Poorly written peom

So about 5 days ago now I got a real big scare when I found out my uncle who I was fairly close to was getting really sick and with him having stage4 terminal cancer I figured that the next phone call I'd get would be about his passing. I never got a call instead my mom came home and told me and the rest of my family that for tonight things were going to be okay.
But here is the poem I wrote when I had been expecting the really bad news.

As I fight the urge to cry I think back to all the memories I have

Like when I was younger and he'd come over when grandma was babysitting me 

to Bring us lunch 

And if the weather was nice he'd ride his motorcycle

In fact he gave me my first motorcycle ride 

I also remember his laugh that would echo 

from things like The Three Stooges or the stories he'd tell

He took me trout fishing and always greeted me with a smile

When out at the beach looking for treasures 

He'd think of me when he'd find golf balls instead of coins

I still have many of the golf balls he gave me 

I even made my own golf trophy out of them

As the years went on more and more 

He began to look like his father 

A man I never got to know as well as I should have

So with his similar looks and similar personality 

He became like the Grandfather I'd lost when I was young

However I can't help but feel guilty now 

For I didn't see you when I had the chance

Because of my selfish ways and fears

And now when given the chance I couldn't because I was sick

I'm sorry I wasn't there to say goodbye

Deceiver

Deceiver:

Based on the Movie Girl Interrupted

One small lie

That’s how it starts

Slow they grow

Bigger and Bigger

I am a deceiver

To say I’m not

Would be a deceiving lie

But if I were to tell the truth

Who’s to say you will believe

Yet I have a feeling

No matter what

You’ll believe

The words I speak

Polygraph test

Just make me laugh

For I’m a truthful person

Can’t you tell?

My name is Alice

And I live alone

Got you again

Truthfully though

My name is Georgina

Home for me is the

World of Oz

Those books bring me comfort

From where I truly live

Claymoore

A mental hospital

My roommates vary

Jamie stayed for a while

But when Lisa left Jamie followed

Now we can no longer play volleyball

A week has passed since Jamie’s Death

Susanna quickly moved on in

Amazingly that same day

The police brought Lisa back

From her last escape

Susanna seems nice

I tell her of my disorder

Or as Lisa says “Diag-nonsense”

Pseudologia Fantastica

I am a pathological Liar

We share stories

Back and forth

Some are true

Some are false

Which are which?

I do not know

Or rather cannot say

But if you ask me nice

Perhaps I will someday

Until that time I guess

We will just have to stay

In Claymoore’s lovely place

Culture Of Death

Despair is a Drug
That feeds the masses
On the news it’s all we see
The Culture of Death
Is among us
And we are being submerged
No one cares unless
Someone’s Hurt, Dead, or Dying
Knowing Death is near
And that you survived
Makes you feel good
Doesn’t it
You made it through the day
Unlike the masses who
Pass every second
People are soliciting Tragedy
As if it was candy
Here have a coupon
Good for one free stabbing
But it Best not happen
Among the homeless
Since they mean
Nothing
You’re Despair Dependency
Has got you craving
Teen Death; or “Big Wigs” crashing
Anything to make you feel
Number than Novocain
To Life
As I walked through the Valley
Of this
Culture of Death
I noticed we are all dead
On the inside
Looking for life inside of Death  

Joan Of Arc Poem

Joan Of Arc

Standing upon the hill I felt a cool breeze

A power so Great I fell to my Knees

From the skies came a great light

A life of service twas the call for me

Three years of service was all He needed

Nineteen years old how could it be

That a life once lived so simply

Could be complexly taken from me

Traveling the land I saw those in need

Never realizing one day it would be me

Trapped in a chamber calling to Thee

If it is your will then let it be done 

Skunked

Skunked

Charles “Chuck” Hawkins was always up for an adventure. Whether it be on his own or with his siblings, living on a farm allowed his imagination to go wild. One night he went on an adventure that would for sure change the way he hunted. It would cause him to be more aware of what he was going after rather than going in blind. This is his story from his point of view.

