inner feral child

Everyone has primal instincts. Everyone has outbursts of emotion where their teeth clench and their toes dig into the dirt. Arms flail, words become distorted or replaced by something less human, and savagery is adapted. Anger will always be within me, dormant but not inactive. No one suspects because I am the quiet one, the laughing one, the child who is so cutely naive. I smile so easily and the tears never come, but that doesn't mean I don't wish I could break. That's right: wish. I have a complex with weakness and cannot stand to have an audience when I cry. Even my presence urks me. Sometimes I wish I could lock myself in a white room, pull down the blinds, and take a deep breath. I'd pick up paint cans and make a lovely memoir to Jackson Pollock, embracing my inner feral child.

vent complete.

like puzzle pieces

you just fit with me. I was worried that our noses would clash and our first kiss would be awkward, but your lips fell onto mine with ease. like a magnet I am drawn to you, my shoulders rise and you seize my lungs and kidnap my breath for the longest moment imaginable. I zone out for an instant, forgetting I exist but what brings me back to reality is the fact that you are real; you are mine, I am yours, and you and everything else are things worth living for. I realize how grateful I am suddenly, how much I've changed, and how I feel like being with you has put me in the right direction in life. I feel content, loved, happy. I can't seem to ever get enough of you. the way the morning light hits your eyes, the way your mouth widens into an adorable toothy grin, that scent you wear, or how my skin seems to melt into yours by one little touch. it's never too soon when you're happy, that's my philosophy. time passes by and my feelings for you only strengthen more, if possible. I don't believe in perfect, but I believe what we have has perfection in our grasp. I love you.

the layers are peeling

my head is positively reeling

hung back, squinted eyes appear dazed

smiles are now contagious and amazed

by how easy this is.

to my protector.

jaded eyes are always watching me.
never judging, she is my protector.
she is the lioness acting on instinct,
the world is her prey and I am her offspring.
it seems I'm never old enough to leave her patrolling stare.
there is warmth behind the predator's exterior however,
and she can't help that her body is stiff.
she's learned to keep one eye open
but her heart is always there for me.
shimmering with gold, I look up to her always.
we are unique.
she is the yin to my yang
and we are closer even as opposites.
she makes me feel the warmth of my own sun
and I return the favor with moonlight.
our lungs fill with laughter together
and we exhale with a mutual smile.

she has always been there
and I need to learn that my protector isn't made of steel.
those jaded eyes tell me words are hanging on her lips,
but I need to be the initiator this time.

my sister,
I'm sorry.
I love you.

help I'm alive,

my heart keeps beating like a hammer.
they're going to eat me alive!
I tremble.

I'm inside of a tall building on the top floor. I'm standing on my toes, pressing my face against the glass and looking down. I lick my lips, my chest heaves, and my eyes widen momentarily. I'm afraid of heights, so I don't understand why I'm looking down and torturing myself with this anxious feeling. My last breath accumulates and stays trapped inside, too scared to exhale. I can hear the elevator button being pressed nearby for the thirty-fifth time. No one asks why I'm still here, even me. The adrenaline runs to my head, speeding up my heart rate and making the knot in my chest tighten. Punishment? Maybe. I do feel guilty. I just don't regret. Let me confront this, and when I fall back into reality I will land on my feet and scrunch my face painfully.

My toes hurt.

playful litter

plastic bags dance like gypsies in eddies,

circling the same old cobble stones

in a native fashion.

the wind is feeling playful today.

giving the bag a full breath of air,

it is finally able to ascend into the skies

and out of its continuous routine.

trees moan and hiss,
shaking their branches in an attempt to

ensnare or intimidate.

cars screech by under them,

and the common pedestrian flails

their arms in displeasure.

an alley cat's paw reaches out curiously,

but a stray canine interjects oafishly

with a loud bark and playful dash underneath it.

persevering, the bag travels on.

streaks of sunlight glimmer

through its translucent exterior.

the bag's handles extend outward

in an attempt to embrace

the magnificance above it.

suddenly a hand reaches out,

grabbing it and chucking it into a black bin;

today is garbage day, not recycling.

the large vehicle drives off, and it begins to rain.

****

Did it make you sad at the end?

