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Danielle Jones Jun 2012
Your nails stain my skin like Alaska,
grains beaten into my elbows from riverbeds
and the crossings.
“Have a drink with me, my treat.”
I remember you from way back,
listening to Dave Matthews Band
while we emptied out veins in the front
seat of my Volvo.
Revolting, we voted independent and
we decided to never come back to the night
where Alaska was even a possibility.
Copyright Danielle Jones 2012
Precious commodity on the planet , envied by young and old , the very signature of the affluent , a blue diamond in the night , a personal star awarded the few , pirouettes beneath the midday Sun , starlight awarded all the colors of the rainbow ! Her hours numbered , the sacrificial cool ambiance bestowed upon rightful delegate , her name is Ice ! Mans only hope in the ever expanding desert ! The ozone nearly depleted , temperatures at the Equator exceed one hundred seventy degrees , Winter in Nome , Alaska , fifty degree low temps , Florida has become a coral reef , Valdosta , Georgia , Dothan , Alabama are port cities with white sand beaches ! We are a nocturnal people , the high risk of melanoma , more than the current human body can take , Winter has become the time for vacations and family gatherings , schools run from two a.m. till nine a.m. , fresh water is under government control , unlawful storage of potable water or contamination of river , stream or creek is now a capital offense ! Bicycles are the number one mode of transportation for people headed to their place of work at Dusk ! A third of the Earths human population was lost during the initial fifty year period of the climate catastrophe , World Environmental Police are granted the power of Judge , Jury and Executioner , the world now focused on ozone replacement , a green planet now barren , brown with infrequent cloud cover , one hundred degree nighttime temps in the middle of Winter !
Copyright October 25 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Rj Nov 2014
I want to be more active
And not spew about all my feelings
I'm done pitying myself,
I just need to trust God,
Anyways here's an ending bucket list
Because I won't write back in a while:

Free swim with whales and sharks
See a lion pride
Shark cage diving
Sky dive
Ski a double black diamond
Climb a mountain
Film a tornado
Learn to surf
Learn to snowboard
Learn to scuba dive
See a wild wolf pack
See a wild brown bear
Hang glide
Paraglide
Cliff dive
Ride Route 66
Camp in complete wilderness of Yellowstone for week
Hike mount Haleakala, Hawaii, and photograph night sky
Visit equafina springs FL (again)
Camp on a beach (not crowded) with friends
Kiss in the rain
Go tree tent camping in smoky mountains
Own bonsai tree for many years
Own horses
Dye my hair (once)
Camp on my own private sail boat w friends
Write a book (actually commit, doesn't have to be good or published)
Own theses dogs: Newfie, husky, Akita
Live in Alaska
Live in the Yukon
Live in Colorado
Climb the grand Tetons and pray
Live without a cell phone
See Unimak pass Alaska and film orcas
Milk a cow
Carmella Rose Apr 2019
days have past but the scar of the past keeps growling of pain
tomorrow tells me another hope by thy sacrifice is made by
illusions of good days have already vanished and the worse is yet to come
the beast inside of me shelters the weakness of my fear
tell me how? how does a girl fight a demon of depression when all she has are swords to inflict self-harm
how does a girl forget anxiety when everything triggers the memories
i shall keep you away dear lover who have made me vulnerable and forced me to build walls made by blood
i do not want to be heartless but he took it away, he took it all the way leaving me with nothing
leaving me by a smile i will always despise
tell me was it good, to turn my body a volcano then rush out to make it alaska
you’ve turned me hot but left me cold
you’ve become my foundation but now you’re my destroyer
i love to hate you, but that thought is just an imagination
all i could feel is the truth that you have been the worse and i have been the ashes
High on Lolipops Jul 2013
Smoked salmon lightly charred,
Sweetness in air like
Saccharin infused with mulch and cedar.

Barking of sled hounds
Benign touch of the dry, cold wind to
Bland your nerves

Temperatures below zero
Still welcoming
The sun peeking out from grey clouds

The beginning of a new day,
In the arms of Alaska.
Another horrible poem to melt your eyes...Well, I went to Alaska 2 years ago, so this poem is a reminiscence of the trip. As you can tell, this is based of Alaska in the summer thus the sun is still (kind of) shinning. Thanks!!!! XD
Amanda Kay Burke May 2018
In the still morning
I watch the sun rise
Gently look up high
Toward simmering pink skies
A beautiful perfect picture
Nature brilliantly devised

Colorful exotic vibrance
Daybreak so pure and sweet
Over far off mountains
And the washed out city street
Waiting for scenic horizons
To say hello and meet
A brief description of dawn in Alaska
Paige Jun 2014
I will never feel bad for you if you think life ***** because you're SO pretty. You have no idea how much harder it is not to be.
I don't even want to hear the struggle of an 18 yr old who is just getting their first job. Welcome to the real world.
I can't stand people who don't have a job and are still better off than me.
I am not going to care if you're complaining about the significant other that you've been on and off with for EVER!
People with no money who smoke more *** than I do, because it's other people's ****, and call themselves a "stoner."
People who call themselves hippies because they smoke ***, wear sunflower headbands from Claire's and have only done acid once in their lives.
Oh and that John Green is a ******* sell out who shouldn't let anyone make Looking for Alaska into a movie because they're just going to RUIN it.
Sorry, I know it's negative but it's the truth
JWolfeB Nov 2014
I saw a tree today

In the arctic tundra

For the first time in four months.

It reminded me no matter what happens around you

You can always grow.
I forgot how beautiful trees are. Living on an island for 4 months makes you treasure the simplicities of life
Allen Wilbert Nov 2013
Alaska *****

Walking down a darkened hall,
shadow standing oh so tall,
bumping into every wall.
Getting loud is the thunder,
toilet clogged and no plunger,
feel like Tarzan, lost in the jungle.
No electric from the storm,
no candles to keep warm,
all the flies, starting to swarm.
Food in fridge going bad,
living alone and feeling sad,
Alaskan life makes me mad.
Six months of pure hell,
cold weather makes ankles swell,
life *****, can't you tell.
Storm over, electric back on,
radio playing my favorite song,
the conclusion is now forgone.
Still no sun for seven weeks,
watching a marathon of Twin Peeks,
frozen water forming leaks.
Can't wait to move from Alaska,
move back home to Nebraska,
grow old and play canasta.
Anthony Esposito Jul 2022
I’m  standing on a snowy mountain top
in Alaska
When my brother says he misses me
Says it’s been to long since I’ve come from the lower 48

And I’m sad to admit that’s it’s true
But through the rain I spit out
I say I’ll do better
But I never do

“It’s a shame I can’t stay longer”
I say to him
But I know that I don’t have the heart to wander away from my comfort zone

I’m headed up north to Alaska
To find some peace of mind
But I’m left feeling empty
Like I'm leaving what I set out to find

Heading north to Alaska
I’m going north to Alaska
Ive come and gone
But my heart is In Alaska

Saw the northern lights dance in the sky
Brought tears to my eyes
Kayaked through the pacific
Sea otters swam by my side

Saw mountain carry the sky
So tall I felt so small inside
It’s the last frontier
Its the last of the Best of the world

I’m headed up north
I’m going north to Alaska
Ive come and gone
But my heart is In Alaska
Cathyy Jan 2014
All this time,
I've been using the fault in our stars as a compass,
looking for Alaska and ending up in all the wrong paper towns

.. trying to write poems to impress people,
who don't even give a ****.

Well now, I've found a friend,
a few to say the least.
And Alaska may just as well be the 8th wonder in the world,
for her words and poetry never fail to amaze me.

Alas, I've found Alaska!
We're somewhat distant but under the same sky
Two different stories, two difference souls,
but hey, great minds, all think alike ;]
The words in bold are John Green book titles! ;]
Filmore Townsend Jan 2016
They passed, I wanted
     to see Alaska's evenings,
and their hunting
   and a household of seven. No
                 one knows.
The public
      never noticed how much disrespect
cut corners. I wasn't looking to replace it.
         If they only knew! I promised
    I would do that.
            "What team are you playing on?"
      the applicants' response was proof
positive that the devastation and loss,
            and retyped, Miscarriage. with
   a thin layer of Wite-Out meant
                   to follow the law.
         "You have a couple of choices
   about getting rid of it,
                 naturally." she said. We were bound
by our fierce determination to
        bring new players to the table working
  together, and ensuring a stable
      place of negotiating behind closed doors.
            Along with the five others, I asked,
                   "Want a cookie?"
Bagbabe Jul 27
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Prabhu Iyer Apr 2014
There's this doll you know:
got delivered to my home today,
it's all part of a disturbing game
and I found a key in its mouth:
it starts by sending
what we lack  most in our lives.

Broken illumination
as the fan flits;

Two naked girls started it all:
except for bikini bottoms,
knitted in national flags,

waving down a truck
on a bridge across the Dnieper.

Roll over the tanks!
nobody wants war:

Except our masked friends,
my maidan hero
your naked Fascist,
self-defending Lebensraum?

Gas them, gas them,
coz, we don't want war.

Got some butterflies to catch;
Tryin' to catch them since
the good ol' hippie days.

It's them naked girls
that started it all:
Havana girls,
there's pipe loads of gas
that's at stake,
drill drill off Alaska, Palin!
Euromaidan revolutions are not about war, but about peace and self-determination :)
Melanie Elaine Feb 2015
If you take away our literature, you take away our sight.
We become the blinded king of nowhere.
When we look out on the world beyond the valley of ashes,
we will conceal our eyes and
forget that you don’t need a pair of glass slippers to be Cinderella.
We will forget that we need need to be home by midnight,
because after midnight it’s so dark
that you might go out hunting and mistake a mockingbird for a crow,
or a crow for a raven.

