Forced Family

We sit. In silence. We don't talk, it's just our presence.

Occasionally the "father" will speak; light conversation though. But only to the son, only father to son. Never to the "daughter", never "father" to "daughter."

The minutes pass, still the absence of vocalization. But the sound of the "father's" breath, the son sipping his water, the "daughter" quietly typing.

Anyone else would find this peculiar, eerie even; it's normal for this . . . family. We sit, no lingual communication.

However, it used not to be this way. Yet now this sort of thing has become comfortable, in a way. No need to express feelings or thoughts. Not that we simply know what they are, we just choose not to acknowledge them. Those tricky emotions and "issues" in this . . . family are ignored almost; no one admits to that either though.

The silence continues. Only broken by the "daughter"; she utters not one word, it's not needed anyway, and leaves. The father and son remain though, still comfortable in the still quiet, more comfortable now actually.

this is a poem my friend wrote, he says he's isnt finished with it yet, but i love it so far:

Her lovely morning elegance, she wears.
As she looks for him at the top of the stairs .
The glistening sound, of the flowing swears.
At the World, to his girl, to people that don't care.
To the search, at the hurt ,to the people that don't share. His pain
But in between the hate and quarrels of men
We find that its always been
We find the things that were always there
We find the things that are truly fair

Near the fireplace he sprawls across the floor
Waiting for a sudtle knock, at his door
It never comes what has he become a sad excuse for love
Alone in his shell he says aloud
He’s just a face in the crowd
But that girl, was the entire world, to him

Her lovely morning elegance she wears
As she looks for him at the top of the stairs
She walks away he looks away
theres so much left for him to say
Now she’s just a Polaroid on my wall
Always begging me to call

She sits alone in the shade on a grassy plane
Humming a simple tune just to keep her sane
Since yesterday shes been in a daze
But falling is just a temporary state of mind
if we just look around we find
That between the confessions and blinded sins
We find whats always been
We find the things that were always there
We find that things are truly fair

-NOEL K

Used To Be

I smell like flowers today
like the ones he used to bring you

my eyes look vividly blue in the sunlight
like he used to tell you they did

my skin in warm as I lay in the grass
like when he would hug you and his
heat would linger on you

my cheeks flush under the light of the sun
like they used to when he kissed you

my hair is straight and soft today
like he used to say he liked it so he
could run his fingers through it

I shutter happily when a cool breeze rolls over
like you used to when he would smile

at you and kiss your neck

my tummy flutters like a butterfly that flies over my face
like it used to when he would hold your
hand

I smile trying to just enjoy today
like you used to when being with him
was enough

i whisper 'i love you' to the air

like he used to say to you when he

thought you were asleep

i let go of the flower petals clenched in my fists

and they flutter away from me

forgetting me

and i desperately yearning to forget them

just like he did

just like he did

just like you

i smell like flowers today

Anonymous Poem

"once on a yellow piece of paper,

he wrote a poem

and he called it "chops"

because that was the name of his dog.

and that's what it was about

and his teacher gave him an A

and a gold star

and his mother hung it on he door

and read it to his aunts

that was the year father tracy

took all the kids to the zoo

and let them sing on the bus

that was the year his little sister was born

with tiny toenails and no hair

and his mother and father kissed a lot

and the girl around the corner sent him a

valentine signed with a row of x's

and he had to ask his father what the x's meant

and his father always tucked him in at night

and was always there to do it

once on a piece of white paper with blue lines

he wrote a poem called "autumn"

because that was the name of the season

and that's what it was all about

and his teacher gave him an A

and asked him to write more clearly

and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door

because of its new paint

and the kids told him

that father tracy smoked cigars

and left butts on the pews

and sometimes they would burn holes

that was the year his sister got glasses

with thick lenses and black frames

and the girl around the corner laughed

when he asked her to go see santa claus

and the kids told him why

his mother and father kissed a lot

and his father never tucked him in at night

and got mad

when he cried for him to do it

once on a piece of paper torn from his notebook

he wrote a poem

called "innocence; a question"

