How Many Times Have I Cried

Do you know how often I cry?
I cry three times a day
I cry once when I wake up
because I made it to a new day
I cry once in the middle of the day
Because I am frustrated or in an argument
I cry once before I go to sleep
Because I don't want to wake up to tomorrow

I may often not want to see tomorrow
But I always do

What really are tears?
Just salt water leaking from my eyes.
It's as easy as sweating

Someone once tried to tell me
That crying showed that I was weak
But I beg to differ
Crying has made me stronger
Crying is a new beginning
Crying is a release
A release of anger and happiness
Or whatever else comes my way

If I could cry for every person I would
I would cry for seven seas
Just to make another feel better

From you
All I need is a smile

"Sperm Donor"

Why did you leave me fatherless for so long?

                                                                          Did I do something wrong?

Was I bad?

There has to be a reason why you left me sad

I was your child

One of many

You loved them all, and gave them plenty

But with me you never gave a shit

You left a whole in my heart like a bottomless pit

I later realized that I never needed you

I had a mother who helped me get through

A brother who was more man than you

Your less than a man

You wanna be

A father figure

You can never be

You never even tried

You got rid of me

When I accomplish something

Which I have

I will not thank you

Because you did nothing for me

You left child support unpaid

You think your living the life

And you got it made

Think again

On your death bed you will die for your sin

Why me

Your youngest little girl

Aren’t I supposed to be daddy’s little pearl?

Hold my hand

Walk me through the park

Tuck me in

Tell me not to be afraid of the dark

Where were you when I was fatherless?

Probably somewhere random and couldn’t care less

The first time you want to talk to me

You message me on MySpace

Who does that?

Who even uses that?

You’re a fucking disgrace

Maybe I should put things in your pace

You’re obviously slow

This is not Christmas

And there is definitely no mistletoe

So don’t be all kissy kissy

Stop!

                                                                          Things are a little hostile

I think it’s time for me to go

Just wanted to let you know

I didn’t grow up to be a stoner

And for the rest of my life

I will still remember you as my

SPERM DONOR.

"Life"

Love this quote and poet!!

I Remember "My Life"

This is a  nonfiction essay I wrote for my creative writing class and it must have been somewhat good if I got an on it. I think that you guys may like it. Feel free to leave comments, concerns, questions etc. Remember this is my opinion and some may agree and some may not.

I remember my first word. It was “French fry”. (That was two words)

I remember when my speech impediment was at its worse and I pronounced everything with T’s.

I remember wishing every night that my toys would come alive and speak to me like in toy story.

I remember playing double-dutch till my legs would fall off and learning to skate until I did not fall any more.

I remember swinging on a swing and going higher and higher until I just fell out. I landed in the woodchips and got a splinter.  I got really pissed and cried.

I remember my first kiss, he pissed me off.

I remember my second kiss; he kind of pissed me off.

I remember my third kiss and it was like Christmas day, but not really.

I remember the first time I drank. It was after my senior prom. My prom date was a vegetarian and he had only eaten blueberries that day. Who does that? Anyways, he decided he was going to drink for his first time also and it did not work out that well for him. He threw up blue barriers all night. I gave him a blanket and continued to drink.

I remember being the class clown as a kid. I would act out to get the attention until I realized I chose the path that I must lead.

I remember being close to my little brother and pretending to be team rocket while doing the team rocket handshake.

I remember growing distant from my brother, yet we were still close. He gave me more respect than he ever gave our mother and he still does till this day.

I remember when my dad, or may I say my sperm donor never visited me. I remember seeing him at funerals and random places by mistake.

I remember how I felt when my brother’s dad would pick him up and give him birthday and Christmas gifts.

I remember crying out of jealousy when he left, and wishing my father cared about me.

I remember when my mom considered my brother her baby (she still does). Technically, he is her baby.

I remember when my brother and I would fight and she would always choose his side.

I remember hating my brother because of my mother.

I remember how my mother never understood me and how we would argue constantly. We would argue about nothing, something and everything.

I remember how I thought, and still think that my mom is bipolar.

