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.

Unrequited (I am, I see, I hear...)

-I am waiting for someone to come along and see what I see, to notice me, to care.
-I see the reflection of a girl who has lived her whole life feeling alone and unwanted.
-I hear the happiness of others, like shards of broken glass in my feet, they brag about their boyfriends and their happy little lives, unconcerned with anyone but themselves.
-I feel I might explode; I need to shout from roof-tops, to make them see me, to make them understand, to make them stop before it's too late.
-I want to go back to the beginning; to erase the memories of boys who didn't, don't, and never will care and skip to the one who does, the one I know could never not care about me, the one who doesn't know how much I love him.
-I need the approval of men, because I never got it from the one who matters; and because of him, I am here. I need to tell them, all of them; everyone in my life, I need to speak my peace so that I can stop living a lie.
-I am a victim of love unrequited in every aspect of life; trapped by it, my soul is in chains. I long to be set free, but I fear for the cost; to what extent will I go for my freedom.

Conformity

I have been rather self conscious as of late, and one way or another I got to thinking about it today. It really bothers me. I have prided myself very much throughout my life on my ability to not care what others thinking of me, but now, it feels like I'm loosing that, loosing myself.

It's all about rejection. I've grown up in a wonderland, but the price I paid for my nice clothes and sanctuary is, in pertinence to this particular note, a whole lot of rejection. I have, since I was about six, been told on a daily basis, how fat and stupid and ugly and unwanted and unlovable and blah-da-blah-da-blah I am. After a while, no matter how much you block it out, how much you try to fight it, try to ignore it, a decade of daily degrading from the one who gave you life begins take a toll on anyone's self esteem. I have always been proud, and been able to tell myself that if I can survive it from my mom, I can survive it from anyone. But with my depression as of late, I find it hard to look in the mirror and not be reminded of those harsh words; not be constantly thinking how out-of place I am in this world. And on top of it all you have boys, stupid, know-nothing, hypocritical boys to remind you, and the world, just how weird and out of place you are.

And I am. I, Katherine Elizabeth, am weird. I am a dork, and a nerd, and absolutely not popular. I do my best to be kind and thoughtful and friendly to everyone, but I learned about 7th grade that being nice does not a popular girl make. The popular girls seem to just be born out of sugar and spice and everything nice, and the rest of us plain old chemical X. No matter how hard I try to be pretty or perfect or wanted, I will never be popular.

And yet, here I am. I find myself conforming nonetheless. Watching what I say to make sure I'm not too weird, conforming to the opinions of the group, following the herd, and worst of all worrying about who might see me hanging out with people whom I consider my friends because they aren't cool.

I am actually worrying what other people think of me? Why? Why do I care what a bunch of pretentious party-girl stoners care about me? Not to be generalizing or degrading of these girls who seem nice enough, but why am I letting them define me. Why am I putting there opinions of me ahead of my own happiness?

I get it now. I understand the concept of peer pressure and girls who get so sad about rejection. In simple terms, when detached it seemed those girls were idiots. I didn't not understand people who cared what anyone thought of them. How could they sacrifice themselves and their scruples, because they were so concerned of others opinions? In unemotional terms it sounds so easy, but when your living it, it's different. I don't care who you are or what you claim, everyone on this Earth wants to be loved. We are a species of companionship; whether it be friends, family, or relationships we thrive on acceptance (which can be perceived as a predecessor to love). So as we become adolescents, and we realize the impermanence of our childhood families and looming dangers of the "real world" into which we are about to be thrust, it becomes apparent that we will need to seek love (and acceptance elsewhere). That's were peer pressure comes in, when the need to be accepted, almost for the sake of survival, becomes important.

They say that one must love themselves before they can love others. But what if you have reached the point at which you doubt whether or not you are worthy of love because you have been deprived of it for so long? Do you simply go on telling yourself you are lovable, or is that lying? Should you rather begin questioning yourself, and seeking acceptance of others as guidance towards love? Or in seeking the acceptance of others over your own opinions are you then sacrificing something of yourself, doing more harm than good?

How do I remain myself, without being lonely? Because, it seems, to have friends at school I have to be someone that I am not, denying my true personality until I have erased myself completely. And yet, if I am true to myself, it leads only to a life alone, decreasing confidence piece by piece until I would much rather be a speck a dirt than myself. I do not want to be just like everyone else, there is no glory in that; but how do I remain myself without sticking out like a turtle in a chicken coop? Where is the middle ground, the place to be yourself without being alone?

Or better yet, where is the place where I get to be the popular girl I always wanted to be and yet still myself; the place where I can be accepted for who I am no matter how weird or dorky? I would walk a thousand miles and click my heels together as many times as you want if someone could just point me there. <3