Monday, November 29, 2010

The Liar's Heart: A Poem

The liar does not touch his heart or chest,
Only unnecessary movements
As he talks about the love he lost,
So long ago
That he no longer cares for.

The liar does not look directly into her eyes,
Only looks away
At the cemented sidewalk
As he says that he loves her.

The liar does not say you, I, or we,
He leaves out all the important things,
Like the idea of being together,
He was only focused on the loss of another.

The liar says that he still loves,
Then why does he frown
Or have a delayed smile
Whenever he speaks those words to her?

The liar speaks almost too naturally,
Does not like silence or pauses
And things that cause tension
As he beings to sweat,
Begins to think,
About the one he lost again.

The liar has a lover, who is a lie detector,
Much like a polygraph
She knew that when he laughed he didn’t really laugh,
But on the inside was sad,
So she wanted to fix what was inside,
Wanted to fix that broken gear in his mind
But the broken gears were just not there
The cracks were everywhere.

The liar was a broken man,
The woman he lost before
Could never be replaced
So the lover of the liar walked away
And the man, at first, felt nothing
Until the footsteps grew in the distance,
Echoed off those same cemented sidewalks he stared at all day,
One broken gear in his heart began to turn, began to move,
He called to her that it was too soon,
But she couldn’t hear him from so far away,
And then the liar’s knees gave way.

He hit the ground
And heard the loudest sound
Now in his ears,
A beating heart
For the one he just lost,
The liar curled up into a ball,
On the floor,
Not being able to handle lost love anymore.
He was always focused on the one before
Rather than the one now
So he understood,
Why his heart began to tick
The way it did,
He never paid attention
Since his own heart was lying to him
But now it was finally telling the truth
And he didn’t know what to do,
Now, he loved that girl, the one he just lost, and no longer the one before,
As he was on the floor,
He sat and contemplated,
When a hand descended,
Another girl was there,
And the liar just smiled.  

Saturday, November 27, 2010

The Samurai Still Walks: A Poem

A samurai walks across the land,
Holding the hilt of his sword in one hand,
Crosses the fields of wheat
With wooden sandals on his feet,
Pushing through the dirt,
Through the rain and the mud,
There is silence in his mind,
Peace and quiet,
Even when the rest of the world is full of sounds,
The clashing of swords on battlegrounds,
Trying to beat the enemy with a single strike,
The sounds of grunts as people fight,
Drops of water beat their heads,
Until one of them drops dead.

Village through village,
He passes.
From town to town,
He hides
Underneath that straw hat that he made.

As the wind continues to blow,
As he continues to travel,
He feels himself getting old,
The sword in his hands
About to break
Every time he swings
At an enemy.
He had one last job to do,
Assassinate a woman of unparalleled beauty
But he couldn’t even withstand her
When he saw the fear in her eyes
When he attacked her in the dark by surprise,
He saw his fate at that moment
And fell to the floor
For forgiveness.

She could not forgive
For she knew all that he did,
He knew that he killed for money,
Probably killed for fun,
So she decided to end it all,
And so he did what he had to do
And did what no other man could,
He took his sword to save his own honor
And stabbed his stomach.
Suicide was the only way—
To get her
To forgive him.

The samurai
One single tear
In front of the woman he was about to murder
And she cried for him too,
Wishing he was never a samurai to begin with,
Wishing that no one was able to take away lives,
And as the blood slowly dripped to the floor,
The samurai quickly attacked the woman
For he wanted to finish the thing that he had begun,
Since assassination was his job,
And made her fall to the same ground,
Her face more surprised than his,
Together they bleed until Death comes their way
To take them both away,
But they go on separate paths ,
One to heaven and the other to hell.
The samurai still walks through this world and others as well.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

A Mental Snack (40)

Share your thoughts...

"If you want your life to be a magnificent story, then begin by realizing that you are the author and every day you have the opportunity to write a new page." ~ Mark Houlahan

What would you compare your life to? And since it's Thanksgiving weekend, what are you thankful for and why?

Monday, November 22, 2010

The Hero: A Poem

Burden after burden,
Piled on his shoulders,
No plan, no order,
And only chaos
is lost in his mind.

Ticks by slowly
Runs like a monster
Trying to chase him,
And people tell him their problems,
Their stories
Of heartbreak
 And love,
The lost
And found,
The death
And rebirth,
All the voices
And sounds,
And everything he heard
He took from them,
The storytellers.

