all grown up

a holocaust liberator spoke at our school today. i was asked to write something for him.

they all start as children.

innocent beings with no decided future,
pure souls not yet tarnished by what is to come.

they grow older,
begin to understand life beyond our borders,
begin to wonder how we can live so differently
than a country only an ocean away.

they become watchers,
standing aside and looking on at the world
as it spins into inevitable destruction.

soon enough,
they become tired of watching.

they see strong men and women,
who fight and have fought.

they hear their stories,
some tragic, some heroic,
some an even mix of the two.

they begin to wonder
if they could have a few words
in a book with such greatness as war.

they begin to wonder
if the little kid who played with submarines
could become a navy lieutenant.

or if the kid who sailed his own paper airplanes
could become an airforce pilot.

they train,
try and prepare themselves for an expericence any person,
citizen or soldier,
would be blindsided by.

they will throw their lives on the line;
not as a sacrifice,
but as an instinct.

they will take that bullet
just to make sure,
we remember;

the best
and most beautiful things in the world,
cannot be seen or even touched,
they must be felt with the heart.

our hearts will never forget.

snow angels

one year after the newtown tragedy, and it's still so real. 

we wake, 

and it hits us.

the date, 

december fourteenth.

the feelings surge behind our eyes,

cold remembrance permanently pressed into our hearts,

bleeding grief,

remorse,

apologies.

little faces,

too small to be a memory;

why haven't they gotten bigger?

why do they remain the same;

frozen?

we know they're here in spirit,

but our emptiness does not grow fuller.

believing is not seeing,

but seeing is believing.

we open our eyes on december fourteeth,

inevitably unprepared for the horror that will recur on this day,

and we see the snow.

flakes of heaven,

falling slowly to join us on earth,

saying 'we're still here'

'right here'.

endless spirals of snow,

blanketing this bloodied world in white,

making sure we know they're okay.

we can touch them now,

catch them on our tongues,

shape them into snowmen,

watch them make this day beautiful again,

but like all winter wonderlands,

this one will melt.

our snow angels will go back to where they belong.

but we'll be okay.

we know they're okay,

that they missed us enough to come down for a visit,

that soon enough,

we'll do the same.

giving thanks

life is often referred to as a climb.

it's definitely not a walk in the park;
more like a scale up the side of a mountain.

it's definitely not a solo journey either.

there are people who have helped us along the way,
people we've helped.

sometimes they are the ones who know everything about us.

sometimes, we don't even know their names;
much less their lives,
or why they took a moment out of them to blindly benefit ours.

however,
we all have the same goal;
to get to the top of life's climb.

to see the panoramic view we've dreamed of;

the marriage of a daughter,
the first steps in what will become a home,
the birth of a child.

chances are,
you're standing on someone else's shoulders
to see that view.

chances are,
someone's standing on yours
to see it too.

chances are,
you don't know whose body
those shoulders belong to.

that's why it shouldn't be too much
to say thank you
just because.

it shouldn't be too much
to have a day to give thanks
just because we don't know.

all we know
is they've gotten us to where we are now.

i don't know whose shoulders i stand on,
or whose feet stand on mine,
but i'm thankful all the same.

because without them
both of them,
i wouldn't be where i am today.

happy thanksgiving everyone :)

trailblazers

a thank you to all of those who are serving, have served and will serve in our armed forces on this veterans' day.

each footstep is a branding
in the walk of a war veteran.

each stone we pass
each wreath we lay
each emblem we bestow

marks the end of someone's story.

they all begin the same;
with a smile,
a commitment,
an inspiration.

they all end the same;
with the haunting of a heart,
the search for a shadow,
with a tear.

it is what happens in between
that determines how much we cry
how much we wish
how much we try to remember
how much we hope to forget.

it is what happens in between,
a battle
a sacrifice,
a miracle,

that forms the path.

