in a language i cannot understand

i close my eyes

imagine the glitter and sparkle twirl and orbit around my face

imagine the sun warm my eyelids, yellow and heavy

the birds chirp lazily and i can hear you humming a song i don't know the words to

i open my eyes

i see you smile back at me, your smile crooked and very imperfect

i see lines in your face; years stretch out behind you, i can see it in the corners of your eyes

you open your mouth and out pours a language that i don't understand

you take my hand

your skin is rough, a tattoo; the color of the wind in your hand

i wish you'd hold my hand for a while, it's bigger than my own

your hands dance with the words you create as you speak

...

your song isn't for me, otherwise i would sing along

we can't run through the years together; you already bought a one-way ticket on a train

that won't come back

you hand leaves mine and the color of the wind lifts from my palm

-but the imprint of the hurricane is still seared into my skin

what if kafka just liked cockroaches?

so. on a complete whim i submitted a couple of my poems to lit mag at my school.
i submitted a personal favorite, hope and soul to ash (i think i posted it here...)
and my advisor told me that he wanted to see me about it

so we were talking, and he told me he likes the way my "brain works"
and my way of thinking, which i had no comment on and respond so with a muttered "ok".

well, he told me that there were a couple things that were preventing it from
being published this year:
1- it seemed "emo" with the death at the end.
first of all, i don't see myself as emo at all, i actually subconsciously cringe at that word- emo.

2-"we" (meaning some sort of secret society of writing gods) like the figurative aspects about it but that i should just cut out all the literal aspects

3- he then told me that obviously the main character is symbolic for something... and then he paused. so i told him that that main character symbolizes (...) which was the truth and it got a little quiet. now i feel really weird that now he knows what my poems about. the real reason i was uncertain of even turning this in was because i knew that people would pick it apart.
no, i don't care if they don't like it. i just hate when people say shit like "the author is symbolising this here..." or "obviously this is a comment on how the traumatic events of the author's childhood shaped his choice of diction here..." i mean. what the fuck. BUT i do understand sometimes it's true. the author did mean that there; but if he/she/i didn't don't pretend it does.

in my english class we're reading kafka's "metamorphosis". every time mr. k's is reading he tells us, "the author turned gregory into a bug because it showed his isolation as a human being. you can see his alienation here and here..."
SO BADLY i would love to be like, "UM. excuse me what if kafka just like cockroaches?"

i guess my point is, that not everything needs to have a point. the whole point of the modernist movement is that the authors wrote about things that didn't make sense. so, why dear teacher, are you adding all this analytical shit to someone's work? what if kafka just fancied cockroaches?

i'm revising my poem; i caved. he did give some good suggestions, i will admit. so my poem will be shined up, clipped up here, and figurative words added there. i'm guess "sad" because when i was writing it i just sat down and typed out how i was feeling at that exact moment. now, i'm writing while trying to remember that feeling. it's not the same thing.

ill post the "better" version here.

i only like grey's anatomy as a friend

reasearch sucks:

"on average patients with scoliosis have a shortened life span of about 14 years."

um, holy fuck?

so today, i did it

i finally admitted to my parents i was scared (...)

and i had a good sobbing embarassing messy mascara cry

and it was one of the best things i could've done

to be vunerable, and to admit: "i'm shitting my pants right now please help me"

is scary

but when you know you have the best possible people supporting you

and you have people who want to help you make the right descisions

it puts some to the worries at bay

my dad remeinded me that i watch too much grey's anatomy,

i know, how is it possible?

and not all surgerys are as dramatic and hectic as those on my favorite show

which basically made me smile

...but if anyone is operating it'll be christina yang, thank you very much

so, im putting these worries at rest for now

i'm going to stop watching grey's anatomy

and im going to get a good night's rest

hallelujah

...

pee-ess- maybe you should try this:

i (name) am/have ______ and i don't give a shit

mine would be: i suhleenuh myhoney have scoliosis and i don't give a shit

yours might be:

i (name) am gay and i don't give a shit

i (name) hate red heads and i don't give a shit

i (name) can't sing for my life and i don't give a shit

i (name) relized my mother told me to do the laundry and i don't give a shit

...obviously this is very liberating...

