Untitled

one day I’m going to look into your
spiderweb eyes
and say through muted lips:
“you broke me”
then I will smile
and with such beguiling respiration
I will sing into your ears
“but it’s nothing I couldn’t fix”

I Want

I want days filled with
dandelion kisses
and sunflower smiles.
I want to feel the embrace of a hand
entwined in mine.
I want simpering hugs and
orgasmic glances.
I want Kermit the Frog laughs and
exhaustedly enthused sighs at day's end.
I want meaty metaphors over midnight meals
and mornings missed due to dreaming deeply.
I want, I want, I want it all;
don’t you?

10 Things I Look For In A Boyfriend

1. You have to be able to make me laugh. No laughter in a relationship is equal to a dead relationship.
2. Blanket forts. We’re gonna build them.
3. You’re intelligent, like me, but every now and then you say something super stupid, like me. We’ll make a pact that I wont mock you for not knowing the proper definition of “pontificate” if you don’t make fun of me for not knowing the difference between the Senate and the House of Representatives.
4. When I feel comfortable enough to share my writing, you will read it and tell me honestly what you think. Don’t baby me. If there’s something you don’t like, let me know. But soften the blow, please? I’m fragile.
5. You can’t get scared by the fact that I cry (all the fucking time). If you do, than this is a doomed relationship.
6. You can’t be a mime.
7. LOST. You have to like it. I’m sorry, but this is a must.
8. You should be a nerd. (Well, I guess you don’t have to be) (Though it would help)
9. You have to think Muppets are cool, and you can’t get freaked out when I casually mention how my dream wedding will one day take place in Disneyland.
10. Are you Jason Segel? If so, why are you not in my pants already?

A Sober Letter to an Intoxicated Girl

Dear Julia,

Don’t have that Pirate’s Choice.

Yes, Hannah makes it sound super tasty and, yes, all right, pirates are pretty badass, but you don’t need it. You’ve already had a Cosmo and a Pink Lady, not to mention a whole lot of Hannah’s Creekside Lemonade. You're at a good place. Slightly drunk, but still hanging on to that last bit of you that makes smart choices and keeps her mouth shut. Besides, you hate the taste of rum, but if you get it you’ll force yourself to drink it anyway because you don’t want to “waste a drink”. And if you drink all of it? Well, you’re going to get drunk. Not the drunk that you like though. You’ll be drunk. Meaning? You’re going to wake up in your bed at 9am the next day and you’re going to lie, on your face, for a whole minute before you finally ask yourself, out loud, “How did I get here?” And it wont be until you feel the pounding in your head and the jeans hugging your thighs that you realize that you got so drunk last night that you honestly can’t remember getting home. You'll get up, go to the bathroom mirror, and behold the make up smeared under your eyes and the low cut tank top still showing off your cleavage, before quickly returning to your bed because, goddammit, it hurts too much to stand. Then you're going to have a panic attack because you can't find your phone anywhere, only to find it in the shower five minutes later (how it got there, I'm sorry, even I do not know). Then you're going to spend the rest of the day curled up in your roommate's pillsbury dough boy blanket, scarfing down mac n' cheese and oatmeal and anything else to quell your nauseous stomach, feeling like utter shit. Sure, you'll get to spend quality time with your roommates and your cat from hell watching Daria and John Hughes movies, but it'll still be a waste of a day. The only productive thing you'll get done is renewing your library books and you'll do that online anyway, you lazy fuck. Not to mention you can’t remember anything you did and/or said at the bar after drinking only half of that vile, intoxicating drink. For all you know you could have told everyone you're on your period or how that one boy is a douche or how you're oddly attracted to John Lithgow and, quite frankly, I wouldn’t put it passed you. Let’s just pray you didn’t kiss anyone.

So, don’t have that Pirate’s Choice.

Sincerely,
Future Julia

only a dream

i’m hungry for a kiss
that never even happened,
but I can still
taste
your lips upon mine.

A LOST slam poem (finished)

Ostentatious

There is a cloud of smoke, and it is trying to kill me

My heart beats loudly in my ears

As I run from the accumulation of all my dread and hate and fears

This thing – this malignant monster – that has haunted us for what seems like years

In this place

This place

This hunk of rock floating lost at sea

A god forsaken planet forgotten by all humanity

With the same hungry individuals

Each with some twisted back story

And we are stuck here, together

Trying to survive

Dividing up water, sharing granola bars

Trying to stay alive

Wearing shoes stolen from the dead

Keeping calm, counting to five

Memorizing names of stations

Learning to live without technology

And there is a cloud of smoke trying to kill me

Why aren’t I questioning the plausibility of this?

Why am I so used to the thought of the unnatural becoming natural?