each soldier's journey follows a map
the exposition ;
watching that plane crash into the twin towers,

the climax;
facing those bombers on the battlefield,

the falling action;
returning home with one less brother by your side,
one less son with whom to play catch,
one less bride to walk down the aisle,

until the final words are written.

for each solider's road we follow,
another dozen are left untraveled.

for each gesture we make that tries to honor these heroes
tries to capture this precious gift they've gvien us,
that has ensured we've been kept safe all these years,

for each veteran that comes home safely,
another is lost;
another becomes one to honor.

we never asked for protection.

we never expected these sacrfices to be made.

we never considered what life would be like without them.

this veteran's day
let's take a walk in their shoes.

let's follow their path,
with their feet.

let's forge our own.

always.

in memory of aj cina, who would have been thirteen today.

only the good die young.

it's awful,
really,
how it can take an entire human life
for us to see how good we have it.

simple things,
like the way he smiled,
those are what people miss.

funny how no one seemed to notice that smile,
really, truly, notice and appreciate it,
til it was gone.

funny how we are still able to smile.

funny,
how face
after face
after face
won't get to smile
because of one little mistake.

one little thing can have the hugest effect imaginable.

that one little thing was meant to teach us,
the lucky ones.

that little thing will follow us throughout our entire lives,
always reminding us that he is watching,
and god had to take him just to remind us
life is not given.

it's earned.

he earned it, he really did.

he earned it, but it wasn't enough.

his story will be told for years to come,
as we come to heal.

his story will always be there,
always riding our backs and always,
always,
making us wish it had been one of us.

god chose him because he knew his smile would be missed.

i miss your smile, aj.

we all do.

#4

a name is but a face

people have labels;
we call them names.

your name defines you.

it does not define how you live,
but how you hve chosen to live.

these names can be sorted,
pasted onto people for hope that some of what's behind that name
will shine through the next person who wears it.

people will hear that name,
read that label,
and expect something from it.

if they've heard it before,
they expect to see it reincarnated.

if it's new to them,
they watch it,
wait and see if it's one worth remembering.

these labels help people keep order within themselves.

they help us differentiate one man from another,
give us something to start a story with.

over time these labels will start to curl at the edges,
they'll be crossed out and rewritten as the story is too.

these names will become known,
maybe to one,
maybe to many.

those listeners will take those labels
carry them with  with them as they try and make like those names.

those names don't always know how much they've been spoken
how many times they've brushed across a person's lips
but we know.

those who have tried to wear those labels know.

we know those labels have done much more than help with organization.

a name is but a face,
but a face is only the beginning.

nine one one

for those that were lost eleven years ago today, that didn't get a chance to speak.

nine one one.

a number that's supposed to keep us safe,
a number that ensures we are not alone.

nine one one.

a date written in red,
stained into our minds forever.

nine one one.

a warning that you can change the world,
that a single what-if can turn into something so unimaginably powerful it takes a minute to sink in.

nine one one.

a trio of numbers holding the world on its shoulders,
a constant reminder that no matter what we say to ourselves,
we are not safe.

it's a people to people kind of world.

too much communication could override the whispers;
those side conversations everyone ignores when they shouldn't.

nine one one.

it will always be shrouded in if-onlys,
caught in a warped darkness too confused to see any light.

now that we understand,
it seems simple to prevent.

there are machines that can do it,
things that make our inhuman ideas possible.

there are things that can think for us,
but really,
they can't replace the human mind.

you can't expect a machine to cry at the graves of those we have lost,
or scream into silence when there's no one to listen.

it is our responsibility to carry on this journey,
for those that nine one one wasn't enough for.

it was the people that started this,
and it shall be the people that end it.

a single idea can change the world,
for better or for worse.

heartland

home is where the heart is.

nothing more, nothing less.

it doesn't have to be a rambling estate,
or a shack in the woods.

it doesn't even have to be a house.

