Oh, my dear underwear
Why must I put you there?
Helping me be all flirty,
Glad you don’t mind getting *****.

Sometimes lacy, what a trip!
Sometimes plain, sometimes ripped,
Sometimes ****, sometimes stained,
You’re just one of everything!

Dearest underwear, your fate is set!
How on Earth do you let
Me go about and use you so carelessly?
Think about it is simply ghastly!

Oh sweet, sweet underwear, you’re the best!
Now go ahead and take a rest.
Go get washed! Go get well,
Before again your use is swell.

Oh my dear underwear, I’m sure you’ll understand
Why I put you there in the end!

I don’t know what I’m reading.

I stare and stare and stare at the book given to me by my professor but can’t bring myself to open it, because I don’t know what I’m reading. It’s not in a foreign language that I’m having a hard time translating, because ironically, that would be far too easy. It’s in my native language, the words registering to my brain like breathing, but I still don’t know what I’m reading.

What are these authors saying, as they twist and weave their words into a world that everyone around me seems to understand? I can see the surface level of what the author is trying to say, and if I try hard enough I know I can scratch at it to see the layer right underneath, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

“Don’t give excuses,” my professor says, and I know it comes across as an excuse as I try to explain that I can’t tell anyone what the underlying meaning of this scene means, or the symbolism it’s supposed to represent, since it goes flying over my head like a bird narrowly avoiding collision.

“You need to participate,” my professor says, and I know I need to try but how can I when everything that takes ages for me to think of is said within the first five minutes of class discussion? What takes me an hour takes my classmates a minute; what takes time for me to raise my hand for takes my classmates to the next topic, my contribution long past relevant.

How do I survive college this way? How do I get by when writing is what I’m good at, but I can’t understand the writing of other authors and poets who put just as much work into their stories as I do? I am a fraud; the looks of confusion and shame I receive when I state my major to the world are well-deserved.

“Could you share with the class?” my professor asks before we are dismissed, the eyes of my classmates tearing into my soul as I try to bring the words to my lips that I know will never come. What could I say to everyone that expects an intelligent conversation from a college senior?

“I’m sorry professor,” I say. “I can’t.” And I sag under the weight of disappointment.

It’s not my fault, after all. I don’t know what I’m reading.

I seem to have slipped,
My mind has missed a beat,
For what happened today,
Was quite a simple feat.

The odd pairs of fandoms
Are not spoken of, at best
Alas, I love one of them,
But should have given it a rest.

The pair went into my grade,
A short story that I wrote.
It was all nice and dandy,
Until I almost had a stroke.

My teacher saw my ship,
And looked at my confusedly.
All I knew to do,
Was apologize profusely.

She didn't quite understand it,
But grade still turned out well.
Ah well, it's not horrible,
But class may now be hell.

If you ship an odd couple,
Do not let it show,
Because fandom and reality are quite different,
Trust me--I should know.

In a glade the size of a potted plant,
On a blanket the size of a napkin,
There sat a pair, the queerest of all,
Pieris and little Rotkaepptchen.

One was a goldfish,
But not just a goldfish.
The other was a plant,
But not just any plant.
(He was a fern, get it right.)

These two had a mission only they could complete,
The Quest for the glorious NumNums.

The legend of NumNums
Was told far and wide,
And all NumNum lovers
Wanted them inside.
(Their tummies that is, don’t be inappropriate)

ANYWAY,
The NumNums were glorious,
Such a yummy treat,
Until they were poisoned,
That wasn’t so neat.

Pieris and Rotkaepptchen,
The task now at hand,
Set off on their journey,
Through strange, distant lands.

They navigated bedrooms,
They slid down the halls,
They were chased by vacuums,
And trapped by LEGO® walls!

This impossible mission continued,
Until, at last, success!
They found the trail’s end!
What joy! What bliss!
(Huzzah)

Now all that was required
Was to figure out the poison.
So they, without the antidote,
Could eat NumNums again

What a task that would be,
What work, what a chore!
Yet near the store of NumNums,
Upon the ***** floor,

They found a scrap of parchment,
With clues inscribed in black,
To reverse the candy’s poison
And bring them NumNums back
(Hollah!)

Into the woods they ventured,
They searched day and night
To find the precious antidote
And to relieve their plight.

For days, the land they scoured,
For ingredients rare and odd
Until they finally saw it,
Held captive by the frog!

The gleam of silica crystals,
The shine of his mucus
His curious croak was answered
With a meek “Help us.”

“Why should I?” he croaked again,
Staring them down drearily.
“I know not your quest,
I’ve only hints at the best.”

“Then surely you can help,
Surely you can try!”
Little Pieris yelped,
Looking about to cry.

“Don’t worry my friend!”
Rotkaeppchen declared
“For I’m he cannot resist
our plea, and most surely will assist.”

“Then, my dears, I solemnly swear
To help you in your need.
For here, this little draught of pear,
Will help you to succeed!”