No longer looking for some larger rationale

Maybe it’s because I’ve faced polar bears in the heat of the jungle

I’ve heard of rabbits brought back from the dead

I’ve jumped through space and time with the flash of a light

And pushed the same ten buttons so we could live through the night

I met an omnipresent deity who just called himself “Jacob”

I watched a horse appear out of thin air

I was taken hostage by a character from the Wizard of Oz

I’ve seen a whole island move

Something no one ever thought that we could do

And there’s more

A man who can withstand an electromagnetic force

A wife whose cancer melted away like wax

A paraplegic man who found his will to stand

A child who can cause the death of birds without any reprieve

And this cloud of smoke is still trying to kill me

This black, thick gas that can shape shift and mind fuck you

Into believing it is anyone or anything

Like a man who looks like Mr. Clean with a machete in his teeth

Or an Iraqi soldier who’s been through hell because he’s lived it

A woman who’s little turnip is sought by the unspoken natives

Or a large man who thought that he was crazy, until he took control

A man who told me to find my constant, whatever that may be

A woman who just wanted to be free

Or a doctor who never wanted the responsibility

Anyone or anything

A father who made too many mistakes

A kidnapped boy with a warning

A holy brother who died for his sinful other

A wife who died because her husband was too late

A daughter who blamed her father for her fate

Or Mr. Clean with that machete still gripped in between his teeth

And that cloud of smoke is still trying to kill me

Maybe this is purgatory

And we have to own up for the sins we created in life

Torturing innocents

Running from consequence

Taking drugs, lying to spouses

Betting with the unlucky ten that then burns down our houses

Conning, stealing, swindling, chasing

Killing, cheating, drinking, debasing

Or murdering our stepfathers

In the coldest of blood

And not feeling regret

For one tiny instant

So maybe we’re all dead

Maybe we died upon impact and this is our hell

Hoping our strengths and our minds are enough to quell our fate         

Or maybe, just maybe, this is a place that we all made together

Because maybe we’re the most important part of each other’s lives.

Nobody does it alone

No one alone can survive

Or maybe that’s just a flash sideways

At this point, who really can say?

But I will keep running

And I will keep fighting

This wrong that needs righting

And diligently escaping this contest we’re pacing

And, no matter how this ends, in bliss or grievancey,

That cloud of smoke will never, ever kill me

To A Boy

To a boy who doesn’t know what I am worth

Let me spell it out for you in

Every unspoken verb

And noun, and pronoun, and adjective

So you can see where it was that you went wrong

I am worth every smile and every laugh

Every bright gaze and every dream

I am worth a sunrise and a half

I am much more spirit than I may seem

I am smart and I am fun

I am ditzily dancing through life

And I do not care for carrying any excess strife

Because I am worth that crease you get on the side of your face

From laughing too hard in a particular place

I am worth a thousand lines of poetry drawn squarely against the sea

I am a hiccup of a good time

I listen

I care

I am constantly aware

And ready and rearing

To be there for those who will dare

Share their time with me

I am worth hand holding down the street

And picnics in the park

I am worth pizza dates, movie nights, cuddle fests,

And dancing in the dark

I am worth a jaw dropping stare

Because I look so goddamn good in sexy underwear

Which, you know, you’ll never get to see

Now that you chose not to be with me

And if heaven and brownies had a baby

It would smell exactly like me

Cause I smell good

Good enough to eat

I am worth stacks and stacks of unread books

Because I am a mystery wrapped up in a soliloquy

Darting across your tongue as you speak my verse

You who once controlled my universe

I am worth that tickle you get in the back of your throat

When you have something important you need to say

I am worth the tree that stood in the park and gave you shade

When all you wanted was to get away

And I am worth gallons upon gallons of ice cream

That will always leave you with a smile

Even when you’ve had too much

I am worth the coolness of a snow cone

The gentleness of a caress

The steadiness of a mother’s gaze

The laughter during recess

The comfort of a pillow

Much like my own pillow

Which I’ve sobbed in many a time because of your words

Your words

Which are usually so lovely to my ears

But now, instead, are killing me with syllables

I am worth every butterfly in your stomach

When you’re about to do something so wonderful it scares you

I am worth every tear that falls from your eyes

When witnessing something so utterly beautiful

I am worth every moment that’s taken the breath from your lungs

Because I am a moment

A moment you’ll never get back

I am worth all of these things

Which took me a long time to realize

But now that I have, it has occurred to me

That I should never have to compromise

For a son of a bitch like you

Who never truly saw me

Never truly knew me

Never truly understood that I am worth much more

Than you deserve, which I hope now you know

So

I don’t need you

And all the pain you put me through

And one day I’m going to find me a man

Who, upon first glance, will clearly see a girl

Who is not just worth all of these things,

But is also worth the world

Who will ravish me, protect me

Cherish me, respect me

And love

Love me for me

And know my worth utterly, totally, completely

Because I am worth so very much in all reason and rhyme

So get out of my life and out of my head

Because, quite frankly,

You just are not worth my time

Quip

A daughter without a mother is like a bird who lost its tail feathers; it's still possible for it to fly, it's just a lot more of a challenge.

You can't stop a Heart from Wanting what a Heart Wants

My heart can never stay still
for any longer than three breaths.
One,
two,
three.
I'm gone.

