Sensational

An explosion of sweet, salty air,
The aroma of blooming flowers is carried,
So delicately,
On the light breezes of soft warm winds.

Musky birds chirp.
Tangy children frolic about.
The almondy trees bend and sway,
Even they are infused with life.

Winds of a thousand colors,
Melt the technicolor world together like honey.
Jittering with life, and infused with a lemony tinge,
The Earth reveals the first day of spring.

Hayden (beginning of a new novel...?)

I kind of just sat down with the need to write something new (normally I just work on pre-existing pieces) and this kind of came out of nowhere. For some odd reason I feel like sharing. So, hope you enjoy. Who knows, maybe it will be in one of my novels some day, haha.:

She sat in silence, staring straight ahead at a white wall. She wasn’t sure what had just hit her, or what her next move should be. She never been the kind of person who could easily think things through, but rather she would spend hours organizing the pieces together. Finding each lose end, every possible “what if” and weaving it in the intricate pattern of her response. Another wave of anxiousness overcame her.
“I, I,” she swallowed and exhaled softly, “I do believe you make an excellent point, Madame, but Benjamin is by no means looking for a hand-out, he is simply and honest man eager to utilize his connections to establish a reasonable position in this day and age.”
She inhaled, glancing out at the crowd. The showed no sign that her slip had phased them, and as such, she nodded at the right times and followed “Benjamin” off stage.
“Are you alright Hayden?” James, aka Benjamin, said to her as the door to the green room shut behind them. “It’s not like you to forget lines.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she nodded, not sure as to who she was trying to convince. “It’s just been a busy week, I’m tired is all.”
He didn’t look convinced. “If you say so, but listen, if you ever need anything…”
“James, really, we’re no longer on stage, you can quit acting like my husband.” With that Roselyn bounded over.
“Hiddy-Hoe Ranger Joe,” she said with a luminous smile.
“Hey Roselyn, “ James smiled, shyly shifting his eyes to the floor.
She placed her hand under his chin and delicately began lifting his head with her small finger “Hey Jimmy-Jam, just a thought, my eyes are up here. You know, if you ever want to try looking into them sometime. I pay all this money for color contacts and it seems a shame for no one to notice. “
With that James blushed redder than before. “Sorry Roselyn.”
“For what? ...Boy, you got nothing to be sorry for. All though, I do believe you're to be on stage soon, and your line is my cue for entry. I was really looking forward to acting tonight so I certainly hope this isn’t an advanced apology for blowing it.”
He shook his head, clearly lost in her eyes, into which, he was now starring.
She swiftly grabbed his shoulders and steered him towards the door. “Well then go on and get out there before you've got to start apologizing all over again.”
Once the door had shut behind him Roselyn turned to Hayden. “Well now that the blushing beauty is gone, what’s up girl? You seem tense. “
“And here I thought I’d been hiding it so well,” I cringed.
“Oh no, smooth Jimmy didn’t try to put a move on you there did he.?” she asked with feigned shock.
“The boy may be gawky, but he isn’t stupid,” I smirked.
“Yeah, your right. Tommy would’ve killed him.”
This got us both laughing, Roselyn’s bouncy black locks softly fighting the dense hair spray and Hayden's sleek auburn bangs slowly obstructing her view.
“How is Tommy anyway?” She asked as we tried to catch our breath.
“I don’t know really.” Roselyn face became more serious. “He dropped me off at home about two weeks ago mumbling something in a drunken stupor about joining the Marines and I haven’t heard from him since.”
“’You’re kidding?!” she said, giggles slowly enveloping her being.
“Nope.” I said and we both began laughing.
Just then, Mr. Johnson, the director ducked his head back stage “Girls, I know there is nothing like the thrill of the theater, but will you please keep it down.”
At that we busted up, falling into a fit of muffled belly-aching laughter on the floor.
Finally, she glanced at me, “So you really haven’t heard from him?”
“No, why, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. Man, I just don’t get him. I mean, I understand why he doesn’t talk to Lori. Him and his mom are on opposite side of a rocky river, and let’s face it, neither of them are really cut out for an architectural lifestyle, and I mean he and I are really related by much more and a pint of blood, but going a-wall on you, that just doesn’t make sense. “
Hayden shrugged. Her boyfriend’s lone wolf habits were no surprise to her anymore. Maybe she’d settled or maybe she had some psychological disorder, but after two and a half years with Tommy she didn’t really see a point in ending it. He always came home eventually, and she was always here waiting for him. No point in messing with the nice pattern they had all worked out.
Roselyn shifted her eyes to Hayden with a more serious tone. “You know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, right? I mean, he’s my cousin and I love him for that, but no one would blame you if you didn’t want to put up with it any. You, my friend are a prize, and any boy at our school would be glad to have to you. I mean, take Jimbo, he may have been making eyes at me, but that’ just because you are so far off the market. If he knew you were available, well shoot, that sweet boy would jump through a ring of fire just to catch your eye. And there’s a hundred more where that came from.”
“Mrs. Baker, “ Mr. Johnson said, ducking his head back into the green room, “it’s almost your scene, where are you my darling?”
With that Roselyn slipped on her heels and began to stand. “Think about it” she said, looking down at Hayden as she stepped over her.
“I will,” Hayden complied; and as she laid on the cold concrete floor of the desolate green room she thought about it, she really did.