shakespeare makes me want to punch someone in the face

i'm joining theater at my school
i'm actually really exited
i can learn more and more everyday
that's something to look forward to, isn't it?

well everyone tells me the teacher is crazy
and she drains everyones time
but i need someone to drain my time
i have too much time, in my opinion
sure i'm always busy, but with stuff like math and chemistry i.e.,
stuff that "frankly my dear, i don't give a damn" about
(ahh, gone with the wind reference)

so she asked me if i wanted to join beginners theater or advanced theater
i told her advanced, naturally
not because i think im a good actress,
i have absolutely no experience...
except being little independent films that my father and his friends make
and of course high school musical 1 and 2- oh joy!
(i have so much more work to do it's traumatizing to think about it all)
but because i'm ready for something
that will finally challenge me in something i actually care about improving


she then proceeded to give me a list of things i needed to do
i am supposed to learn a monologue and audition for her in two month's time
she suggested shakespeare,
and if you know me you know about how much
shakespeare makes me want to punch someone in the face
(out of fright of acting it-
and frustration of my limited attention span)
maybe i'll do something from a chorus line, i love that play

well, it's a step in the right direction i presume

flock of sheep in spacesuits

we look up at the stars
and the earth falls out from beneath us
each twinkling star placed by hands much bigger than our own
star dust is blown in the blackness, with wind that blows faster than we have ever known

we are so limited
we squeeze the sky and the stars that hang so preciously in the sky
in our limited brains, in our elementary textbooks

in science class, someone with a whiteboard and a pointer
tells us how the earth was formed
with chemicals and gases and mistakes
but as you're sitting there in that generic blue plastic chair you feel there is something more

and just to think were are just a speck on a speck the orbits another speck
just to think the sun could suck us dry if it imploded, by chance
just to think acid jungles and ocean worlds might be orbiting somewhere
and we wouldn't know it
but someone would

just to think, our little blue and green twinkling planet hung up in air:
people live day to day
the flock of sheep all move in the same direction, it's all humanity has ever known

a child looks up in the starry night, his big brown eyes filled with the whimsical universe
and wonders how everyone walks with their eyes closed if there is so much to see
wonders why when you push bigger and bigger with your mind you always hit a wall, where you can't think anymore
it's just easier to think about your own day to day instead

when you think someone has got to have placed those stars
someone has got to have painted that night blacker than black
someone has got to have lightly blown on each little planet making it orbit like
a little kids science project
someone

and when you stand and tell me that the someone who hung my world
knows how many hairs there are on my head
it's too big, too magical for me to understand
because i think, why would He want to know me?
i don't stand much taller than the dirty ground i walk on

but sometimes you just have to think that if He took that much time
making the universe spin and twirl in beautiful silence and heart-stopping beauty
He thought you should be in it; because you're here aren't you?

He spent time weaving each thread of hair
painting each freckle
and putting the stars in our eyes
for a reason

so we could walk hand in hand through the stars
i would be in a spacesuit
and He'd be cloaked in the stars, He'd point out the milky way and smile

epiphany by flashdance

as i was watching the movie flashdance, i had a vision.
i can follow my dream.
and yes, it seems so cheesy to take something that generic from an old 80's movie;
but when you sit there and ponder that one sentence, that one thought,
things just start to come together, you can almost make out the big picture.

we seriously have one fricken life to live, why not give it everything you got?
i want to know what im so scared of, what is everyone else so damn scared of?
that you'll fall on your ass? we've all done that, plenty of times.

i guess once you start to see that the only thing that's stopping you is the fear of failure
you can just keep moving, keep perusing
because if you fail,
there's no regrets

a box of old stuff

i have finally and completely moved.

