Rage

Fists pumping

Heart racing

I'm so tired of feeling this way

But this feeling won't leave me alone

Running hard

Breathing heavily

Pushing through the oddest pain

To get the most from this terrible state

Eyes watering

Teeth grinding

Wanting it to end soon

But knowing I'll miss the adrenaline

Feet pounding

Mind whirring

Trying to control my temper

But not succeeding, not even close

Slowing down

Letting go

Now I'm out of breath

And I can't see straight

Gasping often

Bent double

The ground rises to meet me

And I let the grass envelop me

Just A Ghost

I'm just a ghost

Going through life

Like I don't even care

Walking through lives

Like I'm walking

Through a dream

Are those faces?

I can barely see

I don't realize

When you stand

In front of me

My eyes are

Somewhere else

My mind is left behind

Nothing's making sense

I see but don't

I hear but don't listen

I can't tell truth

From the lie anymore

I'm living on the edge

Not realizing it

Never knowing

I'm one step from

The perilous edge

Keep me from falling

Is what I wish

On shooting stars

The sky's vividness

Is fading to grey

The greenest greens

Seem horribly pale

The warmest breeze

Sends me to chills

I lay awake at night

Without knowing why

I can't tell

If it's all in my head

Or is it all real?

I'm just a ghost

Going through life

Like I don't even care

Walking through lives

Like I'm walking

Through a dream

Just Letters

Dear X,

I have decided that you are my inspiration. My hero. You are the person that, right now, I most want to be like. Your life was so full, so wonderful! So complete, and you were so young. Almost as young as I am now. And yet, you did so much. I look up to you, now in more than one way.

But I have a secret to tell you. I am not like you, not at all. At least, I don't think I am. I am quiet around people I don't know well. I am shy at times. Other times, I talk too much. You were so great around everyone. Everyone that knew you loved you so much. You were a light to all those lost in the dark, shining so brightly, pointing them in the right direction, just as a lighthouse guides ships safely to shore. I want to be like you. Help me? Send me advice and wisdom from where you are!

I know that you can't really do anything to help me in the physical sense, but you are driving me to more than what I was before. This past week, I have accomplished so much. Yet there is still so much lacking! I have so many things I want to do with my life, but I either don't know how to begin, don't want to, or simply can't without something more.

So. You are my personal 'trainer.' Or, you are in a way. You are my conscience, in a way, my accountability coach with the things I want to accomplish. You are the one that I will tell things to. Not just little things that I want everyone else to know, too, but important things, things that matter to me. And I know just where to start.

This is going to be an amazing journey for me, and I will always remember you through this.

Love,

M

I Miss You, Friend

Seeing life from your eyes

Everything is different

The blue of the sky

Looks a little more blue

The sun up above

Is brighter and warmer

The world spins slowly

But still time passes quickly

I was having a hard day

A challenging year

But your perspective

Changed my life

Now I feel that I can see

Everything, good and bad

Though the outlook is bleak

There is still hope in you

How can you see through the pain

And make this world

So much better for people

Like me, lost and lonely

How can you work so hard

When you know you

Will never profit from it

And only I will see tomorrow

I don't want you to leave here

I don't ever want you gone

Stay right beside me

Bring me this constant clarity

This hope in the darkness

This calling for higher purpose

Give me the strength to carry on

Even though you are gone!

Thank you, Brandon, for what you did for the people that knew you. Thank you for making the world a better place even though you weren't meant to be here to see the good triumph. Thank you for encouraging me, through your death, to live for something more than just 'getting things done.' I feel like I haven't done enough, and you showed me that the little things count. Thank you for being who you were in life. Thank you, God, for bringing my brother in you home, as painful as it is for those of us that must stay behind. I miss you, Brandon, and I will always remember you!

Work It

After I work out

I just want to shout

I'm limping all day

But I like it that way

It feels so good

Just the way is should

Adrenaline rush

Laziness crushed

I'm running on empty

But man I've got plenty

I'm ready for more

I like feeling sore

My heart pounding hard

When I'm beaten and scarred

My face drips with sweat

But man you can bet

It's the best that I've felt

Though not the best I've ever smelled...

