i hate my poetry class, i love my poetry class.

It's been rough in class lately. I've been getting down on my poems, and feel like I am clearly the worst poet in that class. I want to succeed. haha, honestly, mostly I just want my poetry to be good enough that people will like it and compliment it.
My teacher always asks for more specifics in my poems and this week I tried and uh, well he couldnt tell. He told me the same thing as before. So as I was walking to my car after class, bummed out because I suck at something I thought I was slightly good at, I was inspired. (Of course, I ramble off poetry when I can't write it.) So, I went to my car and wrote it down.
I think what bothers me the most about not feeling confident about my poetry, whether it is good or not, I always thought it was my "thing". I feel like everyone has something they are good at and mine is poetry. So, when I feel like "well, maybe poetry isn't my thing" then I am left with nothing I am good at.


I'm walking fast
like I have somewhere to go
but I'll just go home,
talk to my cats,
and sleep.

I look down at the concrete
I'm stomping on
instead of the wandering eyes
of passer bys.
Because if I met those eyes
I might actually have to make small talk
and pretend to like someone
I could care less about
and they could care less about me.

So, I'll just stare at the
pencils stuck between the cracks,
millions of cigarettes wasted,
splashes of color of dissenagrating gum,
and the clown tattoo on this guy's calf
that is walking slowly in front of me.

The clown with one eye bigger than the other,
a sharp line of teeth like Jaws,
protruding.
-But I look away because
clowns scare me
and I might get nightmares
if I stare long enough.

So, I walk past him at my haste pace
And past the people
in cars that always seem to be
in a hurry,
across the crosswalk and almost
get run over by some
guy in a piece-of-junk car
because I never look when
I cross the crosswalk.
Just to feel B.A.
"I have the right of way, A-hole!"
I want to scream,
but I just stare a hole through his window instead.

When I get to my car
I have to stratigically
open my car door
while shoving my overweight
backpack in my back seat.
Then shimmy myself
in the driver's seat,
trying not to hit the
stupid truck
that parked diagonally
next to me.

Finally in my safe haven
of fake leather and good music.

Now, I look like a creep
sitting in my car writing
a SPECIFIC poem
to convince my classmates,
and probably myself,
that I dont suck at writing poetry.

Love is our movement, but our movement's slow.

stuck
I'm in a rut
I wake up,
Survive the day
And go to sleep
To dream of better times
when reality
Was better than fantasy


Assignment: write a poem in someone else's voice.

I am a catch
And release fisherman.
I get what I want.
Give into my cravings.
Satisfy my tastebuds.
Then cut it off.
Catch.
My fingers reach
deep down my throat
-I almost pull them out
But just
one
more
second
And my stomach empties
Into the porcelain god
I bow down to.
Release.

New Poems:

Taking a poetry class is a wonderful thing and dreadful thing. It has shown me different ways to go about writing poetry, examples of rather good poetry from other students, and made me think poetry every second of the day...annd night. :) We write two a week, one a "workshop" poem(something we have been working on and the author reads it to the class and the class talks about it and the author is forbidden to explain the poem until the classmates are done discussing) and the other poem is an assigned topic. Some of them are rough because I have never been too good at writing poems "forcedly" :). Here are some:

Assignment: something you are good at

The stale smell.
The piercing bright hallways.
The dark room.
The bed.
And the man.
The once strong man wrapped up in tubes.
He smiles.
He hides the shooting pain from his side.
No need to hide.
Your pain is my pain.

Late night songs.
She carries on
To put the little head to rest.
Tiny baby,
So much joy.
No more war.
No more leaving.
Tears fall as her heart's overflowing.
Happiness at last.
The past is the past.
Your joy is my joy.

He broke her heart,
Without even thinking.
He tore it out,
Without ever asking.
He ran away with it,
While she watched him go.
Hurt in her eyes
Agony in her smile.
Time heals all wounds
....This might take awhile.
Your hurt is my hurt.



Do you remember when I would hang on to every word?
And you loved it didn't you?
Your truth was the truth.
You were never wrong.
Everyone else was.
You sucked the life from me.
Growing too close, your roots covered mine.
How was I supposed to grow?
Did you know the harm you caused by trying to keep me from,
From what?
From hurt, wars, sin?
From life?!
What about joy, peace, and love?


Now, before reading this one I want to warn you this is strong feelings pent up. My poems are straight emotion without censors. I love my dad. Sometimes he really just ticks me off.

Assignment: Family

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, Father.
I will NEVER say I do
To someone like you!
You are exactly like him.
Your father, you know?
Ha!
You tried, but I hate you like you hate him.

The only time we talk
Is when you yell at me
And you watch me cry.
Know that these are from your words, Dad.
I tell you why
But do you ever listen?!

You make me like this.
Like he made you.
This is not me.
I will not be angry.

Come back to me.
Do you remember when I sat upon your knee?
You would read me stories.
Did you love me then, Daddy?
I loved you, I loved you, I love you, Papa.
When will you ever love me?


Assignment: Place
The Old House
From this long, glass window I can see
The pure beauty.
Untouched white, covering the evergreen
Showing its age by its thinning branches.
Looking closer I can see bootprints
Leading down to the simple, silver barn
Down to the clutter and the chaos.
Trash.
All of it.
Broken, forgotten, left to rust tractors and mowers.
So much to fix so its left to rot.
Just like this house.


Mirror, Mirror
First draft:
Twisting my head to see the whole reflection
Of the less than average beauty
That is standing right in front of me
Her hair is too curly, too poofy, too crazy.
Those freckles, those teeth, not to mention that body.
This mirror is my enemy.

