The clock is a time bomb
It hurries me along
Hurries me into sleep.
Or what would of been sleep
Had I not been hurried.
I squeeze my eyes shut
Ticking . . . . Ticking . . . .
Like some automated machine
Malfunctioning.
Worries come to mind
I wish I could quiet them with dreaming.
My head pounds
My body spins upside down.
Ticking . . . . Ticking . . . .
(God! Shut UP!)
Oh Jesus,
Was this your gethsemane?
The sweat pouring down like blood.
But you did not have this clock.
My eyes jump and rove
7:45 . . .
7:47 . . .
7:50 . . .
To that sweet face.
(addict)
My limbs ache.
I twitch like an addict.
Maybe I am an addict.
I don't think I would care.
If only I were dreaming this,
Instead of half dreaming.
Instead of stepping in two worlds
Oh, let me step in one.
I am both fish and man
Swallowing this humidity in great gulps.
Then let me spin
And not choose one over the other.
Til the day is out.
Til I can rest these eyes stuck with grit
And lay this body in sheets filled with it.
I can be fish
Or man
If I choose.
I can have hours to dream
Instead of minutes.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Nothing is That Was Not Before
I saw something that made me sad today.
I wont, . . . No, I will not tell you.
Keeping the secret is keeping the beauty to me.
Keeping the emptiness.
Keeping the hollow ache . . . the one that makes it hurt to breath.
And you somehow now feel special because you've kept it to your self.
When I started this I meant to tell you something.
Something about the uncertainty and missing you.
Fuck it. It's gone now, Like so many lost thoughts I don't bother to write down anymore.
I meant to say that from missing you I buried myself in the damp wet earth
I covered myself from the sun because it was like your love
And I lay there in the dark dreaming of your warmth.
But that's utter shit, isn't it?
It all is.
Maybe it always was.
But who am I trying to impress.
I cannot satisfy myself and that is the key
The buzzing of the hive
That tells me I'm no good.
And the voices are all my own.
They prick me, stinging venom,
I lie here uncomfortable
but hardly fatal
Hardly in danger
Hardly imported enough to matter.
I wont, . . . No, I will not tell you.
Keeping the secret is keeping the beauty to me.
Keeping the emptiness.
Keeping the hollow ache . . . the one that makes it hurt to breath.
And you somehow now feel special because you've kept it to your self.
When I started this I meant to tell you something.
Something about the uncertainty and missing you.
Fuck it. It's gone now, Like so many lost thoughts I don't bother to write down anymore.
I meant to say that from missing you I buried myself in the damp wet earth
I covered myself from the sun because it was like your love
And I lay there in the dark dreaming of your warmth.
But that's utter shit, isn't it?
It all is.
Maybe it always was.
But who am I trying to impress.
I cannot satisfy myself and that is the key
The buzzing of the hive
That tells me I'm no good.
And the voices are all my own.
They prick me, stinging venom,
I lie here uncomfortable
but hardly fatal
Hardly in danger
Hardly imported enough to matter.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Jorden. on the baby we lost.
I thought about you today.
I know they said I shouldn't.
It wont help my depression, but I don't care.
It's your birthday and you deserve to be remembered.
I recall the whole terrible time just in bits and snippets.
A pause outside your mothers door, Images of the hospital, being held as I cried on my birthday, your little booties going back in their pink tissue paper box. . .
That was the most haunting I think, . . . the clothing.
I remember for months I couldn't stop starring at them. Tiny onesies, jumpers, little sock's and booties . . . I wonder into the infant section of every store and gaze at them. Maybe stopping to touch the softer them soft fabric made with such love and care.
For the first month or so I found myself actually shopping, which made it worse. I would forget for a moment, picking up this and that trying to decide between a pink or yellow romper . . . but then I would remember. I'd fold them up neatly placing them back on the shelf. There would be no need for baby clothing now.
Before I use to sit dreaming of how you would look. Would you have your mothers wide blue eyes? your fathers dark wavy hair? I was so sure you would.
Imagining holding you, your tiny hand wrapped around my finger, perfect in every way. I would lie awake at night thinking I would give anything in the world to hear the sound of your soft breathing. To feel the barely noticeable weight of your immaculate fragile body tucked against mine, your round distended infant belly rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm.
I had many restless nights.
Then there were the dreams. The horrible nightmares I'd awake from, sobbing with no comfort. Crying out to God, to the dark, to anything, for you - to have you back. I'd curl up in a ball and through my tears whisper your name.
There was this empty spot where I know you should of been. Life jarring along, trying to resume it's usual pace. Through the show of rushing confusion, everyone dancing around the subject of you, I grew apathetic.
I tried to find things to fill the space. I tried so hard and soon I could sleep through some nights. I went a day then two with out thinking of you. They would say I got better, and maybe i did. But I didn't forget.
