Its hard to say that i’m paying attention.

Its hard to say that I care.

I have thoughts but thats a secret.

Astrobiology please. Thats a feather.

Life going to move if I like it or not.

You walk forward in life without knowing you walking backwards. You strive for the best you get nothing. You put one foot out the door the others tied to the table. You try to walk away but your feet are glued to the ground. You wonder is this the path I should take? Is this what I should walk towards? Is this meant for me. You ask people. But the person you should ask is yourself.

I am from willow trees and Black Eyed Susan's
From pealed wallpaper bedroom walls and Barbie Dolls
I am from small night lights and late night terrors
From Shepard's Pie and yellow American Cheese
I am from the Victorian grey and half green painted house on a four cornered road.
From T.V. tag with my brothers and cousins.
From Veronica, my only day care friend.
I am from Disney movies and The Wiggles.
From The Game Of Life and Spyro
From baby sized microwaved pizzas and slumber parties at Grandmas
I am from my Grandmother silver roster hair
Her eagerness to make everyone happy, and her thoughtfulness.
From field hockey games and fudgesicle’s
I’m from every possible place in my dreams and reality.
From not knowing what will come next.

This is not just a normal town. Everyone knows everyone. Faces are recognized even though names can't be matched. We are kind. We are hard working people. Doing what we can for our children and town. Yes we have the everyday people with there I to cool for you attitude, but what town doesn't. We may seem unfriendly but we will give you directions if asked. We are kind folk with or accents, and our left out t's. We come together as one to be here for everyone.

I have 111 photos on my Facebook wall
I have 13 albums that tell my secreted past
A profile picture that hold my personal record of 63 likes
I have 111 photos on my Facebook wall
Yet not one shows who I am
Not one can depict what I'm going through
Hidden in the picture a message
My body hidden away for no one to see
The photos only holding my face
The face that is being but online for people
To like and comment
Oh your so beautiful they say.
But then I see
The half naked ******* my home page
Showing how confident they are
Yet I know, they are seeking for something
They want the feeling like they are worth something
But when I see these body standing half naked on my home page
I want to cry.
That a girl has to unclothed herself so much just to be call beautiful
But is that her fault or the pressure from the other girls.
I have 111 photos on my Facebook wall
These girl I see are much like me
Except they crave to be called beautiful
Theses pictures holding a message that no one can depict but them
The pictures making more okay to call them names
No matter how many times she gets called a ****
No matter how many times she gets called a **
No matter how many time she gets called a *****
No matter how many times she will get bullied for posting these picture
She will not stop
She will block the bullies and keep posting
She will never let other think she has won
She will never except herself as beautiful
Even though she is and everyone knows it
She will finally get to that point
I have 111 photos on my Facebook wall

Shallow people. Disgusting, Fat. Call me names. People say "I wouldn't date her she's disgusting."
Fell hated no hope. Stomach sick. Want to bang my head. I thought I was good enough. They don't have to point out what I already know. I know I'm chubby no need to hurt me with your words. It's hard to believe that the one person that is nice to everybody gets picked on. Fat, ugly, gross, monster, *****, ****, ***. Am I really these things? I don't understand why I am. People judge to much. They hurt people that don't deserve to be hurt.. Word hurt end of story. Don't judge me by my waist but by the person I am inside.

The path I take depends on my fate.
The path I take is built from society and my privacy.
I strive to create my world, and the adventures I seek.
Life may hold me down but my path was chosen for me.
Not that path I want, but the path of the world.
The path that everyone has to take.
Like a conveyor belt we fallow the path of what we are supposed to be. 
We do not find ourselves, we have our ourselves found by someone else.
There is no adventure in the path we have no life beside what the path someone else has chosen for us.

Struggling to get this science done. Struggling to understand what it means. Struggling to find out where the information. Its hard to say that ill get it done. But ill press one till its done.

Hating my self for feeling unloved.
Hating that people say I Love You to many times.
Hating when people cry about spilled milk.
Can't take it....................But I Have To.
Can't get out of here.
Can't make my life better.
Can't move an inch.
People complain about life.
People aren't thankful for what they have.
Sick of the complaining.
Sick of the sad stories.
Sick of You.
Can't take It get away from ME.
Leave me be. Did you get the hint?
No. Ha Ha Ha...........
You will never get the hint.
You are so blind by you sure stupidness.
You are blind and can see whats infront of you.
Im sick of you hurting her, Complaining that she's no good.
She does what she can. Not what she can't.
Do YOU get the hint know.
That we are better off without you?
Leave me be. Leave her be. Just leave disappear in to the abyss of my
Memories. Leave now. Run away. Get away from me.