Something To Be Proud Of (lyrics)

Moments triple past the broken glass
Of the previous night's bliss
You talk too much, you have too much
You think too much, you soar too much
All in the name of earning fortune's kiss

Fireworks explode in mind
You're racing to the tune of time
You take the lead, and now you're feeling this
And sometimes it's okay to get
A little over ex-cite-ed
When it's deserved, as you are sure to guess

Take an honest breath and learn to breathe
Command the stars, they will obey
You slew the dragon, seized the day
Reward yourself and scream out loud
You've done this and it's made you proud
Take an honest breath and learn to breathe

Tremble, stumble, gamble, crumble
Till your smile is vain but humble
I cannot stop you from what is denied
And I will protest in the name of craft
That life is something to be laughed
But it is not something that is to be defied

So if you're wise, you'll take this chance
To grab the prize and take this bow
I cannot stress the importance
Of trying to live in the here and now
Simmer till you ache with less
And smile, it's yours, release your stress
You've gained much more than what your heart allows

Take an honest breath and learn to breathe
Command the stars, they will obey
You slew the dragon, seized the day
Reward yourself and scream out loud
You've done this and it's made you proud
Take an honest breath and learn to breathe

Reward yourself and scream out loud
You've done this and you're fucking proud
Take an honest breath and learn to breathe
Take an honest breath and learn to breathe
Take one goddamn breath and learn to breathe

Cancer

Beautiful redhead.

Phone call.

Year passes.

Beautiful bald.

LOST slam poem

There is a cloud of smoke, and it is trying to kill me.
My heart beats loudly in my ears
As I run from the accumulation of all my dread and hate and fears.
This thing – this malignant monster – that has haunted us for what seems like years
In this place
This place
This hunk of rock floating lost at sea
A god forsaken planet forgotten by all humanity
With the same hungry individuals with daunted back stories
Living off our unsung glories
And we are stuck here, together,
Trying to survive
Dividing up water, sharing granola bars
Trying to stay alive
Wearing shoes stolen from the dead
Feasting on the meat of boars
Learning to live without technology
And there is a cloud of smoke trying to kill me

(Work in progress. Not done yet.)

Doodles on a Nihilist's Arm

Here's a link to a story I wrote a while back. It's over 20 pages long, so brace yourself. It's entitled "Doodles on a Nihilist's Arm" and it takes place during WWII.

Click here to read.

To a Daughter

This is the start of a slam poem I'm working on.

~*~*~*~

If I were to ever have a daughter
I’d treat her as one treats one’s heart:
Delicate, strong, beautiful.
I’m going to treat her like she’s an adult
When she’s still learning her ABC’s
Meaning I will never treat her like she’s dimwitted or dull,
Because everything about her will invigorate me.
I am going to listen to every single sob story
About the girls in her class who hog all of the glory
And I will always, always side with her.
I will buy her presents just because,
But I will never spoil her to the point that she becomes rude or self centered
And should she ever get to this juncture, she will have a stern talking to with yours truly.
I will give her advice, I will always play nice,
I will aid her, I will serenade her
With delicious riddles and dusty poetry
I will drive her anywhere she needs to go within arms reach,
And, to her, I’m going to teach.
I’m going to teach her everything my mother taught me
And everything I wish my mother had taught me
Because this life is long and if I don’t tell her while she’s young still.
Then nobody will.

Returning (written June 15th, 2011)

In eight months I get to return, once more, to Cortona, Tuscany. It’s been over four years since I was last there, and I can still remember it. The steep hills. The language. The cathedral. The sunflowers. The food. The wine. The everything.

I am excited.

I am excited to return to Italy as a woman, no longer the naive child that I was. I am excited to be able to explore the city all on my own, no longer in need of my father’s watchful gaze. I am excited to go back to the restaurants we dined at. I am excited to see if the nice British man still works at the cafe my brother and I bought hot cocoa from every day. I am excited to drink good wine. I am excited to have money of my own to spend, no longer depending on my father to fund me. I am excited to be girly in Italy, unlike my last visit when I was still incredibly tom boyish. I am excited to wear dresses in Tuscany. I am excited to stay in the exact same villa we stayed in before. I am excited to stand on my balcony, at night, taking in the quiet nightlife of the village. I am excited to hike up the hills beyond the town. I am excited to photograph anything and everything I see. I am excited to go out drinking with my brother (he promised me we would!). I am excited to see if I can catch the eye of a cute Italian boy. I am excited to sit in the cafe and read. I am excited to teach myself basic Italian over the course of the next eight months and use it as much as possible in Cortona. I am excited to interact with the people. I am excited to see the sunflowers once more.

I am so very excited.

But most of all, I am excited to re-experience Italy. Last time I went I was sixteen, and while I was wowed and dazzled by the foreignness and culture, I didn’t really retain any of it. I was in Italy, but it never really hit me. I walked around with my dad, poked around some shops, then stayed in my room and read a ton. This time is going to be different. I’m going to walk the entire city, by myself. I’m going to go in all the shops (not a difficult task, seeing as it’s a small town). I’m going to take so many pictures and eat so much food and have adventures. I’m most excited for the adventures, I think.

I am going to have an incredible time. I cannot wait.