And then, procuring a vessel
of the clearest glass
The wise old toad
Cleared his throat,
And promptly passed some gas.

“Excuse me,” he rumbled.
“Excuse me for that faux pas.”
And then he amphibiously
Handed over the pear draught glass

“Egads!” the two exclaimed,
Taking the glass cautiously.
But at last! They had the pear
And thanked him graciously.

At long last they had the cure,
The pear to fix the poison.
They took it back to the glade,
Where their lips they proceeded to moisten.

And that, my friends, is the last of our tale,
The tale of Pieris and Rotkappchen
The daring elves of yore.
With NumNums three,
Under the TumTum tree
They lunched and brunched once more.
And now, we’ve reached the end.

This is the story of a girl

A girl who has expectations that even she can't reach.
A girl who feels more pressure then she probably should.
A girl who fights the tears every day,
Hating to show a weakness.
A girl who comforts her friends,
But never asks for comfort herself.

This girl goes everyday of her life
With a boiling anger inside of her.
Faster and faster until it explodes,
A yelling match happening with anyone who happens to be in her path.
Her tears flow silently as the loneliness consumes her,
Overflowing in the privacy of her room on bad days.

This is the story of a girl.

A girl who tries to stay strong everyday of her life,
Keeping on laughing and smiling
Her acting skills put to the test.
No one notices.
Not one.
No one.

This is the story of a girl.
And this is where it ends.

O Captain! My Captain
An agent of Time
Set out on a mission,
That went all but fine.
Two years of memories
All down the drain

Two new friends left him
Near as soon as they came
After a battle between Dalek and man
This in a sense,
Was his last stand.
He came, he conquered
He fell, and rose

Abandoned by friends To fend for his own

Back in time he went,
And stuck once again,
Our Captain seemed doomed
To live on his own

The immortal was cocky,
Lived life to its best
Though after a few hundred years,
He'd soon beg for rest.

O Captain! My Captain!
What's brought you dread?
Is it the fact that you went
From human to a head?

He was merely a face.
The Face of Boe, he was called.
His long lived life,
Lived with flaw.

Alas, it seems,
All things come to an end.
And with the Time Lord and companion,
Our Captain was dead.

O Captain, my Captain!
Though plans were never followed through,
We all met you with one line:
"Captain Jack Harkness, and who are you?"

I cannot help this wall
This wall that blinds others of existence
That may or may not exist itself
But only in the minds of the believers

Half full.

Objects fill your glass,
Occupying the space begging to be filled.
Friends, laughter, love,
Everything that's welcomed
Put inside the glass that is you.
Welcome it.
Embrace it.
Love it.

Half empty.

The goodness slowly drains away,
Leaving nothing in its wake.
What is left?
Pain? Suffering? Despair?
An emptiness that simply cannot be fufilled,
No matter how full your glass may seem to you.
It is gone.
Always gone.
Forever.

Not even there.

The glass is either half full or empty.
It cannot be either or,
For that is the way life works.
You cannot have one without the other,
But the way the glass turns out is effected
By the way your life is lived.
Love.
Despair.
Happiness.
Emptiness.
You are the one to decide the fate of your glass.
No one else.
You and you alone.

Look at your glass.
Examine it.
Study it.
For this glass is the gateway to your life.

The choice is yours.

Believer of Dreams,
Determined Worker, Care-Giver,
Taxi-Rider and Street Skater;
Dusty, *****, noisy,
City that Never Sleeps

They tell me you are irritable, and I believe them, for the crowded streets and distracted people can get out of hand.
They tell me you are rude, and I answer: Yes, you are rude, and never give a care for anyone but yourself, yet I’d never have it any other way.
They tell me you are ignorant, and my reply is: Of course you are, for if you were not, why would things slip out of your sight, whether it is the homeless, starving people you care for, or for the attacks threatened most every day of our existence?

They see only irritability, and they fail to see the shining lights that never go off even in the darkest of nights, only shutting down for the unfortunate black-out that creeps up on you.
To the ones who say you’re rude, I reply: this is the place where the possibilities are endless; where those seeking shelter may rest and get on their feet, and those who wish to be entertained will be entertained.
Those who call out your ignorance have yet to see everything you offer, from jobs to entertainment to the feeling of hope one may get looking upon your gleaming towers, the home to much of the population.

Laughing the dusty, *****, noisy laughter of Youth. Proud to be a Believer of Dreams, Determined Worker, Care-Giver, Taxi-Rider and Street Skater.

There's a feeling in my body,
One that's quite unknown.
It's really quite annoying,
This feeling that isn't shown.

The emptiness lives on,
And I simply cannot reach.
It seems to live forever,
This numbness that I seek.

Why does it exist?
For that, I am not sure,
However there it rests and sits all day,
Now and forever more.

