This is my life

The Test:: 3 ways "re-seen"

Editor's note: So I keep thinking my teacher is a bunch of crap. Lemme hear what you think? Which is better the first one or the second? Leave your answers in the comments pages! :)

3 Ways to Follow a Path

Holding his hand, with a pulling grip,

Playfully, as he ran
Her through freshly cut grass,

An unopened bag of licorice

In her hand. She giggled as

He talked about cerulean and scarlet.
They predicted where they were
Heading along the hidden, woven path
So many couples tried to find.
 

They limped on mahogany 

Stairs that followed the cracked,
Broken road where the grass had turned to
Mustard and their mouths shared a silence.

They dragged their feet,

Slowly, back
To the beginning
Knowing, once they reached it,
It would be the end.
 

His pace kept up

With his heartbeat.
Walking where the grass curdled
With split ends. As he crinkled that old
Twizzler bag, he turned,
Where there was no way, paved out,
Ahead. He walked off
Into the pasture, leaving
Crisp footsteps behind him.

3 Ways to Follow A Path

 

Holding his hand, with
A playfully pulling grip, as he ran
Her through freshly cut grass with
An unopened bag of licorice, in her hand.
She could giggle and he talk for days about
Favorite colors and uninterrupted
Futures. They predicted where they were
Heading along the woven path
So many others tried to find.
---------------------------------------------------------------
They limped on steps of
Mahogany stairs that followed the cracked
Broken road where the grass had turned to
Mustard and their mouths shared a
Satisfiable pause. They dragged their feet

Slowly, back to the beginning
Knowing, once they reached it,
It would be the end.
---------------------------------------------------------------
He held a pace that
Kept up with his heartbeat.
Walking where the grass curdled
With split ends. As he crinkled that old
Twizzler bag, he turned,
Where there was no way, paved out,
Ahead. He walked off
Into the pasture, leaving
Crisp footsteps behind him.

Eggshells Don’t Always Break Easily.

 

                “Please be right. Please be here.” I couldn’t help muttering a little out loud under my breath. I knew better than to assume she was going to be here. She was in England. Not Buxley. That is why we have been emailing every day since she left—different time zones and hardly any time. But when I got Bobbi’s call, I knew.

                “Two in the—really, B?” Really.

                “I know, Jess. I messed up. Big. But you need to help me.” I heard terror in her voice with minor symptoms of pain and panic.

                “In Buxley?” How was it possible? She wasn’t supposed to be back for two months.

                “Please. Come.” It was all I heard before the dial tone.

               

                Sleep had come too easily tonight after the double shift. It had been a day full of newborn little girls and one year old checkups. Even in a town as little as Buxley, I find myself amazed by the amount of happiness that can elude from the hospital—a place that is normally only thought of as dread.

                “Make sure you take your vitamins.”

                “Don’t forget to watch your food intake.”

                “She IS gorgeous, but more importantly, she is healthy.”

                “What are you going to name him?
                My job never has a dull day. Someone is always joyfully walking in, waiting for the results.

                It is exciting through the pain. Those bundles of joy bring out every mother’s smile and warm every heart. How else can someone deal with all the screaming, crying and pooping? God’s little Miracle. If it wasn’t for the way their tiny silky fingers wrapped around my pinky one, maybe I wouldn’t get as hooked either.

                That’s how those Miracles work. That’s how they get every parent so wrapped up in caring for them. It’s typical, its biological but it is still amazing.

                There is something about the amount of emotions that resonate off of the seashell white walls and baby blue vinyl floors; it controls us all. It leaves us with feelings of contentment and joy, as if the baby was our own beautiful Miracle. The florescent lights just helped heat up the rooms full of emotion and no one was left untouched. Following those walls, I went to my own snow colored building that I called home. I always seemed exhausted. Maybe it was the emotional connections that I witnessed all day that would make my own eyes beg for the pillowed dreamland of my bed.

                Before I met Bobby, I’d come home most nights with such a crash from everyone else’s highs, that I would break down with jealousy and resentment. I was always in a bad place remembering all those smiling faces and no one smiling for me. Bobbi changed all that. Bobbi gave me a reason to smile and always smiled back.

                As my hair hit the pillow, I couldn’t help but see Bobbi’s angelic smile as I lulled myself to sleep.

                “You are my sunshine. My golden sunshine. When you’re not with me, my skies are—“ What in the world? Ringtone. Right. Bobbi? Calling? Sigh.

