Story #1 (Personal Investigation)

A middle aged man hunched over the counter. Next to him sat a younger woman whose red dress complemented the blue suit the man who was sitting next to her was wearing. A conversation had silently arisen, and the whiskey was all around. The bartender listened in quietly while staring at the odd man out across from the other two. Nobody knew that the “odd man out” was really someone special. He was someone who investigated crimes of various sorts. He was someone not to be taken lightly. His current investigation had nothing to do with the woman in the red dress, and it also had nothing to do with the man in the blue suit. It had everything to do with himself. That was all my mother could gather from glancing at this one photo in my grandfather’s old photo album. But I knew the rest of the story somehow. The story was told to me by my grandfather when he was still alive. I’m currently seventeen, but at the time I was fifteen. When my grandfather was a child he always assumed that his parents were his biological parents. At age ten, his adoptive parents broke the tragic truth to him that he was actually adopted, and that his biological parents had died when he was a baby. Most parents, who adopt, if they know the child’s history, will spill the beans as to their story. But not my Grandfather’s, they wouldn’t tell him anything regarding his real parents. All my Grandpa knew was that they were dead. For years, he begged his adoptive parents to tell him what they knew, but they wouldn’t. This infuriated him, and so he decided to investigate on his own. My Grandfather finished High School, and then went to college where he became an investigator. The part he picked up on his story was when he was twenty two, newly engaged, and still troubled about what the story of his biological parents was. Sitting down with a diary in his hands, and a pen he began to write out his thoughts. “Should I or should I not research my mystery? Should I or should I not tell my fiancé? Should I or should I not beg my adoptive parents one last time to tell me? Should I continue the search that originated in my heart? I don’t know what would calm my heart? I don’t know what would put a peace to my soul. All I know is that I want peace.” At that moment my grandpa made one out of two decisions that he would make in his story. His first decision was that he was going to use his investigative skills to investigate who his parents were, and that he would investigate in secret, and all by himself. My Grandfather’s best friend was the county sheriff, and nobody else could get the kind of information my Grandfather needed accept the sheriff. There was a house that he had always questioned, and for some reason the house had always struck that “just like home” chord in his soul. His suspicions about his past as a baby started there. This was because the house was burned out. So, he decided to start his questions with the burned out house. As he arrived at the sheriff’s office, my grandfather’s best friend strutted out and said hello. “Hey”, my Grandfather responded. “What can I do for you?” the sheriff asked. My Grandfather explained his mystery, and how he wanted information on the burned out house that made his memory come alive. The sheriff decided to dig through some paperwork he had on the house to try and come up with some sort of information regarding the fire. The information that the sheriff dug up consisted of a biography of the owners, the outline of the construction of the house, and some pictures of the house before it caught fire. The biography of the owners was the most fascinating to my grandfather because it described a family who had a newborn baby right before the fire. The biography read something like this. “There is a family that is fairly new in town. I decided to investigate a little about them, and who they are. I found out that the husband’s name is James Eden, and the wife’s name is Chloe Eden. They both grew up in Anchorage, Alaska. They met when they were both eighteen, and dated for two years. They then decided to get married, and then they moved to Seattle, WA. When they arrived in Spokane they began searching for a castle type home. Even though they knew it wasn’t exactly the way they wanted it, when they found the home that they are living in now they knew that they had found the home they wanted to settle in to. A work in progress, the Eden couple is planning to repaint the house from the green and white trim to a brown and white trim. On the inside there is a lot of work to be done the Eden’s told me. They want to replace the windows with picture windows instead of pained windows. Also, they want to decorate the rooms, especially their newborn baby boy’s room. Blue is what Chloe wants, and so that is probably what they will paint it. The couple’s plan is to redecorate the entire house with candles, furniture, fireplaces, books, and many other comfort items. The things that the Eden’s love to do are golfing, skiing, swimming, reading, playing with their son Jack, helping others, and having family time. The main highlight of their lives is they newborn son. The Eden’s adore him, and he brings much light, and love to the home. They expect that he will turn out to be a very accomplished happy adult. So, if you have a minute, go and make your acquaintance known.”  