Boston, oh I love that dirty water

Boston today with mom and Christine. We took the Amtrack! So wonderfull!! I want to get lost in the woods tomorrow. I just want to keep walking and keep turning different directions until I have no sence of north south east or west. then i want to find my way back.


i want to be free from all of this stuff! I want me myself and I (and possibl jenny).

teotw

The End of the World

Truth was a display composed of the world’s warped morals, cruelty, and selfishness. Humanity tried to ignore Truth and pushed it far away until Truth felt completely neglected. It had nowhere to show itself so all the Truths of the world joined forces and grew stronger than the human race. This new and powerful Truth was ready for revenge.

The girl was at the store, indulging in society’s addiction to superficial accommodations, mistaken for necessities. She was pressing her palms against Egyptian cotton sheets, cashmere garments, romancing with consumerism.
Truth was angry and dormant like the grass iced by winter’s breath. Truth was bitter. It took the girl’s hollow heart. Her corrupt mind. Her ignorant soul. It destroyed her. It took her entire existence, not like evaporation. It took her entire existence, leaving traces of condensation.
Truth flew east and west and over the Cuckoo’s Nest punishing all the people with distorted views of happiness. Millions of bodies fell to the earth as a dull gray powder. Truth’s anger left traces of rage in its footprints that combusted into blazing fire.
The boy rode his scooter up and down the sidewalk.
Truth was on a rampage.
The boy’s mother called him inside, to eat supper and he began walking toward the house.
Truth trailed behind and began creeping closer and closer until it caught up.
The boy’s black irises glazed over.
Truth intended to shatter them.
But when truth looked innocence in the eyes, he saw his own reflection.
Truth shattered at the site of his vile mind and malice soul falling over the last glimpse of vibrancy in a gray world: the ocean. Truth fell over the water like a shadow, like a mother kissing her daughter goodnight like dust from a colossal attic of lies. Truth thought it was saving humanity but it wrote a tragedy, hitting the climax, dying before the falling action. A man and a son were left with the pencil and pen scribing the pilgrimage of destroyed souls holding a fire, venturing through the vacancy of a deserted world.

here i am, once again

i am so tender
your lips pierce my skin
you are so oblivious
you are leaving your mark on me
shards of your jagged heart planted inside of me
like splinters in my skin
i am not a salmon, sordfish, macrol, betta, or pickerel
i am just bate
dispensed on a hook
in the putrid sea of teenage corruption
you are resentment
and a waste of poetry

overcoming doubt

I wish I could relieve the moment that I snapped this picture on my shitty CVS disposable camera.

The clouds were like waves
not measured in speed
but in depth and divinity
i did not blink, i did not breath, none of us could speak
we knew for sure
in that moment
that we were a part of something huge
the sun nestled in back of the nurturing mountains
like a child hiding behind hehind her mother,
fearing the world that cannot be explained
i took a stick that had fallen from a nearby tree
and i began to scribe a poem against the rock
i had to write to mother nature
and tell her
that for the longest time i thought beauty was intangiable
but in that moment, i could reach to the carpet of those clouds,
the peaks of those mountains, and i could taste the colors in the sky.
i had to thank her
for being something i could trust

poems from last monday

Jessica brought in a bag full of random things and we have to pick something out of the bag and write a poem based on anthing stemming from the object. The first object i chose had a rabbit on it. The second one was a paper bird with its beak cut off.

