2002/2003
| MPitS | |
Laytonville High School 2002/2003 |
Hidden inside
Mask for the soul
coverup makeup
for the heart
keeping them out
protection
from pain
from rejection
from regret
Trust no one
not even yourself
strands of hair
obscuring, disguising
weeping eyes
pain fades
a heart beat of silence
memory remains
the grate of a chair
memory fades
the silence is broken
story remains
quiet, darkness, slams down
Empty walls
scatter of purple
empty mask
tears run down
empty self
the self is broken
The mask runs down
washes away
all that remains
empty walls
tears run down
empty self
the self is gone
lost in the quiet
Lindsay O¹Neill
swirling, tumbling, shrinking
come to my creative senses
to cross other fences
trespass into reality
understand nature¹s frail, true, tale
be forgiving to ...... too much strength
having, keeping, grieving
soul to your greed needs
be lousy for your upbringing
rude and lewd yet well mannered
shed your garments
there is no argument
believing, creeping, cunning
eerie is my presence
surely in your never-mind
moisture to the screaming
maggots fill the rainbow
open your cerebellum
hide in your
swirling, tumbling, shrinking
having, keeping, grieving
believing, creeping, cunning
world, mindlessly
Monique McKeag
I am the smallest state on a geography map
I am the needle lost in the haystack
I am the small girl who is always inferior
I am the air that is taken for granted
I am the grasshopper who isn¹t heard through the trees
I am the orphan who dreams of a family
I am a girl who is considered weak
I am an athlete who is forced to compete
I am the student who stands all alone
I am the future, or so I am told
I am the rain, and the wind and the snow
I am the product of envy and yet I envy more
I am a small whisper in the deepest of thought
I am the beginner who is expected to be advanced
I am only noticed when I haven¹t had a full chance
I am the sour grape that has not yet ripened
I am the chance that was passed up in a hurry
Leslie W
I am not respected for who I am
I am looked down upon for what I do
I am the person who knows I have chosen the right path
I am better and worse than everyone else in unexplainable ways
I am someone who can control my own destiny
I am happy with who I have chosen to be
I am proud of my abilities
I am every day striving to be better
I am not a redneck or a hick
I am a cowgirl
Jamie
I am the scared rabbit who runs through the woods
I am the prideful fox who chases it
I am the salmon that fights to get upstream
I am the bear swatting at the salmon
I am the wind that blows over the plains
I am the seeds that live on the breeze
I am the fear that everything feels
I am the confidence to jump off a cliff
I am the untamed spirit trapped inside a balloon
I am the help me message floating at sea
I am the pain we hold down inside us
I am the joy that fills our heads
I am a dream or maybe a nightmare
I am a thought and an idea
I feel free but trapped at the same time
I am alive and I live life
Heather Dabney
clouds burst
gray and heavy with rain
drowning the world in its sorrows
the sky is falling
crying
sobbing
with tears streaming down the walls of the sky
liquified sadness
drizzled on the land
creating puddles
of a dark depression
sheets of rain
pounding into the earth
flushing the sunshine from the sky
hard
loud
cold
tears of the sky
are falling
Amber V
concentrate
gray falling
splatter on the concrete
outside the window
mirroring
a deluge of thoughts
depressing
dreary
sensuous
sleepy
dark
loud
fuzzy
thoughts
an umbrella
to keep the thoughts
of rain
out
or off
falling thoughts
like rain
drip and squirt
falling
into a puddle
in the mud
drowning in the sun
no, wait, lack of sun
drowning in the rain
singing in the rain
loud falling outside the window
inside the warmth
thunder and lightning
interior of the mind
mudslide of ideas
mmmm......doughnuts
Lindsay O¹Neill
the bonfire needs building
I smell the rains coming
flying, crashing, blowing
I hear the drops drumming
the clouds are darkening and the pressure lowers
the hazy blue mountains have already felt the showers
As I slip down the damp grass I seek a refuge from the storm
I barely reach cover in time to see cumulanimbus clouds break their form
storms make us realize that we¹d rather be warm
Dylan Cisney
wet dreary day of rain
falling shower
deluge
mists swirling
crash of thunder, tear of lightning
sheets of water splattering upon my roof
fuzzy blanket over me
through my window puddles are seen
the drizzle splash everlasting
the deluge unleashes mud so it may slide
driving the unclean away down the hill
the constant patter a pattern of peace
cold chill runs through the trees
trying to escape the sun
bloop sploosh
bloop sploosh
plop ping
Michael Noyd
Hands
The life that makes itself known
The thoughts that are only expression
The feelings that are under the surface
The things that happen
The hardship
The joy
Like a house, or a mind, full of memories
Hands show a life
A clean slate to a broken, shuddering pile
The eyes are the window to the soul
But
The hands are the voice of the mind
Lindsay
My Music
My music, that is my country
If I am mixing or listening, I feel calm and free.
It takes away all the pain, the torture and finally,
I feel like me.
As the music soars through my veins I feel
an adrenalin rush that will not let me be.
It makes all the bad things flee.
I now feel happy as now I can relax.
I no longer worry about money, and all the pain is gone
as I contemplate what to play last.
As the music stops I once again feel all the things I felt before.
But for my hour I am free.
Daniel Meza
ADDICT TO SECURITY
I am the key to man¹s awareness- too paralyzed to turn
The workings rusted and crippled by idleness-
I am yet another moan in a crowd-
The indolent thunder of a world too ashamed to scream
I am the possibility overlooked-
I am a reed lying down under the turbulent flood of our seething malaise
I am waiting for someone to follow
I am itching to lead
I am yanked between my ideals and fears
Subject to the inherent corruptness of humanity
I am the hope of man with no faith in his ability to hope
I am the key to my own awareness, turned- yet anxious of the finality in the
click-
And beyond all my thoughts, hopes and dreams lies the fact that I am more
than another moan in the cascading waterfall of whimpering to which I contribute-
I am a shout silenced by my own left hand
I am a key too paralyzed by my own security to turn
Tai Evans
Hands
The feeling of touch when I first see, the first reaction, the first move comes
from the first sense and that moves through
the central feeling of my grip or my hold. How tense or how relaxed tells through
my hands. They can be hard or soft,
and I¹ll feel the same things but it won¹t feel the same way because
it¹s all about how tense or how relaxed or how
meaningful or even how forgetful or forgivefull. It¹s all about the first
touch or reaction or move through the central feeling
in your body which is your hands.
Chandra Preciado
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