Love Is

Love is a fickle, ever moving thing

Hard to find and harder still to hold

The song that everyone wishes to sing

It's the sun that melts the icy cold

The sight of smiling eyes

The heart's wish to be strong and bold

Laughter that stills the desperate cries

Of a friend in sadness and pain

Desperate after so many failed tries

Love is standing in pouring rain

Or even in freezing snow

Being there even if it seems insane

Love is hard to hold in your hand

Even when you're holding mine

Love is a shiny wedding band

Love is a thing far too fine

For poets, bards, muses, gods, faeries,

And even simple folk to define

Somebody To Love

Sometimes you just get a little desperate...

Can anybody find me somebody to love?
Each morning I get up I die a little
Can barely stand on my feet
Take a look in the mirror and cry
Lord what you're doing to me
I have spent all my years believing you
But I just can't get no relief, Lord!
Somebody, somebody
Can anybody find me somebody to love?

I work hard every day of my life
I work till I ache in my bones
At the end I take home my hard earned pay all on my own -
I get down on my knees
And I start to pray
Till the tears run down from my eyes
Lord - somebody - somebody
Can anybody find me - somebody to love?

(He works hard)

Everyday - I try and I try and I try -
But everybody wants to put me down


They say I'm goin' crazy
They say I got a lot of water in my brain
I got no common sense
I got nobody left to believe
Yeah - yeah yeah yeah

Oh Lord
Somebody - somebody
Can anybody find me somebody to love?

Got no feel, I got no rhythm
I just keep losing my beat
I'm ok, I'm alright
I ain't gonna face no defeat
I just gotta get out of this prison cell
Someday I'm gonna be free, Lord!

10x Find me somebody to love
Can anybody find me somebody to love?

http://www.metrolyrics.com/somebody-to-love-lyrics-glee-cast.html

Hanging Posters

Some little gnome tore down all of my posters. It's true. Want to see? I'll show you. But first, let me tell you how I know.

I saw him.

It's true. I promise you. OK, so maybe I wasn't there, in person at least. But I was there in...spirit. I set up this awesome little motion detector camera thing. I had it aimed towards my posters. See, they fall down about every day, and I've always wondered why. I was going to find out.

So, I had this little camera set up, and I had my posters up, and then I left. I walked out the door and locked it behind me.

The next time I went to my room, sure enough the posters had fallen again. I got really excited then, and I ran to my camera and opened it. I was shocked to find that the video that had been made was only about a minute long. I sat on the floor and pushed play.

The short video was absolutely amazing. The door never opened, but a tiny, ugly, fat little man appeared near my posters. He cackled maniacally, and reached toward the first poster. Needless to say, he couldn't exactly reach it, but amazingly, it didn't seem to be a problem for him. His arm seemed to reach and reach, but it never seemed long. He tore the poster from the wall, and grinned evilly. His tiny red beard seemed to sparkle with an almost sinister glow, reflecting his smile. One after the other, he went around the room and tore down my posters, stomping defiantly over each of them as he moved to the next. When the last one fell, he turned and gazed around the room, stopping at the camera.

He winked, and then he was gone.

I couldn't believe my eyes at first. Then, I knew I had found something amazing. Still want to see? Come on, let me show you!

God Saves

I am lost in blindness

And I refuse to believe that

i can see

One has to accept a life in darkness

Years from now I can only tell my children not to believe that

Simple grace triumphs over utter darkness

I was born in sin and I was conceived in sin

It doesn't matter to God that

I live every day of my life in hopelessness

No longer can it be said that

There is a God who hears the cries of his people

My whole life testifies to one truth:

Blindness has robbed me of every good thing

And it is no longer true that

God saves those who are crushed in spirit

Now I don't know much, but I know one thing for sure

I was born blind, with no hope and no future\

But then I met Jesus, and he turned everything in my life upside down

Now go back, and read this post from top to bottom.

http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/6Id9fW

Writing, Writing, Writing. Crazy.

A poem is like a story. A poem is a story. A poem hits you like a ton of bricks, or it hits you like a feather pillow, or it does not hit you at all, and simply fades away into the background of life. Poetry is like walking down a busy New York street: sometimes, you see people so strange and unusual that you know you will remember them for a good while. Other times, you see people so striking, so beautiful, so nice, so…themselves that you wish you could take a picture and never forget them. Most of the time, however, you see non-descript people, going about their business, walking through life in the same way you are. But when you write a poem, you become someone else. Perhaps you become one of those beautiful people. Maybe you blend in with all the rest of the world, and only stick out to a certain few.