When we try to use our words, words, words, they will cut out our tongues
and force us to play a game that leaves us more hungry than satisfied.
This is because instead of pure knowledge, we are being spoon fed a corrupted education,
and we will no longer eat alphabet soup without our big brother standing over our shoulder preaching to us about the glorious future that will be 1984,
and we will all be forced to live in that cowardly, old world.
And there they will lead us like lambs to the slaughter.
Where if they see the spark of curiosity
they will try to wash it out like the ****** spot they see it to be.

We will forget why the caged bird sings
and why the baby’s gravestone only said Beloved.
They will paint an A on our chest which will stand for absent,
as in absent from the conversation because
we are not able to comprehend what they are saying.
We will not find joy in the poetry written on baseball glove
because we will not know how to read it,
and we will never be the catcher
because we will all be separate and and still not live in peace.
When we come to a fork in the road
we will take the path that everyone else has traveled on,
because we have not learned to stand on our own two feet.
Which means that we will never be able to find Alaska or
where the fault is in our stars.
We will not hear the stories of what happened to the handmaid,
and they will tell us if we are brave, kind, honest, intelligent, or selfless,
because you can only be one.

Our whole lives we will never have pride, but we will accept their prejudice.
We will hear the heartbeat in the floor boards and blame it on the wind.
When we find ourselves stranded we will reach for the conch and fight over it,
because we will all be stuck between a rock and a hard place,
and when the sirens of our society call to us with lies about what our future will be,
we will jump from the boat and swim towards our deaths.
because life without books is just as good as no life at all.
We will lay dying in coffins that our children build for us
as unspoken poets with our heads in the oven.
We will be condemned to make the past our future
and we will watch as they test what they can burn at 451 degrees.
And finally when we all sit down and accept the bibliocaust they have stoked,
we will forget the things our dear friends
Ellie and Anne warned us about what can happen in an annex or in the night.
Slam poem about banned books and the power of reading in our education system. References to 29 various pieces of literature and 3 authors. I hope you enjoy!
POSSIBLE Nov 2023
Hello
H̵e̵l̵l̵ is lo

Grand Rising
Mind the Do

No Boundary -No burden Man
No Foundry -No Smoking plants

See....(d)s))

We had lived out the ghet̴̹̥̲͈̤̬̘̪͇̗̰̣̼̖͊́̌̃̆̑͊̀̉̓̓̇̋̃̈́ͅṯ̵̢̢͙̹̌̍̽̾̌̃͛̆̔̾̃̚ŏ̴͓̠̳̤͍̀̊̅­̨̜̙̣̳͎͇̳̝̮͜.
( at E.) Alaska and poverty w̵̢̢͇̱͔̻̹̪̞̰̬̱̻̉̂͛̏̔̕à̷͔͕̦̭̾̿̌͗͐̕͘͠ÿ̶̝̯̲͈̪̠̥̗͈̼͔̮̖̆͋͛̓̎̍̍̄̿̽͜͠
­
Been smoking off sphagedro
Don't ask (me) how
the property paid

We had convinced ourselves
this was poverty made,
this was the way
it was the mental

Rather than how to properly pave...
Stop and get saved. We'd rob and rip r̴̟̗͔̣̋̽͂̑̐̍͒́͒́͘ạ̶̡̡̡̭͍̥͔̖͓̜̥͎̩͙̓͌ves
To tap into ley lines , we laid ̶l̵i̶n̵e̴s̵
to hear one another?

Why?

We fade minds to the sidelines
Existence is another mother consumed
Tripped im a land mind
everyday, it was essential
Felt like we saved lives
just by saying

Hi

Who was I supposed to be then
how am I poised to po̸̢̧̡̙̟̥͉̮͈̮͇͇̎͂͌̇̀̃͘͜͜se now?

H̵e̵l̵l̵ is empty
And all the devils are he̶͔͂̿̀re

Don't come and tempt me
And All the bedouins near

the d̵̢̨͈̫̦͈͈̦̣̯̼̔͛̔̅̾͝ͅͅa̷̼̠̱̥̪̥̗̫͖̞̱̻̻͐͒̅́̌̾͜͝r̵̡̨̼̰͉̜̝̳̥͕͇͐̅̈̍̚͜k̴­̧͇̖̳̦̞̞̯̲̖̾̈͌̀̀̍̀̈́͗͗́̌͑̅͘͘can be a low hum

That low hum f̵̛̞̲̞̮̙͚̠̮̀̋̆̓͂̓̓̄̔̃̈́̋́̀̐̍͘͘a̷̛͉̭̤̩̳͓̰̦͍͕͈̥̜̣̟̥̼̍̍̃̔̇̄̈́̅̔̚l̴̉́̇́­̢̪̮̗̺̗̭l̶̢̢̧̰̰̞̹̙̣̳̩̱̙̀́̏̊̓̓́͘ ̶̛͔͔͓͙̥̫̩͇̭̩̜̻̹̇̅̄͗̐́̒̂̈́͛̀͂͋̚͘ to a dull ***..

*** turn silence to the doldrum̴̬͔̰̠̠̳̫̠̠̣̫̺̠̝͍͙̎̌̓̽̌͋̍͛̔̂͌͑̔̂̃̊̎́̄̈́́̕͘͘͠ͅ

** hum eve, press up the tress
the shadow be a pit fall,
mess up your knees

a void in eve become
a slow shade seed

Devoid of the needs
beckon doe ray me

its beyond whats in the fire
in the propane, key

Heating up with Sour D
Pushing to get pro-paid
(C)see)()()
Halo with the dome braid
Angel with the co-pay

Singing singles with lonely
Singing for the lonely!

When did culture become business?
When my business became the culture...

Its not a bug, its a feature,
long exposure measure

the posture of composure,
Who could torture the Rapture,

The picture is the culture
self- Suturing the Future

its a self-evident thing,
so potent it ring

Bout to help Erich architect
A co̴̡̢̰͕͈̦̲̤͖͇̯̮̬̟͍͙̥͉͍͚̳̙͕̫̣͍͓̙͓̖̮͇̼̞̗͇̺̎͗̄̇́͜rner outta the ring
carve a Stone outta the wing


