Saturday, February 28, 2009


You know, I don't think I can complain about this past week at all.
I prayed a lot.
I volunteered four days this week.
I worked out four days this week.
I did all of my homework for all of my classes.
I saw a fantastic musical with people I love.
I ate healthier.
Apparently I seemed happier.
I finished an entire sculpture for my concentration project.
I went to two birthday parties.
I started working on my new quilt.
I finished an entire website.
I even had a song written about me.
I started two new books.
I wrote in my journal.
I got a sadies date.
I met someone new.
I practiced both electric and acoustic guitars.
I took a couple good portraits of my neighbors.
This week was productive.
This week was good.
It was really good.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

progress. day..3?

I used my new panorama tool =]

Tuesday, February 24, 2009


Today the girls and I went to park Kingsburg with a plan to give manicures to elderly ladies. I was excited, as I tend to enjoy the company of elderly people as opposed to people my own age. In the past month I've learned a lot from my little monsters at Reagan, and that pleases me. But in a day, I learned just about as uch from two elderly ladies. My opinion of getting older was changed. I've never seen myself getting older. I see myself at 20. at 30. at 40. Then that's about it. I've always thought that I would die young. I'm not looking forward to it. But I'm not scared either. It's always just been something I've felt like I've known. And everyone's always told me, well if you think that way, you will die young! I don't buy into that. I've just come to accept it. Too add to it, I've never really wanted to get old. Because if I do, I know I'll be in constant pain. Even now at 16 if I don't take aleve or aspirin in the morning my days are miserable. My back has already given out on me, through fault of my own, but nonetheless it's given out.

But maybe I'm meant to get old. Maybe somehow my back will get better. And my knees and my ankles. Today one of the older ladies, Nancy said, "When you get older, you get to act like old people." "Hows that?" "Crazy." Then I found out she was 100 years old. That made me happy, but what really got me thinking was something that the lady who I gave a manicure to, Lou, said.

"It's not age. It has nothing to do with age. It's the mindset. My friends say 'Lou, how are you so active? It hurts to walk and be active anymore, I'm old and I can't do those things like that.' If you think you can't do things, you won't be able to. I know I'm old, but I don't think I'm old."

The public school system pt. 2.

I can't recall a time
when the binomial theorem helped me
solve a real problem.
Or when my life depended on
my knowledge of ancient India.
Nor a time when someone liked me more,
because I knew when to use who instead of whom.
Nowadays there is no correlation
between "education" and learning.
Teach me to love unconditionally.
Teach me to be selfless.
Teach me to do things for the betterment of others.
Teach me to believe.
Teach me to trust.
Then, maybe I will learn something.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

The public school system.

Yes darling, it's true
you look brilliant on paper.
But if I pulled a Montag,
then what would we have?
A whole lot of nothing
and a handful of ash.

451 degrees
and up goes your life's resume,
but tell me,
how many lbs per sq. inch
does it take to crush a dream?

you, would be a...pansy.

there's something about watching an icelandic poppy die.
that is both depressingly ominous yet incomparably beautiful.

Friday, February 20, 2009

wood eye. would i?

Relish the speck and
ignore the plank.
If such were the case
I'd examine the factors.

But all of our eyes are
laden heavy,
With the 2 by 4's of our pasts.

I'd bring the matter to the table,
iffen I were so gutsy.
or if I thought for a second
that it was my place to judge.

But there lies a bulwark,
where my tongue meets my teeth.
Because here in these parts,
Hypocrisy is a fate worse than death.

why I write.

other than my pottery, it's my most comfortable medium of communication.
it may sound funny, but it's so much easier for me to pour my soul into a couplet then it is for me to answer a question about the same topic.
some poems will be in my head for weeks at a time.
they'll sit and percolate.
change, rearrange, reformat themselves.
delete and undo.
insert and enter.
even when I am sleeping.
I wish I could write down everything created in my head.
a running list of phrases and hooks. synonyms and rhymes.

I don't worry if people don't know what my poems are about.
If they did fully, they'd have no idea how to react.
The only reason I let anyone read the things I write,
is that I want them to feel.
I want images to pop into their heads.
I want them to think of someone who let them down.
I want them to recall a happy memory with a friend long gone.
I want them to feel at peace with the decisions they've made.
I want them to feel.
I think it's the best anyone can do nowadays.
With everything awful going on in the world, all these "emotions" circulate.
Carbon copies of carbon copies of emotions, never the real thing.
Diluted and weak. Almost too far from what they are meant to be.
We have become desensitizied to things that should normally appall us.
So when someone tells me that upon reading one of my poems they feel something, anything, then it's like.. divinity.
When someone tells me my poems are good, I count it as failure.
But when someone tells me they feel remorseful or contemplative or immeasurably excited, oh man.
I've done what I set out to do.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

The Vigil.

The wax stains on the pavement,
are a constant reminder of
how quickly things change.

Peace into havoc.
Beauty into wreckage.
Oblivion into grief.
Love into unforgiveness.
Memories into despair.

As the sirens rang,
and word got around
we learned that June,
just how quickly things change.

Rumors into reality.
Knowledge into disbelief.
Strangers into comrades.
Comrades into strangers.
and tiny white candles, into wax,
that stained the faded pavement,
on that quiet country road.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Actual conversation:

(As I walk in to the kitchen around 8 o'clock I find my mother sitting at the bar on her macbook wearing my dad's new pro-am hat tilted to the side, a hooded sweatshirt, hood on of course, and a white turtleneck underneath.)