because that was the question about his girl

and that's what is was all about

and his professor gave him an A

and a strange steady look

and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door

because he never showed her

that was the year that father tracy died

and he forgot how the end

of apostle's creed went

and he caught his sister

making out on the back porch

and his mother and father never kissed

or even talked

and the girl around the corner

wore too much makeup

that made him cough when he kissed her

but he kissed her anyway

because that was the thing to do

and at three a.m he tucked himself into bed

his father snoring soundly

that's why on the back of a brown paper bag

he tried another poem

and he called it "absolutely nothing"

because that's what it was really about

and he gave himself an A

and a slash on each damned wrist

and he hung it on that bathroom door

because he didn't think

he could reach the kitchen"

an anonymous poem from the book "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky

for everyone who has ever felt forgotten

for everyone who has ever felt unloved

for everyone who has ever felt like they just aren't good enough

for everyone who cries out for help when no one is there

for everyone that God loves

Lemons

Here is a simile for you: Life is like a lemon.

When most people first hear this they probably think of the phrase "when life gives you lemons, made lemonade," but that is not at all what I am talking about.

Lately I have noticed that about 90% to 105% of people's lives are not perfect; and I began to think of life like a Lemon.

You see, lemons are pretty, bright, yellow, happy looking. Fun to roll around and play with. Yet . . . when you actually bite into it, it is sour, bitter; and you no longer want it, it is not so pretty anymore either. And after that first bite, you can never make it the same, never make it the same again.

Basically what I am trying to get across is that many people, including members of my own family, strive to make life look easy, perfect, pretty. They make it seem as though their life is all flowers and lemon-scented candles. However . . . when you go deeper, get to really know them, it's not so pretty and perfect anymore. Issues, problems, and baggage from hurtful memories make their life sour, bitter, not so pretty and easy. And after that first "bite" into that deep, sour flesh of that sunshine-yellow lemon, that life can never be the same, never be repaired.

Also some Lemons have thicker peels than others. Some split open at the slightest poke or prod. While others have to be pried open with your sharpest kitchen knife to get to that rancid juice. The peel of some people differs; some people are just better at hiding their flaws than others.

But what you just have to remember, even to simply make it through the day, that if life gives you lemons, make lemonade (with lots of sugar).

P.S. I know I haven't been posting a lot very often, so I'm going to start trying to put things up a bit more. :)

Personality?

What changes people? It is obvious that all of our personalities evolve and develop over time, but what affects how we "turn out." Obviously our family and how we grow up does, but what about when you are finally old enough to decide, have opinions, and ultimately choose who you want to be? Is it planned from the beginning? or do we get to choose on our very own? Do people choose for us without us even realizing it?

Another thing is some never seem to stop changing. For example: friends from elementary to middle school, and then from middle to high school (especially boys). I've noticed that some people just continually change, whether they are fakes and flakes or just haven't truly found who they are yet, I'm not sure. Some people seem to know exactly who they want to be, who they are, and who they are going to be. However others seem completely lost, trying to fit in or going against the flow; they never find their "niche" or are quite sure who they'll be in life. And then there is the very few amount of people who don't exactly fit it into either group.

A good question is do we get to choose. Is it like going to the store and choosing to buy the floral dress over the sweatpants? Or is it like being named when you're born, you don't have any say in it? I doubt that many people just sit and think about what their personality is going to be like. So what happens that makes us the way we are? What causes us to dress the way we like to, to listen to our favorite music, to act the way we do? Could it be some higher power, that knows everything..... or could it just be like the flip of a coin, totally random and unexplained?

"I always wanted to be somebody, but i should have been more specific." -Lily Tomlin

Light From A-far

I look at the little light. It goes on, then off, on, off. What if I was a light; blinking on then off, on, off.

No.

I would not like to be a light. Sure I would be able to help people see in the dark, to light their rooms, streets, and other worldly things. But just a light is not for me.

No.

W would want to be a star.

Yes! a star.

Way, way, far up there. Among billions and trillions of other stars. I would twinkle and shine and people would look up at me and say, "Oh! What a pretty star." And they would see all of my brothers and sister too, helping me softly light the night skies around the whole universe.

Yes.

A star is what I want to be.

A star.