There were two things that popped out to me about the characteristics of the baby. The baby had blue eyes, and brown hair. I had blue eyes, and brown hair. The baby was also named Jason, and my name was also Jason. There was something about looking at the picture of the baby that made me feel as if I was looking at myself. This also intrigued me. I couldn’t imagine that this was my family. The mother was so beautiful, and the father was such a handsome man. The house was dark green with white trim, and it looked like a fairy tale castle that had been whipped up by the wind. My Grandfather gathered up many questions that he kept on asking himself regarding the information.  “Could this really have been my life? Could I really have been that baby boy? Could my parents really have died in a tragic fire? Is there any way to prove that these are my parents? What am I supposed to do with all this information? Should I go to my adoptive parents, and make it seem like I know for sure they died in a fire, and then examine their facial expressions?” These questions floated around in my Grandfather’s head. He was still pondering when the sheriff wandered back out, and gave my grandfather another item. It was a vile of something red. He then asked what it was, and the sheriff replied that it was a vile of blood that was taken from Mr. Eden before the fire. My grandfather’s first thought was that he could have his DNA tested with DNA from the blood. So that was exactly what he had done. He had the two DNA’s compared. The information he received back was fascinating to him. They were related. The doctors said that the only way that the two types of blood could be related was if the blood that was in the vile belonged to his biological father. All of a sudden, the sheriff yet again came running in, this time with Chloe’s blood. The people that tested the other vile of blood tested this one two but the results were much different. The blood didn’t even relate a little to that of my Grandfather. The doctors concluded that Chloe’s blood showed that she wasn’t my grandfather’s mother, but James blood showed that he was my Grandfather’s father. So, the next question was who was my grandfather’s mother? My grandfather had no more leads on the origin of his mother, and so he decided to let it go.  Dealing with the truth of how his father died was enough at the time. Walking out the doctor’s office he went to a casino across the street that was almost always empty. Today was no exception. My Grandfather began to imagine what the current situation would sound like to random stranger if he were to explain the story in anything less than detailed. It sounded something like this. “A middle aged man is hunched over a counter. Next to him sits a younger woman whose red dress complements the blue suit that the man sitting next to her is wearing. A conversation has silently arisen, and the whiskey is all around. The bartender is listening in quietly while he stares at the odd man out across from the other two. Nobody knows that the “odd man out” is really someone special. He is someone who investigated crimes of various sorts. He is someone not to be taken lightly. The current investigation he was involved with had nothing to do with the woman in the red dress, and it also had nothing to do with the man in the blue suit. It had everything to do with himself.” My Grandfather decided that he needed to talk to his adoptive parents once again about what he had found out. That afternoon after he had left the casino he walked over to his adoptive parents place. His parents place looked very antique. His mother loved the Victorian way of life, and his father loved old fashioned artifacts. The outside of the house was painted yellow with cream trim. On the inside, there was almost always the smell of roses, and tobacco.  As he pushed the doorbell he heard voices. Then his dad opened the door. After the three of them settled into chairs my grandfather told them the information he had found. He told them about the blood, the house, the sheriff, everything that pertained to the situation.  