Ode to my Youngstown Apartment

This is another poetry workshop assignment we had to write an Ode*.
---

Your shuttered skin is soft blue, your picture window eyes
staring at the orphan mansions in front of you.
You look like you're suffocating and
I wonder how. So lovely in doing so but still
no one notices you.
Cars pass by the blue house on Illinois.
So happy to not have passed by you and
pass through your side door –
a hole in your body covered with a sheet,
images of stained and sad blue ducks.
Your bottom parts hold treasures in the form
of cobwebs that glisten
on an old metal refrigerator.
Rats, like ghosts, that scrape
the inside of your walls.
I imagine many are buried there underneath
the off-white of your flesh.
I live inside your belly,
shuffle my feet on your oak floors,
as I fill my own.
Mail slot on the side,
doors to nowhere: dark empty rooms.
A mystery like a preserved body of a saint,
You are so beautiful, marked in a time you never left.



*Obviously, note the title.

Letter to the Dead.

Teetering on the edge of something. I feel like I'm trapped in a dream where I am naked. I try to cover it with my palms but I cannot. Everyone can see in to my glass house.

You're watching me and I can see your face contort into a cringe from my end. But how much can we trust things seen through glass? Are they real? Are you real? You're real enough. You'll hurt me, you'll judge me, as much as I try to tell myself that you're just empty space. You're still empty space with a face.

I tell myself that your face isn't really there. It is just air distorting, a ghost of a physical body. A memory of what used to be and what isn't now. That is all you are. But so am I. The past, the past projected into the present. We've stamped out image into each others' lives.

When you drive your car up the highway and you see a girl dragging along. She'll have my hair and you'll double take to see if it is me. Whenever I see a car like yours I stop and let it pass me by. Though, to be honest, it never is. So how many similar cars and girls with black hair are there in this world? What are the chances we'll be out there and run into each other? You can't even run anywhere. I can't believe no one has told you and now I have to be the one. Honey, you're dead. I'm sorry.

But so am I. A little. Now that I know you're always watching me. I always have to watch myself. Make sure I'm not being stupid, talking with my mouth full, dating the wrong kind of guys. I know you'd never approve of them. I shower all the time because I know you're always there and I always want to smell good around you. I have to, you know? What would you say? If you could still talk.

I see you walk by now all the time, I see you drive by all the time. I wonder what do you see through the glass? Through the veil of death? Am I as pretty as I try to make it seem?

I don't know how to lie...

I avoid a lot of situations where I'd have to lie to someone to spare feelings or to further aggravate situations that I'm usually not mentally/emotionally equipped to handle. Sometimes I don't say things for the purpose of protecting people around me. Sometimes I keep my secrets close, the real reasons, I keep them inside so I can have something. I just need to have a few secrets...just for me. Maybe it is the Scorpio in me?

But sometimes the truth slips and I cover my mouth quickly to keep it in. I try to tuck it in the back of my throat but it gets on my tongue and I can taste it. I'm not going to lie, I love the truth. Inside I know that people will love me more for telling it. So I'm addicted to being blunt. I'm addicted to telling people my judgment on things. On the other hand I'm not addicted to negative reactions. I am so scared. When someone looks at me in a mean way it shatters my soul. It makes me question my motives, the way I walked, the way I looked at them for the whole day. When someone gets mad at me for my own mouth it ruins my month/year.

I fuck things up a lot, this is a story for another blog, but sometimes I think I just fuck things up for my own amusement. Like deep inside I'm just afraid to be happy or perhaps I fuck things up because I don't believe I can. Telling the truth and being out front with people sometimes quickens my fucking up process.

When I tell you something, it will not be a lie. If I tell you I love you, I do love you. When I tell you I care about you it means that I always have. When I tell you to leave me the fuck alone, I mean it. You can always trust me to tell you the truth. I will admit when I'm wrong, when I'm being stupid, when I am guilty of something.


Sometimes I say things to people, things I try to keep buried but as the words fester in my gut I can no longer keep them in. Then I truth vomit all over the place. All the anger, hurt, love, etc spills out at such a rate that it is probably similar to a Confessional Hurricane Katrina. Then I commence ruining friendships, relationships, familial ties. I say too much after not saying enough. This bothers boyfriends who only know me as meek. When I explode they don't expect the wave of it. This ruins friendships whom I had tried to preserve by holding my tongue. It further frustrates the fragile fraying strings that somehow manage to keep me tied to my family.


