Friday, July 24, 2009

My Wish

My wish is to live a life without sadness
My wish is to die without a sin in my heart
My wish is to live knowing that someone cares about me
My wish is to know what life has in stored for me
My wish is to live with a life full of joy
My wish is to have meaning in my life
My wish is to die with a smile on my face
My wish is to not see my parents die before my very eyes
My wish is to see a smile on everyone’s face before I die My wish is for someone to make my wish come true.


Chapter 1: Jason Lainez
He is a child, 14 years of age at best. He comes home feeling only anger and rage. Jason Lainez hates his father because he believes it was this man’s fault that his mother died. Every day it is the same routine. Rage, argument between father and son, silence… It has been one month since the death of his mother… The cause of her death was unknown. Yet, he blames his father…always. His father is Chad Lainez.
Jason went to Madison High school. School was basically an excuse to get away from his father. He really never paid any attention to the teacher or didn’t even care about what was happening around him. To him it was like a reconnaissance mission in the army; you would get in, acquire what little knowledge you wanted to, and get out as fast as possible. His best friend was Robert Matthews. Robert was a rich child that had everything a kid could ever want, however, his parents were no fools and sent him to school where he would not be spoiled and would be disciplined. Evidently, he was a very nice guy, once you got to know him.
“So how are things with your dad?” Robert asked as they walked down the campus.
“Who cares?” Jason responded.
“But isn’t he basically, the only one you got left? Kuz’ I mean after what happened with your mom-”
“Shut Up! I told you already that I DIDN’T CARE!”
“Sorry man”
“Whatever” Jason said as he walked to class.
Jason would then spend the rest of the time in class listening to music in his iPod nano. So the teacher would not notice, he would slip the headphones through his sleeves and place the head of it on the palm of his hand. He would then lean into the head on his hand so it would look as if he was just leaning on his hand. This was the last class of the day so Jason cared less about it than usual. The bus ride home was one of those long ones where you really don’t want to get home. He didn’t know why but he had a funny feeling that something wasn’t right. As if something bad was going to happen. He looked up at the sky. There were white clouds all over with no sun to shine or blue sky to please. Was it going to rain?

