Dead Obaud?

I did not wake up, I couldn’t
See the long night ending, I couldn’t
Feel chill of morning, but if I could
Just turn over for five more…

I could cut away the uselessness
If I could slit between the veins.
Drag the point down and pray
Never to bring it up again,
If only I could pick a point to press.

I could sink so much farther
Than you’ve ever known.
Slack jawed sleeping in the watery bed,
Tucked in snugly beneath plastic sheets.
Protection you only wish you could escape.
If only I could see past the suffocating green.

I could fall again.
It would be counted, never named.
Blazing with the scent of burning
Flesh was only background of the gore
So hold on to your fingers and heads
And duck the sweeping arm of…
Melted eyes don’t see the slaughter.

To Whom It May Concern:

Me and mornings aren’t exactly on speaking terms
anymore, from all the waking with the outlet box pressed
neatly against the small of my back. Teetering
on the edge of a long thin bed, opening my eyes
and rather than the ceiling I see
the springs, the underside. I hid beneath
and slept below to have room to stretch
and curl because no matter what
you had to have your space. You had to
be the only person in your world.
So much so that you pushed me out of it,
out of the bed, out of your room.
I was never satisfied with being merely transparent
to you. Whether I am here or not doesn’t
matter, so I guess I’ll slip away again into
another nondescript October. You
and I were never on the same page.
You were of the day and slept when I
thrived at night, and so I tried to put my
night life to bed and shake loose
some latent love for morning. How twisted
that I saw you clearly and never breathed
a word for change, and you never could accept
my eccentricities. You thought I was broken, thought
I was weak. I think you must not have looked
at me. I know what I am, and I am strong.
I know what I want, and I want to cherish
like you never could. You asked me to change,
to love less, to live less, to take less
and give less. Was it ever me you wanted?

My father always joked, You’ll miss me when I’m gone.
Then he died at thirty six and they understood.
I should break my heart as a precaution.
Could you ever understand the meaning
that lies beneath words? You never had a sense
of the sin of not living because you
never made any plans for dying.

You saw this, the thirst for life,
the need to relish... you knocked
it down and
so I hate you. I hate you,
and I hate all of this.

--------------

This is a re-write/edit. Input desired.

To Whom It May Concern:

Me and mornings aren’t exactly
on speaking terms anymore.
Forever was never something I wanted
but mutuality was too much to ask so
I guess I’ll slip away again into
another non-descript October.
You know my father always said,
You’ll miss me when I’m gone,
and then he died at thirty six.
I should break my heart as a precaution.
And you don’t have a sense of
the sin of never living because you
don’t have any plans for dying.
You saw this, the thirst for life,
the need to relish. You knocked
me down and
so I hate you. I hate you,
and I hate all of this.

Blah

Life sucks and Bush sucks and I can't write poetry for shit. Everyone else is so much better than I am, and all the homework is really heavy, and sometimes I can't even bear to open my notebook and look at what I wrote. It's pages and pages of things I don't want to think about, and blank pages I don't know how to fill. I just feel like my poetry is always the same, I want to do something different, something strange and beautiful and new.

Today I went to the Rally Against Bush, and it was really awesome. The Syracuse System Shakers were there, and so was Andy, the cute fiesty boy from my poetry class. That boy can argue with a brick wall, so long as a certain politician is drawn on it. ;-)

Well, I'm going to try and write last Tuesday's poem and go to bed. I think Manson will help me nicely, so...

Current Music: Personal Jesus by Marilyn Manson

So that people don't feel slighted...

Del,

There, I mentioned you, are you happy now?

xDDD

Seriously tho. <3 to Del.

(Now stop whining and adore my kitties!!)

Indigenous Peoples' Suffrage Day

This is how I spent my Indigenous Peoples' Suffrage Day (Columbus Day sends the wrong message, this cool Scot proposed a renaming of the holiday as a remembrance of the suffering of all indigenous peoples, because afterall, we're all indigenous to somewhere or other.)

The pet pictures are not todays. I just added them in for shits and giggles. The tree pic is from Saturday. All the others are from today. Today was just so fucking cool. Like, whoa seriously wickedly cool.

I saw Joanne Shenandoah! I got my pic taken with her! (And Holly too, but pretend like she's not there... lmfao, kidding Holls.) We're taking that pic to class Wednesday as our excuse for skipping. Should be entertaining.

I want to go to Peace Festivals more often.

Autumn at Pratt's falls, and my current desktop picture. 

This is Bigelow, the big one in the upper left with the brownish nose and snooty expression. Mini is smaller and you can see her tail. She's sniffing at Grace-abeth, the big red dog of love. 

Haha, you will be subject to more animal pictures. Voldemort is on top, looking evil, and Bigelow is curled up inside... also looking somewhat threatening. ;-) 

Grace-abeth, the big red dog of love. 

Duncan looking decidedly paranoid. 

Boogle glares hatefully at the camera.  

Mini is standing up, and Voldemort is laying down, looking evil, as usual. 

Bigelow, the baddest cat of the east. 

