We Won't Forget

I'm worried that when the snow falls, we will forget all about the orange leaves.
I don't want to forget the smell of the earth we walked on.

I'm scared when we all finally walk across that stage, we will forget each other.
I don't want to be tossed aside like yesterday's newspaper.

We don't need empty promises and long goodbyes.
All I want are small smiles and gentle kisses on my cheek.

I won't need a fancy sports car or a date to prom.
I'll be satisfied with spontaneous sleep overs and 6 am hockey games.

And even when the air begins to warm again, and the sun once again shines
I'll still be only one phone call away, ready to take a last minute drive to your old neighborhood.

So when the clock strikes twelve and we leave this magic ball behind,
I won't be ready for it to end.

But I will be ready to hold each of your hands and face our future.
And I have a feeling when the time comes, we won't be afraid.

We won't have a reason to be.
Because together, even separate, we can do anything.

Trapped

I'm trapped. Trapped by walls of self doubt and silence.

All I ever wanted some closure and a second chance. And just when I thought I was going to be able to get them

you are too busy

too tired

too far away.

And I start to worry over every little thing, every detail, every word.

I don't know why I worry, you said yourself that I have done nothing wrong. It's because I'm trapped. Trapped but those looming, intimidating walls of self doubt and silence.

They make me analyze over and over again each message before I send it. They make me worry that every time you say I'll see if I can you really mean I don't want to.

And worst of all they make me scared that you'll read this post and know that I am talking about you, that it will make me seem obsessive and pathetic.

When all I really want to say is that I have no other voice that is brave enough to scale the walls I am trapped behind, no other voice that is strong enough to try and break through to you.

And the walls last defenses is to laugh at this small, daring voice insisting that you will never read this anyways. This almost stops me.

But then it's my turn to laugh and scream back at the walls What the hell! There is no harm in putting this out there if you never see it.

So here is the last voice willing to try. Throwing itself out into existence and hoping that I am not too late. Hoping that I am not just in love with someone long forgotten in the past.

Things I Have Never

I have never been asked to a dance.

I have never traveled east of Colorado.

I have never been to Disney World.

I have never spent a night in a haunted building.

I have never touched the Atlantic Ocean.

I have never spent a night alone in my house.

I have never met somebody famous.

I have never broken a bone.

I have never liked spicy food.

I have never had a television in my own room.

I have never smoked a cigarette.

I have never owned an Iphone.

I have never lived anywhere but Utah.

I have never visited my grandmas grave.

I have never been to prom or homecoming.

I have never seen a dead body.

I have never made more than $8 an hour.

I have never been camping without a parent.

I have never been in a car accident.

I have never liked kids.

I have never been 100% completely honest in any relationship or friendship.

Regret To Inform You

I regret to inform you that I cannot actually tell you how to do anything.

I can't tell you how to fall in love because every time I do, it is not returned. I can't tell you how to piss someone off because I do it without even trying. I can't tell you how to fry a fish because I prefer baking. I can't tell you how to dance because my dance moves are limited to awkward shuffling and spinning in endless circles.

I was not born to be a teacher. When something finally makes sense in my head I can't tell someone else exactly why it does or how to understand it themselves. I can't tell you how to write a good English essay, or how to solve a radical equation.

I can't tell you how to drive a car because I drive mine much too fast. I can't tell you how to succeed in business because I've never made more than 8 dollars an hour. I can't tell you how to make friends because the ones I have somehow found me and I'm not even sure why they are still here.

I can't tell you how to look your best because most the time all I wear is jeans and a hoodie. I can't tell you how to believe in a greater being because I am not religious. I can't give you instructions on how to become a poet or tell you step by step how to make a good blog.

So I'm sorry this wasn't informative or instructional.

Actually, I'm not. I'm not sorry that I can't tell you how to do something. Because in my opinion, nobody can tell you how to live. We learn and discover by our own trial and error. So if you are having to rely on someone as insignificant as me to give you instructions on how to do something,

then you are doing it wrong.