Comments, please.

gurgly tang

sometimes the gurgling in my stomach

sounds like a plate falling.

it doesn't crash and shatter,

it spirals on the way down,

echoing and whirling

in my ear drums.

with you, it's a whole new feeling.

tingling starts with a simple touch.

with my face cupped in your palm,

I feel myself melt into your skin.

I am whole with you,

and my soul reaches out

wanting to dance with yours.

the gurgling is usually a nervous reaction,

one which comes naturally when I feel cornered.

and now you have cornered me.

unstirred, your eyes lock mine into submission

daring me to take a chance.

hush now, there's no time for peer pressure.

"ignore the judgments and embrace the warmth," she whispers.
it is then that I smile for no apparent reason,
caught up in this moment where I feel wanted.
I have a life to live, but she is asking to be a part of it.
(who am I to deny her?)

there's no looking back now.

///inspired to write this after Tasha left today.

We've been talking more in terms of the future lately...

And it makes me feel a combination of nervousness and excitement.

There is no doubt in my mind: I love her. I'm in love with her.

I feel like she is my "soul mate" if such things truly exist.

I also brought up today that I want to adopt an Asian daughter.

I've hesitated 'til now because I wasn't sure how she would react.

As I've said before, I've wanted this since middle school.

But she doesn't mind the idea.

She's a little closed-minded about my style of name-choosing,

But I'm willing to negotiate and work things out with her.

Maybe. When and if we make it that far.

Which I really hope happens.

Anyway, just felt inspired and gushy.

i fancy fall.

whenever a leaf falls directly in front of me
or otherwise just commands my attention,
I feel the earth stand still for a moment
as my eyes lock onto its texture.

there is an extreme amount of intimacy
in that moment. just the leaf & I.
I feel like if there is a God,
(s)he's the one that dropped the leaf.
(s)he decided to share a moment with me
...and I enjoy his/her sense of humor.

how playful, how simple.

after this happens I smile for a good while.
more so, I believe that it will be a good day.

this reminds me of a quote from the book The Color Purple.
basically one of the characters describes God as an "it".
she believes God is everywhere and everything,
and appreciates when you take time to admire the little things.
I, for one, am not afraid to embrace that inner child
who smiles easily.

that's what I like about fall: change in the air.
embrace life in the moment,
and carpe diem your ass off.

I've got a cure

and the solution is me.
only me.

I'm hers, she's mine.
No more hesitation or doubt.

At last, I'm happy.
The end.

hollow but hopeful.

there must be a reason.

a normal person would give in to raw emotions.
the average girl would cry on a whim and react.
and any teenager would rather choose the selfish way out.
but I have to be the understanding one. the empathizer.

I don't understand.

I know myself. I know how I would normally react.

Yet somehow my rage is caged, allowing my mind to be open and my eyes to see.

I genuinely want her to be happy. I'm giving her space to figure things out.

But why is it even worth thinking about to her?

That's the part of me that is crying out, clutching the key to that cage eagerly.

I want to scream.

I want to cry my eyes out (in private).

I want, most of all, for her to see things the way I do.

It's so fucking hard, but I'm not running.

I'm supporting her despite the fact that I have the right to feel wronged.

Not up for discussion.

Just a vent.

at ease.

"as long as I'm happy

I think I'll be okay."

that was the answer I was looking for.

my insides are bubbling up,

I feel like I can't breathe.

I'm reaching out for a grip,

but I wouldn't mind falling into your arms.

I love you.

throw a stranger

...an unexpected smile.

You are my favorite book.

Most people accept you only as your cover;

Beautiful, yes, but there's so much more on the inside.

I read a new page everyday

And sometimes I'm tempted to look ahead.

I am your patient audience,

So I won't spoil the ending.

I promise to keep your spine in-tact,

And I'll remember where I left off so no bookmarks.

Your eyes are the perfect teaser,

And you hooked me in with details in your jacket.

You tried warning me with your contents,

But my eyes were already devouring your words.

I see the truth in your diction

Almost as if you're speaking into my ear.

I feel the climax is coming, but alas!

A cliffhanger.

You are the only character I'm interested in,

And sometimes I wish I could save you from the plot.

You are no damsel in distress,

But maybe I'm just hoping your genre is romantic.

I've gotten to the chapter with me in it now,

Blushing, smiling, and laughing as I reminisce.

