Sappy Poem

I don't believe in a lot,
but I believe in us.
As young as we are, I am in love.
To be this way, scares me with every touch.
And I know now,
what I didn't know then-
that this is just the beginning.

The Pond

She was not allowed to go in the woods. Her mother had strictly forbidden it. Caroline did not ask questions, it was just the way it was. But as Caroline grew older in the only home she had ever known, another part of her home in which she had never visited began to intrigue her. Caroline knew it was against her mother's wishes to step foot in the woods but as the days passed, the wondrous orange leaves and lovely sky-scraping trees could never escape her mind.
One day she finally asked her mother, "Just one day mama, even if so you came with me, could I please visit the woods? Just once." Her stern tone replied with, "Why would you even think of such a thing? You know my answer. Do not persist, my child." Caroline did not hesitate, "Why, mama?" "I will contain my anger from you, my child, because you must know it is only for your protection." Caroline was even more entranced with the magical land behind her house. She knew it was sinful but the mysterious woods warped her mind beyond her control.
One day, when her mother was off at the open market Caroline decided to finally take a walk into her dream. She would finally discover the rest of her home. She set off into the east side, taking her strides slowly only to truly take in all there was to see. The sunlight purely shown through the leaves giving her a shadow that she followed. The old trees were solid and strong as she slid her hands along the trunks. Her nose filled with pine and oak and infused her with happiness as she realized she was doing as she pleased, she was taking her journey through her woods. Caroline continued walked along a deserted path, but a path none the less. She caught her self wondering why her mother was so against such a wonderful place. She spotted a glistening subject farther up the path. She finally came up to a wonderful pond. Caroline had never seen such a thing before. Her mother did not allow her to leave the house unless she was accompanying her. Caroline continued to soak up the beautiful heat of the sun on her back and appreciated this moment of independence she had that she knew wouold only soon end. Caroline squatted down to take a look into the glistening water. As she searched for creatures of some sort, she realized she could not escape a figure staring back at her. Caroline began touching her face with both startled hands as she stared at the figure in the pond. Caroline realized she was staring at Caroline. She screamed with horror as she looked at her own face for the first time. Furious, she splashed the figure away with one hand but then waited patiently as her reflection came back again. Glorious, long brown hair appeared over shoulders, framing a stunning face with piercing eyes of blue that only rightfully stared right back at Caroline. She was beautiful. A tear ran down her face as she whispered, "Why, mama?"

Forever Happy

The words he says leave me without words.
The breath he breathes leaves me breathless.
The sappy poem is driving me fucking insane already?
What about you? Are you dying from the overwhelming sappiness? Yeah, me too and that is why this "poem" just became a FREE WRITE YAY!! I guess I could go on saying how I love my boyfriend but I bet everyone already knows that and I try to keep my writing from consisting of such personal matters like my love life. I like observing and judging other people's love lives and then pouring their hearts out on paper through my words. Of course, it is easier said then done. It is funny though, because right now, as I type this utter honesty on this confusing blog for the creative writing world to see, I realize that I do not know any of you at all. And none of you know me personally at all and that is quite thrilling. And I hope my pieces thrill you. That is why I have such passion for writing, you know? I get so exciting to thrill or touch people with my words. I want to affect people with my pieces. Gosh I think I could do it forever and then I realize I am majoring in Journalism so maybe I really could do this forever. Maybe I could be in Los Angeles drinking my bubble tea and just write... forever.

Free Write

A stream of consciousness is a river below the holy ground; a sea of unexplainable wonders or maybe a stream of consciousness is just the only way to truly spill the pits from a part of the brain that should never be touched.
Here's mine-
My mom is illogical and has the attention span of a young squirrel, the movie I am watching is unrealistic but I cannot stop watching it. The movie is located in L.A. Have you ever wanted to be somewhere, somewhere else so bad that you can smell it sometimes, maybe even feel it? I want to be in Los Angeles so bad I could cry and this movie where this size zero blonde has two lovers is just pissing me off but, for the life of me, I cannot stop watching it.
Do men understand that there overly-styled mustaches are not only unattractive, but hard to even put your eyes on? I wonder if they wake up every morning, take a long, hard look in the mirror, pick up a comb and smile as they start stroking the delicate hairs of their upper lip with the plastic bristles. I wonder if stylish/hipster facial hair is required when you join a motorcycle gang. I bet Mr. Hays knows.
More than anything, I wonder if I will find normal people, actual people that live their lives happily without irrational mind sets or ones that do not consume so many pills to covers up actualities. Maybe UNT will open doors for me mentally, so I can finally relate to the people around me. Maybe not. I really hate when I set expectations for myself that I believe are a possibility for myself but then I let myself down by not reaching them. Obviously not reaching goals other people set for you is disappointed as it is, but not reaching a goal you set for yourself seems simply pathetic. Sometimes I find myself pretty pathetic and lost or alone and angry and irrational or illogical and just like my mother and that really sucks.

