Journal 4.28

Okay, so give me a few more days, then I'll give you guys all the half-written poems I got. That should keep you satisfied for a while, you hungry man eaters, you.

Smile

You can ask me to smile
But you can't make me want to.

Journal 4.20

Old guys are awesome! (No comments from the peanut gallery, please) So I and H went to Subway and we took it to this park H knew about, because we bet dinner and I won, so I got to go out for din-din. After we ate, in the grass, it was so cool, and threw our trash in the can (Kids, don't litter), we went to the swings. I love the swings. And H loves the swings too. And this, oh, 7 year old girl joined us and we all were talking about different tricks, and then we moved to the slide, and then me and H got on the kiddie teeter-totter, and the kid stood on the fulcrum, (or some other physics word like that) and we just seesawed for a long time. So there's the background. Now for the story.

So there was this old couple and another old lady walking through the park, talking. The two ladies sat on a bench and talked quietly, and the old guy, bored out of his mind, watched the kids (and us) play. He walked over to a mini bouncy thing and nudged it a little with his foot, and just watched. After a good ten minutes, the ladies are still talking, we're still seesawing, and he's still bored. And then he goes for the swings. He sits down, a little gleam in his eye, and starts pumping. I watched him openly, smiling my young encouragement at this beautiful moment. You could tell he knew how to handle a swing. I didn't take him long at all to get some height, even with the limitations his body had. H was listening to the kid, and didn't notice this at all. After maybe a dozen pumps and four feet of air, he gets his wife's attention. Both ladies watch a moment, while he sits there, swinging with that rebellious look in his eye, until one says, "Boys will play." I have to say, I was a little hurt by that. It was condescending, the way she said it, and she called him a boy, and she totally put down his behavior as embarressing to one his age. He slowed, and got off, but he still had that look in his eye, so I knew he was getting off because he was embarressing his wife and not because he was embarressed. Throughout the whole episode, I tried to let my body language say, "Dude! You are so cool for doing that!" and I think he got the message. He did all but wink at me as he climbed off the swing and walk off the play area.

Spring

Bright and green, pure and light,
Growing, flying, Frisbees throwing.
Spring’s presence, purer than a summer’s fling,
Awakes life, reflected in me as a lake.
Flowers blossom, revealing Spring’s power
Exultant and proud, their best displayed, perfect.

Journal 4.17

Oh, tonight was wonderful. Cast parties are fun, but that's not what was wonderful. So we had to carpool to the party because of a lack of parking, so I had to leave my vehicle where we had the play. (I'm a techie, just so you don't try to picture me acting) So when A (my ride) wants to leave, I gotto go. So the party was at a house on this back road, in the middle of the woods, and it's like, 3:30 in the morning, and we have to walk up a dirt road with no street lights to get to our cars. A couple of guys, D & E, were escorting A, F, G, and myself to the cars since they felt like leaving too. One flashlight for all of us. I feel bold and like showing off, so I go skipping into the dark ahead of everyone. Around the corner, I (barely) see a big tree alongside the road. I'm not stupid so I decide to lean against it while they catch up. But they weren't coming. They were still getting ready to go. Someone forgot their purse or they decided to say goodbye, actually, in addition to that, E was coming. He wasn't before, when I left. And standing in the near pitch black, leaning against a tree, I got this awesome rush. I was scared, and part of my mind was thinking of cougars and rapists, and another was thinking about God and how He'll protect me, and another was thinking, well, He doesn't protect all Christians from suffering consequences of stupid actions, and the last part of me was thinking, I'm wearing a black sweater, it's dark, no one knows I'm here, no one's in the dark, I can still hear, and I don't hear footsteps. I'm fine. So my pulse slowed, but the adrenaline was still there. I listened to the wind in the trees, I watched the moonlight cast shadows up ahead on the trail, I touched the tree behind me and felt the moss, and it was so dark and intimate. And then everyone was ready and they came up the trail, and they found me, though I wasn't really hiding, I just wasn't moving. I think I did impress them, because the girls seemed to need the flashlight, and D also ran up ahead of the light, I think to show that guys aren't afraid either. And all in the car, and even now, I still feel the adrenaline, though it's fading, and that quiet, intimate rush I felt. Okay, now to see how long the caffeine will last.

Psalm to God

I try to love You and do what You say
But You always seem to push me away
On Your throne in heaven so far away
Makes it hard to love You everyday

You sent Your son to earth I already know
You sent Him here to die and Your love to show
And yet that happened two thousand years ago
That’s why it’s so hard in Your likeness to grow

I know I should love You and it causes me pain
I know how much You love me and oh, how the shame
That I put You through and I hold all of the blame
But I know that just for me You’d do it again

What Am I?

What am I?
Am I what I say?
Am I what I write?
Am I what I do?
In all these I lie.

Tonight

Tonight is it
Tonight I say goodbye
You thought I gave up
You thought I let go
You thought wrong
I still love you
I still want you
But I can’t
I said goodbye a while ago
But didn’t believe it in my heart
You took the hint
I didn’t mean to give you
Now I realize
Tonight is it
You hoped for a second chance
One I can’t give
I want to love you forever
But need to sever these strings from my heart forever
Tonight.
This is for me
You’ve thought it was over
Not yet.
Tonight.
Forgive me if I cry,
The strings go deep
Deep in me
It will hurt
But it must be done
Tonight.

