[This was adapted using Photoshop; I do not have the original photo to cite.]

Fairytale Night

“I want to show you something.”  He pulled me along toward the beach where we had watched the children play this afternoon. 

“What is it?” I asked curiously, trying not to trip on any tree roots as we hurried through the forest toward the sand.  When he ignored me, I called after him, “Hey!” 

“Hush.”  After a few minutes of dodging trees and jumping over the grabbing hands, he suddenly stopped in front of me causing me to slam into him. 

“OW!  Damit!  What the hell?”  Turning back to me, still ignoring me, he pulled a bandanna out of his pocket and reached out for me.  Trusting him, I did not move my head, only asked “What’s this for?”  Silence.  Now, instead of rushing through the forest, he lead me slowly forward until the dry leaves and scratchy twigs were transformed into cool, soft sand that crept it’s way between my toes.  After a few more steps, we stopped and I felt him orient me in a certain direction.  Without my sight, my other senses became sharper; there was a soft wind caressing my cheek and a salty sent assaulting my nostrils. 

“Why are we back at the beach?” I asked him as a section of the cloth hung down, tickling my nose. 

“You talk too much,” he muttered next to my ear.  I could feel his breath warming the back on my neck as he slowly untied the bandanna.  When I opened my eyes, my breath stopped.

What was once golden sand warming in the sun had been transformed into my dreams; the entire beach was glowing a soft aqua-marine.  Everywhere I looked was glowing.  When the bright waves washed over the sand, the glowing intensified, then dulled only to be lifted again with the next wave.  Then, when I took a step forward, the beach would pulse under my foot like how it was acting with the waves.  A smile broke across my face as I took another step, then another.  Soon I found myself dancing across the sand, kicking up the glowing grains.  I felt his body close to mine as he wrapped his arms around my waist and started dancing with me.  Our laughter cut through the cricket’s song surrounding us as we spun together into the night.

Dream

“When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I wrote down ‘happy.’  They said I didn’t understand the assignment.  I told them they didn’t understand life.”

-          John Lennon

If you look at the big picture, this statement could not be truer.  How many people do you know who are not happy?  How many divorced?  How many in a midlife crisis?  There is a common phrase, “Do what you love and you will never work a day in your life.”  I feel that this quote also applies here.  Both my parents gave up on their dreams; one for a boy and the other for money.  Now, they are both middle-aged, with two teenage kids, and a dog.  They are second guessing.  My mother went back to school to get her nursing degree.  She is different than the new generation.  She cares.  She is not there because it is an easy job that pays decently.  She is there because she wants to be.  When go with her to work, the residents tell stories of how caring she is; they make me cry.  My dad always wanted to be a teacher, but his father convinced him not to, telling him that it wouldn't pay well and he needed to support a family.  Well, he’s going back to school for his degree now.  When he visited a classroom for the challenged, he told us stories of how he would work with one child until they had figured something out, but when he went bad the next day, she had forgotten.  He works so well with these children.  So do what you love.  Don’t back down.  Don’t give up.  I’m rooting for you…for all of you who have dreams.  

Go get it.

Drums

Drums

The beat

The adrenaline

Drums

The beat

The adrenaline

Otherwise silence

Drums

The beat

The adrenaline

Otherwise silence

The blood

It was glorified

Respected

No

Not really

Not here

There is no glory here

Back home there is glory for us

Here only gore

Killing the innocent

Murdering those

For what

I have lost our cause

I have not lost faith in the cause

There is no cause

There is only blood

Only slaughter

Our cause

Those of liars

Those of hypocrites

Those of the devil

I cannot fight

Yet I am forced to

Forced to kill the innocent

The brainwashed children

They are scared

I am scared

Help us

Stop this

War

There is no glory

No heroism

Only blood

Save us

End this

All I see is blood

All I hear are drums

Drums

The beat

The adrenaline

Otherwise silence

The blood

Drums

The beat

The adrenaline

Otherwise silence

Drums

The beat

The adrenaline 

Only the drums

...