Angel, Anabella

She was as pure as the day was young. Anabella was her name and also as beautiful as she was. The mother, happy enough that day to give birth thank the skies, and her father- open to interpretation it would seem, but majority of notions lead to the conclusion of greed, envy, deceit or somewhat vanity running heavily through the veins. Anabella, born into poverty and a loveless world, succeeded in certain things that brought her beauty to light. She succeeded in remaining pure with  her head continuing to fill with sunrises of the East. She succeeded in allowing not only "sanity" to leak through her eyes, but dreams of roads and streets far away from Boston. As she grew into an adolescent with strong holds on the world, she knew it was only easy to run; only easy to escape her destiny. She would stay with emotionally crippled mother, Paula and sinful-father, Rob and hope the biggest challenge of all would earn her new roads leading to the apparent sweet truths running away from her in the distant hills. Anabella did have on thing- a sweet tooth. She put her awaiting future in a box with a bow and hid it under the bed until the time came that her caterpillar exterior faded away.
   Butterfly she finally was, eighteen and now fearful of what waits for her. The adoring parents shot against even the thought of a "darkening, wicked union" such as a collegiate university, but Anabella quietly thought otherwise. Her collared dress loosened with the wind as she took her first steps away from the Boston cage and into her hopeful independence. She thought of the glorious freedom and ultimate possibilities that would reign upon her within the wicked union. She never argued with such beings. Anabella was a very peculiar person in the sense that she had no hateful notions toward her parents, only undeniable faith. With the faith she kept close to her heart, she set off alone to the University of Mississippi. She set off for the south with a full ride and her purity left beside her covered by a pretty pink bow. Anabella got her freedom.
    The dorms, yet small and of an unpleasant scent, still lit up the poor girls face, igniting her deserved trophies she had been dreaming of for over a century. She basked in this glory for only a short while for a prince charming, of course, did not delay his presence. He came in the form of the hero- assisting her in the studies of biology she felt she was lacking in. After many late nights that drifted from books and equations to a lovely chemistry. A chemistry she felt so strongly, but also new to her, so new that one can only wish she would have handled it with caution. But I never expressed that this fairy tale would end with the angel on the clouds of Heaven.
   Her once overwhelming purity set off into a deep sadness over looking the wide sunset of the Mississippi. Anabella was strong, through upbringing's beatings along with prince charming's, she still skipped further into the year, with her head in her studies, trudging on. With angered demons surrounding her, wishing for her perish; for her purity to finally dissolve. The people that were labeled her "loved ones" and her "lovers" only betrayed and abandoned. Her warm heart only beat more, knowing she was alone, for God was beside her if no one else.
   The last betrayal of Anabella's life can only be seen as poetry if nothing else, or rather what this betrayal led up to can. And although it seems as suicide, whether we turn into poetry or not, is a cliché. But I must express that to transform Anabella's tragedy into a piece of literature, that can move on through history as she once did, is the only way for the axis to rotate; the sun to burn; for Anabella to live on past whatever tragedy that wasonce inflicted upon her. I will write this now, with all the truth and necessary details, hoping only to free her into the Heavens or any palace she so chooses to be named Queen because God knows she deserves it, because Anabella deserves at least the freedom after death.
   This dark fairy tale may have fooled you, but it is only to be clearly understood that one touched by an unwanted hunter, by a friend, by the love of your life, by the hero is so destructive, that even the most strongest of hearts can be turned cold and left broken in the road she once had faith in. For this and only this reason is why the note read:
"I would say sorry for my actions and say sorry for the ones I am leaving behind, but there is no one, there is no one left for me to say sorry and maybe for that I am sorry. No, for once I am not sorry, but thrilled to leave this sorry place behind because fuck all of you. My name is Anabella and I will be free."

American Dream

If only it was as we saw it-
green grass, blue skies, promising men.
Only to be brutally shot down,
filled with the perverted, the heartbreak, the scandal.
"American Dream", they said,
as they desperately strove for the land
and the innocent laugh and play
with the toys made of the tired hands of the misfortunate.
All the while hidden from the eye-
the abuse, the torment, the death.
"American Dream", they said
as they hurried to better jobs with tired hands.
Broken road, they would not have seen.
Because we are all blind, you see?
To the real American Dream.
Our men talk of such triumph and freedom land
and we stand before them in armor as always.
If you don't support, labeled a traitor
If you do, you condone murder.
Our men talk of justice and peace
not mentioning the innocent ones,
ones like us- with hope and faith and family.
But their grass is not green nor their skies blue nor their men promising.
"American Dream", they said
as they scurried to the promise land.
The pains in my stomach light to flame
as I think of the ignorance and buried truth,
but as I bash the infamous "American Dream",
I realize I am a single stepping stone that puts all the puzzle pieces together.
To finally, run the cycle as always.
Keeping the skies blue and the grass green.
And then i realize, I am a democrat.

The Funeral

The Funeral

Do you ever think about death as a source of power?
As if you just slit a little deeper, walked a little further,
tumbling away to the source of all overwhelming insanity.
Like it would bring every wretched family member to the blink of pity?
But you would be gone,
another stepping stone of God's great plan of nothing.
How would you get respect; debatable attention, anything, drowning.
Under the roots of also pitied trees.,
addicted to the antagonizing, crazed minds of others,
wanting to be there, no cure.
Another tragic end to a teenager's existence.
Suicide? Having a motive to kill, even yourself is rigid desperation.
Rather getting near, to the dear dark pit that I once wonder-
would they understand?
Their thoughts on top as complex as under.
People are not frightened of merely death, but the thought of not understanding?
Like some channeled angel watches the strings of your being.
It is power, being honestly the biggest fear of the coast of life.
But just slitting a little deeper becomes another cringed, unavoidable cry.