I feel my heart flutter when the words run blank,

But then I realize I haven't seen you today.

You are also my favorite author.

Best of luck in searching for your happiness,

If that's your ultimate theme, that is.

I can't wait to see how it ends.

Poet and Didn't-Know-It? Perhaps.

Comments, please and thank you!

I'm really proud of this so I'd appreciate some feedback.

Thanks to my friend Lauren who posted a myspace status as "You are my favorite book."

Just reading that simple statement set me off into an inspirational whirlwind.

My sister's the real poet, so I can't wait to show this to her. :D !

20 little poetry projects.

the stars in her eyes are an explosion.
like a dying star, you could feel the embers.
they might sizzle, but those droplets of liquid magma are delightful on the tongue.
even the screams are endearing in the right pitch.
the stench of flesh isn't sexy though--
in fact, ash prefers them rare.
big girl you are beautiful, but grace kelly is where it's at.
these girls make anorexia put her ostridge head in the dirt.
after all, the ben & jerry's is beckoning.
two scoops for me with cherries.
(forget that cousin asking "why a spoon?")
あなただけ嫉妬している (you're just jealous).
dawg, these haters want what they can't have.
but we all can't be fergie hittin' dem beats, much less the queen of england.
why be them when you could be you?
really, who cares if you're fritz london blowing shit up in germany?
remember those beautiful explosions, and we'll watch a sunset one day.
forget the eyes and remember her cackling heart.
you'll get ice cream for each display of shallowness.
the sensation is the type that causes sticky, smelly fingers so navigate carefully.
you've got gentility on your side, but when in doubt there's hypnotism.
the playful environment of techno records is one way to woo her.
otherwise you've got a choice between cliches or what's in front of you.



wrote this for AP senior year.

a tug from behind.

The closest I've ever come to religious faith is the belief in not a God, but a guardian.

In truth I'm an accident-prone type of person not only due to a lack of common sense at times or ditsy-ness, but in general I have a lot of "almosts" that I've survived. My sister once told me that she felt like she possessed an "elderly spirit", and I believe her because I remember when we used to visit relatives in nursing homes old people would gravitate towards her. They would stop and stare or smile, take her hand instinctively, and look upon her like they would after being reunited with a long lost friend. When I then took my own spirit into consideration the conclusion I came up with was that mine is her polar opposite; that is, I have a childlike spirit. I have always felt a childish enthusiasm within my heart, and I've noticed that the type of people I attract in my life are those who demonstrate protectiveness over me.

As far as the guardian goes, I first felt this way after recalling one of my earliest childhood memories. Once, when I was a toddler in Hawaii, the current took me miles from my parents. I remember (in detail) walking along the sand for what felt like hours until I came upon a small white shack with a truck parked in front. Beside it were two Hispanic men talking and without even thinking about it I walked up and told one of them that I was looking for my Mommy. The next flash of memory depicts me sitting upfront in the truck, and the man attempts joking with me by saying that I shouldn't talk to strangers. I even remember him turning onto a certain street, but after that it skips to us arriving in a parking lot where my mom and others come running towards the car. I was too young to realize how lucky I was for surviving this situation, but now is a completely different story. I feel like my guardian was given to me that day because I needed to be lead onto the right path again.

That's exactly how I feel about my guardian. More so, I feel like it's in the form of a male... like an older brother. I feel like he's the one that's constantly altering my perspective so that I see things I'm usually blind to, or the one jerking me back when I come close to falling (in many senses). It could be something as simple as messing with my radio, looking up and putting on the brakes because I wasn't paying attention. I feel like HE is the one tugging at the back of my head at that crucial moment before an accident happens as if yelling "pay attention, dummy!" Luckily I'm the type of person who knows how to laugh at myself, and sometimes I catch myself looking over my shoulder and smiling because I feel a comforting presence that's always been there.

In a way that is what makes me the agnostic that leans more towards faith rather than atheism. The aspect that I am not alone, that someone out there is concerned for me and wishes the best is comforting. I am thankful for feeling this way, and even if guardians truly don't exist I still feel the warmth in my heart.

drink it up.

little girl, are you real?

are your words as genuine as they sound,
can your eyes really be that soft?
my heart feels bound,
my lungs are gasping aloft.

arms go outstretched,
ligaments no longer distort,
a smile curls around thin lips,
and she breathes on my neck.

a shiver, a convulsion,
a paroxysm of utter glee.

