Neena' s Room

long nails - in the way
cut them off . . . to the bone.
Dark blood - bleeding. always an obstruction.
heat and sweat.
red wine after taste. Rings on two fingers.
Pulling, constricting. Can't stop twisting them.
curly hair and painted nails
this is not me. or is it.
drinking red wine of course.
only red liquid touches these lips.
beautiful red - blood red liquid replenishes me.
a long walk home awaits me. not ready to leave, not yet.

Sitting in beautiful's room
black hair with dyed blond bangs.
nose ring and brown skin.
gorgeous brown vegan eyes.
I'll always love you.

We met
(forever ago)
and you're my heart;
in my soul.
Sitting in your room, listening to you talk
about people i'll never meet; about people i'll never know
and I wouldn't be any where else but here
with you.

Snowy White

He pulls on his woollen hat and wraps his knitted scarf
'round his neck; preparing for
the bitter chill just outside the door.
He places his feet inside his red boots
and his mommy starts to lace them, but he is too big for that.
"No mommy! My turn! My turn!" he cries. And he begins to tie
his boots. He can't quite get it right. The laces won't stay tied.
Determined to do it himself, he refuses his mommy's help.
Finally, they stay knotted and he is ready to brace the frosty wind.

He runs outside to join his friends.
Rolling snow, and building forts.
Smack! A snowball hits his face.
First he cries, then he laughs and throws
his own snowball.

Snow sculptures spread across the snowy-white lawns
and as the parents step outside to call their children inside for
hot chocolate, the weather doesn't seem quite so cold or unfriendly.

Winter is upon us!

Wrapped with hats, mitts, scarves.
Stomping feet on Crunchy snow.
Cold breeze on my face.

Red cheeks; wat'ry eyes.
Strolling through the white flurry.
Frigid gusts twirling.

Wii, wii, wii all the way home

In the nocturnal hours,
Braving temperatures dropping below -20 degrees celcius,
they gathered together.
Huddled in between doors, barely room to sit,
they waited with baited breath.
For hours the mass squished together; laughing and fretting together.
Forced to wait the last lap outside, they stood clustered together for warmth.
Hopping and jumping to keep their toes from freezing.

Then the Strangers approached.
They are not part of the group; they do not belong here.
unwanted. unwanted.
Anxiety grew among them. but they held together - using their numbers to beat of the surging waves.
Light began to rise up from the earth.
The sun arose to light their way, but with it came bitter cold winds, trying to thwart their efforts. Trying to make them abandon their quest. But they remainded strong.
Undaunted by the chill.

At last their efforts were rewarded.

At last Wii are victorious!

Eight

This is my eighth post in november and this now beats my previous posts per month record - set back in february when i first started this blog. Being 8, i decided to check wikapedia for any interesting information regarding said number. The most interesting bit, to me anyway, was the part about the tarot card. I don't know much about tarot cards, but according to wikapedia the 8th card is the Strength card (in some decks it's 11, but we're focussing on 8). Other key words related to this card are:

• Self control ----- Being solid ----- Patience ----- Compassion

• Composure ----- Stability ----- Perseverance ----- Moderation

• Kindness ----- Gentleness ----- Slowness ----- Softness

• Serenity ----- Comprehension ----- Discipline ----- Inner strength

If you're interested in reading more about this, just click here.

So, i decided, being my 8th post this month, and the first time i've made it to eight posts, i should keep these things in mind. So here is my "Strength" post . . .
dum da dum! and my mind goes blank. apparently i can't take the pressure.

Listen - jazzy mario music in the background. rustling papers. my computer hums. mouse bottons clicking. Chair rocking. Footsteps on the wooden floor. keyboard keys clacking. fingernails scratching scalps.



She stands at the top of the stairs. Hers is the power to hold all eyes in the room.
But all she wants is to cry alone.
Now is not the time.
She has an audience to address. A crowd to entertain.
She must persevere with a fixed, painted smile. She slowly descends - carefully, quietly placing each foot on the lower step.
She jumps. She spins. She smiles.
And the crowd is entertained.
They clap. They cheer. They laugh.
She reaches her hands to the lights overhead
and twirls on pointed toes.
Her long flowing black hair spinning 'round her as she does.
Creating a circular boundary - protecting her from the crowds gazing eyes.
She imagines she is dancing across the clouds.
Whirling high above the earth.
and she is FREE.
Free at last.
free for now.

languishing

Red nails and red lips
with a business suit jacket
and a red tank top.

distracted green eyes;
Curly hair and pouty lips.
listless and lifeless.

gray, unmoving words.
fake smiles and conversations.
uneventful days.