Chapter 2: The Fire
At night he stands on the roof of his small house. He looks up at the twilight in the sky. There is only a sphere in the distance that illuminates the way.
“All those stories you told me with happy families, happily ever afters’ ….and love are fake aren’t they mom?” Jason gently speaks as salty rivers of extreme sadness and despair begin to drip down his face. “WHY!? Why did you have to leave me mom? I-I…need you.” He then buries his face in his hands.
All of a sudden his father comes and sits next to him.
“I’m sorry son. I know you think that this is all my fault but… I miss your mother too. It wasn’t my fault. I love y-“
“No, you DON’T!” He was cut short. “Now leave me alone.”
He leaves his father and walks into the mysterious darkness that is night. Jason comes home a few hours later unaware of the time. But now he is not mad, sad, or happy. He does not know what to feel, all he can do is stare up in awe. Fiery flames of hate that he had been holding deep inside were gone now…no wait…they were right in front of his very eyes. Jason felt as if the devil had decided to make an inferno of his home. Thoughts raced across his mind, however, they were going so fast he could not even see straight. Was he going to faint? His world was spinning or was it just him? But before his sight went pitch black a familiar sound brought him back. But wait…it was a cry for help.
“Dad” he said aloud.
Jason quickly began kicking the door to the fiery inferno that once was his home. The door hinges had become loose due to the fire and he was able to break the door down. He ran to the center of the room until he realized that his oxygen supply was running low. He could not breathe. He began coughing louder and louder. He got in a crouching position and decided to move forward past the debris. By this point his head was beginning to ache again. Thoughts of losing his father were making him suffocate. Jason was beginning to lose hope until he saw his father. He was on the floor trapped by debris that had fallen from the wall. Chad could not move and the flames could burn him easily due to the fact that all of the debris was inflammable. Jason quickly scurried to his father’s side and started pulling out the debris that had fallen on top of his father.
“I’m sorry dad” Jason said as he pulled out a large piece of wood that had landed on his father’s ankle. “I know that it wasn’t your fault that mom died.” Tears began to drip down his face. “I’m sorry I blamed you…I-I… I just needed someone to blame, to let out my frustration and sorrow. Plus… I did not want anyone to know how scared I was to lose you too. I’m sorry dad... please don’t die….please… I need you!”
“Its okay (cough) son” Chad spoke with the little amount of air he had left. He then fainted on the floor.
“Dad! Dad, please wake up! Dad” Jason said with a face sodden of tears.
Just when Jason was about to go by his father’s side and hug him, the wood from the roof above him gave out and wood of all shapes and sizes covered in flames fell on top of him. Jason was trapped under the flames.
“Oh no” he thought. “That dizzy feeling again.”
The room was spinning quicker and quicker.
“Get him out of here! Move! Move!” this came from a masculine voice. However, by this point Jason was too confused and dizzy to see what was happening. Everything went dark after that.
Jason awoke in a hospital room. What had happened? He could not remember what happened after his father fainted. His father!! Where was his father!? This is when he first tried to move his body to look around. This is also when he first felt the excruciating pain that was running all through his body. Even moving his neck around seemed to hurt. To him, this would be one of those who, when, where, what, why situations, but he was in such a deep state of panic that he could not think straight. Jason looked at his body. It was scarred and burned. It reminded him of a night his dad and he watched a horror movie about zombies. The rooting flesh of the ugly undead seemed to remind him of his own flesh at its current state. However, his entire body was not burned; it was just his left arm, part of his chest and left stomach, and a bit on his left leg.
“It’s a good thing I’m a righty” Jason thought to himself, and maybe even giggled a little. “No. This was no time to be laughing; I have to find my father!”
He then notices all the needles and pads on his chest giving him oxygen and basically keeping him alive. He grabs them and uses all the strength he has on his right arm and hand to remove them. You would think that it would be painful, but no. It was like removing a bandage. Quick and painless, at least that’s what he felt in the moment. He arose from the hospital bed. Yet, he could not walk straight. He was basically limping. Was it his burned leg? Or the throbbing pain in his head?
“No! I have to-” he stops and falls on the white marble floor of the hospital recovery room in which he is being kept. “Keep going!”
People around him are scared. Frightened by what he might do. But Jason was so determined to find his father; he did not even notice the nervous bystanders. This is when the pain got into another level. The pain from the removed needles and pads didn’t help either. He knew he could not go any farther. But he had to try. One step is all it took… Jason collapsed on the floor.
“Call a nurse!” he heard someone say.
“He might go into a coma!” another one said.
“Help!--” yelled a bystander.
He could not hear the rest.

Chapter 3: Saving Grace
“Honey? Honey? Wake up, sugar.”
“M-mom? I-is that you? Said Jason still suffering from unclear vision and with a slight touch of nausea.
Eventually, his vision cleared and he was able to see that there was an African-American woman standing in front of him. She had caramel skin and eyes that looked as if they had been made like fresh golden brown chocolate. She was not fat. Yet, she was not skeleton-skinny either. She looked very healthy. She was wearing a nurse’s gown so he concluded that she was a nurse. He sat straight on the bed he was placed in, wincing at the pain in his chest. He had white bandages wrapped around his body, probably to heal his wounds.
“Who are you?” Jason asked.
“My name is Gloria” she answered.
“Oh, hello Gloria.”
“The firefighters got to you in time and it started raining right after the fire started, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were close friends with lady luck.”
This was the first time Jason noticed the room. It was all white. White walls, floors, etc., a typical hospital room. It had a big window on the wall facing the city. The view was beautiful, especially since the sun was just starting to come out. He also noticed how it was still raining outside.
“Lucky huh?” he repeated in his head. “Then why did my dad-”
It hit him again like lightning.
“H-hey! Where is my-” Jason said as he was almost jumped to his feet and winced.
“Easy! Your body is still healing from the wounds. Lay back down. You know, you were lucky that I got to you in time. Not only was your body burned but also extremely exhausted. This forced your body to shut down in the recovery room back there. You could have been really hurt! Did you get any sleep last night?”
“Never mind that! Where is my father!?”
“Your father?”
“Yes! He was trapped under a bunch of wooden debris in the fire with me!”
“Honey, are you sure he was in there? Because if he was…. his body was never found.”
These words were a shotgun shell to the heart. Jason did not know what to think, let alone say. His world was crumbling. Would he be put in an orphanage? For the first time since his mother died, he truly felt alone. But this time…he really was.
To be continued…