Help us

Image credit [http://www.theepochtimes.com/n2/images/stories/large/2009/12/16/fhood92980058.jpg]

Story of a Boy

I was a monster

Did things to people

Wouldn’t wish it on anybody

I was blind

Their faces would beg me to stop

I made their life hell

They called out to me

I was deaf

I never noticed the pain I was causing them

Even though to others is was evident

I did not have the empathy to stop

I could not feel

I did this to you

You forgave me

I did not understand

You helped me

You could see beyond what I knew

You saw I had a soul

You reached down into hell

And pulled me up

I remember when we first met

You sitting in the bleachers of the football stadium

The light shown on your hair just right

It looked like strands of gold

Even with my blind eyes, I could still see

The beauty you held

An angel

Cursed  to be stuck here

It was a public high school

Like the ones you see in movies

It had the nerds, the sluts, the Goths

You showed me there was more

You could reach through the boundaries

I always wondered

If you pulled others out as well

You were an angel cursed to hell

Some days I wondered what you had done

You were such a beautiful angel

Fallen from the sky

Was this your punishment?

When your work was done,

He took you back home

I wanted you to stay

Missed you

We were on a park bench

Sun was shining again

You hair was gold

I swear I could see your wings

Your words sounded like the singing of angels

The chorus of God calling me back

Your words opened my eyes

And I could hear, feel

We sat down and you told me to look

You showed me the stories behind the faces

I could hear their whispers

Telling me their points of view

We would do this all the time

You would sit me down

We would watch the world spin

And be at peace

There was a woman shopping with her daughter

Their faces told stories of stress and depression

The single mother who had younger children at home

And the girl who had to be strong when her mother could not be

There was a man sitting in a bus stop

The bus would come, but he wouldn’t leave

He had lost his job

Did not know how to tell his wife

There was even a dog tied to a bike rack

Staring into the door of a coffee shop

Waiting…just waiting

Trusting that his owner will come back

Then you showed me how to feel

It started before our first kiss

When I still had the tendency to focus on bad things

I thought I was going to get laid

You showed me I was wrong

When I made a move

You stopped me

Helped me gain self-control

We were alone in my house

My parents were somewhere

You brought over chick flicks

It was the first time I cried

Then you took me to a museum

Showed me how to feel the meaning behind the painting

The emotion in the sculpture

Then you showed me how to make my own

I didn’t have skills

But you showed me

Anything produced my human hands  that had a purpose

Is art

I had planned a motivational speech for you

When you were in the hospital

All written down

My mother’s purple stationary

I didn’t get a chance

You took my hand

Told me everything would be fine

Smiled

I came to support you

You supported me

Even with your last breath

Nothing you did was for yourself

It rained when you were buried

The perfect clique

I remember you loved cliques

Even though I despised them

But in the rain that day

As clique as it sounds

The water seemed to wash all the emotion

Except the raw pain

I think you’d be happy to know

That I changed

After He took you back

You completed your mission

The final act of your mission

Was to teach me how to deal with loss

Another clique

I didn’t get mad like I would of before

There was no hole in the wall

Left by my fist

I opened my soul to the world

Tried to embrace the fact that you were gone

So here’s to you

My redeemer

My savior

My own fallen angel

Thank you

You changed my life

I’d like you to know

What I’m doing now

I speak to teenage delinquents

Like I could’ve been

Try to open their eyes to the world

Let them feel

The most troubled

I’ll take on a walk

Sit them on a park bench

And tell them to look

You live on in them

Your message

What you taught me

Everything you stood for

You are immortal now

Your memory will never die

As long as they continue to live

And pass on the message

I love you

Angel

Never forget me

I’ll never forget you

A Letter

You don’t know me and you probably don’t care

But I like to think if you did, you would

So even though you’ll never read this

I’ll write it anyway

This is to you

My idol

My role-model

My imaginary best friend

You found me when I was lost

Brought me back from the pit I was in

You saved me from the heartbreak

And brought me back to life

A part of me knew I was missing

I didn’t know what

I didn’t realize that all I needed

Was a push in the right direction and some love

You are the one who brought me back

I was lost in music that was not mine

It hid my soul away

In a place I could not find

When I heard your voice

When you sang out your lines

It was like you were calling my name

Showing me what was mine

You brought me home

To the Chevy trucks

Homegrown meals

And backwoods muck

You took me back to the place I love

Where serenity and peace reign

I had been lost in the world

You showed me it wasn’t all a game

You see, I had forgotten the simplicity when she left

I put aside the slow, comforting beat and changed

I became a hip girl, disgusting but true

Your music saved me from the world and from her

So I want to take this opportunity to thank you

Though I know we will never meet

You changed my life

Don’t know how anyone else can compete

My friend brought me there

I cannot refuse her so I want

I have to say I was nervous

Thought she would fill my mind

But she wasn’t there that night

It was only you

You pulled me out

Don’t know what I could ever do

So thank you, Hunter

For showing me who I was

That I have a voice

That I can love

I hope others as lost as I

Can find their way home as well

Hunter Hayes

Thank you for saving me soul

[top two created using online photoshop]

