confident scroll. Continuing to write as chapter 20
just keeps plowing on. The book, I turn over in my hands,
feeling the aged leather. Reaching over, I grab new leather
edged with gold, replace the worn leather, tossing it
in the trash. This history book is renewed.

Celebrity

(Inspired by my recent photo shoot for the cover of a special section of the newspaper.)

Leg peeking out from a car,
black stiletto heel a spike,
an inch of envy green lace
a pinch of a closing door
after stepping out in view,
green lace scaling up
a slender figure, belted
with a bow, pearls and gold
dripping down low around
the neck. A toss of the slightly
wavy brown hair, bronze
sunglasses slid onto nose,
hiding the chocolate eyes.

The snaps of the camera
flashing, the white dropback
posing as the lens eats her up.
Defiant eyes draw shine
in the photos, photographer
wondering how she could
pull off those shoes. Dipping
into the purse, pulling out
gold sandals, a welcomed
break from the 4 inch stilettos,
a delicate gladiator band,
security yet spark and shine.

Passing people in the hallway,
small gasps of surprise,
remarks of envy like the green
in her lace dress. So this is what
it feels like to be a
celebrity.

Blow Me (One Last Kiss)- Pink

"I won't miss all of the fighting that we always did,

Take it in, I mean what I say when I say there is nothing left
No more sick, whiskey dick, no more battles for me
You'll be calling a trick, 'cause you'll no longer sleep
I'll dress nice, I'll look good, I'll go dancing alone
I will laugh, I'll get drunk, I'll take somebody home."

This song just has me hooked. It's got such a great beat and it reminds me of what I've left behind.

Gold

I never used to wear gold.
Thought i was only good enough for
silver.
But then i realized something after slipping
on those gold sandals
I deserved the gold, the shine, the flash.
I held my head high
and i glittered.

The gold encasing my feet,
drizzled around my neck neighbors
with pearls The old gold bangle,
a serpent of ancient heirloom.
 It drew out the chestnut in my locks
The splattering of freckles on my nose
And made the pink lips, the dark eyes,
just that much more enchanting.

 I deserved the gold,
no longer the silver.
 Well the silver always held a spot
 in my fingers, the heart not taken,
the old Egyptian swirled.
 But i was ready for the gold.

Head High- The Stars and the Night

"I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night. Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light." -Sarah Williams


I just want to take this time to ponder this quote. For some reason, it's really hit me and I've kind of kept it to be a personal motto right now. For anyone that really knows me, I love the stars. I love the stars and night and everything that goes along with it. I will spend hours just swinging on a swing, looking up at the stars or bringing out a blanket and watching them blink in the sky. 


Life is never easy. My love for the stars and the small high points of life in general make it impossible for me to be "fearful of the night." I've taken everything head on and kept my head high. Even when I fall asleep and have dreams that unsettle me or bring back the memory of someone I once loved, I try and not let it affect my day. 


"Though my soul may set in darkness" whether in dreams or in a dark point of life, "it will rise in perfect light." The darkness, not matter what it's caused by or how majestic it is, will never stay around. There will always be light in the morning and I will always look forward to that, figuratively and literally. 

Mirror mirror on the wall

Dear mirror mirror sitting on the wall
who is the fairest of them all,
rather what is that face looking back at me?

Patches of freckles, born from the sun,
scattered over a defiant nose, branches
of eyebrows framing, bending like a dancer's
back, over the round brown black eyes.
Those eyes, I stare into them as they stare back,
what do you see in the depths of black iris?

Hiding beneath, the lowest level, sits a charcoal pot
of love gone abused, for the person who once loved
burnt the pot. The pot slowly fades, the memories
difficult to recall as it's pushed deeper and deeper,
hoped to disappear, to drown, but it will not ever
forever be gone for it has made its mark.

Regrowing, on the surface of those eyes,
is a tiny garden of green, blades of grass sprouting,
watered by the gallons, fertilized by the thirst
for life. It's the hope, that I recognize,
it's the defiance to defeat, that calls me home.
Those eyes may stumble over a rock,
glance and see a tornado engulf, winding up
to take her away, but they run. They eat the ground
in stride, muscles gleaming from the sweat,
but always, always going and always trying.