Standing

I raise my eyes from the floor
My lip trembles, I try not to cry
I look up at you
Standing
Over me with your fists still clenched
I push myself up until I kneel
Watching
For you to move
Slowly I stand, I don’t wipe my eyes
That would admit to you that they are there
I don’t want you to feel the satisfaction
I want to cry
I want to scream
I want to touch my bruised face
I want to hit you, no
I want to kill you
Instead I stare at you
Standing

Carpe Diem

Seize the day by the balls
And don't let go until he squeals

Explanation for What I Want

I figure I should explain that rant. You see, one night I was going to bed, and I was lying on my side, and I felt... that missing something... again. Like, when I'm married, that will be filled by my husband spooning with me with his arm across my waist and his breath tickling the back of my neck. But I'm not married, so I don't have a guy to do that, and I missed him. I don't even have one, and I missed him. Again (implying that this isn't the first time I've felt like this). And that night I just got fed up with it, and I grabbed a journal and started complaining. I do that a lot (complain), and sometimes it's funny. And that's what came out. I changed very little, because I figure that some of the voice and emotion would be lost if I fixed sentence structure and comma splices. There's just something in the rambling that's me. And now all you who don't know me think I'm wussy, and all you who do know me think I'm horny, but I'm not either.
I'm just human.

What I Want

I want to be married! I'm tired of going to bed alone! I'm tired of not having someone to talk to! I want someone to hug, and comfort, and who'll comfort me, with arms and a chest, and something to lean against. I want someone to kiss hello, and goodbye, and just because. I want to peck him on the cheek, and I want to french him with my arms across his neck. I want someone who'll dance with me, whether there's music playing or not. I want someone's arms around me, holding me while I fall asleep. I want to watch his sleeping face after I wake up in the morning.

I want someone who can make dinner with me in the kitchen. As a team. Who'll watch movies with me and laugh and cry and hold me when it's scary, and not shush me when I make fun of it or add comments, who'll talk about it afterward and criticize it during, and care what color the cups were in each camera angle, and laugh at the guys in Braveheart who aren't sure if Mel is still filming. Who will play music while we clean house, and likes all kinds, or doesn't like all kinds but will let me play them anyway.

Who'll play soccer with the kids until it's too late to see. Who'll read Dr. Seuss to them at night with the voices. Who'll help them make pancakes on the weekends. Who'll take his daughters to buy a promise ring on their 16th birthday. And teach them to drive when they're 5 by letting them sit on his lap.

Who'll go for walks with me and the dog. Who'll go to church on Saturday. Who'll live in Hawaii with me. Who loves God and tries everyday to be what He wants him to be. Who has a passion I can encourage.

Who'll stay in the other room while I have a girl's night and watch chick flicks. Or come out a few times with some affectionate criticism about the plot or actors. Who will buy me ice cream when I'm on my you-know-what. Who wants kids. Who at least likes dogs and tolerates cats. At most loves dogs and cats both.

Who will work hard to make sure I'm warm, and dry, and clean, and full, and happy. Who I cam work hard for so he's clean and in a clean house, and full and happy. Who'll take his shirt off when he mowes the lawn because he knows I like it. Who'll kiss me everynight before he goes to sleep, and everymorning before he gets out of bed. Who'll bring me breakfast in bed sometimes. Who'll hold my hand in public. Who'll take me (just me) out for dinner regularly until we're too old to drive, and then until we're too old to buy a bus ticket, and by then the nurses won't let us leave the building, and it won't matter.

Journal 4.12

So, today at breakfast, I discovered the secret of life.

I was sitting in the cafeteria with Friends A, B, and C. A was commenting that she'd rather have been alive in a different time, since this one has so much bad stuff in it. She didn't actually name anything, but I assume it involved terrorism, the glamour of sex and non marital relations, third world countries, and the like. And then it hit me. Why we had been born in this time, and not at an earlier or later one.

Low rise denim jeans.

That's it. I shared my epiphany, and A stopped, thought about it, and agreed. This world is worth putting up with since we have the company of jeans that don't reach the belly button. Ten years ago, they wouldn't have been low rise. Fifty years, we wouldn't be allowed to wear pants. Both of those bring me to a shudder. How could they survive? And so I have the answer. Why I am here when I am here.

Low rise denim jeans.

Erotic

Nothing electrifies your skin and massages the soul like the downpour
Nothing excites the pulse and melts the loins like the sight of the moon
Nothing steals your breath and leaves you gasping for more like the gale
Nothing boils the blood and scours the skin like the sun

The Woods

Between neighborly familiarity and industry
Are the quiet places
Between structured, planned housing
and the boxes reserved for mechanicals
Are extra spaces
A buffer between the noises of machines
and the lives of suburbs
Protected by those who would rather a greener world
Is where I am
Neither here nor there, the trick of the light
leaves me alone
For hundreds of miles, away from everything

My very first post!

Hm... We'll see how well this goes. Not that I expect anyone to check me out. ^.^
For my first post, I shall experiment with getting the darn thing visible. Oooh, Font. Let's check out Verdana. Oh, that's boring. Webdings is just weird. Okay, I promise not to do that again. Also boring. Georgia. Nope, try again. Lucida, what's the dif? Trebuchet. eh, if there's nothing else. Arial. Oh, is there nothing worth using? I guess Font in and of itself is okay. But how unimaginative is that? At the least, I'm not using Times New Roman. I get enough of that at school. Hm... Oh, don't you just hate trying to start something, like an AOL account, and then they ask you what you want your name to be, and you can't think of anything? Or you do, but 5 billion people already thought of it and have every variation imaginable? I don't know if that's how it works with this. There were like, 3 different names they asked for. I don't know where they all went. I guess I'll see when I check out my site. This seems enough for now. Okay, Publish Post... Go.