He took their heartache away,
He took their pain,
Their insanity,
Their lies,
Their truths,
Their secrets,
All of it
Stolen away,
Put into the pocket that was his mind,
Made it his own,
Helped others,
But they did not grow,
They became his experiences
Because of the advice he would give,
He didn’t let them think it through,
They only did what he said.

He was trying to be a hero,
By taking their burdens away from them,
But sometimes the world needs someone different,
There are others in this world that needed to stand up,
So he fell to the ground to be human just for a moment,
And let the others live their own lives,
And they did,
So there he sits
On that park bench,
No longer giving advice,
No longer taking things and making their stories his own,
Still sitting all alone,
He watches the birds quietly on the bench of stone,
And listens to the stories but doesn’t reiterate anything.

“The park is a nice place to be.
Quiet and peaceful,” he said
As he looked up at the sky,
Searching for the heroes that he did not create,
But that he let grow by themselves instead. 

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Everyone's Puppet: A Poem

Peers try to change
What you do, think and say,
How you view the world,
And make you go astray, 
Feel the influences,
Feel the consequences,
Make you move the way you probably want to go,
Doubting every step you take, 
You never know,
Never sure,
Never know what to do
Until you’re pushed.

Breathing deeply,
Still taking one step at a time,
Pushed from behind,
Rushed from behind the scenes,
Pretend like nothing is happening,
Can’t see where you’re going,
No lights up ahead,
“It’s all going to be okay,”
Is what they all said,
Until you crashed,
Fell in between the cracks,
Could no longer breathe,
Could no longer move or see,
Everything was a false reality,
Illusion of the mind,
Fantasies come alive,
It was all so enticing,
But then you crashed and wanted to repeat the cycle all over again,
Don’t want to feel the pain, the hurt, the loneliness,
Want to be happy with all your friends,
First you got to smoke,
Then you got to drink,
Act like what they think was cool,
But you know you’re a fool,
‘cause that’s not the real you.

You were an individual,
A person, a normal human being,
Who can think
Without being told what to do,
You had control,
You knew where to go,
But you wanted to be just like them
So, in the end,
You probably deserve to be where you are now,
On the ground,
Still breathing,
But getting slower,
Almost gone,
Losing all focus and thought,
Can’t concentrate,
Too many things on your mind,
Drawing blanks,
Drooling like a dog,
Beginning to pass out,
As the sirens shouted and waned,
Should have never cross-fade,
Shouldn’t have done a lot of things,
Shouldn’t have let people pull your strings,
Shouldn't have let them push you around, 
Push your buttons,
And changed who you really are,
You’ve strayed too far
From your original path
What happened to that?
Silence and no answer was heard, 
Breathing harder and harder
until everything just became--
a white blur.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

A Mental Snack (39)

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"The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life." ~ William Faulkner

What is your definition of an artist? Are they the ones who create out of nothingness? Are they the ones that capture life onto a page? Does art have to be on a page or can it be on something else, like a living being? Are there boundaries to art? Is making art a talent or a skill one can learn? 

Monday, November 15, 2010

She's Still There: A Poem

This thing,
That we had,
Was it love?
Between me and her,
Her and I,
Was just a thing.
Nothing more, nothing less,
Maybe more of the less,
I got to say,
Since it went the wrong way,
I rushed,
She followed and was confused,
All the mental abuse,
Calling names,
Back and forth,
Echoed off the walls of my ears,
Got to get into a relationship fast,
Because that’s what all our peers had.

Walk away,
Yet again,
Turn the memories into dust,
She never existed,
She never was,
Even though I see her all the time,
Afterimages of the mind,
Repressed but coming back out,
Trying to drown out all those thoughts,
Those damn memories,
Both the good and the bad,
Oh! All the things we used to have.
What happened
To us?
To what we had?
Was it love or something else?
All those feelings,
Drawing hearts and eating chocolate candies,
Sweet lips,
All these tastes, smells, and sights return
From a place that was supposed to remain locked forever!
Under lock and key,
But they escape every once and again
And remind me of her.

If it really was nothing,
If it really was just a fling,
Then why do I keep caring?
Why do I keep fake smiling?
Why can’t I feel anymore?
Why is my heart so sore?

Damnit all,
Why is it so hard?
Investing so much and forgetting the one you used to love,
I still feel her touch
Even right now
Running down my neck
As I speak,
I can’t think about it anymore,
Got to get it out of my head
Go to find a new love
And so I did.