The Good In Man

I sat in the dimly lit room, gray walls surrounding me and the suspect. The small lamp made a small ray of light that kept the room from going completely dark, making the scene more dramatic than it already needed to be. The clock read three minutes to seven, and I had half an hour to get this over with.
The man sitting in front of me just stared down at the desk, amazed at the plain color the surface of the table held. His eyes were constantly observing everything about the room, as if he was deciding whether or not to stay here. I don’t know where we get psychos like this. It was because of people like him that atheists have an actual point against religion. If God is all loving, how could he make people like this?
A knock on the door was heard and the suspect quickly turned his head. I looked over as the door opened and one of the secretaries comes in. She had a nice face, but it was easily forgettable, which is why I couldn’t remember her name. She dropped a file on the desk and walked out, as if too afraid to say anything in front of either of us.
I picked up the file, and saw only a legally purchased gun at a nearby store. No criminal history, no other problems.
Except for the shoot out.
“Do you know what you did?”
“Can we get a nicer place to talk?”
Jackass. He shot five people, and all he could think about was the condition of the room he was in.
“No. Do you know what you did?”
“Of course I do.”
“What did you-“
“I shot five people, ok?” he responded coldly. His face had changed from interested to annoyance.
“I wanted to test something out.”
Test? “As in an experiment?” I asked.
He brightened up a bit, “Yeah, kinda like a…um, what do ya call those things…um…”
“Social experiment-“
“That’s it!” he exclaimed. He smiled, proud that he had figured out what he was talking about.
Now I was interested, “What were you trying to find out?”
His smile grew. I had gotten his interest, talking about something he enjoyed. Something he was actually interested in.
He leaned in on the table, the silence first being disturbed by the movement of the table, then by his voice, “You ever realize how mean people are to each other?”
The prime example of this stared e straight in the eye, intrigue oozing out of his eyes.
I responded, “They’re not that bad. I-“
He fell back into his chair, “Please, you can’t walk anywhere nowadays without someone stepping on your foot or sneezing on you, and then not even say they’re sorry. No, people are shit.”
I hoped that the guys outside of the room were listening to this, taking note of this nut.
He continued on his little rant, “Like the other day, I was at my job. Down on fifth and Madison. You know, the clothing store?”
I had no idea, but lied to keep things going, “Yeah. I go there all the time.”
He smirked, “It’s a women’s store.”
I lied again, “For my wife.”
He opened his mouth to make a silent “oh.” Then he leaned back in his chair, “Well, in any case, I got fired yesterday for no good reason. Guy doesn’t even say ‘nice to know ya’ or um… ‘We’ll see if we can do something for ya’!”
“So you shot those people because you lost your job?”
He chuckled, “No no. I began wondering why people are so mean. But then I realized, people will help each other in times of crisis. So, I went down to Time Square, pulled out the gun, and started shooting.”
My faced scrunched in confusion, “But why?”
He responded calm and steady, “To see how many people needed to die before someone stopped me.”
I froze, an unknown fear creeping up the back of my spine,
“And it took five people before anybody even came close to me. They all just kept running away, screaming and whatnot. But by the time that fifth person was shot, someone started running towards me,” he smiled, the way a man smiles when he thinks of a great time in college, “That was a good guy-“
I got up and stormed towards the door, pushing it open and yelling at the guys standing next to the window, “Take him away. I’m done here.”
I opened the door to the main office and escaped that enclosed world of darkness. When I finally reached me desk, a note was there saying that four of the five victims had died. The fifth had been taken to the hospital in time by an unknown citizen.
I threw the note into the trash, hoping that psycho would never find out he was right.

