Imperfection

This world is imperfect.
it is chaotic and messy
it likes to break you and throw obstacles in your path
that will make you stumble
make you question yourself
make you say things like "I didn't ask for this"
or "why me"
or my personal favorite, "this isn't fair."

no, it's not.
life isn't a fair
it's not a ferris wheel ride that you can expect to take a ride around and end up in the same place as where you started
it's not sweetness on a stick, dipped and deep fried if you request
it's not flashing lights on a july night

This world is the aftermath of an explosion
nothing is where it should be
just mayhem and destruction
pieces of shrapnel strewn in the street
buildings toppling over
forever increasing entropy

but if you can look carefully enough
or you wait long enough
you'll see the tip of something green
poking through the rubble
if you can train your eyes and your mind
you can see that this world isn't perfect
but that doesn't mean that it's not beautiful.

Redwoods

Sometimes, I feel like a hundred and twenty year old redwood tree.
I have seen seasons come and go
I have felt a thousand rainfalls flood me
and basked in the sunshine of countless summer days
I have had so many birds nest in my branches
and squirrels skitter among my roots
I have seen children playing, growing, maturing
until they bring to me children of their own

I am no stranger to the humming insects
whose lifetimes are so short
they appear as a short cymbal crash in the rhythm of the forest

but for me?
I am the low humming bassline,
a long bow drawn across a cello's strings
a vibrations that you don't so much hear
as you feel in your core.

I have pulled everything I needed from the earth below me
combined it with the warmth of the sky above me
so that I may stand here, tall and upright
arms like branches outstretched
always straining for something just out of reach

so if you cut open my skin
and a trickle of sap oozes out
you glance in and see rings
circles and layers from the years I have spent in this green world
Don't be surprised
It's just that most times
I feel like a hundred and twenty year old redwood tree.

Procrastination

There is something so daunting about a blank word document.
especially when I have to write something for a deadline.
Some kind of biology paper about the research I've been doing
where I've been spending all my time when I'm not behind the mic
or letting the world wash over me
smooth all the jagged edges that have a tendency to appear whenever the order in my life is torn apart

and I know that my fingers know how to fly over the square silver keys in front of me
forming letters
forming words
forming sentences
forming ideas
forming thoughts
forming the entire summary that just feels like it's stuck in my head
and I can't properly translate it.

So I lose myself in my social circles
indulgence in facebook and text messages to other friends who hate blank word documents just as much as I do
skimming through my music, saying that I'll start once I find the right song
I'll write once it feels right

but there are so many other things that I want to say
so many other dances on my keyboard that my fingers want to partake in
so I feel restricted
structured
straight jacket bound into producing something useful
proving that my mind has been engaged for these last 9 months of school
that my head has been pregnant with ideas i'm just waiting to give birth to
letting them develop until they're ready to stand on their own
supporting them until they've been properly raised and can be alright in this world out on their own

but I can't get my mind to tell my neurons in my brain to electrically shock my muscle fibers to start the translation of information that is stuck in my head due to procrastination.

most days

Most days,
I feel like I'm waiting for something.
for a moment when an inspiration will hit me
a muse will appear out of thin air
when I can bend my way of thinking
re route my train of thought

but
most days
feel kind of empty.
like something is missing.
like I'm at the precipice of my life
and I just haven't figured out how to jump yet

most days
i look around like i've lost something
with curious eyes that pry around corners
and into personal lives
scrying for stories of people's pasts
because I already know my own so well
and I like to think that I can collect stories like pearls
and eventually string them all together
to have around as a symbol of all the beauty in this world that I've found

but most days
no one has a good story to tell.
they've forgotten their story entirely
or they're too scared to tell it
or they can't find the proper words to describe it
or they think their story is of no importance

so most days
I just sit back and watch
become an observer in the crowd and let all the pairs of feet wander past me
always hurrying off to an unknown destination
it makes me feel like I should be hurrying too
but then I remember
that I know my destination
and I want to enjoy the journey, too.

Independent

I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T do you know what that means?
Actually, I don't.
Not anymore.
Not since I was told that the only thing missing in my life is a man-
but I don't see his face on the side of milk cartons
there's not police search team going through my personal life
and I sure as hell don't miss something I don't even know yet.

