Penchant

Because you are my penchant
I want to make you a believer
I have a bag of magic
And you see its a secret

But sometimes I'm a heathen
And with my hair let down
I dance around the fire
Spread the magic on the ground where my feet stomp
Didnt I tell you

I told you I'd show you
And make you a believer
Because you are my penchant
And I am a dreamer

I can dream big and I can
Dream super tiny little silly little things
Like matches under covers
Lighting your brilliant face
And somehow or somewhere

That thought threw me to the ground
Softly
That you are my penchant
One I couldn't even dream of
But you made me a believer

A believer a believer
Oh I am a believer
So please believe in me

CONCERT SWAG

Where to begin? I'll get to the fun stuff in a second, right now, I wanna talk about Beirut. Oh. my. goodness. Zach Condon is a genius. The acoustics, rythym, pitch, vocal strains, clarity, harmonies were all flawless. Their stage presence was intoxicatingly effortless. Clothing style and set design was minimalist and artfully conceptual. Lighting was romantic, and let me tell you, I was so in love. So so so so so so so in love with the music, with Zach Condon, with the horns, the accordion, all of it. Magnifique. <3


But. Concerting involves people. Interesting people. Sometimes not a lot, but in this case, a lot of people. And people are well, people are funny.

I got my swag on faw shough dawg, but lemme tell you some things. Sometimes, its not ok to swag. Like, ok indie crazy boy swag is usually permissible, but concerning the 5'11" boy with fedora on puffy curly hair, cut-off jean-tee-shirt, and akward muscles, lets talk. YOU WERE STANDING LESS THAN TWO INCHES DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF MY BODY. you were grinding on me. You'd consistently glance back at me to check if I liked it. Isn't grinding supposed to work the other way around? And isn't that supposed to be done back at dat club? Not at BEIRUT?  Dewd, don't lift your arms up- now I definately can't see, and now I have to SMELL YO SWAG. that should definately never happen.

Sorry to offend but my disclaimer is that PDA is not alright for any couple. Holding hands- fine. Occasional kiss- cute. But DONT GET DAT LESBO SWAG ON right next to me. Its cool if Beirut turns you on or whatever, but why does everyone at the concert have to know that? The holdin yo babyghurl's waist while you whisper sweet nothings in her ear CONSISTENTLY, stroking her arm gently, swingin they hips back and fourth through the ENTIRE concert- is not ok. UN UH. I wouldn't be havin it with any other type of couple either, but the fact that you're a women dressed like da hood broz definately doesn't make me feel any more comfortable.

Oh my goodness and when I saw deze cats swaggin all over they place I was bout ready to pull out my glock, or fist, go rambo, and hit em' where it hurts know what I'm sayin? SWAG OFF. Hippies are kewl, but don't force your religion on me bruh. In fact, wanna fight? COME AT ME BRO. These kids were gettin they SWEATY RUDE BOY ON DRUGS HIPPY SWAG. no no no no no no no I don't wanna dance with you. Yes thats distracting and yes I feel the music but no I don't wanna smoke a joint with you and I normally don't mind you dancing but GET outta ma face boye. You dance gross. This concert is not about you. How come you're fun stresses others out? Don't go gettin yo nasty swag on cuz den  I can't get ma swag on and I'm made of muscles. I aint afraid to make a bigger scene and beat sum sense into yo. Mostly cuz if others don't wanna dance, let them be. And from what I learned that ain't dancing.

Thats all I'm going to complain about. Magician swag was fine. Bored girl too cool for school was fine. Couple holding hands, gorsh you guys were adorable. Old people pushing your way to the front- get you swag on. Me, I like standing starry eyed, occasionally crying or singing along, and looking around for mutual ressonance. Das ma swag boyeee ya herd!!!!
<3 Cheers.

Finished

My first book of poems is finally finished.
I started it the summer before my senior year of high school.
It's a small, cheesy notebook with a green, flower-patterned, leather exterior.
There are flowers on every page.


Here's the count:
8 poems by other authors
1 quote
8 songs
90 of my own poems

I wrote 90 poems in a span of a little over two years
They have taken me so far
This poetry journal is worth more to me than anything I own
Ive captured my purest thoughts and true identity in these flows
in these pages
Im the same person I was two years ago
But I've grown
And when I'm scared or afraid or lonely
I just talk to myself from two years ago, or two days ago
And not only does she understand,
She knows what to do.

I would like very much to get published.
I like sharing my poems with you all.
But for now I'll give it a rest and put it on a shelf.