your heart could hold a sister,
the sea,
homemade apple cider,
a photograph.

sometimes home is nothing but a memory,
the sound of laughter or a smile you haven't seen in a while.

sometimes you don't even know it's there,
but absence makes the heart grow fonder.

other times it's all you've ever known.

coming home is one of the greatest feelings of all time,
second to not knowing what that feels like at all.

leaving is probably the worst.

but sometimes we're ready to leave;
sometimes we have to go just to realize where we belong.

other times we're ripped from what we thought was ours.
we vow to come back, somehow, someway.

everyone's home has a string of memories smoking from the chimney.

not all of those memories might be sweet and sunny
maybe there were a few that got bruised along the way.

find your home.

it might going back to where it all began,
or it might mean seeding somewhere new; promising.

every heart needs something to hold.
yours starts with you.

wildflower

for my grandmother, who's lived eighty beautiful years.

i never knew you until you'd grown up.

i was the baby,
the precious being you guarded.

i thought of you as the flower to my butterfly,
as i sat perched on your strong life
too delicate and fragile to fly.

now i wonder about when you were the butterfly.

i wonder about how it feels to support something so small
remembering how it is to be that naive,
knowing how to fix things that haven't broken yet,
but being afraid to clip my wings too short.

who was your flower?
how did their garden of life lead you to grow your own?
how has your garden started the seeds of mine?

all i know is that when i'm ready to fly out from behind the petals,
i will carry your pollinated life along with me,
until i can spread it throughout my own.

making memories of us

father.
[fah-th-er]

a male parent.
a father-in-law, stepfather, or adoptive father.
any male ancestor.
paternal protector or provider.

father.
[daddy, papa, dad]

roasted bell peppers,
saving me the last bit of mozzarella,
laughing at each others' jokes,
chocolate chips in all brownies,
singing in the dark on those late night car rides,
watching the sunrise on the beach,
cherry danishes,
sunday papers,
teaching my how to get through everything,
because you have.

father.
[fah-th-er]

a lifetime of memories scrapbooked into one incredible man,
mine.

extra love on this father's day <3

beautiful oblivion

i spent my life expected,

learning the answers to questions i didn't want to be asked

always able to see what would happen next.

i wanted adventure,

wanted to experience a life unknown,

a life sidestepping the path that'd been mapped out for me.

i craved to set new footprints in a smooth plain of sand,

add a galaxy of stars to my own walk of fame,

stop reading the script that was already printed.

so i stopped waiting.

i stopped walking in the back of the pack, 

stopped following whoever led me.

i broke free.

not knowing where i was or where i was going or what i was doing was beautiful.

the love of being blind to the future swept me up in a swirl of improvisation.

rising with the tides,

falling with the stars,

climbing each step as it came.

not knowing was all the knowledge i needed to find a

beautiful oblivion.

life's chorus

the last bit of what makes up me.

music tells a story.

not the pen-and-ink,

web-of-words story,

but a beat-and-melody,

crescendo-and-chord story.

each song is a prayer set to a tempo,

a kaleidoscope of emotion,

an unforgotten memory.

what can’t be spoken is sung

a conversation between those who understand and those who wish they could.

the lyrics weave a net

catching those who fall

criss-crossing and knotting away

at the fears lying beneath the listener’s ears.

a three minute verse can hold a life untold

scream what can’t be heard.

only those who listen will respect the shatter

understand the serenade.

music tells the truth,

puts aside the lies

replaces them with an honest voice.

those who sing carry a message,

try to tell the right story to the right people.

really, it’s about your own story

how it fits itself into someone else’s

like a maze

eternally interlocking with another path.

really, it’s about my story

how it coincides with everyone i’ve ever known

everything i’ve ever touched.

we are all writers,

narrating our own lives,

stringing them together through words of wisdom.

i tie my own knots with my own handwriting

a unique tumble of letters, my own.

only some of us will have the courage to sing out

to reveal

that we are not alone

trapped in solitude.

