Jealousy.

I am jealous of the poem "Song of the little cripple at the street corner" by Rainer Maria Rilke

When I first read it all I could think about was how
SAD
it is!!
It's very depressing...

But at the same time,
inspiring.

It's obviously talking about a cripple, and his poor frail body being bent and twisted...
But when I read this, I like to switch up the words 'body' and 'soul'.
Whenever it says 'soul', I switch it with 'body' and vise-versa.
When you do this, you can relate this poem to anybody.

We are all crippled in some way, some more than others. Our souls struggle to survive at times.
Sometimes our hearts are like poor little wet toads after a rainstorm... Hopping around, trying to become normal again. Trying to go back to every day life.

All of us have a part of us that is weak, that we struggle to live with... Sometimes it's physical, sometimes it's emotional, sometimes it's mental.

I love this poem because it depicts that. It isn't just bluntly talking about a cripple on a street corner. It's talking about all of us. It can relate to all of us. It speaks the words we struggle to find to describe ourselves.

That's why I like this poem.

Why I Sing.

written March 8, 2011

I sing because the music was built and created inside of me. I was made to sing. I sing because, to create such a magnificent sound that can move people is a sound worth making. I sing because it fills me up. Because it takes me into a place that nothing or nobody else can take me to. I sing because it fills my soul with beauty and feeling and love. It makes my head spin until i’m dizzy, and my heart beat at incredible speeds. I sing because it makes my knees weak, and my mouth as dry as a desert from being so nervous. My breathe becomes short, and my body is covered in chills. I sing because despite all that, the moment I step on stage and open my mouth, everything falls into place. My soul and my heart are calm and peaceful. My body stands tall and strong and steady, ready to take on any piece of music. My breathe becomes slow and calm, deep and open. Perfect for my song. And the chills on my body slowly fade away, as the heat of the spotlight fills me up from bottom to top. I sing for that feeling.

But most of all, I sing for the end of the song. Why, you ask? Because at the end... That’s when I see what my music does to people. It fills their souls... it softens their hearts. And best of all, it brings a smile to their face. That’s what it’s all about, for me. Bringing joy to their hearts. And that’s when I feel the MOST successful. 

“True success is making other people happy.” - Charles M. Schulz

I'm TIRED of...

I"m tired of being tired.
I'm tired of not being able to fall asleep.
I'm tired of waking up late.
I'm tired of looking like this every day.
I'm tired of being late to everything.
I'm tired of being early.
I'm tired of people who give me attitude when I haven't done anything.
I'm tired of being a l o n e .
I'm tired of thinking everyone hates me.
I'm tired of nobody wanting to be around me, or so it seems.
I'm tired of trying  s o  h a r d  to be happy and having school ruin that for me every day.
I'm tired of people yelling at me or getting mad at me when all I tried to do was help them or do the right thing.
I'm tired of people being fake.
I'm tired of the cold, cloudy, depressing weather.
I'm tired of my balloon being so full.
I'm tired of being so bottled up.
I'm tired of being  s t u c k ,  with no where to go.
I'm tired of being sick.
I'm tired of being ignored when standing right in front of someone.
I'm tired of waking up before i'm ready.
I'm tired of this  m a d  w o r l d .
I'm tired of this school.
I'm tired of being pushed and shoved.
I'm tired of feeling like an idiot.
I'm tired of being interrupted.
I'm tired of being misunderstood.
I'm tired of all those stupid celebrities that everyone wastes their time caring about. (Lady GaGa... What a joke.)
I'm tired of letting everything out in my notebook and realizing nobody's going to read it, or let alone care what I have to say.
I'm tired of not being enough for people.
I'm tired of not being enough for myself.


I'm tired of complaining.




That's enough.

Love is...

I don't really like having to define love. Because love is felt and described differently with every different person in the world. Everyone has their own love story, their own lover, their own way they love others. Everybody loves in a different way. So who am I to say what love is? But, that IS the assignment, so I guess I'll try anyways.

I was inspired when we discussed how love is the little things.

