joy

taste some sugar.
feel some rain.
dance a little.
laugh again.

joy.

how many bites do I take?

I don't care what others say
they think that Love is like
to me its like a setting sun
yellowy, orangey, light

slowly, silently
melting away
behind horizon lines

sleeping
dreaming
throwing away
what we are inside

a scarf unraveled
a bone picked bare
a blossom without petals
a soundless song
a kiss thats wrong
my soft skin across your nettles

some think love is like a drug.
more like a disease.
picking at my insides

pressure. no release.

there's beauty in it somewhere
i just haven't gotten there

i guess that snow white bit the apple
before she could wake up

I guess that I'm
just wondering
how many bites it took.

conquered hero

give up this kind of passion? you can. i won't.



just another round of pixie dust
thats worn off my old wings
i'm falling back to earth
hurt, heavy, cold, crashing

all that you said you were
you weren't
all those masks you wore
aren't yours

and now the dance is over
and now i'm getting Older
now i see the face of you
is shadowed from my distant view

you claimed you wanted to fight
for love
you claimed you wanted challenge

now you're a dismounted hero
swimming in Defeat's swamplands

you'd rather have it easier
you'd rather it be boring
predictable is where you're at
though i know inside you're roaring

you're passion won't just go away
you can't run from feelings
i've just learned, and its hard to say
one day you'll face my bleeding

you can hide the evidence
of your emotion
but the crime's committed
you'll drown in it's ocean

i dare you to forget me.
i dare you to run away.
i dare you to forget my eyes
when they look at you That Way.

Forget the thrill
the shivers, the rush
forget my warmth
and glow that's crushed

battered wings
no fairytale

crash from clouds
is always fatal

our love was a cupcake
never frosted
so who's to say
if we loved or lost it?

pixie dust, wearing thin
i can't breath, and you gave in
you conquered hero
don't look at me
you couldn't fight
you couldn't see

even though my wings are tattered
i'm still me, and thats what matters

sell yourself to a comfortable love
hang up Passion's boxing gloves

Because I know
you can't talk yourself into Love
without always fighting to feel In Love.

war and peace? love is war.

dancing in the ring, we're both light on our feet
me a little more than you, but it comes with defeat
i watch for all signs of weaknesses
see the hesitation
hesitation can be weakness
i could jab at that.

but i don't.

we circle.

you throw a left
right in my eye
because you want to see
the blood and bruising in my soul
thats seeping now from me

my breath catches
because it hurts
but the adrenaline kicks in
pumps courage through me
i don't fall
i'll never give in

i'm good with right hooks
so i use one
hit you in the jaw
you look surprised
that i dared strike
and now its getting raw

nothings more intense
than the way you watch me dance
like a tiger on the prowl in heat
you advance gracefully in this hungry meet

there's beauty in this blood
there's honesty in flesh
there's swagger in your body
there's fear in me thats fresh

man to woman we dance
fire in the fight
people never promised love
had to be Right.

then you go for the kill
striking until I fall.
My head hits hard.
Black stars attack
I can't feel pain at all.

All I feel is you.
You are the pain
All I hear is cheers
your fans or mine?
its all insane

But I won't give up
I won't give in
I am a fighter
I stand again
You reach for me
and pull me in

Inside I'm aching, you're conquering
We must keep dancing in the ring

cruel beauty in the cold

i didn't know how beautiful you were
until i was looking in from outside
i didn't see everything you are
until i let you go with goodbye

and now it hurts
in places i didn't know could hurt
and now it burns
in spaces i didn't know could burn
now i'm aching with something so intense
and everytime i think of you
nothing in me makes sense

i wasn't ripe, i'd barely sprouted
but you picked me still
i thought i'd died from too much pruning
but my blossoms only chilled

frozen in space
hanging on a vine
dangling ripely
ready for a bite

but gardens come and go with seasons
i need rain and sunlight to grow
i am drenched in stormy feelings now
because i let you go

maybe enough rain
can wash away the aching
maybe enough storms
can stop my heart from breaking
maybe enough winter
can salve my bleeding soul
maybe i have yet to learn
there's cruel beauty in the cold

soaking up sun

iconic romance?

some iconic romances are iconic because they are visual, others because they are ridiculous, and others because they are pure fantasy. sugary. sweet. death? dreamy? what makes it iconic? sometimes its not even worth talking about...and other iconic romances are worth remembering...