                “Hello?” I managed to groan as I clicked the answer button. That was the start to my two in the morning runaround. I had no idea where she was so I slipped on my jeans and hoodie. I grabbed my keys and left. I wandered to her normal hangouts. Typical bar scenes that people knew Bobbi by name. She was always the life of the party, no matter where she found herself, she was a charm no one could resist.

                No one from Chances saw her in months. The Annex was abnormally dead for a Friday night. Hydrate was unsuccessful as well. It was uncommon that if she was back, she wouldn’t hit up her friends that frequented these places. As I continued to walk, my thoughts turned darker and darker each corner I turned. I tried her phone numerous times. It started to ring and then went to voicemail.

                Dead.

                I prayed it was just the phone.

                Bobbi was supposed to be in England. She hadn’t really assumed I’d go there to get her… Did she? By the time I realized it, I was walking straight for her buzzer. 216 Maple, apartment 2d.

                Buzz. “Bobbi? Bobbi? Buzz me up. It’s Jessica.” I waited hoping that the light I saw around the corner of the apartment was from B’s place.

                Sure enough, I heard the electrifying scream of the buzzer sounded. A calming surge pulsed through me. Hopefully this was all just a big false alarm.

                “At least she is home.” I whispered to myself as I climbed the single flight of stairs. I knocked on her door.

                “B?” I tried the handle. It was unlocked. “Hey Bobbi? What are you doing h—.” That was when I saw her, sprawled out on the floor, barely crawling to the door. Helpless.

                And she wasn’t the only one. To think that in the five months that I hadn’t seen her. This could happen. It was impossible. The math started quickly in my mind. When was the last time I saw her? April? Is this possible?

                I just gazed horrorstruck. She easily weighed an extra 50 pounds. She had to be pretty far along the way her stomach was protruding out of her, giving her no hope for balance.

                “I am taking you to the hospital.” All my emotions seemed to drain away from my face. I reacted as any nurse would. She was a patient. Not Bobbi. Not the love of my life. Just another faceless patient. I helped her to her feet as she wept.

                “I’m… sorry.” She blurted out. Sorry? I couldn’t go there right now. I grabbed her keys and guided her down to her car.

                As we drove I blasted the music to overpower her crying and attempted pleas. I dealt with this every day. Every day these children were brought into the world and parents had tears of joy. Parents? Part of me wished that it was even remotely possible it could be mine. Genetics don’t work that way. Love doesn’t create babies. I learned this like everyone else. You needed a woman and a man.

                As we approached the hospital, I timed her contractions. I tried to continue to focus my thoughts on the car, on the music, on the clock. Anything but the woman next to me.

                Bobbi was done screaming over the music. She turned it down as she whimpered in pain.

                “Let me explain, Jess. Please.” Her voice cracked as she blurted the words out.

                “I think your body language explained it all.” I responded and as if that little ball of flesh agreed—she had another contraction, causing her to scream, yet again.

                “I know” she panted. “That I let you down. That—I broke—your heart. That’s why I left. I figured—if you didn’t see—I could—Ow!—Distance—too much.”

                “Well, I am glad that the last two years have meant so much to you. That I deserve the truth.” Almost there. Just one more block away. It felt like I hadn’t so much as blinked since realizing why I had been on speed dial. “How along are you?” I asked, no emotions showing. None felt either, no pain and no anger. Just numbness, everywhere.

                “It wasn’t supposed to happe—ouch! Seven months. I do—love you, Jess. I am—sorry.” Upon hearing those words muttered through her cracked lips , I began to laugh uncontrollable. The first feeling I felt in what seemed to be hours.

                “Love? Enough to leave me for a man? Where is he anyway? You know what. Don’t answer that. Have the nurses on staff call him.” I said as I parked the car, opened the door and waved the man pulling an empty wheelchair over.

                “Jess? Is this—“ Of course Cliff recognized Bobbi right away. Every work party since I started at Stevens, she had been there.

                “Take her inside. You know protocol. Find out where the father is. Oh and Cliff? I won’t be in tomorrow. He nodded as I got back towards the driver’s door.

                “Jess! Come with me please! Don’t make me do this alone.” I let go of the handle. For a couple seconds I considered what it would be like. Walking in those white rooms and play make believe as a parent. I did it every day whether I was in a position like this or not. I could stare at that baby blue floor as I realized the gender and I could sooth B like I always could before. But this time, my imagination wouldn’t be strong enough  to block out those feelings of hate and I refused to bring the one happy place in the hospital down.

                I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t look around with my head spinning with questions.

