Stuck. I feel stuck in a world I do not belong in. I gasp for the air my lungs desperately need but the water just keeps filling my lungs. Pouring and filling. Pouring and filling. The dark cloud that was once ever present above me has slowly made its way back to hover. The rain pounds down harder and harder, this time, there is no relief. No angel to save me. No angel to help me, to guide me, to hold me. No angel, just rain. The lightening begins and the thunder roars, shaking the ground beneath my feet. Shaking the ground, shaking me, and shaking every step of progress I have made. Shaking and shaking until the ground again, begins to crumble. My feet lose their grip and I'm thrown to my back. The crash sends pain screaming through my back, my head begins to pound. The pain is too much. I cannot get up. I'm stuck in this place. Bound by signed papers and green pieces of paper that are all too powerful. I need to get up, to go back. To leave those papers behind, to cut my losses and make my way back to where I belong. With no one around, there is no help. No one knows that I'm on the ground, stuck, and too weak to get back up. I need to go back, to find my angel. I need his love, I need his help. I need him there. I need to go back. I need to get up. To show him that I need to come back. I need to be there. I'm not strong enough to do this, not here, not now. I need my angel...but I can't get up without his help. I'm too ashamed to tell him that I've fallen once again. That yet again, I need his help. I need his love, I need his strength, and I need his wisdom to help me up. To hold me, and to love me until I've learned once again, to love myself. I don't know where to start, and I don't know how to tell him. I don't know. I'm stuck. Stuck in a world I do not belong in. I'm gasping for the air, the air my lungs desperately need but the water, the water, it just keeps filling my lungs. Drowning. Fighting. Drowning. Fighting. I can no longer breathe. My heart is slowing down. And the lights-the lights go out all around me as the earth beneath me swallows me inside.

The Hell Created

Everyone has their own picture of what life is like after death. Some say we return as something else, reincarnation. Some say we move on to a paradise of sorts. Some believe that nothing happens at all, that once you breathe your last breath, it's all over. Then there are those, like me, who believe in a Heaven and a Hell. Lately, however, many questions have been weighing heavily on my mind. Some say Hell is filled with fire, the darkest flame, burning into the pitch black hollows. Some say Hell is dark and the demons lurk in the corners, tearing at one's inner-being. Some people say there is endless pain and one's ears will bleed from the never-ceasing blood-curdling screams of agony. But me?  I think Hell is awfully quiet right now, black and empty, because all of the devils are here, on Earth. Adhering to Satan's demands. Demons lurk in the shadows of this world. Anywhere and everywhere they can. Ever-present in our every-day lives. Every aspect has been contaminated by these moral-less, heart-less beasts. Relationships between parents and children, boyfriends and girlfriends, husbands and wives, friends to friends...contaminated by wandering hearts and wandering eyes. Ripped at the seams by soul-less beings waiting for someone to destroy. Hell is everywhere. Those killing others, cheating, stealing, all these shameful acts make this place a dark hell itself. Some say it gets worse than this...and I suppose that's true, I just can't imagine any place darker, scarier, lonelier, and more painful than the hell created on Earth.

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