4 boxes, and many more to go,

but i'm out of that apartment and into a brand new one.

my sister and I counted, our 10th move.

apartment apartment house apartment apartment.

so as i was going though some of my old stuff, i came across a blue old box that looked like it had been warped by hundreds of years. a thick layer of dust coated the top and elementary stickers covered the sides.

i opened it and found all my elementary school journals, pictures and just, memories. they poured out of that box. but one things that i found: diaries.

diaries that said 'memories' on them, another was a harry potter diary, which i find ironic because i always make fun of my sister for being a harry potter freak. alright let me just put it out there, i like harry potter. who doesn't?

anyway, in my move all together i found around seven or eight diaries. filled with stuff. heavy stuff, light stuff just all this stuff i totally and completely forgot about. entirely.

as i began to read them, i was seriously transported back to my years in 5th grade, 6th grade and so on. it was an eye opener to how much i have seriously changed.

i found letters from my old best friends, and in my diaries i actually wrote about each friend. old fights, good times, and the notorious crushes all came back to me.

the boys i liked!!! i remember reading the first time a boy asked me out (typical response for me: no; so some things haven't changed), i read about my first best friend and how we became friends from hanging out at the monkey bars; literally this stuff was golden.

it was so funny when i addressed my older self, like, 'older salina if you are reading this..." and it was so strange because i was. i was like sitting with my younger self and experiencing everything again with her.

i had totally forgotten how much i hated my middle school, and pretty much everyone in it. i drew pictures and wrote charts and made lists.

as i was reading this feeling came back to me. i wasn't just remembering it like a picture, i was remembering the feel of that time. the feel of the old town and school i used to go to. everything was just a feeling, not a memory because i hardly remember half the stuff i wrote about.

wow, i feel so old. i'm 15 years old and i'm old. i guess i do miss that 'era' of my life, even though there were hard times. pictures can only take you back so far, but for me it was the diaries that brought me the rest of the way.

so thank you younger self.

love

"love is patient and kind;
love does not envy or boast;
it is not arrogant or rude.
It does not insist on its own way;
it is not irritable or resentful;
it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.
Love bears all things,
believes all things,
hopes all things,
endures all things."

-1st corinthians 13

i just need to let this sink in.

the one-man dream catcher

right now im might just be the most determined person
i have ever been
and all it took was my parents not believing in me
funny, isn't it?

when you were in kindergarten didn't your parents say,
"reach for the stars!" and
"you can do it!"
yeah well, that was when we all wanted to be firefighters and policeman
when we all wanted to be doctors and presidents

try telling your parents you might want to become and actress
might
even the smallest possibility that you won't be normal
and you learn that everything they told you in kindergarten was
straight-up, no lie
b u l l s h i t

from you too
and that just plain out hurts
we were always supposed to be on the same side
fighting for freedom of individuality and independence together
but is i grow older i again realize,
b u l l s h i t

it hurts, but again makes me more determined
maybe God is putting this hurdle in my life
so that i can fight harder
so that i can try harder
so that i can experience happiness on my own

and you only need one person to chase a dream
so bring it on

the schizophrenic with the sparkling eyes

i have see him at the bus station
twice
he blends in with the mass, but has a look in his eye that sparkles and shines
he smiles to himself, a sweet shy smile that is only for him
he talks to everyone around him, straight-forwardly and honestly
he doesn't hide, and that's what i like about him

i imagine things about him
what his childhood was like, what his adulthood is like
and the story unfolds in my mind as i wait for my bus

i find myself wishing that he has a special girl that he likes
rooting for him, that she liked him back
if you saw him you'd know he deserved a sweet girl
his eyes just scream out that he knows what love is
they just sparkle and shine

i imagine his name is something simple
but something you can't forget

i see him loping with his big backpack and tall frame
from the hospital to get on the bus
sometimes i see him getting off,
and see him walking in that same direction
once again
i have a feeling he goes to the hospital everyday
and is friends with all the nurses
he would know each one by name, and know all the twists and turns of the hospital

he is a youthful sweet-faced man
i picture him at the age of 23
maybe older, but laughter and innocence had kept his features childish

he sometimes has his arm wrapped around someone, who's not there
he always laughs at jokes that no one can hear
and out of the corner of my eye i see him look at something magnificent; things that no one can see

and as the crowd looks away, uncomfortable and scared
i look on in curiosity, and wonder

i want him to show me what is so magnificent that he just has to look at in amazement
i want to ask him, can i meet that sweet girl you have your arm around
i bet she's interesting, even though he would be the only one to know that

he's a schizophrenic
i have heard him say it out loud more than once
but why does he need reality, if what he sees is so beautiful?
why bring him down here to walk among the living and the sane,
if what he sees is so damn interesting?