Shawn, Joanne Shenandoah, and my Mom. This is the second picture I took. Shawn blinked in the first one. So that's why they're laughing. XD 

Some of the people who attended. It's nice to be around people as weird as I am. 

Joanne Shenandoah is in the center. To the right, in the green, is her daughter Leah. To the left is Joanne's sister (I forgot her name...) 

Tipi with smoke coming out of it. Just a neat shot, there. There was a Dunkin' Donuts cup outside of the entrance. ;-) We all loves our coffee.

This is some wicked thing, and the platform hanging spins so the crystal bowls spin, and there's some guy who sits between the Egyptian boxes and hits them with these things and plays music... way cool. 

Me, Joanne Shenandoah, and Holly.  

Unlovable by Darren Hayes, music of the week

Are my lips unkissable?
Are my eyes unlookable?
Is my skin untouchable?
Am I unlovable?

Cynical, jaded, faithless, disappointed, disillusioned, used
If I could take back all my sweat, my tears, my sex, my joy I would
My time, my love, my effort, passion, dedication
In case of mistaken identity I gave these things to you
If I sound angry, bitter, sad, infatuated, it's the truth
Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, just a few
Stages of acceptance that it's really over
It's just so complicated and I'm stupid for believing in you

You make me feel like my father never loved me
You make me feel like the act of love is empty
Am I so unlovable?
Is my skin untouchable?
Do I remind you of a part of you that you don't like?

I had your back, I held you up, I told you you were good enough
It was not reciprocated, you kept affection and yourself apart
You fed your love to me like crumbs to pigeons in the park
Sometimes I think you're satisfied to see me begging like a dog
I wasn't armoured, you were king, I gave my everything
Because sometimes you showed me just a hint of you and then
For just a moment I romanticised the notion
I can take away the torment, I can love you like they never did

You make me feel like my father never loved me (you never loved me)
You make me feel like the act of love is empty (I felt so empty)
Am I so unlovable?
Is my skin untouchable?
Do I remind you of a part of you that you don't like?

You make me feel like my mother, she abandoned me (you abandoned me)
You make me feel like the act of love is empty (I felt so empty)
Am I so unlovable?
Is my heart unbreakable?
Do I remind you of a part of you that you despise?

Are my lips unkissable?
Are my eyes unlookable?
Is my sex undoable?
Am I unlovable?
Are my words unlistenable?
Are my hands untouchable?
Am I undesirable?
Am I unlovable?

You make me feel like my father never loved me
You make me feel like the act of love is empty
Am I so unlovable?
Is my skin untouchable?
Do I remind you of a part of you that you don't like?

You make me feel like my father never loved me (you never loved me)
You make me feel like the act of love is empty (I felt so empty)
Am I so unlovable?
Is my skin untouchable?
Do I remind you of a part of you that you don't like?

You make me feel like my mother, she abandoned me (you abandoned me)
You make me feel like the act of love is empty (I felt so empty)
Am I so unlovable?
Is my heart unbreakable?
Do I remind you of a part of you that you despise?

You make me feel like my father never loved me (you never loved me)
You make me feel like my mother, she abandoned me (you abandoned me)
You make me feel like my father never loved me (you never loved me)
You make me feel like my mother, she abandoned me (you abandoned me)

A Day

Today was just a beautiful day. I woke up at home, and saw that it was probably going to be one of the last nice days we're going to have, and decided not to go back to the dorm. I told them I'd help them paint the kitchen later on if they took me to the park to shoot, and let me eat some real food. So we did that. I got to go off into the woods and do some shooting. Someone had left up these hunting targets, mooses and elk pictures on the hay bales. It kicked ass. I shot the antler on the elk, but for the most part got inside the target. So I'd say, for a year of not shooting, that's not half bad. I like to shoot in the course rather than on the practice field because it's more like the woods, and the cheaters with their compound bows are out on the field. I mean, really. If it folds up, locks drawn, and has a hole to look to line the shot, that aint shooting. Traditional all the way. My bow is a wooden recurve, doesn't fold, and to hold it drawn I have to keep it drawn with my hand anchored against my cheek. And I don't have any way to line the shot. I just have to look down the arrow. It's the way it should be. Everyone else are ninnies. (is ninnies? Is a ninny? I need an edit on that...)

Then we painted, and that was riotous amounts of fun. Honestly. I love painting. It's just so much fun, and I can see the kitchen all finished and looking awesome. It's great. Then mom made meat and pasta and omg it was the best food I've eaten in my life. And I got to play with my kittens, who are sad cause they were neutered. Min is sadder than Mort tho, and she's been hiding and cuddling up in hidey holes.

I am rejecting linear time and reverting to cosmic time.

I looked in the dictionary to find an explanation
Of why I feel like this, why the pain electrifies,
Helps me unwind. I wonder if I am
Still numb and if my heart will ever stop beating.

I don’t know what it means to feel,
And you don’t know what it means to bleed,
So what’s the point in all this screaming?
You aren’t listening anyway.

And I know that if I took the time
To read between all the lines,
I still couldn’t make you realize
Man was never beautiful.