Pirates and Poetry

--The King and his men
--stole the Queen from her bed,
--and bound her in her bones...
--the seas be ours, and by the powers,
--where we well will roam...
--yo, ho,
--all hands, hoist the colors high.
--heave, ho,
--theives and beggars, never shall we die...

that's a good song. very pretty, very...i don't know. i just like it. i'd like to get the piano music for it, i could make it sound really good with some practice...

Claude does not like me. [ yes, i am going to complain like a little girl right now. ] he likes Barb, a blonde, small, pretty girl. i told him i liked him. and now, i think he's taunting me. **cringe** i don't think he's dating her...i mean, if he is, okay then, he's not taunting me.
i don't know. the whole thing where i told him went kind of like this:
C: so i think Barb wants to date me.
B: huh.
C: do you think i should?
B: no.
C: why not?
B: just...no.
C: why?
Teacher: okay, i'm starting the movie, be quite! (or something like that...)
B (writing a note): you shouldn't because i like you and i would be jealous. but please don't let that ruin our friendship cuz i know you don't like me that way. (or some such thing)
and he still treats me the same, but it's even worse because he knows i like him and he...argh! i sound all spoiled, like he should not like other girls and show it because i like him. that's not it at all. i've taken to turning away when him and her are all over eachother, because it hurts. christ! since when does liking someone hurt? my chest gets all tight when i see...that. them, all over eachother, flirting outrageously. jesus.
i know he doesn't like me. that's fine. i can handle it. it's not like i haven't dealt with things that hurt just as much.
oh and speaking of things that hurt...
dad missed my IEP meeting. sonofabitch, he says he had the date wrong. i love my daddy to death, but i am sick of standing up for him! it's like he can't take responsibility for having a goddamn kid. i know it would've been better for him if i weren't here, but i am here, and it hurts. it hurts when my own father doesn't care enough to make sure he's there at things like that. goddamnit, what happens in IEP could effect the rest of my life, my possible careers, everything! he could at leaste try to be a parent enough to go to these things.
i absolutely love that he's not all adult-like, most of the time. but sometimes, being an adult is what needs to be done, as much as both the adult and the kid dislike it. and i'm sick of my father not being honest with me, not paying hardly any attention to me (that sounds bratty...)...honestly, he thinks that he can just...buy it all off!!! by getting me my lap top, my thumb drive, my mp3 player...honestly, i would just as soon have none of that and have him care about me. i know i wouldn't feel that way if it were that way, but it's not, so all i want is to be cared about by my father. by ANYONE, really, but my father especially. because i don't know what that's like.
i suppose it could be worse. i could have Billie's biological father, or he could beat me or he could still be drinking, or be like Tricia's dad. hell. i don't know. maybe i am selfish. actually, i know i am. but i'm working on it. i hate that i have to keep changing things about myself, but unless i do, no one will ever like me or care about me. and i want to be cared about. speaking of, i got some new poetry.

A WISHING STAR
--twinkle, twinkle, little star,
--how so very bright you are!
--i wish i may, i wish i might
--have you grant just one wish tonight.

--my wish is for the loving care
--of one who forever and always is there
--to wish me sweet dreams, and kiss me goodnight,
--and love me 'till all else is far from our sight.

--man or woman, black or white,
--large or small, they're all just right.
--someone i can't live without,
--who loves me back, without a doubt.

--twinkle, twinkle, little stars,
--oh! how lovely they all are.
--stars so brilliant, stars so bright,
--please grant my one wish tonight?

MIRROR, MIRROR
--looking in the glass,
--i wish i couldn't see
--the monster that lies hidden there,
--staring back at me.

--dodging glances in the halls
--is not a problem here--
--invisible girl doesn't need to hide
--in order to disappear.

--this mask i wear is good enough
--to keep the demon tame,
--although she cries to be let out,
--although my thoughts she maims.

--mirror, mirror, can't you show
--something that isn't mine?
--the world will see a beautiful face
--while i stay left behind.

okay, the next one, i showed it to my English teacher, and she wants to submit it for...i don't remember what. it mighta been Teen Ink, or something like that.

SESTINA FOR ONE BELOVED
--fight for my Beloved,
--who's life i hold most deeply.
--who would've thought that, when alone,
--this child seems to break my bones?
--fling at me more wods of hate
--that rob me of my breath.

--it robs me of my breath,
--Beloved,
--to care for you so deeply.
--i hate to see you be alone,
--even as you shatter my bones
--with your hammer of hate.

--i wish that i could hate,
--so i could catch my breath.
--why do i care so much, Beloved?
--why do i care so deeply?
--why do have to be alone,
--where silence echoes in my bones?

--i feel an aching in my bones,
--it's edged with fear of hate.
--i wish that i could catch my breath
--to tell you just how much, Beloved,
--i love you, just how deeply.
--i wish i couldn't leave you alone.

--fighting with myself, alone,
--the need to push back in my bones.
--i can't stand how much you can hate
--how i can still have breath.
--and you, Beloved,
--you cut me deeply.

--fighting with one i love deeply,
--feeling so alone.
--my cries are onlyh in my bones.
--to scream aloud, i hate
--to, so i hold back my breath,
--'till i have nothing left, Beloved.

--you are so deeply in your hate,
--it cuts out bones and breath.
--how is it to be alone, Beloved?

SICK
--sick,
--sick,
--sick,
--rolling
--in my
--core,
--making
--me feel
--as if
--the gurgling,
--clawing,
--churning
--is adding
--to the
--problem
--so i
--run,
--run,
--run,
--as it
--comes up
--and out,
--shooting
--like a
--bullet
--from
--a gun.

--sick,
--sick,
--sick.

SCAPEGOAT
--i do as they say,
--feeling sick and alone
--as i giggle and laugh at their jokes.
--i simmer inside,
--and i'm strained, like an ox,
--dreaming, but chained to his yoke.
--i know it's not meant,
--but, unknown, in my hole,
--i think back, then cry as i choke.

--i know it's for fun,
--that it's not 'sposed to hurt,
--but it fuels the resentment inside.
--"no need for affront,"
--i think, and can't shake
--that the comments are all justified.
--"how are you?" they asked
--as i walked in the door...
--and then, as i smiled--i lied.



ya, the picture this time IS me, because I wrote the poems, so therefore, i go on the page. self-centered? probably. do i care? no. okay, ya, maybe a little. i'm kinda self concious about that. but i count the poems as my QUOTE OF THE DAY, so i have to put my own picture there.

xoxo,
Bri333