I find when I write with rhythm and rhyme

That I sit and think for too little time

I cannot sit and write for hours on end

With nothing at hand but a page and a pen

Fantastic creatures can come to life

But grabbing details causes such strife

Originality comes easily and then I’m soaring

But writing facts can be awfully boring

In a conversation and its length

I often lack sufficient strength

I can tie a story together quite well

But there are some points I just cannot sell

An outline, for one, I just cannot do

Call them undeveloped—well, it’s true

I will wait until I am out of time, out of room

Before I let an idea burst into bloom

The ideas I have are sometimes too small

And I work too hard and kill them all

I sometimes…let sentences…drag

I keep ideas to myself and try not to brag

The ending to this may be obviously simple

When praised I will easily dimple

I appreciate feedback at all times

But hate when people insult my rhymes

The content to a story of mine

Is striking, polished, and refined

It makes me blush when my work is shown

And when teachers praise my style and tone

If you wish, and if you work hard enough, you can become one of the many faces that people will remember. You can become beautiful. I prefer to be different. Although beauty is not lost on me, I find that moments in which you laugh or cry stay with me longer. Laughing is a joy, and writing poetry that makes people laugh is a wonderful thing.

Push

Winter nights

Long fights

Yelling at you

Being torn in two

A large part

Of my fragile heart

Stands in the rain

Bending in pain

I can't trust

One person this much

It's bringing tears

And worsening fears

And as much as I want it

I know I can't push it

So instead every day

I'll push you away

The Writer

My pen and ink come together on a page to create something extraordinary. The dim light peering over my shoulder jostles for space on the desk, and I let it. I wrote until my fingers were stiff and my head was spinning, then sat back in my chair and reread my work. I had created a world on a page, and the next step was to make it come to life.

I close my eyes and become part of the fantasy.

I was running from my own invention--my own villain. I looked down and realized that I had on the torn blue dress that I had described in chapter three. Gunshots broke the silence that I had first walked into, and then suddenly there was action everywhere. Cars zoomed by me, unaware of my situation, failing to see the man with the gun gaining on me. With every shot, my heart thumped an extra time, and my breathing caught. A semi blurred past, and the sound of it's horn covered up the sound that ripped through me. Bright blood rushed from my should, instantly soaking my dress. I stumbled and nearly fell, but caught myself and started running again. The bright red chucks that flew out from under my dress with every step reflected the blood on my shoulder. I let go of my dress and ran harder, harder, breaths coming in short gasps now.

The next shot brought me to the ground and I rolled, screaming in pain. My leg! I lay on the sidewalk and gasped, shuddering with sobs.

My villain walked up to me slowly. He held the gun out in front of him, cautiously, almost as if he was as scared of it as I was. Ridiculous. I was hallucinating. But then he lowered it slowly, and I caught his face.

Moreo! The friend of my brother--the man I had once loved. He was trying to kill me! He looked into my eyes and half-smiled. I used to love that smile. Now, I realized that it scared me more than the gun. But then his smile quivered, and the worry behind the mouth showed in his eyes.

"I can't kill you, Lijuette. They told me to, but I can't do it. I never stopped loving you." He leaned down and put the cold gun in my hand. "Shoot me. Please. I want you to. I can't kill you, but you can kill me. They will never know what happened to me. Please!"

I pulled the gun close to me and stared at it, exhaustion and pain making my head spin. Slowly, I put it to his lowered head. I stayed like that for hours--perhaps it was just seconds. I don't know. But then I pulled back my arm and threw the gun over the bridge. My villain stared at me. "Why, Lijuette?"

"Because, Moreo, I never stopped loving you either."

I opened my eyes and smiled. A good beginning to a last chapter.

I pick up my black pen and make the white pages come to life.

Letters From M

Dearest X,

I miss you entirely. There is something pulling at my heart every time I see a picture of you. Your face, your eyes; these are the only images I see, even when I look at someone else. My heart pulls me toward you but oh! my head, my mind, tells me to turn and run in the opposite direction. My eyes are filled with the overwhelming feelings that run through me. My blood pulses in my veins when I hear your name, and my heart quickens, but my mind runs in reverse.

