Ponderings, which themselves are trying to be a Poem.

Sometimes I wonder.

There are many things I don’t understand

but I think the greatest bafflement of all is

that which I am made of.

I don’t mean atoms

(although I still have yet to see one),

but the stuff that makes me…

…what?

Me?

Tick.

Exist.

I pride myself on

reading people;

twitchy hands,

folded arms,

kind eyes,

they all speak mountains about the

people

who possess them.

Sometimes I just

watch people

and imagine their lives…

Her daughter’s schoolwork brings out the grey around her temples.

His father disappears at night and comes home not-quietly-enough to maintain his secrets.

This one gets in fights. See the yellowed bruises and the scars around his knuckles.

These two aren’t as in love as she thinks they are.

But I can’t figure out that greatest mystery of all.

Myself.

Sometimes it seems like

certain people

see right through me.

They make some statement about my inner character that

is obvious

to them.

And I act like I’m well aware

and then I go home

and stare at myself in the mirror

and wonder,

“What’s behind those eyes?”

Blue eyes,

bluer some days than others.

People tell me I have my grandfather’s eyes.

I have nobody’s eyes.

I have nobody’s

atoms.

Does someone really exist if you’ve never

seen their face?

touched their skin?

heard their voice?

Or is she,

that elusive woman I might have called

“mother,”

just a

hypothetical

person?

With hypothetical

children

who she hypothetically

didn’t give away.

When I cried at night

as a child

and begged the darkness for my mommy,

why didn’t I

walk across the hall to her room?

Why did I

never quite fit

inside her arms?

She loves me,

I know,

but why didn’t

SHE?

The other.

The hypothetical.

I don’t begrudge her decision

to give me a better life than

“that kid with a teenaged mom,”

but why

the seperation

the firm

sharp

cleaving of ties?

Is it true that babies

in the womb

can feel how their mom

doesn’t want them?

Is that why I need,

so badly,

to be loved?

to be accepted?

Like I never was.

Or was it that she did love me

but had to say goodbye

and I felt her presence go

but didn’t understand?

Is that what I feel

when I can’t seem to patch up

that little hole on my heart?

Maybe I’ll never know.

Or maybe I’ll find her.

Maybe she’s beautiful now,

a grown woman, ready for the world,

with a life, a family.

A family that’s

not mine but somehow also

slightly

me.

Sometimes I wonder.

Late at night

I lie awake

and I listen to the house,

the house I grew up in,

the one my loving parents raised me and my brother in,

as it settles down for a cold winter night.

Sometimes I pull my blankets up

over my nose,

because it’s cold,

and I feel the weight

of abandonment?

of disillusion?

of displacement?

of heavy woolen blankets.

Sometimes I wonder.

Confidence

I’m an actor. It’s what I’ve identified myself as for the last few years, and it’s really what I’ve become. Yeah, I do lacrosse, and I do theater tech, but acting recently became part of my everyday life. I know it’s not really a good thing but I’ve found that I can turn myself into whatever I need to be to fit into a situation, if I have the energy. I know I can be happy in any situation if I feel up to it, and that thought both makes me proud of myself and disappoints me at the same time. Sometimes I wonder, have I become such a fluid personality that I’ve lost track of who I really am? Or did I ever really know in the first place? Every so often people will tell me things like “You’re the happiest person I know!” or “I wish I had your confidence!” And it always takes me aback. I guess I am intending to fool people with the smiles I paste on and the body language I force but I never think that I’m actually succeeding…

The truth is, half the time I’m “at my happiest” I’m actually just waiting for a moment alone to break down. The truth is, I suffer from cripplingly low self confidence. I know I have nothing to complain about, I’m decently good looking, I have no trouble carrying out an intelligent conversation with a group of adults, but as soon as it comes to people my age, boy or girl, I am suddenly hideous, can’t form a coherent sentence, stutter like a fool, and dress like a child. I’m aware of every zit on my face, how frizzy my hair is, that stain on my unflattering t-shirt, my boyish jeans, and my stupid pink sneakers. And if I’m dressed up, I feel like a kid playing dress-up in mommy’s clothes.

I know I have the capacity to feel good about myself.I know I can be proud of who I am and what I do. I know that I can rock a bikini, and that my friends will think I’m pretty in a band shirt or a prom dress. I know that even if I’m not at summer camp or backstage I should have the confidence and peace of mind to be able to get through life without the constant reassurance of my friends but I can’t seem to convince my heart of it.

