I Wrote You This

I couldn't look at your beautiful face because it was something that I was forbidden to have,

I wouldn't keep the broken chain because I had fixed it and I knew that I couldn't  fix what was happening,

I couldn't give you my jacket even though I knew you were cold because my heart was starting to freeze,

I wouldn't read your body language because I knew I would see you in less pain than me,

I couldn't move myself from the wall because it's coldness was warmer than what I was feeling from your mother,

I wouldn't I look at you when I drove off because I knew I would start to weep,

I couldn't let you touch me even though you wanted to because I thought it might haunt you and I wouldn't have that,

I couldn't come to tell you that I was just starting to be comfortable with the memories rushing back to me because I though the words might sting, 

I wouldn't speak much to you because I was in no condition to think before I spoke,

I couldn't think about me on the drive home because I was crying thinking about how you must be suffering,

I wouldn't stop the tears because they yours and not mine,

I couldn't stop myself from taking the blanket out of my car because I didn't want to use it with anyone else,

I wouldn't walk in the house crying so stopped so they would only notice the blanket in my hands because the tears were starting to be mine again,

I couldn't tell you how I was feeling in person so I wrote you this.

Dear Valentine

This is about the girl that flirted with me in my Seventh grade math class before I knew what flirting was.

This is about how my wish for the seating chart to be nice to me
came true at the end of second term.
This is about how my Times Table's were fun when
 she and I
raced to see who could finish first.

This is about how she once teased me and told me to shut up
 and I was silent for years.

This is about the moments I felt her looking at me in the crowded halls.

This is about the day in Eighth grade that you ignored
my "Hello" with your name attached
to it even though it was
just you and
I
in the hall way.

It took two weeks and the right moment to just be given
the silent treatment.

This is about how she was in my Geometry class with Miss Hunt
and how I talked to her twice
and as I recall it was she
that asked about the homework that was due.




This is about World Geography in Ninth grade in
Mr. Myers class and
that I disliked how he let us choose ours seats for
 I knew that we would never consciously
 sit together.

This is about how Austin Garrett told me
that I was lucky to have Tyler
as my study buddy because she was so pretty

But, all I was thinking was how he
could so easily talk to her
and how I was a
Good Luck Charm
 that had broken back in Seventh grade.

This is about how I could only ask for her best friend
to sign my yearbook at the end of Ninth grade.
This is about me being worried that
you weren't going to the same high school
 as I was.

This is about how I
got to be known around the school
just by chance you would take note of me again.

This is about how I would set out to talk to you
 but would somehow ended up in the library.

This is about the time in the commons that
I was looking for you and I spaced out.
When I came to, I realized that we had been staring at
each other for at least a minute.


This is about Junior year and me trying to forget you.

This is about Senior year and how the
memories started to lose their sting.

I Used To

I have never seen the ocean at night. At least in person.

I used to watch movies like they had really happen. But now the credits tell me that Timmy is really Jonathan Remund.

I used to believe that planners were useless because of the out of sight out of mind principle.

I used to draw so that I could show people who I was through a sheet of paper but I never like how it looked. A set of words that describes me are inner conflicts.

I am tired of people giving the world a conscious just to say it doesn't treat us well.

I miss the life of being a good person. I and finally willing to admit that I walked on yet now the people I want to tell have all walked away.

I used to believe that the stars didn't exist until I got glass at the age of ten.

I have never been in a relationship and when I tell people this their first reaction is to tell me I am lying. Is there something about me that says I am taken?

I used to fight to be understood but now I find I'm just trying to win.

I used to say that I don't plan for the future. Today I sent a letter and I am planning on a response.

I used to smile for I  knew it was contagious. Now I smile to try and feel better.

fog

To sit and think out loud,

 but this is hardly ever allowed,

 to have thoughts like a cloud,

 words that's interpretations are never the same,

 yet this is what keeps us sane,

 the lack of our ability does not effect our stability,

 for we have people the surround us,

 they are always around us,

 they help us stand on the ground beneath us

What They See is Negligent

If I had a beautiful body I would not admit it.

Letters I Should not Write

Dear Case,

     I know you don't like the decision I made. And I know you thought that being my friend would help change my preferences. I still love you and have that list of your favorite things saved in my phone. My tongue continues to refer to you as my best friend even though you told me the sometimes friends grow apart and I just need to accept it. I'm sorry that you thought it was you that ended the friendship. I hope you travel like we always talked about. By the way, you I told you and Joe were meant to be together. I hope he calls you sweetie for you told me that you have a soft spot for that. I wish you well and want you to know that you will always be special to me.

Dear Coffee Mate,

     Okay you are a bastard. We were to be the best of friends. You told me that I would be a great room mate in college. We would have a wheel for throwing clay on. Talk about how attractive men are. We would write poetry together and go to poetry slams. And then you thought I like you. You ended are friendship in a day. Started telling people that I was bi. And that I was calling you too much. Oh, by the way, I counted. I called you nine times and you called me 21 times and 3 of mine were butt dials. I must thank you for saving my life. That night I almost committed suicide. We were good enough friends that I asked you for help before I ended my life. That night we talked beside a river that ran by your house with incense burning beside us. I will never forget that night and how we talked of hopeful things. When you found out that I didn't like you, you wanted our friendship back. But I didn't want a friend that could just drop what we had in one day.  You gave me a different out look on life one now enjoy. I miss the fun we had together and wish things had been different.