Where did all my feelings go?
I really must know why!
Love and hate and joy all gone,
With only sadness to fly.

Someday I'll rid myself
Of the numbness conquering my mind,
But until that days comes to pass,
I can only try.

We’ve never met in person,
But there’s something I can’t hide. 
If there’s one thing you should know,
It’s that I want you by my side.

You make my every day,
You make my every night,
And once I get to see you,
Please don’t leave my sight.

Your laugh fills me with joy,
Your humor makes me glad.
Your pain makes me helpless—
Please don’t ever be sad.

If you were here with me,
You would be my world. 
I’d treat you like you should be,
You will be my gold.

Alas, you’re not here,
And perhaps belong to another. 
I will always be here, however,
And no, I do not stutter.

Perhaps someday we’ll meet
And speak face-to-face. 
Until then, however, 
The Internet will take that place.

I don’t throw these words around lightly,
But know them to be true. 
I finally discovered them, so let me say this:
I truely love you.

Another year passes,
And the faerie wanders on
Interests change,
Endless pains,
Joyous triumphs,
Amazing days,
All within a year.

Much happens within a year.
Some good,
Some bad,
Some loved,
Some wished to be forgotten.
Each day goes to the building blocks
That ends in a final product: the faerie.

Sixteen years gone,
Many more to go,
Happy birthday my friend.
We love you so!

Why are strangers nicer then the ones you're familiar with?

The ones you grow up with,
Go to school with,
Become friends with.  

Why is it easier to talk to strangers then the ones you know personally?

The ones who know you,
See you every day,
Talk to you face-to-face.

What is the appeal that will make a stranger on the Internet more comforting then friends?

The ones who love you,
Befriend you,
Are physically there for you.

I know why. Possibly better then anyone.

Because in being anonymous, there's secrecy.

And in secrecy we trust.

The darkness surrounds you
Engulfs you
Threatens your very existence
Waiting for you to make that final move
For its final blow
Permanent

They say be strong,
But how can you?
The darkness is a weight put onto your shoulders
Pushing
Shoving
Putting you down.
How can you?

You fight, however.
Fight for the friends in your life,
The family,
The love.
A battle fought by million, billions,
Every day of the world
Everywhere

Some won't win
Some will surrender completely to the darkness
Give in
Embrace it
Love it
But not you
You fight, you battle
And you win.

Why can't you type normally?
Is it really hard to do?
I find myself struggling to read
So I can reply to you.

Why Do You Type Like This?
Is the shift key your best friend?
Or d u tlk lyke dis
Nd nvr c n nd

Is this a new type of language?
I must have missed the memo,
Because trying to translate all those words
Would drive anyone ******.

We've all been to English class,
And still you cannot write.
Dis sil iz kiln mi brayn
It's given me a fright!

So why, oh why, do you type this way?
I'm starting to really doubt
That English is something easy to obtain,
Well that's it--I'm out.

I miss you, but I can't have you.

I miss your laugh, but I haven't heard that as of late.
I miss your art, but now I only see videos of you doing them.
I miss your friendship, but it ended too quickly.

I miss you, but you're hurting.

I miss our conversations, but those were taken away by him.
I miss our comfort, but that was gone when you asked that question.
I miss our trust, but I can't tell what was you and what was him.

I miss you, but you can't either.

I miss our closeness, but we both know it's gone over the years.
I miss our secrets, but I no longer want to tell them.
I miss our letters, but talking to you hurts too much.

I miss you, but I need this.

I miss my excitement, but I don't think you felt the same.
I miss my friend, but one question tore it all away.
I miss my happiness, but I don't know where that went.

I miss you, but...

I can't.

The memories are there,
Though the elements erode them so,
And I am the only one to visit,
To fill the growing hole.

Not often do people come
And put a flower at your head.
Do they really want to?
They can't help that you are dead.

But I, always, will remember
The swing that hung from the tree.
You pushed me higher and higher,
And now, highest of all, you are free.

Down went the pay,
And soon the job as well.
You never let me hear it,
Never let my thoughts dwell.

But as we grew older,
I saw as you sang,
The aching that lingered behind your eyes
Despite the bells that rang.

I was a fool!
How could I gain
A friendship in you
When I couldn't see your pain?

The memories are there,
Though the elements erode them so,
And I am the only one to visit,
To fill the growing hole.

They say there are butterflies when you see the one you like and or love,
But for that? I call bull.
Where are my tell-tale signs to help me along?
I'm on my own.

My stomach doesn't flutter,
My heart doesn't beat
But perhaps this is a good thing,
For I get to figure it out on my own.

Perhaps as well, this is bad,
Because what if I miss those signs? those symbols?
I'll never know what I'm missing,
And likewise will never know what I would have.

Unfortunately I am not Edgar Allan Poe,
And my tell-tale heart does not beat to help me along in life.
However, the comfort around them while in their presense makes me smile,
And for now? That is enough.