Scar Tissue

Every child knows "Sticks and stones can break my bones, but names will never hurt me."  Well, grown-ups lie.  The words hurt more than the physical pain; the emotional effects leave deeper scars than a broken bone ever could.  Maybe that’s why grown-ups lie.  They've been hurt too many times, so all they are is scar tissue. 

We are different. 

We are young.

We are pure.

            We don’t have as many scars, so our eyes are not blind to what is around us.  We can see the good things, the bad things, the things grown-ups never pay attention to.  All they see is black and white while we can see in color.  We can’t tell them these things; the scar tissue has made them too stubborn and unyielding.  They refuse to see things our way.  When we try to explain

the hurt

the beauty

the happiness

            they refuse to open their eyes…or maybe they can’t.  I pity them.  I pity the grown-ups because they either will not or cannot see.  They walk through life blind, like walking through a forest with cloth over your eyes – eventually they will hit a tree.  Maybe that is why bad things happen – because grown-ups cannot see where they are going. 

When we walk we can see.

When we run we are free.

When we talk we are wise.

            I want to help them…the world.  I want to right the wrongs, show them the way…but I do not know how.  I do not know how and they refuse to listen.  It is so frustrating, not being heard – I feel as if I am invisible.  I am lost in a sea of grown-ups, cookie-cutter shapes made of scar tissue.  Help me.  I want to make a difference.  All this

frustration

lost hope

anger at the world

            these are my scars.  I am becoming one of them.  I refuse.  Help me.  please...

Hard

Albert Einstein once asked the question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or the others crazy? - Spencer Reid, Criminal Minds

It’s true.  The more I think about it, the more true it becomes.  No one seems to be able to see what I can, feel what I feel, feel what I feel.  No one can understand how I see the word and what I know.  Charles Epps once stated that it was so hard to have a thought so pure that you couldn't communicate it in words.  It’s so frustrating not to be heard, not to be able to speak your mind because you don’t know how.  I have stories and ideas, characters and locations, novels I play out in my head.  I want to be able to write so bad, but I can’t.  I can’t figure out how to put it into words.  How to descried the fearless prince charming, struggling teen on the street, or the young girl stuck in her own head.  Her head is the only escape for her.  Spencer Reid is afraid of his mind.  I can’t see this.  My mind is the only place of peace I have – the only place I can go to hide, to run.  It is how I cope with everything.  The world, my friends, family, stereotypes, everything that describes a human being – it’s where I can start over.  Build something completely from scratch and bring it to life.  Create something that someone else could never understand.  No one ever understands. 

[Charlie Epps is a character from the TV show Numb3rs]

[Spencer Reid is a character from Criminal Minds]

You Have No Idea

Writing is a form of personal freedom.  It frees us from the mass identity we see all around us.  In the end, writer will write not to be outlaw heroes of some underculture but mainly to save themselves as individuals.

-Don DeLillo

I believe after having this quote as my computer background for half the school year, I finally realize the true meaning behind it.  Every human needs to escape from something, whether it is some part of reality or in their own mind.  We find different ways to hide or run from these things that haunt us, and the poor souls who can’t find a way to get away become so twisted and broken they might commit violent acts against themselves or others because they lose their sanity.  We know these people as sociopaths, and we usually criticize them or dam them to hell for what they did.  But the reality is that YOU DO NOT KNOW what has happened or what they have gone through or how twisted their mind is.  Some people break faster than other and are more present when they go over the edge, but others are so for gone, they’re not here at all; one cannot call them human.  Writers and artists are able to escape this end by creating a new word where their problems can’t find them – a place where they can live in peace and retreat to when their problem gets to close or crosses a border they have set.  We are able to find peace with a happy memory that we’ve magnified, an idea that we build into different things, or an entirely different world.  We find a way to escape; that’s all anyone tries to do in life.  Run.