Indulging myself in a depressing rant/breakdown- for all of you wondering 'why I try so hard'

My mom was kind of a slacker in high school. She dropped geometry and took Home Ec. Yet, she has a full time job. My dad didn't even earn a diploma, though if he would have he would have been an English major.
I say What The Heck.
Maybe it's just my over-achieving self talking, but I can't imagine throwing my future up to fate like that, hoping I get lucky. Hoping I marry a rich man who also has a nice personality.
It's really fear that makes me an 'over-achiever.' Everyone is talking about The Economy and The Recession, The Unemployment Rate and how it's so high these days no one can get a job unless they have 'connections' or if they 'get lucky'. I'm afraid of failure.
All the 'grown-ups' are warning the Students Of Today to make 'good choices' because You Are Going To Regret It So Hard Later In Life If You Don't. They are practically threatening us with horrid, homeless futures if we don't strive to be The Very Best in not just any career we have an interest in, but specific careers that are 'in demand' for members of this young, 'tech-savvy' generation.
The message is being received loud and clear, my friends. Decoded and stripped to the bare truths, the message is that unless we treat all others who excel as our rivals and try to beat them (particularly in the math, science and 'computer stuff you kids are so good at'- supposedly...I recently convinced myself that I needed to learn css and html code, just so I could add it to my resume, just in case. If you aren't good at those, have fun being unemployed) we will fail, at every aspect in life, and we will not survive in the world come graduation. From a University or technical school. Many *politicians* have spoken about the truth that "there are no longer any jobs for anyone who has 'just' a high school diploma- none."
I get it. If I don't go to college, I will die or live off welfare for my entire life. So I'll go to college. But I can't just go to any college, university or technical school. I have to go to a *good* school, an *expensive* school. Not only that, but it is now harder to get into even the state universities, because everyone is competing *so hard* to be the Best Of The Best Of The Best because they're told if they don't they will fail.
Yes, I am afraid of failure. Not in everyday life, thankfully, I don't think. Just in the future, being a failure. What if I choose The Wrong Career? The Wrong School? The Wrong Major? and I end up looking in the classifieds, desperately, scanning for something that I'm qualified for *and* that pays more than minimum wage? I'm going to need some way to pay off student debt that I will surely have. Will I be able to graduate even when I can't afford to take classes, even though I can't afford *not* to take classes, in the long run?

I'm 17 and a half years old and I'm thinking about how I will ever afford to retire. Thanks to all the adults that have made that possible with your lectures and so-called motivational speeches. Oh, I feel absolutely no pressures from My Elders and The Rest Of Society whatsoever- except all of it that's telling me that I will fail at life if I don't beat everyone else to success.

Impact

When a droplet becomes a wave-
When a tree becomes a forest-
When one becomes a thousand-
When a freak becomes the norm-
is that when we start to care?

When it's made cost effective-
When it's made convenient-
When it's made mainstream-
When it's made easy-
is that when we step in to help?

Try to get up,
try to help...
but energy is hard to find these days,
and no one is watching-
So what's the point?

To help
The single droplet?
The lonely tree?

Thoughtexplosion

BOOM! goes the dynamite inside my head
bigger than anything I'll ever dread
all the thoughtbuildings destroyed and thoughtanimals dead
thoughtrecovery teams handing out bread
to the thoughtvictims that so badly bled
protecting my thought treasures and memories instead
of taking shelter where explosive thoughts did not tread
good thing my most precious memories were encompassed in thoughtlead
because everything else has been destroyed just by having been said.

The Great Pacific

There's nothing quite as refreshing as feeling small..
A smooth rushing wave spreads towards you and everything else that's near, the sand beneath your toes stretches farther than you've ever been able to see before and you can't hear your company calling, who has shrunk with distance, shouting, trying to be heard over the crashing and rolling, in a world too vast and open to be concerned with things like sandy toes and pant legs dripping from water that unexpectedly rose too high. They don't mean a thing.

You step in and feel the pressure on your shins, pushing you back, pulling you in. In the end it doesn't matter which way you go.

You know you'll end up like the sea shells, washed up on shore, or what's left of them, broken into pieces, some so tiny they could end up as slivers in your sandy feet. The massive tide finally wore them out, and it was sudden, as you can plainly see when you pick up the triangular bits of remains.

