LTWR8B Poem 1

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in. This is the first one--unfortunately none of the formatting stays the same when I put in an actual post, so I apologize. I swear these two poems look a lot cooler. The format also has to do a lot with the tone and feeling I'm trying to convey, so I'm sorry if that gets lost in the technological transition.

Obsessively Compulsive

A torturous tip-toe terror.

And more

Piles. And more

And more Piles.

Piles.

Bottles, receipts, mitten 2, trash, hats, glasses. Pens and pencils.

Blankets, trash, wrappers, lists, pictures, postcards. Clothes and laundry.

Bedding, tissues, food, mitten 1, mail, trash. Newspaper and magazines.

Always filled.

Books

Papers. Books

CD’s and And more.

Records.

Arranging, shifting, switching. Start again.

Layering, lifting, classifying. Completely lost.

A dangerous and dirty, disorderly disorder.

Compulsion.

And more

Piles. And more

And more Piles.

Piles.

Glassbottles,fiftytworeceipts,trash,Mitten2.BlackinkBicBallpointpens.Blackticonderogapencils.

Shoes,trash wrappers,Pictures,Postcards,lists.clothesandlaundry aMass in Masses of Mountains.

Books

Papers. Books

Mitten 1 and And more.

Records.

Arranging,shifting,switching. start Again.
Layering,Lifting,cleaning. completely Lost.

LTWR8B Poem 2

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in. This poem was supposed to convey and ambiguous or unreliable narrator. Apparently I didn't do as well with that in the original and a lot of people thought it was someone trying to make their lover jealous (everyone thought a lot of my poems were that-- what the heck, people? Stop projecting on me. Just because you have love troubles doesn't mean that I do, capiche?), so I had to fix that too.

You Believe Me

When I tell you I’m not crazy,
You believe me.
And when I tell you the Moon
Fell down from the sky tonight,
You believe me.
And when I tell you He swung
From star to star on His way
Down from the infinite heavens,
Landing with a soft thud at
The end of Prince Street,
And He rolled the gritty
Asphalt, stopping right in front
Of me, bowing politely
As His genteel introduction,
You believe me.
And when I tell you, without words,
The Moon took hold of my hands
And brought them together
For a gentle kiss before
Flinging them wide into a circle
And dancing barefoot
In a placid prance of hilarity
Under the familiar galaxies and starbursts
Of inequitable phenomenon,
You believe me.

You believe the dance lasted all night
And you believe there was love.

When I tell you the Moon
Tucked me into bed tonight,
Tousling my auburn hair about
The pillow, and, whispering sweet
Nothings into my ears, He
Gracefully moved from the bed
To and through the window looking onto
His night skies
Now growing in glow,
You believe me.

You Believe Me

When I tell you the Moon
Fell down from the sky tonight,
You believe me.
And when I tell you He swung
From star to star on His way
Down from the infinite heavens,
Landing with a soft thud at
The end of Prince Street,
And He rolled down the gritty asphalt,
Stopping right in front of me
You believe me.
And when I tell you the Moon
Took hold of my hands,
Squeezing them gently before
Flinging them wide into a circle
And dancing barefoot
In a placid prance of hilarity
Under the familiar galaxies and starbursts
Of inequitable phenomenon,
You believe me.

When I tell you the Moon
Tucked me into bed tonight,
Tousling my hair about the pillow, then
Gracefully He moved from the bed
To and through the window looking onto
His night skies
Now growing in glow,
You might believe me.

When I tell you the Moon
Fell down from the sky tonight
You tell me I’m lying.
You tell me you saw the Moon
Resting amongst the stars,
Watching over the world
As they slept soundly in their beds,
The whole night long.
You tell me He winked at you
Before you laid down for the night
And sang a lullaby as you fell asleep.
You tell me He never fell.
You tell me He never moved an inch.
And I believe you.

LTWR8B Poem 3

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in. I would like to say that I no longer feel this way about said person and that we are on civil, almost friendly terms with each other after a lot of communication and a lot of time. I just added the name at the end of the poem to make it more interesting.

To Blake: If Only I’d Known

Things are really never as they seem.

My eyes are stars, you say?
Your eyes are the dark, deluded depths
Of an oil tanker truck, filled with
Murky disgrace.

My smile is captivating, you say?
Your smile is my captor, beating
Me mercilessly over the head as he
Laughs and laughs a menacing
Awkward squalor.

My love is divine, you say?
Your love is a cockroach, running
From the light and doting to the dark,
Surviving squashings and apocalypse,
Enduring when all just simply
Want you dead.

To Mr. B. Schack: If Only I’d Known

Things are never really as they seem.

My eyes are stars, you say?
Your eyes are black holes,
Empty voids of nothingness—
Vacuums where I cannot last.