I still glance at babies differently, I still pause when I hear you name. I still remember.
It's been years. I count them off. You would of been five now.
In my mind I see you dancing in a field, your dark hair waving in the wind. I lay a kiss on your forehead and tell you I love you. To the child that never was, the girl that was never born . . .
Happy birthday Jordan.
I know they said I shouldn't.
It wont help my depression, but I don't care.
It's your birthday and you deserve to be remembered.
I recall the whole terrible time just in bits and snippets.
A pause outside your mothers door, Images of the hospital, being held as I cried on my birthday, your little booties going back in their pink tissue paper box. . .
That was the most haunting I think, . . . the clothing.
I remember for months I couldn't stop starring at them. Tiny onesies, jumpers, little sock's and booties . . . I wonder into the infant section of every store and gaze at them. Maybe stopping to touch the softer them soft fabric made with such love and care.
For the first month or so I found myself actually shopping, which made it worse. I would forget for a moment, picking up this and that trying to decide between a pink or yellow romper . . . but then I would remember. I'd fold them up neatly placing them back on the shelf. There would be no need for baby clothing now.
Before I use to sit dreaming of how you would look. Would you have your mothers wide blue eyes? your fathers dark wavy hair? I was so sure you would.
Imagining holding you, your tiny hand wrapped around my finger, perfect in every way. I would lie awake at night thinking I would give anything in the world to hear the sound of your soft breathing. To feel the barely noticeable weight of your immaculate fragile body tucked against mine, your round distended infant belly rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm.
I had many restless nights.
Then there were the dreams. The horrible nightmares I'd awake from, sobbing with no comfort. Crying out to God, to the dark, to anything, for you - to have you back. I'd curl up in a ball and through my tears whisper your name.
There was this empty spot where I know you should of been. Life jarring along, trying to resume it's usual pace. Through the show of rushing confusion, everyone dancing around the subject of you, I grew apathetic.
I tried to find things to fill the space. I tried so hard and soon I could sleep through some nights. I went a day then two with out thinking of you. They would say I got better, and maybe i did. But I didn't forget.
I still glance at babies differently, I still pause when I hear you name. I still remember.
It's been years. I count them off. You would of been five now.
In my mind I see you dancing in a field, your dark hair waving in the wind. I lay a kiss on your forehead and tell you I love you. To the child that never was, the girl that was never born . . .
Happy birthday Jordan.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
2/23/07
2/23/07 on my anxiety disorder/ anorexia.
All the night is shadow.
Hiding
In this little corner.
In this masquerade.
I hope I'm safe.
Who is this enemy of the night?
This shadow that bats me around,
That angers me?
Fear is swallowed up by the dawn
But how long until the night ceases to
plague me like black death?
How long until salvation has arrived?
How long must I live in this shadow land? . . .
And though I am scorched I may not
Drink the soothing water,
Though I die there is no one to hear my call.
All comfort is taken away.
There is no earthly safe house for one
Who stands outside the walls of Eden.
Oh, pensive night give up your ghosts
And torture me no longer.
Give up this right to plague me,
To rain control of my every move,
My every thought,
Give up the ghouls and monsters,
The demons hiding in your darkness
Take away my confines,
Let me walk free under the sun again
And let not the moon show her hideous face a shadow.
There is no mothers comfort for a terrified child
In this chronic and endless nightmare.
I am alone and utterly despondent
In this sea of false looking glass.
The screams are to big for my body
But I cannot let them out.
I will not go back to that place of hiding,
Of constant fear and illness.
I must find the trick switch to the trap door.
I must never return, not even for safety.
(Stay calm)
I have quarantined myself.
I cannot touch anything.
Whose the pariah now? . . .
All the night is shadow.
Hiding
In this little corner.
In this masquerade.
I hope I'm safe.
Who is this enemy of the night?
This shadow that bats me around,
That angers me?
Fear is swallowed up by the dawn
But how long until the night ceases to
plague me like black death?
How long until salvation has arrived?
How long must I live in this shadow land? . . .
And though I am scorched I may not
Drink the soothing water,
Though I die there is no one to hear my call.
All comfort is taken away.
There is no earthly safe house for one
Who stands outside the walls of Eden.
Oh, pensive night give up your ghosts
And torture me no longer.
Give up this right to plague me,
To rain control of my every move,
My every thought,
Give up the ghouls and monsters,
The demons hiding in your darkness
Take away my confines,
Let me walk free under the sun again
And let not the moon show her hideous face a shadow.
There is no mothers comfort for a terrified child
In this chronic and endless nightmare.
I am alone and utterly despondent
In this sea of false looking glass.
The screams are to big for my body
But I cannot let them out.
I will not go back to that place of hiding,
Of constant fear and illness.
I must find the trick switch to the trap door.
I must never return, not even for safety.