But then, for a moment, you feel big again, at least compared to the broken shells. You must be more worthy of surviving than them, you think. Shells merely contain life whereas you are life, right? Is a body better than a shell?

And you feel small once more, watching the sun set. What light there is left illuminates still so much of a something that you wouldn't be able count in pounds or meters or single entities of other sorts. There is no measurement for beauty. It's everywhere, and you want to touch everything so that it may stay with you even when you're gone, or that maybe you'll have the honor of being able to stay with it.

But you feel as if you're not even there to begin with, such is your impermanence. Every footstep lasts but a few seconds on the shoreline. However, you are also glad that some things remain untouched and that some actions (however small) really have no consequences, no impact, and no trace whatsoever. This feeling brings a whole new meaning to having the weight of the world lifted off of your shoulders.

There's something freeing in being small. And yet, you are like the one shell that remans intact when the tide crashes in so violently and disrupts your peace, time after time. You see the others crack and shatter, the ones who could not wthstand its mighty power, but you stay strong, as small as you are, because as meak of a purpose as it seems, you can provide a shelter to life even more vulnerable than yourself. Your shell may be crushedeventually, but it's okay. You don't matter but for the life inside of you.

Storm

I here you coming, see the sun flee,
and it's dark when it's not supposed to be
I feel disappointment, lethargy,
and anxiousness for what soon will be

Now it's falling, pouring down,
little, sharp, stabbing the ground
Now, after silence, the air fills with sound,
while puddles form on the ground

I'm waiting so impatiently,
taking it out on those closest to me
I'm watching the storm enviously
its rage produces life, unlike me.

Love & Acceptance Go Hand In Hand

To a special someone who has found a special someone: Don't give up. Don't let them wear you down. You're not alone.

So beautiful, blue- and green-eyed
baseball cap and curls walking side by side,
fighting, fingers intertwined, holding hands
proudly wearing invisible rainbow bands
they use their love to fight this war,
ironic, it's also what they're fighting for.
One brushes a lock out of the other's face,
how are they different from the rest of our race?
make-up on all four eyelids,
why does this mean they shouldn't have kids?
judgement is a risk they take
for a better future's sake.
I don't want their strength to wear down
before they can both go shopping for wedding gowns
but they are still so criticized,
and I thought more people had realized
that hate is useless, love is the key
for any kind of family.

Wide-Ruled Paper

I feel so little writing on
wide-ruled paper,
because it makes me forget how
old I've gotten,
like I'm just learning how to scrawl between
over-sized lines,
funny, they're starting to look smaller.

Now I'm going back to using
colorful crayons,
or maybe my hands are covered in
finger paint,
regardless, I'm not using a
No. 2 Pencil,
or if I am you can be sure I'm unaware of it.

You know, time travel doesn't always require
a time machine,
I'm not going faster than
the speed of light,
I can just sit in a chair and scribble
on wide-ruled paper,
or color with markers outside the lines.

I wouldn't go back in time to
change anything,
I'm strong enough to live with
my own mistakes,
but changing and reliving the past
are two different things,
and just reliving it makes boring science fiction.

But so what if no one else cares about
my memories,
and so what if my memory might have
tweaked events,
I'm just learning how to scrawl between
over-sized lines,
funny, they're starting to look smaller...

My Box

NEW POST
^ ya, I know, right? Haven't done one of these in a WHILE. I could make various excuses, but the truth is I just haven't felt like typing stuff up. I have written things, but most are...how you say...crap. here's something that I don't think is crap.

Fear.
Anger.
Insecurity.
Claustrophobia creeping through my veins,
Didn't know I had claustrophobia...
These walls, this box, only I can see it.
I built it myself,
with no help
from anyone...
No one else to blame.
It only took 15 years. Do you like it?
That side is fear.
It traps me, keeps me thinking I'm
comfortable enough where I am,
more comfortable than I would be out there-
out of my box,
where I can see no comfort,
because my wall of fear is in my way...
The one across from it is anger.
Anger shuts the sunlight out, keeps me in the dark.
Isolates me.
Makes me believe I want to be isolated.
Fools me into believing that I'm elevated.
Behind me is Insecurity.
Oh, it's also in front.
Can't move backward because of expectations,
can't move forward because 'average' has limitations,
and we all want to be average right? Normal...
So what's keeping me from climbing over these walls, overcoming,
abandoning insecurity, anger, fear, and just running?
Well, I'll tell you,
there's a heavy cover on top of my box that keeps me here,
One I just can't lift.
Many call it ignorance.
I call it a ton because its weight on my shoulders is
roughly that of 2,000 pounds...
But hope is not quite entirely lost,
I hear there's a key somewhere,
legend has it, to my box.
Goes by the name of
Knowledge. Experience. Awareness.
Something like that, I don't know.
I hear it's beautiful, fits any lock,
could free anyone and everyone all at once.
I would look for it, i would, we all would, I know it.
Trouble is we're all trapped inside our own box.

