Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Men

Today my professor told the class
That we all needed to find ourselves men
So that when we have something
That needs to be cut
They can take care of it for us.
Are you kidding me?

Thursday, June 23, 2005

For My Friend

I loved Shane the way you love an old sweatshirt or your 16-year-old family dog. Not that that’s a bad thing at all. In fact, I’d say that’s probably the best kind of love to have. It’s the kind of love you know will always be there. It’s comfortable and loyal and makes you smile when you’re tired.

He told me once that if we hit that “magical age” and still found ourselves single, we’d just have to marry each other. That’s the kind of friend he was.

I still remember the day I met him. He looked up at me with his shy, friendly eyes and grinned as he shook my hand. I knew that was a grin I wanted to get to know.

I don’t think he ever understood why we were friends, why I stuck around. He didn’t know what he was to me, and didn’t believe me when I told him. But he was the world to me, really. Whenever I needed someone to talk to so I could make sense of whatever was happening at the time, he was there. When I needed a shoulder to cry on or a good laugh at a lame joke or a Snickers® and a Pepsi, he was there. He was even there when I wanted company on a two hour drive to visit my sister for the afternoon. He was always there.

I’m pretty sure his four favorite things in the world were spaghetti, Snickers®, Pepsi and Fazoli’s®. Sure, he loved baseball and Duck Hunt, but buy him a spaghetti dinner with unlimited breadsticks and he was the happiest guy in the world. I loved seeing him like that.

I think the hardest part about living, for him, was how much he genuinely cared about other people. He tried so hard to carry the weight of everyone else’s grief so that they wouldn’t have to do it themselves. He ached for people he didn’t even know. I miss that about him. It’s a rare thing to find someone with that kind of compassion. He wanted to fix the world but felt completely helpless as to how. And I think he hated that about himself, his utter inability to eliminate suffering.

He used to call me “cowboy” and tell me that he loved me. He never failed to let me know that: “If I were a dog, I’d probably bark at you.” He always wanted me to call him “my sexy friend” and would pat me on the head whenever I complied. He was funny without even trying. He tried to let me win when we played basketball, but even then I couldn’t beat him. He had countless stories of all the pretty girls he saw on the bus that he almost had the courage to talk to that day. He called me on Christmas to tell me he missed me. And, of course, to tell me about his cool new digital camera. He listened to jazz with me. His car always smelled like peaches. I still can’t smell a peach scented car freshener without thinking of him.

When he died, my world came crashing in. I just couldn’t believe that one of my best friends, the man who had always been there for me, was gone. I ached to share my grief with him. It’s been a year now, but I still think about him a lot. There’s so much I miss about him, so much that won’t ever be the same. But I know I won’t ever forget him or his friendship. He left a part of himself with me, and that’s what makes me okay.

Why You

I said I never thought I was
The kind of girl who
Liked that sort of thing,
But maybe that’s because I never tried.
Or maybe it’s because
Of how I feel,
And that just makes it better.

I’ve always worked so hard to play
It safe and stay protected and
So far it’s been just fine.
And yet I see I’m stepping out
And taking risks
To let you in.
Why you, why now?

I think it started out the same as
Any other time
I mean, why should I expect
Anything different, since
They’ve always been the same.
But you weren’t like them
And I noticed.

You treated me as though
What I felt actually mattered
And you looked at me
When you talked to me,
Like you really cared what I thought.
And that was different so
I opened up, just a bit.

And now you wonder why I’d change
The way it’s always been
But I just wonder why I ever
Thought I had it right.
And yet I know that I was scared
Of finding out
That’s all there was.

So while it’s true I find you very
Smart and hot and sexy
And all those other ideal traits like
Funny and honest and kind
That’s not what changed my mind.
That’s not what weakened my walls and
Helped me trust you.

Really I’d say it’s the way
I feel with you, and yes,
I feel happy, but more than that
I feel safe and adored and protected and
That’s really what makes me smile
Because with you I’ve had to be real and
I like that.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

A Science Project

I heard a boy today, talking
Just outside my window
About shooting a rocket so high
That it disappeared
And as I heard the excitement
In his voice
I thought to myself, I think
I'll be okay.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Believing

I'm having troubling believing that I
Can do what I set out
To do.
Am I delusional in wanting
To change the world?
Will anything I try to do
Work? Or matter?
Do I have
Unreachable goals and expectations?
Am I setting myself up
To fail?

Getting the Juices Flowing

There once was a man from Peru
Who forgot how to tie his own shoe.
He got worried and scared,
Was he shoelace impaired?
Now what was this poor man to do?

Sunday, June 19, 2005

A Starting Point

I found some old poems I wrote when I was in sixth grade. I'm posting one here to get me started...

ROYAL ARE THEY
I am an eagle, soaring high in the sky,
Looking down upon the vast wonders below.
Flying, gliding, soaring past the unpredictable.
Streaming through the unreal,
The horrors of that earth down below.
I gallantly head to my domain, my home,
Where there I am somehow safe,
Safe from the tragedy below.
Alone I stand,
Regal is my mind,
Here where I stand tall,
All alone.
I am a whale, swimming so free,
Free, here in my waters.
I am free to my wishes, my hopes, my desires.
Though I'm free, but for a short time,
I still thrive in this glory.
I bask in many wonderful things.
With one exception.
I guess all things must have an exception,
But why me?
The exception to my freedom, is not very nice:
It is HUMANS.
They hunt, they capture and kill.
Unless I am able to free myself,
I am lost in this imprisonment.
Without humans, my freedom would reign.
Happy would I be with my freedom,
All alone.
I am a lion, running in the jungle,
Announcing my news to all who can hear.
I am king of this elegant place.
This jungle belongs to me,
I rule the land.
I am royalty, one to be respected.
But there's one who doesn't respect me.
I punish him, he is gone,
He no longer can disrespect me.
Now hear my cry,
You will respect me, or die.
I fly back to my throne, leaping high in the air.
There I stand great,
All alone.
I am me, a young girl in her room,
Imagining things I want to be.
An eagle.
A whale.
A lion.
They are all grand and complete.
Complete in their minds and their thoughts.
They know who they are, and where they are going.
I wish that I were one with the high,
Instead of just me in my room,
All alone.

The Inner Workings

As a child I spent a lot of time expressing myself through art. I used to love to draw and paint, write stories, poems and songs -- anything where I could just create. I remember a wall hanging I made for my room once out of old wire hangers. I was so creative as a child. I guess with growing up and getting involved in life and everything I just kind of forgot about that part of me. I feel a bit like I've lost the fire, that passion, for anything, really. When I was young, I wanted to change the world. I started a new club every week -- from poetry clubs to service clubs to "Save the Manatees" clubs. I wanted to be the first woman president. I wanted to work with handicapped children. I wanted to write novels and design houses. I wanted to dance, to sing, to paint. I've just gotten so caught up in everything else in life... but what does the "everything else" even mean? I've forgotten who I am.

So I'm going to make an effort to rediscover myself. To find that person in me who CARES, who knows what really matters. And I'm going to try writing again. That's scary to me. It exposes me and makes me feel vulnerable. But I have to expose myself... to remove the layers of the cocoon to find that part of me.

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