#27

This is a rant. Idk how I was feeling when I wrote it. It's just...about certain people who have put me on a pedestal, which is actually far from where I belong.

"Compare Me" On May 6

You think I'm quiet, ha!

My laugh roars like a thousand rolls of thunder

and echoes awkwardly in a silent hall of poets

where a head teacher shushes me down backstage

You think I'm smart, yeah right

The electricity emerging from my brain,

the circumvolutions of my mind may be depths compared to you

but I am only average, making you less more so...you're flat

You think I'm talented, but you haven't seen anything.

Honestly, does a sheet of paper with pretty images drawn on it

and with beautiful melodies emerging from it...

is there a blind over your eyes and a funnel covering your ears?

You like, yet you're kind

you give me hope, yet your lies make me hopeless

You assume, but your assumptions are crippled...lame

You don't really know me, you know who I pretend to be

or rather, you've never seen me before,

not really.

You make me laugh

when you put me on a pedestal

and your people say "that's who I want you to be!"

Well, you've never talked to me

you've never seen me

you've never been around me...

the real me

You guys just really don't know me well.

#26

This is...sad. It's me being depressed, though not emo and suicidal. It's just sad. Because I got dissed. :(

"Fade" on April 1, 6:15 (though was actually written a few days before...the April 1 thing is just when I posted it on AllPoetry...)

Talent is a gem,

a sapphire tear in the eye

of its beholder.

It is the gold trophy prize

in this race -- this race

where we clamor and climb

over obstacles, towards goals...

that race we call by its name.

That race which we call "Life."

Talent is the thing I long for --

the thing that which,

if freed, would ever fly so freely.

Talent lies in each of us,

in each is a pool of untapped oil

that brings riches to our very person...

Except mine.

Mine is caged, chained, choked

...disengaged, drained, cloaked

Mine hides inside an iron mask

that veils things so young and fresh

What you call "untapped potential"

is really shame.

Shame of this stake that drives

through me, piercing my heart

and you who pounds the hammer

ever so wickedly,

only hoping to break open the lock

of this suppression.

I warn you, for my secrets are kept,

not in my heart but in another cage,

though this, built of bars that one friend

or a stranger (but most likely the latter)

could peer in, and see.

See the cloudy, black spheres

of my very being,

containing the thoughts, containing the feeling

sheltering my world from you.

This is where I lie.

Though an outer veil encases me,

shields me, much like an artificial membrane

allowing things to surpass

I am a fake, though not plastic

but perhaps I am a soft cashmere to fall on

or a shiny taffeta for decoration --

pasted on some Styrofoam base

of a head...body...limbs...

And I could paint this base to match that fabric

of my fabricated self,

losing all that is me in the process...

That is something, if my hopes are correct,

you would never allow to happen.

Yet as the matter before us lies

and a bridge is yet to be built,

back down a moment,

let me

Fade

to

Black.

#24

This. Is a rant.

"Locutions, Solutions" on March 20, 9:38 PM

I cry

I laugh

I sing

I shout

Dance

Slump

Walk

Jump

I'm sad

I'm mad

Crazy

Sane

I am full of opposites

And unending ends

I am a walking oxymoron

Breathing oxygen that supports the oxen

back in my homeland.

I'm flat. I'm platonic

Yet, I am horribly, terribly,

utterly moronic

at times.

You know me as genius,

you know me as friend

you know me as madman

will this insanity end?

You see blacks and whites and yellows and browns

I see blues and purples and greens and reds.

I say what I mean, you mean what you say

They're not the same thing.

I feel like going far away

for where I come from, lines are broken.

The sky is fallen because gravity pulls down clouds

leaving puddles of heavenly tears cascading into sewers

The clean, sewers that purify...soon enough, we'll be drinking

purified cloud juice that fills our heads with daydreams and the like.

But that'd take too long.

For now, I'll flee.

I'll flee from these faces staring at me.

Who, at the time, knew not what they'd become

But now, looking back, that girl and I are one.

But, unlike her, I know what's heading towards me.

I am the impossible.

#19

My muse again. I was in art class looking at pictures my teacher took in Central Park during vacation. My teacher's like me, he takes pictures of random pretty things people don't catch all the time. I love how the shot of a camera can make us double-take at things we happen to pass by and ignore everyday. Sad to say, nature is very often taken for granted. Naturally, I was in school...though, the uniform thing I can't say where I got it from...I let my mind wander, yes, through this poem, it's supposed to do that. Uhmm...enjoy? xD

"Glints" on March 3, 2010

It's your loss

but you're not mad

or sad...

you don't even feel bad

for plaid ---

it's absence on your uniform,

leaving behind textiles of blue and white,

but not a dreamy shade, oh no.