Dear Nelson,

Nelson I'm sorry that I was different. I'm sorry that I asked you why you like my human post. I'm sorry that I never did get that mic in my journal page. I wanted to; it was just really hard to find the right one.  I sorry that I didnt talk to you at the all night party. I was dancing freely that night though. And it made me think that I should have written like nobody was reading. I loved your class and in the beginning. I was involved full force. But at the end I became something to the likes of a tourist. Yet isn't that what you wanted? You gave us a ticket to Paris and made it our decision if it was a round trip ticket or a one way ticket. I stayed. I wanted to see the sights for myself. I got lost in Paris and found that I was writing for her and not me. So I refused her and anyone my words. Sorry I took so long to write this yet you always said the more drafts the better.

Dear Coworker,

I called you my flirting buddy before I knew what you could do too me. It started out with me finding you looking at me for too long. You kept telling me that I was you inspiration. You told me that you liked my voice and that it calmed you. That one night that walked to work just so that you could drive me home it was raining. I point out the lighting and you told me that I was your lighting. I thought you were just being odd for you were straight. I told you that you had nice eyes and you looked at me and told me that mine were beautiful. We reach 300 texts in three days of knowing each other. Ha, and we became snapchat number one besties in a half a day. The fourth day I got a bunch of notifications from twitter that you had favorited half of my tweets. You fell asleep one centimeter beside me when we watched a movie in my basement. The next day I told you I was bi. You told me that you believed in marriage between a man in a woman. Yet for the past three day you have continued to flirt it up with me and now I am just pissed. Yesterday you asked me what you would do without me. I responded with " Live on."

Dear Dallin,

You are messing with my mind and I the same with yours. Its fun most of the time but when you start to flirt with me I dont know what to do. Why did you ask if I was a good kisser when we have already talked about me being a VL? YOU LIKE BOOBS! You tell me this all the time. Please stop giving me that look and all the other shit.

Selfishness

An unworthy tear fell from my eyes. I shouldn't have let it.

I've Gone To Far

I tore the power out of his grasp.
I had his wife help.

I blocked his pain so I would stay stable.
He tried to cut me with his words for doing this.

We used to have a connection.
She now uses me as how not to end up like.

I refuse them my life's story.
They share all then ask for mine.

I have the ability.
My mind won't allow.

He opened up to me then left.
I haven't written him since.

She was my will to strive.
I have only talked to her thrice.

He was the late night phone calls.
I chose to forget my attachments for him.

Her wants were to have the best for me.
The future wasn't a mutual agreement.

I call them my saviors.

They call me parasite.

the confusion inside of me

a maze that has many entrances,

for i they are exits that lead to different possibilities,

for people they are openings to fine the real me,

I wish I could find the real me without their help,

My Numbers

First time I worn a tank top.

Second time I have I thought that it is now possible to be in a relationship with a boy.

Third time I have questioned my sexuality.

Fourth time I have doubted my abilities.

Fifth time I have tried to buy myself some shoes.

One phone in the gutter . Two days of rain. Three wishes to be something else. Four days wasted sleeping in. Five threats to be thrown out.

To Do

1. Start my schooling.

2. Write when I want.

3. Take care of my car.

4. Let my life change.

5. Stop holding on to childhood.

6. Clean room so I can leave.

7. Tell my Dad my sexuality.

8. Work out until I have the body I want.

9. Write some letters.

10. Wake up before 7:00 am.

0's the could have been First's

        - Drugs
        - Sex
        - Suicide
        - Stopping Writing
        - Forgetting My Family

Infinite...

Giving up on me.

Give Me Adive ( unedited )

Tell me to forget him and move on, for he will never trust you or love you. 

But he will want to be your friend. 

And you need to just be his friend and continue to numb your emotions around him like you do to all  others. 

You need to stop seeing the boy in every random kid that looks remotely like him. 

You need to just forget him like you have that one pot you made in ceramics back in high school and how it broke. 

James you need to just cry for what you have lost and wait for another that will want to love you and trust you. 

Tell me that's its not going to be okay.  

Remind me that I won't forget how he affected you. 

Suggest to me that I should use this as a bar for the next person.  Give me eye contact so I will believe the words you speak.

All About Me ( unedited )

The first thing you should know about me is that I have written three other All About Me papers. I held back on two of them and one I refused to turn in. With this information I will now not hold back; as much as I normally do. I have so much control over myself yet there are a couple things that I cannot control. 

I hate success. I rarely have motivation. I can feel people emotions. I only speak up when I am fed up. I love to manipulate people to think things they normally wouldn’t yet hate how good I am at it. I can help people out emotionally. Oh, here’s a big one. I am attracted to girls but not as much as my own gender.

   

         One of the comments that I would frequently get was “This is so real. “  I never understood what they meant because, for me this stuff I was writing was the things I think of and never say. It never was the real me.  