Dem B̶̛̻͇̺̻̣́͑͗̑̽͐̑̍̂͒̀̇̚̚͝͝ǫ̷̨̨̭̲̪̝͎̹̰̺̈́͛̔̓̍̎͆́̉̅̊̈́̒̕͝ň̸̼̞̯̟̱͓̌͜͠͝­̙͈̫͚̙͎̱̝̣͜ẽ̴͖̓͊̊͝ gotta be prouda king
But Whats the sound when it sing?
N̴̨̧̧̧̨̨̢̧̢̨̢̡̢̢̢̨̧̢̨̢̡̡̢̢̧̧̛̛̛͓̞̯̙͍͔̱̳̙̥̖͙̺̩̣͕̹͎͍̮̞̰̣̦̼̯̮̬̮̼̪̬̗̩͚̻͓̝̝͎̮̫̠͚͔̯͉̺̲͉͇̻͈̺̘̲͉̥̦̺̖͈̹̥̘̜͇̥̮̲̙̯̜̟̺͖͚̫̫̹̫̱̝̰͖͓̮͕̜͖̟͉̬̝͕̻͙̜͓̗͖̥̝͇̞̥̙̟̥̘̯͔̫̞̻͇͚͍͖͔̗̭̻̝̖̟̯͎̤̳̻̰̖͕̥̳͖̹̗̳̲̝̯̝͓̮͙̤̞͓̬̰̲̲̞͇̩̤͈̝̘̖̲̬̱̮̣͚͍̣̫̬̘̳̮̗̭̮̥̝̖̖͔͙͉̲̬̮̙̤͖̺͚̭͓̲̘̻̮̻̖̻̫̗̳̦̻̪͎͉̜̣̰̳̠͎͈͍̞̞͍̥͎̯̳̠̩͉̻͉̦̱̬̞̯͍̰̺͇̦̣̮̫̱̤̝̤̄̋̅̋̒̽̿͆̈̓̑͛͗̆̿̋͛̇̊̋̆̀̑͒̅̄͋̇̏̀̇͑͑̓̌̋̒͒͗͆̈̓̃̋̄͛͛̑͛̎͋́͒͋̆̎̆̊͒̈́̆̓͐̍̑̈́̋̃̿̏͛̅̆͛̿̔͊̏̓͗́͛̒̅̈́̔̏̒̒̀̄͋̀̈́̐̔̊̽̋͂͗̾͊̎̿̕̚͘͘͘̕͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅơ̴̡̨̧̡̢̢̢̧̢̢̢̧̧̡̢̡̡̢̢̛̛̞͖̺͎̯̘̣͙͕͔̫̳̲̻̥̞̞̮͇͚̯͚̬̭͙̘̣̤͈͔̹͈̳̣̩̫̰͎͉̹̺̝̟̗͚̫̬̗̻͔̯̘͕̣͎̙̭̠̺̜̬̳̭̫̙̞͖͎̠̙̮̬̱͉̻̲͉̝̺̤͉̤̳̘̭̻̥̻̯̮̖̦͇̥͇̩̖̼̫̗͍̟͖͙̝̹͇̤̜̭͎͈̹̩̰̬̯̻̱̞̦͉͕͉͎̟̠͈̻̱̳̼̯̯̯̙̮̟̲̹̫̥͈̬̞̮̘̬̩͓͖̹͙̬̻̖̻͕̦͖̯͔̟̲͇̦̼̤̤̎͋͆̾̒͌̽̾͐̔̆́̃̑̉̎̋̔̋̉͒̇̔̊͑́̅́̂͛̈́̂͐̍̂̓́͊̋̎̉̃̑̇̅̋́̊̾̐͗̎̏̿̌͌̾̂̏̈́̓̓̀̃̀͆́̿̓̿́̃̑̃͂̅̉̐̍͊̀̽̊̔̒̈͒̄̾́͐͌͒̂̔̈́̀͌͂͌̋͊̒́̐̽͌͆̈́̅͛͋̃̉̃̈̂͐̔̔̄͒͌̇̐́͂̍̈̂̋͘͘̚̚̕͘̚͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅ ̶̢̧̧̡̢̨̧̡̢̢̨̧̧̡̛̛̛̛̖̫̪͔̮̪̘̖̗̺͈̯̥̜͓͍̼̪̦͇̱̼̥̻̹̘̣̬̪̳̤͖̭̜̺̲̳̮͎̞̭̪̜̬̣̥̞͈͉̻̤͓̘̜̤͕̹̬̯͎͔̼̫̯̗̟͔̬͕̦͕̩̮̠̘̙͖͔͙̤͕̱̤̪̘͇̺̺̰̹̪͖͕̬̯̳̣̗̟̜̖̳͈̺͓̟̪̮̝̣̘͊̈́͛͌͂̓́̔͗́̑̄͆̇̾̾̌͑͂̀̈͂͋̿͒͆̐̾̀̈́͌̒͊̂͑͐̈́͑́͌̿̏̔̍͋̔̈́͆͊̃͆͋́͛͊̃̂̍̓̏͆̿̾̋̍̃̂̑͐̔̍̿̆̍͌̑͆̏̐̅̍̎̂͂͊̉̈͗̾̾͑̂́͋͗̅͂̈́̐̀̂̇͐̐̏͋̋̑̈́̀̄̋̒͒͒̄͋̀͂̽̓̋̇̓̂̈́̇̍̑̈́̇̆̍̎̉͐͊̒͑͋̓̒͊͒̏̿̀̅̏̈́̋̔̂̒̅̅̊͋̂̓͐̏̕̕͘̚̕̕̕͘͘̚͘̚̕̚̕͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅb̸̧̨̨̢̢̧̢̡̧̨̧͓͈̟̭̳̱͈͚̳̤̲̦̪̜̳͉̫̭̖̥̬̦̹̲͔̯̦͕̱̭͓̝͍̖͇̠̝̲͎̲̱̦̱̫̠͚̗̰̲̞̺̻̪͓̺͖̮̲̰̲̝̲͍̠̳̝̭̣̲̱̟̯̪̤̹̼̟̞̣̝͚̙̼͔̱̬̣̪̤̺̫͍̳̭̬͈͔̬̦̫̮̙̫͕̜̥̥̙̻͎̰̬͔̼͓̳̖̠͙̯̻̮̠̥̮̹̟̹̼̬̼̰̞̟̟̗̯̩͚̙̱̭̗͎̗͈̣̣̝̺̺̝̮̘͖̠̬͚͉̞̘͔̥̠̟͚̗͉̏͌̎̇͂͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅͅͅở̶̡̨̨̡̨̡̨̢̢̡̨̢̧̧̧̡̡̡̢̢̨̢̢̢̢̢̧̛̛̛̛̛̖̘̣̭̙̰̲̬̘͓̬̹̖̜̜̜̙̥̮̥̩̺̬̙̖̘͓̺̱͉̙̞͕̪̯̤̜̬͍͙̬̤̩̺̺̘͎̬̻͎̻͓͍̺̮̺̜̫͍͎̘̦̺̥̠͖͕̫̪̤̭̺̯͍͉̠̖̪̜̥̲̭͍͕̭͙̙̭̪̭̥̳̭̭͖̮̤̜̤̮̞͙̳͍̬͓̜̰͈̬̻̰̞̝̗̩͔͖̖̙͚̹̲̜͚̰̣͇̭̞̮̫͖̥͍̖̱͉̝̬͈̼̪̰͕̹̺̯͇̲̬̮̮̗̫̮̳̪̖̣͕̤̖͎̱̻̭͇̤̪̖̣̗̝͍͚̮̖͓̰͕̳̝̤̮̰̣͍̯̩͈̰̬̳̼͖͙̳̟̪̭̣̟̠̳̲̻͈͉̙͚͖͉̤̼̙̬̤͙̘̩͇̠̦͙̜̺̟̙̱̉̇̿̄͗̾̇̊̉̓͋̎̅͋̃̍̄͗̋̋̏͆̍̂̑̋̍̂̄̋͛̑̿̊̐͐̓̈́͒̽̂̆̎́̋̀͑̂̽͒̔̓͐̅́̈̍̂̇̇̉̌͆̋̀̀́̈́̈́̓̏̆͋̈̄̓͆̓̒̂̿̃͑͒͊̈́̾͂̈̽̓̓̍̈́̀̽͒͒͗͗̒̋̀̊̍̀̃͒̃̿͌́͐̍͂̍̾̂̔́̐̀̓͑̏̐̒͋̂͛͌͂̍̿̆̾͂̾̃͌̋̓́̋̏̆̿̍̐̈́̆̆̽̓̆̈̂͊̚̚̕͘̕͘̚͘̕͘̕̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅư̶̢̡̡̢̧̨̨̧̡̢̢̢̨̡̧̡̛̛̛̟̤͖̠̠̘̪̱͓͓͓̲͕͓̱̮̺̤̹̘̬̣͓͎̘͈̥͕̥̘̜̳̥̼̟͚͎͔̦̯͍̞̘̣̞̩͔̲̫̭̻̞̹͙̮͕͕͕͙̪̥̻̗̭͎͕̘̼̠͖͖͚̻͈̗͇͚͚͈͚̞̱̟̪̲͉̫̘͈͈̞͇̟̞͚̰̞͙̖̦͇̩͚͙͉̭̘̥̞̩̯͍̱̼̥̩͙̦̭̖̜̼̻̼̙̘̥͉͔̮̻̠̠̬̫̞̲̦̪͚̣̣̱͎̖̻̝̜̭̞̪̯̬͚̂̑̃͌͋̐͑̈́͆̀̋̉̈́̎͗̂̎͂̆́͌̄̈́̔̂́̎̍̌̀̀̄̀̌̎̈́̍͂̉̽̇͑̃͗̐̓̀́̇͐͛̇̽̀̀͒̇͛͋̂͂̔̒̿̎͊̅͗͐̂̌͂̓̇̎̄̈́͌̏̋͐̽̒̀̈́̊̄̇̈́͆̽́́̀͆͐͊́͋̉̐̋͋̂̃̂́̿̇̋͐͋̈́̿͌́̏͊̎̒̋̌̓̒̔͆̋̎̀́̅͑̀́͂͂͘̚͘̕̚͘̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͠͝͠͝ͅͅn̷̢̨̢̧̨̧̢̢̡̡̨̨̢̡̧̧̡̡̧̧̢̡̧̧̨̪̜͚͈̼̟̲̤̙̺͉̮͚̼͙͇̪͖͖̖̼͍̗̜̙̗̮̲̺̣̝̳͎̝̤̲̘͍͉̯̰̘͉̲̭̥̬̖͇̲̜̹̳͖̣̥̘̙̦̺͎͙̙̩̞͍͍͙̞͙͈̫͕̤͍͇̭̝̹̼̜͔̩̲̮̤̗͙̘̹̭̰͔͓͕̩͉̝͈̬͍̼͓̼͙͔̯̲̠̯̝̯͓̘̹̠̘̤͚̻̱̮̙̦͉͕̻̗̟̰͈̠̩̫̹̗̞͎̰͈̬͇̹̞͍̜̤̟͕͔͚͔̞̠̪̙̺̩̪͙̬̠̪̤͉̤̱͖̣̠̤͖̦͇͕͈̘̰͇̣̜̰̳̭͎̥͎̫̰̺͈͙̘̬͙̰͎̠̖͙͓͕̬̰̼̫̙̞̲̤̗̤̤̘̥̩͍̩̩̠̭̘̥̘̳̜͓͕̫̺͛͋̍̑̂̓͐́̌̌́̿͌̈́͗̽̐̆́̿͑̉͒̑̈́̈́͌̈́͆͊̈́̉̑͛̓̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅd̸̨̨̡̨̨̡̧̢̢̨̨̨̧̨̡̡̨̛̛̛̛̛̛̪̳̮̱͎̱̳̼̜̬̦̗̰͔̻̱͕͈͚̞̻̦̤͕͔͇͎̤̥̞̮͎̖̦̻̤̲͕̳̳̟̘͕̖̗̯̼̥̬͔̪̥̮̻̟͕͖͎͚̩̥̠̣̟͍̻̳̟͍̩̹̬͚͍̹͍̭̝̗̘͔͉̰͖̥̪͇̻̬̞̳͔͈̱̰̦̲̠͓͈͈͉̲̝̼͖̠̺͉̦̹̱̠͚̬̤̠͉̱̠͇͈̲͕̱̳̼̖̫̬̙̱̳̺̖͕͎̦̝͔̫͇͖̱̹̘̦̳̱͇̲͉͉̦̳͇̟̹̭̗̲̫͔͎̹̺̳͔̲̯̼̳̹̗͈̮͔̥͍͎̭̣̩͈̗͍͓̮͈͙̮͖̤͕̹̗̭͓̟͇̺̱̱̞̙̪̻̲̞̬̹̫̺̣̘̺̰̤͍̥̦̂̃̽̌̓̊̀̀̄̏͊͆̒̈͛͑̾̇̿̔͊̓͗̄̽̔̾̑͊̔̇̓̉͐̑̇̄̾̇̉̽̌̎̓̽̏͐͒͂̈́͑̅̈́͑̍̅̌͊̇̈́͐̄́̅̐̈́̃̍̌̾̎̐̆̍͒̀͛̉̈́͑͊̿̌̓̓̈́͂̏̈́̿̆̑́̋̔̿̓̇͋́̑̈͌͐̅̑͛̆͗̐͊̓̋͌̉͑͛̏̓̄̈̎̑̅̌̄͗͗̀̇͐̎̉̋͗̓̾̌͂̋͐̒͛̽́̽͒̏̋͐̉̒́́̈́̀̆͊̈̊̀̃́̔̏̈́̈̑̋̆̽̇̌̅̃̌̋̿̈́̓̀̎̊̓̐̀̔͐͋̐̈́̃͂͋̓͂̽̉̍̓̾̔̈́͑́̔̀̉̈́̔̿͂͗̒̿̀̌͋͋̆͌̿̅̄̈̓̆͗̀̓̓͐̈̒̏̀̿̓̌͛̽͌̎͘̕͘͘̚̕̕̕͘͘̚̚̕̚͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅą̴̡̢̢̨̨̧̨̢̧̧̢̨̨̢̻̖̖̮̬̪͕̮̻̱̻͇̹̻͍̘͎̮̥̠̜̬̻͔̳͔͈̳͈̮̮̮̬͖̜̲͎̭̼͕̻̳͔̭͖͙̱͉̜̫̘͎̦̝̲͔̻̪̖̫̜̠̼̰̗͚̩̳̠̮̻̲͍̘̤̬̞̰͓̩̯̥̮͉̙̻̪̻̞̲͍͍̝̟͇̮̰̼̯͈̼̥̞̣̼̼̩̤͍̤͕͈̳̞̯̲̞͕̠͕̝̝͙̯̗̮̭̮̳̣̙̞̣̻̥̗͙͈̖̪̺̱͈̱̞͚͚̫̤͕̒͂̍̒̽̔́́̓̿͆̒̆͘̕͜͜͜͜͝͠ͅͅͅr̶̢̛̮̱̘̪̜̤̥̙̜̱̝͎̲̻̼̹͔̺̳̎̈͑͊̔͂̽̔̈́͂̊̏͗̑̽͋̋̋̌́͛̇̑̓͐͑̔̓̍̈̿̈́́͊͒͌̅̎̅̓̊̒̉̌̽̽͐͂̓̔̃̽̒̉͗̽̒̍̊́̒͑̋̈̚͘̚̚͘͝͝͝͝y̴̢̡̨̡̧̢̡̨̨̨̢̛̛̛̛̛̛͙̣̙̟͙̳̦̤̘̩̙̖̥͉̱̳̤̱̳̟͕̦̺̖̯͓̲̻͈̫͇̞͓̦̪͚̫̞̗̯͈̪̭̞̹̰̖̪̮͈͈̜͚̝͓̰͓̫̰͈̻̰͖͚̜̙̣̼̥̼̻͕̙̖̲̞̙̩͑̓̆͂̾̓̀̔̐̾͆̈͂̈́̃̒̾̏́͗̅͒͆̆̊̃̈́̇̎͐̅̑͒̃̿̄͊͌̿͗̎̐̄̄͂̉̋̊̅̃̾̊̾̈̀̽̊̄͑̈͆͆̆̿͌̋͐̔͌̾̓͋̋̐̒̃̀̅̊͂̿̓̾̇͌̑͐̿̄̆͛͐͋̎̉̎̂̊̎͛̇͌̏͛̄̄̈̒̃̔̒͛͂͊͑̀̽̄̿̆̾̾͗̇̓̇̇͌̒̀̿͆̿̌̐̑̒̇͐͒́̊̃̈̐̔̽̉̃́͒̾͌̅̕̚̚̚̚͘̚̕͘̕̕̕͘̚͘͘͘͘͠͝͠͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅͅ ̴̧̨̢̧̤͖̜̰̯̱̖̰̝̱͙̣̗̹̻̣̩͔͉̲͎̯̜̝̜̳̜̺̠̠͖̼̱̹͚̦̘̱͉͉͓̝̫̫̮͚̻̹̪̳̰̫̘̖̹̦̞̩͖͚̏̀͆̀̏͜͜ͅͅͅN̸̢̡̢̧̡̧̢̨̡̢̡̧̛͚͉͍̱̜̻͔̩̬̹̞͖̘̲̯͖̺͇̞̫̼̟̥̦̭̯͉̳͖̦͖̘̬͕̮̬͍̭̭͕̘̖̥͉̮̯̲̪̗̤͚̞͕̯̘̩̜͚̳̤̲͚͍͍̹͚̬̞̖͕̘͓̞̲͔̬̺̪̳̝̗̪̜̘̜̠̯͖̥̥̦̦̦̪̗̩͉̣̪͇͔͉̤̻̣̝̭̠̞̯̞͉̠̼͇̬̻͎̖̞͙̞̣̪̖̺̞̟̟̮̥̩͓̣͚͈̲̟̝̗͖͚̤̮̜̪̫̖̑̈́̅̓̔̃̈́̔̏̎͑͐̓́̋̉̋̎̆̇͒̈́͊͌̎͊̉̃̿̒̈́̓́͒́́̂̃͆͌͗̊͋̊̐̍̇́̀̿̓̉̈̏͋͊̾̈́̆̐͛͒̎͗̍͐̆̐̅͌̅̄͂̐͆̊̓̿̊͐̾̕͘͘̕̕̚̚̚̚͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅő̵̟̦̲̻̼͎͙̘̰͙̖̦̳͊̀̅̆̈̋̀̔̓́̂̋́́́̽̿͋͊͛̇͋̇̀̎̂̒́͆̏̏̀͘͘̚͠ 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̴̧̨̢̧̤͖̜̰̯̱̖̰̝̱͙̣̗̹̻̣̩͔͉̲͎̯̜̝̜̳̜̺̠̠͖̼̱̹͚̦̘̱͉͉͓̝̫̫̮͚̻̹̪̳̰̫̘̖̹̦̞̩͖͚̏̀͆̀̏͜͜ͅͅͅN̸̢̡̢̧̡̧̢̨̡̢̡̧̛͚͉͍̱̜̻͔̩̬̹̞͖̘̲̯͖̺͇̞̫̼̟̥̦̭̯͉̳͖̦͖̘̬͕̮̬͍̭̭͕̘̖̥͉̮̯̲̪̗̤͚̞͕̯̘̩̜͚̳̤̲͚͍͍̹͚̬̞̖͕̘͓̞̲͔̬̺̪̳̝̗̪̜̘̜̠̯͖̥̥̦̦̦̪̗̩͉̣̪͇͔͉̤̻̣̝̭̠̞̯̞͉̠̼͇̬̻͎̖̞͙̞̣̪̖̺̞̟̟̮̥̩͓̣͚͈̲̟̝̗͖͚̤̮̜̪̫̖̑̈́̅̓̔̃̈́̔̏̎͑͐̓́̋̉̋̎̆̇͒̈́͊͌̎͊̉̃̿̒̈́̓́͒́́̂̃͆͌͗̊͋̊̐̍̇́̀̿̓̉̈̏͋͊̾̈́̆̐͛͒̎͗̍͐̆̐̅͌̅̄͂̐͆̊̓̿̊͐̾̕͘͘̕̕̚̚̚̚͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅő̵̟̦̲̻̼͎͙̘̰͙̖̦̳͊̀̅̆̈̋̀̔̓́̂̋́́́̽̿͋͊͛̇͋̇̀̎̂̒́͆̏̏̀͘͘̚͠ ̵̧̨̧̡̨̨̢̧̢̨̨̡̡̧̢̨̢̢̨̡̢̡̡̡̧̢̨̨̢̡̛̛̛̛̜̩͙͔̩̘͈̤̼͈̘̞̝̮͎̭̩̭̲͖̦̞̲̦̻̦̜͎̙͓̳͎̭̟̗̦̭͎̯̙͚̖͍̱̟͍͎̯̣̤̹̭̖̺͖̞̟̹̰͈̮̯̱͉̻̥̪̘̫̫̜̤̜̻͈͍̼͔̩̳̩̭̙͓̘͔̪͍̹̦̟̰̲̩̥̳̯̙̖̪̦̖̩̘̺̼͉̪̭͈͉̯̝̲̗̰͖̮̻̟͚̜̖̺̺̪̱̟̺͙̲̻͍̭̝̦͇͕̜͖̯̦̻̮̥̦̝͈̠̰͙͔̫̼͇̲͈̗͇̠̳̮̳͔̭͎̜̣̺̥̬̱͕̗͈̙̠̣͙͎̫̠̝̫̟̭̼͕͚̠͇̣̘̝͇̝̞̤̻͈͇̞̺͍̣̬̲͚͍̲͉̟͖̠̝̤͎̝͍̙̹̜͓̲͓̺̮̬͔̫͆̆̈́̃̐̀̒̽̂̇̒͐̊̅͐͂̿̏́̐̇͛̈́͑̇̋̐́̆̽̎͐̋̿̀̋̈́̅̓͐̒̋̓͆̑̊͑́́̓͆̌̀͌̎̍͋͛̆̽̾̎̋̌̍͑̏̽̽̒̌̉͌̍̔͌̋̒̈́̓̒̈̽̈́͊̉͋͌̋͛̽̎͑̋̉͐͌̊̀̀̍͆̃̐̍̊̊̓͋͋̋̀̔͛̈́̏̂̐͐̎́̉͛̿̂̂̄̎̄̊̽̅͐̇̈̾̐̃̆͊̉̐̌̂͐͆̍̂̀̈́̿̾̊̄̄̍͛̈̾̔̋̍̊̿̋͗̐̈́̃̕̚͘͘͘̕̕̕̕̚͘͘̚̚̕̚̕͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅB̷̡̡̨̨̡̧̨̧̢̡̡̨̧̡̡̨̢̧̧̧̛̤̣̱͇͇̞̤̜̥͕͖̹̗̯̖̼̣̜̬̫̟̭̼̮̤̳͚͉͎̤̙̹̲̼͕̝͓̯̬̳̪͖̰̯̖͖̰̝̦̹͈̺͇͇̺̬̼̙͎͍̣͈̣͕͓͚͈̞̩̹̟͚̫̰̺͔̲̤̞͔̙͙̹̦͓̯̪