Walking you might smell the cow manure from the several farms that franklin county hold. We are build on hard labor and strength. Some have it easy. Never work a day in there life. The watch the screen of a tv or laptop. Unknowing that there life is passing them by. We have the older generation everywhere, the mean ones and the kind hearted ones. I personally think they hold our county together. Something are ment to be. But our county shows a lot of our history. We know that one day our generations will stand and clean the messes up that the generations before us have dirtied.

The sky misses the sun at night

The cold darkness of the moon

turns sad.

Like a rainy day.

So you turn into a couch potato

and eat you way through life.

I've waited and waited for someone like you. Its hard to images me with out you. Your kiss. Your touch. Your whiskers when we kiss that little *****. The way our eyes meet. The spark in your step. The way you make me feel without even saying a word. Its the waiting game. I've waited to hear your voice, feel you touch, and breath you in. I now know that you are the reason for my absolute happiness. I love you more that this poem can say. I love you more than word itself. Your not only my bestfriend by the boy in my dreams.

Hungry shivers run through my body like a wave through the ocean. Hungers looking for a way out.
Shivers upon shiver run through me like an earthquake corrupting my mind. Wanting more and more. No. I say. No more. Shiver are going more fierce fully  now. Hurting. Like being hit with a table. Over and over and over again. Slow then fast rapidly speeding. Then they slow there speed and fade away.

Blood.
        Blood is shed.
              Blood in your veins curtals.
                     Blood wasted on the land.
                         Blood shed everyday.
                              Blood is everywhere

Lay down to sleep shut my eyes to sleep. Once im under the blanket, I feel left out of the cold air that touches my toes at night.  I open my eyes. But its not the eyes of my cold covered body its the eyes on my soul.  I look around with the eyes of my soul. I can't move but I can see my body laying there loosing breath. I close my eyes one last time I'm floating like a boat on water. Floating away to where my sorrows are. In my deadly dreams.

We may love. But we have to send them off like a dove. Above all we loose or love. This of all impacts the world. Loosing our beloved children. To disapprove our world. We the mother give, our children to another love.  To be loosed feeling unloved.

Am I an artist?
Am I a theft of art.
Is my personality artistic or not?
What is an artist?
Do I make funny shapes on the canvas?
Do I look at things differently?
Do I trace the words of paint?
Artist I am.
Poetry?
Yes
Paint?
Yes
Everything?
Possibility.

I stumble in the darkness.
I try to see but I am blind from what is happening to me.
I cannot see.
I don't see the lies.
I don't see the stupidness of you love.
I stumble over everything.
When you say.
You love me I stumbled.
I keep coming back for more.
Wanting more.
After more.
Can't I just leave you here.
Can't I just forget.
Its like my memories keep playing back and forth.
In my messed up head.
Confused at the point of not coming out of it.
Sing me a love song one last time?

Camron street.
The boy will the vile tongue.
His mouth spewing nasty words.
The blue bike with the white tires.
The boy riding circles around me.
You can’t do this.
I was eight

Sitting on the bike I picked my feet up.
Slowly pushing myself forward.
Feet resting on the pedals.
Propelling myself forward.
Forgetting the brakes.
I was eight

Knowing the pain.
The sharpness of the rock protruding from my knees.
The road rash bleeding onto the tar filling in the outlines on the ground.
My tear soaked cheeks flushed red.
I was eight

Getting up from under nether the pile of metal holding me down.
Getting back up and finishing my ride.
I was eight

The boy looking irate not knowing what to think.
Proving him wrong I had thought.
The boy still showing his vial tongue.
His mouth still spewing nasty words.
You’re a girl.
Girls can’t ride bikes.
I was eight.

I laughed.
Riding circles around him.
Angrily he left me.
Slamming the door to his cousin’s house.
The house shuddered with anger.
I was eight.

As I rode home with a smile.
My leg still bleeding.
My rode rash still burning.
The scar scabbing from where the rocks protruded from my eight year old knees.
I was eight.

You watch me from above like a vicious dove. Ready to dive-bomb me at any possible movement. Any movement im dead. One wrong miss interoperation im dead. One wrong word I spend the rest of my life locked up like a caged bird. Ready to fly but confined behind bars.

Love is said to much.
The word means a lot.
This life is love. No? Yes?
Love is a word.
Used to much.
Love you here.
Love you there.
Keeping the world spinning on a pin.
Going to cave in.
L-O-V-E is spelled less.
You ask me why?
Because letters today.
Less important the yesterday.
Love letter never send.
Love letter is more love. Than just moving you lips.
To the rhythm of L-O-V-e

Existence is nothing more than important to us.

Concealed from the world.

We require no assistance  from the world.

Uncertain about our own existence.

We sit wondering about life.

On the other side of the walls, the mountains, the seas and oceans.

What could be located in  this grime and dust

Tell our history.