i chose to listen in,

watch as my story branches into another one’s music.

rather,

we all have wings to soar along the lines of the lives we’ve written in verse

beat out on guitar

whistled through a flute

tapped at on a tabletop.

we just need a wind strong enough to lift us up

and join the flock.

crooked

another piece of me.

i always knew i was sick.

even before the doctors found the scoliosis i could feel myself slipping

feel my bones folding into themselves.

the disease wrapped itself not only around my spine

but around my family too.

our lives as a whole shifted

just like my spine

contorted around having every test done

paying for every appointment insurance didn’t cover

skipping and sidestepping normality

for me.

i was bombarded with medicine and treatments and gifts

trying to supply me of what we all knew I would never have;

normality.

i shut myself in.

stopped complaining about how much it hurt

pushed away the constant fear that this day was my last

prayed not to be noticed.

sometimes, i couldn’t even tell i was sick.

the curves grew and grew

spiraling through my nervous system

twisting and twirling around my organs

crooked.

as my days ticked by,

i wondered,

was it worse never being able to say goodbye

or never knowing when to?

after all the x-rays,

MRIs,

blood tests,

breathing checks,

medications,

braces,

the only solution left was a knife.

with a slice of a scalpel

metal ran through me

tinted my blood with titanium.

i was stripped of the crippled normality i’d come to know.

learning to walk,

talk,

bend,

breathe,

smile,

again

each step,

each breath,

each movement was a milestone

a little victory i’d previously taken for granted.

you don’t realize just how much you can do until you can’t.

those hazy hospital days,

as i laid there unable to move,

i let my thoughts run wild.

i thought about the places i’d go,

the people i’d see,

the things i’d write about if

when

i got out of here.

i created stories of lives i’d love to live

and vowed to

soon.

healing from the surgery was hard.

knowing i really was okay was harder.

i am a patchwork now,

healed and rehealed by life and love

sewn by reassurance and courage.

scoliosis tore me at the seams

but my stitches are tighter now.

horizon line

this is a piece of my life.

i remember it from the

beginning.

bigger than anything i’d ever seen,

louder than anything i’d ever heard

afraid  of its beauty.

afraid i would let go

of my father’s hand

let the sea take me.

afraid i would be blinded by  its sun-on-water glow

afraid i would fall apart in the pulsing blue-black silence.

yet still i wanted to be a part of it

wanted to feel the roll of the ocean rock me to sleep.

since those early days when only the symphony of seasalt was heard by my ears

my legs have grown longer, my mind has grown sharper.

now the sound of the sea is muffled by life,

nearly silenced by sound piling on top of it.

sometimes i wish to return to my undersea paradise,

to give myself into the fear of being lost

to let go of my father’s hand.

but if i were to give up my rushing life

for the gentle coastal swells

would I forget all i’ve come to know?

how could i let the current rip me away from everything?

my baby sister, who’s taught me my life isn’t the only one worth living for

my father, who taught me to swim

held my hand as my life bloomed into his.

my father, who knew i was sick

and that he was too

and that despite all he’s taught me

was still learning a few things himself.

as a child, i thought my life was about reaching the horizon.

as a soul, i know it is the journey of ups and downs

waves and sand bars

that is the horizon.

gone with the wind

for oklahoma.

it starts soft and subtle
a miniature breeze kicking up dust

it becomes bigger
more than a whisper

it grows
not only in size, but in monstrosity

becoming an unstoppable
being.

its gusty fingers brush away the past
toppling lives with a single blow.

each wind whips away memories
shattering the glass protecting the past.

still strength lives on
defying the funnel and what it holds;
the broken.

despite how we've been cracked and chipped by
wind,
it is
wind
that will caulk the spaces once filled by love.

it is the
wind
that has stolen
lives,
loves,

but it is that whistling song of
wind
that will lead us back to sing.

unbroken.

we will remain
until the
wind
can snap in half.

mother bird

to the best mother out there.

as a mother, you are my caring dove
pure and beautiful; filled with love.

as my friend, you are my by-side sparrow
singing me on through my life next to yours.

as my guardian, you are my watchful hawk
keeping dangers at bay and prolonging the future.

as your daughter, i am your young chickadee
seemingly never quite ready to leave the nest.

you've done your best to buff my wings
before my flight.

