Waltorrrr.

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.

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!

WHAT ARE THEY DOING?!

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.

Tagged.

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

Tagged

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.

Ode to Cork.

The following is a poem that I wrote in my Creative Writing: Poetry class after being told to pick up a random inanimate object out of the variety of items placed on a table for us and write an ode to it. We were told that we only had ten minutes to write about whatever we chose, so...I picked up a cork from a wine bottle, and this is what I came up with.

You are all that remains of a night
that I hardly remember.
Pulled from a bottle of Old Vine Zinfandel,
you were the only thing standing between me
and a plethora of decisions that I
never would have made had you
chosen to put up a fight.
Flashes of light
loud music blaring from the speakers
Shaking the floors and walls around us,
dancing silhouettes skin to skin
in a room filled far beyond
typical levels of comfort.
Sweat dripping from the pores
of a good looking man I barely know,
Passion rising in each movement
Getting lost in the bass of a song
that is overplayed on the radio
but tonight it speaks to us
and our bodies move together
with the uninhibited confidence that can only
be tapped into after the night has fallen
into a drunken haze.
He whispers in my ear
as alcohol whispers to my conscience,
"just do it. you only live once."
and hours later,
I'll do the walk of shame
with a smile on my face,
the sun peeking up behind the trees
feet getting wet from the cold morning dew
and I'll arrive home
get into my own bed just to wake up and
try to piece together
the previous evening's events
and thanking you,
dear cork,
for being the beginning
of an out of control
but amazing
night.

You.

I want you.
I want you to fall in love with the sound of my silence
because in those moments when words are absent
is when I am attempting to wrap my mind around how
incredible I feel when I am around you.
In this same silence,
I am trying to find where in the blank space
my soul and yours meet
for longer than the time we find
each other's gaze and look away quickly enough
to wonder if the other had seen
the adoration seeping from the depths
of our beings.
Or maybe this silence is stemming from the reality that
our stories do not sync
for one of us has lived a life epitomized in the
statement of 'bad things happen to good people'
or a devastating series of unfortunate events,
while the other has experienced life with a silver spoon in tow.
I want to teach you what pain is,
but not in a way that requires you being hurt,
moreso in a way that teaches you how to love
and will make you more able to understand
that I need you, your friendship, your love,
as much as you need to find yourself
and the concept of sorrow,
love,
life,
and silence.
That though our lives may not be the same
your heart can complete mine's sentences
and your passionate and patient soul
can hold mine
and those lonely gazes can meet each other
and collide
erasing all things that put you out of my league
or me out of yours.
Wounded together,
hopeful together,
silent together,
but together
nonetheless.

Beauty.

It is said that beauty is in
the eye of the beholder
and here I am now
beholding the most beautiful
human being to have ever walked
upon this planet,
your flaws perfect
and your imperfections flawless.

I would kiss you from head to toe
just to remind you that every
square millimeter of your body
is the most beautiful thing that
I've ever seen.
And I would need the entire world's
population to help me count on
their fingers and toes to help me
even begin to attempt to number
all the reasons why you make me smile.

I never want to let a day go by
in which I do not remind you of
how stunning you are
because you don't believe you are beautiful
and think that I deserve something better than
what you have to give
but little do you know that
never have I felt more lucky than I do now
that you desire to let me hold your heart in my hands.

I could paint a portrait
of your face with the color of
my irises because I only
have eyes for you.
And I could sing you the most
beautiful love song
to have ever been composed
with the air stolen in the
moments that you've
taken my breath away.

There is even beauty in the
sorrow that you carry
around on your shoulders,
but it is sometimes more than you can handle
and I would take it all from you
just to be able to witness the moment
in which you can finally stand tall
and feel the sunlight on your face.
You don't know how to completely
love because you are afraid of
landing alone if you fall.
Let me catch you
sweep you up and erase
this fear you've built because
there has yet to be someone in your life
who can hold you as gently
and love you as strongly as you've always needed.
If I could give you the universe,
I would be giving you only a fraction
of what you deserve,
But I will give you pieces of my world
One by one
If it means I’ll get the privilege of
Seeing you smile
and the joy of knowing
that in this moment
You are just as much a part of me
as I am of you
and the world
is ours.

Maybe.

Maybe we can hold hands and watch the sun as it
sets over the horizon, blurring the lines between
sea and sun and clouds, a beautiful mixture
of blue, red, orange, and life.

And maybe we can explode the earth with
our passion, smiling more than anyone
ever has because we simply enjoy each other
and life as it currently is, pain, sadness, drama and all.

And maybe we can explore the city, from
the random walls plastered with graffiti to
the 24 hour food places around town that make less than
fantastic food, but it's perfect because of the company
and the time being the wee small hours of the morning,
and we all know that everything tastes better at 4:00 in the morning.

And maybe we'll never need drugs or alcohol
because we are already so high and drunk on
life, but also keep in mind that a shot or two or
maybe some magical, psychedelic trip never really hurt anyone.

And maybe we can take pictures of anything
and everything, like that dog over there or you
capturing me as I am trying to capture a perfect
photograph of something else, or maybe we'd simply take a photo
of me smiling with that sparkle in my eye as you
stick your tongue out the moment that the camera flashes.

And maybe we can be those meddling kids that
laugh for too long in movies and walk too slow on
crowded streets, because we are too distracted by
how incredibly beautiful the world is when
we're together.

And maybe, just maybe, for even a moment,
we can just...escape.