he should be helping us
there has to be something beautiful on that bus stop that im missing
and he's got it

MY HOT BOY LIST

everyone's got a list

1. gabriel macht*- he's just plain out too sexy he gets a star and, 10
2. shia labeouf- 10
3. johnny depp- 9 1/2
4. james franco- 9 1/2
5. penn badgley- 9 1/2
6. michael cera- my obsession for obvious reasons, 10
7. ashton kutcher- 8
8. peter fachinelli- 8 1/2
9. seth rogen- 8
10. kevin costner- i would like to make it clear ONLY in JFK and, 9
whoops totally forgot:
11. david boreanaz*, 9 1/2
12. mc steamy, 9
13. mc dreamy, 8

six days at the bottom of the ocean

i sunk
the dark water encompasses me
the black water swirls my hair
my body moves in slow motion
as i slowly descend

i hit the sandy bottom
and am caught on a rock
and there i sway, back and forth
six days at the bottom of the ocean

six days, six emotions passed through my chest
six emotions feel heavier than the one felt previously

first, i felt anger
anger that you would try to impede in my life
anger that things had to be so complicated
anger that you did this to me
you striped my flesh from bone

fear, was what i felt on the second day
i looked around me and just saw darkness
the weight of thousands of leagues pushed on my skull
even down here; in silence, i can barely hear myself think
and when i opened my mouth to scream, only a cascade of bubbles poured out of me
the fear wrapped itself in between my ribs
throughout my lungs and chocked my throat
and i was scared the passing of time would never change

jealousy, came next
i braced myself for this one
its such and ugly repulsive creature;
jelousy, that latched onto my ankle
like an a big black suckered octopus from under that anchoring rock
so ugly it stayed weighing me down until my six days were up

the days melted one into another, one black starless night
at the bottom of the cold atlantic
ice slashed my skin, never ceasing

right on time, greed came slothfully and sneakingly upon me
greed looked me in my face, i noticed greed had dead black holes for eyes
greed's white bony hand reached out
in it was the most beautiful blackened dream i have ever seen
but it turned to muddy sand in my hand
and my tears floated up to the surface

...

but then these things started to melt away
like black and red and silver ink through clear water
floating, constantly changing depth and form
up and up where the fisherman scoop it up,
and feed it to millions

as the black ink melted from my pores
it evaporated into the water around me
making me clean
even though it seemed i would always be anchored to the heaviest weight

i stopped struggling
and i accepted
that i cannot do this alone

on the next day, i felt understanding;
that i wasn't the only one
as i realized this, i looked out around the black valley of ocean ground
and saw thousands of corpses
anchored to the ground
becoming alive with love as the ink left their bodies

the sixth day passed in a blur
each new thought a epiphany
each new emotion a gift
each shred of hope an exhilaration

when it was time to leave my lock-down cell
my cage, i realized the key was just lying in the sand, there all along

so i knelt, and scooped it up; like the fisherman
i pushed up off of the ground and floated, almost flew, to the surface

my head finally broke through the last layer of
heaviness and black green ice

i inhaled my first breath in six days
the wind whipped my face and filled my lungs
i looked up the the sky and shouted;
"im free!"

catastrophe and the cure

and i was running
sprinting, my heart beating faster and faster
thumping so hard and powerful-
there has never been anything as powerful
as this one heart beat

running
i can feel it
i can see the light
im scaling a mountain
and my legs run on their own
and i follow

and i made it
to the top
o, the view is so beautiful from up here!
come join me
run! before its to late. run!