Navy blue lies in your midst ---

the color of night, of unknown depths.

A grey white sits on your chest

and rests

at the best place above your heart,

idly tuning the clouds a bright, cotton white

that shines across the sky,

gleaming, reflecting the sun's platinum

liquid metal, cool and pouring

not red hot but a flowing silver

separates into spots of rainbows that fill the

blacks and grays and whites,

spilling not a drop of paint

outside the lines.

Wind blows, the natural eraser

and wipes the slate clean

and whisks off the color of things,

leaving behind only two-dimensional outlines

of trees in parks and sand on beaches,

to start over again.

Like a child coloring,

purple trees, orange tides that glisten

from the light of a black-light sun

on the run

from east to west

and all turns to black darkness with

pinpricks of a celestial light,

like a flashlight's beam through a thatched straw hat.

#18

This day just seems so eternal, but frankly, I must temporize, for my homework seems so varicose, like my personal Goliath, looming over me. If only I had a slingshot and a smooth stone from a nearby creek, but alas, a pencil and paper is what I'll need. If only I had a bow to string and shoot the pencil with at a distant sheet of paper far away. Unfortunately, that's not the way to tackle this malady.

Just a little rant/prose thing, practicing my vocab and stuff. I feel like I need to expand my vocabulary. I'll start writing some stuff using new vocabulary I've picked up, that is, if I've learned any. I'm becoming quite a Dictionary.com addict.

#17

This isn't me being dumped. It's just...written in the Freewrite section in 7 minutes and 19 seconds. The time is 6:18 LA time, but I'm in Florida, so it's 9:18...The topic was 'I Want.'

I kinda like how it turned out...

"Disposed" Written on February 24, 2010

I want breath

in this dizzying, heavy, place.

The aromatic coffee awakens me,

I long to taste it, only to dip my tongue in black bitterness.

I want to fly, but how can I?

For I have no wings, and airplanes need airfare.

I want money, but I can't be that shallow

The world existed without money before,

why can't we live without it now?

I want...life, but...

how can I long for something I already have?

I want to be noticed, but being noticed

is different from receiving love.

What is love?

Why do we need it?

Why does everyone have it?

...But me?

Surely it must be there,

along with everything else.

I want people. Yet I have to wonder why...

Why are people thrown away?

Like me. I'm just a concept now,

abandoned in the dump that is someone's life.

Go ahead, neglect me,

pretend I was never there.

It's okay, you know.

That's why I'm here.

For you to confide in,

to walk with,

to talk to,

to relieve your loneliness.

But why,why must you discard of me

dispose of me

leave me like I never was there

when I brought you up out of your sad days?

I am the reason you're here now.

So why would you progress, without ever looking back

and remembering those times we had together.

Don't you want me?

Well, here--

I want you,

so I won't stop trying.

Poem 12?

Based off of this guy I like. >_<

"If Only You Knew", Written on January 18, 2010

If only you knew how you affect me

how you influence me,

how you inspire me.

If only you knew my name

where I come from

and the things we share

If only you know that I know you

that I see you

that I shiver everytime you pass by

because I can't help it anymore

If only you knew what it's like

to be calling your name in the dark,

alone.

If only you knew the things I think

the things I say

the things I know about you

If only I knew you

if only you knew me

for who I am

and accepted me

the way I involuntarily did

when you spoke...

when you sang...

when your talent ran from your heart to your fingertips

and played your soul out in strings

on your guitar

If only you knew what it's like

to be stuck, frozen, and stiff

every time you pass by.

If only you knew how hard it is to stay calm

to not run up to you

to not hug you

because those things aren't normal...

for two people who don't know each other...

If only you knew

what you do to me,

how you drive my thoughts

how you infiltrate my dreams

how you make me feel about you.

If...and only if...you knew the scars left

from when you lashed out at me,

I know you never meant to hurt me

but you did, because of what you don't know.

You don't know how I feel about you...

And if you did, would we talk?

Would we speak?

Or would we continue to hurt one another

through avoidance?

Are we strong enough?

Are we brave enough?

Can you handle it?

Can I handle it?

Will I not shatter and break in your grasp,

should I ever come to be in it?

Questions...

But alas, none would be answered

unless you knew

about me.

Post #7

PoemSong
It's a really heartfelt poem,
it's beautiful, but it's cold.
It's ruthless.

It's the kind of poem
that jumps out at you when you're guilty.

It ensnares,
it traps,
it reaches,
it feels.

We, the readers...
we feel.

It's the poem that is a light,
you know the kind of light that illuminates,
that forces you out of the darkness,
that shines upon your evil deeds.

It's that kind of light
they use
to interrogate.

It's the
kind of light
that sets you
free.


A rant I wrote when I commented on someone at AP. I'm procrastinating on HW, like usual.