Senseless Poems

You thought you knew yourself until love started taking over.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d call love a tyrant.

A heartless, selfish, thought-stealing tyrant.

But, that’s only if I didn’t know any better.

I know far better.

Love is more like a disease.

A tapeworm curing itself inside your dreams.

An annoying itch that spreads like wildfire across your skin.

Yeah, good luck sleeping tonight with that hanging over your head.

 

Love is the bags under my eyes because I haven’t slept in ages.

I’m just about ready to overthrow the government and claim my thoughts for myself.

Too bad their permanently, desperately, stuck on you.

Every.

Little.

Inspiration.

Comes from you.

 

Please stop making me love you, and let me sleep.

Stop keeping me up late, writing these senseless poems.

OFTEN

So often do I take out my hammer, nails, and wood, and start to build up walls. Walls around anything, really. My thoughts, my feelings, my mind, my heart. All these things are boxed in, behind layers, and layers of fine pine. I would like to think that one day, someone would fight their way in. Slicing the boards into wood chips, or burning them down to ashes.

Too often do I take out my hammer, nails, and wood, only to build walls too thick, too steep, too hard to chop down.

A bottled up mess.

 What happens when you mix sarcasm with walls that reach the sky?

You get me. A bottled up mess.

But hey. Who cares? Who cares about me, and my bottled up mess?

 Someone up above. Someone who created that very bottle.

Too bad I filled it with trash, muddy water, and snap decisions.

Here I am, that bottled up mess.

Want to know the crazy part? Someone fell in love with my bottle. My mess.

He'll help her dump out all the regrets, and scrub the insecure, glass walls. He will help her clean it up, and together, they'll realize that perfection isn't too far to reach.

This Essay took me Precisely 30 Minutes to Write

The need to set every task that occurs within the course of the day to an equal amount of minutes is a habit that has haunted me all my life. I need exactly five minutes more of sleep, ten minutes to get ready, and twelve minutes to get from point A to point B. Anything more is unnecessary, and anything less is insufficient. There’s just something about time being divided perfectly, and equally into small sections of my life. Every memory, every event is written down in the record of my life, with a beautiful round number of minutes sitting right next to it. No extra seconds spill, so carelessly, over the edge. 

The problem with cutting with such straight lines is, you hardly leave yourself any room to breathe. Sometimes, organization can be suffocating. Maybe I need to loosen the bands around my wrist and stretch those uptight muscles. Maybe I ought to tell myself things like, “Today, I will be happy.” Today I won’t complain. I will change, not for 24 hours, or 1,440 minutes, but maybe for the rest of my life. But just for today, I will forget the time, and let everything flow as it wishes, until its own natural limitation slowly melts away the adventure. I will eat when I am hungry. I will sleep when I am tired. And in between the gaps I will find myself doing things as they come to me. But just for today, can I be this way. Then, I can go back to boxing my life into minutes, perfectly round, perfectly even, boxes of minutes. 

An Excerpt From {Seasons}: Love is Scary

The moral of the story is, love is scary. Love is that spider crawling across your bathroom mirror at 10 o’ clock at night. You know you have to squish it, but you can’t because you are so darn scared to death. So, you are forced to wake up your little brother in the middle of the night to come kill it for you. Love can also be described as a door with the words, “never turning back”, carved agressively into the wood. Needless to say, my unconditional love for Nate was not only out of the ordinary, it was beyond reason.

Oh by the way, my name’s Brooke.

I Love People

People are such beautiful creatures. They can glide, they can fly. They float through the earth with positive innovations, and free love. They spend life searching for someone they want to care for their entire life. I love people because they need each other. A person without another person is someone who is living beneath their capacity. We live together, we laugh together, and we make memories together. Every living, breathing soul, is a different ingredient tossed into the pot of life’s perfection. Every piece, every ingredient is necessary and different. We might all be made up the same basic foundations, like, legs, arms, eyes, and a head up on top… but we all are filled with something spectacular, and we use that spectacular something to create something totally different than just legs, arms, and eyes. We make a society.  Forget the denialists who want to believe they can do anything by themselves. They are wrong.

And yes, the word denialist is not a real thing, but it should be.

An original story. It's a work in progress.

SEASONS

A novel I dare you to read. By, Rachel Santos.

Two

Very

Incompatible

People

Get

Together

And

Defy

Destiny

In

The

Most

Unreasonable

And

Illogically

Beautiful

                                      Way

    Possible.

That would be architecture ladies and gents.