the bus ride II, prologue to 'the amabassador'

still not done with The Ambassador, turns out it's a bit more complicated than I thought. but hey, im getting some free-verse practice in, so there is that upside.

As if he can't possibly contain himself any longer,
a man on the bus shouts,
"My wife had a baby last night! I'm a father!"
 The bus stops and an older man gives the new father
a congratulating pat on the back on his way out.
Calls of 'Congratulations!' and 'Boy or girl?'
emit from throughout the bus crowd.
 "A boy, a little boy. Full head of hair,
most powerful blue eyes you ever saw."
Every word is soaked with pride.
"aww," and "oh how cute" echo throughout the bus,
mainly from the women,
but when they die down it's silent again.
except for the engine of the bus,
the metallic sigh of the doors opening and shutting.
The new father fidgets for a few minutes more,
his mood finally settling with the rest of the passengers,
and I wonder,
was that really all the reaction he would get?

the bus ride I, prologue to 'the ambassador'

The Ambassador will be on that new page u see at the top there in a bit. im still working on it. it's an experiment with blogger's new gadget, mainly. since im working on a story thingy-ma-jig, i thought i'd try it out.


Hesitant, inquiring,
you sit down next to me,
cross your legs self-consciously,
pulling at your skirt.
I can tell you're different
because most girls around here wouldn't bother
being self-conscious with those kinds of legs.
They'd wear a shorter skirt than yours,
and be more than comfortable.
I know you're different
not only because I know everyone else on the route,
but also because you're so obviously
so uncomfortably
out of place.

4-inch heels

Ya, I can walk in heels,
I can look nice, I can look 'sexy,'
I can do both at once if I want to
but I'm not that girl

in all those movies that are so-
so testosterone fueled,
fighting monsters, warriors, criminals, ninjas,
climbing mountains, swimming rushing rivers,

skydiving,
without ever smudging her make-up
and all in 4-inch heels.
-How does she do that anyway?- -Hush, I want to watch the movie!-

This is my favorite part.
The heroin isn't on screen,
she's re-applying her mascara
from that last scene of dramatic heartbreak.

Her love interest plays the muscle and she plays the brains,
but my favorite role
is the handsome cynic who provides the comic relief
from the brave, roller-coasting, sweet romance.

But in the end he, too, follows the mysterious and alluring stranger
in the tight black dress
and the 4-inch heels.
-how does she do that anyway?-

Stories

If I were a zombie,
and I ate brains like cake,
I would no doubt eat your brain
because your knowledge would fill me up.

it would fill me up for years
and you would save the whole world.
With your brains in my stomach,
everyone else's would be safe.

If you were a King,
I guess I wouldn't be surprised.
Or maybe a Prime Minister or a President
because you're not bossy like a King is.

In fact I know I'd vote for you,
because I know you understand me,
and that's what people look for in politicians.
That and whether or not they're a good orator.

If dragons came between us,
and we each had a sword,
we'd charge right through them all
and we'd meet in the middle of all the gore

Yea, I think it's romantic,
if, I admit, a bit strange,
but when fighting dragons and zombie attacks
the problem is you don't have time for much else.

If all the stories were real,
all the books, movies, and plays,
everything would be different,
except the way I feel about you.

But I wouldn't notice one thing out of place,
not the zombies, kings, or dragons.
As long as you were in my story,
nothing else would really matter.

What's Real?

