I found the smallest ocean in the world today
as I turned to run.
It dried it up as I tried to swim away
from what had been done.

Sailing ships, scotch tape and tight ropes.

I visit your foot steps when I don't know which way is right
and which is left. They turn inside-out in the wrong light.
I sit in a chair and put on my waiting room face,
as I slowly begin building with my mistakes
a sailing ship to make my graceful escape.
I dig through my pockets for my scotch tape.
All of a sudden it's a tight rope in between two big cliffs
I'm getting so drunk but I was only taking sips.
Then I'm young again and it's all make believe and play pretend
That's all over now and I'm slipping through your hands.
Then in all my haste all I can grasp is one last gasp
I taste my last words but you can't read
I fall so far that I'm back, I lapse.
I yell as you take a step back to see.
I'm laying in a shallow puddle and you shake me
All I'm capable of is a twitch of unresponse
My lungs are drowning with all your unanswered wants.
My sailing ship comes up my airway canal,
and it begs for my lungs to answer its mass's call.
Just when I really thought I coughed up the final thought
the crows nest is stuck in my left ventricle, we're both caught.
I reach for my scotch tape
and realize I'm barely awake.
My hands are red underneath the freshly fallen snow,
will I last until my last spring so I can thaw?
I cough once to tell you I don't know.
I never had all the answers you saw
written on the inside of my skin,
your finger prints burned me with proof I let you in.
All of a sudden I am the tight rope between two cliffs,
begging you to cross as you purse your lips.
My sailing ship floats below my conscience, filled to the brim.
And you tip toe across then take a step off and fall in.

Call out to me, call me the grain of sand in your eye
call me anything you want, keep up with the lie.
I lay close, I soak you in, I wear you out.
I'm pushing 85 and everything looks the same
I gotta stop counting trees, stop reading signs
I thought I was on a new route.

I'd tell you I'm lucky to live even in my sigh
but you know, we don't know how it feels to die.
I breath the smoke, I hold it in, I let it out.
All the same buttons, thought it was a different game
I got ahead while I was falling behind
I've always been so sure about all my doubt.

Go for it, help all my flaws magnify.
I'd rather feel how it hurts, no chance to modify.
Lethal dose, it went in, it came out.
Pink vomit on the white tile shame
Help me, help, I've colored outside the lines
What will happen, when I'm completely inside out?

Don't read it at all, the shit these words signify,
You'll never have a clue because neither do I.
Diagnose, I walked in, I walk out.
Tell me whats wrong so I can rewrite my name
I've wasted so much of what's not mine, always father times.
Can you help me figure out what this is all about?

I'm confident, I'm insecure, wait. Who am I?
If I don't know who I am, does that make me a lie?
Come close, I'll take you in, I'll spit you out.
Check my face in the inertial reference frame.
I break all the laws with how I move to the nines
One side of me on the other side calls a time out.

I'll blend in 'til I can't see myself, invisible by
the time the sun slips out of the mackerel sky.
Under my own nose, day comes in, day goes out.
I spit the truth, I have horrible aim.
Who I am when the clock is ticking redefines
all I ever knew I was knowledgeable about.

I've never been motivated to get my heart in shape, and I guess it's a little too late.
That little guy can beat so soo fast, but I think it's finally stopped at last.
I'm under cardiac arrest, my blood runs warm but my heart is cold.
I don't want to live happily ever after all, I'd settle for my own hand to hold.
I'm getting kind of old and my mom is, too. And I always hear it, I think we look a like too.
I don't think her heart will ever go cold but it's the best lesson I've learned
to give up on the ending before it has it's chance to turn
on me. It's all on me.
Did you know that a blue whale has a heart the size of a car?
I like facts because they simply are what they are.
They stay that way, they don't budge or sway.
With them, you hardly ever have to experience the melancholy of change.
The sadness that happens when you lose something you've grown accustomed to.
They can develop but it's always the same thing there,
And thank God they don't come with those silly masks I always accidentally wear.
I've changed to my alter it seems, and in the end I think all I've got is this cold cold rock deep in my chest to spare.
I've still got beautiful dreams, I like the ones where I'm underwater,
in those dreams my lungs are just as useless as the stone that tiredly holds me under.
And thats just when I lose all my human etiredy
I gladly let it go and I'll never let you know how much
I wonder...

I just realized I rationalized my dad out of my life because I never wanted to have to be hurt by saying goodbye.

That makes me so sad.