To a Father (June 19th, 2011)

To a gracious father, who gave me breath at first glance
Who held me in his palms, looked me in the eyes, and loved me in advance
Even though you’re two hundred ninety two miles away
I thought that I should share this with you upon this very special day

Thank you for all you’ve made me and shaped me out to be
Thank you for standing by my side, putting in faith, and constantly loving me
You who taught me to love musical theatre when I was only five
Who scared the living hell out of me when I attempted to learn to drive
Sitting me on your lap and teaching me the significance of words
Never letting a single sob story I told you go (almost) unheard
Showing me Star Wars, telling me Tolkien, accepting my love of Harry Potter
Teaching me of finances and money to insure a financially stable daughter
Helping me with math and vocab in my time at junior high
Dealing with all the tantrums I’ve thrown with an ornamental sigh
You’re like the Mufasa to my Simba, I’m the Belle to your Maurice
But you’re better than a Disney father, your excellence continues to increase

You’ve played both a father and a mother, taking on both parts
You’ve been there when all my dreams broke and when fate crushed my heart
You who squeezed my hand and told me it wasn’t the end of the world
Because you were there and I was always your little surfer girl

So thank you for all you’ve given and all you continue to endlessly do
And from two hundred ninety two miles away I say:
Happy Father’s Day to you

Farewell to the Boy who Lived (written July 13th, 2011)

I have a confession to make. It’s a lengthy confession, so you’d best make yourselves comfortable if you decide to continue reading this. It’s going to be a rant, for the most part, and it will be, I admit, utterly cliche. But I feel it needs to be said. So. Here it is.


As I walked home from work tonight, I cried. I cried because in 24 hours Harry Potter will be over and done with.

I know what you’re thinking. “What? Groan. That’s so cliche.” Well. Okay, maybe you aren’t thinking it, but I’m sure a few of you are.

Even as I reread that bolded statement, I feel a bit silly for admitting it to you all, but it’s been said and there are no take backs now. I could always press the backspace key on my keyboard and pretend I never wrote it, but I refuse. I need to get this out.

In the past, I’ve gotten angry at people who say things like “once the movies are over my childhood will end”, because, to me, the movies aren’t the end of Harry Potter. Harry Potter ended in 2007 when the last book came out. It’s not like we don’t know how this movie is going to end tomorrow night. They’ll destroy the horcruxes, McGonagall will be a bamf, we’ll all cry during Snape’s flashbacks, the epilogue will be just as crummy as it was in the book, and good will prevail. Knowing all of this, I spent the longest time refusing to get worked up over this movie. I will admit that I’ve never been a huge fan of the movies, which is probably why I’ve been so biased… Well. Okay. I lied. I adored the movies as a kid. I saw the first movie opening day when I was ten years old and thought it was the most utterly fantastic thing I’d ever seen. Now that I’m older, I know the first movie is pretty awful. I’ve liked things about a few of the other movies, but as a whole I just couldn’t get into them. Too much stuff was changed. I will admit that the last movie was my favorite though, by far.

Anyway.

As I was walking home, I began thinking about how my day’s going to go tomorrow. I’m meeting with a friend at 4pm, then I’m going from there to work, and from there I’m going to stand in line for the midnight Harry Potter premiere. I was trying to figure out what to do with my Luna Lovegood costume; whether I should pack it in my bag and get changed after work or if I should just wear it all day tomorrow. After a lot of thought I finally decided, “Fuck it. I’m gonna wear it downtown to Starbucks, and I’m going to wear it when Isaac and I hang out, and then I’m going to wear it to work. I don’t care if the world knows I love Harry Potter.” And that’s when I broke down sobbing in the middle of the street at ten o’clock at night.

What hit me hardest is that this is it. This is it, folks. This is the last time we get to stand in line, dressed up, anxiously anticipating the next installment of something Potter related. This is the last time we get to do a countdown. This is the last Potter-related release we’re going to have. Ever. Even I have to admit, that is goddamn heartbreaking.

Harry Potter’s always been there for me. It’s an overused line and it sounds corny, but it’s true. I remember being eight and first learning of the boy with the lightening bolt scar. My mother brought the first book home from her school library one day, and she told us of the story over dinner. After dinner, she had my twin and I sit our little butts down on the TV room couch as she took the spot betwixt us. She then opened the pages of the book and began to weave a story that would stay with me thirteen years later. Thirteen years. That’s more than half the years I’ve been alive. Jesus.

And it stayed that way. My mother read my brother and I a chapter or two of the first four books every night after dinner. We laughed. We worried. We complained. We fidgeted. We commented. We gasped. We grinned. We imagined. It was glorious. My mother did the best voices. She’d make her voice high and squeaky for Dobby, gruff and low for Hagrid, and bat-shit crazy for Filch. I remember sitting on our couch, imagining what these characters would look like and if they’d want to be my friends were they real. A couple years down the road, the movie came out. The movie was, of course, followed by my (horrible) attempt at fanfiction, and then all my fangirlness with my middle school friends. We’d write raunchy tales abut ourselves with the Hogwarts boys, which, of course, by any normal person’s standards were not really all that raunchy at all (to a twelve year old, making out can be very sexual). We’d have sleepovers and watch all the movies that were out, eating popcorn and gabbing about who was the cutest.