Have to do a project on the poet William Carlos Williams [funny name, huh?] and thought I'd try and write something in his style. Key word: 'try'.

alone, wide awake
there's a monster!
under the bed!

wait, it's just a toy,
casting a shad-
ow on the wall

but the fear was real
and the blankets
thin though they are,

offer safety like
that of maybe
fifty soldiers

Not Yet, Please

my feet are shivering
they remind me that I don't want to leave here
without you

my vision's fading
there's nothing else I can see with these old eyes
besides you

my voice is shaking
'good-bye' are not the words I really want to
say to you

my life is ending
but there are still so many things I want to
do with you

Eg. 'stairway to heaven'

i climb each stair
one by one
i am not scared
i will not run

this stairway it
never ends
the passage lit,
it never bends

and at the top
i will see
life does not stop
life still will be

i can't go back
can't go down
i run this track
to which i'm bound

i do not stop
i don't rest
must reach the top
to stop is death

each step i take
some strength goes
till my legs break
and my breath slows

until that end
i will climb
we all die, friend
but there's still time

Genocide

Off in the distance
an alarming sight was seen
curious, strange,
what could it mean?

a People, nervous,
think this can't be good
they would have surrendered
if they believed they could

the invaders invaded
no one was spared
when they begged for mercy
none of them cared

a People despairing
but some still have hope
some try to resist
it's just how they cope

one by one
the brave will fall
enduring, fighting
warriors all

a People dying
ceasing to exist
while to their destroyers,
they're just a check on the list

I Can't Look at Photographs Anymore and it's Your Fault

Don't tell me you're frozen
Move for me, but please don't leave
I don't take photographs for granted
I just think you're not as photogenic as you think

You're smiling for the camera
I wish you were smiling here, still
You look so fake I just can't stand it
You're more real in person than you are on film

It's made me hate the pictures
taped up and framed on all my walls
Why do I have them in the first place?
They're just reminders and excuses for all my falls

So don't tell me you're frozen
Jump out of the picture, talk to me
I don't take photographs for granted
I had just hoped in vain that you'd never leave me.

Broken Alive by the Common Beast

I try to fight but I am weak
I try to yell but I can't speak
it's a safe-house that I seek
when it's hunger is at it's peak

From the pits of Hell it comes
'I want you Broken' I hear it hums
It's chest lacks the beating sound of drums
While my heart too, it nearly numbs

And my fingers start to shake
if only more time I could make
I beg 'Don't destroy me for God's sake!'
but it's my soul it wants to take

it's victims broken, they confide,
they are immobile, they didn't hide
and they're still hanging on for the ride
I could not save them, though I tried

No where on Earth is there a place
where I would never see it's face
it can now too easily keep pace
I think I'm through running this race

And after all my pain and strife
it comes and stabs me with a knife
I cannot go back to my life
Yet the regrets I have they are not rife

This rabid Beast that I speak of
it's disguise is like a dove
but don't believe it's from above
this savage monster we call Love

The Pearl Thief

How I want to speak loud, to be honest and proud
but my voice has less substance than that of a cloud
Believe me I'd tell you, if I only had your ear
I'd end the curse that befell you, if only you could hear

My pleads, my cries, whatever I do,
are all lost in the winds, they never reach you
Your will is strong, my words are weak
I'm mute when I try and say "I know what you seek"

You glide and swirl, all over the world
looking for your most sacred pearl
Listen to me: end your unavailing quest
I know where your pearl is, I admit it's I that knows best

I want to repent, after all the time you've spent
searching for your pearl, such harm I never meant.
A man's most valuable treasure, that's the pearl that I claim
it's your heart that you measure, though Pearl Thief is my name

Lost and empty, you're a cloud roaming the world
still searching for your most precious pearl
Always you look, if only you knew
it was I that took your pearly heart from you

The Skeletons in My Closet Are Braver Than Me

if my closet could speak
oh the things it would say
all my secrets revealed,
all my misdeeds explained

would my closet be granted
a mouth to make human sounds
the words could condemn,
my sentence would be profound

if my closet had audience
it's door opened to all
my failures, an exhibit,
skeletons hang from its walls

if it gained judges' ears
the verdict would not be delayed
if skeletons' jargon were made clear,
my fate would seal, I'm afraid.

if my skeletons escaped
havoc would toy with my mind
my sub-conscious raped,
never peace would I find

but my closet is shut
hid where no one can find
and I just don't have the gut
to let you trespass in my mind