Chipped red nailpolish.
Dry cracking red lips.
stretched out red tank top.

Wii, why have you forsaken me?

I'm too upset and drunk to be poetic.
Which is strange, because lately, most of my posts
have been written while i was pretty drunk.
I thought i would have a nintendo wii three days ago,
but alas, i still am without one.
sold out within two hours, and i was in montreal at the time.
So now, I am Wii-less.
Nintendo! you promised me a wii on the 19th day and
you have broken the promise!
Lies; lies.
Why did you restrict your units?
Where is my fucking Wii?!!

Nintendo, I have stuck by you all these years -
forever faithful. The only gaming consoles i have ever
owned are yours. the only games i play are nintendo brand
and yet, you leave me, a devoted fan with nothing.
Why did you not manufacture more?
Why did you barely send any to Canada. We love nintendo.
we crave nintendo.
Where are our Wiis?!!

this is dedicated to the one i love

You.

You make me feel sexy - even when i'm not.

You are the lilly pads apon which I dance
and you are the sun shining down on me giving me strength.
You are my umbrella blocking me from the cold rain drops
and you are the comforting arms which lift me when I fall.

The only thing I'm sure about is you.

As we wrap each other in a never-ending embrace,
I know you are the only one for me:
my stream and my sea -
my hill and my mountain.
I long to forever drink from your fountain
and lasciviously gaze up at your beautiful face.

waterlogged

"It can't rain all the time."

But it sure does seem to be.

The forecast for this week:
rain, rain, and more rain.
Rain every day.
The world is trying to wash us away -
to start anew.

The world is cold and gray. strange and unfamiliar.
The clouds have fallen from the sky - laying low on the ground.
They surround us in fog.
I cannot see my outstretched hand.
My finger tips have blended into this haze.

wet . . . dismal . . . numb.

Where is the sun hiding?

She that treads on Water

Petals float gracefully from her extended hand to the water below.
Sprawled out on a branch above the lake, she stares up toward the sky
wishing for the sun to warm her frigid frightened limbs.
She waits. She hopes. She dreams.

Glowing innocence flashes upon her bare skin.
Her melancholic reflection beckons her.
Snap. The bough breaks.
Down. She tumbles.
Splash. She sinks.
No struggle - no crying.
Eternal peace.

"There is a willow grows aslant the brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; here with fantastic garlands did she come.
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples.
There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke.
When down the weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook."

Red Irritations

Glass shatters across the wooden floor.
Tip-toe between the shards.
One less wine glass. . . . Soon we'll have none.
Red liquid seeping amongst the cracks - the wood bleeds.
One uncertain step. Red flows from my foot. Another scar to remember.

Discarded wax sheets strewn on the ground.
Tip-toe between the strips.
Black, brown, blond - all ripped from the source.
Some refuse to move; Grasping to the skin.
Bruises appear on the surface and Itchy red splotches begin to show.
One quick pull. Red stems up my leg. Another rash to scratch.

you never can tell with Bee

"a Tigger who bounced, if he bounced at all, in just the beautiful way a Tigger ought to bounce."

Super hero Boots
with daisies and red lipstick
fiery goddess.

The strength in her smile
the love spread across her lips
perfect innocence.

She's fractured and scared
painful vulner'bility
Waiting for succor.

Insomnia

up late;
can't sleep
words run through my mind
won't stop
won't let me sleep
i should lay in bed, let the sleep take hold of me,
but i can't. i wont!
sleep will not come to my tired body. not yet.
alcohol runs through my veins:
not drunk, but not quite sober - in between.
stuck in between, as usual.
Caught in a trap of my own doing.
my eyes ache
my heart quakes
i long for rest, but my hand won't stop; my mind won't stop.
Need to write. Have to write.
This is what makes me exist. my words - written scribbled hurriedly on a page brings my being, my character, into existence. without this, i would cease to exist, disappear like my reflection in the mirror.
can't stop, won't stop.
need to sleep, but the pencil won't stop moving across the page. I don't know how to stop.

My web page won't load and so i am scratching my words on paper for the first time in ages. and my hand hurts; it's barely legible. but i just keep on writing. when will it end?
drunken words sing out to me; illegible.

