Negative Nancy

I am in the darkness
Away from the Light,
Walking through the desert,
In the valley
With a cloud hanging over my head.
I am alone in the pit
Crawling on my knees
Thirsty, for my cup is empty.
However I say it
I am broken, Lord.
I miss you.
and I'm tired of running.


I'm tired of
all of this
wanting
and waiting
and dreaming of things
that will never be.
Wonderful, lovely
things that would
make everything
tolerable.
But this thing,
love,
as it were,
does not exist.


Turn it up loud.
Drown out the sound
Of these thoughts
That crowd my head.
I dont want to think.
Not about what to wear.
Not about how crappy I feel
Not about when to quit
this job I hate.

I dont want to hear it.
I want to feel it.

Echo in these
Tired bones
Make my heart beat
To the drum beat.
Deafen my ears
To the words
They use as a weapon
To quiet their fears

I DONT WANT TO HEAR IT.
I WANT TO FEEL IT.

Loaded Question

"How are you?"
Terrible.
My alarm woke me up early,
and then I couldn't get back to sleep.
I ripped my favorite pair of jeans
because I inherited my mom's butt.
I was late for my Philosophy class
Since I got pulled over for speeding.
The girl that sits in front of me
had her pink, lace thong sticking
out of her jeans.
I didn't see the hot guy
I always see in the cafeteria,
while walking to my Scriptwriting class.
And now I'm at work
serving impatient customers
like yourself
food they can easily make at home.
By themselves.
"I'm okay."

:To my husband

So, I spose I'm abnormal. It's okay though, I've come to terms with this news. I was never the little girl constantly thinking of her wedding day, I always got excited about the marriage. Throughout my life I've always dreamed of what it would be like to married to someone you love with all of yourself. To share this strong love and be able to share your love for
God. I'm not saying that I had a perfect idea of marriage. I know there is struggle and hurt along with the comforting and joy. But, I think the image of marriage is very different now from what I imagined when I was younger. There is no humility. There is no sharing. You live in the same house with someone you don't even know. Love itself is distorted.

No one knows how I long for you
How I'm trying to stay strong for you
Sometimes I don't know why I pray for you,
That you would also stay true for me
How easy the alternative would be
Life would be so simple and carefree
But empty without your love eternally

Sometimes, I wonder why I chose the path I did. It's not easy at times...


I want someone to kiss my forehead
and make me blush
To tell me goodnight
And when he holds me in his arms
I melt right there
Waiting for the world to start to turn again
I long for a love so divine
A love so unexchangable, unforgettable
I want the Lord to love it too.
Every kiss will make me catch my breath
Because I. cant. breathe.
I'm waiting for my heart to explode
My hands to shake
And my knees to be weak
I long for my understanding, humble husband
And I'll be waiting
Until he comes
and until then.

So, what if unexchangable isnt a word...who says you have to use real words in poetry? :)

I love you
used to mean
something.
Now, its turned
into an everyday,
to anyone and anything
nothing.

A big, perfect. mess.

Performance piece.

Letter to my Heavenly Father

Dear Lord Almighty,
Should I call you that?
Do you mind?
Cause I kind of get confused sometimes.
Casual or formal?
Chatty or direct?
Well, I guess I'll get
Straight to the point

Where the hell have you been?
Pardon my language
But with my free will
and see with
You ignoring me and all
I thought I might just
Come right out and say it.

I've been like this
for my life.
Guess you've just missed it
I am a broken faucet.
drip. drip. drip.
And then I'm a puddle on the floor.

I was sad yesterday
So bad I just sat
In bed all day.
And I called, yeah.
But I guess you were too busy
So I went back to sleep
To keep my sanity
If only in my dreams

When I awoke
The sun fell back to sleep
One more time
I tried.
Help.
You didn't answer
Did you?
...Sure.

Now I kneel
At the edge of
My squeaky bed
On the ground
Of my cluttered room
With my mess of a mind.

So this is my last
S.O.S.
...until the next time
Cause this heart
In my chest
And the one
Of my soul
Long to be
Whole in you.

See you in my sleep,
Write back soon,
Your lost sheep.

Peace, Perfect Peace.

Whenever I think about peace, I automatically think about hugging my mom. The hug where I wrap my arms around her waist and lay my head on her chest so I can hear her heartbeat and her arms are holding me tight, and we just stand there waiting for the world to still. And on really bad days, I just cry and stain her shirt with my tears and she says nothing. She just hugs me.

I need a hug.

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.