Being worthless is all i've ever known.

Wrist watches will kill me someday.

Paris is always a good idea.

I went to Paris once.

He handed me a travel guide and advised me not to eat the carrots.

Most people would question what a Teacher knows about Paris. A Teacher.
But that's the thing, he's a teacher.
Not a tour guide.
He's a rapper and Poet, and an Artist in his own right.
But get this straight, he is no tour guide.

And I'm not just a student anymore.
In Paris I'm more than a student number and a dress code violation.
Because in Paris, I'm a writer.
There are places in where I can trade in my sorrow for satisfaction.
Because in Paris the people think a little differently.
And listen, and care. Maybe not all the time, and certainly not everyone.
But there is some hope there.
Because in Paris the worthless are the street lights and the hopeful hearts dance in the rain.

You can tell me it was in the water, and you can tell me that's there's no money in writing, and you can tell me that pictures of chairs won't be practical.

But I can tell you that I don't care. And that if I got accepted to Art school I'd go. Because real love is dropping beats and chandeliers. And I can tell all the people in the world that I learned more about life in 5 months of Creative writing then I ever have in 11 and 1/2 years of school. But to Principals, and PTA moms that won't matter. That won't understand.

I don't expect them to. Tourism is a terrible plague, and I thank the stars we escaped the suffering. Paris housed us well, even if we weren't the most gracious house guests.

And I guess I saw this coming all along, Visas expire. Real life can only be avoided so long. But Paris won't ever be gone.

I'll find it in my own places. Coffee shops, and real airports. Novels about teenage angst, and late night tweets. At art school, and on the lips of with Beenies and poems of their own. In break up songs and broken mirrors.

I found something in Paris, that i just cant explain. Someone left it there for me, miserable and magical in every way. so I'll pack my journal in my suitcase and smuggle it home.

But heed my warning and break the rules.

Paris is waiting, where are you?

No one listens.

Her bones had a way of settling inside that made her miss the sunshine.
She tied her dreams to her doubts with her Chuck Taylor laces and threw them to the phone wire.
Sacrifice was easy, breathing was hard.
The "bigger picture" had swallowed the artist whole, and she missed the artist dearly.
And she walked, and she smiled, and her voice left her body but never made it far.
She closed her heavy eyes at night and the stars found her. Loneliness lulled her to sleep, and relief greeted her on the other side. Greener grass, and open windows. Morning always came, and sweet sadness filled her days.
Her feet carried her places her timid heart dared not go.
Left turns and dirty stop signs, lone peak high, and storm clouds.

"I think I touched it once, my finger tips brushed its glory; and for a moment my paper wings were real."

But muddy memories are hard to relive.
So she walked, and she wandered, and she hoped that Peter and his shadow would lead her to Paris again.
She had the marvel and her soul was always there, but she could never make them see it. Not the way she did.

The most painful poem

Was she worth it?

I'd say I'm learning how it feels to have feelings for someone who has no feelings for you. But I know how that feels.

I'd say I don't miss you, but I do. Because missing you makes me who I am now.

I'd say I don't think about it anymore. But I just can't seem to get that night out of my head.

I'd say you didn't break my heart. But your lips on hers, and the lies your lips told. And the secrets your lips hold. They broke it.

I'd say I don't check your twitter. But you tweet it, I read it. I'd say I don't over think it. But I do. I over think you.

I'd say her name. But I don't know it. Kennedy, or Dakota. Something. Something much prettier than mine. Because she is much prettier than me.

I'd say she wasn't but that would be a lie. I'd say I wish I knew what she looked like. But I don't.

I don't need to know how much whiter her teeth are. Or how flawless her skin is. Or how she gave you everything I couldn't.

I don't need to know how with a single kiss you took away my whole world.

I'd say I wished she had sang you the song, but then I'd have to say I wish she knew it, and I don't.

I'd say I know you loved me then. But I don't know that.

I know the lips that once created the stars and the heavens for me, now darken my hell.

I know you'll never love me again.

I'd say I wish you would.

But I'd have to want that.

And I don't know if I do.

I'd say I wish I could meet her, and tech her a lesson.

But really I want to shake her hand with a tear in my eye. Thank her, for being what I couldn't.

I'd say you never cross my mind. But you do. Constantly.

Maybe I turn a little bit green.

