Shake the Dust.

This is for anyone that has ever been a prisoner. Prisoner of war. State Prisoner. Prisoner of Azkaban. This is for anyone that has ever been a prisoner to their lack of self confidence. A prisoner to their own fear.

Shake the dust.

This is for the children. The child that got adopted, but for the rest of his life felt like something was missing. This is for the boring twin sister. The kids that never had a chance.

Shake the dust.

This is for the books that don't get read. The ones that are judged by their covers. This is for the bookworms that can lock themselves in between 2 shelves all day without anyone noticing them. For the people that need an escape.

Shake the dust.

This is for the weary. The Abandoned.

Shake the dust.

This is for the mother that has lost a son in a war. This is for the single mother that works day after day to provide for her kids. This is for the father who waits by the door for hours because he is worried about his daughter on her first date.

Shake the dust.

This is for the lonely. The addicts. For the addicts that are always one fix away from quitting. One more. One more. One more... This is for the older brother that's got too much pride to come home. This is for the attention seekers. This is for the kid that is always at the back of the line because his name is Zack Zimmerman.

Shake the dust.Wake up.Take your life back.Say you're sorry.Quit.Don't Quit.Open your eyes.

The longer you wait the more dust you will have to shake...shake...shake out of your system.

This is for the three year old girl that has let go of her balloon, and will regret it for the rest of the day.

This is for the people that want to give up. Don't.
You will regret it even more than the balloon.
This is for you.
Shake. The. Dust. 
 

Gandhi

I keep forgetting to write my blog posts..
These small tasks hide in the cobwebs of my mind
I keep forgetting to remember
An idea cannot grow in a dusty attic
An idea does not belong in the box of memories that aren't remembered
When will we own ourselves completely?
When may I recall my own thoughts back where they belong?
When may I have the ability to sort them through...
Ideas will grow...or will be carried up the creaky wooden stairs to be forgotten
So I open up my laptop and let the bright screen burn my tired eyes
I promise myself this will be the end of my procrastination
But tonight is not the last time I'll see the light...

Complaints

I am tired. I'm tired of working hard day after day without it paying off. I'm tired of going through the motions of life and feeling like there is no point. No reward. I'm tired of missing my family. I'm tired of walking down the halls of school and being shoved around. I'm tired of not having a say. Not having a voice. Not having a presence. I'm tired of snow. I'm tired of cold....because really, it's almost April. I'm tired of being made to look like the bad guy. I'm so tired of fake people. Two-faced smiles. Venom stares.  I'm tired of old best friends that I hardly recognize anymore. I'm tired of feeling tired. I'm tired of people asking me whats wrong just to know, not because they genuinly care. I'm tired of girls being obsessed with Justin Bieber. Honestly, he is just a teenage boy. Not a God. I'm tired of "That's what she said". I'm tired of the radio playing the same songs over and over again. I'm not tired of sarcasm at all. I'm tired of the lack of innocence.I'm tired of Distrust. Suspicion. Corruption. I'm tired of feeling like a tiny person in a huge world. I'm tired of...hesitation. I'm tired of not making a difference. I'm tired of all of the people in the world that dont truly understand what it means to be tired.

Love

Love is is a kiss on the forehead every morning. A whisper. Love is the key to a safe place. Love is holding the door open for them. Leaving a card next to their bed just to let them know that they are appreciated. Love is a Saturday afternoon. Love is carrying your fallen teammate across the finish line. Love is a room with white walls, and a brand new package of sharpies. Would you stay up all night with me if I were sick? If I were in pain, would you wish it upon yourself instead? You are my friend, and I love you. When you are sad my heart aches for you to feel better. You are my husband, and I love you. I wait by the window every night until I see your car pull into the driveway. You are my mother, and I love you. I travel 4 hours every weekend to see you so you don't miss me when I am off at college. Love is so different for everyone, Yet almost the same. You are a stranger, and I love you. I give up some of my luxuries so that you can eat tonight. Love is April, May, and June. Love is Knowledge. A blank page and an inspired mind. Love is donating and organ to someone whose life depends on it. Love is opening your heart to someone who needs a friend. Love is running into a burning building for someone you don't even know. Love is giving up your dream so that they can have all of theirs come true. Love is a half remembered dream. Love is rocking your baby to sleep every night at least three times a  night. Love is never giving up.

Memories...

   A sea of black suits and dresses gathered near the entrance to the church. Even though my hand was clamped tightly to my brothers palm, I remember being afraid of losing him in the crowd. We stopped every once in a while and I looked up at the sad faces above me. We squeezed through two ladies who were talking about life and things that I couldn't comprehend.
 