His parents sat there in stunned silence. After a few minutes the silence ended. My grandfather’s father said the following, “Son, I’m not surprised, honestly. Me, and your mother have made a grave mistake. We should’ve told you about your parents when you were old enough to understand but we were scared about what your reaction would be. So we avoided the topic for so long. I realize you must have a lot of resentment in your mind as far as we are concerned. There is a whole lot of the story that you should hear, and my intention is now to tell you. The story that I have been told starts with the people that you found in the biography. To start with, the woman, Chloe Eden, isn’t your birth mother. Your birth mother disappeared right after you were born. Nobody knows her name, who she was, or anything about her. Your birth father, James Eden, wouldn’t tell anyone about her but people suspect that she was someone very close to him. Then, unexpectedly your father got married about three days after your birth. It shocked everyone around because they were figuring that he was still getting over the loss of your birth mother. The person your father married was Chloe, and they had been friends since childhood. They did grow up in Anchorage, Alaska, and when they married they did move to Spokane, WA, just as the report stated. The description of the house is accurate, and nothing is out of the ordinary. Everything was going wonderfully for your parents until Christmas Eve night. They had come home from a party, and you were being babysat by some relatives. That night your father forgot to turn off the space heater which was directly by the drapes. The drapes caught fire, and pretty soon the house was all in a blaze. The next door neighbors saw the fire, and called the fire department. The fire department came running; they dashed into the house, and were able to rescue you. But your parents were a goner. There was no hope for them whatsoever. And that son is the story. You are indeed an orphan.” It was then my grandfather’s turn to sit stunned. The story sounded different all put together. The story was still a shock but after a few nights my grandfather reached the best sleep he’d had in a long time. There was peace in his mind and heart. About a week after he had found all of the information and had time to process he picked up his diary again and wrote an entry about his feelings. “I have found out some very interesting facts. My real mom will never be known, and my birth father is no more. There was a fire in which my father passed away in. My step mother also passed away. I was the only survivor of the fire which is shocking. I wonder why I was the only one who survived. Maybe it was because God knew I’d meet my fiancé. Maybe it was because God knew that I needed to experience life and that my parents would want me to be able to feel what it was like to breathe until I reached ninety. I wish that I could have met them and talked with them but I know now that I won’t be able to do that. It makes me sad. I’m also angry at my adoptive parents. I wish they had told me the true story about my history before I had to investigate myself. There is much I wish I could ask them but I have no idea if they would tell me or not. They have kept so much hidden from me for so long that I don’t know if I trust them to tell me if something happens or not. I’m very angry. They hid a part of me from me that I deserved to know. I know that I can forgive them in time but that will definitely be in time. I realize that they were just doing what they thought was the best for me but I wish they had just taken a leap of faith, and just spit out what they knew before now. Well, anyways, enough of this complaining. I’m getting married; I have a wonderful job that I love which I know most people can’t say. It’s summer time, with the sun shining far beyond my reach, and there is nothing more that I need.” After my Grandfather told me this journal entry he got up from the rocker where he was sitting and left to go to bed with me pondering everything he had just told me. I remember that night oh so well. After I drifted out of my imaginary world of the story my Grandfather told me I knew that I needed to tell the rest of the story to my mom. After I told her she sat down to think. “You know, now that I think about it, I can almost remember him telling me that story too. I just never thought of it to relate to that photo in that photo album. I can almost remember sitting down by his feet near the fire, and relishing the looks he would have as he told me about the fire. He always had the cutest grimace. Even though I’m sorry that this was his story I’m glad that he had a story. It taught me that I should be thankful that my parents are still alive and breathing. There is much to be said concerning that topic.” All I could think was that my Grandfather had experienced the pain of not knowing his real parents. I was so thankful that I had gotten the chance to get to live my life with my parents by my side every step of the way. I thanked God, or whatever power was out there that I had been blessed so richly. Even though I and my parents fought ever so often I realized that it was ok because at least I had parents to fight with. At least I didn’t have to deal with pain every night that my children to come would never know their grandparents. It was a peaceful feeling that consumed me as I continued the day.  That night, I and my mother told the rest of my family the story that would forever go down in our family history, never to be forgotten again.  