̫̩̥̜͇͇͍̩͓͙͓̣̮͙͉͖̫̫̯̪̹͔̹̦͈̜̫̘̲͚̪̜̣̖̟̙̰̮̟̤̺̝̺̺̰͎̩̩͇̟̠̰͕̻͔̖͎̼̞̮̦̤̦̘͈̠̤̜̩̖̮̞͓̦͍͚̤̜̳̳̰̈̎̓̂͌̽̈́̄͊̑̀͌̎̃̐̿͋͋͆͌̍͒̏͂͌̔͛̇͑̽̃̓̽̐̅̓͗̃̓̈̉̆̂͗̐̔̈́̀̈́̈́̀͂̃̓̐̂̉̈̒͐͒̋͒͂͐̓͗̋̀̈̽̎̅͛̇̒̽̋͛̉͑̅͊̀̀͊̆̎̔́͊̆̔̋̍̓͆́̀̈̽̽͗̅̑̎͗̏̇̒̔̇͛̽́̍̂̉̀́̂͋̾̿̈̏̋̏͐̃̽̊͐͆̒́̔̓̒̍͂̉̐͗̓̓͂̏̑̔̔̎͗̓͐͗̅̅̾̉͂͊͆̾͗̕̚͘͘̕̕̕͘̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͠͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅừ̵̢̨̨̧̨̡̨̡̢̡̧̯̪̮̤̦̭͙͙̣̘̻̲̝͔̦̲͚͇̯͚͉̪̲̹͙̲͖͙̯̻̤͙̟̖̟̟̙̤͖̜̣͖̠̗̣̖͔͓͖̤͚͕͎̗̖̹̙̳͉̝̳̭͈̙̝͖͉͕̼̻͖͔̃̏̃̏̎͊̂́̈͑͛̾̀̈̊̿̉̂̽͂̆͐̈͑̑́̊̄̈́̂̾̓̀̀̂̋̅̑́̓̋̓̄̀͒̉̓̄͌̾̇̈́͊̋̇͛̇͒̈́̔̈̈͛͒̇̇̍͊̓͂̂̋́̊̊̽̆͋̒͌̂̅̾̋̚̚̕̚̚͜͜͝͠͠͠͝ͅͅͅŗ̵̨̧̡̨̡̧̧̢̢̢̛͓̯̼̤͔̪̳͕͔̪͙̜̗̞̥̤̩̹͍̫͕̫̰̱̦̱͕̰͉̪̖̝̗͇̞͓̥̰̩̩̬̜̩̭͔̹͓̜͚̥̹̣̖̝̯̳̲͚̜̯̼̰̲̝͕̥̜̗̱̜̲͓̣̖̖̹̹̮̞̮̖̪̱̜̖̼̱̳̣͕̹̭̤͔̝̼͍̼͔̹͓̪̀̈́̇̄̔̌̄̈́̂͋̀̉̈́̄̉̐̀̈́̒͊̎̅͂̊͒́̕̚̚̕͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅd̵̨̨̢̧̨̡̧̡̨̧̡̨̨̧̡̡̨̨̡̨̨̨̛̛̛̛͖͇̼̭̯̬̘͖̱͔͔͇̲̙͙͔̩͇͈̯̭̪͍̱̲̙̘̜͕̤̺̠͇̠͎̘̱͚̩̱̭̩̱͍̭̭̮̰͖̳̬̠̜̯̫̖̤̫̠̣̦͙̗͕̗̬̰̲̥͙̬̟̲̤̭̟̱̱̗̞͖̳͈̮͇̱̞͈̼̪͙͈̺̩̗͕͓̣͍͎̻̙̯̟̮̞̥̳̜̞̮͉͙̳̩̖̗̘̱̫̭̭̥̳͓̙̦̺̟̖̜͕̹̳̣̥̬̳͓̙͇̝͈̰̩͈̤͙̯͈͍̽̌̊̂̿̀̓̅̔͋̿͒͗͌̓̇́̍̒̾̐̇͊́̑͋̾͛̆̂̈́̐́͂͆́̊̇̈́́̈́̌͑͗̓̀̈́̀̀͛͌̈̂̔͆̀̋̂̒́́͋̋̓̎̒̆̋͌̀͊̒͆̍̔̃̑̽̂̔̔̑̈̿̇̾͐́̐̓̔́̀͛͋̑̍͒͐̄͂̀̀̾̊̔́̃͗͋̓̇͑͛̽̅̍̿͌̌͆͗͐̐͌̑̀̀͌̃̄̅̐̓̚͘̕͘͘̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅe̴̡̨̡̢̧̢̡̢̨̧̢̢̧̡̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̪̣̭̙̫̟̯̪͉̱̣͎̫̱̠͚̣̣̥̬̯̝̪̣͓̘̳̲̼̥̰̜̝̙̦͖̭̫̺̣̺̠͈̩̘̯̥͙͇̗͙̺̣̜͙̤̯̥̫͓͔̗̺̹̻̙̫̜̞̺̣̫̝̳̫̩̜̼̞͚̞̦͖̬̞̰̘̼̩͎̰̤̫̝̝͈͍͎͓̬̝̜̮̲̤̹̺͈͚͓̗͇̞͖̲͎͚͍̭̳̭̻̯̠̭̞̺̳̰̗̯̦̱͕̟̺̯̘̘̥̼̞̲͖͚͙̻̰̭̮͇̙͇̹̗̫̣̣̹͍͓̹̹͙̤͚͙̳̮͙̭̘̹̦̝̝̣̝̪̠͎̠̰̩͔͓̟̤̣̙̭͓͈̬̹̳̩̫͈͎̤̘̹̜̼͍̟̭̭͖̯̞̥͕̲͓͖̦͎̳̘̜͔̭̺͍͇̰̩͕͓̰̪͇͇͈̞̐̌̈́̂͋̒̀̔͋͑̂̽̀̽̐͌̒̾͐͂͒̀̈́̂̀̊̏̽̆̈̐́͊̆̀͛̋͐̈́̏̂͛́̔́̀̒̽͂̈́́̔̒̆͂̀͑͌̀͗̋̋͊̆͂̄̌͌̓̊̄̐͑̄̓̈́͗̆̓͆̈́̓͗̾͊̋̓̍̿̔̇̎̀̈́̾̉͑́̿͐̃́̃̽̓͑̈́̈̂͑̐̄̀̌̅̀̍̈́̋̽̾̿̒̆̾́̈́̊̉͛͂͋̐̎̍͒̀̒̑͌̽͌͌̊̋͂͑̆̐̆͛̈́̀̑̂̔̑̾̍̉̿̾͌͆̂̐̀̅̅͒͆̃͊̏̇̉̇̀͋͒̽̿̏̎̽̈́̿̉̀̈́͋́̃̂̽͆̏͊̐̃͆͌̿̀̀̀̒͛́̉̐́̎̃̈́͒̐̒̌̊̇̄͆͑͆̌̍̐̆̀̀̃̔̊̓̔̽̑̔̃̏̀́̒̏͊́́͐͒̇̒́̾̎̿͘̚̚͘͘͘͘̚͘̚̕͘̕̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅn̴̡̢̡̢̡̡̨̢̢̢̨̢̡̨̢̡̨̡̧̢̢̡̨̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̮̯̪͙̮̞̝͉̠̪͇͕̪̤̲̮̟͖̯͕͕̻̜̬͈͎͙̱̣̘͉̙̥̥͉̞͈͇̺̘̘̪̲̬̘͇̭͉̱͓̘̗͈̭̹̯̻̞͍̮͚̙̬̲̙̦̳͕̹̙̬͖̱̰̜͈͕̠̮͍͇̱̦̞̳̜̙̬̝̣̺̙̮̪͙̬͖̰̰̮͎̪̦͉̳̹̦̤̱̖̹̫̘̺̰͇̘͚̬͚͕̦̺̯͍̣̬̼̤͎͖̖̼͇͙̥̩̰̳̱̝̰̳͔̣̜̝͉̮̲̹̠̦̻͈̖̹̻̳̣͖̠͖͔̞̘̟̭̩͎̠̭͔͎̗̻̩̪͇͙̗̲̜̗̳̗̝̤̤̳̳̮͉̖̺̠̪͙͚̦͇̟͎͇̼̩̫͉̝͉̹͎̰̞̰̦̯͕̗̘͎͍͕̗͍̾̔̍͒͗̈̀̾͗̽̑͊͑̍́̔͗͑͛̍̎̎̂̄͂̎̍͗̔́̀̾̏̄̓̇͂̓͂̑̀͊̉̃͑̎̂̈́͊̒́͒̍̆́̄̈́͋̐̋͆̓̄̓̌̿͗̀̒̈́̈́̔̆̓͂̓̒̑̎͑̔͊̌̐́̍͆̐̽̽̄͂́͋͛͒̈͒̓̅̿͐̀̈́̈́̽̉͌̎̈́͌̔̍͋̀̄̋͌̍͐̈͒̓̄̔̌͊̒͊̀̌̎̑̆̈́͛̓̉̐̄̀͗̓͊͂͐̇͊́̆̍̄̀̔̇̅̇̑͆͆̆̐̒̊́́̐̽͛͌͊̈̒̇͂̓̓͊͛̈́̏̚̕͘̕̕͘͘̕̕̚̚͘͘̚͜͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ
Jack James May 2014
I remember the black spot
over the stove,
before dad painted over top,
and made the world normal again.
I remember the smoke detector,
how it sounded like a broken toy
left on, until the batteries
would eventually run out.
"I wanna see!"
How tiny those boots,
fit for an Alaska winter,
must now seem,
but hardly at all when I was carried next door,
still in my pajamas,
to watch the big truck
with its bells and lights.

