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PunkPoet
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Location: Texas, United States
Birthday: 4/17/1984
Gender: Female
Interests: photography, writing, music, my guitar, playing hacky sack
Expertise: people watching at the local coffee shop
Occupation: Student
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
2/2/2002
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| I realize that I haven't written in a while and I promise I have a very good reason. For those of you that don't know, I'm going to have a baby. I am very excited and while the sperm donor and I have decided not to remain in touch, I am not bothered by it. I believe that I will do a splendid job raising this little girl on my own. As for right now, I'm still in college, but I will take the spring semester off seeing as the baby is due in January. I haven't thought of a name yet, so any suggestions for a girl are useful. Much love. | | |
| why do you look at me
with such discontent?
with such a questioning stare?
you seem to be fighting
all of the emotions that are
tumbling inside of you.
what is it, that is troubling you so?
why must you fight
what you know is the truth?
what you can feel is real?
is it fear that causes this war within you?
this battle within your mind?
this confrontaion within your heart?
i can feel it too you know...
the need rising up inside of me.
the frustration of not being able to hold you.
is this what you feel as well?
is this what you are fighting so hard? | | |
| in this small
crowded Haus
i sit with my tea
and wonder about life
and all that i see
old men
playing chess
a woman
writing a play
children
playing with a dog
and music
thrumming
in the background
from the guys
who are hacking
to some girls in the corner
there is nothing
to do
but sit
and waste time
a blonde giggles
then points
and laughs some more
the guys offer
jesters of their own
the blonde jesters back
then a shout
from the boys
"hey bitch!"
"screw this!"
oh ya...its a pitiful
existance
but i love it
and all that it brings me... | | |
| I reach out my hand and using the tips of my fingers, I trace my reflection in the mirror. So plain. So ordinary. I wonder if what I see is the same as what everyone else is seeing when they look at me. And...I begin to wonder why the person looking back at me from the mirror looks so different from the person I imagine I look like. The picture I had, of a rose in full bloom, is replaced by a small, white daisy. Nothing extraordinary here. And yet...I remain in a sedated state. I always expected to be loved because of my personality, not my physical apperience. I know now that the chances of that are slim to none. So...what is this daisy to do? Sometimes I feel as if I stand out. As if I am the only speck of white in a field of bright red. And then I remember...that is perhaps, why I am who I am. It makes me speciel. Maybe being a plain, ordinary daisy is not so bad after all.
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| There is a picture in a large, black frame that sits on my desk. I catch myself gazing into it, searching for answers that will settle my mind. The sun is peeking into my room through the open window. I can feel her stretch out her warm rays of light to carress my bare shoulders. I wiggle my toes into the thick carpet. Once again, I catch myself getting lost in the beauty of your face as you glance back at me from that black frame. My thoughts turn to our last conversation. I remember feeling a bit hurt after I hung up. You just seemed so disinterested in talking to me. But, perhaps I am seeing things that aren't really there. Perhaps...I am more unsure of myself than I believed. But enough of this self evaluation. For now, I am content just to sip my tea and watch my dog sleep. I take one more look at that picture on my desk, and I begin to imagine the impossible. | | |
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