Thursday, July 23, 2009


Her soft strawberry blonde hair rested on her delicate shoulders in the park where she waited. Leila, my Leila, was smart girl, strong willed, and her happiness means everything to me; I only wish that she knew that I loved her. My name is Carter, and as I see her eyes light up to see me, I smile with a bouquet of flowers behind my back. I walk up saying, "Hey Leila, you know..." She responds with "Yea? Carter..." it quickly escaped her mouth, as if she wanted to say something, and needed me to finish. "I love you, always have, always will..." I say as I slowly bring out her favorite flowers... lilacs. Leila disregards the flowers, and hands me a note and mumbles goodbye. No louder than a whisper. I look closer at her then, I see the tears. I see the newly opened bottle of sleeping pills... empty. Her eyes go blank, body falls limp. I look at the letter. It says,

"I love you Carter, always have, always will."


Love is the idea that you can't live without them.
That they are the dam to your river...
The life when you're no longer living.
The hopefuls when you're hopeless.
Your loves sew you up,
Or rip you down
In the end.

my beloved dog, Sophie

As my dog runs I feel as if she is more than a dog, she is an angel. As her thin but long tongue hangs out of her cute little mouth, she smiles. Her smile is worth a million words. It always makes my day. I swear it must be magic. I swear that it is true. Every time I look at her, I lose the definition of “ewwwwww”.

The Beginning of the End


“What the hell?!” she screamed in her mind but in reality it all sort of blended together and came out as a faint “wayeyey?”. She figured her eyes were open but could not see a thing. She tried every possible move to try to escape the ropes around her wrists and ankles. As a CIA agent, Sarah Wrangler was trained well by escape artists. She had always been able to escape ropes before but these were different knots. No ordinary criminal could accomplish knots such as these. She tried to feel around the small space she was crammed into for anything that could help her escape the ropes. She failed to find anything sharp or any elbow room for that matter. She tried to feel for any pocketknives or such on her belt but realized she had been stripped of her clothing and was now in some sort of gown. As she was just trying to stay calm, she was exposed to light.

She saw a man walking towards her. He was just less than six feet with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He was very well dressed wearing a navy blue blazer and tan chinos. He had on black penny loafers with pennies in them. He also had his hair combed to the right a little bit and was smoking a cigar. He picked her up and put something over her face. She looked back and saw that she had just been in a trunk of a car. That was all she could remember.

Chapter 1: Who

“Ring, Ring” the phones were going crazy down at the CIA building. The kidnapping of Sarah Wrangler was such an odd case because she wasn’t even working on a case. Why would anybody choose to take her out of all people? They had been investigating many drug cartels and sex slave warehouses lately so many have been shut down. Well that puts those out of the question.

John Marksman was Sarah’s best friend. They had been partners when they worked for the LAPD only a few years back. They still remained friends when they started working in the field for the CIA though. John’s heart was broken because he had wanted to be more than friends with Sarah for quite some time now. He would find her. He knew he could. But all he could do is pray. He could pray for her to be strong. He knew she could handle anything.

To be continued…

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

ST.PETERSBURG RUSSIA... a hard life for street children

In St.Petersburg, Russia after the Soviet Union collapsed, it has lead to many great things, on the other hand it has lead to family turmoil and increasing alcohol use. When I went to visit St.Petersburg I met Yuri (12) and Max (13) begging me for money and food I gave them some of both. Since I knew how to speak Russian I started to get to know them, I found out that they have been living on the street for eight months and they both smoke most street children in St.Petersburg smoke. Do drugs or drink alcohol, and some even sniff glue to decrease their hunger. I went to go visit their abandoned house, they lived in the attic on the top of an eight story building, and in the winter they live in the basement. I also found out that they met each other by begging for food and money on the streets. For dinner they usually eat dry macaroni or dry pasta because they have no were to cook it. When Yuri and Max aren't living in their attic/basement with their kittens they rescued from a lady who was going to drown them they live in a computer game warehouse, sometimes they'll take the money from the computer games to get food and supplies. Max and Yuri live on the streets for different reasons, Max's mother was dead and his father was never home, Yuri lives on the streets because his alcoholic step-father beet him when he got drunk for little things like not taking out the garbage or washing the dishes. Yuri saw his mom three months ago and he told her he wasn't going home, then she threatened to tell the police, then he said you either live with me or my step-father... but she didn't care enough and walked away. Sometimes he cries when he thinks about his mom.