It was dusty when they left.
A thin, white blanket of snow,
to ***** out a grease fire,
lightly frosted the tiny
toy ice cream cart.
"Don't touch that!"
"Can I help you paint?"
Perhaps I could cover up
my very first nightmare,
where the big red fire engine
shot me with a jet of water
past my mom and dad,
through a snow white trellis,
and into a tiny bed
with Winnie the Pooh sheets,
screaming at two in the morning.
It's funny to be gun-shy
of every school fire alarm,
because the Army safety officer
was caught without his fire extinguisher.
jessika michele Oct 2013
you're always in the same kind of pain as I am
we always find each other
in loss
in pain
in raging alcoholic bliss

you've been a part of me for as long as I can remember

we can sing
we can dance
we can share the purest of emotion

but for some reason
WE
just never happen

all of our memories
can suffocate the simplest of minds

one of these days you'll take me away from this
from the longing of a soul
that's connected to mine

or maybe ill just be a stupid girl
for the rest of my life

shes going away

that girl that used to laugh

that girl that used to love

that girl that used to trust

she's slowly fading with each desolate day

stupid girl
“The Silicon Tower of Babel”
The over utilization of technology, its abuse, is unweaving humanity at the seams. Human health, sanity, and spirituality are under attack. The boom of accessibility over technology has increasingly subtracted from the frequency of face to face human interaction as well as human interaction with nature. The result is a declining emotional and psychological health and a ******* of spiritual values. Each individual who values holistic health should limit the time he or she spends using technology that isolates them to less than twenty-four hours in a week. They should make more purposeful efforts toward interacting with nature daily and for periods of at least an hour at a time. Lastly, these individuals should labor to replace reclusive technologies with modes of technology that encourage face to face and group social interaction such as movies, Skype, etc.
Self-limitation of the use of isolating technology will begin to correct the twisting of our spiritual values and the social and physiological damage that has been caused by the overuse and abuse of technology. In James T. Bradley’s review of Joel Garreau’s book discussion of radical evolution, called “Odysseans of the twenty first century”, Bradley quotes Garreau when he says that technology will result in human transcendence. In “Odysseans” it is said that “The nature of transcendence will depend upon the character of that which is being transcended—that is, human nature.”  James. T Bradley, scholar and author of this peer reviewed journal says that “When we’re talking about transhumanism, we’re talking about transcending human nature. . .  One notion of transcendence is that you touch the face of God. Another version of transcendence is that you become God.”  This is a very blatant ******* of the roles of God and man. When the created believes it can attain the greatness of its creator, and reach excellence and greatness on par with its God, it has completely reversed the essence of spirituality. This results in the ability to justify the “moral evolution of humankind” according to Odysseans. And this “moral evolution” often results in “holy wars”. In “Man in the age of technology” by Umberto Galimberti of Milan, Italy, written for the Journal of Analytical Psychology in 2009, technology is revealed to be “no longer merely a tool for man’s use but the environment in which man undergoes modifications.” Man is no longer using technology. Man is no longer affecting and manipulating technology to subdue our environments. Technology is using, affecting, and manipulating the populace; it is subduing humankind into an altered psychological and spiritual state.
Technology, in a sense, becomes the spirituality or the populace. It replaces nature and the pure, technologically undefiled creation as the medium by which the common man attempts to reach the creator. The common man begins to believe in himself as the effector of his Godliness. Here there is logical disconnect. People come to believe that what they create can connect them to the being that created nature. They put aside nature and forget that it is an extension of the artist that created it. Technology removes man from nature (which would otherwise force an undeniable belief in a creator) and becomes a spiritual bypass. “According to “The Only Way Out Is Through: The Peril of Spiritual Bypass” by Cashwell, Bentley, and Yarborough, in a January 2007 issue of Counseling and Values, a scholarly and peer reviewed psychology journal, “Spiritual bypass occurs when a person attempts to heal psychological wounds at the spiritual level only and avoids the important (albeit often difficult and painful) work at the other levels, including the cognitive, physical, emotional, and interpersonal. When this occurs, spiritual practice is not integrated into the practical realm of the psyche and, as a result, personal development is less sophisticated than the spiritual practice (Welwood, 2000). Although researchers have not yet determined the prevalence of spiritual bypass, it is considered to be a common problem among those pursuing a spiritual path (Cashwell, Myers, & Shurts, 2004; Welwood, 1983). Common problems emerging from spiritual bypass include compulsive goodness, repression of undesirable or painful emotions, spiritual narcissism, extreme external locus of control, spiritual obsession or addiction, blind faith in charismatic leaders, abdication of personal responsibility, and social isolation.”  Reverting back to frequent indulgence in nature can begin to remedy these detrimental spiritual, social, and physiological effects.  If people as individuals would choose to daily spend at least an hour alone in nature, they would be healthier individuals overall.
  Technology is often viewed as social because of its informative qualities, but this is not the case when technologies make the message itself, and not the person behind the message, the focus.  To be information oriented is to forsake or inhibit social interaction.  Overuse of technology is less of an issue to human health if it is being overused in its truly social forms. Truly social forms of technology such as Skype and movies viewed in public and group settings are beneficial to societal and personal health. According to a peer-reviewed study conducted by John B. Nezlek, the amount and quality of one’s social interactions has a direct relationship to how positively one feels about one’s self. Individual happiness is supported by social activity.
Abuse of technology is a problem because it results in spiritual *******.  It points humanity toward believing that it can, by its own power, become like God.  Abuse of technology inclines humanity to believe that human thoughts are just as high as the thoughts of God. It is the silicon equivalent of the Tower of Babel.  It builds humanity up unto itself to become idols. In extreme cases overuse of technology may lead to such megalomania that some of humanity may come to believe that humanity is God.  Technology is a spiritual bypass, a cop-out to dealing with human inability and depravity. The misuse of technology results in emotional and psychological damage. It desensitizes and untethers the mind from the self. It causes identity crises. Corruption of technology from its innately neutral state into something that negatively affects the human race results in hollow social interactions, reclusion, inappropriate social responses, and inability to understand social dynamics efficiently.
It may appear to some that technology cannot be the cause of a large-scale social interrupt because technology is largely social. However, the nature of technology as a whole is primarily two things: It is informational; it is for use of entertainment. Informational technology changes the focus of interaction from the messenger to the message. Entertainment technology is, as a majority, of a reclusive nature.
Readers may be inclined to believe that nature is not foundational to spirituality and has little effect on one’s spiritual journey, it is best to look through history. Religions since the beginning of time have either focused on nature or incorporated nature into their beliefs. Animists believe that everything in nature has a spirit. Native American Indians like the Cherokee believe that nature is to be used but respected. They believe that nature is a gift from the Great Spirit; that earth is the source of life and all life owes respect to the earth. Christians believe that it is the handiwork of God, and a gift, to be subdued and used to support the growth and multiplication, the prosperity and abundance of the human race.
In a society that has lost touch with its natural surroundings it is sure that some believe that nature has little effect on health, as plenty of people live lives surrounded by cities and skyscrapers, never to set foot in a forest or on red clay and claim perfect health. However, even in the states of the least contact possible with nature, nature has an effect on human health. The amount of sunlight one is exposed to is a direct factor in the production of vitamin D. Vitamin D deficiency has been determined to be linked to an increased likelihood of contracting heart disease, and is a dominant factor in the onset of clinical depression. Nature has such a drastic effect on human health that the lack of changing season and sunlight can drive individuals to not only depression, but also suicide. This is demonstrated clearly when Alaska residents, who spend half a year at a time with little to no sunlight demonstrate a rate of suicide and clinical depression diagnoses remarkably higher than the national average.
Dependence on technology is engrained in our society, and to some the proposed solution may not seem feasible. They find the idea of so drastically limiting technology use imposing. They do not feel that they can occupy their time instead with a daily hour of indulgence in nature. For these individuals, try limiting isolating technology use to 72 hours a week, and indulging in nature only three times a week for thirty minutes. Feel free to choose reclusive technology over social technologies sometimes, but do not let technology dominate your life. Make conscious efforts to engage in regular social interactions for extended periods of time instead of playing Skyrim or Minecraft. Watch a movie with your family or Skype your friends. Use technology responsibly.
To remedy the effects of the abuse of technology and the isolations of humanity from nature, individuals should limit their reclusive technology use to 24 hours in a week’s time, indulge in nature for an hour daily, and choose to prefer truly social technologies over reclusive technologies as often as possible. In doing so, individuals will foster their own holistic health. They will build and strengthen face-to-face relationships. They will, untwist, reconstruct and rejuvenate their spirituality. They will be less likely to contract emotional or social disorders and will treat those they may already struggle with.  So seek your own health and wellbeing. Live long and prosper.
Alaska Mar 2014
It burns.
Badly.
The burning sensation
Can take over and ****.
But  you begin to like the burn.
Even crave it sometimes.
It's the kind of pain you secretly love.
Kind of like when you hurt someone you love,
Or when someone you love hurts you.
You know it's bad.
You know it's wrong.
But you just can't stop.
Because even though it's awful,
Even though it's painful,
Even though it's lethal,
It all hurts so good.

{alaska}
THE SINS of Kalamazoo are neither scarlet nor crimson.
  
The sins of Kalamazoo are a convict gray, a dishwater drab.
  
And the people who sin the sins of Kalamazoo are neither scarlet nor crimson.
  