My room is so empty. I can't stop crying. You'd think I'd be good at moving by now.
I'm not ready to grow up. : (

You don't know how it feels because if you did you wouldn't do it. It's just like behind all the logic I have built up to protect my brain you hit it hard enough to bruise my subconscious and that's when it starts to drip into my heart making it heavy then it spreads all through my head and I try to ignore it but that gives it too much attention and it overwhelms me and starts leaking from my eyes. I wish its escape made it go away but it only starts producing more quickly and my head gets bloated and my lungs feel drownded and my heart is pounding and my logic is completely floated above the surface and I can't reach it anymore. And the only thing that I know is that I've never been so sad, or so alone and helpless. And that I have completely lost my mind and there is nothing you can do to help me but I can't stop begging you anyways..
It hurts. Sometimes it makes me think I'm defective.

I thought I could fly, so why did I sink?

I'm getting baptized tomorrow.

I came from a woman who I can never handle to watch cry,
she used to make me pick her flowers with the roots so they wouldn't die.
I came from a Father who will always remain behind a disguise,
until the day I get to look the miracle maker in the eye.
I had days when I tried to die, I had days when I didn't and I didn't know why.
I colored outside the lines of his greater design.
But He's going to take, me, the woman's creation and He's going to let me fly,
Cover me in his grace and ring me dry.

I'm excited.

I just want someone to hold me until all the breath is squeezed out of me and tell me that I am not crazy.

Seeing the pictures of everyone dressed up for prom makes me feel stupid for not going.
But,... it wouldn't have been worth it anyways.
I'll make up for it.

9:12 P.M.
I'd like to call myself a free spirit but, I think that would also require me to call myself a liar.
9:37 P.M.
I make lists before I go to sleep so that I wont have to keep remembering things when I am trying to sleep then I lay them in my future footsteps so I wont even have to remember to look at them when I wake up.
10:11 P.M.
I take too many pictures, but I only do it because I just want to preserve everything. Sometimes the sun is just right and it makes everything look better, and sometimes when you are walking on the beach the sun makes your foot prints look inside out. It's things like this that I wouldn't like to forget. So, I take pictures that will last longer than it takes me to get sick of looking at them. But as I am taking these pictures, I am not really focusing on the whole thing as it is happening... And I wonder if maybe it would be better to just soak it in.. And just try to never let it fade. Then maybe things would be more enjoyable and maybe it would make my spirit feel more free.
10:48 P.M.
I've recently realized that I always keep track of time. I’m not sure why, maybe I just need to always be keeping tabs on something or maybe I am just making sure that I’m not losing too much time. My obsession is at its worst when I am anticipating something. I think that I am always anticipating something though, whether it is the end of the day, dinner, a first date, seeing a certain smile.. or just waiting for a chance to tell someone that joke my brother told over Christmas break.
11:02 P.M.
Sometimes I lay and think about things that probably shouldn't matter. I just lay in bed and I keep thinking and I try really hard not to.. I rub my feet back and forth and try to just stare at the ceiling but, that makes the darkness in my room at little too obvious and I have to turn on my television so that I don't think about how I could die at this certain time.
11:45 P.M.
I will usually just leave my television on the TV guide channel and roll towards my wall so that I wont stare at the television which makes it easier for me to close my eyes. But then I keep rolling over and looking at the television and checking the time.. Anticipating my falling asleep and the later it gets the more I anticipate it and the more I anticipate it the further I get from sleep.
12:01 A.M.
When I am missing you, I wonder what I would say if you asked me one last time to go feed the ducks. I wonder if you will be alive when I am ready to forgive you. I wonder if you really even believe that you are telling the truth anymore.
But it’s 12:04 A.M. and I just lost a lot of time.
Goodnight.

God, help us.

I had to workshop one of my poems today in creative writing.
Workshopping consists of me picking a poem, Ms. Nicholson printing a million copies, everyone on the class getting one, reading it, writing on it, then everyone takes turns telling me what they like in my piece and how to make it better and asking questions/giving suggestions.
I was really worried because I feel like everyone in that class usually hates my writing.
Plus there is this one kid who is pretty straightforward with his opinion and I usually worry most of about him disliking my poetry more than anyone, for some reason unknown to me.
I picked "Wallflower" (it's down a couple blogs.)
And people really liked it..
Then I got all the papers people made comments on and I was reading them and got to the paper from that kid.

"This has everything a poem needs. Beauty, emotions, meaning. Its rhyme structure gives it a distinct authorly flair. Please be a writer when you grow up."

"You have a gift for imagery and you know how to use it."

"Your rhyming really came through when Hannah read it. This poem is beautiful. Your rhyming rules."

And more.

I fully expected him to hate it.
This meant a lot.


It's reoccurring lately for people to tell me that I doubt myself too much. Like, I literally heard it from at least three different friends just today. And the other day mom yelled at me about how I think I'm not worth anything. I don't think I do doubt myself. I've been hearing it SO MUCH though. I just know what I am. But it feels good that the people who love/know me best think I deserve more credit. It feels good to know I may be better than what I see.