Short Story #2 (An Eye for an Eye Makes the Whole World Blind)

My name is Jergen Knotts. There’s a fascinating, gory, and thought provoking story I wish to convey to any who choose to read. It starts with the fight of WW1. I was the head leader, and on the day of battle I told my minions what our motto would be. “An Eye for an Eye,” is what I said. My darling wife Sarah, before battle, conveyed to me that she was concerned for my motto, and that if we lost she would yell out her window, that overlooked the scene, why. I hugged her, and went on my way. As the war started we did exceptionally well. Then as we neared midpoint something went wrong, and all failed. Our enemy started to gouge out the eyes of my men, and then in turn and remembrance of our motto they did the same. At last every single one of my men, and the opposing sides men lay on the ground, blind as a bat, and as hurt as hurt could be. My heart ached with pain as I heard my dear wife Sarah yell out, “My dear husband. Remember this. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” 

Short Story #1 (It Happened At Home)

 I remember it to be a cloudy day. There was a chill in the air as I remembered the past month that was made up of fights, and me comforting my twin brother, James. I, my brother James, and my mom all lived very unhappily together. My father had passed away two previous years before, and life had been one big fight ever since.  Now, what really stuck out to me was the night before the present. The previous night my mom and brother had the most heated argument that I had ever heard in my life. James had stumbled into my room so red that I thought he might burst, literally. He ranted to me for at least fifteen min. before giving out his last puff of air.  His final words to me before he went to bed were, “I want to kill Mom”. I went to bed pondering his words. My brother had always been a man of his word. But would he actually carry out his want? I wasn’t sure but when I got to school the next day I couldn’t help but worry when I couldn’t find James at lunch. There wasn’t much that I could do except drink my coffee, and sit on one of the school chair’s. The signs that directed students to the food quart didn’t even appeal to me, and the people wearing Goths that wore black clothes had always frightened me. So, I just sat there. At the end of the day I spotted James at our bus stop and ran towards him. “What’s wrong?” he asked. I said that I hadn’t seen him all day, and had started to worry about him. He said nothing back which I thought was weird. When we got home I noticed that morning chill again. There was something wrong. My feeling was confirmed the moment I noticed a lifeless hand lying on the floor. The body, I hoped, was to be found behind the kitchen island, and luckily it was. A part of me wished that the body hadn’t been there because what I saw next deprived me of taking a breath. My mother was lying all in red, and there was a knife wound through the center of her corpse. “James, come here!” I wailed. He came running, and acted just as shocked as I was. As I looked around I noticed that there was a bloody knife stretched across two chairs that were pushed into the island. We called the police, and they began the investigation procedure but I wanted to do something myself. I decided to check around my neighborhood starting with the house that was next door to me. On the outside of the house hung paper airplanes that twirled around whenever the wind blew in their direction. I’d always wondered if the man inside the house worked with airplanes, and if he had free tickets to airplane showings. Ever since I could remember I’d always wondered the strangest things. I grabbed the silver knocker, and banged it against the silver plating. An older looking gentleman peeked out, and gazed down at me. I took a deep breath and started in on my speech that was made up on the spot. “I’m sorry to disturb you mister but I have a very important matter to ask you about. You see, I came home from school today with my brother to find my mother dead in our kitchen. Did you by any chance notice anything out of the ordinary today around my place?” Next thing I knew I was sitting down in the older gentleman’s living room, and he was telling me the hard core facts. Somehow I knew the truth would come out from his lips the minute I knocked on the door. He proceeded to tell me that he had seen the scene all go down. My mother had been standing at the kitchen counter. My brother had stalked into the kitchen, had grabbed a knife, and while staring at my mother’s stunned eyes had stabbed her straight through her heart. With tears in my eyes I asked how the knife had turned up where I had found it. He said that my brother had fetched the suitcase that was lying on the counter and had stuck it in there for a brief moment before taking it out again, and laying it across the two chairs. I sat there in stunned silence, not quite sure what to say regarding the information I had just learned. So, I thanked my neighbor, and went straight to the police. I told them what my neighbor had said, and they said that they had examined the knife where they  found my brother’s fingerprints. They said that my brother would be tried for murder, and would probably spend his life in prison. I ran into my bedroom, and this is where you have found me writing. I couldn’t tell you anything else except for one thing. I want to avenge my mother’s death someway, somehow. I know what will happen to me. I will inherit the rest of the money my father left behind, and with that money I am going to go to college to become a real homicide detective. By the way, my name is Chloe Elizabeth Eden.     

Father

Dear Father,
Merry Christmas,
I'm alive & well.
My cup is running over.

I'm sitting here eating dinner with both sets of parents.
Inside I'm actually happy, no lie, no joke here.
There's snow outside, it represents the purity of our Lord.
I see the blue christmas lights, as they light up homes.

How is your Christmas Eve going?
You seem happy.
You seem content.
But how is your soul really?

I just want to barge in a little.
I just want to admit to something.
Something I fear not of.
Here are my confessions.

I miss you.
I care for you.
I wish I could hug you daily.
I cry sometimes because your not in a room across from me.
I'm happy, but I still remember you in my dreams.
I hope that life is happy all in itself for you this year.
All in all, I love you.
That is all that matters right now.

Sleep well tonight Father knowing that I'll be sleeping.
But sleeping for me means literally, not with fishes or flowers.
I swear, I promise, that will be the last time I truly scare you.
So sleep sound tonight Father.
Knowing that we are both well in spirit and soul.

Merry Christmas.

