Hyouzo

I found myself staring at anything and everything in my teachers office in hopes of overcoming my boredom. I evaluated the state of a wooden duck that sat on my teachers desk. I liked the way the figure was a little chipped and the paint was a little worn, and I thought if it were mine I would have probably painted it purple. Then I let my gaze roam to something else, like the small family photo sitting on the desk. The teacher, an old haggard woman in her late fifties or early sixties, had a proper looking family. I took note of how clean and organized they seemed before my eyes latched on to the next semi-interesting thing. I avidly avoide

My gift to you I held between my childish hands A glass jar is what I clutched I filled this jar with my memories Happy thoughts of you and I Soft and whimsical I poured into this jar Regrets of neglecting you And my woes are cold and bitter I added tokens of gratitude My thanks to you reflect the light Making everything seem so much brighter I sprinkled in ‘I miss you’ Underneath it is a  sadness And a reminder of my solitude I put in this invisible jar Myself All of my purities and faults Now from my fingertips into your hands I place my precious jar Inside is my heard In the form of snow

Am I scary, I wondered? Do bones and blood really scare people? I thought for a moment that I could be the one what was wrong and twisted, and that maybe my social standards were just a little too low for most people. I twirled a small, slender bone between my fingers, loving the feel of the smooth ivory against my dry skin. I thought more on the subject of people and their fears, as well as what my mother had said earlier…something about being…what were  the exact words she used? Oh yeah: ‘Less repulsive.’ I can’t help but wonder in the least, if the fact that my interests were what made me so repulsive. Or maybe i

Until Dawn I was visibly shaking; my body shook with every long sob. I tried to keep myself composed; tried to hold myself together, one pale and scared arm wrapped around my torso, another clutching at my blonde long hair. My large blue eyes ran like an unattended faucet and all of the water in me was just streaming out. My face, my front, and my hands were soaked. The cab driver paid no attention to me and for that I would have thanked home. However my throat was tight and dry. The sobs wracked my body and I heard a pathetic whimper that I was sure was from me. A siren could be heard, and I turned my head to the right just in time to s

This Is My Brain on Boredom This is me going insane Sitting in a boring class With nothing to keep my company But boring work This is: Green eggs and beans (Because I don't eat meat) Pink poodles in skirts And humping purple squirrels I'm thinking of little ghouls and goblins Of sexy vampires and striking hero's The Attack of the Black Sharpie Fetish And Batman's pants This is my brain: Hot Asian guys in bands Tight abs and neon hair Why can't Japanese people dance? (If you've ever seen the music videos You know what I'm talking about) I wonder if this is what leads people to do drugs. 'Cause if this is what I can Th

The Potty Poem Raccoons blossom forth Tearing at my corneas Bring forth my ADD I glanced t you At my watch And then back, again and again Weill you notice me Will I be left waiting here? Wet, embarrassed, and flushed with sickness. Call on me. Then let me leave To journey off To hunt the rodents that plague me so. Let me go forth and relieve this tension Let me rid the world of these pesky raccoons I beg of you…

The small girl caught sight of the brightly colored sign on the glass. “If you have an allergy to nuts we recommend you don’t try our products,” she read out loud. She turned to look at her mom, as the older woman paid for the cookies and asked, “Mom, are you allergic to nuts?” Her mother waited a moment before responding, “Honey, if I were allergic to nuts you wouldn’t be here.”

Daylight rears its ugly head And you disappear Taking with you my human heart. Leaving me with nothing But this empty shell. And so I go on Walking through the day With nothing on my mind ...But You. I anticipate the night Knowing you'll return And with you follows my humanity Not quite ready to be torn away again. Knowing that when the light pierces the sky You'll once again be gone And I'll have to wait once again With nothing but this empty shell.

I hope that one night you will return The dark of the night contrasting Illuminating and amplifying your being. I hope one day you'll rescue me From this tower of loneliness Like some White Night in shining armor. But you're not a white night Not My White Night. You're only a white man A French Vampire, taken from your youth And thrust into maturity. And I see how you cope With a long line of women in and out of your bed. But who am I to tell you it's wrong To live the way you do When I, your bloodless victim cannot live my own Meaningless existence. My white vampire, my murderer, I your victim I hope one nigh

What is a lie? Would bending the truth be considered a lie? What about those many, many times I’ve just omitted the truth? Does it count when it’s nothing too big? I lied yesterday about doing the laundry. It was obvious I didn’t, but my step-mother asked me anyways. I told her I had, and that there was just so much of it no one had noticed what I did do. She let it go. Today I lied about going to school. Who needs to go to school anyways? All I do is sit in a desk all day and learn nothing. High school is just a big repeat of middle and elementary school. I already know all of this, but…I still don’t do any of the