Ophelia stands to my left, starring glass eyed at the water before her feet.
why is this the poster beside my writing space? Why do i admire, adore, a crazy suicidal character? why do i think her soul is beautiful? romantic? why is this idea of drowning one self, (insanity) so romantic to me?

Beautiful . . . innocent . . . dead.

my hand can't keep up with my thoughts - it rushes across the page moving as fast as it can, but still my mind races ahead and must pause to let it catch up. I hope I can make sense of this all when I slow down and take a breath.
Free verse - I haven't written this free, this unstructured, in years. I can't stop. my mind races
keep on moving on. i only stop when my hand aches too much, i wish i could keep writing for all of eternity. I can barely keep my eyes open, yet my hand keeps moving at lightning speed. I can't even see what i'm writing anymore. I'm not wearing my glasses and yet i still continue to write. my hand aches with the pain of a million words scratched in blood in a second and yet i keep on writing.
i can't stop.
i will keep writing till the end.
till my end.
till i collapse.

stop.
breath.
exhale.
Enough.

I've said enough.

Paperbag princess

I just came back from a halloween kegger, and i noticed something, well, actually Chris, my boyfriend, pointed it out to me. I was dressed as the "Paperbag Princess" and every girl there knew who i was and complimented me on my costume, but only 2 guys (not counting chris since he suggested it) seemed to know who i was. most guys said, "what's with the paperbag?" now i thought this was one of those stories that everyone knew as a child. robert munsch was an awesome children story writer, but it seems that the "paperbag princess" stood out mainly in girls' minds and not guys'. could it be because the protagonist is a strong female character, and the prince she goes to save is a stuck up jerk? hmmm, something to think about.

Girlie moments

With blow-dried hair and painted face, i stepped outside to brace the world. More effort than usual went into my 'look' today. i wanted to look beautiful - sexy . . . perfect. But as i gaze at my hair, all i see are the split ends - every strand of hair is split. When i catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, all i see are the blemishes. i sit at work and cut the ends trying to remove all the splits, but i can always see one more. i should just shave my head. It's too difficult to see the Beauty in me. i look everywhere for Her, but She's hiding today. i want so much for Beauty to seep from my pores, but all that seeps is grease. i know i shouldn't care this much about how i look, but somedays (today) i long to be gorgeous.

Stop. Rewrite.

With blow-dried hair and painted face, I stepped outside to brace the world. More effort than usual went into my 'look' today. I wanted to look beautiful - sexy . . . perfect. I feel like a goddess floating on clouds; my hair so soft to touch I've been running my fingers through my hair all day. So now my hair is not quite as straight as it was when the day began. I love the way my hair feels when I've straightened it - soft and delicate against my cheeks. It smells pretty today - I smell pretty today. Perfume and make-up all for me. pink eyeshadow to match my shirt- brushed every so lightly on with eyeliner to draw attention to my Gorgeous green eyes. Every time I pass a mirror today, I stop to stare at the Beauty in me. And it feels good. I don't care if it seems shallow. Some days it's nice to feel beautiful.

Eeyore Days

Dark gray clouds follow overhead.
"tut, tut, it looks like rain"
Frigid wind blows through my hair; my skin is icy cold to touch.
Someone has tripped and popped my red balloon.
The sun is hiding from me. Was it something I said?
summer has disappeared and deserted me, as fall and winter are ganging up on me.
My world has turned dull and gray.
The one i love has lost interest
and left me here
dying - crying - alone.
I have become invisible to him; my sobs are noiseless now.
All my tears won't bring him back.
Where has the sun gone?

Fire Goddess

Buring red.
Flames flowing in the wind.
Red satin spinning 'round.
Soft to touch - red on my lips.

Burn. Burn. Burn.

The dark of night.
Silence all around.
Red flashes of light in the distance.
Red satin twirling floating on air.
Sweet berry aroma - red in my nose.

Fly. Fly. Fly.

Raise your wings to the stars.
Soar amongst the clouds
Red satin trails swirl above us.
Sirens sound - red in my ears.

Live. Live. Live.

Red hair and finger tips.
Fairy dust and pixie wings.
Someone to admire.
Red satin sprawled upon the earth.
Bitter sweet - red on my tongue

Behold - the red goddess!

Insight from a Bee

"You are beautiful and wonderful and perfect."
Why can't I see what you see?
Why can't I love me?

