Bring Me Back to Paris.

"I don't belong in Paris." I told myself. I didn't want to belong.

My first day in Paris, introductions without giving my name. I was questioned whether I was human or not. Who asks that?

Then I realized.

Paris is where things happen.  So I answered.  I know I'm human because I bleed.  Paris is where I fell in love and where I found my fear of falling in love, because love is the closest thing we have to magic.

And Im thinking about Paris like clouds think about 9.  Before 7, 8, 9 forcing us to hold funeral services for 9's death.

That was the day I went shopping for Mr. Nelson and bought him bricks and duct tape because I was too lazy not to be a tourist.

My sixth week in Paris I realized who took this journey with me.  You're all amazing, and I'm just an ammature with a computer.

A direct order to rock out like you just got your first kiss turned into writing one word.

Then two.

I remember my first day in Paris.  I wanted to punch you in the face the second I saw you walk in.  There was a reason I didn't see you all summer. I wanted it to stay that way.

In Paris I got high on permanent marker fumes telling me the main idea was Promise me Promises or Loneliness tended his return to where he could be.

Paris taught me how to live and how to laugh. But no one commented on my How To prompt anyway.

Which brings me to the sad chair I found in the middle of Paris' open plains, or in other words-- the internet.



Week 13 in Paris. My fellow Paris adventurer wrote, "To the dickweed scientist with a telescope that decided that pluto wasn't a planet; screw you." You inspired me to write my true feelings. To my homecoming date last year: screw you.

My journey in Paris is almost coming to a close now and I don't know what to do. Robert Frost still makes me so jealous.

And I don't know how to write poetry.

I found myself in Paris;

my fears, what I love.

Just take me back.

I don't know how to Write Poetry.

I don't know how to write poetry.
The stanzas and the rhyming
with all the lines and the timing.

Whatever that was, took me ten minutes to write.

And that's when I realized my problem.
What muse would inspire me to write that?
Yep. None.
So I tried to start to listen to my muses.

But it's a little hard.
Considering before this class all I knew about Muses were they're the tan ladies who sang all the songs in Hercules.
But I learned,
And I listened.

To write about things you just don't do.
Going into an empty theater and sitting by the only person in there.
To write things you just don't say.
"I love you." on a first date.

And all I had around me when that came to me, was soap.
In the shower, I didn't let Larry take my symphony.
I listened to my first muse.

Then on my way to school.
I had to pull over. My second muse; my second symphony.
Hate. Why do we have it?
And why do we hate having it.

The same thing can go for love.
Why do we have it?
And why do I, personally, hate having it.

I just don't know.
Why is this all so important to me.
Maybe it's the same reason I care than I don't know how to write poetry.
Or why I was invited to the Muse Cafe on Facebook but was too ashamed to show up.
Or why I took a picture of a sad chair from the internet.

Poetry.
It needs to be real, and I guess I'm not.
Or maybe I'm the only real thing in this fake world.

But still. I don't know how to write poetry.

The Road Not Taken.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the under growth. 

Then took the other, as just as fair, 

And having perhaps the better claim, 

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning rqually lay

In leaves no step had trodden black. 

Oh, I kept the first for another day! 

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted it I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence: 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

A poem by Robert Frost.


I don't know how to write poetry this fluid and have it make sense. I want my writing to mean something and have significance. Just keep trying I guess!

I Could've Been.

I could've been an officer in the Air Force. I could've been a manager. I could've cliff jumped in Hawaii. I could've been a great rugby player. I could've been the valedictorian. I could have gone on a mission. I could've been great. I could've been a famous singer, or an actress. I could have been a brain surgeon or worked at McDonald's. I could have made something of myself. I could have gotten my honor bee.
I could have been in love. I could have had my first kiss in high school. I could've been fat. I could've chosen to be anorexic. I could have been a girly girl. I could have gone Black Friday shopping every year. I could've read the Harry Potter books. I could have just spoken up.
I could've been taken in Africa. I could have chosen to study abroad in Europe. U could have been in love. I could've chosen to hate him. I could've been indie. I could've been a good writer. I could've done drugs through high school. I could have looked like fat Amy. I could've written this in a different colored pen. I could've been a Georgia fan. I could've stayed in California.
I could've cleaned someone's teeth for a living. I could've donated my life to charity. I could've dedicated myself to my education. I could've commented on more blogs like Dr. Phil. (Really, thanks. I appreciate the comments.) I could've made people proud to know me. I could've had potential.