Bittersweet Prelude

The bittersweet silence
Invades my ears,
Like a crusading army
Dragging old differences back into the light.

Yet at the same time the noiselessness welcomes me.
I beckon it forth,
As it wraps me in blankets of comfort,
Receiving my contemplations with the warmth of an old friend.

The absence of sound is delicate,
Temporary yet infinite;
While this silent moment may be shattered with the slightest tremor,
The silence was and will be here long before and after us.

But in this silent moment,
Accepting the invasion of thoughts,
And the warmth of memories,
We are on the precipice,
Preparing to enter the symphony life.

On the Precipice

On the verge,
On the edge,
Always on the sidelines.
Watching the others,
I long to play the game,
But I don't belong.

Watching,
Wishing,
Hoping for a new tomorrow,
But tomorrow never comes,
The darkness of eternal night abounds.

I feel it all speeding up,
Slipping away,
Falling through my fingers,
Everyone moving forward,
While I remain stagnant on the horizon,
A shadow of humanity.

I float on the waves,
Searching for the perfect storm,
The perfect crest to ride into shore,
But they break beyond my reach,
Leaving me to paddle on.

Always the bridesmaid, never the bride,
I smile in the sunlight,
Silently waiting in shadows to feel I belong,
For love,
For friends,
For meaning,
But I do not belong.

I come close,
But I miss,
Always swinging too early or too late.
I watch the wind up,
Prepare for the pitch,
Only to make the same mistake twice.

I am on the precipice,
Of society,
Of happiness,
Of love,
Of life.
Waiting in shadows,
Longing for sunlight,
Hoping to ride the waves,
Hit a home run,
To find a place I belong,
And not screw things up yet again.

Just Listen

I had kind of a shocker day where I realized how little you sometimes know about your even your closest friends. More so, I realized the ignorance of teachers and even other students, who got about their daily little lives not realizing how many people are going through horrible shit, and how insensitive this seems. I was thinking about how trivial my life is now (and how grateful I now am for that), and how ignorant we all are, and inspired this.

Just Listen

Words swarming all around,
The buzz and the sound,
But no one really listens.
People die and people cry,
Some hurt and some lie,
But no one really hears.

Teachers and students,
Passing the day,
Many in pain,
But no one really listens.
Girls are crying,
Their families are dying,
But no one really cares.

Hearts are broken,
And words are unspoken,
But no one really listens.
There's children in pain,
A face and a name,
But no on really cares.

Some are homeless
And others are broken,
But no one really listens.
There's rape and abuse,
Girls with nothing to lose,
But no one really cares.

They sit in the classroom,
The adults drone on,
But no one really listens.
They lecture about homework,
They talk of the future,
To girls with no present,
But no one really cares.