It was all just a complex treasure map where the loot was who I am.

The only way for me to explain myself is through a metaphor.

Think of what people think I would write about as the leaves of a tree. 

Think of what I write about as the branches of a tree

Think of who I am as the trunk of a tree. 

Think of a wall as the bark of a tree.

Think of what people think as what made the roots.

When I had an opportunity to write on this blog I wanted to write about my branches. Branches that my trunk had put out to create leave to better hide top.  And the top of the trunk is the most vulnerable. For if the top of the trunk is cut the tree cannot grow taller. 

I hate success because with every success my future becomes clearer and I have always feared my future.

I feel peoples emotions. It came with birth. All I want to say about it is that if they trust me Its easier.

I am fed up now.

I try not to manipulate people to do things; only to give them a new perspective.  Ex. Alec Webb

I talk out peoples emotional shit. I am one of those people you love to talk out our problems too.

I am attracted to both genders yet like I said men is where its at.

The last thing you should know about me is I never say everything I want to.

If only I could take the bark off of my tree. 

but like a tree.

that would kill me.

Looking For Meaning

I tend to be the happiest in the winter. In spring I cry the most. Its hard for me to cry for myself so I use my allergies to help me. I go on nature walks thinking of life. And then. The tears fall.

I just dont want to give my life away. I knew that this life style that I had built up for myself would fall. For the support beams were bend before I even started building. But I kept adding on and renovating me until I  collapsed. I just didnt want to be supported by my parents or the church. I felt comfortable there and I knew that I would not have a need to grow if I didn't have to fight for sunlight. I left without knowing that in order to grow one needs the waters of motivation. And so I started to wilt while trying to grow. I got to the point where at a glance  you thought I was dead. Then I found some water. I grew fast trying to get high in the sky. But I didn't have a dream, a goal, a reason to keep growing. So now I grow and expand my limbs to find my inspiration. My sun that will shine through the night.

I walk in the house and take an allergy pill.

All About Me

The first thing you should know about me is that I have written three other All About Me papers. I held back on two of them and one I refused to turn in. With this information I will now not hold back; as much as I normally do. I have so much control over myself yet there are a couple things that I cannot control. 

I hate success. I rarely have motivation. I can feel people emotions. I only speak up when I am fed up. I love to manipulate people to think things they normally wouldn't yet hate how good I am at it. I can help people out emotionally.

   

         One of the comments that I would frequently get was “This is so real. “  I never understood what they meant because, for me this stuff I was writing was the things I think of and never say. It never was the real me.  

It was all just a complex treasure map where the loot was who I am.

The only way for me to explain myself is through a metaphor.

Think of what people think I would write about as the leaves of a tree. 

Think of what I write about as the branches of a tree

Think of who I am as the trunk of a tree. 

Think of a wall as the bark of a tree.

Think of what people think as what made the roots.

When I had an opportunity to write on this blog I wanted to write about my branches. Branches that my trunk had put out to create leave to better hide top.  And the top of the trunk is the most vulnerable. For if the top of the trunk is cut the tree cannot grow taller. 

I hate success because with every success my future becomes more clear and I have always feared my future.

I feel peoples emotions. It came with birth. All I want to say about it is that if they trust me Its easier.

I am fed up now.

I try not to manipulate people to do things; only to give them a new perspective.  

I talk out peoples emotional shit. I am one of those people you love to talk out our problems too.

The last thing you should know about me is I never say everything I want to.


If only I could take the bark off of my tree. 

but like a tree.

that would kill me.

First Kiss Wish.

My first kiss was to be spontaneous! Some place in nature.  

With a breeze and the soft  sound of leaves. Water speaks 

near by only because the breeze wanted company as it

passes by to watch our kiss. No one should envy this kiss 

I share for no eyes would capture it for a mind to have

thoughts on the image at hand. I would end the kiss short 

just for the want for another. This kiss would happen in a 

place that I haven't seen before. So when I open my eyes 

from the release of the kiss I will want to remember its 

surroundings. This kiss would find a place in my hearts 

mind much like the details of this place.  

And then we would kiss again.

Peek A Boo Motivation

Why is it that I have finally found inside of myself what it takes to be human?

Life hasn't been "What should I do to survive?" 

Life has been more like "I should do what people want me to do" 

I have found this out about six months ago. But I hadn't yet knew what to do with this information. Today I had an " Eureka " moment. One that I wish I had realized when I first learned cursive in third grade.

Right now I have motivation. A year and a half ago my therapist asked me what is your motivation? I told him that I didn't know. He kept asking me this for three months. He gave up asking me because I would give him the same answer, for it was truth. He did succeed in getting my mother to put a piece of paper on my mirror though that asked me about my motivation.

I once asked my mother to stop helping me with school. I did this because I knew that I relied on her too much. It took me two months to find " motivation ". It was false for it didn't last long. The mind set that I have lived on for far to long wasn't the " I am to live on my own ; how am I to survive?".