I guess what I’m really saying is that I always thought of myself as an independent person, but when it comes down to it, if I don’t have my friends to keep me floating, everything comes crashing down around me… and I don’t know what to do.

I hate Puppylove... So why am I in it?

I met a boy in Barcelona

cliché upon cliché

we smoked a joint in Barcelona

and then we parted ways

I met a boy in Barcelona

his smile warmed my heart

the sun has set on Barcelona

and now we’re torn apart

I left that boy in Barcelona

he said “Remember me”

I look back on Barcelona

and that boy from Calgary

Gnéis

Innocence is drowned

in a sea of

alcohol

blood

sweat and

juices.

Tears and flesh

folding to fit

into the mold of Adulthood.

A little more here, a little less there.

Straighten this,

shave that.

Do what you must,

never

be fat.

Eat me.

Drink me.

Throw me up.

Do what you can.

It’s never enough.

Some will live, some will die,

just don’t let them see you cry.

And tell all the girls

with their big blue eyes

all their favorite petty lies.

Line your eyes and paint your nails

paste on that smile and tuck your tail.

Follow them round like the bitch you are,

keep your mouth shut

and you’re bound to go far.

Build Me a House

Build me a house with a view of the sea

So we can sip wine and wade in to our knees

Build me a house up high in the mountains

Where apple trees grow round a bubbling fountain

My house can be wood or my house can be stone

So long as you promise I won’t be alone

Your eyes are my roof and your arms are my walls

And as long as you hold me my house will not fall

Build me a house out of smiles or tears

Build me a house to protect me from fear

Build me a house out of sunshine or rain

Build me a house that will keep out the pain

I don’t need a house filled with music or art

So long as you’ll build me a house in your heart

Grounded

strawberries aren’t always sweet

sometimes hot tar burns your feet

thunderstorms can shake the night

things don’t always go quite right

summer can’t fill all your dreams

not everyone can be prom queen

reality hurts when you’re crashing down

so keep your feet on solid ground

I never thought this would happen...

I’m so unbelievably homesick. I miss my friends and KUA and the trees and the foliage and Calvin and the smell of wet grass and smoke that is autumn in New Hampshire… all I want is blood-red oaks and golden birches and bronze beeches… and apples and hot cider… and pea coats and scarves… and red noses and watery eyes stung by crisp wind… and football under the lights with free cocoa and brownies… and driving through the morning fog, in a fog of my own, and suddenly being struck by the sight of a mountain, burning with a beautiful fire of mottled trees… and playing on the swingset and sitting in the amphitheater… looking over the parking lot across the pond towards the fields, watching the athletic people doing athletic things… I miss people who know me better than I know myself. I miss Arizona tea, hummus and carrots every Wednesday and Saturday. I miss Sterno and the sound of a screw being driven into a two-by-four by a drill with a dying battery… I miss salt art and “that’s what she said” and watching people dance. I miss napping on the couches and climbing up the A-frame. I miss wrenches in my back pocket and safety cables around my neck. I miss snow and ice and how sometimes the sun hits it just right… I miss holding hands and skipping down the hill. I miss the walk from Flick to fourth floor Baxter. I miss breaking into Mikula. I miss everyone and everything so much more than I ever thought I would. I know Hamilton will be amazing but I think London is tearing me apart. I like everyone but I don’t click with anyone here and I don’t know what to do….

I guess I’ll just keep smiling…

Ohm

Quality

Deep heavy breaths

Quantity

Keep them coming

Solitude

Eyes wide shut

Connected

To the soul of all things

Open

To the heartbeat of everything

Close

Yourself to the noise of the world

Listen

To the resonating tone of nature

Look

Deep inside for ohm

London

I do not like the smell of London
London smells of rain
And asphalt and construction zones
And the odd underground train


I miss the feel of my bare feet
Walking on bare earth
I miss the feel of dewy grass
I miss sitting in the dirt


I miss the taste of mountain air
And the sound of mountain springs
I miss the breeze tossing my hair
And the warmth the sunshine brings

Drown In You

I just want to kiss you

on the cheek

on the neck

remember what your skin feels like on my lips

breathe you in

drown in you

that’s all I want right now

I just want to feel you

here with me

next to me

remember the rhythm of you heart

pull you tight

keep you near

That’s all I want right now