In St.Petersburg alone their are 16,000 street children including the total one million living in Russia today.

Also to make money they go to metro stations, but their are some of the most dangerous criminals there, they go their to beg, get drugs, and collect bottles and give them to people for money. They hate coming here but they have to every day, Max says its really scary when someone you don't know approaches you and you don't know them, like this man with a knife they told me about and they chased them and finally they got away, when I think about this i cry.

They don't like talking to social workers because there are a lot of social workers and a lot of people who pretend to be one, they don't talk to them because the impersonators can work for rapists or maniacs, and even if they are good what can they do for them, send them to orphanages which is not wanted by them because it needs inmprovement in education, care, and how they raise them because 10% of the orphans end up commiting suicide by the age of 18. Then most street children don't like police officers who are supposed to be helping them. Yuri and Max personally know three good police men, the rest they run away from because the papers keep piling up and by that he means that the number of times you stole something or bought drugs, and they again might send them to orphanages, government shelters, or even prison depending on how old you are and what you have done.

This is how hard it is for only two of the street children in St.Petersburg Russia!

The Day The Earth Stood Still

It was four o’clock in the evening when I heard the news.
I stood in the crowd of cheering and applauding parents, various family members, and significant others. I searched for her in the sea of black caps and gowns. The valedictorian was making her speech in front of the class, the special student wearing the exactly the same clothes. No identity. She didn’t matter. Only my daughter’s success did. So what if this girl could juggle theatre, soccer, student government, and a 4.0 GPA? Schools only gave this title to make them look better, using her in their discreet competition.
Where is she? My wife placed her hand on my shoulder, knowing my eyes were unsuccessful in finding our daughter.
“She’s there,” she told me with a smile.
I chuckled, “I know she’s there. I just want to see her.”
I looked around, still unable to find her. Last name: Johnson. She wouldn’t be up front, more in the middle somewhere. Or would she?
I leaned back on my portion of the bleacher, “Damn it. Couldn’t they have been each a little different from each other in some way?”
The valedictorian was still speaking on the stage. Must have been five minutes since she started. What could she say that any of us didn’t already know?
“…And with the lessons we’ve learned here, I can say with confidence that our class is ready to go off and start our own lives. Each class we took here means something, and each friend we made will be in our hearts for the rest of our lives.”
“Oh shut up!” I blurted out loud.
“Jack!” Janet yelled at me.
“What? She’s been up there for the past seven minutes! Enough already. What more does she need? She’s going to Princeton anyways, her ego should be satisfied.”
She moved her lips to say something, but just leaned back, ignoring my worst quality. When I didn’t like something, I just said it. No holding back, no sensitivity. Just said what I thought. Probably how I got my job at the Times. Easy to say what you think when you don’t care about…
“And now we shall ask the graduating class to rise. We shall begin giving out the diplomas.”
Finally! Alright, just have to wait for everyone “A-I” and then I can cheer. High honors student for four years, active member of the writing club, a published poet and worker at the local Starbucks: Amanda Johnson.
“Chris Davidson!”
Applied and was accepted to the Hofstra University, the perfect school for her, as she had put it. And I couldn’t agree more. Not only was it close to home, but it was far enough for her to have to board there. Don’t get me wrong, I love my daughter. But her life is now her life. She needs to live on her own, plan her own schedule every day, and cook her own meals.
I’ll miss all of that.
“David House!”
Almost there, sweety. You’re so close. Daddy’s proud of you.
My cell phone rang, and for some reason I actually picked it up.
“What is it?”
“Jack, this is Frank.”
I didn’t care that I just rudely yelled at my boss. I told him how important this day was. I told him that I was taking the day off. I told him not to call me.
“Frank, I really don’t care now.”
“Michael Jackson is dead. Come into work as soon as you can so that I can give you your next assignment.”
I stood there. This isn’t possible. How can he be dead? He wasn’t even sick, he was going to do a concert in a few days. Since when did he-
“Jack! There she is!”
I turned around to see me daughter walking off the stage, diploma in hand, smiling to the crowd for me. I didn’t see it. When hand made contact with paper. I’d missed it.
I closed the phone in my hand and began to wonder where to start looking.

