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.

Radioactive.

**Welcome to the new age

My options for a Future

-live with my parents
-become a brain surgeon
-buy 12 warthogs, 2 llamas, 4 starfish, 22 dogs, and a lamb.
-not be a dental assistant because Obamacare will make the taxes be too high so the expense of dental care will go up and more people want extractions cause they're cheaper so less assistants are needed. Yay America!
-serve a mission
-sail the open sea in a dingy
-become an english teacher
-live on a park bench
-convert myself to the Hare Krishnahs
-blog
-go to college
-get married
-become a mortician
-have my own cooking show
-train my husband the art of llama breeding
-find a cure for cancer
-stalk Jeremy Renner. #creeper
-be a substitute teacher
-sell hotdogs/food on the beaches of Kuai till i have enough money to buy a house
-learn how to snowboard, become an instructor
-be stranded on a desert island with nothing but a comb, animal crackers, and nail clippersand still be able to survive
-sleep forever

How to write a How to Prompt

think.

i know how to sleep.
i know how to eat.

think.

what do i know how to do.

How to Fall Asleep:
1. lie down
2. close your eyes.
3. fall asleep

too simple.

How to Eat:
1. open your mouth
2. chew

even worse.

think.
think harder.

i know how to laugh.

How to Laugh;
scratch that.

i know how to live.

How to Live:
1. decide who you are.
2. be who you are and don't change for anyone.
3. make yourself happy--you need to be selfish when it comes to this!
4.  choose to be happy the way you did as a kid when you got a brand new piece of chalk, a new chiseled marker, or the perfect crayons; when thats all it took to make you happy.
5. love.
6. take risks.
7. cry.
8. Live.

does that work?

think.

how to make cookies.
i give up.

10. Newspaper Blackout

 Loneliness tended his return to where he could be.

 Muzzle the silence.
Denounce the delicate dance, the likely price would be too high for anything else.

Promise me promises.




#ITried

#TisTheSeason

I'm not too old;

Christmas Wishlist:

-Twitter. #IWantOne
-Restaurants to use plastic instead of styrofoam to go boxes. (It's killing the earth.)
-A white Christmas.
-gas prices to be lowered.
-My hair to be 4 inches longer.
-The courage to finish Walking Dead.
-My family to get out of debt.
-Make good genuine friends.
-Not be an only child.
-to be given back my crayons.
-to actually hang out with people that I write "We're playing over the summer you have no choice!" in their yearbook.
-a big dog. (great dane, german shepherd, etc.)
-A clean room.
-to know what to do with my life.
-a bed time.
-a Skip-it.

Wasted Shooting Star.

I wished on a shooting star.
A freaking star.

and i NEVER see them. it was wasted!! I know i know.
respect our president. President. I will even capitalize the word.

signs of the times?? whenever we have that lesson in sunday school i get scared out of my witts! and now facebook has its cup running over with statuses (statusi) about the second coming coming. (that wasn't intentional..) and it being a sign and all this.
i'm scared and i feel so small. In all honesty i just wanted to change the size so i had to throw the word small in there somewhere.

But it all comes down to the frame of mind I guess...but I hope Barack Husein Obama is very proud of himself.  I give him a pat on the back for spending more money than every president combined.  And killing jobs while trying to create them. America may feel dead, but death is not the end.

haven't you seen the walking dead? we'll come back.  everything will be okay!!


i really have no idea what got me on this subject.. maybe because all ive been doing is watching psych and walking dead.

nevermind.

SAIL--blame it on the A.D.D.

All I can Do.

I had never heard my dad cry like he did last night.

The occasional teary eyes came but never sobs, that was my moms job.  I had been lied to, being told everything was okay and perfect when things clearly weren't. It made me angry. I lashed out at my mom and she lashed back. Being told to leave the one place you're supposed to feel safe leaves you feeling hostile and empty. Taking her seriously must have been a mistake because I got up and left while she begged me to stay.

I slammed the door and ran for what seemed like miles because I could never get far enough.  My phone started to vibrate and I instantly knew it was my mom. I hurried and answered it just to hang up; so she knew I had seen her call. I felt free like a bird. Finally loose from the cruel world that had recently bound me.

I got to a park with happy children blindly playing in a vile creation called earth. More vibrating. Answer, hang up. I didn't know what else to do. How long did I expect to stay out here. I could go to Sydnie's, but that would be the first place they'd look.

Vibrating; answer; hang up. To my hesitation of admitting it, the world finally caught up to me. But not only did it catch up, it grasped me like a prisoner of war. A poor flightless bird; that once thought her life was her own. That she wasn't a game piece in someone else's scheme of Life. My tears changed to cries which then soon turned to sobs. In complete horror I collapse. Lift my knees up to my chin, burry my face, and cry. Because that's all I can do. More vibrating; another answer; one more hanging up.