My smile is captivating, you say?
Your smile is my captor,
My torturer, my executioner, my end—
Violent, merciless, menacing, breaking
Bones and hearts.

My love is divine, you say?
Your love is a cockroach, fleeing
From the Light and doting on the Dark,
Surviving squashings and apocalypse—
Enduring, when all just simply
Want you dead.

LTWR8B Poem 4

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in. I'm not adding the original poems onto this entry as there are two and they're very long. I also didn't edit much so you're not missing anything. The formatting, also important to the first poem, was also technologically revised unfortunately. I think I'll leave it up on the "Practice Makes Perfect" page so you can see it if you want.

An Interview, Pt. 1

“You have a very interesting mind,”
She said, sitting down
Across from me at the table.
I don’t know about that.
A conversation starter for
A conversation I didn’t want started.
“I’d rather like to take a look inside.”
She meant my cerebellum,
My corpus callosum,
My amygdala,
But I didn’t correct her.
I don’t know why.
“Every word going through your mind is
pertinent.
I don’t know why you don’t write
your thoughts down
More.”
Because I’d rather
Not let anyone
See inside.
“Why don’t you share them?”
Because I’d rather
Censor what people see,
Give each person a version of myself
That I’ve cultivated for them.
So that each person has a
P i e c e
And no one has a
Whole.
“Why don’t you savor them?”
I don’t know who I’m saving it for,
But I certainly don’t want it
And I only show God
My thankful side.
This all happens inside of me but
I only give her a
P i e c e—
“I don’t know.
I just don’t think they’re that
important.”

Importance

I write in prose, ok?
I don’t think I need to ask permission.
I don’t think in free verse or sounds.
I don’t think either are bad,
I don’t think like that.
I don’t think everyone should though.
I don’t think world would be better.

I write in sentences, ok?
I like ending with a period.
I like the quick jab of my pen at the end of a long, elegant, complex line.
I like their connotation.
I like subjects and predicates.
I like having a sense of propriety.
I like it when things are final.

I don’t write poetically, ok?
I don’t like writing in rhythm and
I don’t like writing in rhyme.
I don’t like alliteration, anaphora, apostrophe.
I don’t like sonnets or sestinas.
I don’t like villanelles or ghazals.
I don’t like what I’m saying.

I’m just a girl, ok?
I think I’m figuring things out.
I think writing is a part of me.
I think there’s more though too.
I think there’s a lot more.
I think I need to write things down more.
I think it’s all important.

I write in prose, ok?

LTWR8B Poem 5

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in. This poem is a ghazal.

Of The Dinosaurs

I wish I could have lived in the time of the dinosaurs.
I think I would have liked the life of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have been a brontosaurus or a corythosaurus.
I think I would have played in the nightlife of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have seen the tyrannosaurus in battle, all teeth.
I think I would have been scared of the knife of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have watched the babies hatch and grow.
I think I would have been a good wife of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have roamed the unspoiled lands of the earth.
I think I would have enjoyed the nightlife of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have saved them from the meteor.
I think I would have handled the strife of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could stop people from making fun of me.
“I think Chelsey would like the afterlife of the dinosaurs!”

Of The Dinosaurs

I wish I could have lived in the time of the dinosaurs.
I think I would have loved the sight of the dinosaurs.

I smile when I see the sheets covering my bed—
The bright colored creatures over cream colored bones of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have been a brontosaurus or a corythosaurs.
I think I would have played in the light with the dinosaurs.

I love when I see my Little Foot, older than me, sitting on my bed—
Delight and safety come from the best one of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have seen the tyrannosaurus in battle, fierce.
I think I would have cried at the fight of the dinosaurs.

I love when I see my books spread across my bed—
Despite so much studying, little is still known of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have saved them from the meteor—
Chelsey, the hero, fixed the plight of the dinosaurs.

LTWR8B Poem 6

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in.

To: Mom

Mother, Father please explain to me
How this world has come to be
While still blessed in all the things we see
Such a sad, sad home for you and me

Tell me when help is gonna come



She thinks, “Hey, how did it come to this?
I dream myself a thousand times around the world
But I can’t get out of this place.”

How she wishes it was different
She prays to God most every night
And though she swears he doesn’t listen
There’s still a hope in her He might



She says, “I pray, but they fall on deaf ears.
Am I supposed to take it on myself
To get out of this place?”