Dreams

I used to dream of you.
Silly, simple, girlish things.
Lying in the summer grass,
A field of flowers surrounding us;
Studying your perfect face,
Hours passing all around.
You invaded my subconscious,
Every sense tantalized;
An echo of your daylight power.

But then the dreams came less and less,
My daily memories more and more.
The dreams I once dreamed of
Were not what I was dreaming for.

In the field,
I turn to see your face,
Your eyes are dull and gray.
The person I once thought you were
Just rots and falls away.
I lay alone in the cold dark grass,
Watching you sink,
Further and further,
Into the darkness,
Vanishing without a trace.
As in the daylight,
I am unsure of your existence,
Wondering if it was all just a dream.

But now the dreams come less and less,
My daily memories more and more.
The dreams I once dreamed of
Are not what I am dreaming for.

Darkness fills the grassy field,
The summer has grown cold,
Your eyes are dull and gray from here
But my memories play on.
My mind tells me you were real once,
But I need to accept you are gone.

But now the dreams come less and less,
My memories fade away too.
The dreams that I once dreamed of,
Are no longer what I am dreaming for;
And now I'm unsure if you're real at all,
Or even if you are who I'm looking for.

Fortress of Solitude

In religion class last year, Mr. S tried to teach us that no one can go "it alone", that we need others in order to survive. But he's wrong, we really don't need others.

It's true what they say about the fact that the only person you can depend on is yourself, that everyone else will only let you down.

Well, it isn't even always that they necessarily let you down. Sometimes they do. Sometimes you realize that your parents are not superheroes, but just people, and not even the good kind. Sometimes it is there fault, but sometimes it isn't; mostly I blame myself.

I have always been one to hope. Hope is one of the only things that keeps me alive. The infinite possibility of tomorrow. So, naturally, when it comes to people, I hope. I hope that they really are a good person, seeing only the good in them because the thought of yet another disappointment is almost unbearable. I hope that people are truly being genuine, that I'm not just manipulating their actions in my mind to shield myself esteem. And, when it comes to boys, more often then not, I hope that maybe, just maybe, this is the one that might actually like me; that maybe, just maybe, someone might love me someday.

Now I'm not a crazy person. I am not one of those girls who meets a guy and immediately starts naming our kids, because, quite frankly, I find that extremely desperate and creepy. And yet somehow, I feel so hypocritical. I degrade those girls so frequently (one in particular more often than others), mocking them for the selfish ignorance, so clearly compensating for insecurity; yet do I not do the same to some extent? Wishing, and hoping, and making more of a situation that is actually there in order to make me feel better about myself. (And more on this later, but how sad is it that we live in a society that, as women, we are taught that we can not truly be happy unless we are desirable to men and in a relationship?)

It's just that, after three years, I thought that I meant more to you than just another name on your friends list. But I guess when you said you loved me I let it go to my head. I must be the one with the problem, right? I just foolishly misinterpreted the friendly affections of yet another guy. I thought you were different, but perhaps I was mistaken, or perhaps it is I who am forever unchanged, destined to get my hopes up and watch them shatter into a million pieces over and over again throughout the eons.

I'm beginning to feel like there is something wrong with me. How is it that every single person I let into my heart only ends up hurting me? Is it the whole parent thing? Am I recreating my childhood family situation, being unloved and unwanted, over and over, trying to fix it; is that my destiny, my curse?

Love is out there, it really is. Maybe not for sixteen year olds, but it's out there. So in all the worlds' quantity of love, is their not even a micro gram out there for me?

I don't know whether it's others hurting me, or just me hurting myself, but it's times like this that make want to curl up into a ball in my own little fortress of solitude, never to let others in, never to be hurt again; to build up the walls of my heart, burying it within the sands of time. I don't just want to be a footnote in someone else's happiness, but I suppose that to disperse myself throughout the love of the world, standing as an outsider watching the happiness of others who pass my life by, is better than living in the isolation of this cold Kryptonian shelter, eternally void of love.

Math Class Poetry

Despite Mr. Campbell's best efforts, math class was really just not holding my interest today; so I wrote these instead.