You there sitting in that window aimlessly thinking
Like the thought bubble in a comic you sit
You there with the darkened eyes
That show your soul bright as day
You there with the shaking leg
Take a break from what ever your doing and think
You there speaking to the class
Stand up tall and don’t be afraid
No one can judge you by the way you talk or your opinion
Because what you say is yours and you own that
You there sleeping all day
Get up make your restful life unrestful
You there listen to these words
That I say for today might be the last day you hear
You there open your eyes
For today might be the last day you see
You there with the sewn mouth
Speak up for today might be the last day that you speak
You there holding the hand of your child
Tell them you love them For today might be the last day you hold their hand
You there with the depression and sadness that drowns you
Smile like you have never been hurt and nothing matters
For today might be the last day that you smile
You there with the excuse for everything
Just do it because today might be the last day you do anything
You there yes you
Everyone of you live life like it was your last day

Life As We Know It   7/16/2013

We walk, we talk, we see what's going on.
But do we see the ripples on the pond, or the slight movement of a frog
Do we see how the tree curves inward trying to lean over the pond to touch the others

Can we study the carefulness of the reflection on the water
Can we see how the blue sky turns a pale blue almost white reflection in the water

How the water trickles down the leave into the pond.
Do we truly pay attention to what we see going some place or doing something. Do we truly take our time to smell the roses.

Do we understand why things such as flowers or trees or even a sigh are put where they are. The arrangement of the flower garden. The colors like the orange flowers in the back and the pink in the front middle section with tiny blue flowers.

Do we see these things going about our busy lives.
Like the murkiness of the pond telling you its not shallow
How the tree was placed to shade the sign and flowers from the burning sun. But giving it the right amount of sun so the flowers don’t die.

We walk past some of the most beautiful things on the earth.

Clear your mind, take a breath, pause to take in what is around you.

You stand there on your toes waiting and watching for that bright green ball to come across that net. You see it hit fault one. The next comes at you. You step back, drop your shoulder and swing at that ball. You fallow where it hits. The ball does not come back. Today you have won the match. But next you could not.
So swing at the ball and keep it off the ground. Focus on the ball. Focus on your feet. Stay awake. stay safe.

As the water touches my toes I begin to slowly sink into the large puddle
Slowly swirling around my legs coming to my waist
Goose-bumps cover my arms and legs
I begin to walk further into the cold puddle
I emerge my goose-bumped body
I sit  breathing in the air
I sit slowly open my eyes
The murkiness around me  consumes me....
I I sit
   I sit

As I walk these halls full of kids
I feel as if i'm the only one
Aimlessly wondering down these yellow halls
I don't even notice my friends as they try to get a word out
My head held high & strait...........My eyes only looking towards the end
Keeping my distance from the overly large windows
Like you could just walk out of it to the ground
Alone, you would fall
In reality you would fall with many.

Poetrys Definition- Tavia Robshaw

Poetry is what you think it is.
word put into lines that have varies
metaphors. Where they talk about feeling
colors, how this puzzle doesn't fit.
Do they truly know what puzzles don’t fit?
Can you fit several pieces of one puzzle
in a few other puzzles? Using metaphors,
so the reader better understands what they
are talking about. But you can interpret
what you don’t know? Can you understand
without the know perspective of the poet?
You can break a poem down but will you get
what they are trying to tell you?

Poetry is among all words being used in different ways.
They way you shape your poem, so it's appealing to the eye.
They way your poem flows.
The way you want you reader to understand your poem these are the thing you must understand what writing a poem.

Keeping these in mind might be beneficial to the people reading them.
Keeping this intelligence is what you need.

For once can I be happy?
Can I cry without fear.
Can I see the positive with all the negative?
Can I be happy just once.
Can I rest my worries.
Can I sleep in peace.
Can people stop bashing?
Just for a day?
Maybe and hour?
maybe a fraction of a second?
I can just be happy.

You stand there on my roed of life. I try to pass. You push me back. I look into your eyes you look past. I try again. I push, kick, shove trying to get past. You push me back. Now angered you raise you fist. I look into your eyes and yell. Someone comes running. Go away I say.  This is between me and him. I look in to his eyes and say whats going to happen. You lies have **** the person you love the most. You lies have stabbed me in the heart on last time. It is not my fault my parents lied to protect me from the truth. Your Dad isn't mine. Never was never will be. You can have him. But get out of my way. As I shove one last time.
                                                                       He shatters.........
                                                                                                    For the first time..................

Your there waiting watching.
You see the light flash before your eyes.
You run as fast as you can.
Making it to the finish line before the guns go off.
You watch the crowd gather around you.
You never ran.
You froze.
No breathing come from your lips.
No sparks in your eyes.
We stare and wait.
No you can't have died.