2po

Don't take the words that I said to heart.
For you wouldn't understand.
What I tried to say, and what you heard;
Were two completely different things.

End.

Stop,

leave,

done,

gone.

Where to?

How to?

Love me,

not.

No.

Negative,

none,

nobody,

nothing,

gone.

I Flew Away

I Flew Away

Once upon a time, I flew away.

I flew from the lion’s den,

In which my heart had slept.

I flew from the golden world,

In which I found just lies.

After my death I flew away.

I flew with melting wings of wax,

With which I’d never fall.

I flew with broken heart in toll,

With which the world did crush.

Lone in my soul, I flew away.

I flew with tears on my face,

Of which I had no control.

I flew with fears on my trail,

Of which nothing could stop.

Lost in life, I flew away.

I flew past all my mistakes,

From which no good could come.

I flew past my heart’s remains,

From which no life remains.

Oh yes, desperate, I flew away.

Contest and Spring

I entered Inspiration into the World Poetry Movement contest a sew months ago...
And I just got a letter declaring me a semi-finalist! My poem will be published, and I'm moving on in the competition for the first place spot. I'm so anxious and I CAN NOT wait. Really. Sirius-ly. [:-P Hah. Harry Potter nerd for the win.]

So, also, it's spring and b-e-a-u-tiful out! So warm and with such a nice breeze... I love this time of the year. The musical just ended so I actually have a life now, too. My high school put on Pirates of Penzannce; a comedic operetta  full of EPICNESS. I'm sad its over, but now I have time to myself again, so... :-)

My favorite character from the musical - the Pirate King!
I took this backstage... and he wouldn't smile. :-(

My job? Get the swords, billy clubs, parasols, fans, lanterns, and other such stuff in the right place.
The two swords you see the most of in this picture are my favorites. The bottom is the Pirate King's and the pretty one on top is a pirate's named Ian, who I swear, is unhealthily in love with this sword. He named it... Lucille.

POEM TIME!

Spring
Robins flutter in the growing, green grass
which sways in the fresh spring breeze.
The warmth fills hearts with anticipation,
coming from the sunlight in the morning.
Sitting with a book on a somnolent, sunny Saturday,
reading in the sun, photosynthesizing and rejuvenating.
Waiting; anticipating the first bloom of a flower,
the first leaves of bright, shiny, green.
School is closing, however slow it seems,
and soon all will be free from work.
Now it is time to sit in the soft, caressing spring;
to rest in the arms of summer's mother.

Alone, my Crys

The alley a dark throne,

quiet, silent, empty,

I am alone.

Tears fall from the sky,

and I cry out,

but there is no reply.

Nothing, no one,

...I hear it now,

and I try to run.

After me, it follows,

with joyful sounds,

singing like a swallow.

Happiness! Oh the pain,

of smiles that meet the eye,

of skipping down the lane.

Run from them,

their eyes are bright,

shining like a gem.

How can they be this way?

So joyful and carefree,

like the bright sun's ray?

I sit here now,

alone in the quiet,

with sweat upon my brow.

Leave me in peace,

oh foul one you, 

for nay, my cries shan't cease.

Mindless Thoughts

Mindless Thoughts
How can you have mindless thoughts?
Thoughts are in your mind, aren't they?
Or do they pass through your lips,
before you mind can stop them?
Is that the problem of this world?
The mindless people, whose thoughts can't stop.
Thoughts that slip out of the head,
and into the hearts of others.
Putting pain into their life.
Is it because of their personal world?
The evil, vain, life they live?
Is their something hidden behind their,
thick-headed skull?
Something that even,
the ones they love don't know?
The things they never did,
to stop what happened then,
or the things others never did,
and will never, ever do.
Those are the things that push the words,
straight from their creation,
into this dark world.
Put light behind your words,
because if you can create such pain,
shouldn't you be able to heal?
You could be the cause of so much suffering,
needless suffering that you could fix.
That you could stop.
If you pause and think,
before you speak.
If you turn those mindless thoughts,
those mindless sounds,
into caring smiles and healing words.

Finis.
There is supposed to be a switch in view from 'they' to 'you,' in case someone actually notices...

Nothing at all.