There was a night that I pleaded to my mother " I don't want to do it for you.       
I WANT TO DO IT FOR ME." She then told me that she didn't understand. That was the day that I stopped vocalizing most of my thoughts to her.

(Right now I am placing puzzle pieces in front of you. So you can put together a odd shaped map of how I got here.)

I hadn't been motivated to any work for myself. It was always because they wanted to hang.

Now I know what I can use as my motivation. But mother just told me that she doesn't believe in me.

I shouldn't let her do that to me. Trip me. But she is of the one rare people that can. I felt so high and mighty yesterday. I am on the floor trying to recover from my fall. She doesn't know how heavy her words weight on my shoulders.

I guess I'm just saying that I am  mama's boy trying to brake free.

I now know that I must think for myself and disregarded what others say and think. 

I Swear For The Bottom of My Heart.

I have been swear in at myself a lot lately.

I am a ass.

Shit that hurt.

God I want this.

I can be a bastard.

Why the hell am I doing this?

It hurts my morale it makes me feel shitty(crappy). Yet I couldnt stop tomorrow. I feel trapped yet in a sick way. I am a mouse trap that is too disabled to do its job. hell

Reminiscing

I remember when I thought I could draw because I could draw the same thing over again. I remember how every time I drew it it's beauty deteriorated.

I remember how for seven years of my life books and a blanket were all I needed. I remember the week I stopped reading and found a friend, I never finished the book.

I remember the color Orange and how it helped me out of depression so skillfully that no one ever knew I was sad. I remember how people asked me if I was okay when I wasn't wearing Orange.

I remember Garrett asking me what I would do when I stopped liking the color. I remember how I heard him voice this question in my head for a month. I remember how I haven't worn orange in two week and no one has commented.

I remember how shy I was and how home was never was the place I would go to after school. I remember Jimmy and how after three years of  friendship ended with a walk home from school bus.

I remember when I ran from home because my brother went too far with a prank. I remember how most of the images of my neighborhood, that I remember, come from that night.

I remember chasing my sister in my underwear because that same brother told me too. I remember it was fun.

I remember how me and that sister were never very close.  I remember how she only tried to fix the problem when she was to go to Alabama for 18 months.

I remember that three weeks ago I was 18. I remember thinking " What I have done to get to this point in my life?" I remember realizing that the answer was nothing.

I remember trying to place those emotions in a poem. I remember not yet finishing it because feelings were too strong. I remember the friend that helped me through those emotions.

I remember being on ADD meds since I was 7 and how I didn't feel emotions until half-way through my 18th year.

I remember stopping my ADD meds almost 8 months ago. I remember the days in those nine years that I didn't take the the pill.

I remember how my family thought unmedicated me was the enemy. I remember on those days I felt free.

I remember running freely after a frog. I remember running in mud in flip-flops and having them stick in the mud, and brake. I remember not catching the frog

I remember that I have always worn out shoes in four months. I remember how my shoes just ripped after three weeks. 

I remember becoming great friends with anybody in two weeks. I remember fading away from them after three months. 

I remember that happy things too. Yet I also I remember writing this with motives of sadness.   

                             -Joshua Salmond ( Feathers On Fish )

Give Me Advice

Tell me to forget her and move on, for she will never trust you or love you. 

But she will want to be your friend. 

And you need to just be her friend and continue to numb your emotions around her like you do to all  others. 

You need to stop seeing the girl in every random kid that looks remotely like her.

You need to just forget her like you have that one pot you made in ceramics back in high school and how it broke. 

Josh you need to just cry for what you have lost and wait for another that will want to love you and trust you. 

Tell me that's its not going to be okay. 

Remind me that I won't forget how she affected you. 

Suggest to me that I should use her as a bar for the next person.

Give me eye contact so I will believe the words you speak.

Caelan

I feel like you have walked me so close to yourself and then pushed me off a cliff.
I will always be waiting here at the bottom of this cliff with the pathway up I will not walk up myself even though you once showed me the way up.
I will wait here for you to come down and tell me to follow you.
I may wait so long that the path we once walk often will be overgrown foliage.
Yet I will be here.

A Set of Bones

January 16, 2014

    The moment I found out I got into this class I flew.  I hadn't got that high off the ground, but there was a reason for that. Last February I found a set of bones for a good pair of wings. I had no clue before that day that I could use words to write. The more I write the more feathers I gather. I only have enough to feathers on my set of bones to achieve low flight. This is my goal for Paris but I will think of my Paris as a set of light bones to be filled with light words of encouragement, strive, and a sore right hand.  This Feather will fit nicely.

May 1, 2014

    I would love to say that I have enough feathers to fly high enough to finally see my Paris. I will say that I have gotten many new and elegant feathers.  I have gotten some dark and heavy feathers that have had a negative impact on my goal. I want to just pluck the feathers that don't please me but I cannot do that for they are placed and cannot be unwritten.

    I have always thought that wings would make me free but lately I have been struggling to get off the ground. Paris seem too far away to ever see now. I know in order to met up with Paris I will have to walk again on my feet until I have the strength to hold up these wings. I know that when I do take my next flight I will have the endurance to stay in the air. Touching whom I can with my feathers.