Cheers <3

Pain

Sometimes
Sometimes love can make your stomach really sick
And it hurts and it doesn't feel good
But I tell you we're human
They are animals and the tell you that
You're just like them and that you're an animal
And you're to act like an animal
But you're not
You're human
Raw and pained and passionate
Never a God
Just a man I love

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night- Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Burning

I lit the candle and turned off the lights
I held it in my hand
Warm cinnamon smell

The flame never wavered
The long yellow pillar consuming
consuming consuming
And I held it in my hand

Hot wax dripped on my hand
it dripped on my hand
Hot wax burned my skin
Flame yet to waver

The beautiful cinnomon smell
filled my room
Dimly lit by that candle
And I wept
and thrashed and shook

My candle stood still
Flame all stone
I prayed for a glimer a blink
Praying please please
Just a tremble

I melted like wax
Hot vulnerable wax
Wax surrounding a candle
Just a candle
But a candle still

I dissolved into a pool
of vascillation
Burning as I went
Until its dark light went out

Stuck Asleep

I have temporary sleep paralysis.
Sleeping has always been an interesting process for me, and this is one of the more physically frightening components to its cycle. Here's what it is. Basically your body releases chemicals that temporarily paralyze it in order for all the muscles n stuff to rest, as well as to  keep you from physically harming yourself in the unconscious state. For whatever reason, some people will wake up before the natural chemicals have had time to wear off. Your brain anticipates how long you're going to sleep, and as soon as you hit the REM cycle, it kind of kicks in the heavy stuff to keep you safe while your out. It doesn't plan on you waking up... so you're mind jolts wide awake, unexpected, and your body is still. You can't move, you panic.
I guess their are different categories of sleep paralysis aswell, depending on how your mind interprets the situation. Basically one type of mental interpretation is worse than the other. I'm a little unclear as to the exact distinctions, but I think I have the worse one.

Pause. I'm no expert, so I'm explaining this biological stuff to the best of my understanding.

I'm doing a little backtracking.
 I have always been a very active and heavy dreamer. I have morbid and frightening dreams on a regular basis. As a kid, I was terrified of unconsciousness. I entered a new dark world of utter vulnerability, nightmares not my own, and monsters that became real. Sleeping always involved dreaming, dreams involved terror, therefore I avoided sleep.
Simultaneously, I had the problem of sleep walking. It basically was like looking and functioning in our tangible world through the dream lense. Everything is wrong, even basic physics, but you're able to talk coherantly to the conscious, and waking up involves your mind closing one window to make the other clearer.
So, I've always had problems with sleep. Over time, I grew accustomed to my nightmares, recognized it as part of my sleep process and completely detached from reality. And apart from occasional sick fevers, I didn't sleep walk.
But in highschool I started taking naps to cope with my new social and academic environment that required less sleep. It doesn't always happen with naps, but usually it does. Or, if I would wake up and go back to sleep in more. I got that deep REM sleep my body longed for, but at the wrong time. I would be carrying on some unhappy dream, and it wasn't that I wanted out, someone in my dream always told me that I was dreaming. Some evil creature would mock me, tell me that I was dreaming. It would be making fun of the fact that I was unconscious and helpless and it or my mind would find me back in my room. Often, I found my brain struggling back into my room, climbing through my sheets, yelling for my mom to wake me up, her coming over to wake me up but I'm not awake, me turning off my alarm but I'm not awake, me reading a text message after I just woke up but I'm not awake, me struggling out of the grips of someones hands pulling me back into unconscious. It is a huge struggle, and rather than lying dormant, waiting for the lights to turn on while I'm motionless, my brain pretends to solve the problem while dreaming until I'm awake, even though I'm aware I'm dreaming. That's really really bad and pretty scarry. But the thing is, even though these are dreamlike thoughts, I'm fighting to wake my body up the whole time, but it won't.
This is exhausting. I often feel that I get so deep in sleep that I won't wake back up. If I don't fight hard enough to wake up, who knows how long I'll be out. It's astounding how long, elaborate, imagined and physical my dreams are when I enter into proper REM. Sometimes I wonder, when I feel myself, after already being very asleep, being pulled "deeper into the dream" what would happen if I rode it rather than fought it. These are the abstract fears and questions I ponder about my sleep disorder.
In the mean time. I don't take naps. I sleep at regular hours, for a proper length. I try to be less stressed. I pray and ask God to clear my mind before I go to bed. You're not supposed to lie supine in bed either, which I can definately try to avoid.
The mind is a powerful thing nontheless. Especially in the unconscious state.