To Tell or Not To Tell

Want to go to dinner with me?
As a date?
Just for fun.
Are you sure?
Yes, I would like some time to be able to talk with you.
Well, what about?
Just...stuff.
A bit more specific would be nice.
Do you want my big answer, or my small answer?
How about big.
Ok. Long is that you'll have to wait till dinner.
Great! What's the short version?
The short version is one word.
And?
Wait.
Those answers give me a lot of clues.
That's the point.
Now that you've got me curious, I'm going to have to go.
I'm glad.
Just, can you promise me something?
What?
Can you promise me that in 10 sec. you'll tell me something you want to talk to me about?
Well...
Well?
Do you want to hear the long answer or the short answer again?
Seriously?
Yes, seriously.


*The underlined sections are what the second speaker says.
The non-underlined sections that are in italics are what the first speaker says.

Allyson

 I can't help but notice her smile.
The one that lights up my frown.
Most days I can't bring myself to listen to her advice.
Though I know it's the best I'll ever hear.


She knows the story of my life.
And she hears my cries for help.
I can't believe she's still here supporting my life song.
I wish I could be there more.


There is this girl that flutters her eyelashes like the wind.
Every tear that falls from her face is replaced with a million smiles later.
I'm sad I missed her elementary school years.
He strength would have gotten me laughing through.


I love how sentimental she is able to be.
She pulls me onto the front of the roller coaster.
Then brings my hands up as we embrace the ups and downs.
With her words I look to her for more.


This one girl in my life is always there.
She's been there through every thunderstorm and every sunrise.
I never need to fear.
After the sourness, she'll be the sweetness in my soul.


I've never written for this girl.
But this is my new piece of work to express.
I hope that when she reads this she'll let me in more.
I hope that when we knit sweaters later in life.


I pray that this girl and I are found side by side.
When we are 80+ and old and gray, I have a silent wish.
Our children will walk in on us watching a movie from the night before.
Our eyes will be closed, and we'll be dancing to Taylor Swift in heaven.


I have this vision.
Me, and my soul sister are sitting on a cloud.
Watching our children, and great grandchildren laughing and playing.
We'll hold our childhood pets, and praise God that we lived that rollercoaster rider dream.


Allyson, and Kellie.
Peanut Butter, and Jelly.
Honey, and Lemons.
Mosey, and Gracie.
Roller coaster, and roller coaster seat.
I love you, and I love you too.

Christmas Tree

It was a while until Christmas
There was a jolly spirit traveling around.
It traveled through me, my Mom, Dad, and sister.
The smell of pine covered the crunching snow.


The only thought other than joy was pain.
My meth self-inflicted  brother was missing.
Our hearts had always been each others.
But I decided to focus on this one tree.


As me, and my family trudged through the snow,
I watched my breath make funny shapes in the air.
There were trees all around.
But none was the one.


Then, there it was.
The tree that was to sit as the honored guest in our living room.
I snatched up my father's hardwood ax.
As I swung, wood chips flew every which way.


Swinging the body of the tree behind my back I felt pain.
My finger decided it could stand it though.
Later a sliver was found.
Later the pain ceased.


As we all got back to the truck I felt lightheaded.
My Mom set me between her, and my Dad.
She gave me a cup.
With hot chocolate in hand, my mind calmed.

Just Sitting Here...

Listening to hypocrisy.
There is nothing more I need to say here.
Seeing the pain that makes me sad.
There are no more tears I have left to shed.
I play the tough role of a grown up teen.
Even though I don't have to.
It's my habit.


There are dead butterfly's in my stomach.
Never to be reborn again.
With every event I realize it's not going to work.
I keep fooling myself.
I really need to let go for my own heart's sake.
But tearing away from my best friend may crush me.


Is there anything left for me to try?
Can I try and hold your hand in mine?
Not if I let go.
I honestly am clueless as what my next action should be.
I can't do anything.
Can I?


Life is a challenge.
But that is the fun of the heartache.
I'll fight for your love, from a distance.
When it happens it will happen.
Until then I will stand in this light you leave, and pray for the strength to stand on my own.
I love you,
Even if you don't love me.
Sleep well love.

Shining Light

My imagination just wants to run.
The structure of my mind closes my eyes.
Looking past the eternal blackness,
I see something shining.
Maybe a face?
Maybe a figure?
All I know is that I'm scared.
Scared of this shining light,
fading. Fading into darkness.
Maybe my mind's action will aid.
This shining light holds my soul.
I wish my mind not to aid.
The soul that shines speaks words.
Words of love, comfort, and strength.
Sunrise pulls me, and my comforter together.
We lay down, and wait for nothing.
Shining light begs me to let go of my mind.
So I let it run.