    I hope it gets to the point in my life that the bones of my wings will not have enough room for more feathers. This will make it so that the old feathers will have to be shed. When these feathers made of  words fall I hope they fall in to the hands of little a kid so they will be inspired to write.

                                     Joshua Salmond (Feathers On Fish)

Translator of a Heart

I wish I could do more than leave scars that wont be forgotten for I am always fading away from friends.
My heart is a campfire that leaves dark marks on the earth but it is always covered by leaves,  

My flame is huge but it is too far away to be seen, 

The heat radiating from it reaches great lengths and warms frosted hearts,

Though I give off searing heat it is only enough for half of my heart to be thawed,
My body is put through a toll of heated blood that flows throughout my being cooling until it thickens to a cold paste and enters my chilled heart,
My heart wants to pump its secrets into someone else veins not only for that person to share the secrets but to rely on them to live,

My heart has a tune of it's own with parts stolen off other's songs, 

My heart gets an adrenaline rush when it sings,

My pulse slows when it hears soft music,

Silence is what my heart feeds off of to breed words together that have great traits, 

Yet without the noise there would be no words to mate,

My heart is a poem that never ends,

My heart misses things before they are gone,

My heart understands a hidden language we all speak,

My heart is the perfect words said upon the release of a hug.

My heart is breathing in steam when I am cold. It just feels right.

My Tree

The Place That I Sit and Wonder Misses My Warmth

I am Sharing My Hiding Place With You

I have let many people in but I only let them use a door that can only be used once. You have the door and the key to come when you please, yet this place has only seen you once. In this place we feel calm, have clarity, we find peace where it hard to find and we see resolve. Here the word secret has a different definition. You talk to me like your life is a balloon that doesn't have enough air in it to fly through the sky. You tell me you are deflated, yet I see that we can be high above the horizon together. I listen to the way love makes you have lack of feeling and the way it effects your body. Yet I feel our pains and I haven't been able to talk because I only feel comfortable speaking where nobody can hear the words. I told you that you can come to me to talk about anything. Yet I feel I like I am the only one knocking on doors trying to find you.

To Want

I just want to go to the mountains and take pictures and feel,
the wind around me and stay until the moon touches the ground,
I want to sneeze from the new pollen swirling in the air,
Sleep under the sprouting leaves until they cant hold the sunlight back any longer,
I want to find the source of the wind and give her all the reasons I appreciate her,
Talk to her and listen to be reminded of all the times she has been in my life,
I want to chase the animals that I have feared far too long,
Running fast enough that she can share this new thrill with me,
I want to cross paths with a lake,
Touch him the way only the moon would,
I want to learn from him without saying a word,
Walk away with nothing to say,
I just need to feel.

Words

Words that give people the chills and
 sway their emotions with the only control 
to stop the emotion is to stop reading.

Words that open the synapse
 between the writer and the reader. 
Words echo in the ears within our heart. 

Words that twist and grip the mind hard 
enough to touch the far away soul. 
Words that add color to bland minds
 and gives images to those who cannot see.

Words that play with your memories. 
Words that eavesdrop on your darkest secrets. 
Words that stab throbbing weaknesses. 
Words that remedy a broken soul.

Words that humble the haughty. 
Words that loosen the stiff necked. 
Words that inspire the depressed. 
Words that bend the knees of kings. 

Words that tumble inside hollow veins, 
resurrecting crippled creativity. 
Words that twinkle in the carnivorous void of empty thought.

Words that tie a desperate tongue. 
Words like thorns quick to prick the gentle soul.
 
Words that turn men to god. 
Words that are memorized to be spoken later. 
Words that stay in our thoughts until they get the chance to be written.

By Feathers On Fish & Sira

What Am I To Be

I have always said to the people that asked me "What do you want to be when you grow up?" that "I didn't know." This is one of my lies I speak to people. I have known that I want to be something else. To be able to state that on the spot. I want it to be uncomfortable to be hiding behind a pen name not the other way around. I have known that I could change yet I never knew the cost or the pain. I thought that I could just slip in to a new hair cut and new clothes; thinking that I would have the confidence that came with them. I had never hear of identity crises. It is taking time for me to cripple the current me enough to not hear him cry. Its not that I was a bad person I was actually a pretty good person in my point of view. Its just I have known that I can be better then I was now.

When people ask me "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I don't want to tell them. I want to show them.

Are They My Own Thoughts?

The things I write always seems to be words I have heard before. 

I write poems with stanzas that could not have been my own.
Yet when I read them to people they tell me it is original.
I halfheartedly believe them.
I mean there are a bunch of people in this world and
what are the odds that another person has not already written it down?
 Sometimes I think I have taken someone else idea and just added or left out some words.

Isn't this called plagiarism?

This thought makes me feel not creative at all. I should 

have just stop thinking it yet it was a good detraction piece to have in my head.

I guess they are my thoughts. Its just I'm not original.