When we finished reading the fourth Harry Potter book I remember telling my mom that I didn’t want her to read to me anymore. I wasn’t a little kid anymore. I was eleven. I was practically an adult. I didn’t need someone to coddle me. I was fine on my own. My mother told me she understood, but even then I recognized some sadness in her voice. Three years later my mother passed away. I remember, the night she died, lying awake in my basement, wondering if she had died of a broken heart because I told her she couldn’t read to me all those years ago. What I would have given to hear her do her Dobby voice one last time.

Harry Potter was there for me at the hardest of times. Harry was there when I longed for my mother’s embrace. Harry was there throughout my constant depression during high school. Harry was there for me to relate to. My friends often complained about how all Harry did was whine about how his parents were dead, while I found it highly powerful. Here was a boy who had lived in my imagination for years upon years, and he faced the same problems as I did. It was so easy to empathize. So easy to feel like I wasn’t alone.

And the books brought me such joy in rough times. Through the years I fell in love with all of the characters; each and every one of them. Harry’s courage, Hermione’s persistence, Ron’s loyalty, Dumbledore’s wisdom, McGonagall’s sarcasm, Luna’s love, Neville’s stoutheartedness, Hagrid’s kindness, Draco’s smugness, Snape’s undying devotion, Dobby’s duty, Ginny’s strength, and this list goes on, believe you me. I’ve come to know most of these characters better than I know most people in my life, and for any other fandom that statement may be considered absurd, but for Potter? Nah. Because everyone can. My generation grew up with these characters and knows them just as well as the back of their own hand. It’s considered common knowledge.

And yet, we still must say goodbye. I know I’m going to sit in that theater tomorrow night and I am going to cry. I’ve accepted it. Because, once the movie ends, then it’s over. Right?

Not exactly.

The books are over, and tomorrow the movies will be over as well, but it’s not the ending. No. Never. Because, y’know, the books and the movies, they’re still going to be there. If you or I or anyone ever wants to revisit the magical wonderfulness of Hogwarts or Hogsmede or Diagon Alley or Grimmauld Place or Privet Drive, all we have to do is flip to the right page or turn on the TV. And I may have spoken too quickly when I said this is the end. We must not forget Pottermore, which I know for the most part is just the ability to read the books, for free, online, but there are going to be unread pieces on the site, and the very thought of that invigorates me. Then there’s the Harry Potter theme park, which - oh my Rowling - I swear I will go there one day.

And the future. Ah. I can’t forget to mention that. Because, I don’t know about you, but one day, in the far off distant future, I’m going to have children. Little versions of myself running around, terrorizing neighbors, doodling comic books and putting on plays for their parents, and living in a world of pure imagination. I know that when they are seven or eight that I’m going to take them by the hand, sit them down on our family couch, and follow in the steps of my mother: I’m going to read. I’m going to weave them the tales of Harry Potter and friends. I won’t expect them to want me to read them all of the books, but the first one? That one is mine to give to them, and no one’s taking that joy away from me.

So this, I suppose, is my farewell to Harry. I think it’s clearly evident how much these books have shaped me into the person whom I’ve become. They’ve been there for me, and they’ve taught me about life, love, friendship, and doing what’s right. And the movies, well, though not my favorites, I will admit that I am terribly sad to see them ending. I know I’m going to be cry a lot tomorrow night. So many, many tears of sadness. But, oh, so many tears of joy as well.

Thank you, Harry.

Pooh Trailer Analysis (written July 18th, 2011)

Fact: The Pooh trailer is more sentimental than the actual movie.

This is not to say that the movie isn’t awfully sentimental, because it is! It filled me with so much childhood nostalgia and I couldn’t stop myself from grinning/laughing the entire time as I watched the old Pooh gang in all their silly antics once more. But that’s the thing. I spent the entire time of the movie grinning and laughing, whereas the trailer I spend the entire time crying.

This is one of those times that I think music is very powerful and influential over one’s emotions.
Take for example the TV show Lost. I probably would not have cried half as much during that show if it weren’t for the instrumental music they played at really poignant moments. It just adds a whole other element to it. And that’s precisely what the Pooh trailer does, only with the song “Somewhere Only We Know”. I’m bored and I - although I hate to admit it - love analyzing things, so let me do that for you now (and by “you” I mean “my own self pleasure”).

The first stanza:

“I walked across an empty land
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Sat by the river and it made me complete”

Returning to this movie, we begin to fall back into the familiarity of it all. I draw a lot of similarities to the Hundred Acre Woods actually from this verse. It sets the image of walking through the woods after all this time, feeling the grass and seeing water rush passed, and knowing the way perfectly almost as though we are remembering from old times. As though we are returning to a place once more.

“Oh simple thing, where have you gone?
I’m getting old and I need something to rely on
So tell me when you’re gonna let me in
I’m getting tired and I need somewhere to begin”

When we were children, everything was so simple. Life was simple. We woke up, we went to school, we played, we ate, we slept. Not much more to it. As an adult, at least for myself, every now and again I miss that simple life. I wonder where all the years have gone constantly. Now, the line “I’m getting old and I need something to rely on” really gets to me. We’re not kids anymore. When we were we had adults to rely on, we had our simple lives, and most of all, we had our childhood fictional characters. This is almost to ask “Where did our childhood go? I want to go back to those times as I age and return to simplicity. I want to return to the Hundred Acre Woods”.

