The Stage

I stand upon the wooded stage,
ranting on my monologue,
that has worn out so long ago.

No one cares to listen,
No one takes notice at all.

Buried deep within the crowd,
float your captivating eyes,
I feel them turn my way,
I feel their attentive embrace.

This is a moment unexpected,
a moment I've been waiting for,
quite some time.

It is now that I shall take my leap,
leaving this stage behind forever,
I should have done it years ago,
but it is frightful with no one watching.

My body will soon leave this suppressive platform,
when I jump I hope only that you'll still be looking.

I am in mid-air towering above the crowd,
as a begin to fall I wonder why I have not done this sooner,
it feels so right, so perfect.

Then I notice you eyes have lost interest,
you brush your hair away from them,
and begin to leave.

With them you take your delicate arms,
that I was o-so hoping would catch me,
the arms that would hold me tightly,
and never let me go.

But you are no longer here,
and I shall eat my mistake/my destiny,
it is to late now to bail,
the concrete floor grows only nearer.

As I hit the ground it is not forgiving,
it knows not who I am or my intentions,
in knows only my skull.

My head cracks open with a loud bang,
but still I have gone unnoticed,
for hours I wounder where you have gone,
what better things you have than to catch me.

As the blood-pool swells with every beat of my heart,
I know that although you have damaged my head,
my heart has grown stronger than before.

The Rejection Letter

For the last week every morning I've sat on the porch.  Drinking my coffee. Waiting for the mail man to come. Waiting for the letter. Hoping to snatch it up. And hide it under the mattress. So that its contents may never harm anyone.

Today I didn't check. Someone else did. Now they hold it before me unaware that the only thing protecting me is the delicate envelope. They ask "Can we watch you, Open it?" Watch me? Does one watch as a H-bomb is dropped? The potential is massive. But is it not better to be handled with care?

I slowly remove it, being careful not to break the seal. It rest on my desk waiting for a few half-lives to pass. It's better to wait until the letter looses it's power. The sun fades away.

I open it. It has words. These words strung together determine my next year. I can't read it. "I'm sorry to inform you.." These words cut deep. The suspense has been terrible. It should never have been opened.  Left under the mattress it would have slowly turned to dust. Years later a breeze would blow it away, never to be seen by anyone. So yeah.. That's not what the letter said. That's what the letters in the small envelopes say. I knew right away. This letter came in the Big Envelope.

New York & New Perpective

Although my last few posts (the past 43) have been a little bleak. The truth is I'm too excited to contain my excitement any longer. I'm going to visit my amazing sister, Jaime, in New York.(Kim is amazing too, just not in NY.) Yeah. I know. Why would anyone want to expose themselves to such a place? Well. I see it like a bar fight. It'll be a struggle at first. But after that punch to the face, I'll find I have a new perspective. Even if it happens to be because I'm lying on the floor.

The Comfort In Not Knowing Who/When

A girl.  It always starts with a girl. A song. A book. A movie.  Always. Always about a girl.  There is a girl of mine.  Well she is not mine.  But she is the begining the, end, and the climax of what would be my song, my movie, my book.  She has ignored me.  I have a adored her.  Finally last night she looked twice when she saw me.  Why?  Why?  She was in no condition for love.  I have not truly loved for a while now.  But the night two days before tomorrow I took notice of the feeling I've been attempting to hide.  For after all if I love someone and they do not love back is it not better to ignore those feelings and keep my sanity?  She was in no condition for love.  But did it seep through her drunken stuper showing how she really felt?  She kissed me.  The kiss I've waited for all my life.  Since before she came into my life.  I truly do not know.  And in fact I'm not sure I should.  This is no the romantic tale of Romeo & his Juliet.  This is a tragic accident between to teenagers.  Where one feels that the other is "sort of, you know, maybe, totally, no kidding, for real, the greatest girl he has ever met"  and the other decided that the taste of alcohol is well complemented by the lips of a friend.  This is no love story.  There is no love, there is only an accident.

That being said it would totally kick some major ass if she did like me.

I must continue to write. Fuck that. I need to talk with someone. 

Licking The Sidewalk

Where am I going? I would like a sense of direction. Is it worth it? Really, is worth it bend down an get a taste of where I currently stand? A sweet taste might come of it. Or it could be the bitter one masochistic self so badly desires. Or will I end up just eating dirt. In reality there is little poetry to my dilemma. I have a week, 7 days, 168 hours, 10080 minutes, or 604800 seconds. To do what? To determine the outcome of the rest of my life. Well it isn't quite that serious. I mean to say that my transfer application is due to Bennington (If you actually read this collection of rants you'll notice they rejected me last year). So here I am trying again. This time I need to write two essays and navigate through the treacherous staffing which is MCTC. "Private College? Transfer out of state? Banana?" Well it's best I don't waste time complaining about not having time. Only 10065 minutes left. Wish me luck.