   The sea of black started to part as people began to find their seats. I kept hearing whispers like "So young....too young..."  and words that I didn't understand like "tragedy". Before I could give them too much thought, I was pulled forward. My mother appeared as the two dark suits moved out of my line of vision. She was sitting on a pew to my left, her eyes blankly stared ahead as if she didn't even notice me standing 3 feet away. I took slow dragging steps towards that sad face that was always hardest for me to see.
She sat straight and cold, patting her tears away with an already damp handkerchief. She gripped that handkerchief so tightly in her shaking hands...
 
   It was so strange for me to see this. Usually the situation was reversed, I cried, and mom would comfort me. I was growing more and more confused. I was only six after all. My mind couldn't come up with any answers that day. I'd like to say that I had said something innocent and cute, or something somewhat wise for my young age. I'd like to say that I even said anything at all. No. Even now, 11 years later, this thing called death confuses me.

   There are some times in life when there is simply nothing to say. Apparently I learned this early on, because not one sound came out of me. I just sat there. Lips tightly sealed. Eyes straight ahead. Shuffling uncomfortably in my itchy, black, funeral dress.

Boulevard of Broken Dreams

I walk alone. I walk alone. Deserted hopes fill my deserted streets. Blank walls. Empty stone buildings. Words that taunt me. 'It might have been'.
The bold red letters sink into my mind and cast a shadow over the battered remnants of my dreams. 

I walk alone.

Uneven sidewalks are lined with broken cars. The brick walks are so cracked and brittle that if I sneezed they would crumble down.
High above are billboards that will never hold messages. Down below, a girl that will never amount. Never change the world.

I walk alone.

Flapping feathers fly over my Boulevard of Broken Dreams. They are free to break out of this prison. Laugh at the fact that I will never be able to.
I will never escape these empty streets. I will never release the regret that drags behind me like an anvil. Never will I clear the taste of rust and sorrow from my lips. Never hear footsteps softly make their way toward me.... Because I walk alone.

I walk alone.

The shame of my failure is my own.

I'm Thinking About You...

I'm thinking about you. I'm thinking about you like cats think about the yarn-ball after it rolls under the couch. I'm thinking about you like pens think about words. Like bees think about birds. I'm thinking about you like wind thinks about chimes. Like rappers think about rhymes. Like clocks think about time. I am thinking about you like Oregon thinks about rain. Like surfers think about waves. I'm thinking about you like sheets think about bed bugs. I'm thinking about you like pepper thinks about salt. Like basketballs think about asphalt. I am thinking about you like tears think about handkerchiefs. I'm thinking about you like deaf people think about music. Like mice think about cheese. Like little kids think about mac and cheese. I'm thinking about you like porches think about welcome mats.  Like crayons think about coloring books. I'm thinking about you like couches think about swallowing keys. Like criminals think about plea's. I'm thinking about you like cameras think about memories. Like books think about being read. I'm thinking about you like before thinks about after. I'm thinking about you like brains think about thinking. Like staring contests think about blinking. I am THINKING....THINKing... Thinking...about you. I am thinking about you like I don't ever want to think about anyone else but you.

Direct Orders

You are under direct orders to rock out.

Rock out like you just got the best parking spot
Like you've just been kissed
Like you slept in this morning
Rock out like its friday, and you've got big plans
Like your song just came on
Rock out like you just made it through that yellow traffic light
Like you're wearing your favorite color
Like you have no responsibility
Rock out like you just stood up for yourself
Like you just won the third round of Rock, Paper, Scissors
Like you scored the winning goal
Rock out like you just found a dollar in the gutter
Like you just punched someone who deserved it
Rock out like a six year old on a sugar high
Rock out like you just got accepted
Like you're in love
Rock out like you just got an A+ on that paper
Like you've got a full tank of gas and nothin but road ahead of you
Rock out like you have a gold star sticker next to your name
Rock out like it's your last day as a kid
Like it's your last day as an adult
Rock out like your future is ahead of you and you don't wanna face it
Rock out like you never knew what rocking out really was.... until now

Introduction

    Hey! Welcome to my blog! I am starting this for my creative writing class and I have never done anything like this before! So buckle up! Here it goes.
  
    Rainy Nights, Starry Days. I bet the title I chose has you a little bit confused. Unless of course you're  a crazy mind ninja that knows everything! If not, Lemme explain. As strange or random as this might seem to you, I do my best thinking on rainy nights and also while daydreaming. My deeper thoughts really flourish around then. I don't exactly know why. Maybe I've just got nothing better to do. Maybe it's because I can't sleep during a storm, or because I'm too bored to concentrate in math. Whatever the reasons, it works for me. So here I am. 3:52am. Typing away until the rain decides to stop pattering on my window. Finally writing my introduction.