Love is putting the toothpaste on her toothbrush for her before she wakes.
Love is scooping the ice-cream for her, and adding more after she says that's enough.
Love is leaving a note, even though you already told her where you were going.
Love is wiping off the hairs all over the sink from when you shaved this morning, so she doesn't have to do it again.
Love is hanging up your coat, and putting your shoes against the wall so she doesn't trip again.
Love is shooting that little kid with a nerf gun because he was flirting with your girlfriend.
Love is giving up half of your french fries, even if you could easily eat them all yourself.
Love is playing basketball in the rain, even though you HATE sports and suck at them, but he enjoys it.
Love is feeding the dog for them without them having to ask you.
Love is coming home to clean dishes, washed laundry, and a clean room, with your sweetheart waiting up for you with a smile and a hug.
Love is plunking out 'chopsticks' on the piano, because you don't know any other song, but you wanted to play her something to impress her.
Love is grabbing his favorite candy bar for him at the check-out stand, because when you saw it, he was the first one you thought of.
Love is leaving a dorky note in his 'notes' on his iPhone.
Love is running through the sprinklers like you're still 5 years old.
Love is sharing a piece of chocolate cream pie, and downing it in 28 seconds flat.
Love is writing 'I Love You!!' in the snow, or on the driveway in colored chalk.
Love is locking him out, and then smiling at him through the window.
Love is making popcorn in the microwave, and smashing your faces up to the glass together to watch it pop.

"Love is giving up your life, without dying."

I'll Be In The Sky (prompt 19)

When reaching for the stars,

some will stop

at the grass.

Some may be brave enough

to reach the tree-tops

But when you look for me,

look high.

I’ll be in the sky.

I’ll be the one

that wasn’t afraid

to reach out

and stretch my arm

to it’s fullest extent.

I’ll be the one

who worked

and worked

and w o r k e d…

To fulfill

the highest of dreams.

I will not wait.

I will not have patience

for those

who sit in the grass.

Because those who do

were those who

gave

up

early.

They were those

who did not

B E L I E V E

in themselves.

They did not think

they could make it.

They thought maybe

the trees were the edge

of the boundary.

So they settled for less.

But I chose to suffer.

I chose to suffer the hardships

of work

and pain

and trial

to make myself

Strong

and

Sturdy.

To be someone

that others can lean on

and look up to.

I have worked for this.

I have made

an incredible effort

to get this high.

I guess I feel as if

I deserve it…

At least

I think I do…

I hope I do.

Nobody told me

the speed I was supposed to travel

Nobody told me

the limit.

So I went

Faster

And

Higher

Than most.

And I think

I earned it.

So if you’re looking

for those

who succeeded,

or if you’re looking

for someone special

someone who tried

someone who was worth

the pain

someone who deserves

to live like the stars…

reach up high

to find me

because

I’ll

be in

the sky.

Notebooks

My room
is filled
with notebooks.
All different sizes
and colors
and textures.
So many that
sometimes
I can't contain them all.
I can't let out all my feelings
into them
becuase
I have too many
pages
to choose from...
Too many different ways
I could write it out.
Too many thoughts, especially.
Thoughts about
poetry.
Thoughts about
God
Thoughts about
my thoughts...
Thoughts about
everything.
And I have a notebook
for each.
My notebooks
speak
for me.
They say the things
I am afraid to say
out loud.
It's funny because
I express my
real
true
feelings
as if
telling the world
what I really think.
It's as if
I want everyone to know
how self-centered
and cruel
I think some of them are.
And yet,
I hide my notebooks
in my room
under a pillow
so
nobody
can
read
them.
I guess i'm the type
that's all
talk
but no
action.

I really don't hate the world
I guess my notebooks
make it seem that way.
I just have so many
things
bottled
up
inside.
So much pain
caused by uncaring people
so much anger
brought by
high-school...
And really
writing this
will not solve or change that.
Since i'll probably go home today
and complain
some more
in
my
notebooks.
And those people
I write about
will never know
how
I
truly
feel.