I've never felt really good at anything, never felt like I had a place or a reason, I've never felt respected. But I've never lied to any of you. I will never lie. I'll call it how I see it, I'll always tell the truth even if it takes me awhile to admit it to myself.

I may say things at bad times, I may do things wrong, but I'm never going to say something I don't mean. I guess that is one thing I got going for me.

My thoughts on people...

We bend, we are mutable, a million leaves blowing across the world. But sometimes fixed, we are suns with a million flowers beneath our feet withering.

How I'm not going to write these three research papers...

1.) Not being sure what topic I'm doing or where I'm heading with a topic.

I don't know what I am going to write for the three papers that I need to do in my Ohio and Early Middle Ages class.
I'm going to talk to Dr. Patrick today - he wanted me to gather a list of topics I thought would work. I made very illegible free-write notes instead.*
I emailed Congdon about my other paper, which I'm not sure I'm going to accomplish in any fashion.
In Environmental History I'm going to try and focus on South Africa and the Environmental effects it had on its colonization. I only have one source printed out and in my hands so far though.
With 7 weeks to go, I'm very behind.



2.) Continuing to remind myself that I have not 3 papers but 5 the other two are just a final and a reflective essay.

I don't just have 3 papers with substantial amounts of research to write. I actually have 5. The other 2 are for U.S. in Crisis and South Africa. Though I'm not even sure how I did on the South Africa midterm** and that final paper is the actual final of the class.


3.) All the while wanting to be somewhere else entirely.

As much as I hate to admit it to myself, I'm not happy. I feel lonely. I feel like I want to run off and experience new fun things. Preferably in England with Dan. I want to learn how to do things that don't involve my head being in a book.


4.) Procrastinating on even writing a word and getting frustrated when I write a word.

Every time I sit down to do these papers my head begins to hurt. I get frustrated. Suddenly my college ruled paper annoys me and I can't seem to write anything. I get angry, I throw my pencil against the wall and then it bounces back and stabs me in the eye.


5.) Not writing them, watching my grades diminish even further, sinking into my downward depression over school.

If all this wasn't enough to make me feel absolutely crazy I've been obsessed with my GPA for years now. Watching it slowly crawl its way out of academic probation. All the while I was throwing my whole soul into that pit with it. I started to pull myself out. My soul became proud of it's work as I soared slowly above a 2.6. Now with two uncomfortable but changeable "incomplete Fs" I'm back on the tipping point of 2.5. I feel my heart slowly sink and all I want to do is throw my hands up and give up. Just call the whole thing off.

*Dr. Patrick suggested I focus on the Great Depression in Ohio. I've decided to focus on the Mahoning Valley and the Depression.

**I got a 24.5 out of 25. Woo!

The Life Cycle of Every Paper I've Ever Written

Ah, the elusive paper, this fine specimen is written by Megan Harris no less. You can tell it is of the M. Harris variety because of its slender body.



The M. Harris paper tends to have a very rough life. The birth of one is one of the most excruciatingly horrible things to witness here on earth. It is said that when one of these rare creatures are birthed from the mind of a Megan Harris that thousands of peoples' souls get sucked into the atmosphere in a millisecond.



The paper looks like primordial ooze in the larvae stage and is commonly described to resemble knowledge vomit spreading everywhere without direction.



In its pupa stage it finds itself a trash can to curl up inside and in more recent years it has evolved to hide within electric trash folders on PCs.



After numerous fruitless attempts to transition into its adult form it finally makes it into the thin creature we see before us. It lives in this stage for only a few weeks to migrate to another place but dies immediately upon returning from its migration. No one is quite sure what happens on this migration but the M. Harris Papers seems to return with varying amounts of battle wounds. Perhaps they get into a great battle, perhaps the wounds are from courtship with other papers, no one is really certain about this short time.

How (I'm sure) Most People See Me

1.) Brain that doesn't think very much. Or a brain that thinks about a very narrow amount of things. Someone who because they do not want to do things like driving, working with numbers, or small talk must be completely ignorant in most things (especially the things they do not want to do). So others can chose not to take their advice or assume they are ignorant in other things that may by proxy somehow be related to said things. IE. Because Megan hates small talk and feels awkward around people she must not be very aggressive or outgoing EVER, not even when she wants to be.