                Emails. Everyone said it was fishy. I should have listened. The hospital felt like a morgue. Walking in there meant admitting that I was the walking dead. Instead? I called up the only person I could think too.

                “Jake? Bobbi’s in the hospital. Here in Buxley. Yeah, Steven’s. She’s pregnant.” My own eggshells finally stopped holding back my tears as I cried into the phone.

The Way I See It #257: Love Wins

You need me. Admit it. I'm what you crave in the morning.

As the sun turns your  unquenchable dream to a        thirst for

Reality.  Your silken  hand   touches  my  slender               body.

Holding  me  close  to    your   lips.  I'm  the  drug              that gets

You  through  the  midday  humps and fuels  the                   flame

You can find  brushed  on your  lips.  You  count                    down

The hours until  we  meet  again. Until you taste                        my 

Seductive   charm    which     gives   you   energy                   per my 

Curves. I'm the one constant in your  overcasted                    world. 

The needle  that  mixes  me  up  and fluidly boils                    your 

emotions.  I'm   the   reason  night  owls  devour             darkness

And  early  birds  scour.  I'm  your  drug  as  you            pour in 

My   potion   to    seduce    yourself    with   your       lovely 

Charismatic addiction.   Forever your,   Cup- O' - Joe.

*Title thanks to Starbucks

Others:

Wings of The Night

Wings                                   Stretch

Out like arms of her mother.

Saying goodbye again to her serviced

Daughter. Clearing her departure.

After she battled her

Anesthetized emotions from juvenile 

Carnaged victims blessed with

Grenades of freedom and victory missiles.

In the night, the wings resemble

Her childhood. mimicking the kites 

She would fly with her father.

Swings she'd reach up to

Touch -the sky- was always her escape

And now 35,000 feet in the air

Its her only link to the world

She used to know.

 

Kanojo No Sora

 The sun rising in her day
Blocking out the worries of nightmarish
Thoughts and shadows creeping
Through her windows.
Help her rise to the horizon
Of spiders enveloped in flames
Bring back the heat of a new day

The midday lunch break.
Her crutch getting her through the rest
-Deadlines and professional atonement-
Satisfying her hunger for
Outside contact.
Quenched her
Sanity to bring her back until
Her five o'clock whistle.

The sunset of a era.
With a chill of the
Night. Around the vibrance
Of warm colors.
Providing the deep breath,
After a long day.
Bringing back the
Flame of passion to her eyes.

The night sky that claims her soul
Drawing out the even breaths
Of the wind and the tempo
Of a world's heartbeat.
Bringing back the butterfly
Kisses of her eyelashes
As she closed her eyes
For a brand new rising.

彼女の空

8 degrees of fogotten memories

In a library
around mid afternoon's
sunshine
no one sees you
hiding from the world
giving nothing but
those tattered pages your
time
as you wait for the clouds of a
escapable fairytale to free
you

In an airport
on the other side of the
world.
you see her
giving her last hug goodbye
to the friends she'd
leave behind for love
that brought her to new
heights.

In a hospital
right inside their little
town.
she sees him
giving his last kiss
to an ailing daughter
who looked like an
angel fast asleep
as they pulled the plug
that left her in her
dreams.

In an arcade
amidst the sounds of their
day.
he sees them
giving each other's hands
a squeeze
delicate as hearts
as if they can feel
each other's heart beat
giving them each
life.

In a car
driving around the countryside
road.
They see others
giving their friends
a elated congratulation
wave
as if to exchange a laugh
and smile brings them back
in front of their "Just Married"
sign.

In an elevator
going up through the fast paced
city
others see everyone
giving anything to hit a
button
that leaves the rest of
the world guiding the
unapproachable way
as they stand their content
walking stick in
hand.

In a lonely street
in the dark oncoming
storm
everyone sees me
twirling in the rain
giving my worries a
break
as he splashes me with puddles
that quench my ideas
with a rainbow of constant
laughter.

Lights, Cameras, Laws

          
-->

            "People don’t talk about politics because it is too dirty."

            Megan couldn’t believe her eyes as she watched the teacher with the perfect posture scribble the word "politics" on the board with that perfect handwriting that every teacher seemed to possess. She sighed as the teacher grabbed the red dry erase marker like a censorship sword and cut through those gorgeous letters one by one.

            How was it that she was stuck in a classroom, in a school that could be this fake when this was the one chance she had at escaping from that?

