Consolation.

Our philandering is futile.
Our sober interactions are dull,
but those in our inebriated states
tend to scintillate. 

When we converge, you smile.
Your flirtatious gestures lull,
and ephemeral love compensates
for tomorrow’s lonely fate.

Is this adoration,
or simply consolation?

*Amber

I Hate This War...

War. I hate it.
Maybe I’m selfish, but a man I care about is over there.
And everyday he is gambling with his life…
I hate it.

I want him back.
I want all the troops back.
Why can’t we all just love each other?

I honestly don’t get it.
I seriously don’t.
No one likes death.
No one likes loosing the ones they care about…

So why have a war? Over simple things?
Everyone should share. Everyone should care.
Individuals. Groups. Nations. Everyone.
There should be no bombings.
No attacks.
No murders.
No torture.
No wars.
No HATE.

I don’t get it!
This world would be so wonderful
if everyone just LOVED!
Is it so hard to ask?

It makes me so angry…
But I suppose anger is what fuels all of this.
I suppose I’m a hypocrite.
But what can I do?
*Amber

Facebook.

Sleep.

Sleep.

12:18 am.  I’ll sleep soon.

Log into my Facebook.
Read my notifications.
Check my messages.
Scroll up and down that hardly-changing newsfeed 107 times.
Pretend to care about “what’s up” with my online acquaintances.
12:35 am. I pull myself out of the internet addiction that most of us are sucked into.

Whoops.

12:37 am. That familiar “bloop” of an Instant Message has sounded.
Oh look. A message from a guy that attended the same elementary school.
I have not seen nor spoken to him since then.
He comments on the pleasantness of my anatomy above my waist and below my neck.
He signs off. I creep on his page.
It happens.

12:45 am. I’ll sleep soon.

Move from my couch.
Get in my bed.
Cover myself in blankets and
Set my laptop by my side.
I check for new notifications- Just one last time.

12:49 am. Four new notifications.
“Two other people also commented on Joe’s status.”
I had to look.
...Eh, whatever. Next.
Jess liked my comment, “NERD.”
I chuckle. I’m funny like that.
Next.
Curt commented on his status in reply to my earlier comment.
I reply again.
He replies again.
He IM’s me. We chat.

Oh yeah, I still have one notification.
Oh, it’s gone now. Another Facebook glitch.
What else is new.
Curt says goodnight.
12:58 am. I say goodnight back.

Oh no!
Just remembered I never replied to that message I received earlier.
That really important one
That one that I was putting off responding to.
I type.
I think.
I re-read.
I revise.
I re-read again.
I hit send.
1:21 am. Let me just check this notification..

“Alex liked your photo 8 minutes ago.”
Aw. How sweet.

1:22 am. Time for sleep.

Sleep…
yes, sleep.
I fall asleep.

4:37 am. Awoken by a text notification.
“You have been poked on Facebook by Greg.”

I’m awake. I log on.
Instantly I hear that familiar “bloop”.
It’s my deployed, soldier ex-boyfriend.
4:40 am, my time. 2:20 pm, his time.
His message reads, “Why are you awake?”

I sigh to myself and simply reply;
“It’s a long story..

But these insomnia-inducing nights are getting old.
I think I’m deactivating my Facebook.”

4:52 am. Goodnight.

*Amber

Her Sounds.

Noise escapes her mouth
Noise escapes her mouth
Lingering are loud and obnoxious sounds
Lingering are loud and obnoxious sounds
Obnoxious noise escapes her mouth
and loud sounds are lingering.

She screams her feelings
She screams her feelings
and yells her excitement
and yells her excitement.
Her excitement, her feelings
she yells and screams.

Sporadic jolts of energy
Sporadic jolts of energy
My ears, pierced by shrieking
My ears, pierced by shrieking
Sporadic shrieking jolts my ears,
pierced by energy.

Sporadic noise she screams
Her jolts are loud and lingering.
Sounds pierced my ears.
Obnoxious screams, she yells
of energy, excitement, and feelings.

*Amber

This Is Reality.

So, maybe I’m the only one who laughs at my jokes,
but at least I’m smiling.

Maybe I don’t look like a supermodel when my clothes come off,
but at least I’m comfortable with my self-image.

Maybe I’m not a prodigy in the classroom,
but at least I can sustain an intelligent conversation.

Maybe I won’t sleep with you the first night,
but at least I have morals.

Maybe profanity never seeps from my lips,
but at least I speak with some class.

Maybe I don’t play many sports,
but at least I’ll attempt any and be able to laugh at my amateurism.

Maybe drugs aren’t fun to me,
but at least I’m high on life.

Maybe I don’t always know what advice to give,
but at least I’m genuinely listening.

Maybe I believe some things that I shouldn’t,
but at least I don’t have trust issues.

Maybe I do some “stupid” things,
but at least I’m open-minded.

Maybe I make mistakes multiple times,
but at least I eventually learn something from them.

Maybe I’m not your dream girl…
but at least I realize this is reality.

*Amber

Thanks, Chuck. (A Slam Poem.)

“Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I’ve ever known.”
Once on Chuck Palahniuk’s paper,
these words embedded themselves into my mind,
instantly provoking an immense amount of thought…
 and I am thankful.

Every morning I rise,
head to the bathroom and
brush my teeth with “Arm and Hammer Advanced White” toothpaste.
Day in and
day out, my routine does not falter.
She does not know, but this part of me exists
because of her
and I am thankful.

Nightly, usually without fail,
a steaming cup of tea
slides down my throat, warming me
from the inside out,
soothing my soul in preparation for rest
until the following sunrise.
He does not know, but this part of me exists
because of him
and I am thankful.

When I want nothing more
than to escape the world…
or when stress levels rise to
a climax
that I can no longer bear…
or I solely want time
to clear my mind or relax…
I head straight to the beach,
no matter the season
nor time.
They do not know, but this part of me exists
because of each of them
and I am thankful.

When emotions
or inspiration
or anything worth remembering
consumes my mind,
I race to my journal to immortalize said feeling
in a poetic masterpiece,
unique to my own hand
and my own mind.
He does not know, but this part of me exists
because of him
and I am thankful.

And the book that I hold dear to me…
the one that has advanced
 from a composition notebook
filled with scribbles, scratches, and colored pen marks
to a hard-cover journal
filled with nothing but
beautiful lines of script, composed
by a fine black pen…
Words that were derived from my heart
and my mind
always finish with my name, signed.
He does not know, but this part of me exists
because of him
and I am thankful.

They do not know, but

I wear slippers
instead of socks
while in my room
because of her.

My bed remains
neatly fashioned
if I am not occupying the sheets
because of them.

I tend to travel
 just five miles over
the speed limit,
subconsciously pushing my luck,
because of him.

I fill my ears with
country,
hip hop,
alternative,
reggae,
and the occasional
 “scream-o” music
because of him, her, him, her, and him.

Every mannerism,
hobby,
borderline obsession,
or routine
that is a part of my life,
no matter how miniscule
or irrelevant,
exists because someone,
somewhere
has introduced me
to each action or thought.

And for that,
I am eternally grateful,
and forever thankful.
Thanks, Chuck.


*Amber