In Dedication to My Boyfriend

I start this post knowing that you, my audience, are not reading this. I know this because I haven't written in ages and what I have written hasn't been very exciting. If despite my boring topics and my lack of writing you are still reading this I feel a bit awkward. I assumed that this would be a private conversation between my nonexistent audience and myself. If you truly do exist then I'm afraid you're invading my privacy. But who am I kidding, your not reading this. No one is. And "No one" wants to know what I've been up to so I'll get to the point.

Like any punk-kid attending college I've had the past few weeks of school off. During most of this time I have accomplished nothing. But in my spare time I had a minor social-life, a ridiculously part-time job, and I spent time with family. My social life is on the ground bleeding from a hit-and-run that took place months ago. I'm afraid it might be terminal. It doesn't have long. But I cherish every moment we spend together. Right now we are hanging out with my friend Roy, and his girlfriend Stacy. (Yes, I know Roy and girl.) He's a great kid, but I'm afraid my social life might only have a few days left and I don't know if it wants to spend his last moments playing video games. It's been fun, but if my social life is going down I want it to go happily. It needs to spend time with those it loves.

Bus-boy! It sounds a bit like a super heroes side-kick. Half bus, half boy, all crime fighting machine. But atlas it is not so glorious. I clean up peoples tables after they finish eating diner food at The Bad Waitress in some-what uptown Minneapolis. The place is nice, the food is good, and the staff is great. The problem is I don't work much. 17 hours a week. Which means I'm not making near enough money to move out of my prison with no-rent and into an wallet-raping one bedroom apartment with rights. No freedom for me. Yet.. Enough about work.

My family. I have one too. I'm not just some crazy Satan spawn. Although that's not what my sisters would say. It is part of this family that I spent Christmas this year. In fact a vary small part. My sister Jaime and Kim were both in New York over the holidays. My Mom decided to take a shift at work for some guy so that he could see his kids. (Isn't she nice?) So it was just my Dad his brother, sister, mom and me. It was calm and sweet. Eggnog and green-chili. A holiday couldn't be more perfect.

My social life is calling for me and a feel I must leave... Bye.

I Am A Cold and Bitter Cup Of Coffee

I sit in my cramped 3/4 bedroom on my cozy 3/4 bed. The perched roof and my pile of unfinished homework are beginning to cave in on me. No worries though, my room is my sanctuary. From what, I don't know. There is nothing for me to fear outside my bedroom door. I live in a beautiful stucco house in south Minneapolis with The Werners, one of the nicest families I've ever met. They are in fact so nice that they offer to let me live here, eat all of their food, and ask for nothing in return. Yet I hide from them? No. I am not afraid of them. I only fear that I am not becoming myself. I do not live as an individual. I live as part of a family. A family that I do not belong to. This is what terrifies me.

I'm living here so that I can attend college. It is nearly the end of my first semester at MCTC. I am doing fine in all my classes. As far as I'm aware I have only A's in all my classes. I'm not sure how it happened. But it may have something with my complete and utter lack of anything to do. Homework ends up being the few pleasures of my monotonous days. Yet I am sitting here assignment in hand, avoiding completing it, like a diver conserving his last breathes of air. If I finish this assignment I might not have anything to due. And that would be far worse than not having it done. So I sit and think of all the things I could do with all the extra time I have. Then time runs out, and the only thing I have finished is a list of things I should have done before I had no time.

Although I have little to do, I have a schedule. I have school.. Work.. And Bodily functions.

School is a community college.. A good one, but a community college none the less. I like all my teachers, my classes are fun, and it doesn't cost me much. Everything runs so smoothing I often forget I attend school. I thought it'd become my main focus but I'm afraid it has just become a place I go to four out of seven days.

Work is even more of a joke. It's a nice place (The Bad Waitress) and a decent job (Buss Boy). But few hours (10 per week).

Bodily Functions have become a main time passer for me. The decision of what to eat, whether to shower, and the depletion of coffee are serious issues for me on a daily basis.

I have become so bored that my character has began to dissolve as if an ice cube in hot coffee. It will stay afloat for now, but it will not last for ever. If I am not faced with problems how am I to triumph over them. If only I were less fortunate. Poor, scraping by for rent, nearly begging for food. Maybe I would build a sense of who I am (or I might just starve to death). In the future I can only hope I will become the Cold and Bitter Cup of Coffee that I have always inspired to be.