I stay up late. Write, read, delete-erase-backspace, write again.

And I end up with an ugly dish that tastes like death. I am not the next Iron chef.

Hell, maybe I'm not even a writer.



I blame my parents. They could have bought me a dog.
Maybe if my 4th grade teacher wasn't always distracted.
Or maybe it's Gods fault, because there's no father to provide me inspiration.


Maybe Stephen Chbosky is just lucky.
Maybe his words just mean more.
Maybe I let them mean more.

Maybe I hate his poem because it makes me so jealous. Maybe it makes me jealous because he tells a perfect story, but ruins the ending.

His words are flawed, and flawless. They inspire me and destroy me. I turn this hideous shade of green and can't help but to envy him.

www.freewebs.com/ohparasi/

"I love you" said The Shadow. And with tears in her eyes and pain in hervoice, Peter said "I love you."

 

He's in love with me ya know? He always has been. Head over heels, I can't begin to imagine why.

No one knows I let him stay around. They all forgot about him a long time ago. Figured I'd grow out of it I guess. But he's my shadow, and I'm his Peter.

Somewhere in between pain and innocence he appeared. He filled the hole in my young heart, and that's where he's been ever since.

He played with me on the playground when no one else would.

They called me ugly at school, and he wiped the tears from my eyes.

"Keep your chin up captain, they don't see who I see."

And with that he'd hand me a dandelion and I'd be lost in those bright eyes.

We tied each time we played tic-tac-toe, and marshmallows melted faster when he made hot chocolate. It was magic and so was he.

When my family left their seats empty, his eyes watched me from the crowd. It was always his applause I heard from backstage.

Real friends change, and leave. So I found no harm in keeping him. He didn't want to leave, and I didn't let him.

Our summer sanctuaries and winter wonderlands set with the sun, and we out grew our club house.

But he was there to hold my hair at the high school party. And he helped me smile through my tear stained makeup.

I'd rest my head on his shoulder and he'd read to me, from books, and plays; and if I was lucky he'd tell me the story of us.

"I'll move to California, and become a fighter pilot. You'll stay, saving them all with your words. We will find each other, when the times right." he'd wink and tell me "you can't change what's meant to be."

He'd find me in my dreams, and save me from my nightmares.

And when other boys left me on the side of the road, cold and alone. He was there.

I push him away, and let pieces of people take up his space. But he is never far behind me.

His footsteps have always echoed mine, even in the lonely places.

He taught me how to tie noose knots, and he hid all the chairs.

The broken pieces of my souls made sense in his hands. He bled, just to put me back together.

He says my scars are beauty marks, and I worry that I'm not the only one with a wild imagination.

Growing up means letting go but I'm just not ready.

He takes my headphones out when I fall asleep, and he makes sure the covers are over my feet.

And no one else can see him. Not the way I do. But that's the way it's always been.

He holds my hand when I'm scared.
He calms my nerves with a smile.
He sings at the top of his lungs to drown out my parents fighting.
He lets me fall asleep.

Listen, I don't expect you to get it. Or to see him. I'm not liar. I promise.

I know him.

And no matter what the say, he is real.
 
To me.

 

I hope you smile, sunshine, just not for me.

You asked me for a secret, and I had always hated disappointing you.
 So my words came flying before my hands could catch them.

"I still Love you."

 

Your eyes smiled and you let out that same laugh,

 that used to rob my nights of sleep.

 

"Nice try, I want a real secret."

 

 A cloud of warm air escaped from your mouth, and I

couldn't bring myself to do anything but stand there and watch you.

 

 

 

You looked liked a darker, colder version of the boy who's shoulders I used to kiss in those soft moments. I forced myself to smile, and I looked at you. I looked at you and  you were looking at me

 like you used to

and then it was gone.

 

Tell me sunshine, how do you sleep at night?

Is it easier to look in the mirror?

Tell me have you found your dreams?

Do they keep you warm?

Tell me sunshine, because I just don't seem to understand.

 

Because I may wander, but I'm not lost anymore.

 

 You left your smoke and mirrors with me when you moved.

 

And I hate to break it to you, sunshine, but I'm not the broken doll you left behind. I cut myself out of those strings you tangled. And I may not walk so steady, but I don't need your hand in my life anymore.

 

Your act has long since ended, and no ones applauding.