The Way Death Affects Me

A Death Wish Never Granted

When life has no meaning,
One feels in a drag, 
The need to get up and walk all tall goes away slowly, 
Quickly replaced with no want but to drag, 

With the knife of joy that has points going towards the hilt, 
Joy come quick and doesn't hurt as its there, 
Yet when it slowly leaves it tares your soul apart until there is not much there, 

So now I pray I die because of a promise I must keep that states, 
I will not kill my soul.

I wrote this May 8, 2012. I wrote this before I knew I could write so its not flowy. I could have change it yet I thought that I should keep it how it was. I was eight, I promised myself that I would never kill myself. I can count seven time that my eight year old self saved my ten year old, ten year old, eleven year old, thirteen year old, fifteen year old, sixteen year old, and sixteen year old self, and I thank that smart eight year old me but, I know that the ten year old me hates that it took the eighteen year old me six times to realize life is worth it.

I dont cry for the dead.

When I was four I had a dog named Hardy. I was put in time out for a reason that I dont remember. I was crying. Hardy came and sat next to me and let me hold him. Three week latter Hardy ran from the town house and got ran over. I was in the room when we put down Hardy. My parents and my two siblings were crying. I was not. I remember thinking why am I not crying? I also remember my brother accusing me of not loving Hardy. I Love You Hardy.

Christmas this year Sophie died. I have cried beside her too. Sophie froze to death outside because she couldnt get back up. We found her in the afternoon with her eyes open. I stared at Sophie; thought of all the times that I had shared with her and smiled while my four siblings and two parents cried. I saw how it was affecting my mom. I was so empathetic that I cried for her not Sophie.

I work at an assisted living house. For three years I have worked with death. I have gotten close to a lot of the residents and never cried when they have passed. Now there is a resident that talks about how the Lord should take her but He wont. This makes me cry. Will I come to the point in life were it isnt worth living? 

I hope I do not get there.

With Help I Can Be Creative

I kept getting the notion that we lose are creativity as we grow up. So I went to the source of creativity; my nine year old brothers brain. Everything that is italicized is what he wrote.   

      Cat is on a Rainbow then the cat falls off then he farted out rainbows. Then all of the cats went hay wire and died. Then the rainbow farting cat was lonely.  So she went to the next town over.  Then the next town had dogs. Then the farting cat ran away. The dogs got mad at the cat and ran after her.  Then the cat stop farting then it started to poop out grenades.  The grenades exploded into rainbows everywhere they fell. Then all of the doggies died so the cat was bored so then the cat went to the next town. The next town was named Mouse Ville. The cat got hungry so she went there. He feasted upon thousands of bodies of mice and spit up their bones in the town full of obliterated dogs.

      The cat went to the dog town to rub it in there face, but it got bored because they were dead. So the cat went to a field to lay in the sun. Then she saw some rabbits that came hopping up a hill. The rabbits weren’t as friendly as they seemed, for they were black belts. Then the cat taught the rabbits how to poop out rainbows.

He ended up leaving after that sentence. I left it how it was. I learn some things from him. If I try and persuaded him in one direction he wont go there. He's a kid he does what he wants. Also I have fun writing with other people. If there is a way to be taught creativity it is by writing a story with a little kid.

The End Is Coming

I worry about the end of this class. I am scared of when my pen name will leave the list of Writers. 

I fear that the comments will flows like honey not water. I dread the day that I reveal my true name. I

have anxiety when I think of the day I stop using this blog. I stress over the fact that I cant tell you

who I am. I have panicked over not finishing a post in time. My pulse quickens when go and see

who has commented on my posts. I am trapped in a place that we all should get lost in. I feel like

 a coward when I dont go deep. It terrifies me to think that we are being taught by someone that cant

 tell people they suck at writing. I have been shocked by what bloggers have said. I recoil at

the possibility that I wasn't in this class. It frightens me to the brink, when I think these thoughts.

I am scared that we now share the same fears.

An Emotion I Rarely Feel

I am mad. It is spreading like little kids laughter.  No matter what I am doing I feel it. I feel the heavy weight of it on my body. I have been using my friends for support. I was the support beam that my friends used to lean on. I am not used to this. I was good at holding emotions in. The unchanging face was what I held on my neck. Now I have too many faces to hold in my hands, fighting for a place on my shoulders. My hands want to be over my mouth or my ears. For my mouth keeps speaking the things I hide in my mind. The ears hearing those words from other's mouths. My hands don't want to be part of a juggling act. This was the reason for my egg of rage to hatch a angry beast. This egg that had once been on ice. Those mouths stole what was mine. They took my ability to spread the words myself. Now there are ears that should not have captured my vocalized thoughts.

Something To Be Proud Of

  Today is the one year anniversary of the day I found out I could write. I can thank two people for me being in this class, Kirsten Cannon and Danae Devey. These two people are the ones that I accidentally sent a poem to. I had just getting home from choir tour and was texting Kirsten. Kirsten then asked me what my favorite thing was about tour. I told Kirsten that There were many things that I liked and on of them was wind. Kirsten asked why wind. And I responded with this...

