What Might Have Been

When darkness surrounds me

I think back on years that have gone by

Past by quickly and all the things I didn’t do

The things I never do the things I never did

The thing I never say the things I never said

If I go back far enough I may even think of you

I understand now why the change was necessary

Needed to save me from myself from my friends

Better chances down south but one question still

Remains after all these years

What might have been if I had been allowed to stay

If I hadn’t been forced to leave could we have been

Something more that we were slowly becoming

Young, lost, all alone I wondered what I’d do

You came and took my hand showed me the way

Made me laugh in a month of tears

Growing older, change soon to come I couldn’t see it

Change of place, change of pace

Old falls apart new begins to bloom

You’re everywhere

Just when I need a friend you’re there

I wonder if it could be something more

New I don’t dare ask

Now I never ask

If I’d stayed, would I be braver

The only thing I want to redo

Is me and you

The Things I Wrote: Poetry

Walking down a buzzy street I’ve walked

a thousand times

Earphones glued to my ears

 like a marriage

 The music my constant companion

defending me from awkward passing

hellos with strangers

 keeping me feeling separated from the scene around me so

 I can observe fade into the background

pretend to cease existing

cease feeling

 cease being

 cease breathing

 cease beating

Music louder drowns out the chaos of a

buzzy city a

buzzy street  a

buzzy mind

Music played over and over and over

 fades what do I hear?

 Beep, beep beep, beep. 

Earphones melt away in my hands.

 Beep, beep beep, beep. 

The sound quietly drowns out the rush of the cars

Screaming by never knowing the

Beep, beep beep, beep.

I wonder if our words sound the same way to them

as their conversations sound to me

White, buildings, brrr,

Usually I hear the conversations

Green, trees, warm

Mesmerized I walk

Beep, beep beep, beep.

Lasts only a moment

Music glues my ear again.

Poem In Progress

The moment she stepped foot on campus
She knew that she belonged.
She had the confidence people envy
And she had big dreams for life.
"Someday" she told herself "I'll leave this town.
I'll live in Boston, Washington D.C.,
Maybe even New York.
I'll be the new girl there,
Just like I'm the new girl here
And I'll rock that place
Just like I'm rocking this place."

What happens when dreams change?
When the dreams she has
And the dreams she wants
No longer match.
She changes slowly but steadily
The new dreams seem more out of reach
 Than her old dreams.
She feels a sense of helplessness.
But she wants her new dreams
To come true so badly.
It's an uphill battle, all the way.
Her heart is broken
She's rejected in every way possible.
She begins to wonder about
Abandoning this new dream
 For her old dream.
But something in her heart reminds her of the princess
She always wanted to be.
She wonders how long she'll play the sad part.

Years pass
A new city, she's the new girl again,
The confidence she knew so well dimmed
Unsure, unsteady,
Where will her path lead now?
The incline steepens
New mountains to climb
Angels come to help along the way
She recognizes some but others go unnoticed
Each come in the nick of time.
She tries not to look to far back or to far forward
Choosing to concentrate one step at a time,
Knowing time has changed her and those she loved;
Knowing time will change her and those she loves.
Learning to rely on herself
And her angels as they come and go
And no one else.

Favorite Poem Ever

I memorized William Wordsworth's Poem "Ode: Intimations of Immortality" when I was a senior in high school and I loved it.  I heard it the other day on the radio and I haven't been able to get it out of my head since. It's one of my absolute favorite poems ever so I thought I would share my favorite part of the poem.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,	60
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come	65
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,	70
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;	75
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.

Another lyrical poetic thingy... Just for fun...

This one was inspired by a boy. Dumb and cliche I know. This particular boy I've known for a year or two and we've become really good friends. I thought maybe we could be more but I was wrong. This is what i would say to him if I could only find the courage.

Everytime I saw you
I smiled
Everytime I saw you
My heart skipped a beat
Without even knowing it
I fell for you

You listened to me like no one else
Everytime I saw you
You cared like no one had before
Everytime I saw you
Before I knew it
You were my best friend

Imagine my surprise when when you first asked me about her
I tried to brush it off
No big deal
Then you cornered me
I had no escape
You told me about the date
The one you took her on
The one I had waited years for
My heart broke just a little
Ad my secret hope was
Crushed
Right before my eyes

Everytime I see you now
I pretend to smile
Everytime I see you mow
Mu heart breaks a little more
Wihout even knowing it
You broke my heart
Something you never meant to do

You tell me about her and no one else
Everytime I see you now
You hurt me like no one has before
Everytime i see you now
Bedew I knew it
I started avoiding you

I know you don't understand why
Neither do I
I tried not to fall for you
I didn't even know I had
Until I saw you in her arms
I knew when I saw her I had lost my chance
How can I compare to her?
I tried to talk myself out of feeling the way I do
Maybe I will with time and distance
It's my only hope

So this is how it ends
My only regret is not telling you how I felt
My only regret is not telling you how I still feel.
I guess it just wasn't meant to be.

Sometimes I Write "Poetic Lyricalish Thingies"

But I don't share them very often. But sometimes I do.  This one was inspired but this cute old couple I saw driving one day on my way to work. It's kinda super long and I'm still working on it but I thought I'd share it anyway.  Enjoy!