Mirror, Mirror...Reflect my poem!

As the fire burned indefinitely,
Hell broke loose in the kitchen room.
Hate spewing from both their mouths,
Fighting again over something so trivial and unimportant.
They did this every night, disturbing my peace
Which is hard to find these days.
My peace, as fragile as the snow outside our window
Falling at a rate that would destroy it.

Falling from a rate that would destroy it,
My peace, as fragile as the snow outside our window
Which is hard to find these days.
They did this every night, disturbing my peace;
Fighting again over something so trivial and unimportant.
Hate spewing from both their mouths,
Hell broke loose in the kitchen room,
As the fire burned indefinitely.

Everyone is Different (MIRROR POEM)

Everyone is different:
All are of great variety,
Some faces are moving closer and others farther away,
They all have separate thoughts,
Each has a unique pace,
Many people are able to walk on that sidewalk…
My observations mean just as much as theirs.

My observations mean just as much as theirs:
Many people are able to walk on that sidewalk,
Each has a unique pace,
They all have separate thoughts,
Some faces are moving closer and others farther away,
All are of great variety …
Everyone is different.


Music can course through your veins in a way that nothing else can. Music provokes emotions, and there is a constant about music, anyone that can hear, enjoys some form. You can sing at the top of your lungs, or you can listen to something as you drift to sleep. Music never stops playing, there is always someone listening or playing some beat, so maybe that is why it’s so beloved. I love the fact that music can just engross me, when I am in my room, just lying around, and I hear a lyric start to play, and I listen. I really and truly listen. The lyrics that play may be so energetic that you can’t help but to get up and dance. They may be so melancholy, that you just want to cry. Whether it is for a mistake made, or hearing how much love there can be in a person. You don’t hear of that love much anymore, which is part of the reason that country music appeals to me so much. It gives me, almost a security blanket… I know what they’re singing about, and it’s nice to be able to pick out every lyric sung. The best feeling in the world, next to being near the people you love, and laughing so hard you cry, is to sing with a huge group of people. People with different backgrounds, different histories, different ranges of being off-key, can join together, and sing… sing like there is no end of the world, but if there is, it’s okay to leave now.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009


I'd forgotten about
closing my eyes,
music blaring loud,
and the ability to listen...
to hear the beating of the drums,
the strums of the guitar,
and to hear those lyrics
and take them to heart.
I'd forgotten about the real reason music existed

I Wish I'd Been There

I Wish I’d been there the night you called and I wasn’t home.

I Wish I’d been there the next morning when you decided to celebrate Memorial Day
With Vodka.

I Wish I’d been there the moment you wanted that adrenaline rush.

I Wish I’d been there the when you got in that damn car drunk.

I Wish I’d been there when you laughed too hard and lost control of the stupid wheel.

I Wish I’d been there when you crashed in that huge tree with nothing left in your heart.

I Wish I’d been there when they drove you to the hospital.

I Wish I’d been there when the blood in your brain took over your precious life.

I Wish I’d been there even when they pronounced you dead.

I Just Wish I’d been there more than I was.

Rest In Paradise Lucas Ananias’
We Love You Kid.
March 9, 1993 – May 25, 2009
Damn Vodka.

Famous First Lines

In the heat of the night
They forgot about the children
All four of them
Lucy, Paul, Daniel and Penelope
Left to fend for themselves
In the dark and decrepid house
They had once called home
The furniture lay in ruins
The picture frames all cracked and torn
And the four children
Huddled together on the floor
In the heat of the night

You Think You Know

You can't fill empty spaces
that lay within my heart.
Can you hear the tears
that are tearing us apart?
You think you know me,
it's hard for me to tell.