I feel so useless sometimes. Like I contribute nothing. I feel as if I've been sitting in this same position for so long that I don't know how to stand up anymore. For years I have had a plan for my future and now that i'm almost at the next step, I'm not sure I want to go in this direction anymore. I'm not sure where my path is anymore.

Confused . . . lost . . . scared.

I am Alice and the broom sweepers have swept the path away ahead of and behind me. All that is left is the small square underneath my feet.

"It doesn't matter what you do,
It doesn't matter where you go,
as long as you are you.
You are beautiful. You are wonderful. You are perfect.
You are you."

I am me.
and I like me . . .
sometimes.

I scream of RED

Swimming in seas of red.
my head
spins.
Empty bottle -
none left to share.
Red red everywhere. (and none a drop to drink)
Berry aftertaste. Delicious red.
Cheap twist; twist for me
drunken haze.
Long works days.

I'll grow my hair
till it reaches the floor.

Non sense
no sense.

Night Mares

Ghostly visages swim in the air around me. As I gasp for air,
dead horses gallop through my lungs
stealing my breath.

I cannot breathe.

The air is cold around me. Hoof beats drum in my ears.
I cannot block out the sound. The volume increases:
louder - louder;
they come from all sides.

Riders of the night.

They form a circle around me in the air.
Their eyeless gaze follows my movements as
I thrash about on my bed. While I twist, the sheets wrap
around my limbs and constrict me.

I cannot move.

Night Tremors.

Stolen pictures

Hanging pictures
from the ceiling.
And she never knew.
Stalking - always watching
and she never knew;
She never knew.

Caressing her soft skin,
as he gently constricts
her arms on the ground
with his knees.
He kindly presses the knife
to her pale throat
to quell her screams.

Hanging pictures
from the ceiling.
And she never knew.
Stalking - always watching
and she never knew;
She never knew.

As the tears streak
down her flush cheeks,
he sensually licks
the blood from her wounds.
The fear inside rises
to her eyes
and she knows she
Cannot escape his -
his lust.
His love.

Hanging pictures
from the ceiling.
And she never knew.
Stalking - always watching
and she never knew;
She never knew.

Bruises slowly appear
on the surface of her broken body.
Coughing blood and spewing phlegm.
She realizes she
Cannot escape his wrath -
Cannot escape him.
She's come undone.
She's moving on . . .

Hanging pictures
from the ceiling.
And she never knew.
Stalking - always watching
and she never knew;
She never knew.

Silence

Creeping above the night sky - ducking under stars.
Quiet. Quiet.
Rolling over sea waves and stepping on top of logs.
Quiet. Quiet.
Inching past the meadows; slithering between the grass.
Quiet. Quiet.
Sneaking through the desert: wading among the sands.
Quiet. Quiet.
Skulking in the flowerbeds. Tip-toeing on the daisies.
Quiet. Quiet.
Quite Quiet.

Camping Trip

I went on a camping trip on the civic holiday long weekend and I decided to post the link to my camping pictures on my blog in case anyone wants to see them. I had a lot of fun. And I went swimming in my underwear!! I haven't done that since I was a kid. I know, i'm such a prude - so conservative in some respects. All the girls were sitting on the floating dock and our pants/shorts were getting wet so we all decided to take them off and swim in our underwear. I put my pants back on before getting out of the water though (see statement above referring to prudeness). We bought a ridiculous amount of beer. There is a picture of a tower of beer cases, and that was the beer for one night, lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the pictures and excuse this short break from creative writing.

camping pictures

The Fallen

Blood drips down my leg
Searing hot pain and scratches.
Home is far away.


Gravel in my cuts -
Night of dancing ends with blood.
Never ending pain.

attempted Free verse

sleepy, tired, wretched, bored. no answer. Silence surrounds me. Suffocating in nothingness, the walls close in around me. Hunger pains in my stomach. I haven't eaten anything today and it feels as if my stomach is digesting itself for energy. stuck here; no food, no drink, each second that ticks past feels like a decade wasted. Waiting for someone to answer.
"Is anybody out there?"
Where is everyone? The desolate wasteland is sucking the life energy out of my soul. How do I escape from my self-created cell? I need sustenance. I need change; something - anything happen! Emptiness stems from nothing - the nothing that encases me on all sides. No way out. Help! I need somebody! Help! Not just anybody. Help! You know I need someone please! anxious, scared, shattered, and shaken. I need to escape from this place - the pit of my anxiety is growing - the hole is deeper with each passing minute. No way out! No way out! Trapped. Darkness. The last light has burnt out.

sun Days off

blistering HEAT (with dirty feet)
flip-Flops walkin' (on the sideWalk) cloppin'
stiCKY and sweaTY
cool breeze (hot sun
feelin' sweaty) feelin' happy.
30 degrees and SWELTerING.
i love the HEAT!
nothing makes me smile like walking
(on a hot day). no work today.

