Chicago

Maybe if you looked out a window to look down on Chicago, you’ll realize some things about your world.

It’s no sunny boardwalk. It’s a balanced and constant shade of dirt and grime and alarm clock.

The sickly mishapen concrete slabs wear down every shoe that slides across it.

Similar, the winter.

Scuffed off the shoes of the homeless that weekend.

When you look outside, you understand how spiderman could gently carve the sky scrapers.

Superman.

Batman.

You can then understand the toyness in the buildings, the playground and the innocence of the small-looking stepping stools and the imagination laying over the roofs.

Now that I’m being forced to leave I can’t help but think what my town is doing.

And all I can come up with

Is nothing.

Probably sleeping in their walmart waiting for something.

Probably sleeping in their tv’s, wishing for someone to bring food.

Probably sleeping underneath the local beer bottles on a bar stool,

Wondering where their daughter went, why their relationships have turned mind-numbing, and dry, and frosty, and uninspiring.

Probably sleeping while they roll into bed to sleep some more.

Well,

I say,

Their city is awake and wide.

A wide, wide city with singers and beggars and steel-framed buildings and cancer and faces and facades.

They may be as paper as the buildings,

As clean as the yellow taxi-cabs they ride,

But at least they’re up.

You don't know this.

I was walking through my imagination today and I recognized you let your red coals smolder out. The leaves are changing, so is my motivation, and just feeling like a theatrical project. But who are you? I meet you in my dreams, my writing, my thoughts when I’m far from the real people. Like now, I cannot see you, I do not feel you, but I see you in everything I am. May be much bigger than that of the invention of washing machines, microwaves. Aesthetic impression is not my triumph and you, Blue flame of mine, aren’t a good example. Breathe, Hesitated Monster destroyer, you are wasted on Polish pints and the careful planning of a lost fetus. You are me, and you don’t know this.

You don't know how the corners of my mind crack instead of wear, allowing meaningless sentences to flit far from my split lips. Inhale. exhale. I wish I could spit just one word in your direction. one note in an opera to convey an SOS. A splinter in the splint of wood that keeps every one of them up, to help you out, just a little.

Break you down, start, start again. start and start and start until 7 continuous strings have held a baby from burning his fingers.

I'm not here to talk about my outer self.
my enviroment.
I'm here to talk about you. Your blue flame, or you lack of.
I was wrong about people like you.
things like you.
but then again,
you are me, and you don't know this.

Just stop. [I am sorry.]

Stop to call yourself out, once every while.
No, scream yourself out.
You've had that feeling, where you just get done crying and criticizing and whining about someone doing something "they didn't have control over," and when you turn around, go back home, you realize you're doing the same thing, only worse. Everything is so confusing now that he's gone.
There. I've said it.
I miss that stability, that smile to lead me on. even though I wasted a valuable time in my life feeling guilty and on the phone, I miss his low, sweeping voice telling me what the best part of the day was.
He brought me that rock to stand on, and though he wasn't the most reliable or strong rock of the bunch, he gave me all he could manage to. maybe that's why I'm scared for Kaitlyn.
again, I've said it.
I don't hate her.
I just don't want the same thing to happen, the happiness for him or the hurt for her.
[for God's sake, she's just learning... and she doesn't need the hard way, Aaron... please be better for her than you were for me, if you're out there...somewhere...]
But who am I to say the weight of her heart doesn't match his?
I barely know her.
I barely know anything anymore, and my friends will confirm that.
I am so sorry for making mean comments about you liking her because she was one year younger.
when, I just may be falling for a guy that is two years older.
I'm sorry for ripping you apart when you had two girls you liked.
I'm liking four.
I'm sorry for playing those games with you when we weren't going out.
But I still fantasize about spending the night by the other guys' side.
none of us know whats right. we're just teenagers with our eyes set on peace and happiness.
but I'm sick of playing these games with them.
I'm no whore.
I'm no...

60 cent lighters and blank notebooks

in abundance.
on a sunday, trying to hide underneath the falling rain.
How...
human?

she raises her wine glass to the wall

and says, "God Bless."
memories stick to her eyelids like the veins.
she sighs and wipes the oil and dust off her neck.
She may be a slut. You might be right, you might get to her, once.
But for now, you see a strange girl you say you love, and in your hurricane of negativity and "honesty" you forget she's real. She's sitting, physically, in front of you, Kate. She didn't ask for the attention. let her enjoy it if she does- her week hasn't been great, neither has yours.but you never hear her telling you you're ugly, you can't do things.
Just fucking listen, Kate.
stop thinking she's wierd or annoying and just listen for once.
You think you're being a help but you are just hurting.
you have the bad home, she's always had the bad friends, the bad school, the bad bus the bad kids on the bus the bad names thrown at her ever since 1st grade. she's not saying its worse than what you went through, but its her struggle, and no matter what she'd want respect for that. You think you know. but you don't know the first thing about her and what she went through to get one friend and now she has people that want to go out with her for the first time and you act like she shouldn't be enjoying the attention? Suck it up, you have your armcandy. Now let her find hers in sweet peace. with support. sith positivity, and optimism,
like she did for you.
just please.
please.
LISTEN.


[it's a good thing she's doesn't even want to check what I have to say on this blogspot. My opinions don't matter to her or any of my "bffs."]

Writing es una coming.

uhm kay
this is just a blog saying I have many works of
...bloggage...
that I'm working on in word. I've been very inspired lately and felt like writing, so I'm sure when it's ready to be posted, it'll be posted like the teabagging blue m&m on a sweaty treadmill.
I love anyone who es una reading thizz!
<3

In Weilding Much Energy

You tire faster, with greater impact.
How would you feel if every time you did something you liked, you were teased. You were put down and kicked.
Here I am, actually not falling at all, thanks to you.