-DARKNESS-
trapped in this room with nowhere to go
nowhere but down
i have fallen
down the rabbit hole
into the deep dark depths below
never to be seen again
i never want to be seen again
i want to dissapear

-DEATH-
death is such a menacing word
it sounds so infinite and severe
but to me it holds the promise if sweet selfishness
of peace, of rest
i am so very tired

-A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT-
babbling of useless things
there mouths are running with mindless chatter
the rumors ebb and flow
but little do they know
the pain that lies within the depths of the cold dark water
but the water flows on

-SILENCE-
in my corner, i am silent and still
not a sound is heard
pins drop with delicate 'pinks'
friends whisper with insincere giggles
but i long to break the silence
to make them hear me

Time

Time is a funny thing. I was going through old pictures and possessions today, just thinking about it. It's kinda like love in a way, it's so real yet so abstract all at the same time.

There's that old saying that "time heals all wounds" but I don't think that's true. I think that with time, you just forget. We humans are such fickle creatures, once there is no visual proof of something, we forget about it.

Time doesn't heal, we just lose are memories; because if we remembered the pain as vividly as when it happened, retained our memories, we'd never feel whole again. But clinging to memories is useless, it just leaves us trapped in pain while those whom we share the memories with simply forget us and go on with their lives.

Life. It is affected by time. One could say that time is defined by lives, however, one could also say that lives are defined by time.

Lately it just feels like time is moving so fast. In the blink of an eye, junior year is almost over. And then comes senior year, and college, and the real world. Before I know it I will be old and gray and some other sixteen year old girl will be sitting at her computer contemplating the same phenomenon.

Time just moves so fast and we can't go back, and we can't slow it down, and we certainly can't stop it (no matter how many times we watch Clockstoppers and wish we could).

I don't really know what to do about it; I have no solution. I'm just pondering into cyberspace.

I suppose we should make the most of it. "Live, love, laugh" and all of that. But I'm not sure how- how to internalize those abstract concepts and apply them to my being. I suppose it just takes practice.

And that's the really cruddy thing about time, once your good at it, once you figure out this whole crazy hot mess we call life, yours time is up.

What About Mary Jane (Watson)?

You know the girl. She walks down the halls, and he sees her in slow motion. At lunch they sit in opposite social spheres, yet from afar, he memorizes the contours of her face. She is his first thought each morning, and last thought each night; he worships her from afar.

The most common knowledge I can think of would have to be Spiderman. Mary Jane Watson is the quintessential girl-next-door. She is popular, gorgeous, sweet, and a damsel in distress. Peter Parker has always loved her and then one day, they end up together.

You see it all from Parker's perspective; you see how much he loves and cares for her.

But what about Mary Jane? Did she grow up caring for Peter just as he did her? Did she know he was in love with her? Was she falling too? What made her fall for him? Was it the way she felt safe around him? His awkwardly adorable attempts at conversation? Or simply the fact that he cared for her so much?

But no one tells you that. No one tells you how to deal with being Mary Jane. Only the "Peter Parker" role is ever portrayed; comic after comic, over and over again.

Stan Lee never wrote Mary Jane's story. What does that say about her? Why was she not important enough for personal account? Just because she had no radioactive spider-induced super powers, does that make her any less of a worthy person? Does it make her dreams, her desires, her accomplishments, her struggles, any less real or important?

You see I always wanted to be that girl: the Mary Jane, the Lois Lane; the one who was so adored by the super hero, that she herself seemed super in his eyes. They are the princesses of the modern age, pretty, perfect, often distressed, and adored by their knight in shinning spandex.

But what if, Mary Jane had no romantic interest in Peter Parker, what then? How could she have spared him? What if Lois Lane had already found her Superman before Clark entered the picture? What if she was already so in love that she never even considered Clark as a possibility, leaving his feelings unrequited? What then?

In the world of Marvel, the lives and thoughts of these women seems to have been lost behind the art-deco skylines and pop art pages.

I really wish I could know what they'd been thinking. I mean, what about Mary Jane? Why was more of her story not told? I really wish that someone, anyone, would write it.