I've never been so content
in playing someone's fool.

fuck the world.

I've been thinking with my head,
not my heart for too long.

I cried to my sister last night.
She's a realist and I was scared of her judging me.
I respect her opinion so much.
But then she softened and told me she approved.
Everything came out at once; it was messy but incredibly genuine.

Think what you want, but the "L-bomb" has been dropped.
Everything between Tash and I has been magic from the start.
I can't get enough of her, and she's so romantic and considerate.
I'm still holding on a bit, because this is a new overwhelming feeling.
I want to truly know it is love before I express it...
But so far she's pretty damn special.

I want my family to meet her.
I want my friends to meet her.
I don't care what people think, this is so crazy.

She's scared, I'm scared, but in a good way.

Holy shit I'm insane.

it's hard.

it's hard to tell myself I'm being naive.

it's hard to ignore my feelings merely because it's "too soon".

it's hard to hold myself back because I want this to be slow and special.

it's hard to not look in your eyes and feel a pain in my heart when I think about you.

a good kind of pain, a pain that has me smiling like a lame-ass.

You are so different. For the first time in ages, I'm able to be submissive.

I've been assertive for so long out of courtesy that I forgot how nice it was.

Yet here we are, and each time we're together you surprise me.

I'm a romantic at heart, someone who enjoys making people feel special.
But you say things that make me feel like only I exist.

Again, it's hard.
Things are so perfect right now that I don't want to fuck it up.
I want to be with you, but I don't want to jump into a relationship.
We only met Sunday for crying out loud. And yet.
I can't wait for that special day.
For now, we "date" and have little outings.
You say you want to know everything about me, and I promise it'll happen
Bit by bit.

I'll make everything right this time,
I just have to force myself to be patient.

change.

I can't go one day without a butterfly zooming over my shoulder,
demanding my attention.

liquid vision.

Why does the Earth stand still when a man cries?
Not a boy, but a man with a hollow heart.
His body hunches and contorts as a rebellion is born.
These salty tears are the sign of an ultimate low.
So dim those lights and draw the curtains;
He already feels like the whole world has their eyes on him.
In this moment, the male population is disgraced.
Tolerance and masculinity are replaced by the cowardice of a frail heart.
No more sweeping under the table.
He doesn't hold the cards.
Outside of comfort zones, he reacts oafishly out of instinct.
The child resurfaces and wants to be held again.
The man wants people to turn their backs and stop judging him.
After all, he's only human.


Signed the observant lesbian.



p.s.
Even if it was the second time, it still broke my heart to see him like that.

innermost.

"Rushing and racing
and running in circles
Moving so fast, I'm forgetting my purpose
Blur of the traffic is sending me spinning
Getting nowhere
My head and my heart are colliding, chaotic
Pace of the world
I just wish I could stop it
Try to appear like I've got it together
I'm falling apart
Save me
Somebody take my hand, and lead me
Slow me down
Don't let love pass me by
Just show me how
'Cause I'm ready to fall
Slow me down
Don't let me live a lie
Before my life flies by
I need you to slow me down
Sometimes I fear that I might dissapear
In the blur of fast forward I faulter again
Forgetting to breathe, I need to sleep
I'm getting nowhere
All that I've missed I see in the reflection
Passed me while I wasn't paying attention
Tired of rushing, racing and running.
I'm falling apart"

Emmy Rossum, you know me so well.

proving myself.

and no one knows that she likes the way fingers feel, barely caressing the skin. not clawing, not touching. like a breath you're forever holding, hesitant but riding the ecstasy of that moment. the attention is on her, and she's reaching out trying blindly to find that hand.


I can't wait to put a face to the image, sotospeak.
Within the next 5-10 years I want to be living in Baltimore, Maryland.
I haven't visited yet, but I'm in love with the idea so far.
Right now I'm at TCC, but I don't know anymore what I want.
Photojournalism was my rock.
I figured writing and art were my strong points...
Yes, I settled in a way.
But now my insides are turning over in anxiety.