“And if you have a minute, why don’t we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
This could be the end of everything
So why don’t we go somewhere only we know?
Somewhere only we know”

This drives the point home. The Hundred Acre Woods, Owl’s house, Rabbit’s hole, Pooh’s home, they’re all places we grew up with. They are someplace only we know, the ones who grew up with Pooh. Yes, I do think this movie is primarily aimed towards little kids, but this verse, I believe, is a huge shout out to everyone who has grown old but loved Pooh at one point in their life. It’s like the song is beckoning you by saying “Hey, remember this? Remember the Hundred Acre Woods? Why don’t you go back to this place that you once knew? So why don’t you?” It’s utterly beautiful.

God I miss childhood sometimes.

(written June 17th, 2011)

A million desires pulse through my veins;
My mind palpitates with charisma.

Summer (written June 10th, 2011)

I inhale - I exhale - I repeat.
I’ve found my breath again;
I’ve found my smile once more,
As sunlight dances on my shoulder blades
And friends present kind words in my patient presence.
This feeling is a feeling no feeling can compare to.
I am yours, oh yes, I am forever more.
Summer. You are here.
Let’s begin.

Belief (written June 8th, 2011)

And the sky explodes in a million colors
Attracting gazes of horizontal lovers
In this priceless world we feign to understand
Lovers bake and tempers brood
I will refrain to quell your mood
My heart, I fear, falls short of reprimand

Poem (written June 5th, 2011)

Moments filter through my mind
Of once upon a better times
But lost, have I, and cannot find
The times you made me feel sublime

I Hate Hospitals (written June 4th, 2011)

There is nothing scarier then watching one of my closest friends on this entire planet get injured. All the breath gets sucked out of you and your heart stops beating in that small fraction of a moment when you wait to see if they’re going to get back up and reassure everyone that everything is all right. When that moment doesn’t come, you are terrified. Even when you are the first person by his side and he tells you he is fine, you’re not convinced. It might then give way, a few minutes later, to him taking back his previous statement and saying that he is anything but all right. In that moment, suddenly, you are in command. You tell everyone that rehearsal is over and that he needs to get to a hospital as soon as fucking possible. You don’t let anyone else help him to the car; only you. You check in on him throughout the entire car ride, asserting any and all attention to anything he is doing because, quite frankly, you are scared out of your fucking mind. You get to the hospital waiting room, and you are the only person who sits by him because, fuck it, you have spent three years calling him your best friend. No one else deserves the one chair next to him. When the woman behind the front desk says only two people are allowed back in the examination room with him, you don’t even bother to ask if any of the other people would like to go. You stand, take him by the arm, and start to lead the way, not even caring if anyone is tagging behind. When the nurse comes in you sit on the edge of your chair, watching as he answers every question she has to ask. Sometimes you interject when you feel it necessary. When the doctor comes in and confirms that, yes, he will be all right and, no, he does not have a concussion, you are filled with such relief. You and the gang take him home, making sure he has a roommate there to watch out for him just in case anything should go awry.  You hug him. You hug him with all you got. You go to work. You sit. You stare off into space for a moment. Suddenly a vision of life without your best friend flashes before your eyes. Only then do you break. Only then do you cry. You are sitting inside a crummy motel front office that smells of old people and bad paint and you cry and you cannot stop and you do not care. You cry also because this term, as a whole, has been awful, and this is just the cherry on top of all the crap, but mostly you cry because the thought of your life without your dearest friend is an awful, terrible nightmare. So you just keep crying.

Ten Things I Love ABout Myself (May 26th, 2011)

1) I am a great friend. Like the ‘wake-up-at-three-in-the-morning-and-go-over-to-your-house-because-you-need-somebody-to-talk-to’ friend or the ‘will-drop-almost-anything-if-you-really-need-me’ friend. I am dedicated and loyal to my friends, and I will fight tooth and nail if you bad mouth them. There is nothing more important to me in this entire world than those whom I love. I adore my blood-family and I’d do anything for them as well, but coming to Ashland has made me realize that to me friends come first because I know I come first for them too.

2) I am passionate. This applies to all aspects of my life. Whether it’s about a television show I’m super into, a goal in my life I want to achieve, theatre, my writing, my romantic life, muppets, or even something as random as the marriage of John and Abigail Adams. I am so goddamn passionate and it’s really easy to work me up on any of the things I’m passionate about.

3) I am a nerd. I love being a nerd. Or a geek. Or a dweeb. Or whatever it is you like to call my sort. I was raised on Star Wars, I dreamed of getting my owl, I wrote fanfiction about me hooking up with Frodo Baggins, I went dressed as Wolverine to the X-men movie premiere, etc. I’ve always had a great affinity for nerds. Due to the kinds of movies we watch and books we read, we have a much grander grasp on life than a lot of other people and we’re able to sympathize with people more often… Well, that’s my take on it, at least. My geekiness makes me who I am, and I love it.

4) I am a good writer. It took me a long time to admit this, but now I can and I am. Whether it’s my short stories or my slam poetry, I am not half bad.

