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| 111308on the thirteenth day
of each of the last eleven months
all it ever does is rain.
and my god, as cliche as it sounds,
when it rains, it really fucking pours.
ever since I heard the news
on that cold winter afternoon
all I ever feel is your pain.
looking back I wish I could've saved you,
could've somehow taken it all away.
just one more month
'til a full year's gone by and
all you ever do is whisper.
I hear your whisper in my ears, guiding me,
helping keep that promise we made to you.
I've come so far from where I was
but still so often I regress,
all I've ever known is the pain,
the very same hurt that took your life
the same pain that stole you away.
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| I'm not quite who I used to be
I'm not really around as much as you need
I'll never be who you want again
you've noticed a change in me and so have I.
in response, in retaliation
to the walls I'm bound within
I have to break free in one way or another
I won't be around when you need me.
my ears won't be so open for you,
I won't listen.
I'll be too busy to come back
and save you.
preoccupied with my internal revolution
my personal growth and desire
to change the world around me,
to break down the walls surrounding me.
I can't save you
when I'm trying to save the world.
I can't save myself.
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| I am split into thirds. I guess they symbolize each phase of myself as I go on throughout my life, as I'm growing.
First, there is Chelsea. I've been Chelsea my whole life. Chelsea is nothing I want to be anymore. Chelsea is sheltered, disciplined, terrified. Chelsea is emotionally unstable. Chelsea is that young girl inside of me that I just want to rid myself of, I want to rip her face off. I'm not Chelsea anymore. I'm breaking away.
Then, of course, there's Chaos. Chaos evolved from Chelsea. Chaos is terribly unstable, but in touch with the world. Chaos is harsh. Chaos has always lacked that mental filter... anything I think, I say. Chaos is a real bitch. While self-disciplined, Chaos yearns to incite a riot. A mental riot, maybe. But Chaos is immature. Chaos is in that teenage "I-hate-everything" phase.
Lastly, there's Rose. Rose is an entirely different can of worms. Rose is a woman. Though I'm 17, I dissociate from the teenage population. I isolate myself, because Rose is not a part of my natural generation. Rose is probably a more mature, intellectual, experienced version of Chaos. Rose is completely in love, I but can stand on my own. Rose is a lot more mild-mannered, but opinionated. Rose, in ever the nonchalant manner, isn't afraid to call you out on hypocrisy or corruption. Rose is calm. Rose is free from society's cage.
Call me Rose.
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| Raccoon Eyeshumming buzzing of voices too loud to hear
squealing of another young blond
clad in what everyone else is wearing,
'cause she's so unique;
her raccoon eyes lit up in laughter.
I want to start up a motherfucking pit.
right here in this crowded hallway
in this packed-tight cafeteria.
start up a fucking pit,
start a fucking riot.
fall down and you'll be brought to your feet
only to face a fist flying at your jaw
growling and roaring fills your ears
beats in your mind, beats in your soul,
flow through your body
chanting
fists pumping
flying
you're flying.
-
because I'm always imagining what it'd be like to start up a pit in my school.
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| Joan Didion/IQ83in your proudest stupor
looking down upon those you deem unintelligent
credentials are impressive, are they not?
you go flash around your degree from Berkeley
your seemingly complex phrasing
over the top and pretentious
"freezing" the "shifting phantasmagoria"
you create such "disparate images"
supposedly to depict real life
in your exposition essays
your unimpressive strings of words.
not yet even out of high school
and twice a published poet
(though you'll never find those,
I'm not quite so proud)
go on and wave your credentials high
like your precious assholeamerican flag.
I'll tear it out of your hands
unravel the threads that hold you together
and burn everything
throw the ashes into your eyes.
try to freeze your shifting phantasmagoria now.
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because Joan Didion doesn't impress me.
and IQ83 is just a really fuckin sweet novel.
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