Ode to a Lost Experience

I am a leaf in the lost wind
A warm soft rain of rustling dust.
To ditch was, in trying, how I sinned;
Yet jumping a ditch was not how I was bust.
A date, unknowingly by a man who could not make it
under the strain of not making it, became but a boy.

Lord knows the test I am taking. And I will take it.
He knows my faith, if not in Him, in getting through
the Impassable. the Impossible.
Lord knows that I am neither a man nor a boy.
Nor am I becoming a ‘one-syllable’.
I am a Teenager. Es verdad, yo soy
Una persona individual.

If I am different, may I remind you that so are you?
Different than those eyes around you,
Each man with his own size, shape, shoe.
Different than the face in the mirror of yesterday;
What does tomorrow’s reflection have to say?

If I am troubled, may I remind you that these are troubling times?
School infiltrated by cynics saying
we are on one side too rich,
on the other, needing every dime!













Without direction, my boat is floating. I attend
To the jib sheet, but the sail is wing-&-wing
For my relaxation I am on vacation. But in the end,

Will my life be worth anything?

here i am. back at the blog. i come with message: i have had things happen to me, have been away from islands, form mountains, form birds and sailboats and happy things. yes i put form instead of from. i am imperfect. i am secretly glad no one knows what goes on my mind. i prefer not thinking things through sometimes so i can enjoy the thought that everyhting is perfectly fine. if you examine any one thing, even the concept of perfection, that one thing is so riddled with flaws, with problems, with simple or difficult extrenalities, if you examine it thoroughly and in reference to every application of that thing. my escapade of Rianislands is imperfect because i have told to many people, it has become very detailed, now i need a less-tourist-infested trap of the mind. nothing doesn't work, too many people reccomend it. its like approaching money, realizing that billions of people would kill for the amount of money....it disgusts me. i read an appalling passage today for english, and i thought to myself, to quote the talking heads, that people could make the same criticism i made of it to whatever i write, that in people's heads they probably do, that most people think at one point or another....well, more than one point if they think about me for more than one passing glance: that i am awkward, nerdy, white, something distasteful, unpleseant, cracilicious. the bearditude of such phenomena is copesetic. burn in heaven, oh passionate critics! Leave me in pieces. And, now, so you learn something about me: that made me feel better. ask me what is wrong, and you wrong me. Say never mind, and you will never know. Don't try to read my mind. Just do what you know I want, not always just kissing, carressing, physical things, or attention. If you don't know what I want, that is something you should ask, preferably not in English. My mind is troubled right now, but don't help solve the problem, I must solve this one by myself...well there is one thing you could do Paulina. it would help if i talked to someone adult about it. bye!

Profoundity

If, in the time allocated to wasteful relaxation, profound thought is discovered, it must of course be at a wasted time that the body is too lax, the mind too sloth, to record the enlightened thought. Because, at the time the epiphany occurs, the body is naturally left behind and the mind struggles to recall the body's mechanical dexterity to record the fleeting thought, the moment of brilliance, and, blessed thought by nature, is floundering, opaque, a shadow, not the bright calling as in its birth but a reminicence of a thought: made so by the effort of summoning a pen, a keyboard, a recorder.
So is the descriptions of the feelings, the expressions of joy and of suffereing, of many emotions, a fleeting or lining of the emotions expressed outwardly. So, when I am melancholy, when I am joyous, doubt only the validity of those emotions you do not wish to desire in me, or even those that you don't desire. The rest are as fleeting as the shade of a snow bank in April. This is even more true as the snow approaches Mei. For the cold attitude, the darkness does not exist...only a comparative absence of heat, of light, of expressed happiness.
The title=profoundity is my form of profanity?