They run to drabs and grays-and some of them sing they shall be washed whiter than snow-and some: We should worry.
  
Yes, Kalamazoo is a spot on the map
And the passenger trains stop there
And the factory smokestacks smoke
And the grocery stores are open Saturday nights
And the streets are free for citizens who vote
And inhabitants counted in the census.
Saturday night is the big night.
  Listen with your ears on a Saturday night in Kalamazoo
  And say to yourself: I hear America, I hear, what do I hear?
  
Main street there runs through the middle of the twon
And there is a ***** postoffice
And a ***** city hall
And a ***** railroad station
And the United States flag cries, cries the Stars and Stripes to the four winds on Lincoln's birthday and the Fourth of July.
  
Kalamazoo kisses a hand to something far off.
  
Kalamazoo calls to a long horizon, to a shivering silver angel, to a creeping mystic what-is-it.
  
"We're here because we're here," is the song of Kalamazoo.
  
"We don't know where we're going but we're on our way," are the words.
  
There are hound dogs of bronze on the public square, hound dogs looking far beyond the public square.
  
Sweethearts there in Kalamazoo
Go to the general delivery window of the postoffice
And speak their names and ask for letters
And ask again, "Are you sure there is nothing for me?
I wish you'd look again-there must be a letter for me."
  
And sweethearts go to the city hall
And tell their names and say,"We want a license."
And they go to an installment house and buy a bed on time and a clock
And the children grow up asking each other, "What can we do to **** time?"
They grow up and go to the railroad station and buy tickets for Texas, Pennsylvania, Alaska.
"Kalamazoo is all right," they say. "But I want to see the world."
And when they have looked the world over they come back saying it is all like Kalamazoo.
  
The trains come in from the east and hoot for the crossings,
And buzz away to the peach country and Chicago to the west
Or they come from the west and shoot on to the Battle Creek breakfast bazaars
And the speedbug heavens of Detroit.
  
"I hear America, I hear, what do I hear?"
Said a loafer lagging along on the sidewalks of Kalamazoo,
Lagging along and asking questions, reading signs.
  
Oh yes, there is a town named Kalamazoo,
A spot on the map where the trains hesitate.
I saw the sign of a five and ten cent store there
And the Standard Oil Company and the International Harvester
And a graveyard and a ball grounds
And a short order counter where a man can get a stack of wheats
And a pool hall where a rounder leered confidential like and said:
"Lookin' for a quiet game?"
  
The loafer lagged along and asked,
"Do you make guitars here?
Do you make boxes the singing wood winds ask to sleep in?
Do you rig up strings the singing wood winds sift over and sing low?"
The answer: "We manufacture musical instruments here."
  
Here I saw churches with steeples like hatpins,
Undertaking rooms with sample coffins in the show window
And signs everywhere satisfaction is guaranteed,
Shooting galleries where men **** imitation pigeons,
And there were doctors for the sick,
And lawyers for people waiting in jail,
And a dog catcher and a superintendent of streets,
And telephones, water-works, trolley cars,
And newspapers with a splatter of telegrams from sister cities of Kalamazoo the round world over.
  
And the loafer lagging along said:
Kalamazoo, you ain't in a class by yourself;
I seen you before in a lot of places.
If you are nuts America is nuts.
  And lagging along he said bitterly:
  Before I came to Kalamazoo I was silent.
  Now I am gabby, God help me, I am gabby.
  
Kalamazoo, both of us will do a fadeaway.
I will be carried out feet first
And time and the rain will chew you to dust
And the winds blow you away.
And an old, old mother will lay a green moss cover on my bones
And a green moss cover on the stones of your postoffice and city hall.
  
  Best of all
I have loved your kiddies playing run-sheep-run
And cutting their initials on the ball ground fence.
They knew every time I fooled them who was fooled and how.
  
  Best of all
I have loved the red gold smoke of your sunsets;
I have loved a moon with a ring around it
Floating over your public square;
I have loved the white dawn frost of early winter silver
And purple over your railroad tracks and lumber yards.
  
  The wishing heart of you I loved, Kalamazoo.
  I sang bye-lo, bye-lo to your dreams.
I sang bye-lo to your hopes and songs.
I wished to God there were hound dogs of bronze on your public square,
Hound dogs with bronze paws looking to a long horizon with a shivering silver angel, a creeping mystic what-is-it.
Charlie Hazels May 2014
You said I was Alaska- its true
But I'm not gonna crash that car.
I replied 'then you're the Colonel'
And you're much better- by far.

You always said you were Lennie
And this I was George- the clever one.
But I am the fool and you are the brighter,
You'll be around when I'm gone.

You always thought you were Ron
And me Hermione- I guess so.
But then who's Harry- *** we're not gonna marry
It's you- you are the hero.

I reckon I'm Eragon- the wanna be warrior
With a lot to learn.
But I've Saphira by my side
Level-headed fun and stern.

I'm Frodo- I keep going,
But weakness roots in my heart
In you I have found my Sam,
Won't let me fall back to the start.

Asterix the bright and clever-
Always knows what to do.
I follow- a faithful Obelix,
I'll always look to you.

And if I am truly Odin then you are Asgard itself.
How many other ways can I describe our friendship?
Your are Peter the rock-
And I am Thomas the doubter.
Me and my best friend- squished into characters.
I could bask in the sunshine
and edit Alaska,
climb Kilimanjaro but
I let others do that and I go into the deep
on my own rhyming rainbow,
watching colours keep dripping,
I should be tripping,stripping the acid run
and taking more out of fun.
I should edit Alaska.make the ice flow much faster,
I am a disaster but
I haven't happened yet.
Jess Apr 2014
Looking at your aura is more fascinating than traveling up to Alaska to watch the aurora borealis glow.
Looking into your eyes in more fascinating than learning about the galaxies and how stardust forms.

Taking a glimpse into your soul is more beautiful than sitting on the beach in Mexico watching the luminous sunrise.
Taking a glimpse of your smile is more beautiful than meditating in the wild for my body to energize.

Touching your lips is more mesmerizing than laying in a meadow of flowers in the middle of June.
Touching your skin is more mesmerizing than sitting on a roof at 2:16 a.m. looking at the full moon.

You are my aurora borealis,
my galaxy and stardust,
my sunrise,
my meditation,
my meadow of flowers,
my full moon.