Politics. Government. Debate. Sociology. etc.
For some reason all these topics hold some sort of significance for me.
My government teacher was old and eccentric, but his lectures hit home.
My sociology teacher is also eccentric, but dominant and blunt.
I'm planning on taking public speaking and doing debate.
Just to explore. Maybe look into being some sort of activist.
I have these urges that I can't explain.

And yet.

There's still art.
Above anything, I don't want to end up at a desk job.
I want to be passionate and outgoing.
I want something I can be creative with.
I'm not sure anymore what role art will play in my career.
I can see myself painting as a leisure, but photography...

The idea of abandoning it makes me feel hollow.

So many choices to make, so much money and time to spend.
I'm not looking forward to the stress,
but definitely the adventure.


Ash and politics? Guffaw.

I can't wait to meet you.

I've always liked the idea of adopting. Taking in a child who is being deprived of a loving home is definitely more appealing than going through an awkward process and pushing out a purpleish blob nine months later. But seriously, I fell in love with the idea of having an Asian daughter in middle school. To this day I sometimes catch myself daydreaming, and she will be all I have ever dreamed of and more.

yes, another letter.

Dear Baby Girl,

You're always on my mind. I think about the day I'll wander into an adoption center, and how in one instant I'll see you and realize it was meant to be. I'll take your tiny little hand in mine and together we'll start our family. I can't promise there will be another mother for you beside me, but I will try. I will try, above all, to keep love in your life.

I'd like to imagine that the friends I have now will stay in my life because I also want them to meet you. My sister -- your aunt -- has teased me for years, but she already loves you. She's funny, you'll like her. In fact, our entire family is full of funny people so you will grow up with a healthy amount of humor. Your grandmother will spoil you rotten, and maybe you'll get to face your great grandpa in chess (don't worry, I'll teach you).

I'm not sure where I'll be in life when we're together, but I promise to take care of you. I promise that each day will be a new adventure for us, and I will do my best to keep you healthy and happy. I won't ever force anything on you, and I'll let you express yourself (I claim the right to dress you up and whatnot when you're a baby, though). As you grow older, we'll be a team. I'll have some rules, but for the most part I'll be liberal. I want you to know that I'll always be there, and that you can talk to me. I want us to have a lot of trust in each other and be able to hang out without tension.

I won't lie to you, Baby Girl: I am worried. I worry that I'm being selfish by wanting you, and we will live a prejudiced life. People will see us as two different ethnicities, and I may be judged as a woman incapable of raising you properly without your culture. More importantly, my orientation will take its toll on you eventually. You will go into school and peer pressure will kick in. I only hope that I have the strength to go through with this, knowing only that I already love and want you enough to fight for that right. I also worry that you won't return my love, growing up to spite me for what I'm putting you through. I worry that you'll hate that I'm gay, I worry that you'll hate that I'm agnostic, I worry that you'll shut me out of your life.

I want you to understand. Please, understand how much I will have gone through just to have you. Understand that I am who I am, and also a person who loves you unconditionally. Understand that really, that's all that will matter. We will find a way through it all, and I will raise you the best I can. I may have adopted you, but in my heart you will be my daughter.

The day I walk into the adoption center, smile real big for me.

That's how I'll find you.

Baby Girl, I can't wait to meet you.

Love,

Mom.

letter to my father.

assignment for myself: write a letter to someone who has betrayed or wronged you some way.

Dear Dad... --- I can't. The task of typing is simple, but he doesn't deserve the title.

Let me try again.


Dear Jeffrey Sampson,

No. That's still not right.


To whom it may concern:

You've forgotten my birthday almost six more times. I'm scared that my financial aid won't come in time for me to start college right away, making you capable of fully exiting my life.

This is your daughter, Ashley.

I don't know why I've thought about you so much lately, but you're there. Well, the memory of you. I can still hear your voice and see your increasing baldness. Normally it doesn't phase me when you're brought up, but lately I've just been fixated on reminiscing. It amazes me that unless you're mentioned I forget that my biological father isn't the one living in a house with me, giving me advice and ruffling my hair. No, that's my stepfather Craig. He wasn't there when I was growing up, and despite your absence I still have random fragments from my memory of you. You were never the advice type; the only time you tried you were drunk and verbally abused me. You were very physical in that you liked to wrestle and encourage me to be active, and even though I clung to my mother more I still remember my tomboyish side feeling the need to constantly impress you. I remember the feeling of being on my toes, but that only started after you taught me how to ride a bike. Remember? I do, somehow. We were still living in military housing back in Hawaii, and I was officially off training wheels. The problem was that I couldn't figure out the brakes and drove around forever, tearing up because the fun was over. I crashed - I vaguely remember a green field - and I came stumbling back crying, asking for a bandaid. You, however, told me that I needed to toughen up and I don't think I got that bandaid. After that one incident I became a person who was/is afraid of showing weakness, especially around you.