Why this is false: Just because I'm not you, just because I am awkward doesn't mean I am not intelligent. Doesn't mean I do not think as fast as you - often I venture to say I will think way faster than you. I will just not say things as often because my vocal words are more of a "special" thing to me. If anything I say quick mouths are worse than my slow mouth. Also just because I do not do something, or like to do it, or want to do it doesn't mean I don't know it or am not able to understand it. I understand all the things I do not want to do or like to do. THAT is the reason I do not want to do them, perhaps you should think of that before you assume I must be completely incompetent.

2. Eyes that don't see much. People think I'm not very observant or perhaps that I'm easy to fool. Or that maybe I haven't seen much by way of experiences.

Why this is false: Because I look one way, or because I don't talk about things I've seen with you, or things I've done doesn't mean that I have not seen or done them. So before you just assume that I must not be a nerd because I never talked about any of the nerdy things I've done with you or that I must not know what it is like to lose someone to cancer you should maybe...I don't know...ask?

3.) Mouth/Voice that doesn't say much, closely related to brain/thinking. Talks about stupid things, only says random hilariously insightful things, not capable of speaking in front of a crowd or holding its own in an argument. For this reason it must be wrong, just something to 'lol' at, doesn't say anything intelligent or correct. Must be naive and stupid because it doesn't exert the same authority as yours.

Why this is false: Because I don't like to speak in front of people or have an argument or be aggressive in some fashion to prove my point doesn't mean that I am incapable of doing this. I can hold my own very well thank you, perhaps instead of assuming I can't handle myself you should try to understand why I don't get aggressive with you. Many of the people I love never see the aggressive holding my own in a battle of wits nature because I'm too busy avoiding fighting with them. Many times I'll just agree with you even if I think you're being an ignorant childish twit. (Which I do a LOT) For the only reason that I just like you and don't want to lose your dumb ass as a friend. Because trust me, I've said somethings to people that have cut through them. Don't think I'm scared to tell you off and rip you to pieces, I just chose not to.

4.) Arms that can't do much of anything, doesn't know how to rely on self. Arms that need help to do things that normal average people can do.

Why this is false: I spent years doing loads of things for myself with very minimal help. I spent years doing chores like I was a fucking maid sans the payments. Years, before my peers knew how to read tiny books without pictures I knew how to fold and wash laundry. I could do most chores by the time my dad had moved out (around 5/6). I was doing cooking and cleaning (outdoors and indoors) for my whole house by the time I was ten - if not before. Trust me these arms can do a lot, if they had to they could do anything.

5.) Heart that doesn't feel. It feels no real pain it is only a machine that keeps my robotic stupid body moving through the motions of life. It also feels no real love because it must not be as advanced as your heart. It can't have anything meaningful because it has changed itself so quickly in the time period you've known it. So it must not know how to permanently or really love anyone.

Why this is false: At 25 years old my heart has felt a lot. It has been in love, it has lost, it has been broken. All the time it learned how to mend even from the worse loses. I would guess that perhaps because my heart has had many experiences with many different types of emotions that maybe it is more knowledgeable than a heart that has had less. That perhaps, because of its experience, that maybe it knows what it is doing. That maybe it knows when it feels real love because it has felt more than enough of the wrong and right kinds. It knows that there is no single right kind of love and that is because it has sampled a large portion of loves.

6.) Outer Soul Layer goes along a bit with the heart. But mostly the prevailing belief is that I must not have one because I'm just some robot type of thing. That I don't feel as much as I say I do, that perhaps I feel no influence by what I perceive to be a soul. That maybe I am just lying when I say that something is destroying me. That I don't have a soul to feel being sucked out of me.

Why this is false whether or not you agree with the concept of souls, it is irrelevant, you can just skip this part. I do in fact feel hurt, I do in fact feel as if I am becoming increasingly 'lifeless' and I do believe that my soul and its past has a great influence on the person who I am today. It is sad that many do not see the soul that I feel I have. The great deepness of my emotions and how greatly I am moved. And partly this is the fault of people and their assumptions because the second someone begins to judge me that is the second I begin to close myself off from them. At this point I am not fully opened to anyone, I only show parts while I hide behind the safety of my Outer Soul Layer.