Untitled
the rabbit's hair
bathed in December snow
simple and common from a distance
ornate and unfamiliar when magnifided
latch on to the strands that slip through your fingers
like water spaghetti sliding through the crevices of your palm
slender strands press against you, sharing thoughts and new meanings
infinite stories leak out from the heir, slowly puncturing your skin
a world outside of your own reality
a rabbit's realm
the rough patches of hair reveal
that there are no assumed accomodations in this creature's world
no morning coffeee with two sugars
this rabbit rarely inhales the scent of lemon glazed chicken accompanied by rice pelaf
no bed to nestle into during the night
no tea, no canvas to paint poetry upon
just the hair on it's back
the one thing that keeps it warm

Untitled
pirched up on the branch of the wise old oak
where did your voice go,
you sing no song
your aged eyes are rimmed with rich soil
the crow soars by and by
encompassing your tree
disgusted by a challenge,
you are driven more than ever to claim your territory
you dig your toes into the moss of your nest
you lower your gaze
desperately emulating the crow's dagger eyes
you vigurously channel messages from
your left brain, to right, to the burgundy of your neck, to the pulse of your spotted chest, to the coarse skin on your back, to the feathers on your wings, chanting, "MOVE!"
you have built up your rage
your on the top floor in the elevator
stop! remember!
you're only made of paper

Jenny Poggi

“Think of the happiest things

It's the same as having wings” -Peter Pan

When I was in elementary school, I used to pretend I was a fairy during recess. I convinced a group of girls to play with me. Their names were Allison, Abby, Connie, Emily, and Meg. Everyday, at the beginning of recess, I instructed them to line up behind me. I would lead them off towards the woods, secluded from the other students. We would play games or just hang out, waiting for the whistle to blow. Things are different now. Those girls have changed. I am not close with them any longer. I do not connect with them anymore. They took off their wings.

For the longest time, I was lonely.

Then I found another fairy.
Her name was Jenny Poggi.
She reminded me about how to fly .

Not enough words exist to explain the ways in which Jenny has helped me grow as a person. I became friends with her my freshmen year in high school. I wasn’t expecting her to change my ways.

During freshmen year I was lost, walking down strange streets. I felt alienated every step I took. It was taking me longer to adapt to high school than the other students. Switching schools felt like I was changing cultures. My feet weren’t acclimated to the foreign soil. I was desperate for comfort.
It all started in the lunchroom.
Jenny would float around from one group of girls and boys to the next. I was jealous of her versatile structure. She seemed to have grasped something I could barely reach for. She exuberated confidence and emitted optimistic vibes. I was intrigued. She seemed pure.
I can’t recall how we began talking, but we did. She brought on a whole new realm when it came to the word strange. I remember the first conversation we had. She was talking about how she enjoys picking hairs off of her lower back that had fallen out when she washes her hair in the shower. I was dumbfounded. That was a weird thing to enjoy, and even stranger to admit. She seemed to think nothing of it though.
I remember the first time I heard Jenny giggle really hard. It was a cute and childlike laugh at first. Then unexpectedly she began snorting. It was a giggle then snort, giggle then snort, giggle then snort. It made me laugh, which made her giggle and snort even faster and louder. I did not feeling embarrassed for her. Listening to her felt refreshing.
I don’t know how Jenny did it, but she taught me how to live a fuller life. Although she can’t always provide me with motivation, she can bring me back to the rationality. She pulls me out of my own microcosm and shows me the bigger picture. She has helped me realize that I am in control of myself.
I don’t know how to justly thank her. She has done more for me than she realizes. I just will try to offer her the same nourishment she feeds me.