Living Young and Wild and Freee.

We'll be friends till we're old and senile--then we'll be new friends!
We will be friends until I eat something artificially green.
We will be friends till a zombie apocolypse happens and we're left to fend for ourselves.
We're going to be friends forever.

We're going to be friends till dinosaurs rome the earth again.
We'll be friends when Chuck Norris is defeated.
We will be friends till I decide to like chocolate ice cream.
Which means w'll be friends forever.

We're going to be friends till December 21, 2012.
We'll be friends till Global Warming finally happens.
We'll be friends when the last hand on the clock ticks.
We're going to be friends forever.

We're going to be friends till all of our hair is gray.
We'll be friends when everyone has forgotten about highschool, because it never did matter.
We will be friends through all of the liking and retweeting and snapchatting, and even when its gone;
We're going to be friends forever.

We will still be friends when we live three states away.
We're still going to be friends; just friends with 5 other mouths to feed.
We'll still be friends when we're paying for our own insurance.
And even when you're amost dead, and scared no one will come to your funeral, you must have forgotten.
Because we're going to be friends forever.

Promise me promises.

I'm all alone in my room, laying under the covers. And all I can think about is you. We met today; in the halls, that's all. And yet--I can't stop thinking about you.

BUT WHY. 

You give me caterpillars. Which everyone knows will eventually turn into butterflies, and thats just because I don't know you well enough yet. 

Our eyes meet in the hall and you say, "hello." so casually it sounds like we're life long friends. But the only friends i've become well acquainted with are my caterpillars.  They never leave my side and are there for me 100%. Till they make me feel sick.

Because I don't know you well enough yet. But I still feel this way. 

So I'm just left alone.

Me and my caterpillars.

Notes to People Who will Never Read Them.

"To the dickweed scientist with a telescope that decided that pluto wasnt a planet: Screw you." -Dick Tidrow

To the guy who used to be my best friend;

Break up with your girlfriend. She's the reason we never hang out anymore.

To the cashier at Kneaders;

My name isn't hard to spell.

To the cute boy at Kahuku's in Hawaii;

Of course you're attractive. You're a Hanneman.

To my bus driver in kindergarten;

Looking back I wish I told someone you yelled at me for sitting in the front seat.

To My last year's homecoming date;

Im privileged you let me experience something you never could, being heartless and all you'll never know what a broken heart feels like.  

To my old yearbook teacher;

you could have stayed. Thanks for ruining yearbook this year.

The the clueless Model Boy who sits 2 seats away from me;

We're going to get married okay?

To my future sheep;

Your name will be Bathsheepah or Baahxter, depending on gender.

To my homecoming date;

Did you really not gather the fact that I was in love with you? No big.

To my old boss;

Of course I didn't want to get paid.  I wanted to do 180 hours for free.

To my dad;

I'm sorry I don't live up to your expectations.

To the boy who offered me drugs in 2nd grade;

Thanks for teaching me what dope was. I really hope you changed.  I want you to have a good life.

To the man who grabbed me and tried to take me;

Its not necessary for you to see the movie Taken--you experienced it when my dad saw what was happening.  

To Sydnie;

You suck at being a best friend. But so do I. I love you!

To the ditz who thinks she's cute;

"She asked me how to spell orange."  You and Karen from Mean Girls would get along quite nicely.

To the red-headed jock,

It's nice to see someone smile in their athletic pictures rather than the straight faced serious ones. 

To my blog;

I'm sorry I always vent to you.