voyeurism

rear window. my favorite look at the voyeur in us all. this film reminds me of the thrill i felt pretending i was nancy drew, running around the neighborhood, spying on the 'mean people' and making up tales about every little 'clue' i saw. an old soda can drifting down the sidewalk? clearly the key to a crime. the pizza box shuffling awkwardly in the breeze? obviously the villains dinner.

at least Rear Window is a GuiltLess pleasure. And who wouldn't want to watch the screen when Grace Kelly is the one doing the spying?

and who hasn't looked out their rear window and wondered what the neighbors are up to?

girl power

last weekend i spent a night on the provo town front with my two favorite chicks on this side of the continent. the evening started at Sparks, the local lounge brimming with colorful alcohol free beverages and appetizers that you've only seen in Soho Manhattan. then we progressed to our own private dance party...right in the middle of the underground parking lot. people honking and walking by made this moment especially nostalgic. Lady GaGa serenaded as we pounded pavemnet outside of Brits car, challenging the engery of an EFY dance floor. on to Spoon Me. Which..really...is self explanitory. the point of this blog? my love for girls being girls is boundless. Dancing in the street is liberating. And cheers to the Appletini.

madness

the real madness in madmen is the rate per hour these dudes can suck down those cigs. Its scary. And it was such a social norm. poor, rich blokes didn't know they'd all die young from lung cancer....

still one the ripest, flashiest, edgiest shows out there. favorite episode? the ender of season two was pretty bubbly.

unraveling relationships

fluttering to a dark descent
slithering past the stars and moon
falling over and over again
is what happens when i think of you

i thought i could lie to my heart
thought i could make a clean break
i thought i could close the book
but no goodbye's ever felt so fake

i can still feel the pages
slipping between my fingers
i can still feel you
between the words

i can still remember
dancing on the sea
and how my fears
got the better of me

i'm still scared.
don't get me wrong.
but i feel like i'm ready
to live the song

let your melody crash inside me
let you in
let you hold me.
let the story begin

i let everything unravel too soon.
tore up the book
and shot down the moon.

whats wrong with this
cinderella?

she runs whenever she likes a fella'.

home

No place like home. I love home. Growing up for the most part in Pleasant Grove was a little like growing up in a hilarious high school eighties movie. Fun. Flippant. And Fantastic. The scenery is more along the lines of a Norman Rockwell, but the feel was nostalgic of Pretty in Pink. I wish I'd been Molly Ringwald. Alas, I was looking through my senior yearkbook, which I found when I was bulldozing my bedroom last week, and read through some of the comments left me among the pages. "You are so cute. You have the best style." "You are gorgeous. You have the best clothes ever." "You are soooo pretty. I love all your skirts."

Um. I guess my fashion stood out? Which is funny. Because I'd way rather have people have said stuff like "you're so smart." or "we laughed so hard." But I guess my fashion was my 'home.' Go figure. As I've been weeding my lil garden lately, I've been thinking hard about how I want to spend my future. Where I want my 'home' to be. A pair of ruby slippers, maybe? And I mean that literally as well as figuratively. Maybe style should be something I look into. I've never really thought about it. But when in doubt, do what you love. When you can't do what you love, do what pays the bills, and when you can't do what pays the bills, do what you love again. So many things I want to be my home. I want to have one of my books published. (I know, get in line.) I want to teach high school. I want to be the a fabulous friend. I want to laugh when things are down.

Another click and I'm home Toto.

iconic

yes. iconISM in its most pure form :-)

dreamy

sweetness

what makes us

romance lives. proof and pudding.

best movie ever

being a princess

fall

picking petals

Turning over a new leaf. Or picking petals. I am plucking the petals out of my old garden and starting a new one. I want this garden to be Nawlins' style. Romantic, beautiful, leafy, lush, and full of every kind of flower and lily under the sun. Cobblestones from all over the world, and moonlight from Paris. I started by cleaning my VERY messy, ridiculously cluttered room. Going on a year since my sister was married, and left alot of her belongings in there. Monday night, I got into a kind of frenzy. I just needed space. I needed to make my own garden. And I needed to start THEN. So I did. And I'm happy to report that it is already helping me breathe easy. And the writing juices have been flowing (not blog wise) but in my young adult fiction story. When the writing juice flows, the garden is always full of daisies.