                  The reason why the wind was one of my favorite things is because
               wind is what greeted me when I got out of the airport in New York. 
               Wind was there when I left the hotel and got my breakfast every morning. 
               When the subway comes it goes so fast that it makes its own wind. At one 
               point the wind made it harder to hear yet easier to think. Wind was the 
               reason the hotel swayed back and forth. The way the wind felt on my tired
               face each night I went back to the hotel. The way the (awesome) snow ,as 
               it was blown by the wind, felt on my face. And the way the wind reminded
               me that it was strong enough to push me from the sidewalk.

  I then started to texting Danae. Then our conversation stared going the same way as Kirsten and mine had gone. I then sent Danae that bunch of words. That's all they were to me. Danae then told me that it it was really good. I then contradicted everything that Danae was saying. For I was in denial and I was liking the compliments. She took me that I should post it online. It took me four months for get enough confident to do as Danae had asked me to do. 

   Kirsten then helped me make my schedule for this year. I told Kirsten that I wanted to be in this class but didn't think that I was good enough writer. Kirsten then took the mouse and click on the class. I am so grateful to have these two people in my life to have inspired me. Consider this a thank you.

    - Feathers On Fish

Patience

A lot of people have told me that I have a lot of patience. But I feel I have never had the patience for myself. I say that I only have patience for the things that are out of my reach.

    An examples of some things out of my reach;
        The amount of time it takes to make a sculpture.
        The amount of time that I spend on writing.
        The amount of time I lay awake in my bed.
        The amount of time cakes bake.
        The amount of time it takes for the clock to work.
        The amount of time the laundry spins.
        The amount of time it takes to travel to California.
        The amount of time my shift at work takes.
        The amount of time it takes to think up a post.   
        The amount of time the family wants to be awake.
        The amount of time it takes to get to school.
        The amount of time my body is sick.

For the things that I have my grip on is another list. I will recite them in paragraph form.

  I have never been able to be comfortable in my life. Well at least since the age of eight. Life has been complicated the ten years in between then and now. I have never kept up with any one thing. I mostly mean hobbies. In those years I started rebelling against my parents. I did it the nicest way. But I know they think they have no control over me. They told me I have no curfew just so I would stop breaking it. Yet I have not control over them. I feel like I have no control over myself too. But I know that is not true ether. One of my best friends told me I am living a lie. It took them saying this to finally admit it myself. If I want to believe that I have patience then it is in hiding. Because isn't hiding just waiting until you can come out?

Hell

  My Hell is having so much to write but not getting it out in time. This screws me over. I cant write them down before they burn in this Hell. The ashes of  unwritten stories, poems, arguments, posts, and ideas surround my feet. My skin black with soot. I am now unrecognizable. The people that knew me see me through a different looking glass. This looking glass is dirty itself and miss shapes the already deformed. Hell is the opinions I have of myself. Hell is that fact that I can leave when I want yet never do. Seeing the way out daily makes me have a need to leave. But I know this is where the refining fires of Hell dwell. My deepest works come from here. This pit where eyes only adjust when there is fuel for fire.

  I do get gifts from above; fire proof paper, moments of pure clarity, a shower of hope so people can see me again. At these times I want to leave. But it is seems too easy. As if Hell has forgotten me for awhile. I then realize that I am not steering my ship that was going towards freedom. It is a heat wave from Hell that shoves me back, almost capsizing me, into the unknown. Hell is the fact that I am in a ship when there is a bridge. A bridge that goes over the seas of the unknown and to the way out. I stopped trying to get out of Hell and not of the reason you think.

I got out and got bored of heaven and came back to Hell.

The Decoy

I just wanted to be near the top.

Talent Killers

I am waiting for someone to tell me I write like shit.

Once they do I will be able to stop writing. I could give up on writing like I have on other things. Yet now I only want to stop something if a person that I know, who knows what they are talking about, tells me I am bad. Normally the person to get me to stop doing something is myself. I went to an intervention with another kid called FeathersOnFish(myself). There we talked a lot, laughed a little, cried till the salty tears made our cheeks raw, and thought up some good ways to change.

I thought up this...
                                "People's own opinions kill their talents."   

I know that this is truth because I have so many friends that  tell me that they aren't good at something so they have stopped. Did somebody tell you that you are bad at it? If so, do you trust their opinion? If you trust them, then you have all the right to stop what you are doing. 

If it is just you that has a horrible opinion of yourself then you have no right to stop. I want you to be like my tone deaf little brother. No matter how many times my family tells that boy that he cannot sing he sings anyway. 

I am tired of talent wasters telling me that they wish they could do it like someone else. Those people that you are wishing to be like think highly of themselves. If you want to be a better you, have a great self image. Try enjoying what you are wishing to be better at. 

If you tell me I write like shit I have no reason to believe you because I don't know you.

I Am All About Deception

I with hold information and give information that conflicts the with held information. Then I reveal the with held information. I have no clue why I do this. I guess it is because it is fun to confuse people. In the process of confusing others I confuse myself. Is the fun worth it?

Yes.

I feel like it is the same as a mute mime that can speak 13 different languages.

I feel like I talk about this a lot but never directly.

I really do enjoy it though. One example is acting like I have a personal bubble. Then whispering in their ear so they can feel my breath. It freaks people out.