Wishes, inspiration, give, share, need, tears, love, pain, art, creation, pencil, useless, special, worthless, inside, heart, lies, feelings, beauty, compassion, pity, smiles, smirks, stabbing, losing, nothing, fantasy, dreams, mind, smart, study, stopping, why, possessions, running, dancing, sound, friendship, school, useless, math, history, interesting, words, truth, teachers, tests, music, stretching, happily-ever-after.

Words running through my mind.

Worthless, I have nothing to share with the world.

Inspiration, what I need, what I want to give to you.

Tears, welling as I read, of joy and of pain.

Moving, not dancing or running, but sitting at a desk.

Give, give up, get up, give to, get from.

Sound, typing, words from my mouth, music from others.

Lonely, no one listens, no one talks or writes.

Why? Why this pain, not physical, or mental, or emotional? What is it? Putting it on myself, not hurting, but missing. How come? It makes no sense.

Destiny, what am I destined to do? What do I like to do? What am I good at doing?

No person will know.

Many things that aren't worth anything.

Nothing at all.

Mindless ramblings, mindless thoughts. Mindless thoughts?

Words running through my head. What they say, what they didn't.

Never hear anything bad about me?

No, but to much about others.

Make it stop. Make it quit. I should. I should, shouldn't I?

What happens behind my back?

Am I pretty? Am I smart? Am I talented?

I can dance. Not amazing, good. Not enough for anyone to notice but enough for my emotions to run dry.

I can sing. Barely, not that I would share it.

I can write. But no body cares. Is it enough? How would I know, do I want to know?

I can draw. Maybe, but not well, not good, just enough to make myself smile.

I am proud of somethings.

Comparisons. Stop them, I know they are useless, that I should not do it.

But I can't help. Look at these peoples talents, look at the emotions they inspire.

Why can't I? What is it that I should do?

Read. I love it. IT makes me happy. I do it to much, but that's okay.

But its not something to be proud of. I can't make a living out of it.

Honors, I'm smart. I know. But what's the point?

What makes me happy, what can I do, what should I pursue?

I don't know.

Should I know?

What if I never find out?

What if it becomes to late?

I need to figure out my life.

Inspiration

Inspiration.
the word is itself.

In,
inside of your heart;
inside of your mind.
Spir,
spirited feelings;
spirited writings.
At,
where are you now;
where you will be.
Ion,
the making of you;
the making of me.

Inspiration is inspiration in itself.
It starts with I.
It starts with me.

Not-So-Merry Christmas

Why such a depressing thing? I don't know...

Not-So-Merry Christmas
Snow-bare ground,
ugly and dead,
no white
to sparkle,
no white
to shine.
What kind of Christmas is this?

Christmas tree,
red bulbs are hung,
no presents
to open,
no presents
to give.
What kind of Christmas is this?

Cold icy air,
soft moving wind,
no warmth
to comfort,
no warmth
to lie in.
What kind of Christmas is this?

Familiar faces smiling,
faking no pain,
no care
to remember,
no care
to forgive.
What kind of Christmas is this?

Finis

Although the first verse is true right now, none are true for me. I'm happy. Except theres no snow. Tonight on Christmas Eve, I will be sure to be Dreaming of a White Christmas.

Oh, Let it Snow, Let it Snow, LET IT SNOW ALL READY.

Himalayan Twilight inspired poem

Read Inheritance by Chris Paolini! It was great, so I looked into some FF and FA, and found a beutiful piece that inspired this poem.

Dragon's Dreams

Mountains are sleeping dragons,

waiting to wake from their wandering dreams.

Each rain drop's a tear,

falling down from the once great beasts.

The longing to once again,

take to their domain of the sky.

The nightmares of flightless days,

the rumblings and movings of the earth.

Their fire burnt out,

but immortally they lie,

as a place for creatures to live,

and a place for all to dream.

Inspired by Koganeiro's Himalayan Twilight.

Himalayan twilight by ~koganeiro on deviantART

Challenge 1

My first challenge was from writers mag... and it's to long to put into words. But I had to take 4 subjects and put them into one story/paper/poem. Ya. Words in italics are my themes.