She feels like kicking out all the windows

It’s the lose and the win of the world

And setting fire to this life

Wrong and right, us and them of the world

She could change everything about her

The you and the me of the world

Using colors bold and bright

Only one way out of the world

But all the colors mix together—to grey

And it breaks her heart

The space between your heart and mine

By love, we’ll beat back the pain we’ve found

Take my hand ‘cause we’re walking out of here

Because tomorrow we may die

Take these chances



Want to pack your bags, something small

Take what you need and we disappear

Without a trace, we’ll be gone, gone

You’re coming with me



You know that you and me, we could do anything

If along the way, you are growing weary
You can rest with me until a brighter day
And you’re ok

From you my strength is full
To carry your burdens too



See you and me
Have a better time than most can dream
Have it better than the best

The moon and the stars follow the car
And then when we get to the ocean
We’re going to take a boat to the end of the world
All the way to the end of the world



Turns out not where but who you’re with
That really matters



I think the world of you
All of my heart I do
Blood through my veins for you

You and me together, we can do anything

Like a diamond in the sky

I give my world to you



So we can pull on through
Whatever tears at us
Whatever holds us down
And if nothing can be done
We’ll make the best of what’s around

Where you are is where I belong



So much you have given, love
That I would give you back again and again

All you need is
All you want is
All you need is love.
All you need is
What you want it
All you need is love.
Everyday

To: Mom

Citrus Heights
July 20th, 1990 to December 23rd, 1997
Such a sad, sad home for you and me

She thinks, “Hey, how did it come to this?
I dream myself a thousand times around the world
But I can’t get out of this place.”

She says, “I pray, but they fall on deaf ears.
Am I supposed to take it on myself
To get out of this place?”

Tell me when help is gonna come

She feels like kicking out all the windows

It’s the lose and the win of the world

And setting fire to this life

Wrong and right, us and them of the world

She could change everything about her

The you and the me of the world

Using colors bold and bright

Only one way out of the world

Take these chances

December 24th, 1997
12:01 am
Want to pack your bags, something small
Take what you need and we disappear

Because tomorrow we may die

Redding-The place I still call home
October 18th, 1998 to September 19th, 2008
By love, we’ll beat back the pain we’ve found

So we can pull on through
Whatever tears at us
Whatever holds us down

If along the way, you are growing weary
You can rest with me until a brighter day

La Jolla
September 20th, 2008
You and me together, we can do anything

Today and
What I've Learned
Turns out not where but who you’re with
That really matters

Tomorrow
And then when we get to the ocean
We’re going to take a boat to the end of the world
All the way to the end of the world

Where you are is where I belong

LTWR8B Poem 7

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in. This is my poetic statement that is supposed to wrap up my entire view on poetry, though I'm not sure it represents any of my feelings on poetry. Or maybe partially. However, this is the one means the most to me. I bet you'll never guess why.

The Lottery: A Poem

A gamble
Of words.

A jumble
Of feelings.

A 1 in 176 million chance
Of getting it right.

The Lottery: A Poem

August 27^th, 2010
Bottle Liquor and Deli
999 Main St.

A gamble
Of words.

A jumble
Of feelings.

A 1 in 176 million chance
Of getting it right.

4 10 26 32 41 Mega Number 31

What makes your truly happy?

I'm not sure I quite know yet. There are a lot of things that make me happy, but I'm not sure if they're what makes me truly happy. If anything at all, it would be my family. They frustrate me sometimes to no end, but I love them to death and my happiness in life would... just... be... annihilated if I were to ever lose one. Sometimes, when I see a movie where a family member dies and I start to think about life after I lose one, I cry. There's nothing but a void there, soul destroying and painful to no end. I hate that feeling. My family is my everything. The reason I get up in the morning and live each day out to make sure that I can better their lives as they have bettered mine. I guess my answer should be God, but there's a lot I need to work on with Him to get to a point where He is what makes me truly happy above all else. And that's my fault, not His.

Ask me anything. I dare you.

when is it ok to lie?

I want to say never. I personally would rather people tell me the truth because I don't like hurting people and sometimes I do it without even realizing. Whenever there's drama in my life, it's usually because someone hasn't spoken up about something. I feel like I gotta quote Taylor Swift here when I say "SPEAK NOW."
TSwizzle-- "Real life is a funny thing, you know. In real life, saying the right thing at the right moment is beyond crucial. So crucial, in fact, that most of us start to hesitate, for fear of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. But lately what I've begun to fear more than that is letting the moment pass without saying anything."
I think letting that fear of saying what you want to say just makes life harder. I'm not saying that I follow my own advice, but I start thinking about it when there's something I really want to say but don't know if I should say it. Recently, I went out on a limb and asked someone to my house for dinner. That sounds really lame, but I'm pretty antisocial around new people and that was big for me. Especially because I kind of have a crush on him. So, I was pretty proud of myself for the rest of the day even though he said he had other plans. I felt like a BAMF and at least I knew that I didn't let the chance go by me.
Speaking of going out on a limb, I'm going to quote the wise and philosophical Joshua Ottoson when I say "Why not go out on a limb? That's where the fruit is."
So, get your fruit. Say what's on your mind. Don't lie and cover it up. Be honest. I'll work on it if you do.

Ask me anything. I dare you.