The irony of this is that you ended up hurting me the most and a barrier that I had up for years fell dramatically. When you and Mom separated I heard that you said all sorts of spiteful things to Mom, including comments about Amanda and I. There I was, a kid, already trying to adjust to the situation and suddenly I'm hearing that my own Dad thinks I'm fat or what have you. The point isn't that I was hurt, no, it's that for some reason your opinion mattered to me. I entered middle school with a complex for crying out loud. I looked at my feet as I walked and I followed the wrong crowd - but aren't you proud? I didn't have sex or get into drugs. I cut myself once, but I don't think that's a nice topic so we'll move on. It was eighth grade by the time I realized that things weren't going to change and that I needed to move on. We officially got out of contact with you, we didn't visit you in Hawaii, Mom started dating Craig, and I was starting off on my self identity crisis. I got plenty of friends and finally started realizing who I was inside and out.

Yadda, yadda - right? I'm not writing this to tell you my life story. You would know it, or at least mostly, if you'd actually stayed in my life. By saying this I don't mean that I wish you stayed with Mom, however. Hell no. I'm still scarred from seeing her crying after the way you treated her. I know for a fact that Craig makes our family happy, and you had your chance. Yes: our family.

Perhaps it was visiting my best friend's Dad's house that made me think of you. She actually visits her father year after year in spite of her parents' break-up, and I couldn't help but feel slightly envious. I may not like you personally, but it was admirable to see a prospering relationship continuing on. The worst part is that my friend and her dad constantly fight, and sometimes I just felt like yelling at her. At least she can see and talk to her father, at least she knows that he loves her.

Now the hard question: do you love me?

Don't answer. You could be an ass and say no, but I think you'd say yes merely for show. I don't want that. Above all, I don't want anything from you that doesn't take a lot of effort. I want you to acknowledge that you have a daughter, but the only time you realize this is when you send off a check. I want so many apologies, from both you and your wenchwife Teresa. I was told that she was resposible for a lot of mishaps that have caused tension between you and Amanda and I. I will never forgive her (or you, if responsible) for sending that letter to Mom about wanting a blood test for me.

Why would she - or you - think that I'm not your daughter?

Out of all the complexes you gave me, that was the worst. I went from a mindset of not being good enough to not being worthy, and finally I plummeted ultimately into a spiraling whirlwind of emotion. That night I went on a rampage of destruction, literally breaking things and acting violently until I collapsed into a paroxysm of tears.

Then I looked at my feet.

There I was crying my heart out, but then in one instant I realized I'd won. You see, when I actually did "hang out with you", I remember sitting next to you and propping my feet up next to yours. More importantly, I remember all of the relatives that told me I had your "chicken legs", feet, and toes. Back when I did get upset when you were mentioned my mom's favorite thing to do would be to pinch my toes and tell me how much they looked like yours - and they do. Isn't that funny? I remember your feet more than your face.

We don't send you pictures, so my feet profile is the only update you're getting. If you want to actually take the time to build a relationship with me, right now I can't promise you I won't slam a door in your face. I've learned not to expect anything from you, much less get hopeful or dangle on a thread. I have so many negative feelings towards you.

And yet.

A part of me can't hold onto hatred.

Rather than hide my past, I'm facing it right now in this letter. I don't care what type of reaction you get out of this or if you have some brilliant epiphany.

This letter is for me, not you.

I turn nineteen next week, and I won't be a thirteen year old waiting by the phone this time.

Have a nice life.

Your Daughter,

Ash.

/// writing letters is a good way to express things I usually find hard to communicate. The history I have with my father is my most hidden inner turmoil, and the feeling I achieved writing this is indescribable. As I said, this was for me so take it as you will.

disclaimer: no pity parties.