Bathroom Light

There is a light coming out of my bathroom.
The generator of the light fizzes and pops.
But the gleam that reflects hits me in the dark.
I'm doing something I really shouldn't.
Something that takes away pain, and causes fear. 
I see years of colored hurt on the floor.
Something happens with each slice.
I hear a footstep intended for my ears.
A relation of mine stalks into my bubble.
Grabbing my pain reliever she dims the bathroom light.
Leaves me there to bleed out.
I fall on the floor into the middle of the light.
There is peace exuding from my face as I realize I'm alone, again.
Yes, that piece of metal is gone but a light from my bathroom burns through me.
My eyes flutter as I enjoy a vision of a person I love.
One whose light fills me even though she's not here.
I hear a brief tap on the bathroom window. 
The bathroom light blinds the knocker.
Prying myself off from the ground, I reach up to the latch.
An open window gushes in a flood of cold ice, but brings in an angel of comfort.
The arms that wrap around me are warm, and add to the bathroom light.
Brown wavy hair falls around me.
Hands that carry a ring with a rose, and another ring with diamonds around it hold me tightly.
Yet again, I hear a footstep intended for my ears.
That relation steps on my bubble.
That relation tears me away from my angel with the rings.
She slaps the scars all around, and punches out the pungent smell of blood.
As the angel of mercy reaches me, she carries me up, and away as I fly with her to heaven.
The bathroom light drains out. 

An Earliest Memory

Visit, a word my brother gave when he got home from the navy.
Woke, a word that describes what I did on this one morning.
Got a few hours of unexciting sleep last night.
Wandering into the kitchen to see a voice.
Sitting on a stool, was my brother.
Talking about the weather, he was.
Hung up about what to eat for breakfast. 
Ran, the thing I did when he called my name.
Jumped, the next thing I did when he said, "hey honey."
Snuck a bite of his breakfast that our mom didn't want me to taste.
Went downstairs to enjoy some time.
Watched a princess movie.
Cuddled to death, I fell asleep.

Painting A Picture

Painting a picture in my head.
Down with me, I drag a flashlight, and some literature.
Snuggling under the covers of my bed,
painting a picture.


As I read, I drift off to a place that cannot be said.
I envision a universe where everything is made of texture.
There are bunnies jumping out of trees that are dead.


I met a man who's spirit was mature.
He piled love and, all else he had at my head.
I decided to accept his love, and nurture.
Painting a picture.

My Soul's Biggest Regret

Now out embracing the streets, him I could not save
There is one memory I won't forget
When you live free, you die hard, don't look back
Applied to my brother, this line is said

There is one memory I won't forget
Another mother had another son
Applied to my brother, this line is said
This son had to hover for sanities sake

Deeply stabbed, my brother fell to his doom
There is one memory I won't forget
Darkness filled his soul, hatred consumed him
Applied to my brother, this line is said

There is one memory I won't forget
A curse fell over him, a curse of pain
Applied to my brother, this line is said
His loving gruff face I took in my hands

Clinging sad scared hands held onto my arms
This is one memory I won't forget
Tears of pain and personal regret flowed
Applied to my brother, this line is said

There is one memory I won't forget
Watching a neglected man walk away
Applied to my brother, this line is said
Leaving his footprint on people's hearts

People walked all over and away from this man
This is one memory I won't forget
He finally got sick and jumped away
Applied to my brother this line is said

There is one memory I won't forget
A brother embraced a small young girl
Applied to my brother, this line is said
Now out embracing the streets, him I could not save

Be That Person...

Be that person.
Be that joy.
Be that eternal ray of unique.
Be that blessing, and cursing.
Be that sweet, and sour influence.
Be that salty piece of candy.
Be that person to take on too much.
Be that person that will then be willing to drop, and admit.
Be that dark shadow.
Be that person who does, and does not care.
Be that oxymoron.
Be who your genes say.
Be that.

To Be Means...

To be, means to observe.
To be, means using your eyes.
To be, means feeling.
To be, means not living a lie.
To be, means giving all you've got to every breath you see.
To be, means seeing a little more than most.
To be, means hearing the silent sounds.
To be, means opening your heart, and mind, safely.
To be, means always pursing tomorrow's hardships, and joys.
To be, means that while pursing, you make the most of what you find.
To be, means to breath.

