[More of a story/catharsis than an actual poem with a theme, but if you can find a theme, tell me!]
black—too close to lack
to be a comfortable word.
black like your unchallenged hair,
running in waves and rivulets
across your lonely head.
black as in the night
when i ran into streetlamp shadows
and practiced sonnets with the pebbles,
that knew the words as well as you did.
I Am Not a Fag
i am not a fag.
i am not a tutu-toting,
looking to get fucked.
i am not a back alley,
with a dildo on my key-chain,
a grin on my glossed lips.
or a walking rainbow,
a puddle of sunshine,
looking to brighten your day
and trim your nails and
renovate your house
all at the same time
Band camp. Deeeeeath. There was a heat index of 118 today, and I was lucky enough to be marching for 7 hours out in it. Band is pretty ridiculous, and I fail to learn just about anything from it anymore, but I'm sticking around just to finish it out in my high school career. Pffft, I'm such a tool.
I think I'm the first person on the planet not to like Dark Knight. Did anyone else notice that it was way too drawn out, had barely any good action, and lacked a central conflict? Although I am on par with everyone else that I think Heath Ledger was masterfully fabulous.
“hate is a rather strong word,”
he says, pulling the mug from his lips,
setting it down with a hollow clatter
on the diner’s cold and freckled table.
the mug sits close to the edge.
if i pound my fist on the table,
like i’ve been planning to do
for all these years,
it would fall.
the words “world’s best dad”
would shatter into
Father’s Day, 2008
are you god?
because you are everywhere.
i see you all the time:
puddles and mirrors,
and empty parking lots.
half-empty beer cans
breathe your name down my neck;
hallmark made a day for you.
you’re probably still washing yourself
with my power ranger soap.
His policies include:
-Increased military spending to kill people in foreign countries when American citizens are already dying here due to starvation, disease, and crime. (For instance, the infant mortality rate in inner-city African Americans is higher than that of Cambodia and Somalia.)
Yay, no one likes commenting on my journals.
Recently, I've been drifting back to thoughts of previous relationships. Chalk it up to having too much summer free time. It's been almost a year since I've had a hand to hold, and I'm not going to lie and say I don't miss having five extra digits on hand (pun unfortunately not intended). That feeling of safety that comes with a lover is...wow.
The title says it all, ladies and germs. It's REFLECTION TIME. Oooooh.
It's just astounding how I'm actually writing in oasis when I'm happy, as opposed to the normal trend of scribbling in here while my life lies in ruins. Well, a teenager's perspective of ruins, anyway.
Woo, I'm never around anymo.
It's summer. I read, I write, I read, I play sax, I read, I work on scholarships, I read, I bike, I read...my eyes are starting to hurt from a hundred plus pages a day.
[A very strange, Allen Ginsburg meets Elizabeth Bishop type of poem. It's definitely different, which is why I think I like it so much.]
dark smiles reflected in the riviera waters.
moonlight mixes with the waves,
the firefly brightness of the night life behind us
leaving us in the wakes of cool shadows.
we love it here. on the fringes,
where our feet get wet and sandy—
What a Day of Silence today was...it was the first we had at my high school with the new GSA (called Spectrum), which I kind of made and run.
Whooee, it's definitely been a few moons since I've written anything in here. In my first few months on Oasis I thought I'd NEVER fall into the trap of getting over my coming out problems, skedaddling right on out, and hardly ever writing, but...well...I think we see how well I kept out of that one.