Used To It

I am used to being used.

I see it happening.

Feel it happening.

But I continue to let it happen.

Because I think I am good for nothing else.

That's a lie.

I know I am good for nothing else.

Sometimes it bugs me.

But most the time I just don't care anymore.

Because the way I figure it...

It's better to be used for something, than nothing at all.

Cooking for the Soul

I recently had an awakening of my soul. I know that sounds cliche and all, but it's true. I remembered why I cherish cooking so much. The flame inside me, my passion for the culinary arts, was renewed by a gust of ferocious wind caused by an intriguing movie, The Hundred-Foot Journey.

It reminded me that the reason I cook is not because I want to impress somebody or win an award. I cook because it makes me happy, it reminds me of home. There is just something about cooking that is soothing to the soul. It fills all the senses, and for it I am very grateful.

"The table is a meeting place, a gathering ground, the source of sustenance and nourishment, festivity, safety, and satisfaction. A person cooking is a person giving: Even the simplest food is a gift." -Laurie Colwin

"I'm just someone who likes cooking and for whom sharing food is a form of expression." -Maya Angelou

"Cooking is about passion, so it may look slightly temperamental in a way that it's too assertive to the naked eye." -Gordon Ramsay

"Cooking is in an honest profession where you cannot hide and let others do the work for you. You have to show up, work hard and prove you can do it faster and better. And find a mentor who will recognize your talent and push you in the right direction." -Marcus Samuelsson

"Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all." -Harriet Van Horne

"Promises and pie-crust are meant to be broken." -Jonathan Swift

Forgetful Confession

There some days that I just forget to eat. I don't try to. It's not an obsessive diet, or a disorder. I just... Forget. I get so busy with school and my job that by the time I get home at the end of the day I realize I haven't eaten in over 13 hours. And by that time, I'm not hungry all over again. Nothing sounds good.

So I just go to bed.

Promising myself I'll eat tomorrow.

Sometimes I do the same thing with my feelings. I wake up, go to school, go to work, and come home. All without feeling a single thing all day. And when I finally go to bed, and lay there staring into the dark abyss around me, I realize I had been an emotionless robot all day.

And as I drift off, my mind beginning it's wandering journey into a dreaming subconscious I promise myself.

Promising myself I will feel tomorrow.

Poesia Italiano

Si rendono conto

il pianoforte, la batteria

sono stato il mio preferito

sin dall'inizio?

Si rendono conto

che ho potuto sedersi e ascoltare

la loro voce

tutto il giorno?

Si rendono conto

Potrei guardare il loro sorriso

ogni minuto

e cadere di nuovo?

Si rendono conto

Ho potuto guardare nella loro grande

bellissimi occhi azzurri

e trovare sempre qualcosa di nuovo da tesoro?

Si rendono conto

Potevo rimanere avvolto

tra le loro braccia

e non crescerà mai freddo?

Si rendono conto

il mio cuore salta un battito

e si sforza di liberarsi

ogni volta che sto con loro?

Lies and Bricks

Little things can often do the most damage. 

A little puppy with an overactive drive to just chew and chew.

The tiniest brick fracturing through the largest window.

The smallest lit match surrounded by miles of untamed forest.

A little white lie festering like an untreated wound.

And yet, we allow the continued existence of these things.

We own dogs.

Immense and beautiful buildings are built from bricks.

Matches are sold almost everywhere.

And every single day, people lie.

Confessions of an Ex Lover

I like walks in the park at sunset.

My dream date is a dessert picnic under the stars.

I am not good at telling people what I feel for them.

I'm really good at listening.

I've only cried over one break up.

I think people use the phrase "I Love You" too much.

I am content in silence when I'm with you.

I have too many memories.

I like your smile.

I scare a lot of people away.

I missed talking for six months.

I'm nervous.

Memories

My memories are starting to take me over.

They crash into my consciousness

breaking the walls

and returning from my subconscious mind.