Blackout

That potential sign
Upon the final attack.
Un-identified,
repeated pain.
Stabbing is the feeling.
It's like playing a violent video game,
on a Friday night.
The game where puncturing a lung,
means extra brownie points.
At the end of the reality, when you
end up in your grave in a marble cemetery,
you wish you could go back to fix your broken timeline.
Remnants of your clothing are still left laying in your room.
These last few weeks, do you wish now you had cooperated with the joystick.

Rain Vision

Droplets are driven on the beauty of a bird's wings.
Wet makes your makeup run, and your hair freeze,
driven by a greater power's invisible hand.
At some point, rain has become everywhere.
Then, suddenly it blows back up to heaven.

Noun

Broken
A smashed clingy heart dropped
Red, black, and colored blue

Remembrance

When I remember
I think of your eyes
Those brown but sometimes blue pupils
I think of your hands drawing in the art-room
The figure of a face arising from the pencil
I think of a feeling in my heart
A feeling of peace, a peace that tells me to let go of control
I remember you saying that you'd never leave me to be alone
There's the memory of me running in the rain
I always used to slip.
Now I'm no longer,
alone in the rain.

Earliest Memory

Gracefully
Walking down the hallway
Then, running, and crying into my brother's navy named arms.
We stood in the hallway.


Nothing around but warmth, and safety. 

Inside Self

Looking, laughing, living
The college student
Lived 
In her mind

Lost

Living, breathing, dying
The widow
Prayerfully
Cried
In The Graveyard

Loving You

I can't touch you nor give you anything.
But, I want you to know something.
Maybe it'll mean more considering it's not based on touch.
I want to say a simple, "I love you."
It doesn't seem like everything in my heart though.
But maybe my love can travel through to you.
Then you would feel my deep love for you.
Remember though that verbally speaking,
though I'd love to hug you and give you a gift,
all I will say is, "I love you."

Above is Unknown

We have no specific word for what is above us outside.
When I look up I see a,
well, I'm not sure of what I see.
Maybe it's a color babies would wear.
Something that looks like a cotton ball at times.
Maybe there's a color that has an unknown name I could use.
Since it's unknown, maybe I could say that there is deepness.
A deepness of a sometimes pale but dark color.
The white expanse of puffiness, just dying to be poked,
but too far up to be prodded.
Let's leave the unknown in the sky unknown.
Imagine each his own.

License Plate Poetry

Every day is fresh, with no bumps yet
Kindly letting spring start
Zippy descripes your behavior with ease
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Got to
Got to keep silent
And all my memories will arise
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Any and every moment is subject to unreversable changing moments
Do what makes memories
You are the creator of your future
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Eagerly awaiting the new day with open warmth-covered arms
Gaining control of what's ahead
And a sunset
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Digging in dirt causes the crystals to soften and fall
Quiet
Quickness
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Carry me into my happy, quiet, beautiful, place of peace
Love me until your heart fails.
Follow me.
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Can you see?
That my heart is yours?
Yes, you can't see.
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Can my heart fade?
Make it fade so I don't have to
And then make me your heart.
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Fantisize
Dirt roads blowing
Zoo animals parade
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Being aware of what's worthy of attention
Does this:
Does the job of assorting life's little problems
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Just keepin' up with life
Making stuff of the challenges that are thrown hard
Kindness
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Any time a leaf dops
God grows the remembered replacement
Justify
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Can you hear the sound of the guitar?
Blow on the strings and a sound beautifully combines
Can't hear that?
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The sky:snow filled
Buttermilk pancakes:rich creamy coated delicious filled
Zoo's:kind loving mothers:business filled
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Open hearted heart throb
Heart, respond with the band-aid of some unrequited love
Let this love of a heart die 
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Notice gazes of that boy on that tear stricken girl
Each wanted another
But too afraid to comfort the other's heart
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Every tear that falls turns into smiles
Vastly
Never stop falling tears
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Kindness becomes appreciated
Right when someone's pride fades, and it's given
Zealously fades in and out
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One lie
An untruthful statement ruins the trust of another being
Never stopped
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One that day, on that hour, on that timed minute
Xeric seconds
The end approaches
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Xanadu
Yes
Zaria
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*Note: The very last poem is very weird but it's supposed to be about how a trading country (Zaria) is "Yes" a very dry place (Xandau)... To be honest, I'm not sure it is. 

