*smiles* I remember him more vividly than almost anything before 2nd grade. He lived down the street from me... Media Drive, I suppose it was, as he said. I was in kindergarten, and he was in first grade. He knew how to skate and I didn't; I thought he was the coolest person in the world. I took ballet, he took martial arts, his mom or grandmom (I ( Read more... )

Some poetry written by myself, Tina, Hope, Matt, and Joey. Product of the first meeting of NIBS.

Heavy-smelling speckled banana ( Read more... )

So I'm writing an essay again and this time it's about a group of friends... and instead of actually writing the paper, now I'd like to write some fictional stories about our "characters" (those who know, think about the birth of Death). Any one of you guys opposed to me horribly mutilating your alter egos? Anyone have any little things about their ( Read more... )

oh--!! and my letter to the hattiesburg american editor was published on wednesday!! :)

EDIT:

Linkage! http://hattiesburgamerican.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20050316/OPINION03/503160326/1014/NEWS17

Early 1991, six years old
I have stitches in my thumb now. In my right thumb. I asked Mommy if I could keep them in until Daddy gets home from Saudi Arabia, and she laughed. I didn't understand why. They are so pretty! Blue is my favorite color, and that's what color they are ( Read more... )

84 degrees... a pleasure after such a long winter... wind whipping around my head and lifting the brim of my hat as I walk out of the door. vibrant colors making life whole again, a last meal with friends, loving the moment for just what it is. Quiet, anxiously waiting the night and its dawn. Open-window-sleeping, lullabyes drifting on the wind ( Read more... )

with sweet pink strawberry letters
i write my truth
while quietly speaking my lies

something gentle, spreading
on a mindnight summer's breeze
unnameable, intangible
the mourning of a dove
who in the dawning, finds her joy

~*~

fly me on your angel's wings
to the dream-land where we meet
covered in a shroud of hope
soft as any monarch's sheet

links in a list of lovers
leading on like a chain of liars
with lyres
their musical promises
ringing falsely in my listening ear

Love, but in a surer sense
More than just a game
Love that cannot hide itself
Beneath the cold of pain
Simple, and yet powerful
Searing, pleasant flame.