I remember my mom screaming out of anger “I wish you were never born” and me screaming back “I wish you were dead”.  

I remember running away, not only once, but three times.

I remember being close to my grandma (I still am, but it is different now). Is it weird to say that she was my best friend? She’s not dead or anything, but shit happens.

I remember how my grandmother was always on my side of any argument, especially the ones with my mother. She would be on my side to the end, even when I was wrong. This caused many arguments between my mother and grandmother.

I remember how my grandmother was an alcoholic and my mom would always badger me to get information on if she was drinking that day and if so what she drank. I never told on my grandma, but my mom always knew I was lying and that would cause many arguments.

I remember when my grandpa would call me “boo boo”. He loved me and I love him back.  If I needed anything, he would go to the end of the world to get it for me.

I remember the day he went to the doctors and they told him that if he would continue to smoke he would die.

I remember getting my grandpa to stop smoking and for a while, and  he did. At least I thought he did.

I remember seeing my grandpa smoking in his room and how I felt when I cried. He then cried with me and told me that he was sorry.

I remember my grandpa coming home one day and he did not know that I was home. I went to go hide in his closet and scare him. I was not a sick kid, but this is how my grandpa and I played around. I remember peeking out of the cracks of the door waiting for the perfect time to jump out. What I saw when I looked was my grandpa removing three full packs of cigarettes out of his pocket and placing them on his bed stool.

I remember playing with him out of frustration. He left the room and went to the bathroom and in the time that he was gone I took his cigarettes and went back into the closet. I remember when he returned and how it was actually funny how confused he was to where he had placed his cigarettes.

I remember popping out of the closet with his cigarettes in hand and how speechless he was. He saw me crying and tried to tell me he bought them for a friend. I knew he was lying and he knew that I knew. He then says to me “I did not know that anyone cared about me so much”.

I remember how shocked I was at what he just said.

I remember telling him of course I care about him and his well-being and “you are my grandpa. What is there not to love?”

I remember after our conversation we went to the bathroom and flushed each pack of cigarettes down the toilet one by one. I know he still smokes, but I have grown up and learned that he was not trying to hurt me and that it was a strong addiction that he could not ignore.

I remember high school and how it was the greatest time of my life. Without it I would not be the person that I am today.

I remember auditioning for my school. It was a performing arts school, where I auditioned for the theatre department. I was still very shy then, but I was acting as though I was someone else and that person was not me. I got on stage and I became that person and sooner or later I was a part of Charter~Tech High School for the Performing Arts.

I remember how high school gave me a different way of viewing life; it opened my mind to something new and unusual.  I could express myself through someone else, not worrying about judgment.

I remember when I started to express myself through myself because I no longer cared about what others thought.

I remember gaining more friends and how people started to portray me as being part of the “cool” crew when I was once a part of the “not so cool” crew.

I remember be an individual, and not a follower.

I remember being me.

I remember being me.

I remember being me….(my life to be continued)….

Copywrite December 2012

"The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe

Edgar Allan Poe (January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849) was an American author, poet, editor and literary critic, considered part of the American Romantic Movement. Best known for his tales of mystery and the macabre, Poe was one of the earliest American practitioners of the short story and is generally considered the inventor of the detective fiction genre. He is further credited with contributing to the emerging genre of science fiction. He was the first well-known American writer to try to earn a living through writing alone, resulting in a financially difficult life and career. He is another one of my favorite poets because I have always loved mystery and suspicion. He creates his own form that is unique and I hope my poems will be just as unique as his are.

The Raven

 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

"Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou

I would like to make my first post to honor my favorite poet Maya Angelou who was born Marguerite Ann Johnson on April 4, 1928. She is an American author and poet. She has published seven autobiographies, five books of essays, and several books of poetry, and is credited with a list of plays, movies, and television shows spanning more than fifty years. She has received dozens of awards and over thirty honorary doctoral degrees. Angelou is best known for her series of autobiographies, which focus on her childhood and early adult experiences. My all time favorite poem is "Still I Rise" because she reads it with such confidence and her words express strength. One day I hope to create such a combination of words that can empower so many people.

                                                      Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.