I was nervous. Why? Well I think you would be nervous to, if you were in my situation. I mean, its not everyday you walk up to a haunted house and run into a creep who claims he is Merlin. I mean really. Why would a legendary sorcerer be in a children's haunted house? But thats not all, because he had a chain saw. That worked. He cut down a TREE! Then he ran after me, out of the haunted house (I thought the scary stuff was supposed to stay in the haunted house!) and across two blocks. He followed me into the Church parking lot! The parking lot of a Church. Where God and Angels and overall GOOD was. Yet here this freak was following me and yelling 'spells' at me. Magic doesn't exist, 'Merlin!' Back to the running, we had almost reached the elementary school. I was hoping this guy wouldn't follow me into the crowd of 4th grade Spanish kids, but he did. Why? Because he was a crazy maniac who wanted to kill the whole Spanish Class, and me. Well, I guess your dreams came true you possessed saw Merlin. Because I'm dead now.

THE END

Ahem... well, that was... interesting. No editing for now. I'm quite confused by that whole story. Heh.

Poem: Only a Writer Could Understand

Yepp. I WAS gonna use it for the Title but it looked ugly. Eww.

Speaking of eww, I can still taste that glue on the envelopes I was addressing. Yuck.

Only a Writer Could Understand

Only a writer could understand,

that feeling of accomplishment as the thoughts in you head are thrown onto paper.

That horrible time when what you write doesn't come out as you imagined.

And that amazing way that your characters often write themselves.

Only a writer could understand,

how it feels to kill off your supporting characters.

How hard it is to break writers block apart with your own hands.

And how weird it is that the plot you started with, seems to only be a slice of what is coming.

Only a writer could understand,

the way pencil against paper shortens the descriptions, and gets straight to the point.

The way typing your story actually lets you keep up with your mind.

And the way receiving comments, reviews and favorites, makes you want to jump for joy.

There are some things that only a writer could understand.

Yesterday I made COOKIES!

--Enough said. Haha.

So right now I'm sleeping over at my friends house, Erika- who was my model for the Summer Days pictures.

But I made these cookies, and the frosting, from scratch with Lizzie.

Yumm. :D

POEM: Poetry Problem

Uh. This poem ended differently than I was expecting. My prompt was the word prompt. That prompt lasted for about... a sentence. Heh. 1-What prompted me to be prompt about finding a prompt?

Poetry Problem

What should I do when I'm bored late at night?

Do I attempt to find something to write?

But, my poems are beginning to be boring, I fear.

Does it even matter as no one comes near?

And why do I post on this silly old blog?

It matters less than a stupid old log.

See, I can barely write out a rhyme;

so maybe I'll stop wasting everyone's time.

But where is the fun in doing that?

If I stopped where would I be at?

So now I will leave you to ponder this:

What would you do if you faced my abyss?

:) Ahem.

Photography Time! POEM: Summer-time Fantasy

Erika's Gaze by ~kcisme1 on deviantART

Through the Flowers by ~kcisme1 on deviantART

Two of the pictures I took yesterday of my model, Erika (Edo197). These are part of a series of pictures called Summer Days.

Summer-time fantasy

The bright sun,

the burning my feet,

the chalk washed away fun.

The sweet flowers,

the bugs and bees,

the soft green grass.

The adventuring,

the time off,

the little-kid attitude.

The no school,

the lets not think,

the forget all I learned.

This is my summer-time fantasy,

my sleep-in,

stay up all night,

not going anywhere fantasy.

A RECIPE!

So... food huh? Yummy right? :)

TUNA SALAD

By me.

Ingredients!

-pouch of tuna fish

-a celery stick

-two cherry tomatoes

-relish

-mayo

-lemon pepper

Steps!

1. Dice celery and tomatoes

2. Put tuna in bowl

3. Add all other ingredients

4. Mix

5. EAT! :D

That was my dinner last night. :) YUMMY.

WE'RE HERE! Shortie: Say No

I'M FINALLY AT MY DESTINATION! I got to meet my long lost great uncle who nobody's seen in like 40 years! He's AMAZING. So sweet, and cool. He had a suitcase and cane when he got off and he dropped them to run meet his sisters (my grandma and great aunt.)