i stare at our my life below
the car crash, the catastrophe
i realize i don't have the cure
but i cut the cord of doubt
and run

as im here
i pull my face to the sun
and it shines and makes me warm and safe
i lift my arms and stand at the top of the mountain

the breeze entangles my hair behind me
and i open my mouth
and scream
and leave my catastrophe behind

but then the earth's weight crushed my lungs
and clipped my wings
my legs are moving on their own
back down that mountain; the fog covers me
and i scream

i dig my finger nails into the earth
to try to keep me there
but my muscles explode
and i am dragged, pulled, and tangled

like a moth caught in a web
like a guilty child caught in a lie
like a human being caught in sin
like a pig to the slaughter house

i plunge to the foot of the mountain
tears stream my face, black soot down my face
and i look up
just as the sun leaves the sky
just as the sun inches up and up
over that same mountain
and im left in darkness

but i still feel your presence
you wipe my bloody knees and in my ear:
"till tomorrow"
you whisper in the breeze
and i believe you
with i love you on my lips
and hope in my eyes

explosions in the sky

this is my favorite band.
explosions in the sky.
they create seriously the most beautiful sounds i have every heard.
i love just putting in my earphones, and listening to this music.
every single song develops as you listen it,
creating a mood and a story.

the instrumentals and just takes my breath away
because sometimes it pinpoints exactly how i feel
and runs with it, making my feelings
something i can comprehend in the most beautiful and powerful way:
music.

i have decided i want to write a poem on every single song, and post them
here, one by one. each poem will be inspired by each song.
and just.. i don't know well see how this music ends up inspiring
me more than it already has.

listen to them. i promise you won't be disappointed.
songs:
catastrophe and the cure
it's natural to be afraid
welcome, ghosts
the birth and the death of the day
remember me as a time of day
six days at the bottom of the ocean
first breath after a coma (which i named my blog after)
snow and lights
glittering blackness
magic hours
time stops
memorial
so long, so lonesome
look into the air
a song for our fathers
your hand in mine
the only moment we were alone

hope and soul to ash

my friend Mia greeted me recently,
her words rang (and still ring) through my head,
throwing back all the promises i had said.

Mia asked me to follow her,
to finally let go, and be free,
to open my eyes, and see what we could be.

but i hesitated and stopped in my tracks;
frightened, that if i follow i might never come back.
but she noticed i was still enticed through the fear so:
she grabbed me, with her long spindly arms, and started stripping me of everything i lacked.

she opened her mouth, a huge black hole, wider and wider.
out came a thick swarm of black bees, buzzing around me with their mechanical sound.

she then attacked my two close friends named Soul and Worth;
bit holes in their rosy pink cheeks, stripped them as well, until they gave in.

Mia reshaped them, replacing their cream bones with aluminum and steel.
she started sowing their pretty red lips shut with a rusty needle and thick thread;
the red crimson blood poured down their porcelain chins, until they couldn't scream.
but they would never scream, convinced the danger of Mia was all in their head.

my beautiful Soul and Worth squirmed on the cold concrete.
their porcelain faces burnt and seared,
their glass hands cracked and splintered,
Mia's chains cut into their skin,
the darkest place, they feared.

their eyes were sunken and glistening black,
as they curved and huddled for warmth,
the bones of steel poked through their backs.

they waited for the warmth the could never come,
instead the coldest wet air slothfully crawled into their lungs;
and took them from within.
it dawned on them (and me), the song of Soul and Worth would never be sung.

Mia knew this was the end, laughed, and went in for the kill;
i closed my eyes and all i heard whas the sharp high screams, so loud and shrill.

Mia took me above to look down and the sickening scene,
she smiles and winked and said, "follow me?"
i looked down at my Soul and Worth,
and i knew it was a sick masochistic lie.
but i still agreed, my heart beating fast, and joined Soul and Worth,
on the cold concrete, shriveled to ash, and died.