And I hope one day I have the courage to tell you..
T J W Nov 2018
You're a dangerous place
but I can't help it
your darkness intrigues me
you pull me in
I find myself coming back to you
you change me
how I feel
how I look
how I think
in silence you're all I hear
lost in darkness around you
so powerful
so strong
something, someone no one understands
unfamilarity but I want more
you drain me
you take every ounce of energy I have
but you're above all
your knowledge
your ability
I must know more
you're my bestfriend
you're my enemy
Alaska
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
Here the waves rise high and fall on the icy
seas and white caps chew the driftwood logs of
hemlock and toss them wildly upon sandy beaches.
The steep mountains rise straight from the sea
floor as the December sun shines through the dark
clouds that hang heavy with snow near the top peaks.
Blue icebergs drift slowly down the narrow channel.
This volcanic island is one of many that are scattered
along the coast of Southeastern Alaska.
On the South end of the island is another
tiny island and on it stands an old lighthouse,
a shambles. It has a curving staircase and an
old broken lamp that used to beckon to ships at
sea. Wild grasses and goosetongue cover the ground
and close by Sitka blacktail feed and gray gulls
circle. There is a mountain stream nearby and
in the fall the salmon spawn at its mouth. The
black bear and grizzly scoop them up with great
sweeps of their paws, their sharp claws gaffing
the silver bodies.
Walking North along the deer trail from the
South end of the island are remnants of the Treadwell
Mine. It was the largest gold mine in the world.
In the early 1900's the tunnel they were digging
underneath Gastineau Channel caved in and the sea
claimed her gold. The foundry still stands a rusty
red.
The dining halls are vacant, broken white
dishes are strewn inside. The tennis court that
was built for the employees is overgrown with hops
that have climbed over the high fence and grown
up between cracks in the cement floor. The flume
still carries water rushing in it half-hidden in
the rain-forest which is slowly reclaiming the
land. The beach here by the ocean is fine white
sand, full of mica, gold and pieces of white dishes.
Potsherds for future archeologists, washed clean,
smooth and round by the circular waves of this
deep, dark green water.
Down past the old gold mine is Cahill's house,
yellow and once magnificent. They managed the mine. The long staircase is boarded up and so
are the large windows. The gardens are wild, irises
bud in the spring at the end of the lawn, and in
the summer a huge rose path, full of dark crimson
blooms frames the edge of the sea; strawberries
grow nearby dark pink and succulent. Red raspberries
grow further down the path in a tangle of profusion;
close by is a pale pink rose path, full of those
small wild roses that smell fragrant. An iron-
barred swing stands tall on the edge of the beach.
I swing there and at high tide I can jump in the
ocean from high up in the air. There is an old
tetter-totter too. And, it is like finding the
emperor's palace abandoned.
There is a knoll behind the old house called
Grassy Hill. It is covered with a blanket of hard
crisp snow. In the spring it is covered with sweet
white clover and soft grasses. It is easy to find
four leaf clovers there, walking below the hill
toward the beach is a dell. It is a small clearing
in between the raspberry patch and tall cottonwood
trees. It is a good place for a picnic. It is
a short walk again to the beach and off to the
right is a small pond, Grassy Pond. It is frozen
solid and I skate on it. In the summer I swim
here because it is warmer than the ocean. In the
spring I wade out, stand very still and catch baby
flounders and bullheads with my hands; I am fast
and quick and have good eyes. Flounders are bottom
fish that look like sand.
Walking North again over a rise I come to
a field filled with snow; in the spring it is a
blaze of magenta fireweed. Often I will sit in
it surrounded by bright petals and sketch the mountains
beyond. Nearby are salmonberry bushes which have
cerise blossoms in early spring; by the end of
summer, golden-orange berries hang on their green
branches. The bears love to eat them and so do
I. But the wild strawberries are my first love,
then the tangy raspberries. I don't like the high-
bush cranberries, huckleberries, currants or the
sour gooseberries that grow in my mother's garden
and the blueberries are only good for pies, jams
and jellies. I like the little ligonberries that
grow close to the earth in the meadow, but they
are hard to find.
Looking across this island I see Mt. Jumbo,
the mountain that towers above the thick Tongass forest of pine, hemlock and spruce. It was a volcano
and is rugged and snow-covered. I hike up the
trail leading to the base of the mountain. The
trail starts out behind a patch of blueberry bushes
and winds lazily upwards crossing a stream where
I can stop and fish for trout and eat lunch; on
top is a meadow. Spring is my favorite season
here. The yellow water lilies bud on top of large
muskeg holes. The dark pink blueberry bushes form
a ring around the meadow with their delicate pink
blossoms. The purple and yellow violets are in
bloom and bright yellow skunk cabbage abounds, the
devil's club are turning green again and fields
of beige Alaskan cotton fan the air, slender stalks
that grow in the wet marshy places. Here and there
a wild columbine blooms. It is here in these meadows
that I find the lime-green bull pine, whose limbs
grow up instead of down. Walking along the trail
beside the meadow I soon come to an old wooden
cabin. It is owned by the mine and consists of
two rooms, a medium-sized kitchen with an eating
area and wood table and a large bedroom with four
World War II army cots and a cream colored dresser.
Nobody lives here anymore, but hikers, deer hunters,
and an occasional bear use the place. Next door
to the cabin is the well house which feeds the
flume. The flume flows from here down the mountain
side to the old mine and power plant. An old man
still takes care of the power plant. He lives
in a big dark green house with his family and the
power plant is all blue-gray metal. I can stand
outside and listen to the whirl of the generators.
I like to walk in the forest on top of the old
flume and listen to the sound of the water rushing
past under my bare feet.
In the winter the meadow is different: all
silent, still and snow-covered. The trees are
heavy with weighty branches and icicles dangle
off their limbs, long, elegant, shining. All the
birds are gone but the little brown snowbirds and
the white ptarmigan. The meadow is a field of
white and I can ski softly down towards the sea.
The trout stream is frozen and the waterfall quiet,
an ice palace behind crystal caves. The hard smooth-
ness of the ice feels good to my touch, this frozen
water, this winter.
Down below at the edge of the sea is yet another
type of ice. Salt water is treacherous; it doesn'tfreeze solid, it is unreliable and will break under
my weight. Here are the beached icebergs that
the high tide has left. Blue white treasures,
gigantic crystals tossed adrift by glaciers. Glisten-
ing, wet, gleaming in the winter sun, some still
half-buried in the sea, drifting slowly out again.
And it is noisy here, the gray gulls call to each
other, circling overhead. The ravens and crows
are walking, squawking along the beach. The Taku
wind is blowing down the channel, swirling, chill,
singing in my ear. Far out across the channel
humpback whales slap their tails against the water.
On the beach kelp whips are caught in wet clumps
of seaweed as the winter tide rises higher and
higher. The smell of salty spray permeates everything
and the dark clouds roll in from behind the steep
mountains.
Suddenly it snows. Soft, furry, thick flakes,
in front of me, behind, to the sides, holding me
in a blizzard of whiteness, light: snow.
This is a piece my grandmother had published in the 70's and I was lucky enough to find it. She passed on a few years ago and I miss her with all of my heart. She was my rock and my foundation, my counselor, mentor and best friend. I can still hear the windchimes that gently twinkled on her front porch, and smell the scent of the earth on my hands as I helped her **** the rose garden. I am glad that she is finally free of the pain that entombed her crippled body for nearly half of her life, but I wish I could hear her voice one last time. So thank God she was a writer, because when I read her poems and stories, I can!  She wasn't a perfect woman, but she was the strongest, smartest, most courageous woman I have ever known.
the snow fell in alaska on a christmas night
covering the moutains with ****** snow so white
huskies they were barking to pull along there sleigh
to deliver presents on a christmas day
children building snowmen as happy as can be
filled with lots of smiles and lots of christmas glee
everything so peaceful on this christmas night
when snow falls in alaska its such a wonderous sight
Gossamer Oct 2014
Who?
I'll flirt
my way through
who?
You.

What
are
you?

Brilliant, funny, filled
with liquor.

A faded sign,
her every
exhalation unsignaled.

Sobbing, sudden.

A mix of whimper and scream
and cigarettes and wine and knock-knock
jokes and ***** and

it was our
last day, Saturday,
our
last
day.
Rearranged words from a page in "Looking For Alaska" by John Green
Amanda rodeiro Oct 2015
Dependent, well that was never a word i would’ve used to describe myself 

heavily reliant on another person to make them happy, feel fulffilled and pound away the overwhelming notion of hopelessness engraved into their bones

yep, definitely not me

id rather settle with calling them a distraction instead of admitting that i, who depicts myself as a nonchalant, unfeeling ***** that doesn’t give a **** actually gives a ****

narcissistic much? yep 

happiness, i wish i could call that my goal.
maybe when i was eleven and still held the belief that everything ends up perfect as long as you turn in your homework and dress nicely 

ah, simpler times

now days i only accomplish that so i can motivate myself to keep trying on a daily basis 

even writing seems like a chore that i don’t want to bring myself to finish anymore

getting through the day without repeatedly slamming my head into a wall in order to block out the numbness is my version of happiness now

i wish i could pinpoint when it became like this

my therapist tells me to find what triggers these feelings and once i do to squash them before they can mess with my head

i don’t know how to tell her that there is no trigger, i can’t kick them out when they’ve made me into their home 

i know how it feels to be left behind and i would never put them through that

i decide against telling her I’ve personified my depression now

this is sam, he’s always there to give me a helping hand back into bed when i look in the mirror and don’t want to face myself

this is melody, she’s always there singing soothing tunes to lure me into a spiraling fit of paranoid self hatred 

this is luke, he’s my guardian angel, always following me around making sure to bring me back down to earth whenever i get too happy

I’m grateful for them, i really am.
always involved in my life making sure not to miss anything that happens to me, no matter how big or small

which leaves me to wonder if I’m the one that has pushed all my real friends away, by only ever focusing on my fake ones

not ready to face that yet so ill leave that in the “denial” section of my brain, which is overflowing by the minute

the thing about this sadness, is that I’m not sure who i would be without it

with it goes my sense of identity and I’m not ready to have a one on one session with my real, gritty self because I’m afraid i won’t like what i find

fear, isn’t that what binds us all?

keeps us from leaving people, keeps us from staying with them

dependability, often i tell myself that if i were to live all by my lonesome in alaska with nothing but the sound of wind and smell of the forest i would be content

dependability, being able to be alone is something i pride myself on

dependability, with only my thoughts to keep me company id probably stab myself repeatedly 
dependability, i can’t depend on myself so i have to find someone i can

dependability, the sad truth
Blake Bumpus Feb 2012
Fleet Foxes are on, doing their melodic folky thing,
And I’m sitting writing here, taking large swings
of fire breathing liquor,
if only to forget her.
       And it’s alright,
       It’s ok.

We kissed on the mouth in the moonlight
during the 11th hour of the
11th day of the
11th month of the
11th year of the
twenty first century,

      And everything was alright,
      Everything was ok.

But now I write letters to you that you will never read,
That I’ll never even again, I may print and burn them
(If I ever feel the need),
But I think I’ll start writing to myself now,
At least I may listen and take heart to what I say,  
Anything at all to keep you and the demons away.

What a madness everything is!
I think so with a wicked smile.
If you’re the *** of the joke and everyone is laughing,
May as well laugh along.
But to tell you the truth,
The punchline,
We’re all in the same sinking life raft.
And the people who know  are considered the crazy,
The mad the suicidal the outcasts
But it’s obvious that they know they are on
A sinking life raft,
Why else would they panic if we shook the boat a little?

        And think of all the ethics, look at religion, philosophy,
I need an atheist Bible *******,
        One surely must exist,
Something nice to get a more concise
idea of this stupid world I’m trapped in,
Because I’m a sucker and I believe in my animal bones that things will get better
even though the evidence is all pointing in the opposite direction,
like how everyone believes that woman will want me,
Even though the evidence is pointing the other way.

      So **** it, I’m heading north,
      Get a job in Alaska and make money
      Even though I’ll have no way to spend it,
      Except maybe on hookahs and ****,
      Ha, what I stupid life that would be.

Isn’t it all rather stupid?
Philosophy is my only constant friend, and it believes
that we build things out of nothing, quantum things,
But I’m starting to believe that as human beings,
We do this to ourselves, we build nothing
out of something,
assuming we don’t blow it up
in the first place.
Crysta Gingras Feb 2016
Traveling here
Traveling there
I will travel anywhere
To be with you
To be by your side
I’m way over here
And you’re way over there
But together to be
Could be anywhere
Where do you want to go
Hawaii, Cuba, the Caribbean or Fiji
Or perhaps elsewhere
Alaska, Rome, Mexico or Tahiti
Still there are others
Different places to travel
With you by my side
The adventures will unravel
You by my side
I can hardly wait
What trouble we’ll cause
Oh the times will be great
Patience is a virtue
They all say eagerly
If only they knew
How I’ll hold you so dearly
The time will come
Though none soon enough
The guitars we will strum
Distance no longer tough
The songs we will sing
Filling the air with joy
On your finger a ring
Mine forever to annoy
Good morning to my Angel

— The End —