You see this in scary moves... There is a little girl playing with the mud and giggling. She gets baby sat by a nice teen girl. In the end we find out that the little cutey has stabbed the nice teen four times because she didn't get enough ice cream. I wouldn't watch that movie.

I like to give the appearance that I do not give a damn to my parents. This is were I start to confuse myself. I start to act like I really don't care. And it affects the way I think. I have stopped  caring. It come in handy sometimes. But when my grade start slipping I need to care again.

When I was little I would play Hide & Go Seek. When I was the hider the other kids would give up on trying to find me. It wasn't just because I am great at hiding. I was because I would run over to one side of the park yell loud then sprint to the other side of  the park to hide. Or maybe the kids just wanted to get rid of me and never started looked in the first place. I still haven't decided which is the correct answer. 

I love looking confident but I have terrible stage fright.

My Dream Kiss

This is going to need a back story...

                 We have held hands, laughed when its just the two of us, 

            fallen asleep snuggling, spent enough time together that our families

            have started missing us. If I don't text them good morning they
            think I am dead. We have little arguments. We go on long drive and
            talk out our problems to each other. They call me by my full name
            and I have a nick name for them that I only use when it is just us.
            They keep telling me that people in relationships kiss....

   We are on a walk with tall non judgmental trees around us. It starts to snow. We start talking about things I won't remember in the future. We are walking to a pavilion. They have some how have enclosed their fingers between mine with out me noticing. It must be because I am thinking too much about letting them kiss me. There is a thought that is passing through my head like a stalker van; "Will they really Kiss me tonight? And will I let them?" We walk into the pavilion and we take a seat. We finish the conversation we were having while walking. I tell them I love them for the first time. They tell me that they love me for the second time. I want to snuggle up nice and close to them but that would make it hard for a kiss.

   We kiss.




  Maybe this is my virgin lips speaking. Perhaps its the person that has never been in a relationship wanting.

New Things Are Stupid

I would say that this is a bold statement if I was talking about everything. I am not. I am talking about random things. A new journal is stupid. Same with a sketch book, and a box of crayons.

  New things only have the potential to look like they were used well. I used to think that the newer the better but I know that I was wrong. I save things. The best origami paper that was foiled and was shiny. I wouldn't use them until I was great at folding. I still haven't used them. Crayons that are new are something different now with my new out look. I want them to make something good I want them to earn a story with me. I want my crayons to have the colors of others crayons on them. I want them to be in a bag to rub off on each other. 

 Old things are cool. They have stories hidden in their flaws. I want my journal to have many flaws. I want to have it with me everywhere so it will get the scent of all the places I will go. I want it to get water damage from the moister in the air at Niagara Falls and to have sand in it from the beaches of California.

Four Little Words

my emotions are high,
they are far from the sky,
they are where the people rest when they die,
the reservoir of happiness that i draw from has run dry,

people are thinking i am high,
they are saying that my thoughts are in the sky,
there are things inside of me that must die,
there are words that cannot get written for their ideas have gone dry,

i want to go somewhere high,
a place that touches my sky,
a place that if i jump i can die,
a place that is always wet and never dry,

i wish my self-esteem was high,
i would talk to them like i do to an open sky,
i would tell them i wish they'd never die,
speak until my mouth goes dry,

my emotions have depleted in height,
i will wait for the sun to pass over more skies
before i let my words go to rest with the dead,
i will prepare myself for my next drought.

                  -FeathersOnFish

Human: The Original Species

                                                                   I did not
                                                          want to use emotion
                                                         to prove our humanity.
                                                     I think the thing that makes
                                                    us human is the need to have
                                                       something like us. I see
                                                         this so often. An example
                                                            is owners of pets.
                                                 They constantly think that their animals
                                               can understand them. They are giving
                      their                  pets human characteristics.   Look at 
                     all aliens            they look almost human but   they just 
                       lack a             few of  the limbs of us humans  or  we
                           give            a girl     a flipper and call her   a mermaid.
                              Why      do we     want to see our kind    in ever-
                                 ything? Is it       because we feel alone?     No   I
                                    think it is        because it thrills us     to have
                                        some-            thing like us. I know     that if I
                                                        could talk with my cat   I would
                                                        be estatik (even if my    cat wouldn't
                                                         give me the time of day)    They're
                                                         plenty of more examples.   Why do
                                                         I see faces  in cars or    houses?
                                                        Is it because   we as humans    want a
                                                       relationship    with   our   homes?
                                                      I think it is         because   we are
                                                     looking for          faces in
                                                     anything.              In   my
                                                     opinion                the best
                                                    monster                 we have
                                                    is   the                     zombie.
                                                    It looks                   exactly
                                                    like us                     the only
                                                    differences                          are; missing
                                                   skin and                   and the 
                                                   want to                    eat living
                                                   humans.                    No  big 
                                                    deal.                        Some of
                                                the best movies use this. There is a 
                                           movie where a fish is trying to find his son.
                              This movie would most likely not found it's way into as many 
              homes as it did if the all the animals in the movie could not speak. I know that this
would not have been half as interesting as it was had I not put these words in the shape of a Human.