good friends

dear brian,
im glad were good friends.
i knew we would be
when we dont have to make amends
after every thing we say

i knew we would be
when you joked about my garlicy breath
after i ate stonefire
but you hugged me anyways
and walked me to my car

i knew we would be
when you played your guitar
and i sang "im yours" and you knew it was something special
because i never sing in front of people

i knew we would be
because when you walk me to my class
you know your's is a school away
but you take crap from mrs. hong anyway

i knew we would be
when we make plans to teach me guitar
and we follow through
because you know it something i've always wanted to learn
but have never had the time

i knew we would be
because you know that i don't need drama in my life right now
and you are the easiest person just to talk and hang out with

thanks brian, for being such a good friend. (:

as time sprints out

i cannot fucking breathe.
i cannot fucking type.
i cannot fucking think about anything besides how you keep coming into my life.
i thought i left you behind.
i've tried everything.
i go on not thinking about you for days. but then you pop into my head, and i push it away.
but what do you FUCKING THINK i am supposed to do when i actually see a picture of you for the first time?
my heart starts to beat faster and i cant even breathe right now.
you're so innocent in that picture.
... you like so much like me and my father.
to even think, you look so much like me.
to even think, you look so much like.. what i used to look like.
what am i supposed to do?
there's no way to meet you.
and yet, in a way, i love you.
but i hate that you have to fucking look like me and my father.
why.
how am i supposed to live in oblivion, which i wish i could.
when you've already taken your first steps when you've already said your first words.
or maybe you havent, i don't know.
all i can do is keep breathing.
but i can barley do that when you keep coming up.

i can barely even hate her either, but i know i should.
im so scared. i don't think i have ever felt more scared.
that im running out of time for you.
time is just running so fast, as i ignore the huge problem staring me in the face, it becomes more and more too late!
what am i supposed to do?
im powerless, i have never felt as powerless in my life.

i cannot ever meet you.
but i will always love you.

im crying as i fricken write this but as much as i wish i could blame you.
i can't.
i wish i could just say it's your fault! but even i feel so guilty and responsible for not trying as hard as i could for you.
hate and love are both raging inside me.
all because of one innocent being.
you will never know how much i love you.
but i don't know if i can fight for you, i've tried.

grow up strong baby brother.
i love you. please please know that i haven't abandoned you.

ode: recollections from the stage

ode: recollections from the stage
and remembrance of imitation of an alter persona
by: suhleenuh myhoney

on the hard wood stage, my feet stand still but my knees are shaking.
my heart pumps blood over exuberantly;
fluttering like a humming birds wings, it pollen for the taking.
the bright white light fires, exposing every twitch of my countenance.
i plaster a smile onto my face, so big it splits my head in two.
my muscles twitch; i tread lightly as if an ocean of acid awaits me.
sometimes i tread upstage to be shielded by the throng, another pawn in musical chess.
sometimes i tread downstage to outwardly conduct myself in a prodigious fashion.

as i sit in my lock down cell, my island, i pine for my stage.
an echo of the white light stings my skin; the same song abounds through my mind.
i hum in agreement, no longer amused by my day to day ordinances.
the clock's small hand rounds its face, shy of when the sun begins to descend.
i enter the theater again, the smell of fresh paint and parchment emitted through the glass entry way.
i view a haughty prodigy harping shakespearean lines, globules producing on his forehead.
i spot a dreamer, an onlooker, in beatitude with the prodigy's chimera of a performance.
i am the dreamer, onlooking on the raw talent of the others, dumbfounded on how i even made it to the back row.

as the white light shines on the facade once more,
one's eyes travels over the intertwined stories of the eager eyes, always watching.
i spy one with crevasses carved deep in her aged face, her mouth agape, a smile plays across her face.
she watches in amusement, the echo of the white light stings her skin too.

as i sing, her mouth opens wider, no stranger to the lows and highs of the notes.
as my brow furrows, her wrinkles cave in deeper; no stranger to the imitation of sadness or despair.
as she is in remembrance of the stage, she is youthful.
she is in remembrance of the imitation of the alter personas she preformed when her curtain opened.
i will become the old woman.

being in the presence of genius, inspires me to step out from the mass.
the flat piece of wood hold hundreds of layers of paint,
hundreds of performances the required someone to push through their consciousness;
and become and alter being that breaths, feels and reacts.
to be a half- hearted wallflower on your own personal island
is acceptable if you become every aspect of a wallflower on the stage full heartedly.