College

I can't help but wonder why it seems that finals week has become the most nonchalant relaxing week of my collegiate semesters. It really makes no sense. It seems all the stress and mayhem comes in the few weeks leading up to that hollowed week of weeks. I am sitting in my bed at 11:45 am, having had received a full nights rest, and mildly shuffling through some papers for a take home test, withering my day away by prowling on Facebook, and illegally downloading music and things off the internet. Its pretty much wholly unproductive in the sense of achievements and accomplishments.
I hate school, really. I am sick of going to it, being in it, living down the street from it. I have been going to school since I was 5, which is roughly what like 16 years-ish? I feel like schooling should be the fall back plan to experiences, afterall...thats really the truest way to acquire knowledge, through experience. I feel like going to college is no longer for the gain of knowledge and wisdom, but a practical desire to climb the proverbial ladder of "success" whatever that means. Being successful can mean so much more than merely getting a good job, living a comfortable life etc. etc...

This is the great gatsby. And I'd rather see the orgastic green light than the god damned "american dream"...

A Tall Drink of Water...pourin' on down the scene.

You begin.
At the start you stumble forward.
Fall to your hands,
your knees hit the grass,
Its soft and wet beneath you,
And It stains your weathered jeans.
You walk.
With a little more grace now,
In and out,
Back and Forth,
Swaying, sway, swayed.
You swayed for a while.
And now you are steady,
Like the constant flow of a river,
Ordinary and comfortable.
But never any less exciting.
You weave your way in and around,
over and through,
me.
You realize.
Now you feel it,
something,
So you stumble a bit,
once more,
but I am sure you'll find your way,
you always do.

Volcano

I am a like a little girl who hides behind the curtains of her own hair in elementary school. I am like a catapillar, a larvae, collapsed and neatly rolled within a small cocoon. I am not afraid, I am simply taking shelter for when the ice melts, and the ground erupts.

Emotions Stolen From a Julia Roberts Movie

"i am
decades
of romantic comedies
concentrated.

i am
ripped
straight out of a 16 year old girl's
diary.

i have
nothing to give you
but my heart and a few unreasonable
expectations.
(for explanation, please see above.)

i want to hold your hand-
just like the Beatles song.
That is all.
and i want you to walk me home
and have awkward phone conversations with me
and never want to hang up.
i want to be able to tell my children embarrassing
Stories about our first date
when i kept spilling things on my shirt
and you kept talking because
you were Nervous.

i am
really, really, really
mad at myself
because
i can't feel this more
profoundly.

i am
simply complicated
and naively wise.

i am
a silly girl.

i would really like you to love me like this.
if we were in a movie, you would."

(by K.J.)

All At Once: A series of confessions.

You know that feeling between your eyelids, when you squeeze them tight and shut after just crying, and that warm hot tingle that happens and makes you breathe in deep and spreads the loss and the sad into your blood and bones? Do you know that feeling?

Then after comes that wet coldness. That hard lump that moves down your throat and remains in the pit of your stomach, like a cinder block around the legs of a drowning victim. You begin to sink.

The worlds swirls, and you are still.

---

I am in love with you. I love everything about you. From your insecurity to your fucking stubborn drunken alter ego. I love even the things I hate about you. I love the things that i know about you, that you try to hide. I love your depression, and I love your smile. I love your anger. Your inability to commit. I love that you are just at lost as I am. But you can never know these things. Because I am too afraid, too weak to tell you. The words are caught in my throat like a clogged drain. No amount of spewing and coughing will push them past the fear of losing you, any form of you.

I would rather suffer silently, then lose the contact the friend, the shoulder, the ear, the words, and the expression. the you. I would lose myself for you.

---

Dear ____,

Regina tried to help me write this. But I feel like there is no other way to explain to you what is wrong with me than to just say it. I love you dearly, and this is quite unfortunate. I am sorry. I hope you can forgive my love. But how I feel happened without my conscience consent. So don't push me too far away. I just needed you to know all the things i was choking on.

yours,
Christine

---

In my mind you are light. You shine through my eyelids when they are closed. You catch my head as it falls. You don't know. Know, how you've changed my life. Altered the seams permanently. Permanently. I just want to pull you into me, and stroke your hair, and kiss your warm face, and hold you, i want you to hold me. I want to feel protected again. I want to stare into your smiling face. I want more than our strange friendship. I want you to change your mind. Its been months now, and I have not progressed from this thought, I've not moved from the place you left me standing, because nothing could fill the void you left. Nothing. No One. No distraction. There is no other touch i want, there is no other kiss i want. There is no other who can possibly compare. You've changed me. You Open me up, and pull me out. I am only real in your presence. You don't see yourself as I see you. All the beauty you give and possess, and all the beautiful words that you unknowingly speak. Let me hold me. Let me. Because I love you, and theres no going back. I love you. Understand, I am a mess in your presence, you shake me. You don't even know it, but you shake me from the outside in. I could love you, the way you should be. Let me show you that you deserve love. Let me show you. Let me in. Love me. Be with me. Because I can't stop what you've started.

---

you. possess. me.

Crystal

I should really be reviewing for my essay test on the gender deviations in works by Tennyson, Charlotte and Emily Bronte...however...literature evades me at this moment (this may be due to a lack of sleep, an overzealous imagination, the song 'predatory wasp of the palisades' by Sufjan Stevens thats playing at this moment, the fact I am in the library surrounded by the latterest of latters, my body's tired and overworked state, the emotional release I have had these last few nights from choreographing, directing, and teaching a stage production...etcetera....etcetera).
------------

Oh-baby-doll.
You pretty little
Fragile little
Delicate-
Little-
Girl.
You look so sad there.
Your eyes speak.
You cannot.
Speak-
voiceless,
tame,
trapped.
Girl.
Everyone knows-
Everyone sees-
Everyone.
You're so breakable,
one glance and you
Shatter.
like glass.


-christine m. heise

The Road

One day I will die, and so will you.
Everything that was once animated will one day lay still pressed under the moist earth.
One day we will all go back to where we came from.
We, humans, are like a novel, or a collegiate thesis, we come full circle.
But for now, we are alive, we have movement, and speech, we create beautiful and terrible things.
We destroy each other, and many of us sludge blindly through a world of light.
We destroy ourselves.
We see each other as insignificant.
We look to a God to drive us, and give us hope.
Some stand back in fear and awe of what is unknown.
I wonder if in heaven, or in hell...
There is a God who looks upon us.
What might this being think of us?
I don't not believe he is disappointed..
He will live forever, alone, at his post in the world.
And all the while, we mankind, walk the earth, knowing our time here is stunted...
One day our breathing will turn still...
If I were a God, I would desperately envy the mortality that humans possess...
We are impermanent, and because of this, each sunrise is more beautiful, each smile more cherished, each day is different, and it will one day end.
For the immortal...all but life is permanent, and he will live on looking down on the world with his lonely eyes forever, wishing that he too could see the beauty only man can take from the world, the beauty of the every day, that the end gives us.