(Stay calm)
I have quarantined myself.
I cannot touch anything.
Whose the pariah now? . . .
I've decided to take a new turn with this much neglected blog. Instead of this being some myspace/facebook substitute ( both of which I have) I will use it to share the personal things I might not want just everybody that I know to see.
It will become very personal in nature. I will choose to share my thoughts on religion, loss, love, family, and Illness.
Our church went through a split a few years ago. The reasons are still sorted and confused but the why is still there.It can be speculated and assumed but it hangs there, unanswered, as in most such cases.
Unfortunately at the time I was so involved in the christian lifestyle that it actually mattered to me. I came to a stand still, confused over the matters of faith but acknowledging God I decided not the practice what many would call active Christianity.
Being raised a pastors daughter I know much of the Bible. But what I am willing to admit is I don't know God. When I was still active in the church most of my time was spend trying to fulfill the need to know God. Some are laments, some are prayers, others are musings or rages at my fruitless search.
I'm just a lost soul at the edge of a very interesting precipice. Don't judge me to hard, I'm still trying to figure things out.
oh, and I often think in poetical terms so if a lot of this veers towards poetry that's why.
It will become very personal in nature. I will choose to share my thoughts on religion, loss, love, family, and Illness.
Our church went through a split a few years ago. The reasons are still sorted and confused but the why is still there.It can be speculated and assumed but it hangs there, unanswered, as in most such cases.
Unfortunately at the time I was so involved in the christian lifestyle that it actually mattered to me. I came to a stand still, confused over the matters of faith but acknowledging God I decided not the practice what many would call active Christianity.
Being raised a pastors daughter I know much of the Bible. But what I am willing to admit is I don't know God. When I was still active in the church most of my time was spend trying to fulfill the need to know God. Some are laments, some are prayers, others are musings or rages at my fruitless search.
I'm just a lost soul at the edge of a very interesting precipice. Don't judge me to hard, I'm still trying to figure things out.
oh, and I often think in poetical terms so if a lot of this veers towards poetry that's why.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
What I did today
I'm pretty tired today. It was rainy so I was a bit blue. I just finished a play, The Wizard of Oz. I was an extra ( or ensemble as they call it in theater) basically singing and dancing. For about two weeks I was with the cast every day for an average of four hours. I was with the strangest most interesting people you'd ever meet. I miss them.
Today we we're planning to go to the beach. Due to inclement weather my mom decided take us to a lake we'd never been to before in a state park instead ( don't ask me how she worked that out). We decided to take a short walk on one of the numerous trails before settling down to eat and swim. During the walk my eighteen year old brother ran ahead ( not unusual for him) the problem was he didn't know which of the trails we had taken. He was lost for two and a half hours. We had the park rangers out looking for him and just when they called the next county for help they found him. Apparently he had taken the longest trail in the park thinking it was a short cut. While every one was out searching for my older brother I, my brothers and sister, and two friends where huddled under a holey tarp while our food and everything else got drenched because it was raining. Hard. We were under some tree's but that didn't seem to help much. We still got soaked.
After we found my brother ( and after my family had to hold me back from beating him with a bungee cord for getting lost) we went to a movie. We were still a little damp but we manged.
That's pretty much what I did today. Yep. Oh, and I ate. Not obscene amounts of food but allot.
Your random ( and boring) blog for the day,
I'm out.
Today we we're planning to go to the beach. Due to inclement weather my mom decided take us to a lake we'd never been to before in a state park instead ( don't ask me how she worked that out). We decided to take a short walk on one of the numerous trails before settling down to eat and swim. During the walk my eighteen year old brother ran ahead ( not unusual for him) the problem was he didn't know which of the trails we had taken. He was lost for two and a half hours. We had the park rangers out looking for him and just when they called the next county for help they found him. Apparently he had taken the longest trail in the park thinking it was a short cut. While every one was out searching for my older brother I, my brothers and sister, and two friends where huddled under a holey tarp while our food and everything else got drenched because it was raining. Hard. We were under some tree's but that didn't seem to help much. We still got soaked.
After we found my brother ( and after my family had to hold me back from beating him with a bungee cord for getting lost) we went to a movie. We were still a little damp but we manged.
That's pretty much what I did today. Yep. Oh, and I ate. Not obscene amounts of food but allot.
Your random ( and boring) blog for the day,
I'm out.
More poetry.
Your Last Breath
I will not spoil thy silence with words,
for words are empty, my love.
I will not breathe my scattered poisonous breath on thy face nor touch thee with withered hand.
For your purity I will not desecrate.
I will not steal the right that is yours.
The stilled silence when all the world ne'er moved as you breathed your last breath.
I will not shatter that silence for anything in the world.
Beloved, I will not cry in gasping sobs nor wail in anguish like a child.
I will not look upon your face and voice that I miss you already.
