Are you Happy?

I have something to tell you,

but I’m not sure how to say it.

Are you happy?

I want you to be happy,

But I’m not sure what to do–

I feel like I’m tiptoeing around broken glass,

Picking up stray pieces,

Wondering where they came from.

I want to tell you something,

But I feel like there are no words for me to say–

For me to fix the broken things.

I don’t know you,

But I want to.

I want to wrap my arms around you,

But instead of touching you,

I want my words to be the arms,

And bring you comfort.

Warmth.

I want to make you laugh,

And see you smile in the corners of your eyes–

I want you to know that I really do care,

And I am a broken person, too,

But my heart still wants the same things–

To love well, and to be loved well.

I don’t expect much,

But I want you to know my heart is here.

It’s beating, and it may sound faint at times,

But it’s here.

I know you can’t save me.

I know I can’t save you.

But all I can say is,

I want you to be happy.

Are you happy?

It’s Raining

It’s raining, it’s pouring

This assignment is boring

But I can’t sleep

Cause I had to drink

An extra large Sheetz coffee.

 

For real.

Junior Year: 2013-14

All the videos I took with my iPhone this past school year… Getting all sentimental xP

Gripping the Edges

The tip of my pencil snapped.

 

My eyes scanned over broken edges of graphite

Like craters containing the dark mysteries no one dared touch—

But I let my fingers collect every grey smudge

And watched them wrap around the edges of my hands

As the texture of my skin stretched and said,

 

Stay

 

Open.

 

Then my mind stepped back as my body felt

The bent plastic of my chair in the space my desk left—

I saw a professor lean forward in his wheelchair and say to me,

“There is no black or white

When you ask the right–

Questions.”

 

So I sharpen my next thought into another image:

 

I start drawing lines into trees and circles into bubbles—

I crash roots into ships and make light bulbs into portals—

I climb mountains and throw rivers where there are no creatures—

I wait for life to grow from the ground like a puzzle

 

But I see a world overcome by shadows in black and white

Too dark to see or too blank to think—

Waiting for an imagination to give them life—

But they missed the best part of living.

 

They lost the color behind their eyes,

And forgot the beauty in the mystery.

 

And when did we stop painting… or drawing… or writing?

 

I feel like there are more blank pages than there are pictures—

And my heart breaks at the thought of someone thinking

They are too old for living

In color

 

In an age where we send more texts than we say words,

And ask social media more questions than we do ourselves,

I am afraid we had missed out on the very things that make us who we are.

 

Have we traded our creation of life and new ideas for

A black and white picture that holds more of the same

And less of who we are?

 

Who are we?

Are we consuming, or are we creating,

And what does any of this mean?

 

I’m not entirely sure, but my heart beats for something.

More than… a fad diet, a smaller waist size, a larger twitter following,

Or a thicker wallet—

 

I want to grip the edges of something different—

Of something resting deep within the caverns of my mind,

Where words live and secrets hide—

Where people stop

And find beauty in their person.

 

I will see past computers and TV screens,

I will toss out self-deprecating magazines,

And color in the black and white paintings they make for me—

 

Because I am still discovering

 

I am always finding new pieces of myself,

And I need no guidance from books labeled “self-help”

Or dark stares telling me I should be someone else—

 

No.

 

I am tired of people deciding for me who I should be.

 

I am going to search through the piles of papers laid out for us

And color over them with our own touch

Of art and the purpose we hold inside our hands—

 

So…

 

Be open to grey mixing up your black and white,

Allow room for questions with no answers–

And Run barefoot at night—

Let your hands paint over your adventures

When you your eyes for those hidden caverns,

Because this life is meant to be lived!!

 

And sometimes it’s good for the edges to give,

Because craters push us into unknown places

And give us reasons to move from our stagnate states,

 

So like the edge of my pencil, broken but working,

I will dig till I find something right.

I will write till I find a piece of my meaning—

That’s my answer to life. 