Will I ever be able to put my heart and mind on the same track? I doubt this even as I wish it with all of my being. Perhaps this wish will be the only thing that I agree with my self on. This thought saddens me, but I feel that it is true. I wish you were the one to put them straight, but when you walk--toward me or away--my feelings and my thoughts scream at each other.

So here is what I will do. I will not write any longer. Oh, X, you know how I wish I could send you this letter, and the others I have written. But I cannot. These pages, this ink, will never see the inside of an envelope. They will remain in my hands. Locked in my desk, where they are safe, they will gather dust.

Maybe one day, when I am old and wise, I will open these letters and read them again. Maybe I will see whatever it is that I am missing now. Maybe I will see the truth to this entire situation. Will I be wrong in what I do? Or will I consider myself to be wise when I look back?

These are the mysteries only time can reveal. For now, though, I must lock away the letters and bury my pen.

Goodbye, X.

Love,

M

Letters To You

Dearest X,

Perhaps by now you know my intentions. Perhaps by now you know that I truly wish that you could know me just by seeing me. I wish that all it took was one look to see into my soul and my mind. I wish that I did not have to say these words, or even pen them.

But, as you have already figured out, I cannot do this. These wishes are empty, full of holes, and worthless to all but me. They will forever be my wish; every time I see a shooting star. Every time I blow out candles on a cake, or find a genii. It will remain with me till the day I die.

If only, if only, that is all I can think. I do not know if you will ever realize what I truly mean when I say what I do. I will never know if you realize that the way you look makes me stop and stare, holding my breath, wishing you would look back and realize what I realized so long ago. I wonder if you will ever truly see me.

But perhaps I already know the answer.

Love,

M

Letters To Someone

Dearest X,

White pages stare at me. I know that I must tell you what I hold in me. Let me explain my feelings--this thing I hold is a secret to me. There are two kinds of secrets; those that one does not want to tell, and those that one does not dare to tell. I do not dare let this secret escape, or else I will never see it come home again. And yet, I want to let it go. It weighs me down. I feel waves crashing around me, and the longer I sit here, holding this enormous truth, the higher the waves lash. They are so close to my head, so close to drowning me altogether. Let me impart this secret to you--oh! But never give it away!

This unspoken thing is a part of me. It wraps around my heart, my lungs, my brain. It protects them, yes, but it also puts so much pressure on them that they are numb and cold. I no longer think about this secret. I no longer feel its importance--except when I am around you. Then, the secret shrinks, tightening in my chest until I can't breathe and my heart must race to my recovery.

If only you could know what I wish to tell you without me saying a word. If only you would look in my eyes and pull the secret from their depths. I want to be rid of it--but I want it to stay close. I can think of no better captain on my sinking ship than you. You would pull me upright, and perhaps we could sail on as if nothing had ever happened. Oh, if only. How can my heart be in my throat and on my sleeve at one time? You must help me. I need you to save me from drowning in this!

Love,

M

Letters To No One

Dearest X,

It is with trembling hands and heart that I write this. I know what I must say, and yet I cannot. The words are pushing through the barrier of my teeth, biting my lips. They want out more strongly than any words I have said before. And yet, I know that if I let these words out, I also let out my tears, and I open the floodgates that lead to my heart. I am most vulnerable at this point; with my heart on my sleeve and my head in my hands.

But still the blank pages beckon to me, calling me on. I know that by now you are long gone, too far for me to reach. Still I will write to you. I do not expect a response. I never have, not from you who have been gone so long. I only with that I could hear your voice one last time. Let me know that you listen, and these words will flow out of my mouth with the eloquence of angels.

Perhaps I will have mustered the strength I know is necessary--which I do not currently posses--by the time I next sit at my writing desk and pick up my pen. Until then, I cannot bring myself to the point of vulnerability which I know must come eventually. I shall write again.

Love,

M

Charmed

Your simple country charm

Chills me to the bone

My spine is alive

And my smile is permanent

My fingers tingle

With anticipation of your touch

Melt my heart

Don't leave me in the dust

Wherever you go

I want to follow

Sit me on your horse

And I'll hold on tight

Goodbye, fear and regret

Hello, brand new life!