Tuesday, October 26, 2010


In poetry class, we were told to write poems that were about figures that everyone in the room would know. I chose one of my close friends, Walter, as my muse. Fortunately, he's read this and greatly approves of it. So no, I am not a creeper.

As I flip my hair back and smile into the crowd
I know that there is an unreasonable amount of people
that are paying close attention to the sparkle in my smile.
This smile, upon a face I wake up to every morning,
is not only staring back at me in my mirror,
but in the newspaper,
on posters,
and on brochures.
The resident celebrity,
known by all,
admired by many,
hated by none.
They all expect me to do great things,
and I will,
with the eyes of the university always watching me.
I keep smiling,
running from meeting to meeting,
representing various organizations,
exceeding expectations by leaps and bounds,
and speaking to everyone that I possibly can,
so they can know me
and know that failure is not an option,
and the only person that can and will control my success is me.
So I keep running and running,
my body aching,
my mind exhausted,
hoping that I can find myself between
now and my next obligation.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Reefer Madness.

Another creative writing class product.

“Even at lower doses marijuana impairs attention and coordination and affects the way the mind processes information. 50 percent of individuals aged 18 to 25 used the drug at least once.” – Marijuana Fast Facts at Justice.gov

(based on true events/conversations)

I wonder how many of our waking hours are spent being high…
If I were a mystical creature, I’d definitely be a
Color changing,
Size changing,
Breed changing,
Sometimes invisible dog.
Who would ever try to argue with a giant blue Saint Bernard with a barrel of whiskey around its neck?
That’s a big barrel of whiskey.
I wonder if a blue dog would slobber blue…
Like blue koolaid…

Have you ever even thought about questioning the flavors of koolaid?
Never is it grape or cherry or blue raspberry,
Just purple, red, or blue ‘drank’.
What is juice anyways?
It’s all made of real fruit, mostly apples.
I guess we prefer sugar, water, and color for our hydration purposes.
You know…I think it’s pretty risky to put an apple on your head
And let some blindfolded hooligan shoot an arrow at it all willy nilly.
What happens if he misses?
Bad decision, my friend.

You know what else is a bad decision?
Purple cauliflower. It really exists!
It belongs on another planet,
But not the planet we created out of playdoh.
The aliens probably wouldn’t like that vegetable either.
Maybe they would all turn into transformers and
Morph into giant robot dinosaurs stomping all over their playdoh castles
Yelling how angry they are that someone thought that purple cauliflower was a good idea.
That’s what I did, at least.

I am so hungry!
Did you know that 50 percent of people our age have smoked weed?
That means that the other 50 percent haven’t!
Do they not know that their nachos will taste a thousand times better
if they had some maryjane dancing in their systems?
Haha! Marijuana doing the dougie in my lungs! Yesss!

Even Barack Obama blazed back in his day,
Good ol’ Barry O being high as a June Balloon.
Clinton didn’t want to admit he smoked the reefer.
He said he didn’t inhale and didn’t enjoy it.
He obviously wasn’t doing it right.
Obama inhaled.
‘That was the point’ he said.

Dude! Feel my pulse! Raging!
It’s like…I need a nap right now,
But I really need a burrito.
Such a dilemma.
Am I the only one who thinks it would be awesome to have
Morgan Freeman narrate their life?
I wonder who narrates his life!
Maybe Mr. T or Bill Cosby.
But it can only be Bill Cosby if Mr. Freeman is wearing a badass sweater.
And maybe Superman narrates his life on three day weekends.
On a scale of one to Pluto, I am definitely soaring at Galaxy 45!
Superman high.
So high I am above the influence!

I wonder what Barack Obama is up to…
Probably smoking a bowl in a badass sweater.
God bless America.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010


This is a poem I wrote today for my creative writing class. I hope you like it. 

My heart drops to my stomach
As I watch her life flash before my eyes,
A film running through my mind beginning with her
Bundled up with her father, a cozy toddler
Unaware of all the unfortunate events that would
Plague her life until every drop
Of childhood innocence was drained out of her.

The next scene I picture is her standing on a stage,
The rest of the world in shadows
As she sings “somewhere over the rainbow”
For the church play,
So nervous, but so in love with the music
In the days before she was told that
Her dreams and passions were less important
Than the money she could make getting a ‘real job.’

The image develops into her playing in the snow
The last bits of light left in her eyes shining more brightly
Than they ever have since.
She’s building a snowperson and creating
Scattered snow angels in the backyard,
So beautiful, her brightly colored winter clothes
Against the white of the blizzard
Before she is covered and blends in
Starting to disappear.

Tears well in my eyes
Blurring my lenses
Causing me to lose my focus,
And then jump forward to
one single frame that reveals that she is no longer
Anything I expected her to be.

Her secrets exposed,
This picture,
Taken in a room filled with smoke
Bottle of vodka in hand,
Donned in the clothes of the man
That has his arm wrapped around her.
Her eyelids hanging low as
Her lips brush the neck of a scantily clad female that has
Jumped into the picture before the
Intoxicated photographer yelled “1…2…3!”

This is who she has become,
This is who I’ve let her be, and
This photograph,
Available for the whole world to see
My child
Pretending to be an adult
Is in no way how I expected this
Movie to end.