Q and A

Another poem at the end, but first a bit of ranting...

Junior year sucks majorly, even at my tiny school, and I can't imagine how awful it must be elsewhere. Truth is, my class isn't even that bad, there's just a few people who ruin it for everyone.

I sit alone in my last class, and in my elective. It isn't by choice.

/end self-pity :)

Only 180 more days until I am free again!

THE POEM...*looks downward*

Answers are elusive things,
clambering around in the hard shell of my brain,
wanting to be reunited with their questions
even though I have forgotten how to direct them.
The more days I live,
the more I am convinced that the biggest answers
are overgrown transparent creatures,
weak with disease and age.
Their bones must be hollow from
the thoughts I have piled onto them.
We are the ones who most deserve release.

Remember Me

Inspired by Explosion in the Sky's "Remember Me as a Time of Day."

Remember me as a time of day.
Think of me as an undefinable warmth,
as the warmth of the morning sun,
steadier and more capable than your bedroom lamp
as you stumble down the shadow-lined hallway
and breathe in my promise, a man released
from his wrongful grave.

If it is cloudy, or if you are denied
that first stretch, those first breaths,
let me be the busy energy of the day.
I will be your strength, even through the power of my absence,
guiding you down the one sure road you choose to take,
weaving your life and your memories
so tightly to the daylight
that no one can look at them and tell them apart.

And if there is no daylight for you,
remember me as the night. Remember me as
a faint glimmer of watchful stars,
or let me be the coolness in your room,
the whisper of wing that tickles its way
across your face
and sinks deeply into your dreams.

Remember me as a time of day,
so that when your clock stops or
your city's fog shuts out the seasons,
or when you no longer have clear memories of me,
still
you cannot say that I have been forgotten.

The Music that I Listen To!

This is arguably one of the most beautiful songs I've heard in a long time, even though it has no lyrics:

And then K'Naan refutes the idea that all rap is retarded poetry with this following gem:

Heh, I love changing the little colored bar thingies. Wow, I'm such a freak. o.o

Dinner Talk

There are languages beneath the words,
currents of meaning carrying the thin white foam along.
I sit silently at the dinner table,
unmoving yet never still,
following the step-by-steps;
not only of the words,
but also of the flick of eyes,
the strategic clink of forks on plates,
the just-in-time coverings
of faces by napkins.
It's enough to make me wonder
if dinner really is only a time
for families to talk,
or if it's a time for separate
universes to come together,
a time for fragile shadow bridges
to be built
and for messages to be signed across,
unspoken but still received,
under the ceaseless gaze
of the watchers.

I haven't been here in forever...

...and neither have I written very much poetry. Suckish, yes. I have two new pieces to toss out to the world, but before that, I would like to post my adoptable:

These tiny cute thangs are from valenth.com. Remember, I am 16, and I am still susceptible to stuff like this! ^^

...OMG! There's a cricket on my bedroom floor! *hides*