Escape—it seemed so impossible only months before. Her only chance at normalcy back then was the classroom. It was her only safe haven. Out on the streets she was the main attraction and in the house she was supposed to call home was an armory only her mother could possess. The guns were the microphones. The swords were the pens. The tasers were the cameras constant flashes. And it was already directed at her—the target.

It didn’t matter where she went. Whether it was the fine dining family dinners at Cercle Rouge or hidden away in an internet café on the corner of 14^th street and 2^nd avenue.  They always followed. It was as if the world that surrounded her needed an update on every breath she took.

In a world where politicians rule the world, it was easy to see how they are a source of attraction. But being the daughter of a politician meant you were to be just as ridiculed for your behavior as they were for their laws.

Megan got back at her mom the way every teen did; she rebelled. She smoked pot. She snuck out. She found ways to get around those pesky driving laws. She had the world on her shoulder as she went 90 in a 35 into yet another brick wall. The smell of alcohol was on her lips and a sense of torment could be heard through her laughter. Fame makes people do crazy things. Ask Lindsey Lohan and Britney Spears. It is only a matter of time when your normal life isn’t catchy enough and you need that thrill just to find a reason to wake up the next day. Like them, Megan knew she was unstoppable.  Every rule that her mother pushed through the houses, she violated.

              By the third time she had her bail posted, her wishes were finally granted. Her mother cried as she tried to understand how Megan could have let her down so close to elections. Elections and tears those would get those guns blazing and swords swinging.

  Forget the fact it was Megan’s birthday. That was only an occasion to receive the same signed card Mrs. Rosten gave her campaign organization members. For the last time, Megan packed her suitcases. This time without the bitterly angry remarks she typically spewed towards her mother as she explained how she would run away. This time, she had an accomplice; as her father grabbed her luggage and attempted to hug a daughter he hadn’t seen since she was six. She realized that this was the best birthday gift she ever got. Her freedom. No more domination from the high and mighty. No more constant breathing down her back as she picked through food she couldn’t pronounce. This was her shot at normal.

Normal was Turin, New York. Her should-have-been safe haven:  South Lewis Senior High School. It was already November, midway through the first semester when she got to her new school. She started over; she dyed her once was ebony hair, burgundy. Megan also added a notorious “h” to her new name—Meghan.

Yet during her first class every ounce of hope she had was squeezed dry. She was placed into a new armory, swords ready. Her first class of her first day: journalism. Meghan found irony scribbled on the white walls as she saw the newspaper campaigns and different posters meant to help spark emotion and interest. She was supposed to be one of the countless zombies trying to get a sneak peak at the royalty of the state. Because out of every topic, it would figure that in a school this desolate, the only topic not picked over was her old life: Politics.

After explaining to Mrs. Glidden that she had no idea how she got assigned into the class and had absolutely no interest in politics, Mrs. Glidden repeated the first thing she ever said to her.

"People don’t talk about politics because it is too dirty. Write it down and think about it. Maybe something will come to your mind."

"Mrs. G, I get the point. Leave the girl that has been surrounded in politics all her life to immerse in it, but this is what I just escaped. Do I really have to go back?" Megan couldn’t help but hear the desperation in her voice. As she looked around the cluttered classroom, she felt the echo of her despair resonate the stale air.

"Why do you look at your current situation as an escape?" Meghan’s ears peaked up. No one ever asked her why she crashed the car or why she would run away. No one cared about her reason; they were too interested in keeping her in the spotlight. "Why" wasn’t a question Meghan knew how to answer.

Mrs. Glidden watched as Meghan’s brain started to shift gears as she began to acknowledge her own thoughts. "It’s a prison. You are always followed by people, like these students, with pens and microphones in hand just waiting for the next screw up. So I gave them those screw ups. But it wasn’t for them and their stupid papers. It was the only escape I could find, a sort of revenge for my mother. The only thing politicians care about is the scene. The hustle and bustle about welfare, freedom and liberty, it’s just part of their act. It’s a script they follow for their own play and as long as they are the leading actors nothing else matters. Not even their daughter’s birthdays or homemade gifts. Not the heartbreak their families face or the burdens on a six year old girl learning how to do her laundry because her mother was too busy trying out the next piece of her audition. They are all selfish. They are all a mess and not one of them cares what is written, as long as they are written about. Why would I want to feed into that as a mindless zombie infatuated with their role?"

"Maybe the best way to get back at the political world isn’t to take the light from your mother by doing drugs and stealing cars. But to blind her with the spotlight until the main attractions forget their lines and feel just as trapped in that light as you did." 

 It was Meghan's turn to be as fake as the world had taught her to be and expose politics for what it was--dirty.