You've broken my fingers,
I can't extend my hand.
If you want me to save you,
I won't do it on command.
You think you know me,
but your words aren't mine.

Your voice is a stranger,
who did you used to be?
If you look in the mirror,
you won't see me.
You think you know me,
we're too different to tell.

You used to hold me,
now I stand alone.
You think you've saved me
from the world I'm not shown.
You think you know me?
I don't even know who I am.

As Long

As long as I knew,
you were raiding my heart.
Somewhere along the road,
we started to fall apart.
On the corner of first
and nowhere street.

Searing tears fall,
you've burned my heart black.
I waited far too long
for you to come back.
All I needed was a call
that never came.

A light burns fast
when the candle is drowned.
One tear escapes,
and we can't be found.
As long as you loved me,
I was there.

Over My Heart

You've broken me,
and I'm still bleeding.
Hand over my heart,
just to see if it's beating.
I can't bear to look
and see what I've become.

Hold out a hand,
and take a shard.
A cracked image
of who you are.
I saw myself in you
before we disappeared.

Paint an apology
that I can frame.
Maybe then we'll know
who was to blame.
If you've found yourself,
help me to learn how.

Monday, July 20, 2009

I've hoped more times than you've counted
wished more than you could hear
I've had these great ideas
unable to force them out of my heart.
I've wanted to say what I could,
but with you looking at me,
I couldn't say it.

Maybe the choked up feeling in my throat,
the never mind mumbled and face going bright
Maybe the realization that I'm not in your eyes
Had me shove down those words
I'm longing to say.

What it's Like living in Hingham, Mass

Here's what it's like:
Let's say you've just jumped out
Of a hot, crowded car
To the sound of hello's
And the warm embrace of your cousins
You traipse into the house, carrying your bags
You drop everything on the bedroom floor
And change into your bathing suit
You hop into a car
Even more crowded than before
And speed away to the refreshing coolness
Of the country club pool
You play and joke around
And beg the parents
To order the traditional spicy fries
That we get every year
After indulging ourselves
We head to the beach and wait
For the sun to set and to be awed
By the magnificent fireworks held there
Oooing and ahhing
At each burst of color
After what could pass as a good night sleep
You dress up in red, white, and blue
And drag beach chairs to the annual
4th of July parade
You hoot and holler at each passing float
Your pockets bulging from all the candy you were thrown
As you mill around after
Waiting for the crowd to disperse
You swap candy and take family photos
You walk down the block
Where the smell of your uncles bbq
Drifts lazily on the wind
You crush your cousins in badminton
And are rewarded with ice creams from the Red Store
Two houses over
Each day is another adventure
Crashing through the waves at Hingham Harbor one day
Climbing and exploring Fort Revere the next
That's what it's like living in Hingham
I hoped so often
that my life was hope
i couldnt live in the moment
i only just prayed
so now at my deathbed
when asked about my life
I said it's hoping and wishing
but help it come true.

I Was a Person (final)

There was no way for you to help.
I always needed you.
I sent all the signs.
Almost begging on my knees.
I was pleading, and changing
In a way you couldn't dream!
I was hoping that one last shout, would change how you see.
I was wrong, that much is evident.
I hoped you could believe in me,
I knew I was not worth your time.
You just were not here…
You ran so many charities,
You helped so many other people!
But the one you forgot was me.
I was past the point of redemption.
Maybe you knew that;
Maybe you immersed yourself in all that good, to make up for all my bad.
I love you.
You loved me…
I was a person.
Before you forgot…

Before you forgot!
I was a person.
You loved me.
I love you…
Maybe you immersed yourself in all that good, to make up for all my bad.
Maybe you knew that
I was past the point of redemption.
But the one you forgot was me…
You helped so many other people;
You ran so many charities…
You just were not here!
I knew I was not worth your time;
I hoped you could believe in me.
I was wrong, that much is evident.
I was hoping that one last shout would change how you see
In a way you couldn't dream…
I was pleading and changing,
Almost begging on my knees,
I sent all the signs!
I always needed you…
There was no way for you to help.