Second draft: (a woman in my class writes these two to three line poems that explain so much in so little. i wanted to try it.)

This mirror is my enemy.
Maybe tomorrrow we can be friends.



Assignment: describe a physical object

Dream Maker
For some reason this bed wont make itself
The sheets are falling off the side.
Right in the middle is the quilt I made with Grandma.
She let me pick out the squares the one day I came to help.
The deep, red comforter disappearing between the wall and the mattress.
The black sheets contrasted by every bit of dust and cat hair.
The pillows at the head of the bed invite me back to sleep.
The hand-me-down bed frame squeaks as if to moan of old age.
A mess, this bed.
Just like me.


Playing God
Here are the strings
I see them now.
In my hand, I feel the bars
Manipulating and using.
I am the puppet master.
And I am the doll.

This is power.
If I can't control life,
I'll control myself.

yeah...i wouldnt want to be friends with me either.

Sometimes, I feel I don't deserve you.

Sometimes, I know, but take you for granted anyway.

Some days, I lie awake wondering about you.

Some days, all I think about is myself.

Most days, I come up with a plan to thank you.

Most ways, I end up bringing your kindness to shame.

Sometimes, I plan to make up for my selfishness.

Sometimes, I make up excuses for myself.

Some days, I'm ready to change the way I am.

Some days, I wait until tomorrow to make a difference.

Most days, I can find a friend to come along for the ride.

Though some day, there will be no one by my side.

yep. that pretty much explains it. i'm a bad friend. i expect your best, while you get my worst. i'm sorry. that's pretty lame, i know. i can say i'll change, but i'm pretty sure i won't. wouldnt want to let anyone down again.

broken again.

i suppose im not very good at expressing my emotions through words, except for poetry. it has always been the easiest thing for me to say what im feeling or the way i hurt because of those around me. im very empathetic. i put myself in others places and feel pain the way they feel pain and celebrate in joy because they are happy.
at the beginning of the year, i found out my sister was pregnant. it was even better news because it meant that she wouldnt have to be deployed to iraq later that year. however, her husband was still called to go. it was bittersweet knowing she could stay, but he couldnt. well, he's been gone for a couple of months and they talked as much as they could. he came back for his two week leave just a couple of weeks ago. during his second week home, his first daughter was born. he was immediately in love with her. i couldnt help but smile when i saw them all together. these are the people that deserve to be happy. but, this last tuesday we were all brought back to reality when he had to leave for iraq again. it was heartbreaking to see them hug each other goodbye and his last kiss for his daughter.
so i wrote this poem from my sister's perspective.


dont leave me again.
my heart cant take it.
dont decieve me again,
that i can make it.
dont say goodbye,
just see you soon.
watch over my heart,
ive left it with you.

stop walking away,
my knees are shaking.
stop talking your way,
through excuses im making.
stop smiling at me,
i can see right through.
watch over my heart,
ive left it with you.

ill wish time to move faster.
and our memories to slow down.
ill live this life,
even without you around.
remember i love you.
be careful, see you soon.
look over my heart,
ive left it with you.

sometimes giving up is the best to do.

give me patience, Lord.
give me, give me peace.
cause my nerves are bending, breaking
and im dropping to my knees.
im giving up quickly, Lord
giving, giving up.
i cant keep going on like this
wont you fill my cup?
everything seems so worthless, Lord.
it keeps coming back again.
ill clean up the mess i made,
but the broken i cannot mend.
give me patience, Lord.
give me, give me peace.
im trying my best to keep up,
but everyone is so hard to please
im giving up forever, Lord.
giving, giving up.
even though my life is full
theres nothing in my cup.


i get so caught up in what homework needs to be done in school, complaining about how much my job sucks, never having enough time to relax that i forget who is really in control. if i would only let Him. its scary not knowing what the future holds. our society puts so much importance on being in control, being certain of everything. its easy to fall into that mindset. sometimes its just the best to give up. stop. breathe. let it go.

introductions to papers were always my least favorite.

soo. the first blog...

i'll start off by talking about the radio 'station'. this is something that only in my wildest dreams would i imagine happening. right now i am going to illinois central college majoring in mass communication. my dream job is to be a radio deejay on an alternative christian radio station, eventually owning my own radio station. i honestly did not expect to even come close to my dream, but God had other plans in mind.

mike, a guy i met in one of my classes at icc, came up to me this semester at school and asked if i would be interested in being a dj for an internet radio that he had been researching and wanted to get started. "uh. of course!" so the Lord, brought a group of people together and we are starting this. its really happening. mike is the talker. :) he will be doing a "talk show". there are four of us deejays so far. and just. i dont know! im psyched. hopefully this will all come together and be glorified.



now for something a bit more different.

what is up with churches these days? i used to go to church every sunday, same old thing. i would get up dreading to go and drag myself to the pew we sat at every sunday. but i eventually woke up. i wasnt getting anywhere. heres something i actually wrote while i was in church disgusted with how i had gotten to where i was then. some days were better than this one for sure, i just tend to build and build until i let it all go at once. :)

Dead Men Walking

stare blankly forward

and keep on walking

with your fake smile

plastered on your zombie face

read the words

from memorization

not from your heart

get upset over change

that gets in the way

of going through the motions

your fire is dimming

to a crackle

not too far from a smoke

you think of yourself

as righteous

and judge someone that different

scowl at the audacious

and frown upon the open-minded young

you oppress me.

you show me what not to be.

im letting go of you.

and doing whats best for me.