Excerpt from {SEASONS}

RAIN

You would think that running out in the rain after the girl you’ve always dreamed of having, would be romantic. Sorry to tell you otherwise, but to be completely honest, it’s kind of discouraging. Here you are, sprinting after the one you love, the one you need, and the forces of nature are telling you to run inside. It’s already hard enough that she’s running away from you, let’s add a thunderstorm and make it even harder for you to light that fire. Despite the negative connotation, the slashing, freezing, droplets of water, made me want her even more. If that was even possible… and made me run even harder. Panting, I finally reached her. I looked at her as she seemed to watch everything around her besides my heart-tortured self. I don’t think she even noticed the rain. I tried to catch my breath, wondering if she would ever look at me.

I would like to thank the photographer who started it all.

An Honest Philosophy

I remember being told that life is made out of thousands of intertwined instances, choices that yield changes, and before you know it, it’s all over. The people you met, the days you laughed, you cried, feeling every possible emotion on the spectrum of human capacity. And now, tonight, your collection of expressions will be complete. 

I remember being told to live in the moment. But, can one soul raise their hand and give me an honest to god answer of what that means? We preach it from our veins, with the words flowing effortlessly off of our tongues. But what does it really truly mean? We’re always living, breathing, moment after moment. I think what they’re trying to tell us is that you have to juice the substance out of it. 

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. 

But when God gives you life, make substance. 

Apple, anyone?

My Legacy

After she dies,

She’ll leave the world.

She’ll leave the world with what?

A vacant memory of her voice. A whisper of her name. A dusty thought lost and tossed away. 

Time will keep running and stories will keep slipping. 

People will be saying...

Who was she. 

People will say they can’t remember her. They can’t reach far enough into the depths of their minds to grasp it. The tiny little detail she planted there years ago. Maybe they can’t. Or maybe they won’t.

Either way, she’s gone now. She left nothing behind but a body.  

After I die,

I’ll leave the world. 

I will be more than the ground we walk upon. 

My name will be hidden, but found. The inside of a book. A signature in the corner of a photograph.  Scribbled across old scripts, recently framed. 

My words will float into the future... and drift into open minds who want to learn. 

I will drop a bag full of original thoughts and ideas, and somehow I’ll know that my hard work will not be forgotten. 

I will never truly leave the world, I will be there every time you think of me. 

God Made Such Beautiful Creatures.

Don't Let Go

5 Seconds Of Flying

He makes you happy.

The tips of his fingers run up and down your forearm just like an army of microscopic ants.

Then he stops.

You know his hand is no longer running, but the feeling has an unstoppable flow. Into your skin. Into your bones. Up your throat and into the muscles inside your mouth causing you to smile. Into your brain where it drops a blanket that reminds you of home. It slides down your spinal cord stirring your insides into something that glows. It covers your heart, finally jolting you back to reality.

It has only been 5 seconds.

Running in Circles

We run around telling people, I love you.

I love ya.

I adore ya.

I cannot be without you.

I need you.

I admire you.

I want you.

We run around telling people, I love you.

We run around telling people, I love you, when we should be showing them.

We should be showing them with actions.

Actions of sacrifice.

Sacrifice things we love less to prove our love for those we love best.

Best is what you’ll get if you promise to never settle.

Settle and you lose; you have to fight to prove.

Prove that what you feel is more than three words.

Three words that weigh more than a thousand pounds.

Pounding in your heart.

Your heart is now full.

Full of what?

This thing we call love.

Love because now you know how.

How to stop running in circles.

A Dare

A Dare

Wasted space.

Two words that come to mind when I look down a hallway filled with a sea of people. At least you think they’re people. Flowing in a river, the waves rippling and overlapping, spreading across the floor, reaching up the walls, is an endless flood of a replicated human race. She looks like her. He looks like him. We are drowning ourselves in our own similarity. Killing with a lack of creativity.

But how?

How did we end up like this? We were planned, conceived, raised, brought into this miracle of life with one thing we could truly call our own.

Our personality.

Too bad we grew.

We grew out of ourselves and shed the old ideas we thought couldn’t fit any longer. We borrowed his, and then passed it around. Before we knew it, thoughts were magnetically leaning towards one another as if it were second nature, relying on someone else’s internal design. Someone put herself on a piece of paper, and stuffed it into that sickly copy machine. The papers shot out of the monster’s mouth, and we welcomed it with open arms, because saying no was too hard.

Unification is not an abomination.

Losing yourself is.

Don’t die a copy. Dance instead of swim within a sea of people. Dare to be different.