I Am

I am the girl who when she looks in the mirror, she sees someone fat . . . Someone whose face is obscure and someone whose nose is to big. When I look in the mirror I see reflection of something that I detest beyond reason. I hate the face that I see. The eyes sometimes don’t even measure up to the beauty that I want to see . . . that I want to feel. The hair is breaking, the hair is short. Guys call my name but not the ones I want. Sometimes I hide from them as though their making a game of me. In one mirror I can look somewhat pretty and in other not so much. Some pictures I look good, but most don’t measure up. It burns me up inside when I see other girls . . . because they look like models while I in my head look like a dog—worse than that. This is what I see when I look in the mirror. But I never cry . . . I never cry . . . I just cry invisible tears . . .




I am the boy who when I walk through the door everyone flocks to me. But they don’t understand me. Or necessarily care for me. It’s only because I have this talent with a ball, and I stand 6’4’’. They don’t see that when I go home there’s nothing there. That when I go home my mom is at work and she don’t come in till like 11 at night. They don’t understand that my brother disappeared, on to college. They don’t understand that he’s smart and I’m not and that feel insecure because I’m not as smart as him. But they don’t see that. They don’t understand that the reason why I am is because there was nothing else to do. I waited hours for my mother to come pick me up when I was young after school . . . where all children would desert and go home. There was only me and a ball and the sitting sun, so I just pound the ball against the ground and in a sense releasing all the anger that I contained. And its as though I only began to receive love when I became good, and so I wanted to keep that . . . because that’s the only attention I ever had . . . With my dad no where to be found . . . maybe somewhere in the ground so when they crowd around me I no its fake . . . Which drives me to invisible tears . . .



I am the bad bitch of the land. Yea that’s who I am. I don’t give a fuck bout nobody. I run this shit. Don’t nobody mess with me because if they do they know I ain’t scared to hop out there and do work on a bitch. I talk to much, I’m the loudest one in the group, they all flock to me, the guys can’t stop staring at me . . . But I know it’s not what it’s all caked up to be. All I do now is just smoke weed, to get me to a place where I don’t have to deal with the things that really press me to unbridled anger. I used to be the quiet one. I bet you don’t even remember me. I’ve transformed. Because I need something. I need some attention. The attention to make me feel like I’m here. Like somebody sees me so you know I gotta have a boyfriend every week . . . But its costing me my reputation and my real friends keep drifting away from me . . . At home there’s no one. My dad forgot about me, and momma died long time ago. I never cried though . . . It’s life-Weexy. So I just keep cheesing while he keeps chasing after her who could never be her who brought me into the world while all in all it tears me up inside . . . But go with the flow yah know, when I’m at my highest high I just cry invisible tears . . .



I am. But you don’t see me. Tell me where I be in this game that we call life. Tell me where I hide behind the lies and what is my true pain. Tell me where and when it will be when I will come forth from the you who has transfigured me. Because here I can’t breathe. Here I suffocate to a death, to an isolation, to an anger that doesn’t match me. I dream to be! But I cannot be! I just want to cry but it is as though tears will not fall from me. They refuse. I believe it due to a callous that has over took me . . . I just cry invisible tears

Have I Not Found God (Poem)

In my time of being alive I have found little rhyme, little time
I have found in time that my hands cannot clench time nor even hold it for even a glimpse of time
I have found in my hands a trouble of jealousy and greediness to plunder lands that barely stand to withstand life
In life I have found a terrible ache that shakes the whole earth under one earthquake
I try and move one step to be knocked back four with doors closing and the one that is supposed to open and reveal a new and generous alternative stuck. As if with no luck to pluck me out of which I am stuck
That as if everything that I undertake, undertook, is tied and twisted in all crookedness which binds me in desperation and frustration
I have found in this distression my current and past obsessions. . .
I have found in all frustration and subordination still and unfulfilled soul
Deep in me is a person that wishes to be but cannot be
Evil and religiously at peace, both still frighten me
Because even in them who am I, and as time flies and I cannot grasp I have to ask will I ever! Be content with me
If there is a me
All that time had taught me and the world has bought for me and friends and boys have sought and thought for me to be is really and can’t be what I truly desire all to be
For life and time and death seem all as if one kind
Because death is life and time is death and life is time and time is death
For what breath do I give and for who do I breathe and is the breath, my breath even—worth it?
In my time I have found little rhyme and little time
But have I not found God?
God who is time and is rhyme . . . and life and death . . . should I not be content?

Lost and Dying (Still in Progress)

     I had a friend once who was sweeter than any person that I'd ever known. He was quiet in a way that was bit abnormal, or at least at the time it seemed that way. But eventually, me and this other girl got him to talk more and more, and with each day he began to open up more and more. I don't know . . . It's something that just won't leave me . . . I've lost many friends as is understandable in life . . . but he I cannot forget. Because it, it seems so sinister . . . Something that sends chills down my spine. He was a quiet boy as I relayed earlier. Clean cut, with his hair to the side and glasses, neat clothes . . . I don't know what it is but the image is like engraved in my mind and I remember. Sometimes I wonder if anybody else remembers. If anybody sees what I see.
     As I, and my friend were opening him up, so were other children. Telling him to do this with his hair, and that with his glasses, and this with his clothes . . . Thing is, is that in a year he was unrecognizable . . . He was completely transformed. He was no longer himself, no longer innocence.
Later, two years or so, same children telling him to do this and that led him off the path and on to their crooked ones. He struggles with drugs today, sexuality and other issues. Same as other friends of mine, but . . . I don't know, he just stays in my mind . . .

     I have another friend. One that is very dear to my heart. I've never really cared for anyone. I don't even care for myself. Or maybe it's just that my emotions I never let myself feel, and therefore I am unaware of their existence. But she to was one of the sweetest people I had ever known. But it seems this world, neglect, and time has turned her into a lost soul more desolate than those almost in third world countries similar to my other friend . . . I see her everyday . . . But somehow I have lost the will or the desire to speak up. The voice that I speak without delay in other situations but with her it seems lost in my throat, my thoughts. She has not a father that pays her attention, so she searches for it among boys. She has nothing to go home to, so she stays out all night. And she has anger that was never dealt with, so she spurs out perverse language gaining her the reputation of a hoe. Only thing is, is that this title that hangs about her head she does not see . . . Only others . . .
     But I see her everyday.

     Time . . . Lost . . . Souls . . . My friends. But how many others are there. And those who seem to have it together, even they in their own worlds hold struggles unseen and unwanted. But when we see them, why is it that we turn our head and look in the other direction. Talk about them when their gone and say muffled, 'I pray for her . . . him'

    

 'If everyone cared and nobody cried, if everyone loved and nobody lied, if everyone shared and swallowed their pride, then we'd see the day when nobody died . . .' Nickelback