I found a new love,
Even though the old one still remains,
In the back of my mind,
It keeps me busy though
And, I don’t think about it as much,
Guess that’s just my luck.
You know what?
Relationships, if you want to know my opinion,
Just suck.”

Saturday, November 13, 2010

The Weight of the World

I don’t understand how they do it, how video game characters or characters in books can travel from world to world without feeling anything of what they left behind in another. I’m traveling in between two worlds myself right now. My home in Los Angeles and my home in Irvine. Both of which I’m sometimes stuck in.

When I came home this weekend to LA, I felt no feeling of going back to Irvine anytime soon like I usually do, because I’ve been going through some tough times. In Irvine, I’ve been through disputes, midterms, mountains of homework, talks with friends, laughter and tears, partying, sleep deprivation, sleep talking, and so much more. I couldn’t handle the weight of it all, so I decided to come back home and recharge. I came back home to be safe.

Here in LA, I’m reminded of all the things I’ve left behind for the new world in Irvine. A family, my best friends, a comfortable shower, family dinners, and knowing the area where I grew up in, but it wasn’t all roses and sunshine here either. There were fights between friends, family problems, issues with money, education, career goals, and some of the same things I had in Irvine. I had two worlds that had things that were equally bad and equally good in them.
Where was the middle ground? Where could I be safe from all these things and not feel the weight of the world on my shoulders? Where I could put myself up in a little ball and just forget about everything? How could they—anyone— handle any of that pressure?
Then, I knew. They were heroes. They had nothing to lose, because the most important thing to them had already been lost or taken away. That is why they travel. That is why they move in between worlds without any regret. They have a set goal in mind. Then, what was my goal? How could I keep from going insane?
I’ve realized that I’m no video game character, that I’m no hero, and that I have to face these things head-on every day of my life for the rest of my life, but I just got to keep on walking. What was my reason for moving into another world, the world known as Irvine? It was to become a better writer and take my skills and what little I knew about writing and make a name in the writing world by starting somewhere. If high school was level one of the game, then college is level two. Only a few hundred more levels to go. As long as I keep fighting, as long as I know my true goal, then I will keep myself sane through all the madness in between jumping through these worlds back and forth.
All the pressures that come with moving away from home and into college have hit me, one way or another. There are probably still more that are going to come my way, but I’m sure I’ll survive them in the end. If life was full of success, then what would be the point of living? I’ve realized that I’ve been knocked to the ground by a lot of things in these worlds, but now all I have to do is one thing: get up. 

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

A Mental Snack (38)

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"Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules, and they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them; disagree with them; glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see  genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do." ~ Advertisement for Apple Computer,  adapted from the writings of Jack Kerouac

What's something you know you do differently than other people? How do you define creativity? Are you ever embarrassed or uncomfortable with showing your creativity, your art, your writing, your work, to anyone?

Monday, November 8, 2010

Reflections at the Top of the World: A Poem

(Raw, unedited poetry from my Idea Binder that was written a year ago)

The drive was long,
The wind whispered its song
In my ears
And I felt the urge to scream
At the top of my lungs
At the top of some giant rocks
Mountains, you might call them,
Yell at the world for all its tortures,
Cry about the evils and hates,
But then a friend pulled me aside
And started to laugh
He asked,
“Why don’t you think of all the joys
Instead of all the bad things in your mind?”
I didn’t think of that before,
As the waves crashed below,
I started to look toward the sunset,
As it casts a pinkish-purple glow.
I smiled and thought of all the greater things in life
The things that I took for granted,
Like a pillow, a hug from a friend,
Even a blanket, kisses on the cheek, and a comfy bed,
Food, water, shelter,
To be alive rather than dead,
A million things came to the top of my head,
And as the wind blew stronger,
My voice grew louder,
And I screamed at the top of the mountain,
Thinking of all the happiness I had lost and now found,
So, I repeated it to myself and to the world,
All things that I was glad for:
Friends and family,
Memories and creativity,
Hugs and kisses,
A heart and soul,
And so much more.
Tears rolled down my eyes
As I thought of these things
My friend embraced me,
And the moon began to rise
From the sky,
And into the distance
I saw the sea glow
And all the memories that I recalled
Of all the good times
I saw there in the waters of the beautiful night
In the form of the white,
Twinkling stars
Reflected in the waters below.
Those stars reminded me
Of the little shine that these memories have in my life,
That little shine that can overcome the darkness.
So, shine brightly, my little ones.

What are some of the things you would scream out at the top of the world? It could be anything you love or you hate. Type out your screams, your voice!