I may be soaring soon
but your love will keep me forever grounded.

happy mother's day mom :)

the only fear is fear itself

this one is about fear.

i am afraid of beginning.

what has done and what has yet to be
promises opportunity
at a sorrowful price.

sacrifice is not optional.

by putting a foot in the right direction
we take two steps back into the grasp of mistake.

until we learn to r u n.

no aspiration is flawless
in fact it is these flaws that become our guiding eyes
into the vision of why we cannot let the fear of fear overpower us.

the finish line does not appear to those who expect to find it
but only to those who have earned the eyes to see it.

the journey begins with a start.

behind what you see

ok, i think it's a known fact i am loving this english class. here is yet another poem regarding identity and what lies within.

there's more to me than what you see.

i've hidden an identity of darkness and sorrow
behind the joyous light you've come to know.

i've fought invisible battles
against the force that has kept them hidden.

i've taken the hurt without a scrape
but inside i am slashed and scarred red.

i've denied the pain from myself
but i can only pretend for so long.

behind what you see is a warrior
fighting what shadows me within.

there's more to me than what you see

unless you've looked hard enough.

if

this is another assignment for my english class. it's related to the other one, but more open-ended. are y'all liking these posts, or do you want more narrative type pieces? let me know :)

if i were to reappear

bruised and battered by the knife of my life

would you look beyond the blood?

 

if i were to show you my scars

despite how invisible they’ve tried to become

would you wonder?

 if i were to forget

what to do to fit the mold of society

would you disregard the fingerprints?

 if i were to come out

of this cocoon of fantasy

would you see me for who I really am?

or would you be caught in the reruns of who you thought I was?

don't lose who you are

this is a quick write-up i did for my english homework. it's supposed to be about the differences between your outside and inside personalities, or if there is a difference at all.

i am a writer,

whose reflection is hidden in the eye of the beholder.

i need a strand of belief,

to weave a life within the words of a story.

i want a voice that can quiet a shout

while screaming in its own silence.

to do this I will stop looking at the reflection,

and instead stare at the truth.

i am a storyteller,

i make speeches for the unheard.

i will not abuse this privilege, rather

i will listen to what has yet to be spoken.

now is only the beginning

the boston bombing is yet another in a string of tragedies rocking this world. this is for the lives forever changed by april fifteenth.


it's amazing how fast the world can fall around you.

what was once a heartbeat now a silent stone
sinking beneath a steadiness that has been silenced.

what was once a flame now blown to ashes
scattered by the breeze of sorrow.

we will try to forget, try to rebuild
but the skeleton of tragedy will always remain
outlining a life of loss we have forced ourselves to gain back.

our outer shells will put on a brave face
refusing to remember for fear of never being able to forget.

but our souls will continue to listen to what we cannot hear
see what we cannot see.

we will grieve
we will pray
we will move forward

but the memories of what could have been will never be forgotten.

stories will  be told to guard against the future
secrets will be kept to seal the gates of the past.

it will happen again, out of the pure normality this world is turning into.
it will happen again, a different place, a different time.
it will happen again, despite how far we've pushed it away
despite how long we've managed to shield ourselves from reality.

pearl harbor.
nine eleven.
atlanta.
newtown.

boston.

another added to the list, yet we refuse to open our eyes
to wake up.

we can run, but nothing will stay hidden.
we can turn a blind eye, but we will never be able to unsee.
we have promised to keep this from happening again.

it's time to keep that promise.