Game Mistress (1)

(Side note to this poem: This poem begins my era of gamer poems. Now, the reason I've began these is due to my new job that I was offered yesterday as a game design writer! What this means is I'm working pretty much freelance for a couple of people putting together a D&D like game in an amazing fantasy world. From now until December, I literally get to creative write as a job which is a dream come true. Therefore, to celebrate this awesomeness, I'm going to have a string of poems to correlate with it.)

Her soul went out to that pen and that bundle of papers
bound together in an everlasting hold, woven with love.
Fingers mashed away at a keyboard, hair tangled,
empty energy drinks stacked on the mahogany.

In the mind, ideas swirled, a hurricane of thoughts,
a world born out of multiple brains, a team
of careful eyes watching each period, comma,
breathing life into the heart of a character.

Smile glistening as she crafts every tree,
knits together the quests, the challenges, forges
swords from raw metal, readying the ground
for those to dive into her art, thirst for its adventure.

The bus

A sense of quiet, out of place in a flurry of busy commute, wheels turning, engines roaring. But alas i sit, silent, besides for the music dripping into my ears.
a blue sky, sun rising to its peak, a book so calm in my hands, looking out over a river, observing the world as it passes on.
What was once fear of going to the right place or letting the clock tick beyond meeting, has become an air of pride, a taciturn roar of confidence.
Unsure of what has altered my lifetime, but knowing it has been a woven piece of thread changed for the good.

Cell Phone

It flashes, silently
a tiny green light
illuminating the room.

Drowsy, nighttime
reach over, patting
bed, grasping.

Contact, drag off
the sheet, hold up
and press the button.

Slide open, punch
in the lock, a small
icon sits at the top.

Rubbing sleepy eyes,
touch of a fingertip
your name waits.

A smile, eyes
adjusting to light,
reading as a laugh

escapes lips,
fingers flying over
keyboard, a reply.

Set it down back
on sheet, letting cord
drop back down.

Eyes close happy.

Kiss from a Rose- Seal

Something's changed. And I like it.

The Queen

Club beat booming, vibrating through the floors
covered in glitter, sparkling with slippery champagne,
elliptic lights, white, red, blue and green, tainted
bared shoulders, endless legs, shadowed by black
sequins, tight to the ass, moving as one
except for the center where the spotlight shines
on a single dancer, waves of brown hair
cascading down a bare back, dipping to a black
zipper of a scrunched dress, glued like a tattoo
to the rhythmic curves and porcelain skin.
The eyes glance, catch contact with a few lucky
men, but it's the dance that has mesmerized.
Arms and hips, moving to entrance, every muscle
in complete military control, yet seeming so impossible.
She knows she's Queen of the dance floor.

Sassafras

(Note on the poem: I love the metaphor behind this. This will probably go somewhere in the same metaphor, but completely different form. Just some raw work that at first glance, I think may have some potential.)

Sassafras.
Sometimes only known as a plant,
a cure for syphilis, a rare export,
but sassafras
is sassy.
Like the curves of the stems,
the hourglass figure of a woman,
stamen of the flowers,
the spikes on a pair of stiletto heels,
floating white petals,
the summer dress' skirt twirling in the sun.

The first day he called out sassafras
when I spoke out of turn, blunt,
the roots, I knew it would stick.
As the eyes gleamed with a spirit,
a defiance, a flower refusing to wilt,
there was a smile of victory,
the flower flicking off the fall's chill.

Running

Right in front of left, left in front of right
the pad of sneakers on pavement, steady
a quiet lope along, excited feet after a calm
walk. Left in front of right, right in front of left,
the trees wave their greeting, leaves shaking
leaving behind in the dust, the negativity, black
on white. Discarding the pieces of fabric
that once held a meaning. Pushing,
left in front of right, right in front of left,
breathe quickens, sweat drips off the brow
as every drop of old memory washes
from the mind. Right in front of left,
left in front of right, repeating yet bonded.