The house was full of relatives. The smell of fresh food filled the air like sweet corn and fresh rolls, but not for long. Mom's cooking was a treat. All of the men were talking about hunting, so I piped in “One day I was out hunting gophers and I got five in one day.”

“That's nice Chuck,” uncle Orv said.

“Good job. Way to keep the fields clear of gophers. Now go on and play.” Dad said with a smile on his face.

I decided to go outside for a bit. It was a nice night and the stars were just starting to come out, while the sun was setting in the west. As I walked by the cornfield I heard a rustling noise. Being the hunter I was, I grabbed a club like stick, took a deep breath and went into the field. The wind was blowing and it started to mess with my mind, since it was causing the cornstalks to rustle. The cold air sent a sense of calm through me. I didn't know for sure if there was in fact a creature but something inside of me said there was. If I was going to get this creature I'd have to go to its level. I'd have to Army crawl. Just like dad taught me when I asked him about the war.

Time seemed to be moving very slow. I had no idea what I was going after, but I knew that whatever it was, it was going to be the biggest thing I had ever killed.

All of a sudden I saw it in front of me. I quietly stood up and took a small step forward. It must have heard me because it took off like lighting. Of course I was in pursuit right behind it. It moved quick through the maze of corn. I decided now would be the best time to attack, so I clubbed the creature. I had to be careful, since the husk of the corn could very easily cut me. Looking down at this creature I noticed its coloration black with a set of white stripes. Finally after a good beating it died.

Never had I smelled anything like the scent that this animal gave off. It didn't matter though, because I had so much pride in what I had just done. In fact, I wanted to show everyone what I had done. I was so proud, I thought they would be too. I finally hunted something bigger then a gopher. Nothing could stop me from smiling. I felt like king of the cornfield.

As I walked into the house, it became silent. All the women stopped talking, and they just stared at me. For a moment I thought I had walked in on an “adult” conversation. Then I saw mom.

“Charles Hawkins. What on Earth do you think you are doing?” mom verbalized with conviction.

“I'm showing what a good hunter I am. Aren't you proud?” I asked.

“Slightly. Earl you best come out here and deal with your son.” Mom replied.

The excitement I felt as dad walked into the kitchen was overwhelming. I could hear his boots hitting the wood floor as he came through the doorway. As he walked in I noticed all the women had left the kitchen. Dad was smiling and shaking his head, so I held up my catch and he let out a squeal of a laugh.

“Oh Chuckie, no wonder your mother wanted me to come out and deal with you. You got yourself a skunk, and it smells like the skunk got you as well.” Dad said with a loving chuckle.

“So that's what a skunk is. I thought it was just something that happened in a game of cribbage.” I replied slightly embarrassed.

Dad put his arm around me and took me out to the barn and said “We need to clean you up or your mother won't let you in the house tonight.”

It was finally dark out and starting to cool off. Dad had went back in the house and turned on the barn light, and mom came out with tons of tomato juice and some clothes. Dad started the hose and mom began to douse me with the tomato juice. We did it in layers kind of; tomato juice, then water, then repeat until I no longer carried the sharp scent. After, a little while mom went back into the house to put my sister and my brother to bed. About a half hour later I was as clean as I was going to be, so dad gave me his coat to wear as we walked back to the house. We decided to wait until morning to bury my clothes that had been transformed into useless material. The smell of the skunk still lingered, but that was okay, because now I had a story about a mysterious beast that I had killed in the cornfield.

Sometimes adventure gets the best of you, but if you are able to survive the damage of, in this case, the humiliation then the more power to you. For Charles to transform his mishap into a life lesson about being careful about what you go after shows how he could rise above the embarrassment. Also that anything that happens in your life can become a story to pass on. Even if it is embarrassing like getting sprayed by a skunk that you thought was some wild crazy creature. 

