Happy

"You're never happy,"
You point out to me.
But happy?
Why should I be?

When life has been nothing 
But betrayal and pain,
Happiness?
That's something I could not gain.

Long nights while others sleep,
The memories I relive
Happy?
No. Just trying to forgive.

To wake up screaming,
Feeling like you're pinned down
Happiness?
Not in those sounds.

"You're never happy,"
You point out to me.
But happy?
Why should I be?

When the horrors haunt you
Till you can't breathe
Happiness?
Is not something I believe.

Long days of cheery people
Who don't understand
Happy?
Not till I reach the Promised Land.

To try to explain
To those who don't know.
Happiness?
I'll never show.

"You're never happy,"
You point out to me.
But happy?
Why should I be?

Be raped, be abandoned,
lied to and used.
Be afraid, be alone, and
Then tell me,
Are you happy?

"You're never happy,"
You naively point out to me.
But happy?
Well, would you be?

Your Daddy's Truck

Sittin here thinkin about how it used to be
When the world seemed to be just you and me
Your late phone calls
And all those walls..that we broke down
woahh

Chorus: I'll never forget ridin in your daddy's truck
             Windows down, Nickleback cranked up
             Singin at the tops of our lungs
             And fightin till we'd both had enough
             Oh I'd give anything to do it again
             Oh oh just tell me where and when

We used to stay up late at night
Talkin about the rest of our lives
I wrote you letters till the paper ran out
You always washed away my doubt
Our first slow dance and holdin hands
Whatever happend to all of our plans?


Chorus: I'll never forget ridin in your daddy's truck
Windows down, Nickleback cranked up
Singin at the tops of our lungs
And fightin till we'd both had enough
Oh I'd give anything to do it again
Oh oh just tell me where and when

You moved on and I tried
I'll never admit how much I cried
But you came to me when you needed advice
I think you need to think wice
You're going away and I'm here to stay
My heart will always feel this way

We could ride around in your Chevy truck
Windows down, "Gotta Be Somebody," cranked up
Singin at the tops of our lungs
Forever wouldn't be long enough
Oh if I could do it all again
Oh oh we'd be more than friends

Before We Say Good-Bye

I fell for you
Such a long time ago.
Now I feel
That you just have to know.
I can't explain why
I feel this for you.
However,
I can promise
These feelings are true.
You make me laugh and
You make me smile.
I've wanted to be yours
For such a long while.
I know,
Writing a poem is awful cheesey
But I promise
I'm not all that needy.
You have to go,
This I know.
We could make it work
If that's what it's worth.
Give me a chance;
You'll see,
It would mean the world to me.

Exploring Manhattan

The excitement is clearly on all of our faces as the bus doors slowly open. We quickly get into our single file line which we practiced so many times before. Anxiously I wait for my turn to jump into the rapidly-moving line of kids eager for a new experience. I have dreamt of this opportunity for years and now that it is here, I feel as though everyone is moving in slow-motion. I resist the overwhelming urge to push the others along and soon I am exiting the hot bus which smells of rotting food and anxious kids desperately in need of a shower. The years of waiting and anticipation are finally over and here I am standing in complete amazement, smack-dab in the middle of Manhattan, New York.

            Nothing could have prepared me, or the other small-town tourists, for the breath-taking views in front of us. Buildings stretching so high our necks cramp looking up at them, taxis in every color rushing through the busy streets, lights on buildings and traffic signs, and people…way more people than we could have ever imagined. I hope I do not get lost in this sea of bustling people or separated from the group. Everyone is taking pictures; although, most of them have no clue what they are taking pictures of. We stand around gawking and chattering about how extravagant the city is and soon we begin walking.

            The pushy crowd of strangers makes it nearly impossible to stay in a group. Despite the over-crowded tangle of human bodies, we continue walking. With so many unique sites to behold, my eyes dart in every direction. It soon becomes incredibly easy to separate the tourists from those who call this busy city home. I notice the crowd is stopping at a crosswalk, waiting for the signal that it is safe to walk. To my horror, a young woman, about mid-twenties, dressed in black knee-high boots, a form-fitting pencil skirt, and a light blue shirt which complements her striking blue eyes and flowing blonde hair, comes running through the traffic. She turns and yells back to us “You cannot wait for the signs in New York! If you do, you will never make it anywhere you intend to go!” Hmm, that seems logical, there is so much traffic. We follow her lead and cross the street while angry cab drivers honk their horns furiously.

            Our tour guide asks if we noticed all the police officers. Soon, I realize there is one standing on each street corner. We are told that is how they cleaned up the once filthy city, by keeping an officer on every corner so they do not miss a single thing. I sure am glad there is an abundance of police officers when there is this many people! They look extremely focused on their strenuous job which brings comfort to our small-town group.

