After having my blood tested for numerous issues they found only one thing wrong, thank goodness. My B12 is severly low and needs to be treated asap.

B12 regulates energy and if its low your tired all the time, which I am. No matter how much i sleep or rest i can only go for so long. Now that I know that my B12 is low, I can fix it and finally not be tired all the time. This is much better news than I thought I would get and I'm so happy I can fix it.

Happy Early Halloween!

I just got word from Tufik that Amy Everheart from Denver just won iwps!

Too bad I couldn't go.

yay poetry!

Happy Birthday Jessica!

I got a respone from Dakota about my message and this is what it reads. i think everyone should read it

"
I got there as soon as i could, I drove all the way from san diego just to come to phoenix for that one night, but apparently no one appreciates or understands that. Bill never contacted me to tell me when the thing started or when i was supposed to go on, and the mama java site says sign up start at 730 so it was a safe assumption that the open mic would start at 745 or 8 when i got there. Most features ive been to never stick around to listen to anyone else, but i almost always do when i can cause i love poetry and hearing other people's stuff and meeting new people.

Let me tell you something about your beloved open mic though, it has been the worst i have ever been to. The fucking guy running it didnt know a single thing about me, not even what state i'm from, and he never bothered telling me any details to begin with about the event. I didn't come out there because i got paid, it was a free show so i came out for the love of poetry, i didn't have to come to AZ, i chose to, and what a terrible mistake it was. I come out of my way to grace your stage and not a single person makes me feel welcome? what kind of bullshit is that? even people in new york city have more hospitality than that. Any other place i go to, they let me know the details ahead of time, they get a bio of me so they know things about me, and they welcome me and greet me and make me feel like home when im there. That open mic at mama java's is a disgrace, and thanks for the advice but i'm doing just fine without it, because every where else i tour, people love my stuff, i guess you people in the desert with your 120 degree heat have no taste. Take care"

and when i told him i didnt apprecite being apart of his random girl adding spree i got this..

"don't flatter yourself hunny, i can and do get much better than you, but thanks anyways"

I'm not sure who likes his poetry but its a bunch of shit. when he read a poem he wrote in high school and then read a poem from recent day..there was no growth at all. its ok to suck in the beginning, you just keep practicing and improve, cleary he cant.

i tried to be nice, but thats ok

http://www.doomsdaydept.com/issues/0/Donnie_Darkhorse.html

FROZEN PEAS AND PAPER CUPS

           

                                                                                               

Sometimes I wonder what color hair she has                          
and if it shines brighter than mine. A golden                                      
ray of sun shooting into his eyes every time                          
he looked at her. I wonder if she goes the store                    
looking for grooming tips. Was it mesmerizing to                 
him to run fingers through strands of beauty?                       

Sometimes I wish grocery stores sold beauty                        
in a bottle. I’d add it to shampoo so my hair has                  
a shine greater than hers. I’d want to go to                           
a beauty salon and ask to have rays of golden                        
beams dyed into my hair. Since the store                                
products just couldn’t cut it this time.                                     

Will my dull brown hair keep him around this time?             
When he runs his hands through my hair he says beauty        
is something some people can buy at local stores                  
but not me. He says I have a kind of beauty that has                          
unique written all over it. His eyes light up like golden          
coins when I tell him I love him and how I want to              

run away through the mountains and over to                                      
the deserted beaches of Mexico but this time                                   
we’d bring bathing suits. I tell him our love is golden          
and nothing could compare to the beauty                               
of that. Not even the ocean. But he says he has                      
to go to work and take care of business at the store.             

I wonder if he’ll want to take me to the store                         
so I can run up and down every isle yelling to                        
everyone who is holding froze peas and has                           
paper cups in their basket and say that time                            
is precious and life would not have beauty                           
if everyone did not have love like golden                               

leaves in the fall. Then I remember her golden                        
hair. Oh how I wish he wouldn’t go to the store.                  
I’d rather him stay and tell me about the beauty                     
he sees in my eyes and how he would travel to                       
the beaches of Mexico and want to stop time                         
so he can give me all the love he has.       

Does he know her golden hair leaves me wanting to                          
rush to the store and buy him roses so this time 
my beauty can outshine everything she has.                    