5) I am intelligent. No, not in the sense that I can ramble off logarithms (or tell you what the fuck a logarithm is) or have in depth political debates (I hate politics) or even begin to comprehend the stock market, but I can hold my own. I know how to analyze, I love to read, I can follow directions. I am smart. I certainly wasn’t that bright in high school, so I’m glad college has changed this.

6) I am mature. I can pay bills. I can hold civil conversations with angry guests at the motel. I can fly on a plane all on my own and live to tell the tale. I have great breasts. I know how to let someone down easy and still make them feel like a valuable part of my life. I can take things in stride. I can nurse a hangover without the help of anyone. I know the difference between what’s right and what’s really fucking stupid. I can defend myself, both physically and verbally. I can proudly say that I have grown up.

7) I am a kid at heart. I watch Fraggle Rock when I’m bored. I still have stuffed animals on my bed. I laugh at “that’s what she said” jokes. I doodle crabs, elephants, Gonzo, and Mike Wazowski when I’m bored in class. I own a feather that was once attached to Big Bird. I love Don Bluth movies. I listen to Disney music religiously. I honestly believe everyone is beautiful and there is, in fact, good in everybody’s heart. I think blanket/pillow forts are the niftiest things ever. I know anything and everything about Muppets. I can proudly say that, inside, I’ll always be a kid.

8) I have a large heart. I am always so willing to give. I almost always put others before myself. I love taking care of friends when they’re sick. Giving gifts trumps receiving them (sometimes). I like to give people second chances. I believe in love. I believe in friendship. My heart is special and I try to keep it guarded, but it always has a way of leaking out and attaching itself to every person who touches some aspect of my life.

9) I’m funny. I’m not good with puns and I can’t tell a joke to save my life, but I have a silly sort of humor that I know a good handful of people really appreciate. I like it. I love making people laugh.

10) I’m adorable. Not beautiful, no, and only pretty on certain days, and I don’t think I’ve ever been sexy once in my entire life. But adorable? Cute? Precious? I have that one in the bag.

The Saddest Thing in the World (May 26th, 2011)

When a male friend cries.

Of course, watching female friends cry is equally just as heartbreaking, but watching one of your best guy friends who’s always been so strong and hilarious and proud and, well, a total dude, cry? There’s just something that pulls at my heartstrings even more when this happens. It’s so unsettling and it makes me want to cry as well because, fuck, if they can break then what’s stopping me?

Just Now (May 12th, 2011)

A girl wearing tattered cowboy boots
and a colorful quilted jacket,
who was carrying a pink hula hoop,
walked past my window just now;
I had to fight the urge to fly
out of the office’s front door,
so that I could grab hold of her hand
and beg her to be my friend.

Now the opportunity has passed;
it’ll never come again.

To Be A Kid Again (April 27th, 2011)

Some days I wish I could close my eyes and be five again. What I would give for that sense of innocence and that belief in magic I had at that age. Where growing up to be a dog was plausible, how no feeling compared to the one felt every Christmas morning, parents were encyclopedias, and imagination was a necessity in anything and everything I accomplished. Don't get me wrong, I love being an adult, and I love the adult I’ve grown into, for she is wonderful and beautiful, even if she can't always admit it, but when it comes down to it I’m still just a kid at heart. I think, deep inside, we all are still kids, which is something I think our generation truly excels at. I'm glad that our childhood nostalgia is something we can hold onto for the rest of our lives and forever cherish... but man, do I miss those days.

Short Piece (written April 21st, 2011)

Silence falls on ear drums
Another day has passed
With your requiems to daunting Bethlehem’s
Your tune was meant to last
But it’s music I don’t know
Unfamiliar to my ears
You’re like a savior to my reckless behavior
But your answer, it draws near

So kill me with kindness
Smother me with love
Give me graciousness through grasping finger tips
And all the stars above

I won’t wait for forever
For forever is too far away
But if you gain my hand through blissful reprimand
I promise you I’ll stay

What I'm Looking For (written April 18th, 2011)

1) Learn the little things about me.
What’s my favorite kind of music to fall asleep to? How do I like my tea? Do I even like tea? What movies can I recite with eyes closed? What was the first swear word I ever spoke aloud? What’s my opinion of hangovers? How do I fancy my pancakes? What’s my favorite kind of weather? What book do I indulge in every summer? Why do I collect masks? When did I start wearing glasses? Was I ever a vegetarian? Do I want a tattoo? What song makes me get up and dance? What did I name my boobs?  Can I play an instrument? What kind of shampoo do I use? How do I respond to rain?

2) Learn the important things about me.
Do I look more like my mom or my dad? Why am I minoring in creative writing? What’s the significance of my Jay action figure? Why am I so self conscious about my appearance? Why am I so passionate about Muppets? What makes me laugh? What makes me cry? When did I start drinking? Why have I only ever been in one relationship? Where do I like to be kissed? What is my greatest desire? What is my darkest fear? What terrifies me about being in love? Where did the three rings I always wear come from? What’s the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me? Do I like sex? Why do I like being a geek? What’s the box hidden on the top shelf of my closet? What food makes everything all better for me?