            Now that we have reached a main street, we see vendors in every direction unyieldingly attempting to sell us shirts in every color imaginable, brightly colored key chains, sunglasses in all styles, and nearly every other item imaginable. I am pulled aside by a guy, about mid-sixties, with wild, frizzy gray hair and a faded tattoo of an eagle with the American flag coming out of its mouth. He begins talking in a low raspy voice about his merchandise, describing, in great detail, how his items are one-of-a-kind. I struggle to understand what he is saying, but eventually I tell him I am not interested. He then talks about fighting in the Vietnam War; it is clear that if I do not just walk away, I will be stuck there for a long time so I simply leave the man muttering to himself about how selfish society has become.

            Wait. Where did the rest of the group go? Oh my gosh! Run and find them! My legs begin moving without my control. My thoughts are jumping everywhere because I have no clue where to go. This is such a strange city and so much bigger than anywhere I have ever been before. I dart through the crowds of people, trying my best not to knock anyone down. It is excruciatingly difficult to not be distracted by the swirling aromas of sweet, delectable food just waiting to be tried but I continue dodging the people and soon my group is within my sight. Whew! That was scary! The rest of the group is giggling and making jokes about how silly I am for getting lost. I can’t blame them..silly me, getting caught up in some story.

            We continue the long trek through the wonderful city and I am amazed at how quickly everything can change. One moment I can smell sweet desserts and the next I am taken aback by the horrendous, gut-wrenching smell of sewers desperately needing to be cleaned out. All of a sudden the scenery changes and we are no longer with crowds of people and the busy streets. The ally is dark and damp, but we are told we are safe. The graffiti on the walls are so exquisite no one can deny it is a work of art. The next thing we know, we are back in the swarm of people and cars. The scenes change so quickly that it becomes hard to take it all in. One thing stands out, the random tree’s that are placed in the middle of concrete on the sidewalks. Well, I suppose if you do not have much nature naturally, you have to create it yourself. Loud noises are everywhere: police cars, ambulances, honking horns, people yelling, and songs from the radios of cars with their windows down. To many, the noise is simply noise but to me it is calming and beautiful, almost a song of sorts. The various sounds combine into melodious chaos, each sound carries its own story.

            The busy sidewalks are lined with giant buildings stretching their bodies to the sky. Some of these ostentatious frameworks are shops, some restaurants, and some museums. We begin to venture off on our own and a group of us girls enter a beauty shop. Our eyes grow as big as a full moon when we see all the cosmetics from which we can choose. I carefully select a small container of blush, mine is running out. The light, soft, rose-shaded powder seems too high-class for someone of my kind, so I decide to check the price before I become too obsessed with the idea of having this special piece of make-up. Shocked, I put the blush down and exit that portion of the store. The price of that simple powder is $20.99, more than I could ever afford to spend on make-up. Shortly, the other girls notice how pricey the shop is and we flee its confinement.

            We are still giggling about the expenses in New York when we come across a man playing guitar. He has brown, curly hair, rich brown eyes, and skin that appears to have been kissed by the sun. He plays a phenomenal version of “Sleeping Sickness” by City and Colour. Although I am the only one who recognizes the song, no one can deny the beauty of it and how intricately he plays. We each toss a few dollars into the black, sticker-covered case he left propped open and continue walking.

            Meeting back where we were dropped off, we all wait for our bus to return. Everyone is upset with our early departure but excited because tomorrow will hold more adventures in this wondrous city. The bus pulls up and we all shuffle back onto the stale, humid bus. The horrible stench does not seem to bother us the way it did before. It must be because we are all busy chatting about our exhilarating day. I can hardly wait until tomorrow! Another marvelous day in this city..nothing could be better. The bus pulls into the heavy traffic and slowly the conversations die down. The sky turns dark like the midnight sky despite the early hours. Soon peoples heads begin bobbing as they drift away to dream land. I fight my eyelids to stay open so I can see all the lights from buildings brightening the evening sky but I know my efforts will be useless. I allow my eyes to shut and I peacefully drift into a deep slumber filled with nothing except dreams of the astonishing city of Manhattan, New York and all its glory.

Inside

(Before I start I want to make a note that this is NOT about me in any way, shape, or form)

No make-up could ever hide
How I feel inside
The pain inside of me
Hidden so no one can see
Till the day I took that razor, so sharp
And made a slice, right above my heart
My wrists, my sides, even my thighs
Hoping my anger will cease to rise
This is what I do to see my pain
Nothing can wash it away, not even the purest rain
You took everything, left me alone
Now these scars become my empty home
You're not worth it, I know you're not
But since I've started, there is no stop
The scars are so deep but it feels so good to see
The despair inside of me