Me:What are you doing?
Mom: Yo yo yo! (Throws made up gang signs.)
Me: Mom, you can only look so hard in a turtleneck.
Mom: Whaaaaat? You mean my T-Necky?

You just can't make this stuff up kids.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Sunday mornin' rain is fallin'.

This morning I woke up at four.
Then my dad and I left to the Pebble Beach National Pro-Am.
The parking lot was at an old military base and we had to go through security.
Security consisted of wiry nasally teenage boys in corporate sponsored ponchos.
They proceeded to shove my bag into a tiny wooden box and told me "Ma'am you can't take this. It doesn't fit in the box."
Duh. My umbrella is in there. No normal umbrella will fit in your tiny preposturous wooden box. So I then had to empty out the contents of my bag for all eyes to see and put them in a clear plastic bag.
Then we got on a shuttle with a tour guide who did an interesting rendition of "Straight Down the Middle" by Bing Crosby and an even more interesting rendition of "Singin' in the Rain."
We step off the bus into torrential rain and 30+ mph winds/
Then we walked about half a mile through enough mud to soak the bottom six inches of my khakis.
After asking at least five different "security" guards if they knew where we were supposed to be going, we finally found someone who could point us in the right direction.
So we get to the Hertz skybox.
We had front row seats on the 18th fairway right by the green in a heated trailer.
The tournament was supposed to start at 7:30 and by this time it was 10:30.
They said play was postponed until 11:45.
11:45 came and went.
The weather was just too awful.
Play postponed until 12:45.
Play postponed until 1:45.
Play postponed until 3:45.
No golf.
So we ate lunch in the skybox and left.
After braving the elements again we got back to the shuttle and then back to the car.
To top off my wonderful excursion I now have food poisoning.
Hope you all had a better sunday than I did.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Matt Lauer does not approve.

Tonight was good.
Can't complain one bit.
I was a little hesitant at first about going out with Nathan and Sarah, because 1. I'm so much younger. 2. I felt like I was with Rachel's friends.
But it wasn't weird. The age difference although existent, did not affect the evening. We ate delicious sushi and drank delicious tea. Listened to wonderful music and had the best conversations I've had in a while. We made witty observations about the workers of starbucks, old kool-aid bottles, and we saw Lil' Kim. I was happy. I felt like I wasn't sixteen. I felt like they got me.

I'm convinced that I'm not 16. I don't feel it. I don't look it. I don't act it. How can I be? Physically, sure. I was born 16 years ago. But who I am is not what I am physically. My body is like a casing on a sausage. Ok that's kind of gross.. Like the chocolate on a wonderball. Those things were the best. Ryan told me a while back that I have an old soul. I think he may be right.

On another note, I registered for my classes next year. I'll be a mid-year. December of this year and I'll have my diploma in hand, ready to leave.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Tell me where your spirit has gone.

So I wait.
For the moment when,
the words you speak
begin to correlate
with what you mean.

Like puzzle pieces
laced with handfuls
of broken glass.

You create a mosaic.
a delicate disaster.
our eyes will envy,
but our fingertips are stained
with dried blood.

And in our mind,
our thoughts ripen
like summer pears.
We weigh the outcome.
and the words permeate:
is it worth it?

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Preaching to the choir. (I didn't name it)

There was a sparrow,
who much like Icarus,
flew too close.
But her vice of choice,
was not the sun.

Rather, she flew too close,
to those
whose only wish
was to bring her harm.

Time and time again,
she'd fly too close.
And they'd steal
her tiny speckled feathers.

She liked the thrill,
but the feathers
on her fragile wings,
grew few and far between.

A constant reminder
of the traps she'd set,
it was self-inflicted
and entirely detrimental.

And with the loss,
her beauty faded.
and all that had set her apart
Like her tiny speckled feathers.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Two houses, both alike in dignity.

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene.

Monday, February 2, 2009

There is this tiny piece inside of me.

that needs to die.

not like a tumor or a tapeworm.
rather this personality flaw.
a terrible, awful, despicable piece of me.
it's the one that get's so angry upon just seeing certain people.
not that they're especially ugly or they flip me off or anything.
but it's the people who try to fool other people (or sometimes worse, themselves) into thinking they're someone they're not.
the closet alcoholics, the addicts, the cheaters, and fakes.
Yet countless parents, teachers, and peers are fooled into thinking that they're wonderful people.
and upon seeing them I just want to scream
"They're not who you think they are!"
"They're lying to you!"
"It's all a facade!"

But I can't.

because there is another part, a saving grace, that keeps me from yelling these things.
Sometimes I am thankful for it, other times I wish I could kick it in the kidneys.
I know that if I yelled everything I knew about every one of those people, they would be hurt.
But I also know that those people have hurt so many others along their concealed path of destruction.

The age old struggle of man against himself.
or rather girl against herself.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

I've come to the conclusion.

That the boy I am looking for is this;
He is a boy who is well on his way to becoming a man, yet in the transition he manages to hold near and dear to him the few precious childlike qualities that are too often "outgrown." i.e. child-like faith, appreciation for simple things, uninhibited laughter. and so on. He is able to distance himself from the animosity of things that surround us yet still be aware and well-informed.