7.) Legs that because they can only move so fast means that I can't get anywhere in life. That because I chose to do things that you may consider to 'handicap' me means that I will not live a normal life. That I will not lead an exceptional life. That these legs are to send me in a predetermined path (of your own narrow minded-creating) that if I walk off of (because I'm a stupid robot) I will be set ablaze and explode.

Why this is false: I believe that whichever way I choose to go, when I choose to do it, however way will bring me to the best possible place for me. Whether that be having a normal family, having a multi-billion dollar career and living in a pent house in New York, or dying in a poverty pit under a bridge. All of these don't seem so bad to me. Because they'll be my legs that take me to them, and my choice, and that is what makes me more than a stupid, heartless, and soulless robot: my choice.

Letter from Youth

You forgot to remember how to remember me
But I remember you -
dressed you in the blue and white
the grass stains, I gave you,
as you ran through my fields.
I'm a million fragments in your memory
that first broken heart, that
day when you ran away on
your Barbie bike attached to a wagon
hid in the woods
I was with you.
There when you let a friend pierce your ears
in a library bathroom
as you bled on all the classics
you'd read.
Made your sight outward,
all knowing but accepting.
Now I'm only naive, thinking
that you could just stay here in me forever
but you aged and I slipped through,
you crept by when I turned my back.
I have finished counting to ten,
and you've learned to hide so well.

Existential Crisis

My life feels over. I feel as if I have been almost dead for years. I've always been kind of living, just spinning the wheels, just doing things. Always never feeling or doing more than was required of me. Doing only what was expected. I applied for school, I changed my major whenever my parents/ex-fiance/best friend/job would suggest it. I never did anything I wanted too.

History was the only thing I picked for myself. It was the only thing I enjoyed. But now I no longer enjoy it.

I feel so far below these things - these degrees - they seem unnecessary. If I were to die tomorrow and could feel regret I would regret going to school. I would regret doing something just because it was expected of me. I would regret that. I would regret not telling people how much I have loved them/do love them/and really need/needed them because I haven't loved many. I will regret not walking on all the famous streets of the world, not touching the oldest building with my hand, not learning by 'doing.'

I'll never learn what I want by sitting in a classroom.

If I died tomorrow I would regret never actually doing anything. About being easily forgotten by people in my past. If I died tomorrow, well all I did today was sit here and work for something that I never got to experience.

Life is too short not to love everyone, not to experience everything, and to sit around doing tedious things that you don't love.

A memory:

I remember very vividly the first day I met you. How you looked so terrified when you entered the 8th grade reading class we shared together. Mr. Richardson introduced you to the class and asked where you were from. You were scared, quiet, you seemed a world away. Everyone bombarded you and you answered questions with whispers. I remember looking over at you and saying, "Scary isn't it?" You nodded.

You got pulled awkwardly into a social strata you knew you were not meant for. Slowly as school days progressed you gravitated toward mine. The weirdos the ones who were going to "eat you." The girl stared at you with big eyes when you told her you'd rather sit with us. Eyes that said: "What are you thinking?"

But you stayed, we walked home together. I met your mom and your cat. You made me watch silly anime cartoons. I couldn't stand it. They were too short, they were too loud, there was too many of them. Too many "Go-" names, your sister was explaining them when I told her to go away.

I knew from the moment I met you we were going to be great friends. That we were going to be extraordinary. And we were, we met more friends while "synchronize snow swimming," on the day the war memorial in Andover was being unveiled we walked around town eating french fries - you where wearing reindeer antlers that played christmas songs. It was October. I remember blowing up a gigantic mountain dew can and walking around town with it that Summer that you never left your house.

I remember your crying about plastic dinosaurs, my mom thinking we were lesbians. Playing video games. Going to every social event in high school even though we didn't really want to. Signing yearbooks, drawing pictures, laughing - everyday. Everyday we were happy.

I remember getting star pops at Diary Queen on half-days, going to my house and making up weird things to eat. I remember walking to your house on summer days and having a place to be. I remember the day we took the pikachu umbrella and tried to fly using the trampoline. When we laid in the grass in your backyard and thought of what would happen in the future.

You made my life better. It hurts me to see you putting yourself in horrible situations. I want to help you be happy because I owe it to you.