Nowhere Bound

This is a short essay I wrote about the song Runaway Train by Soul Asylum and how it ties into my life.

Nowhere Bound

You've almost derailed...again. Where are you headed this time? Life likes to play tricks with my mind. Here one moment gone the next. Time flies by before I can grasp it and understand what happened.

At some point I think everyone has wanted to runaway from what is bothering them. Whether it be school, friends, or just life in general. Only problem is what if you want to runway from yourself?

There have been so many times when I've wanted to runaway from myself, but how do I go about doing so when I keep following me? Like the song says “Seems like I should be getting somewhere, somehow I'm neither here nor there,” you can't escape yourself. No matter how far you run if you are your own worst enemy the world will become numb to you while you sit trapped in you own battle zone.

Finally there comes a point in life where you just have to accept that you can't change what's going to happen. Good things happen but so do bad. That's just how life works. When you come to the realization of reality you seem to look insane. Being insane is just not being normal, and whose to say what normal really is no one knows for sure. I love rainy days does that mean I'm insane no it just means I'm not like the other million people who like sunny days.

To me this song is like a map to life; after you've become lost to yourself it's what helps you find your way. Everyone has there own life story some are longer then others. Some go without end and some end without clarification lost with no end. Friends and family could try and tell my story, but I know things that they don't. 

Untitled

If I told you about my dream you probably wouldn't believe me

And if you did you might condemn me

For you see last night I did not dream a dream of peace

Rather I dreamt of death

My own

Normally it would be something to brush off as if nothing

But you see the dream I dreamed ended with me

Slain by my own hand

Dead by choice not by chance 

And that is the twisted scary reality of it

For some time ago you see I had 

Decided to fold the hand that was dealt to me

Before I knew it another hand was dealt 

I did not die at all that day

I pushed the thoughts away 

Locking them up for good I thought

Yet just a night ago 

After so much time passing

The images and thoughts came back 

But it was only a dream

And that is how it shall stay

Oddly enough though

While I was dreaming

Someone else was hurting

Wanting release

He created a series of scratches

Luckily not gashes

Across his wrist they went

Ironically matching how I dreamt of my demise 

Miles apart yet connected somehow

I envisioned my death 

While he scratched the surface 

An old poem from about two years ago. 

In my hand I hold a razor
I let its edge touch my skin 

It's edge is sharp 

Barely pressing I feel the sting

Tracing pictures on my skin

But where do I begin the incision

Where is the place where I want to bury the razors edge

Caught between right and wrong

I wonder do I dare go on 

Should I take this razor's edge and stain it crimson red

Or do I let it sit rust and gather dust

The release I need I can only find at the razor's edge

Craving euphoric release I dare to fall and never come back

My emotions complicate what I am doing

Slowly becoming numb to the world I need to feel something

One, three, five cuts won't matter 

No one will ever know

Not like anyone cares anyway

Time keeps passing 

I keep debating

Is this what I need 

Do I dare risk the transformation once again

I begin to shake 

Tears well up

Here it comes like a .50cal round

Slowly I press the edge into my skin

Almost puncturing my flesh I stop

The razor makes almost no noise as it hits the floor

Broken I sit in confusion 

My heart is racing 

I've had enough I reach for the razor

It's edge to my skin I try to force it into my skin

I blackout

Never have I felt so alive

Everything I've worked for is gone with one cut

Revived I look at my arm and realize it was all a dream

Razor still in hand I think back to my dream

Is the guilt of letting everyone down 

Worth a moment of euphoric release

I think so but the others won't see it that way

Will they see a flawed human being

Or will they see themselves 

The side of them that they never show

My tears continue to fall as I struggle with the blade

It whispers to me so sweetly 

It's thirsty for my metalic nectar

Demons hide within the blade 

My demons 

Creatures that want to deceive me with there lies into the darkness

There is no love in the darkness only hate

I've been there before so should I go back

My thoughts spiral in my mind 

Lost and confused I choose to put the blade away 

Only to come again another day