3) Let’s just hang out.
We don’t have to be cuddling or kissing or doing the tongue dance every second of our day. Just be with me for the sake of being with me. Do your homework while I watch the newest episode of Justified. Play your gameboy while I learn a monologue. Nap while I make dinner. Write a song while I write a story. Clean your room while I exercise. Organize your DVDs while I cram for a test. Complete a crossword while I try to cut my cat’s nails (although you could always offer help on this one). Do your dishes while I read a novel. Check your facebook while I’m sorting through old clothes. As long as I’m with you, no matter what it is we’re doing, I’ll be happy.

4) Let’s just be romantic.
Kiss me in public. Catch my gaze from across a crowded room. Carry me when I’m tired. Make me laugh till I cry. Make me blush. Buy me presents; simple yet meaningful. Make me soup when I’m sick. Let me pay for dinner every now and again. Write me love notes and leave them in places I’ll find later. Hold my hand when we’re together. Text me when I cross your mind. Kiss my wrists. Kiss my forehead. Kiss the back of my neck. Defend me. Say lovely words. Snuggle with me. Dance and be silly. Make love with me. Hold me when I’m down. Call me out when I’m being anything less than I am. Tease me. Invigorate me. Intoxicate me. Show me the kind of world I’ve only read about in books.

5) Let me have my space.
Every once in awhile, I’m going to turn you down. I have a life, and you do too. I need to get things done. Homework. Learning lines. Catching up on TV. Work. Feeding my cat. Making my bed. Doing laundry. Going to class. Hanging out with my girl friends. Hanging out with my guy friends. Going to improv. Writing slam poetry. Learning to cook. Studying for tests. Napping. Straightening my hair. Talking to my dad on the phone. Going to rehearsal. I want you there for all that I do, but every now and then I just need a little space from you.

6) Let me be close with you.
Spend an entire day with me. Drive all night with me to the beach just so we can watch the sunrise. Take me shopping. Introduce me to your friends. Take me to that action movie you’ve been dying to see that I think looks dumb, but I’ll see it for you. Ask me to spend the night, but not always for sex. Don’t hesitate in responding to my texts. Go to midnight movie premieres with me. Let me bring you lunch when you’re too busy. Go to the gym with me. Stay up all night just talking with me. Make up adorable nicknames with me. Tell me your secrets. Be disgustingly cute with me in front of all our friends. Build pillow forts with me.

7) Let me tell you about my past.
Why I went to an all girl’s high school. What growing up with a twin was like. Who my first kiss was. All the best friends I’ve ever had. The moment I first considered theatre. The age I suddenly became interested in boys. When I grew into that awkward teenage state and when I grew out of it. How old I was when I finally got my ears pierced. That time I had surgery. The invisible friend I created when I was seven. How I thought about being a magician for a living. The times adults have betrayed my trust. Why my dad and I used to fight every day. How I long to return to my childhood ways. What losing my mother was like.

8) Let me tell you about my future.
Why I want to move to New York. How many kids I want to have someday. The age I’d like to marry. The detailed list of what I’m looking for in a life partner. How I do really want to buy a horse in the future. How I’m afraid of aging. How death terrifies me. My dream house. My hopes and aspirations. The Bucket List I’ve already started. How I’d like to travel more. How I’d like to find true love.

9) Let me tell you anything and everything there is to know about me.

10) Let me find out anything and everything there is to know about you.

If you do all this for me, I swear, I will do all of this for you.

A Thought (written April 16th, 2011)

A missed opportunity is the most awful thing. There is nothing quite as heartbreaking as when you acknowledge a moment you needed has passed. It hurts. It hurts a great deal more than you’re willing to confess. You smile, you shrug, and you lie. You don’t want to admit that, inside, your heart is screaming. Yet, you know you can’t go on like this forever. So. We cope; we deal; we press forward. What else can we do?

Five Ways to Make My Heart Smile (written April 14th, 2011)

1. Make me laugh - it’s the one true way to my heart
2. Listen to me when I talk - in return I’ll listen right back
3. Share a lot of my interests - but don’t try to out geek me
4. Write me love notes - even if they’re simple, I’ll love them
5. Go with me on adventures - let’s be spontaneous

Twenty-Something (written March 6th, 2011)

You know what? I’m twenty. I’m allowed to get away with stuff like this. I’m supposed to; it’s my civic duty as a twenty-something year old.

I’m supposed to show up to work hung over. I’m supposed to claim I’m in love, even though I just met the boy I'm claiming to be in love with. I’m supposed to procrastinate doing my homework because I’d rather listen to music I can relate to. I’m supposed to be horrified at the thought of graduating. I’m supposed to blow the money I should be using for food on that dress I really wanted. I’m supposed to go to parties and try to look “sexy”, but shrug off any and all guys that flirt with me. I’m supposed to go on diets and then binge on quesadillas at three in the morning. I’m supposed to make out with girl friends just for the hell of it. I’m supposed to find pride in the little things. I’m supposed to question everything and understand nothing. I’m supposed to discover joy in the hardest times and be terrified of the things that make me the most happy. I’m supposed to experiment. I’m supposed to laugh. I’m supposed to make mistakes.

I am twenty. I am doing just fine.