"We're givin' it up to the sun."

Incomplete Thoughts

Summer heat jumps off the Street

sweltering pavement
dripping icecream
sweat-soaked clothes.
icy water
fan breeze
cushioned recliner.



Battles
The view: loud sounds and flashes of light in my face.
and they looked like death . . .
and they were.



Orlando

Her tears - for a thousand years
stuck in place - fall down his face.
Wasted time - it burns like lime
in his eyes - slips though her skies.
He was young - his heart unsung
of stories bold - now she's old.

While the sun pales, he sails
without lights - the starless nights.
Dark waters splash, he acts brash
to stop the dip on the ship.
"He's to blame!" the crew exclaim
to their toes, "for all our woes".

She treads on glass; servants pass
through the heat; with slipper'd feet.
Rich satin, books in latin,
music trills with puffs and frills-
drowning in her pink gowning,
no skin bare with pulled tight hair.

The Hunt

Moving through the shawdows - crouching in the tall grass,
he moves with graceful speed.
He uses the darkness of the forest to hide his black fur.
His prey won't see him pounce.

As the night creeps into the forest, he arches his back and prepares for the hunt. A group of mice hurry across his path. Unaware of his presence, they try to reach their home before the creatures of the night come out to play. He will dine on mouse flesh tonight. He lunges at the leader and sinks his fangs into its skin. His first instinct is to just cripple the mouse so that, if he's quick, he can catch another one. But as the blood reaches his tongue and fills his mouth, he is engrossed in feeding and forgets about the others. When he finishes his meal, the other mice have scattered. He can no longer smell them; their scent has faded - lost amidst the other scents in the woods. He slinks away amongst the reeds; the woods have many other meals for him to catch.

As he creeps along the ground, he detects a strange scent. A wolf - in this part of the forest? That can't be right! He pauses to sniff the air; the scent is undeniable. A wolf! Nearby - just past the stream. He crouches low to the ground, unsure if the wolf has seen him or detected his scent. Should he remain hidden and hope the wolf won't notice him? Should he run? The wolf is faster - stronger.

"Is there enough distance between us for me to run away - to reach safety?"

He notices a hallow log a few feet away. He decides to slowly inch toward the log. Inside the log, he'll be safe. The wolf is too large to fit, except for its snout and the log is long enough for him to stay out of reach of its sharp teeth. He carefully slinks through the grass hoping not to catch the wolf's attention. Quietly, quietly he edges closer to the log. He is close - safety is near - almost, almost. The wolf turns its head in his direction. It sees the grass move slightly; it sees a dark shape moving slowly through the grass. The scent - a cat! It dashes toward the shape.

He hears the wolf heading this way. he hurries to the log and rushes inside. Running too quickly to stop, the wolf rams into the log. It shoves its snout inside trying to reach him. It hungrily snarls and bares its teeth. Shaking and scared, he cowers in the darkness, How long must he wait? Unable to move. The wolf growls angrily and lunges at the log, thinking the force will break it, but it doesn't. The wolf bites at the wood trying to break off pieces with its teeth. The wood is too thick - the bark too strong; it will not break. The wolf runs at the log one last time, to no avail, then scrampers away; defeated - dejected. He sees the wolf leave, but it is too frightened to come out of the log. Afraid the wolf is hiding in the shawdows, waiting for him. He can't leave the safety of the log, not tonight. He curls into a ball and waits for the sun to rise. Sleep comes quickly in the safe comfort of the log. The hunt is over for tonight.

Incomplete Thoughts

Orlando

Her tears - for a thousand years
stuck in place - fall down his face.
Wasted time - it burns like lime
in his eyes - slips though her skies.
He was young - his heart unsung
of stories bold - now she's old.

While the sun pales, he sails
without lights - the starless nights.
Dark waters splash, he acts brash
to stop the dip, on the ship.
"He's to blame!" the crew exclaim
to their toes, "for all our woes".

She treads on grass. . .