          

I won third place for the Mesa Community College Creative Writing Competition, for Poetry! I get $100, woohooo

Here is the poem, with all the edits. Yay :-D

THE VORTEX

 

There is a bus
that comes dangerously close to
Desert Vista Behavioral Center.

For those on the outside
there is a stretch of safety between the vacuum sealed front doors
and the withering blue and white bus stop sign.

A maze of rust-ridden cars are left
strategically arranged so every last escape route is
blocked.

The glass doors open and close,
sucking between its angry lips.
If you aren’t quick, you may get lodged
in the black lipstick of its grin.

With lines of exhaustion peeled from her face
the lady at the front desk will state:

Visitors need to leave the following,
Cell phones
Belt buckles
Sharp objects (even paperclips)
Shoe laces

and anything else of value.

You walk through security and pass by sanity detectors
disguised as metal wands.
With a passing grade the hallway will swallow you,
lead you in the only direction available.

Up the elevator,
through a clear window
wire filled
locked door.
Another door, metal door
dead bolted metal door.

You will begin to hear them.
With taunting murmurs,
you will begin to feel them.
Their brain waves are disruptive.
Causing vibrations deep within the crevasses of your chest,

Men pass by in all white with plastic smiles glued to their faces.
They say Good Morning and I hope you enjoy your visit.
When really all they want to say is
Run.

Walking through yet another set of doors,
you will see them.
Some have hair so dirty grease drips down
the side of their face like some afternoon snack.
Some will be wearing needle pricked gowns with single thread ties.
Some will look at you as if you were the Arch Angel. With smack clapping hands
that welcome you in.

There is no air in this room.
Patients managed to embezzle every last breathe of fresh air
and only exhale tension. Spreading it like a plague.
You will feel as if you’ve been hanging
upside down for far too long.
Light headed and dizzy,
with the urge to depart
you will run through door
after door
after door.  

You go to the lady at the front desk and tell her,
I want to make a deal.
In exchange for your belongings
you ask for your sanity
and innocent view on humanity.
That both be returned.
You will plead.
But she will say,
I’m sorry. You were supposed to check in all valuables.

MANGALED TRUST

He wanted to give me his heart.
Wrapped in thin tissue paper
with guitar string bows.

I told him not to
because I was a clumsy child with
fragile keepsakes. Every glass object I own
has super glue remains forcing
broken pieces to weakly stay together.

Giving me anything to protect
is never a good idea-
especially a heart.

Even the slightest scratch would torment him
creating friction with every beat.
Holding his heart is like trying to hug a tiger at the zoo-

Dangerous.

But how could I resist.
So I interlaced every guitar string
between my heart and his.
Weaving through compartments of trust
and out pockets of vulnerability,
carefully connecting two hearts into one.

I wanted so badly to be the almighty keeper of his heart.
But watching the guitar strings glisten in the light,
I couldn’t help but touch them.
Pulling on each string created music,
so I practiced and tried to play him a love song.

But every pluck weakened the chords.
Determined to create intoxicating music I
kept plucking-
ignoring the ugly sounds of breaking chords
that came at me in a catapulting rage-
I plucked

A – E – B – G –

I didn’t even know
what I was playing any longer
My fingers were vacuums
sucking the music out of each chord.

A – snap

E – snap

B – snap

His heart was dangling by a note
and I was too selfish to stop.
I wanted to play him that song.

G – snap

Reaching down
I no longer had chords to pluck-
or a heart to keep.

If anyone is interested in helping me with a poem, let me know. I want to enter my THE VORTEX poem into a contest on April 3rd and I feel like there's more I can do with it. If you have any feedback on the poem or comments, leave me a comment or email me at

Miss.Kylie.Doll@gmail.com

The poem was posted in an earlier entry but if you'd like a copy via email, also let me know.

Any help is great!

Thanks!

THE VORTEX

 

There is a bus that comes dangerously
close to the Behavioral Center.
For those on the outside
there is a stretch of safety between the vacuumed sealed front doors
and the withering blue and white bus stop sign.
A maze of rust-ridden cars are left
strategically arranged so every last escape route is
blocked.

The glass doors slip and slide to open and close.
Creating suction between its angry lips,
if you aren’t quick on your feet you may get lodged
in the black lipstick of its grin.
With a frazzled look upon her face
the lady at the front desk will state:

 Visitors need to leave the following,

Cell phones
Belt buckles
Sharp objects (even paperclips)
Shoe laces

And anything else of value.