I will not be still and lifeless and make my pain a show.
If so, beloved, I will not think at all.
I will not let thought fill the space of you.
Instead, I will sit here, not moving.
So your last gasping breath will be alive in this room and echo among the walls.
Be at peace, my love.
Your time has past.
You are with Him now.
Your Last Breath
I will not spoil thy silence with words,
for words are empty, my love.
I will not breathe my scattered poisonous breath on thy face nor touch thee with withered hand.
For your purity I will not desecrate.
I will not steal the right that is yours.
The stilled silence when all the world ne'er moved as you breathed your last breath.
I will not shatter that silence for anything in the world.
Beloved, I will not cry in gasping sobs nor wail in anguish like a child.
I will not look upon your face and voice that I miss you already.
I will not be still and lifeless and make my pain a show.
If so, beloved, I will not think at all.
I will not let thought fill the space of you.
Instead, I will sit here, not moving.
So your last gasping breath will be alive in this room and echo among the walls.
Be at peace, my love.
Your time has past.
You are with Him now.
some of my poetry.
Blood and Lilies
How innocent the embryo in the womb
not having to think
blooming fresh and young
blood like rubies.
They will kill you
fill you with hate and lies
make you a fake love
burn up your insides.
Brain wash you
make you think your alone
empty out your emotions
til your a lifeless drone.
A lifeless drone
a lifeless drone
a lifeless drone of the world.
So stay in your walled up sanctuary
drink deep of your mothers milk
don't enter into this world of hate
but stay, stay far away
where you may live yet.
About this piece: I already got this one published on poetry.com. Some what dark. Pretty Self Explanatory.
Red
Little rivers of red flow on a silken white background.
So white,so pure, so smooth.
Moon like streambed for an a apocalypse moon.
Cascading. Dripping.
Transforming me into an India princess
with swirling designs of scarlet on my feet and hands.
A priestess in flowing robes offering crimson blossoms to the heathen statue.
Quavering on the lips . . . trembling,
then dropping to the ground
forming little pools, little lakes.
Ebbing slow from the little cat mouth,
giving so freely a mothers milk.
A thrill. A beautiful one, a vivid one . . . .
a cheap thrill,
cold to the bone.
There's no convincing otherwise.
Sedated.
Momentary as any drug.
The pureness of the shower washes away the evidence
of my tryst, my shame.
I cut. I bleed. I hurt.
About this piece: I DO NOT endorse cutting. I am not a cutter. Any one who cuts him/her self is in dire need of professional help. That said, I have a vision of a girl sitting naked on her bathroom floor. Streams of dark red blood where flowing from her wrists and intermingling with her long black hair. The red on the white of her skin, the black overlaying. It interested me. The picture was so strong in my mind I felt I had to write something on it.
Blood and Lilies
How innocent the embryo in the womb
not having to think
blooming fresh and young
blood like rubies.
They will kill you
fill you with hate and lies
make you a fake love
burn up your insides.
Brain wash you
make you think your alone
empty out your emotions
til your a lifeless drone.
A lifeless drone
a lifeless drone
a lifeless drone of the world.
So stay in your walled up sanctuary
drink deep of your mothers milk
don't enter into this world of hate
but stay, stay far away
where you may live yet.
About this piece: I already got this one published on poetry.com. Some what dark. Pretty Self Explanatory.
Red
Little rivers of red flow on a silken white background.
So white,so pure, so smooth.
Moon like streambed for an a apocalypse moon.
Cascading. Dripping.
Transforming me into an India princess
with swirling designs of scarlet on my feet and hands.
A priestess in flowing robes offering crimson blossoms to the heathen statue.
Quavering on the lips . . . trembling,
then dropping to the ground
forming little pools, little lakes.
Ebbing slow from the little cat mouth,
giving so freely a mothers milk.
A thrill. A beautiful one, a vivid one . . . .
a cheap thrill,
cold to the bone.
There's no convincing otherwise.
Sedated.
Momentary as any drug.
The pureness of the shower washes away the evidence
of my tryst, my shame.
I cut. I bleed. I hurt.
About this piece: I DO NOT endorse cutting. I am not a cutter. Any one who cuts him/her self is in dire need of professional help. That said, I have a vision of a girl sitting naked on her bathroom floor. Streams of dark red blood where flowing from her wrists and intermingling with her long black hair. The red on the white of her skin, the black overlaying. It interested me. The picture was so strong in my mind I felt I had to write something on it.
Who I am
The basics on me:
My Name is Sarah.
I'm 16 at the moment.
I live in Massachusetts.
Some of my interests include reading, poetry, gardening, listening to music, playing games on my computer, acting on stage, and TALKING.
I became a blogger because my mom will not allow me to get a myspace. She's ok with a blog though. I don't really see much of a difference . . . . .
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