I pity you

"i pity you because you'll never change. i pity myself because that will never matter to me at all.[Katy Bartlett]"

pieces of your soul

pieces of your soul
theres always that one person in your life that will always keep you wanting more. they leave you intruiged. and everytime you see them they make sure your heart is aching and pounding so fast that just 1 more millasecond by their side may have just made your heart shatter with the passion from all the little memories you ever experienced with them.

then one day. they decide that your not good enough. and they with the hand that felt as if everytime you held it you were holding the universe and everytime he kissed your hand entwined with his, it was if a shooting star shot up your spine, he waved you away. Just like that your whole world dissapears and its as if for an enternity you are in a miserable limbo alone and heartbroken. you cry out every tear until your eyes are parched and its like a sand storm is twirling you. keeping you in exsistence. but if you had your way you would stop twirling. you would be perfectly still so that no one can see how pathetic you are. your like this for a long time.

And then, finally...when you think that you've picked up all the pieces of your soul that you lost in the storm, he walks back in, and he gives you the pieces that you forgot along the way. the pieces so small that even you would forget they were in you before. he misses you. and as much as it makse you happy. It would be a shame...to go back into the storm. It would be a horrible mistake to walk into something that would end the universe again.is it really even worth going though that much agony if you dont even KNOW in your heart that HES the one.

-noel tijerina

[as published in byzantium 2008, Glenbard West Highschool]

all the leaves of my soul float elegantly into your heart

The thing you probably don't understand is that the simple mastery of your charm has unrelenting control over me. You, the masterpiece set before me shows only allusions that can make my heart spin and dance with the same grace the first falling leaf of fall has. And fall it is! I've been falling more in love with you everyday, all the leaves of my soul float elegantly into your heart. Consequently, I lose grasp of myself in the divine life you have set forth for me. I ask myself if this can all be real? I think, of course… this love is the most tangible connection of two souls. This love is a once in a lifetime chance. The ends of time go both into history and to the future infinitely, and though there is no one unique instance, no one unique love throughout all of the past, and all of the future, this is it for this moment in time. History repeats itself though, and this love will happen again. Nevertheless, I must hold on to what I have been given, being blessed with power SO strong between two people is something that should never be let go. Not everybody gets this opportunity. I must embrace it firmly but let it breathe, for I don't want our souls to feel the want to squeeze through small breaks and tears of my grasp.just understand the control you have, acting as a puppeteer, you can do with me anything you would like.

a series of poems: love and war [with myself]

dangerous perfection

Ive changed, even now...
I’m not nearly who I was last
september.
ive hurt people
people have used me
and I’ve betrayed the importance
of my existance.
but looking into your eyes again
being held tightly in your arms
brought back everything I’ve lost,
innocence, a heartbeat,
because you’re my fairytale,
your flaws, your mistakes
they are my perfection
the mere thought of you
is a snake, tightly wrapping
around my heart
your breath intoxicates me
your lips ignite my soul
your hands provoke my heartbeat
you satisy my thirst,forever
you’re my drug, and i am high

-me.

Your first night with her.

Your first night with her.
This is your first night with her.
Catch a glimpse of her smile when
She peaks around the bathroom door
Before she dresses
She walks toward you, with that
Insane hair you love.
Tracing a finger around your lips,
She closes her eyes.
When she opens them again,
Whispers. Until I die.
It’s strange, having her sleep so close...
She thinks so too.
It’s strange, but its nice.
[Don’t worry] she is comfortable with you.
She breathes sweetly as she sleeps
Your lullaby tonight
She doesn’t even have to try, you think
Content tears flow down your eyes.

-me.

Fading

Boy, you warmed my heart
And you melted my soul
But, slowly as our love fades
I feel icy shivers down my spine
That remind me of the dark and frigid winter
That I was trapped in
Before you saed me
From the stale splintering air

-me

A Frenzied Mind

A Frenzied Mind
Click, click click. The sound of the keys being pressed calms her mind as her thoughts are buttered over the screen. The clicking pauses as she pans her room, scorning at the mess. With a small frown she turns back to the screen and furrows her brow before the quick clacking begins again. There is something about the clean, organized look of the programs and windows on the screen that relaxes the frantic buzz of images and words in her head. The quick staccato her fingertips create on the board expresses her frenzied thoughts. She is strangely reminded of Edvard Griegs piece, "The Hall of the Mountain King."
A soft bubbly sound interrupts her typing. Her body jolts a little, surprised to see someone instant-message her at one in the morning. Her friend requests to watch her work quietly over webcam. She accepts the request and looks into the small green light on the top of the MacBook. The camera lens is a small rounded square. She looks at it without emotion and goes back to typing. The intelligence of the machine not only organizes her thoughts, but enables her to enter a network of friends that possess the same piece of technology.
Taking a break from writing she skims through several albums that hold thousands of her small visual memories. The slim three-dimensional device allows her vast memory to be organized in several albums and documents throughout the various programs encrypted into its body. Brushing her finger across the surface of the finger-pad, she smiles at the crisp, unused look and feel of this device. One would even describe its architecture as "fake." She can't disagree with this statement because it does in fact look fake. The perfect rounded corners, the smooth straight edges, and the small cloudy apple shape all add to its perfection. This reminds her that though the outside of the gadget is pristine and sleek, without a sense of personality or color, the inside is filled with her silly, passionate, heart-wrenching thoughts and adventures.
Clicking on the all-too-familiar music note icon, she scrolls down to the band 3 Doors Down and plays the song "When I'm Gone." Music, just like the hundreds of pictures and documents on the contraption encompasses thousands of her memories. She lets the lyrics flow through her soul as she writes. Each song evokes mental images of different events in her life.
Being able to touch all of the significant things that have happened in her life, and enter a world of important people through one piece of machinery is an extraordinary thing. Even more striking is how many ways she can come into contact with all of these things. Listening to the music it holds lets her hear the happiness or sadness of her stories. The clicking of the keys brings serenity to her tangled thoughts, slowly quieting her mind. Seeing snapshots of her life brings even more vivid photographs. They bring back tears to her eyes, and melodies to her ears. They bring back tastes to her tongue, and touches on her skin. The piece itself gives an impression of "organized chaos."
While this MacBook tells us all that this girl is organized, clean-cut, and simple, inside it holds the chaotic mind of a young woman. Her mind is not at all straightforward or simple. It is mazes of thoughts, piles of images, and albums of songs. Each small piece is a different part of her. Each fragment represents a smile, a laugh, a cry, a hug, a kiss, a proud moment, or a moment of shame. Each particle inside of this technology is her soul stored away in different applications, and saved for her own records. Maybe, just maybe, this MacBook can offer this woman an explanation of herself.
Thousands of creative individuals around the world use this MacBook in the same way, organizing their lives in a mere 2.4 GHz of memory. To harness one's own creativity, one must be able to organize the intricate details and stories that flood their mind, just as she does. However, she realizes that everything that enters her mind will not be inserted into the contraption. Unlike her mind, the MacBook has limits. It can develop a masterpiece, but it cannot create it. It can "auto correct" spelling, but it cannot use the smooth black keys to capture her elaborate musings.