Time’s an old friend
Time has come for us,
It’s waiting at the door, ringing the doorbell.
Now it’s let itself in, it’s waiting by the table where we left The keys, in the foyer, at the bottom of the stairs,
As we scream,
“Wait! Wait a minute. Wait just a minute! We’ll be there in five!”
Five minutes pass and we’re still not at bottom of the stairs,
We’re still not at the top, we’re still looking in the mirror.
Time is growing impatient, time is wondering if we’ll ever come down, Will we ever be ready?
Even you—aren’t you a little tired?
Maybe we should call it a night.
Maybe we should tell time to go home, get some rest,
Try again some other time.
My ode to innocence
I feel like I used to know a thing or two, before I learned a thing or two. The blocks and, and games of tag and the pies of jelly and pickles and eggs that my mom used to let me bake, they were something to study. It wasn’t as simple as they make it out to be—simplicity that is. When did I make the switch? When did we? I miss how I never used to wonder, but how I wondered all the time. There was so much mystery, and it’s not like it all went away. We think we know so much and we know so little. I don’t know how this turned into a mourn-the-innocence kind of thing, I don’t remember when I turned into that kind of kid, but we all do it. I start out with a simple thought and then it turns into this long paragraph that becomes much more than it is. A lot of things end up that way: overrated and lacking in value as soon as it begins to be recognized, like those fancy restaurants that don’t allow kids in them.
The time has come for us to show what we are made of.
Have you ever given something your all? Do you know what it feels like to have nothing left to give? The real 100%. The time has come for us to show what we are made of. I haven’t deserved you, but you’re convinced that is a choice I have made. You are right and it’s high time I stop talking and do. Because I do deserve you. I can. I must. Sunday will show, it’s do or die, succeed or fail. This time, it absolutely is black and white, they’re taking no excuses. Don’t give up. Don’t run away. I must try—try my best. Or else what was the point?
I can’t sleep because my thoughts are a mile a minute. My thoughts are a mile a minute, so I can’t sleep.
manic run-ons
I have a tendency to talk a lot even though I recognize that nothing is ever learned by talking but that’s just something I can’t help because I am by nature a very passionate person and I have very strong opinions but I want others to challenge me and mold my point of view and change the way I see the world or at the very least debate with me about it because change is so intrinsic to living and I believe it’s so very important to not only let life change you but to also work to reform and build yourself into the best person you can be. But this all takes practice and work and time and the thing is I want to meet new people and experience new situations and live in different places, sometimes I just get overwhelmingly excited to take life in and to me, learning is at the core of this, discovery and searching for truth and justice and just plain understanding is growth, which is precisely the point, to better ourselves as human beings. And I apologize if I’m sounding pretentious going on about life and humanity when I’m just a 17 year old but these are honestly the things I think about and the aspirations I have—to live and learn and discover the how the be the most authentic version of myself that I can be. And even though I’m ashamed that I talk so much, it’s like I said, I’m just a passionate person, and I don’t want to hold back. Because it doesn’t serve anyone to hold back, and there’s no way a person can grow if the wings of their genuine personality are being restrained.
This is what I look like,
[But is that who I am?
And how do I compare?
And where do we get air?
The smiles on your faces,
Tell me nothing’s new.
This is still the year of
Throw-downs, show-ups, and—
you.
The time is changing,
But then it always was
(that I could not have a name
for something even so done).
Cause we are finished
& I don’t care if we never started.
A face, a name, a person (inside)
The key is not to blink.
That way, you see the ones who look at you
Yes you yes you yes you yes, you…]
But is there more to me than the person I am to other people?
You live in spaces that do not exist.
Water doesn’t just drip down a waterfall,
it drops, thousands of feet, gallons upon gallons
—and you think you can just wait.
A car motor is not the right comparison
(it can be turned off.)
So stop wasting my time—
Stop looking me in the eye—
Stop telling me what I want to hear.
Because once you learn reading, it won’t go away
and I certainly can’t just (stop my engine).
The spot where water lands-
The hole where you place the key-
I’m not a goddamn carburetor.
Label: Feminist
Everyone’s so obsessed with labels. Feminists. Gays. Jocks. Jews. Christians. Democrats. Republicans. Blacks. Whites. I’m not a Feminist, I simply care about equality for all, justice, the truth. It’s simplification, it’s evolution, it’s wrong. When you label people, it brushes them away. Oh they’re Feminists, of course they’d think that, there will always be factions of the population with an unreported point of view. No. That’s discrediting and it’s plainly not okay. Labels have the effect of trivializing opinions, quieting people, and discouraging change.
Underneath your umbrella in the rain at night, you stand and without really going anywhere, you walk in the street, maybe hoping a car will come, maybe not. You walk and you continue to skip every few breaths and it is the irregularity that you crave and are fighting to maintain. What is regular makes you sick and feel much heavier than the rain that pours down around you but not on you, but it’s wet outside and that’s also what you crave.
To feel something different, something new or happening, like a hurricane interrupting a calm and perfect season, there needs to be something to live for, some reason to believe that things won’t go on the way the have forever. I want to be on a plane, I want to be a bird, I just want—to feel new, but an umbrella will only keep you dry for as long as you hold it.
You are born and then you die.
I have two friends with boys in their lives. One is rational and the other isn’t. But that’s what love does to people, isn’t it? Love makes you irrational. See I don’t know, because love can be such a concrete word. When is it real? The passionate, reality altering, I-could-never-live-without-you love, or the keep-it-simple, easy, I-just-want-you-to-be-happy kind? And which will last? I just don’t know. What I do know is that you are born and then you die, and the people you choose to spend the in between with are what really count.