I can't help it thought
my mom raised my sister and I to be independent
but even growing up I didn't understand what that meant
because when I fell down, I'd get back up; wouldn't wait for a hand to be extended past the life expectancy of a half hearted promise
I'd brush the dirt off my knees because I always fell in the direction I was going- forward.
and when I stood up from being stood up, I'd brush the dirt off my shoulders
because one guy isn't enough to inhibit my swagger

Being independent means that the little things don't shake me
If I break a nail, I won't need your shoulder to cry on
I'll be too happy about the dirt in my fingers
See, I'm a goddess of the earth
which means I enjoy getting muddy, running in the rain, and I'm not afraid of killing spiders
I'm not some delicate fragile china shop of a girl
so you can take your bull elsewhere if you're trying to break me

So I've turned into a 20 year old independent woman
with a tendency to speak my mind and take all challenges head on
but I haven't discovered anyone in the male population who's been able to keep up.
but to anyone who thinks they have potential, let me tell you
I'm not going to let my hormones rule my better judgement
as long as you think with the head on top of your shoulders
but don't be surprised when I put I before U
it's just how I learned the alphabet
and you can bet that this alpha female will always have herself taken care of
I'm too sweet to need a sugar daddy
but I'm not a diva
I can be a backup dancer while you're in the spotlight
because I'm a duaghter of the moon
so you can be a son of the sun
and shine as bright as you want to
but remember that your nights would be much darker without me
and honestly
I don't need you.
but that I want you
which should make things easier
you only have to think about being with me
and not being there for me
and that's fine, because I'm trying to date you, not your wallet.

and to the haters-
Don't call me crazy just because I'm not crazy about you
Don't say I'm out of control just because I won't let you control me
Don't act turned off by my tendency to be passionate
when you wish you knew how to make me passionate for you
Don't hate on my hair or try to mock it
I'm not gonna be your life size polly pocket
I prefer to straight up faux hawk it
you can quit jabbering because you know that I rock it

So if you've got a girl who
can't stand her ground
stays silent when she has something to say
hides behind you instead of standing up for herself
send her my way
and i'll show her what it really means
to be independent.

Don't stop dancing

Author's note: this poem was written for a specific prompt- I was asked to write a piece as a response to another piece I wrote as the person that I wrote it about. The following is my interpretation of my grandmother's response to my piece called Babushka.




Granddaughter, you are now a young woman
that I remember so well as just a little girl in flowery dresses at easter time
and black velvet outfits during Christmas.
Our relationship thrived during the holidays
when multiple families were crowded in the living room and the kitchen
but the children were always running around and exploring
up and down the stairs
inside the house and out on the balconies
weaving through the obstacles of legs that belonged to mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, grandmothers and grandfathers
and your grandfather would act like a child
chasing you all around like the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk
the house was filled with the smells of cooking and the sounds of catching up conversations that appeared so spontaneously and sounded like sweet melodies
family gatherings are just relatives creating poetry without writing anything down.

I remember your little legs, granddaughter
always moving even when you sat down
kicking and thumping at the edge of the chair
or tucked up underneath your body
like you had to put your whole weight on them in order to get them to hold still
always running, spinning, jumping, or dancing
I hope you never stop dancing.
Even if there is no music, let your heart sink down into your feet
and feel the rhythm in your toes
let it carry you away from all the worries of daily life
whisk you away into a floating fantasy land
where your only partner is your happiness.
If you are lucky enough to find a person who can dance to your rhythm
hold him close
and know that it's just as much fun to fly around the dance floor like your feet are made of the clouds
as it is to sway slowly, pressed cheek to cheek
hand to hand
and most importantly,
heart to heart

I'm smiling down on you, you know.
I think you can feel me, some days
when the sun kisses your face softly
and the breeze is at your back
gently nudging you forward
and your lungs pull in all the life that surrounds you
and you'll see my grace in the butterflies and hear my laughter in the spring sparrow's song

So i'll leave you with this last thought
Always stay hungry for more
have an appetite for knowledge and greatness that you never allow to be satisfied
read quietly when you get the chance
but don't forget that change is made by raising your voice
and while you'll find that change is inevitable
my presence will remain constant
I'm part of the heartbeat baseline that you'll find yourself moving to
a steady rise and fall of your chest that fits in time
with a universal rhthym,
know that I'm there.
know that I'm here.
so even if your feet get tired
if your legs get weak
or your heart gets heavy
keep them light with hope for a fresh start tomorrow morning
and I hope that you never stop dancing.