January 31, 2011

The Irrational Fear of Everything

I am afraid of everything

Of tomatoes and potatoes

How they can’t make up their minds


Of how my town is going to shit

Thanks to gangs with their pants too big

That kill because they want to,

Because they can, because it’s fun


Of how much hair that one guy has

Of how little my dad has

How one day I might just lose all my hair

Even though I am a woman


Afraid of music that gives me headaches

Like Little Wayne, and Miley Cryrus

Of how people have forgotten of the classics

And how people no longer write songs

But music meant for pornos


Of that kid that won’t stop moving

The one that won’t listen

The one the parents let run free

The one that might end up dead


Afraid of speeding cars and car crashes

Of dying like Stella Blue

Of dying like my grandfather

Of driving a fucking car


Of everything that passes me

How he never looks at me

Of the guy that smells like shit

That I’m the one that smells like shit


I am afraid of falling in love

Of being heart broken

That this will make me die alone


Of that old guy with the roaming eyes

Who always sits next to me

When BART is empty


But I am not afraid of dying

I am not afraid of words

Of chocolate chip cookies, and indie music

Though I am afraid of not living

And only existing


In the end, I am also afraid of you,

But it’s okay

I have an irrational fear of everything

Even me

January 24, 2011

Behind "Words"

Well it was homework for my poetry class.
See in the first class, which was today, we wrote down a list of words we love.
For our homework, we were supposed to look up the words in the dictionary, and make a poem out of what we experienced.
That is what "Words" is.

Words

I have an infatuation with words

“Aspire with foolish love or admiration”

Don’t want to look up the word “moist”

Skip it

Can’t find epeolatry

Therefore

Webster is a canker blossom

“That which blasts a blossom as a canker does”

Suddenly a feeling of euphoria

“A feeling of happiness”

Existentialist in secrecy

Nothing there

But too many words

Please not now

“A promise”

Maybe one day

Only one

Word

January 21, 2011

For that poetry class, I had to pick a poem that "excites me." I chose this poem by Jack Kerouac, because there is something about it that perfectly describes how life is. We are all bones underneath what others see, and when we die the world keeps going. Also that part where it says "Books lie" is totally accurate, in my world. It's one reason I like to write: I don't have to tell the truth. Though when I write or talk about myself I try not to censor a thing, because I am a writer and the writer's don't lie about the truth, but they do create lies and cover up the truth.
I am confusing myself.

Next week I have my poetry class, and I promise to post anything I write in that class here.

Even if it's dreadful

January 13, 2011

Suicide: A piece of nothing.

Suicide is the unlocked door into the end. It’s easy. Usually you need an RSVP to enter, but with suicide you are free to come and never go. It’s why to me it is a fantasy. Because I would love to go and see how it is behind that door. I would love to go and leave this world behind, but I never do. Not me. Not now. I’ve done nothing with my life. Nothing. I need to write a book. I need to fall in love. I need to have a sex life. To move the fuck out. To finish college. Go to France. Fuck in France. See the Mona Lisa. See a Frida. See a Warhol. See the world. See a man. Fuck a musician. Write a book. Go to Italy. Go to Rome, Venice, and Verona. Visit Juliet. Meet a celebrity. Befriend a celebrity. Fuck a celebrity. Write a book. Write a book. Write a book. So much to do, and for now I control the time. That’s suicide. A way of control, and an easy escape from what you can’t.

January 08, 2011

ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore don't go there ignore ignore i need to see ignore ignore ignore ignore i want to ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore i need you ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore don't know you ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore help ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore don't sleep ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore no more coffee ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore no more books ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore no more barnes and noble ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore no more ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore no more ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore heartbreak ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore i give up ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore ignore

Hello

Hair too flat
Toes too long
Eyes too flappy
Heart too big.

Oh, Happy New Year.

I have no idea what I am writing. I have not slept and feel like writing.

The man with the shoe
only had one
the man with this shoe
tripped on his nose
the man with the shoe
tied with a lace
the man with this shoe
was really a shoe with a man

Heeeey.

I have been a horrible writer and have not written a single thing.
Okay, that is a dirty lie.
I have written parts of things, and edited old things.
Also you should already know about the being published thing.
I did submit my writing to this random magazine, but I got paranoid and deleted the email.
I now am regretting deleting that email.
I regret things too much.
I need to stop doing that.
It's annoying.