You

Safety is your strong arms;
comfort is my head on your chest;
love is your blue eyes.

Your smile - your touch
it makes me want you so much.

Serenity is on your lips,
eternity is in your gaze,
Sensuality is around your ears.

Your smile - your touch
it makes me want you so much.

You are nothing - you are everything.

Spring breeze

Slight chill in the wind
warm sunlight pouring down on
the dusty sidewalks.

Joggers passing by,
children playing in the street
cars with their tops down.

I skip home alone
with a song on my lips and
music in my toes.

Robbers!

In the bathroom, about to take a shower.
No one else is home, but
have to lock the door.
It's robbers!
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!

Sitting on the toilet - going pee.
No one else is home;
have to lock the door.
Robbers!
aiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Dancing in the computer room,
wearing only Sponge Bob panties.
No one else at home, but
must lock the door.
ROBbers!
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekk!

Brushing teeth and
scrubbing cheeks clean.
Other people are home, still
must lock the door.
roBBERS!
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

In the bedroom,
changing into pajamas,
home all alone,
need to lock the door.
ROBBERS!
BOO!

The Lone Chopstick

Usually, chopsticks work in pairs: side-by-side, held in one hand, and pressed together by positioned fingers. They seem to be co-dependent - afraid to be on their own. Always with at least one other, whether in use, in the drawer, or in the drain tray.

But every morning, when I slowly straggle out of bed and crawl into the kitchen, I see one lone chopstick sitting on the counter patiently waiting to be cleansed. One brave chopstick adventures forth everyday alone, leaving his friends behind in the drawer. They eagerly wait for his return, when he will regale them with stories of his journey.

It is not the same chopstick every morning, however, that ventures forth to new discoveries. Oh no. Sometimes he is one of the wooden crowd - some days she is from the red plastic group. And every morning when I see this lone chopstick, I stop to ponder what mischief she created alone, early before I rose under my covers.

Compulsion

Anxiety a rash spreads across your wrist another under your breast redness on your right cheek itchy Anxiety chewed nails dried blood skin around nails chewed till it bleeds a tiny bit of skin hanging an invitation to chew an invitation to draw blood repeat repeated you cannot stop fidgeting you twirl your fingers pull your fingers some day you will pull too hard and dislocate a finger maybe some day is today your fingers tap the desk tap against each other your foot twitches in the air knuckles knock on the desk another bit of skin around your thumb nail to chew cannot stop will not stop move twitch knock scratch tap shake shiver rock sway pull rub itch chew cannot stop must not stop

Paper cuts

In chaos theory,
the flap of butteryfly wings
can change the whole world.

-------------------------------

Sitting all alone
Watching the clouds over head
leaving me behind.

-------------------------------

A fort of beer caps.
Smiling green fire crackers.
Red Mojo Jojo.

In Waiting

Hidden under rainbows
and catching sweet perfumes;
I wait for you,
underneath the moon.

Flying through the sky
with my purple eye;
I wait for you,
in my red ball
loon.

I just can't get enough -
sometimes your love just isn't enough.
I need to feel you
want you
feel you touching me
I can't get enough. . . .

To my love . . .

Wind blows through my hair, whispers soft words to me.
Trying to think of a new way to say something I've said
a thousand times before.

Each minute, our love grows stronger
each second, I want to hold you longer.
With this last kiss I send you off to bed
and wish sweet dreams to follow in your head.
If my words could meet you in your sleep,
I'd whisper of our love that soaks so deep.

The same beat - the same words run through my head.
How do I express my feelings in a different way after so long,
after so many times?
I don't know who I am without you.
I don't know where I end and you begin.
How can I ever be good enough for you?

I corrupted your innocence with my evil thoughts.
Reaching to the heavens, I pulled you down into my hell.
I can't let you leave. I won't let you leave.
If you'll be my Ham, I'll be your Lucy.

All the pain I've caused you, I wash away with my tears.
All your tears shed, I blow away with my smile.
If I die tomorrow, what will you remember of me?
The joy, the pain, the laughter, the tears?
After all these years. . . .

Beauty and the Beast

Beauty stares in the mirror -
she sees ugly reflecting back at her.

Stomach flab spilling over her underwear
and untoned muscle everywhere.
This is all she sees.
Never thin enough - she thinks she eats too much.
Another day, another skipped meal.
The hunger pains will soon subside, and then she will be
thin - beautiful.
Pretty means skinny; food is her enemy.
Shallow eyes and sunken cheeks is the beauty that she seeks.
Never thin enough - she thinks she eats too much.