My Hands

The pounding in my head says I’m awake!
I’m alive–
But my judgment seems clouded…
I feel around for a door or a light switch 
But my hands won’t open so my body
Closes.

Why do my hands feel so small? 

I hold them up so I can catch puddles in my palms
But they always slip through my fingers
And whisper “good-bye” when they fall beneath the sidewalks–

They leave a ringing in my ear drums
As short rhythms grab hold of my heart
And beat on my skin-covered arms–
But I deafen the noise with chains and locks
To hold my parts
Together.

I don’t want to be alone…

But I don’t want cheap lipstick or masked imperfections either,
I want to smile with wrinkles in the corners of my eyes,
And hide warmth inside me like a patchwork quilt–
My hands will grip all of the memories I want to keep
And the stitches will thread themselves into my body
So my heart can be still

My hands catch pain mixed in with beauty
And sometimes bandages won’t stop the bleeding
But my feet take in warmth from the ground
And remind myself I have the strength to stand

I can make new paths over the roots
Reaching for my ankles
I can climb over old stone walls
And find more than broken handles–

My hands will capture strands of light
And create new colors in my eyes
So I can give a warm touch
And a small bit of encouragement
To someone who feels just as lost as I do.

Words.

Our words are closer to us than anything else–whether they are read, written, spoken, or those unspoken through the beauty found in music. Check it out!

The Tip of my Pencil: Spoken Word Poetry!!

The Tip of my Pencil: Spoken Word Poetry!!

❤

Nightmares

I cried myself to sleep underneath the wind slamming against my window—

I tried to hide myself from the nightmares I saw a few nights ago—

But they found me again.

An image resurfaced and twisted into the same shape I prayed against—

A boy, empty-eyed with an upside-down smile,

Asking for someone to see him.

 

I remember the pain in his voice, and how I wanted to take his darkness away,

But there was truth hidden behind the looks he gave,

 

They were saying, “You can’t save me.”

 

And I missed the signs that pointed in every direction

Away from his side–

I decided to hear his laugh and see his smile,

I looked away from those eyes—

And I closed mine.

 

I wipe my tears in protest now

And I tell my heart I’m not broken

From the short time spent–

I say, “I have found myself again, and I am stronger,”

 

But I still feel shattered beneath the weight of his hands,

And my dreams still scare me when I’m alone in my bed—

 

I start to think I am meant for those fleeting moments—

Rough, uncaring, and quick to leave.

Quick to leave me with nothing.

 

And so I ask questions. Questions like–

What does it mean to be with someone?

What does it mean to love selflessly?

And can I fall without a piece of me dying?

 

I want there to be some sort of meaning behind my actions—

And I want my words to be a sweet reflection

Of the girl, or woman, I want to see—

 

Not an image hidden beneath a wooden bed-frame

But something I can hold so my darkness will change–

 

I want to be able to give you something beautiful

And full of life—instead of a flash of light–

 

But first… I need to open my eyes.

Listen.

My fallen state is neither stained nor broken


My body takes fiery reds for anger and frustration,


But quiet blues wash over me in prayers unspoken—

I wish someone would listen.

 

And then I hear a still, quiet voice say to me,

“Listen, there are lessons in these moments.

 

 

The moments when you feel alone and covered in cloudy skies

When your questions hold less answers than you would like


Or when no one hears the strings of your beating heart cry

 

‘Can someone hear me? Is anyone listening?’

 

Yes, but this time, I need you to listen.

