a pair of poems to wear to your birthday party

1.

i don't trust new york city

it's full of plastic trees

and propaganda

telling you to

fall in love

with the god damn place

and forcing you

to swallow

woody allen's

cultural ejaculate;

because the semen's

seemingly sane

this illusion is america's birthday present

to you

2.

when i met you for the first time

you asked: are we in love yet?

i couldn't help but dog-ear your

autobiography at all the pages

you mentioned me-

and i think there are ghosts sleeping

in joe's new apartment in ohio

and i walked the 170 miles

just to stand outside his door

where the cotton fell like snow

and i wished it was the winter

(it was winter when we met)

two more poems

to jack merriweather (A Friend I Have Lost)
if reincarnation
exists-
i will visit you
every day
of my lives.

to elaine
i didn't write this
for you
i only thought
of you
while writing
the title

Another Sunny Day

And I made it out alive! Day 4 of Hell Week has passed, and I am about to luxuriously partake in reading smutty fanfiction as my reward for my victories today. As you know, my 10 minute speech and AP Exam were today. Though I don't know my grades for either yet, I know I did well. My speech made people laugh, which was the focus, and I had numerous of my comrades vote for me for Speaker of the Day. My only fear is that I glanced at my script too much. At 12 I started my exam, and I found it surprisingly easy. I finished 30 minutes ago, and I'm exhausted, so after this post I am headed to the comfort of my bed, whom I have had intimate relations with very sparsely this week.
Tomorrow I have my Organic Chemistry test and Chapter 11 test in Algebra II.
Enough of school.

Yesterday evening, I fell in love with Allen Ginsberg. I have always really admired/appreciated his poetry, and have been a  huge fan, but it's become frightening how much I like him. I listened to him read his poems over and over, and the more I listened to America the more I felt this feeling for Ginsberg and it's indescribable but I physically felt a Thing. And then of course I started to brood over the fact that he is dead,  and I'll never be able to meet him for coffee, or listen to him speak, or accidentally brush against the middle of his back.
That's when I discovered that I am only capable of loving dead people. And that hurts.

I'm swimming in the shallow end of the shit now and maybe tomorrow I'll come out clean.

Cheers !

The Te of Who?

Today was the last day of Philosophy club. Our meetings are weekly, every Wednesday, and we usually gather in an empty room and discuss a previously posed question. Some memorable topics have been the basis of morals, astral projection, and even time travel. For our last meeting we talked about taoism, and read from Tao Te Ching, as well as The Te of Pooh, which is a book written by Benjamin Hoff analyzing taoism through Winnie The Pooh (it's a fantastic read).
Our discovery of taoism proved to be vague and contradictory, especially toward what the Tao was. It had the same descriptions as the entity of God; through words such as immeasurable or unknowable. I guess I found myself thinking if we cannot measure or know, than what is the point? However, the Tao isn't a being or entity, it's just there, and you follow it. Taoism stresses the act of not acting and understand yourself as a lifestyle. Or way of life. Or: The Way.

"When nothing is done, nothing is left undone.” 

Next year Jack, Ryan, and I are running Philosophy club as a triple entity, as our former leader(s) are graduating. We'll be Christ-like. (jokes)


In other news, I performed my speech in English and it was, to say the least, incredible.
Some reviews:

That was really really really really good, Sarah. - Noah

10/10 - New York Times 

Two thumbs down. - Owen Wilson 

Yours was really good. It actually made sense. - Jose

You did really well. - Katie

*impressed glare* - Different Katie

I didn't practice in any way, so that was again an interesting accomplishment as an underachiever. I'm trying to defuse the self-loathing by embracing the cocky life. It hasn't gotten me very far. Tomorrow is my oral interpretation speech, where I will be performing Mike Birbiglia's "Sleepwalk With Me" in his book Sleepwalk With Me: And Other Painfully True Stories, and AP Euro exam.
We're halfway through the week. I'm going to try and keep my chin up in this pool of shit so maybe I'll be able to see if Ryan visits.


Also, if you live in Ohio, there is the monthly Beehive Coffee House June 5th, in which poets and musicians perform, and there is an open mic afterward! It's 3 hours away from where I live, so I might be there for the open mic. One of my favorite poets/bloggers, John Burroughs, will be there, if that interests you. It should be fun.

Cheers !

Untitled #3

I woke up at 5 a.m.
To work on my home
Work but instead I
Woke up at 5 a.m.
And wrote a poem
And I read what you
Sent me and I didn't
Smile, but I seemed
To feel Important
In the world and so I
Said all those
Nice things to you
About meaning
In a meaningless
Existence
And I mean it
And I'll rot
Under the ground
When I die
Meaning it

two poems

seemingly related

it's 3 am
and i think i'm
braiding
the loose ends
of the universe
with my calloused
finger tips
and i think it's my
special skill
the one know one knows
but me
and probably
you
i'm working like
a chinese spinstress
and i've spun
a cocoon
made with just enough
room
for the two of us
just in case you
change your mind
about that whole
entropy thing

i'm writing this
with my eyes
half open and
my skull half
broken and
full of flowers-
because i never
let go of the ones
i brought to your
mother's funeral
where you read
the poem that you
wrote for her
not about death
or dying
but longing;
and i hate your mom
for fucking taking
those pills, i hate
myself for puking
during the
burial-
because
death
upsets
me
and i'm
addressing more
than one issue
but both have something
to do with the fact
that i'm selfish and
i forgot
your birthday,
happy birthday
i miss you

Feels Good:

In Loving Memory of Ulysses Hauer

I fall in love
With anyone that touches me
With kindness
And I told them
To keep the window open
The last night.

There's always a stage
Where you believe
Another person's life
Is ornamental enough
To hang-
Yet we hang ourselves
Instead.


I fell in love with
The CFO of my company;
He saw me before
And he saw me after
The cancer
And he
Held me like a baby
And I cried
In his arms
And he held his face
To mine;
I thought he was crying,
Too.
Three hours later
He had glass shards
In his skull, and I had the
Memory
Of his beard
Against my cheek.

~
I am not a disease
I was not a disease
I am a disease

~

And so I fall in love
With the wind;
Who tenderly brushes
My face,
And I pine for death;
Who wraps her full
Arms around me and
Softly takes me
Home.
And it feels
Good.