I started walking back. Resenting the text messages and calls knowing they deserved a simple reply.  One last period of vibrating--I couldn't handle it. I answer and don't hang up. I pull my phone to my lips and utter a small "hello." I hear screaming and blubbers that I try and make out as words. And this is where my own personal hell comes in.

I hear my dad, weeping in lack of knowledge of what to do.  Me hurting my mom had indirectly killed my best friend emotionally.  I start to run now, yelling occasionally to try and get them to hear me but all I hear in reply is "I've had enough. I can't support my kids anymore, we are losing our house, our cars and we are out of money for food. I can't stand this anymore," over and over and over again in different variations of words meaning the exact same thing.

At last I reach my house. I can't run faster to the place I once couldn't get away from quick enough.  I jerk open the door and my dad is there. On the floor, weeping. Because of me. I had broken my family in a matter of moments. Me. The girl that loves being happy and knowing its a choice and I blew it. I broke something so fragile, and irreplaceable, it's almost impossible to fix.

Duct tape can't fix it. Only the reunion of hearts. I run to him and pull him in my arms; the former Chief of Police Officer, the toughest and most genuine man I know. I try and fix it. My mom walks in; I grab her too. I try my hardest to show them I care and my sorrow towards all this because it's all I can do.

And suddenly, things start to seem like they're becoming okay, like it didn't even matter in the first place, because in reality it probably didn't.

9. I Remember.

I remember being a sophomore. And thinking HighSchool was a never ending part of my life. I remember the first day of being a senior. Being so intimidated by my "authority". I remember my first day at Lone Peak.

I remember Junior year Sadie's. People that know me really well will know exactly who I am now. I remember moving on. I remember being an Indian in a group full of cowboys. I remember leaving to London two days later. 

I remember eating crab legs for the first time. And eating so many I got sick. I remember thinking I was so cool for liking sushi when I really hated it. I remember discovering artificially green foods are gross. 

I remember being a kid. I remember eating Popsicles as if they were a meal. I remember Skip-its and Baby Bottle Pops. I remember being so scared to jump off my waterfall into my pool that my mon bribed me with a Baby Bottle Pop. I remember California.

I remember the death of my social life that my parents called a "For Sale" sign. I was in 3rd grade and California was everything. I remember my 9th birthday cake was a Twinkie from a gas station--and I hate twinkies. I remember finally getting to Utah and wishing I was swimming on my birthday rather than driving. I remember meeting my first friend--Karina Fredrickson. 

I remember hating life and thinking something was wrong with me. I remember my mom kicking me out of the house and actually meaning it. Then begging me to say when I took her seriously. I remember the first day of being an only child.

I remember deciding being happy is a choice. I remember the day my music died. I remember when i decided to create my own symphony. My music is still playing, and I'm the conductor.

8. One Word.

Bologna. Elementary.  Akagi. Clear Creek. Squirrel. Up. Russell. Kohls. Shoes. Socks. Winter. Model. Yearbook. C+. Brown-Noser. Dane. Mustache. Curl. Ice. Pebble. Zupas. TBA. Healthy. Gross. Smell. Cologne. Hollister. Shack. Shrimp. Hawaii. Ocean. Dieing. Tombstone. Message.  Love. 9. California. Twinkie. Oooz. Puss. Eye. Pointy.


My brain is fried
#7hourshifttoday

Two Words.

"Thank you."

Two words don't usually mean a whole lot, except for these two. It's nice to hear them once in a while..especially while you're at work in a stressful environment and someone realizes the time you put into their meal.

Thank you can be a response for so many things--I just love it!

It was a short post,
thank you for reading.

7. This is a Direct Order.

Keep 

Calm 

and 

Be Happy.

(Wannabe "Keep Calm and blah blah blah" Poster. But lets be honest, being happier makes things better.)

It's a nice Quote.

Nice Quote:

"Every storm runs out of Rain."

-Gary Allen

Dear Reader.

A Letter to Mr. Nelson's Creative Writing Students,

You surround me and I applaud you.  I don't know how you do it,  I can never compare to any of you.  The way you write captivates me and makes me want to be better.

I still haven't posted a quote to my blog because I can't choose just one. There are so many!! Really. I am surrounded by authors.  If anyone is actually reading this, give yourself a pat on the back.  Cause you are unreal and are an inspiration to me.

Fall Break---I actually thought about my blog posts (being out of town (its a big deal)). I wrote poems and stories and post after post after post; All to be left in my drafts.  So what I ended up doing=Not being indie. a.k.a. being a tourist. a well thought out tourist mind you.

And that's all I'll ever be.  It may be a disappointment to Mr. Nelson. I try and be a good writer trust me.  But I just never seem to measure up.  Charlotte Charles, I Aint a Doll, Sally J Skinny Love, Understanding Man, all of You. You're such good writers I don't get it.  Nobody probably even reads this so who am I talking to?
Myself.

So Congratulations. You're amazing. :) Take pride in your writing.

Sincerely,  A Lost but hopeful Writer.