 

Listen to the rain—Watch how it washes over dirt-covered roads

How it takes all the smudges, all the mistakes, and watch how it rolls 

Down the hills, through deep to shallow waters– how it disappears the next day

You can see where my fingerprints carried them away—

 

I am watching, waiting and praying for open doors–


Because I am here so we can rebuild and restore

From the damage this storm has given

In a world filled with rough hands from a tired existence

I watch you work non-stop in a life that feels frozen—

 

Know that I see you…

And I am here to cover your sleepless body


With some form of relief from the pain you’re hiding

Let time and new life roll away the dirt-covered stone you hide behind


Let my hands hold you up above the tree tops– where you stopped out of a fear from heights

Know I won’t let you slip through my fingers, if you fall, you will not fall far from my hands

I will hold you in warmth and love as a reminder through the long winters and heavy snow

Let my eyes be your guide so you can see beauty and light wherever you go

And know this–

That life is sometimes filled with empty words and broken promises,

Yes,

But it is also filled with crazy laughter and newfound friends

You will find all sorts of means to an end, but never forget to stop and listen,

And never forget to stop and find me. I will always be here, watching, waiting.”

Blank Canvas

In the back of my car, resting beneath the rear window,

You will see an empty canvas.

It’s been waiting for me since the beginning of this semester–

And I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give it purpose,

But I am still left looking at an empty canvas;

Blank with nothing to change,

And stretched to the edges with a fabric meant for

something.

 

And like the emotions I stretch from lack of voicing them,

I find myself empty and afraid.

Afraid of being alone and hearing them say,

 

“You are nothing.

You have nothing to give–

You–

Are Broken.”

 

I feel… stained.

 

Stained by my imperfections and fallen dreams—

And stained by my eyes refusing to see–

Because I want to forget,

 

But I can’t forget those memories hidden deep inside,

It’s like running away from a shadow, always two steps behind–

Waiting to steal my heart like a story…

But this shadow writes words beneath the skin,

Till I am ripped open and open–

Worn to the edges with a pen,

Draining every ink drop it can

From the veins of my heart–

 

And it hurts….

 

But I want to keep writing– because I think I can tear open the door hiding

My light away,

I think I can find it, and start believing again,

And when I find it, I will find something more than what I settled for–

More pages to write, more pictures to paint, and a new song.

I want to draw stars over the sad parts,

And fade the markings away–

I want my fingers to paint!

I want to see color in fallen leaves and beauty in barren frames–

I want to see lines drawn by eyes with wide grins

And find comfort in open hands–

I want to want more than what my heart had quickly accepted.

Not something empty or mistaken,

But something real.

 

And I need to remind myself I am a part of the living–

Always growing, always changing…

 

And like the white skin of a packaged canvas—

I will not be contained by the images they see.

I will decide what colors and pictures are meant for my emptiness–

Because I am not stained anymore!

 

My body holds fiery reds for the anger and frustration,

but it also pours deep blues and warm oranges for reflection.

I tell myself there are lessons in moments,

And every color holds a question…

 

The answers may or may not show themselves as the image is widened–

But there is something breathtaking– how each color has it’s purpose in making–

art.

This perspective means everything to me now–

And I know most of this is me haphazardly ranting,

But I needed to find my voice.

 

I am tired of giving in to other point-of-views–

And I know it is my choice, but why is it so easy to lose

Who–

I am?

 

There was a moment of vulnerability

When I traded my security for strong arms

Rather than a strong heart

And I saw myself reflected in someone else’s eyes

Instead of giving my ideas new life

 

I was mistaken.

 

I know that now, but I am no victim.

And I am not here to rescue you,

I am not here to tell you what to do,

Or why I should be worth something to you–

 

But I am here to live…

And take in the beauty surrounding me in nature–

I am here to make music, art and countless pictures

With those who I love and those who I’ve never met before–

I am here to discover a world hidden in shadows and dreams torn–

 

And I am here to be…

 

So I will spend the rest of my days in light of each memory,

Whether I keep the lessons I’ve learned or friends I’ve made–

Bitterness will not be a word in to my vocabulary,

Instead– compassion, mercy and forgiveness will hold me till I fade away

And it will hold the people I meet along the way…

 

So I continue to paint this vivid picture in my mind

Of someone who will say at the end of their time

That they had lived.

With a used, but color-filled canvas–

They  began each day deciding not to stay broken.