it feels like home to me

Shannon Page
Period 7
Advanced Composition
Sept. 16, 2009
Home
Nightfall presses the sun into the body of Mount Madison. The moon illuminates their abundance of love and the crisp air breathes heavy. The stars gaze down on us, emitting watts of positive vibes. I open my lungs and the mountain’s oxygen crawls in. I exhale, releasing more than my breath. I let out all the angst and negative vibes that puncture my serenity. I pick up rocks, and one by one throw them down the cliff. Every single one of them has a worry, a regret, or an anxiety attached to them. I am healing my wounds, one stone at a time. I throw, I sit, and I contemplate. Here on Chapel Rock, I am at one with myself.
On this hard surface, lies my core. My shell cracks open, scattering into the bowl of pine trees below. Here is where acceptance wraps its wings around me. It is comforting to know it is okay not knowing everything. This home teaches me that not having all the answers to my questions is fine. As I sit, this rock and ridge silently nurture me with positive affirmations. They are here to give me what I came for. They release a substance that is tempting to my body’s pours. My desperate heart can’t help but begin to absorb. It quenches my mind’s driving thirst for simplicity. Here, on this rock, on the peak of this mountain, everything makes sense. That is because I realize there is such little to actually understand. I begin to realize that my complications are self-inflicted. I throw a pebble down. I am at one with this mountain.
Up on this spot of the mountain I am a part of something bigger than myself. I grasp that I am not as important as sometimes I feel. The first time I realized this, I was up here, on Chapel Rock. A wave of disappointment and depression washed over me. I began a downward spiral of thoughts, questioning my own existence. However, I changed my mind’s direction. Soon the thought of being insignificant became comforting. Knowing that my troubles really don’t matter in the big picture felt relieving. Realizing that there are things bigger than my school’s daily gossip is enlightening. Since that day, I have lived a different lifestyle. I filled the hollow space in my body. I became the soil under my feet. The pine trees below me didn’t seem so far away, nor did the mountains. I was a part of the rain that was dripping down. I felt replenished.
When I finish my last moment of the year on Chapel Rock, drenched in love, I begin to walk down the trail. I follow the path through the school hallways, around my house, out in the fields for a year straight. Then I become drained. Just before I begin to wither away, Chapel Rock saves me. Summer rolls around and my parched body aches. I climb up to the peak of my mountain. I am reminded again that I am one with this earth.

it'd be better to forget you, but i don't really want to

My house is so close to my neighbor’s that I can hear the sound of their phone ringing. I can hear the splash of their pool, the scent of the barbeque on the grill that makes my mouth taste like summer. Their driveway on the right and mine on the left are like parentheses around my house. I can feel the sense of community within this simple street. This is my home.
There is a gallery of noises that leak out of my house as you walk by. Pause at my doorstep for an hour and you will hear the intricacies of our valued composition. When our hearts begin to beat in melodic unison, smile, and feel our joy. And when there is tension in rising action that leads to a climax of bickering, walk out towards Swasey Park. That is where you will find resolution. Walk there, because when I long to transcend my family’s animosity, Swasey is where I walk for comfort.
As you stroll to the west end of my street, don’t forget to look up at the sky. If you stare too long, you begin to feel like you’re a part of it. If it is fall, then take a minute to crunch auburn leaves in your hands. Feel the kinetic energy as you surrender them back to earth. If it is winter, gather snow in your bare hands and hold it until it melts from your heat. During spring, as you venture towards the entrance of Swasey Parkway, notice the change in grass. It was dormant not too long ago, iced by winter’s breath. Now it is green, lively, and swaying in liberation. Walk on it with your shoes off, and feel it tickle in between your toes. When it is summer lay down next to a tree. Make it so half your body is embellished by the sun’s bright rays. Put the other half in the shade. Feel the contrast in your body. Feel the satisfaction. Close your eyes to the lullaby of the wind pressing against your ear.
Here, in Swasey, bliss is found in every child. There is the girl that is hanging a kite off the clouds in the sky, and the boy that is riding his scooter up and down the sidewalk. There is innocence in their smile and a unique sort of wisdom in their eyes. This bliss can’t be found anywhere else. There is the elderly man and woman sitting on the bench in silence. They have insight to the young, innocuous teenagers cuddling in the grass. There is the old birch that as a young child I would climb up and down. I would tease my mother, climbing one branch higher, as she called me back to the ground. Now it is roped off with caution tape. It is fragile, and withering away. I pity the young generation that does not get to experience the retaliation of climbing higher and higher.
There is the pavilion in the center of the park. It waits all year for the summer concerts to begin and the annual Peace Day Festival to arrive. Children climb onto it and begin dancing as if the vast green in front of them is full of audience. This is where family pictures are taken. It is a landmark of our town.
Walk up and down and look to your side, a body of the euphoric Squamscott River. Allow your mind to jump in, washing away despair.
Grow in this park as I have. Feel the love.