 

You walk through security and pass by sanity detectors
disguised as metal wands.
With a passing grade the hallway will swallow you.
Leading you in the only direction available.
Up the elevator
and through a clear window
wire filled
locked door.
Down the hall is another door, metal door
dead bolted metal door.

You will begin to hear them.
With taunting murmurs,
you will begin to feel them.
Their brain waves are disruptive.
Causing vibrations deep within the crevasses of your chest

Men pass by in all white with plastic smiles glued to their faces.
They say Good Morning and I hope you enjoy your visit.
When really all they want to say is
Run.

Walking through yet another set of doors,
you will see them.
Some have hair so dirty grease drips down
the side of their face like some afternoon snack.
Some will be wearing needle pricked gowns with single thread ties.
Some will look at you as if you were the Arch Angel. With eyes that either
pierce into you with rage,
or with eyes that swell up with content. That finally you have come for them.

There is no air in this room.
Patients managed to embezzle every last breathe of fresh air
and only exhale tension. Spreading it like a plague.
Spending too much time up there you will feel as if you’ve been hanging
upside down for far too long.
Light headed and dizzy.
With the urge to depart
you will run through door
after door
after door.  
Using only the last breath of fresh air as it exhales from your lungs.

You will go to the lady at the front desk and tell her,
I want to make a deal.
In exchange for your belongings
you ask for your sanity
and innocent view on humanity.
That both be returned.
You will plead.
But she will say,
I’m sorry. You were supposed to check in all valuables.

So I had to write a fact poem for my poetry class...it's due in 9hours... I just was inspired to write it. Thank goodness I finished it. I'm not sure how I feel about it, as I never really do with such a new poem. Here it is, if you have any feedback, I'd love to hear it.

Oh, I haven't thought of a title yet

When the doctors ruptured my day with striking news
I felt like the sun
and today was the day
I’d finally burn out.
They said he had an Astrocytomas tumor
in his brain.
There wasn’t much they could do
other than make him comfortable.
I told them I’d do that.
They warned me about his memory
and how it would dissolve like a blackhole.
I said
Don’t worry, how could he ever forget me?

He told me the doctors were crazy
and they misread the photograph of his brain.
There was no tumor.
Only stars.
He said his brain was a galaxy
invaded with stars.
And each and every twinkle
was a memory of me.

I’m not sure if he knew
that an Astrocytomas tumor was just a tumor
made up of cells that simply resemble stars.
Maybe he did.

This tumor was a thunder-storm waiting to erupt
his brain.
Sneaking in to cover up each star with a soggy cloud
and electrocute the memories out of the sky.
As haze tumbles in
adventures together roll out.
Our existence will slowly sucked be into the downpour.

He told me to hold on tight
and to try
to remember him.

I just passed my drivers test ! I am now a licensed driver, wooohooo

So I'm currently taking an Introduction to writing poetry at MCC. It's a really great class and I think I've been improving with my writing so far, especially since I have deadlines for poems. This is the second poem I've written, but I'm not sure how I feel about it. It seems like I have the urge to write so close to when the poem is actually due, so sometimes I'm cut short on fleshing out my piece. I want to continue this one but right now I'm not sure where, or maybe, it's just finished as is...

FRAGMENTED

That morning was unique
When I opened the newspaper,
I felt the need to submerge myself into a bottomless expedition
Ignore the headlines,
close my eyes,
and let my fingers twinkle from page to page.
Left to discover the first unmarked article my fingerprint marked.

That’s how I found you.
I thought somehow the gravity of my hands had been pulled
over to the singles ad.
But no.
You were in the repair section.
Even with your picture in black and white
you stood out.
Turning the zebra skinned page a swirling grey around you.
Underneath the picture was a description
of all the kinks that rippled your skin.
You offered a payment in the form of
A romantic dinner for two
and left a smiley face in place of a period.

At the end of our first date
I wanted to kiss you so
badly
that I was convinced I’d transform into a lion
and you’d be my prey.
So I told you I had first aide kits buried away in the stitching of my gums
and if you kissed me
I could fix you.
But you said your lips were matches
and mixing them with the alcohol wipes in my tongue would only cause an explosion.
So you kissed me.