Imagine This

Imagine a magical universe
Where sleep brushes you in
Dreams rein in your mind
Where once you've awoken
You'll never go back
A dream you'll imagine as much as your first kiss


Imagine a butterfly kiss
The strands of an eyelash finding your cheek
Could be hard, could be soft, depending on the mascara
Whatever the texture, the sentiment is the value


Imagine your grandma's kitchen
Your favorite scents
Sticky gooey oatmeal with sugar coated oats
Melt in your mouth milk and remembered raisons
Soft shaped cheesy salty buttery goodness in a noodle shape
Can't you just taste the chocolaty chip running through that cookie


Imagine laying in a hammock and what you'd see
Clouds on either side of you eyes
Not an end in sight 
The feel of the material you're laying on makes you think
Are those clouds made of soft cotton?
Are those stars made of hard diamonds?


Imagine your life's journeys
How they could have been different and still led up to now
Could they have changed today's outcome
Remember the coffee spilling on your shirt and the feeling
Remember the day your dog died and how peaceful he looked
There is so much to visualize.


Imagine. 

Written Fear

A pounding in your chest
Remember that sickening thump
A butterfly biting your stomach
The pinching out of whatever  you just ate
A hot piece of coal
Making sure your feet never truly hit the floor
A touch of a spark spat in your eye
Hoping you are made to close you lid, blind to the enemy
A feeling in your heart
That something is beyond wrong

Have I Told You?

Have I told you lately
How much I love you?
The way the snow sparkles in your eyes
Autumn leaves dancing behind your hair
Rocks crunching underneath your tennis shoes


Have I told you lately
How much I adore you?
Your understanding heart,
The humbleness in your soul
The hardness of your mind.


Have I told you lately
How much my heart hurts for you?
To see your inside outside sadness
Your a teen mom in a matter of speaking
You care and babysit your brothers
While your mom and step-day work away
You play your part well, but I'd love to change your life


Have I told you lately
How much I can feel your soul?
The way empathy consumes my heart?
My heart breaks when yours aches
There is this invisible string that runs deep
Am I going too far?


Have I told you lately 
How much you surprise me?
When I let something out of my mind, you already knew
It's as if you get my mind. 


Have I told you that I'm beyond glad that your happy
As I've told you before, as long as your happy, I am too
Stay true to the girl I met not long ago
The girl that is one of the few that strengthens me
Thank you for doing that.


Have I told you before
That I know you'll never leave
After much writing and talking and convincing, I believe
Doubt doesn't consume me, which really did take a weight off
I appreciate your daily reassurance 
It's something I need


Have I told you lately
That I'll always be here?
How much you mean to me?
I know that this is a big guess, and I'm not afraid to infer
But I never need to tell you, you know already.

No Words Except These

I'm not sure what to write about, mind block
But then again, my heart is full of words
That's what writing is, words beyond our mind
Words that dig into the depths of our soul
People write about present, past, and future
Memories that have never been undug
Buried deep in dust, struggling to come out
Memories that often lead to realizations 
That lead us to decisions that change us
Decisions that can be good and bad or,
they can be mind boggling, better for your life
Writing lifts weight from off of the shoulders
De-stresses, decompresses, gives us hope
In the end, one word can halt everything
Looking back, it's all because of writing.

Where I'm From

I'm from the heartless of homes
from broken homes and hearts
I'm from a mother's never ended prayers
from sacrificed money
(Begging wife, 
a "give-in" father)
I am from a bible's gift of mercy
from many a prayer, many an urge
I'm from a song, lyrics played in my head
from that long lost broken record


I'm from fake and real
from real emotions and fake tears
I'm from my grandma's broken heart
out of a failed marriage and a cheater's life
I'm from soft cats and tamed puppies
soft but sweet, and tamed but protective
I'm from cold beds and stabbed out souls


I'm from deep and personal
an ability to share out and in, back and forth
I'm from a drug addict of a brother's arms
from a street smart trained sibling
from alone with cold snow
to surrounded with warm rays of sun


I'm from reality.