Truth

so I spend all my time complaining
about the stupid things you said,
how you wouldn't let me in,
refused to give me attention,
every little sin.
but the truth is,
I'd give anything to go back
and have one more fight with you.

This came to me randomly all together, basically as a sentence but I thought it wold work well as a poem too.

Frustrated

aislynn cannot write
she wants to be art-noveau
her sister walks into the room
some days she wants to be a cheerleader
it is time for dinner
aislyn cannot write
notebooks and pens are not allowed at the table

the author does not know where the name aislynn came from
but she cannot write

there are peas in a bowl
it is made of white ceramic
and it has blue pastel flowers
and some words aislynn will not read
home sweet home

she takes the extra stairs
up to the room at the top of the house
she wants to be inspired
she cannot write
she forgot to bring a pencil

aislynn cannot write
it is time to go to bed
her brother is singing and her sister is playing drums
aislynn wants to play that video game

she cannot write

This is a poem written in the style of those weird stream-of-consciousness, art-noveau writers, who are currently driving me crazy along with the really good poem I just read that I cannot imitate.  I don't really like this poem because I would never write like that...

High School

horrible
is most often the adjective
used to describe
those often decrepit
(especially the basement grey-brick-style)
halls, packed with bodies,
a giant cattle car where
we push and shove
just to get where we all need to be
and sneak away
to get our daily smoke.

however,
i found that our halls
were cleanly, almost shining
and the principals
were obnoxiously good at breaking up fights
we yearned to witness
and some cheered on
and only the freshmen
ever prevented that all-important duty
of getting to class,
and only once
did a trashcan explode
in a storm of teenage angst
and rebellion, in the bathroom
after school, the one
where the cheerleaders
never went to change into their uniforms
and all the bored kids in math
went to skip class

but more importantly,
i came to observe
the most important thing
was that the hallway led off
into a room packed into the back of the school
with its own miniature
hallway of anticipation,
the last lap of the marathon,
columbus seeing land from the ship,
or sometimes only rarely
on mad days, decision days,
the walk from the prison
to the courtroom
except this courtroom always voted innocent,
even when the world bounced
on its axis
and we both thought
it would fall off entirely.

i cannot find
a single adjective
to describe the horror
or the pleasure
that was high school,
but i can define the one person
who made it anything but
the hellhole
most kids make it out to be,
for that room off that hallway
is and always will be
home.

i left my heart

everything reminds me of you.

it's such a time
as merry and dancing
and for feeling so far away.

it's funny how memories come up.
the strangest things
i instantly see your face.

i wonder is it keeping me?
can they feel it,
my lack of you?

holding me back?
only thing pushing me forward
you see, i drive for you

it's coming back

remember how i was perfectly okay a few weeks ago?

there was this thing about how

somehow things are better now

like how when i go back

they stay exactly the same

except everything is legal

(wow that sounds horrible.)

and we seem to actually have developed

a form of communication.

i hate how songs bring everything back to you

i hate how i can go look up something

and miss the very part of you that i totally hated,

just miss the reason to complain.

i hate how jealous i am of everyone still there

even though i know for sure i need to be here.

i hate that i want to tell you first

or i need to get your opinion

but one of us is busy.

i hate how i'm not allowed to cry anymore

because i'm not in "the room".

i hate how i'm crying now.

"but the only thing i really miss is being the first one you see

when morning opens up the skies

you see me when daylight opens up your eyes."

our almost-secret-signal

sometimes always
you instinctually knew something was wrong
(or something was insanely,
perfectly right)
and in that
almost-secret-signal
way,
you'd grab my wrist -
never my hand
(and occasionally you didn't let go
until you knew
i got your message,
but normally it was more of
an endearing, loving squeeze).
i attempted to learn that esp too,
our infallible,
perfect
"wrist thing".
and even now
if i close my eyes and try hard enough
i can still feel you squeezing,
never letting go.

College?!

the dorm room
my body tightens up, twists, refuses
this space is much too small
squeezed, smushed, shocked.
how could I have refused to remember it
this way?
why did I imagine such a large
expanse of freedom?
I relax
breathe in, breathe out
I don't remember
all the shelving units
all the room for all my stuff
all the expansiveness
how this one tiny space
can contain my entire life.

i miss you by miley cyrus
i used to call you my angel
and now that holy presence
is totally lacking
i feel slightly lost

i feel free
i am able to live the way i want
and you,
you are still there
we exist now,
as two separate beings
who are innately,
totally, inexplicably,
still one.

i know
(written in the style of sonya sones)
i know exactly what you are doing
(well, maybe not exactly)
but you're probably walking into your classroom
and wondering where the other resident is
or you're not wondering
because you don't want to acknowledge it.
i realize this is typical,
and i kind-of chuckle to myself.
at least things are going as planned,
even if we're not doing them together.

i know, part 2
i know
you.
i know, you read everything i send
i know, your world is really small now
i know, both our worlds can contract
and expand at the same time.
i know
we're going to grow
i know
we're not going to get lost
i know, we're going to be fine.
i know, i am happy.