So this shortie isn't much, but it was to long to be a drabble, so it's a shortie. And it has nothing to do with anything, I was reading a sad book and the character mentioned a car crash, cause by drunk driving and this came out... yea.

TADAH! I call it... Say No. (Just made that up... heh.)

"No! Come back! Come back home! Please…”

Silence answered me in the form of rain, shattering the few rays of sunlight in the sky. I fell back into the grass, uncaring. My heart mirrored the sky today.

“No…” Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the tears of the sky, then fell into a puddle by my knee. “Why?” I yelled at the sky, which answered back in the form of thunder. “WHY?” My vision flashed, and I screamed my pain into the world. Why did this happen? How could this happen. I was happy. We were happy. Fate has a twisted mind. Destiny could die, because, for all I cared, my destiny died with him. My life is as bipolar as the weather. We were lying in the sand laughing… and now. Now you’re cover with roses and I’m covered with depression. One mistake is all it took. All it takes to kill, all it takes to shatter a heart, all it takes to lose hope. One stupid, horrible, and useless mistake; useless for everything but murder.

I look up to the sky, just in time to see a glimmer of light shining through the clouds. The gray of the sky may be fading, but the grey in my heart will always be present.

“I loved you. You loved me. But the world hated both of us.

“No!”

Vacation! Drabble: Fear

IM ON VACATION! :D Enough said, I think that about summed up my happiness. I'm going to visit my grandparents, my great aunt, and my long lost great uncle whom everyone thought was dead or something like that for the last 40 years. We're driving (10 hours! X-P < I get motion sickness and claustrophobia...) but we're in a big SUV! So my aunt and mom switch between drivers and passengers seats, and me and my BFFAE/sister that destiny forgot to give me get a row of seats each. HAH! BEAT THAT CLAUSTROPHOBIA! BIG TALL SUV AND I HAVE 3 SEATS TO MYSELF! :D So fear of small places... what about this fear? Drabble time!

Fear

I’m not afraid of the dark… I’m afraid of the shadows, of the things unknown. People say the only thing to fear is fear itself. But fear lives, hunts, in the shadows.

Both darkness and light can save you... it’s the in between that kills. It’s in the in between that fear waits, feeding off the tears of the frightened. Yet… your shadow is always there, following you, taunting you. Even in the dark, when you see no shadows, it’s there, mingling with the fears of others. When you’re in the light it’s there, waiting for its chance… to strike.

Writers block! Drabble: Purple, Red, Orange

I'm going to print out all my poems, stories, drabbles, and shorties and put them together into an anthology!

I HAVE WRITERS BLOCK! I NEED A PROMPT! GIVE ME A PROMPT PLEASE!!!! :'(

Ahhh well, I'll have to start posting drabbles and shorties on here... CAUSE I'M OUTTA POEMS!

Drabble Prompt: What does the color combination of purple, red, and orange remind you of?

Purple is the color of the bruises on your shoulders. Red is the color of the blood on your hands. And orange is the color of the rising sun saying everything is gonna be ok.

These colors are the colors of work, love, and troubled times. Together they tell you the story of a girl… sent away one summer’s day.

Gone is her love of pretty flowers. Now is her fear of pain. Soon it will be that she will see, everything is gonna be ok.

These colors are the colors of labor and war but also of rising hope.

Love the Way You Lie Poem- Lies

I posted my REALLLLLLLY old songfic on fanfiction. *Cross fingers.* Hope people like it... And, to go along with the theme, a poem about LIES!

Lies

They hurt the heart,

they hurt the soul.

A lie, no matter how small,

always becomes true.

They start out hard to make,

but it gets easier with each step.

And soon, all a person will do,

is lie to me, and lie to you.

BLEH

Poem: Writing

This poem I wrote for a school project... but I got an A+ on it so I guess it must be good. I think it's good. AND IT RHYMES! <- I don't like writing poems that rhyme. I find it quite difficult.

Writing

As I sit here writing,

My thoughts swirl in time,

To the rhythm of the pencil,

Writing down this rhyme.

And as I sit here writing,

My pencil dancing round,

Other students read and write,

But make no other sound.

Yes, as I sit here writing,

I can clearly see,

All the poems I will write,

Each a precious gem to me.