Starring at the magazines, wondering why she doesn't look like them.
A picture of perfection she can never attain.
Dress it up, cover it up,
but the ugly shines through.
Her make-up cannot hide the hideous skin beneath.

Beauty looks in the mirror,
Sad eyes with a pain-filled smile stare back at her.

Man in the mirror

When I was just a little girl, I was afraid of mirrors. I thought that I was the reflection, and that I would disappear if the person on the other side walked away from the mirror. Thinking back to this now, maybe I am on the wrong side of the mirror . . . maybe our world is on the wrong side of the mirror. I wonder what life would be like if I stepped through - journeyed to the other side.

Only Alice knows.

Self Absorbed

All eyes on me . . . including my own.
I sulk and obsess over my feelings, while never considering how those around me feel. I say I love them - I say I care - but I rarely think of how my actions, my words affect them. I think of myself; absorbed in my thoughts, drowning in my emotions, nothing else matters. . . .

The centre of my universe is me.

All eyes on me.

Adventures Ahead

A new world awaits at my feet, but I am afraid to take the next step. The ground ahead is not as sturdy as before. Unsure of who I am - less sure of who I've been . . . .
Another portion of my journey has ended and I am about to venture forth anew. My hands shake at the prospect of uncertainty.
Where am I going?
Who have I been?
When the sun rises tomorrow, it shall light a new path for me.

shorth and long

The lovely lady comeths down the stair.
Long silver streams adorned throughout her hair.
Her attire doth trail upon the ground.
Divine green lace doth flowing all around.
What beauty treads across the tainted floor!
Her beauteous figure enchants my core.
What witty words departure from her lips!
Undaunted, her hands remain ‘pon her hips.
Her voice: ‘tis music floating upon air.
Tortured silence: no longer shall I bear.
I shall speaketh my words of devotion:

“Come hither, darling angel from above.
Thy fair visage, ‘tis softer than a dove.”

…But what if thou bethinketh me insane?
…Perchance you shall return my vows… What thane?
My tortured soul cries upwards for mercy.
The god above guffaws aloud at me.

My Hands

I raise my weak, swollen hands to my reddened cheeks in a feeble attempt to stop the mournful tears from falling. My bloodshot eyes burn like scorching candle wax dripping on my hand. My short nails bitten off to my fingertips scratch my soft, fragile face causing a trickle of blood to grace my sullen cheeks. I bring my left hand to my parted lips and savagely bite down on the skin surrounding my fingernails. Pain erupts from my fingertips as I try to mask my inner turmoil with the physical pain of ripping skin. I tightly grasp the throbbing finger in my other hand and bite my lip trying to prevent my eyes from bleeding with tears.

:-( :-( :-( :-( :-(

My small, childish hands gracefully soar across the paper, gaily creating colourful swirls with the bright paint smeared across my soft fingers. I create serene circles of paint with my delicate fingertips elegantly racing across the white page. A peaceful sigh escapes from my gentle, pink lips as the beautiful colours seep from my joyous hands onto the page. The seemingly endless circles enchant me as I stare into their centers. They mystically dance across the page chasing after my waiting hands.

=) =) =) =) =)

I slowly and cautiously lift the fork clasped firmly in my tired hand to my mouth. The nauseous aroma causes bile to rise in my swollen throat. I attempt to choke down the burnt chards of tofu and quickly take a gulp of milk from my cold glass to rinse the horrible taste from my mouth. I stretch my sore, sickly hands across the hard, wooden table and glance down at the disgusting meal on my plate. The sight of the wretched food blurs my vision so I tightly grasp the table trying to regain my balance.

:-[ :-[ :-[ :-[ :-[

Sitting at my desk, I nervously drum my fingers, waiting for the dreaded Calculus test. I anxiously raise my tense hand to my mouth and chew the last remnants of white from my ragged fingernails. Mr. Vertolli places the blank test on my desk. I grab my pencil with my rough, dry hand and look down at the empty test before me. A sigh of relief escapes from my lips when I realize I know how to answer the first question. My hand rushes excitedly down, writing out the solutions to all the questions. I pause when I reach the last question. All my previous doubts and worries return to me. My red, cracking hands shake as a wave of panic comes over me. My mind is blank as I repeatedly read the question. I wipe my forehead with my sweaty hand and swallow nervously. :-[