Cactus glasses.

Front handsprings.

A movie unfinished.

Thin mayo.

Graveyards.

A chase around a park.

Perhaps letting them in is a bad idea.

We went our separate ways.

And time has passed as it always will.

Healing all pain just like it's supposed to.

You said you don't know why

and sorry if it was weird.

I don't know why I wrote this.

I hope it isn't weird.

It Matters

This song is by one of my favorite bands. Now, I get that it probably isn't everybody's genre of music but the lyrics make me really think every time I hear them. Would it really matter to someone if I wasn't here tomorrow? Truthfully, no matter who is asking the question, the answer is always yes. Whether you know it or not, you mean something to someone. I love the quote "To the world you may just be one person, but to one person you may just be their world." This could not be truer. When I am feeling alone, I like to listen to this song because it gets me thinking that yes, I mean something. It would matter if I wasn't here tomorrow.

I always end up thinking about what I am doing with my life to make a difference when I listen to this song. I mean, think about it. Are we doing enough with our lives that if we weren't here tomorrow, would it matter in the world? I like to think so. I know our lives seem very minuscule in the big picture of the world, but right here, right now, this is everything to us. Our lives, the people in them, the places we visit, it all affects each other and us.

This is why I love this song. If you give it a chance, it can really make you think, make you wonder. How do I affect the world? Would it really matter, to someone or something, if I wasn't here tomorrow to continue on with my life? We may not be the best person now, but there is always room for change. It may feel like we have nowhere else to go, that we are drowning in our own sorrow. That maybe the best way to handle things is to simply not be here tomorrow. We can see all the chances that have passed us by and we think, "What if?" Well, what if you stayed until tomorrow. Each day is new, and different. You never can really know what is going to happen or who you are going to meet. All you have to do is open yourself up just a little bit to the opportunity of a new day.

Humanity

Sometimes I wish I could turn off my humanity. Just flip a switch, and not have to feel anymore. That would be the ultimate relief. Not having to feel pain, or loss, or agony. I assume it would only be fair to have to give up happiness, and pleasure, and joy as well. I think it would be a well enough off trade. But then I would be no better than a mindless robot, right?

Except being human isn't all that it's cracked up to be. It's easy to prove that you're human with every tear that falls because of that broken heart. With every drop of blood that drips from a fresh cut. With every searing pang of regret over all the words you never spoke but should have. I think what is truly hard is trying to prove to yourself that you are not human. If only for a fleeting moment, because that is all you need to be able to deal with the overwhelming feeling.

Paranoia

Sometimes the scary people aren't the ones who hold a gun to your head. They are the ones who terrorize you with their words, and who make walking down the halls of your school hell because you are constantly afraid of running into them. They are the ones who you are terrified might walk into your work again and see you before you can run and hide in the back.

And yes. I'm speaking from experience. It explains why I spend as little time at Lone Peak as possible. It explains why I am guarded, with walls built higher than the Empire State Building. It explains why I am skeptical, paranoid, and loathe attending assemblies.

Do you know what it is like walking into a crowded auditorium and feeling your skin flush, heat rushing through your veins as your pulse quickens? Constantly looking around as you hurry to find a seat, and a friend to sit with so you don't remain vulnerable. Just trying to breathe is hard enough without the paranoia.

And this, all this, teaches you how to adjust your pace quickly in the halls. How to hide behind the nearest tall person, or how to dodge into the closest hallway. You learn how to discreetly tell someone you'd rather walk the other way or not enter a classroom. But most of all, you learn how to accept the fact you will never have another normal relationship again.

Crayon Art

Melted crayon art. I am not sure why, but I have always been fascinated by it. The way it blends together, the texture of the dried drips.

 

Maybe it is the perspective that in the destruction of items made to create, beauty is born.

It leads me to think about the fact that in life, you have to endure the storm before you can experience the rainbow.

You can't appreciate the beauty without knowing what the ugly feels like.