We're cruising down the road

Just like we always dreamed we would

In a bright red corvette

The car we dreamed of for years

Seemed so out of reach

But so did ending up with you.

I look over and smile

As the wind tosses your silver hair
I take a picture in my mind

Who would've thought we'd be so in love

Fifty years down the road.

I guess that's why they called it the golden years

Driving down the streets of gold.

The years have flown since we first met

We were just kids

Hadn't grown up just yet

We played in fields of yellow-green

Without a care in the world 

Out of all of my friends

You were always the best

We may have grown

But we never aged

We've just had to learn

How to turn the page.

Before I knew it we were more then friends
I had fallen for my best friend
You looked so handsome in your new suit
That day we started new.
I wore my best dress
We danced the night away
We had each other
And that was all that mattered
As we started to take on the world.

The next page showed a new beginning

A new marriage, a new family, a new life

A new school, new jobs, a new house.

We wondered how we would make it

Through those years of newness

Trying to figure how to make it through life

You were always there
Every step of the way down these streets of gold
On every page of grief and hardship
Every page of happiness and joy
We were together.

The seasons changed continuously
Spring into summer
Summer into fall
Fall into winter
Winter into spring
Over and over again
The days, the months, the years flew by
Our family grew and so did we
We watched our children's childhood fly by
We worked our lives away
We saved, scrimped, and sacrificed for this family
For this life we had dreamed of
Since that very first day
Eventually they were all gone
All we have is each other
Like the years that went before.

I guess that's why they call it the golden years
Because the wrinkles, creases,
 and little imperfections in your skin
And your silver hair
Take away my breath
Just like your perfect skin
And your golden hair
Did fifty years ago
Now that we've achieved our dreams
I'm happy to be riding down that golden road
Just me and you.

Wind

The wind is no longer whispering, 

it's howling in anger.

The panes on my windows rattle and shake in fear of the 

power

that is the wind.

The wind blows sand in eyes

burning

in pain.

Doors creak open 

a sullen warning of things to come.

The sun beats on my skin trying to warm my cold heart

My bitter heart.

Sleep is fleeting, 

Pressure is beating down on my heart

wondering how I'm going to do it all.

There's a heaviness like a fog that won't lift from my heart.

I wonder where the rays of sun that filled my heart yesterday are now.

They're no where to be found today.

Creativity

I've been listening to this every morning as I get ready for classes and it has got me thinking about creativity.  I have never really thought of myself as a creative person, as a matter of fact I've pretty much always pictured myself as an epic failure at anything remotely creative. 

I play the piano and I play beautifully when it's just for myself, but I epically fail at it whenever anyone else listens (which totally makes it sound like I'm lying about the fact that I can play at all, but I really can, I just freeze up whenever anyone else is around.) But I enjoy playing for myself, and I will play for others when called upon. 

I have never been one for art.  First graders draw better than me.  I'm still learning to color in the lines.  My 4th grade teacher even sat down and gave me a "private lesson on how to color in the lines" once.  Yeah.  I'm that good.

I loved to sew clothes and cross stitch when I was younger.  I fancied myself a little pioneer.  I wasn't very good, but I enjoyed it.  I kind of want to start sewing up again.  I made a quilt this summer and I semi-recently bought some new patterns for clothes.

I love writing/storytelling but again, I'm not super good at it.  If I try to hand write anything, no one else can read it (handwriting was the one thing that was consistently on my report card through out elementary school that I needed to improve on, K-6th grade) and I have this nasty tendency to completely ignore/make-up my own spellings/words/grammar (thank goodness for computers/spell check).  And I don't really like other people reading my writing (that's the hardest part about this blog, I'm putting it out there for anyone to read and judge) because I don't like people correcting/editing/judging my work (and therefore me.  I'm super logical like that.  If anyone tells me I spelled a word wrong I think that means they hate me) but I'm getting better at it.  And I'm really bad at finishing my writing (I'm really good at starting my writing though!) But I enjoy writing lots of different things, stories, poems, thoughts, quotes, journal entries, and blog posts.

I love to cook and I also love to eat.  I'm still a slow cooker (wait, that's not what I meant to say) It takes me a long time to make a meal (I pretty much have to double preparation times on most meals) and I make a lot of mistakes but I really enjoy it anyway.  Eating has always rocked my socks.  I'm not really sure if eating is creative though...

I blog (no really?) which I suppose is somewhat creative, as is journaling. 

I'm not really creative in any other way though.  And I'm not great at the creative projects I do pursue.  But through listening to these thoughts on creativity I'm learning that it's not really about being the best or most creative at whatever creative pursuits you do.  It's about enjoying the process of creating and knowing that it was through your effort that something new was made, no matter the quality.  I'm learning to just enjoy creating no matter the quality of the end result.  As long as I'm enjoying it, nothing else matters. 

Drifting In and Out

Isn't it interesting how people drift in and out of our lives, just as we need them to?

And usually, we don't even know we need them too.

Everyone has something to teach us, to offer us

And we have a choice

to accept

or reject.

And we have another choice

To teach them.

But sometimes we don't know what we have to offer.

What God wants us to say.

Awkward silences prevail in most of my conversations that really matter.

Until I've had time to think

of something really stupid to say.