leabee's blog

Remember back to the days
So bright.
The air too warm,
And the owls hum at night.

Remember back to the childhood
Play.
The outside tinfoil delight,
The hurshey kiss melting fight.

Remember back to the swimming
Pool.
The wacky noodles fly
As we act like fools.

Remember back to recesses
Past.
The hanging from the monkey bars
Never following the jungle jim rules.

I remember back to those lovely
Days.
The days that past in a blur so fast.
Remembering those days, I wish would stay.

I remember.

Field breeze turning
The leaves,
Twisting around
The frozen ground.

The damp snout
Routing about.
The Predators stare never,
Faultering.

Searching;
Waiting;
Yearning.

Step past the
Moistened
Carcass there may
Lay an entity,

Catch before strays!

The fields may seem
Peaceful,
But not when we slumber
So deep.

We can't see.

Have you picked up a magazine with a celeb on the cover showing something off? Has there been an interesting title like "Jamie Lynne Spears is pregnant AGAIN!"? Well for some reason that kind of stuff just irks me. People who are famous are just like everyday kids or adults who just happen to have their faces plastered around the country. They are only doing their job, entertaining us. What is so special about them? Most of them can't even act, and I highly doubt that fashion is that amazing, and I'm saying this from a girls perspective.

OK, so my blog was transformed from a poorly written blog on Twilight to a fairly decent looking blog. I know I didn't make corrections on my spelling and I deffinantly know I would never use "--" those at all. I'm confused.

Ah, Twilight. What can I say?

I was standing outside of that movie theater waiting -- no anticipating -- for them to allow us forth to enter the theater that would show us the final making of Twilight. I was ecstatic, already entertained by me and my friends ideas on how the characters would act.

I'm not going to lie, I was dreading the worst to happen. I was worried that when the movie started and finally ended I would just sit there in my low seat and think that it was the worst thing that I have ever seen. I was worried that the producers were going to turn a work of art as twilight into nothing more than a horror movie that involved poor actors, and strayed from the true meaning of the book.

My heart throbs and seeks for something greater than what I've seen and been through. My eyes seek for something more than just this normal day fiasco, they need to see the difference between whats the truth and what isn't meant to be seen. To me my brain enjoys reality, but thrives off of the unknown and unbelieveable.
This is me trying to say that I love the unthinkable. I believe that in this world of many things that there is a huge possiblity that witches and were-wolves as well as vampires exist, that they stand among us in disguise as something that they arent. They talk and act like us mere humans, but truly know the truth about the world that we live in.

In psycology we are talking about the elections. My teacher brought something up that made me think. Are people going to vote differently because of gender? My reply to her was: before gender was brought into the election it was about race. And then once McCain brought Palin into the mix it was all about the fact that Obama was a different shade of skin. To me this election this year is going to be extremely different than any other. We have finally included gender and race mixed into the equation and to be honest with you I would be happy with either. I'm glad that this is happening, because with this our country can finally grow. WE can finally become the best that we can be.

Recently I have been given the chance to spend the night at Castleton state college with my older sister who is a student there. So here I am, sitting at a cumputer in the music lounge. It's ok, college life isn't exactly what I thought it was going to be. But for the most part, its pretty much fun to hang out with my older sister and to see exactly what her normal day routine is.
1. Sleep into about 8.
2. Go to quick breakfast.
3. Music class at 9.
4. sit in music lounge and pick on people who can't hit a certain note.
5. Be bored.
6. Class.
7. Lunch.
8. Be bored again.
9. Talk to friends.
10. I don't know whats going to happen.

So right now I'm bored. so, I've decided to sit on my butt and check out my site and blog. Gotta love blogging.

Ugh. college. Fun. BTW, college food= gas. :) thought I would just through that in there. I knowk, gross but thats a part of life.

We dream of
things so
magnificent.

We dream of
things so
magical.

We dream of
tings so
beautiful.

We dream of
things so
delicate.

But we dream of things that won't come true.
We dream of things, so... I dream of you.

The Lightning
is famous to the
tree that it claims.

The feather
that falls to the earths ground
is famous to the bird
that it escapes from.

The twister that leaves your house destroyed
is famous to the
treasure
that it collects and scatters
around.

And the heart
is famous
to the person
you trust to lend it to.

And we are all
famous to each other,
including,
you.

I have this
dream,
of shiny
things.

This dream
of things,
that can
make me
sing.

A dream
to dream,
and nothing
more.

I have
this dream,
to dream,
I wish to show.

I have this
dream,
with you and
me.

I have this
dream,
I can not
win.

but
none
the
less.

I
have
A
Dream.

Okay, I would like to change my display picture on this site. But, I just can't seem to get the new picture up. I'm getting a little annoyed. If you can help me then I would greatly appreciate it. Thanks.

Okay, before I allow you to read this poem I would like you to know that I've never been in a mosh pit in my LIFE! So this is me winging it from what I've been told and stuff. So enjoy!

Vibrating, pulsing
a life of it's own.
The bass gets louder,
drowning everything out.

You can't help but get
lossed in a trance
your eyes close as you
allow your hips to sway.

the beat picks up,
by now you're completely lost.
theres no escape,
all you can do is push forward.

Thrusting your hand up,
Showing a sign of respect
to the band.
You've done it,

Its a barter you didn't make.
They've captured your soul,
you've lost.
Finale.

Loud and obnoxious;
disgusting with each
painful chomp.
Bits and pieces of
meat spewing from
that gaping mouth.

Don't disguise it now,
out in the open for everyone
to see.
Don't change your mind,
you've already unleashed
the beast.

We've seen it countless times
before;
Are you shy now?
God I could only hope so.

Closed.
Keep it that way.
How can someone so..
Beautiful
chew like THAT?

You would think that
she would have a
monster crawling up her
throat,
then trying to escape through her
mouth.

she's loved and liked
around.
But in this one moment at
lunch,
I finally feel;
repulsed.

Have you felt it? The change, when you can finally tell that you are no longer a kid? I not only felt it but I saw it. It was a strange realization; I was sitting in the front of my boat in the middle of a ride, when this strange feeling passed through my entire body. Then came the flashbacks, watching my sisters and I fight for the front seat on the boat. Me kneeling while holding for dear life while my dad drove us through endless waves that lifted me high off of the seat. Leaning slightly over the boat rail to dip my hand into the lake, and feeling the accastional splash as we slammed through yet another extreme wave. So as I sat there in the front, that I again had to fight for, I saw that all. I felt it all pass through me in one quick slam. I knew right then that I was no longer that little girl who used to stick her tongue out and feel the drool sliding backwards onto my face rather than replacing itself back inside my mouth.

She escapes into the darkness
without a word to be said.
She's terrified of the unknown,
with all to dread.
She let the secrets seep into her mind,
allowing all to be chased inside her head.
She sees what she shouldn't see, and feels
what shouldn't be felt.
She finally screams for a stretch of reality.
To be normal, to be free.
She escapes into the darkness
without a word to be said.
She's terrified of the unknown,
with everything to dread.

Ah, today. Today was my first day in creative writing class. I was excited, and anxious. I got there, sat down beside my friends and held my breath for what was to come. The teacher introduced himself, then he took attendance. Things were going smoothly; he then talked about future things, letting us know what we should be planning on doing. I think I got some kind of high off my excitment, I was so ready to start. After the introductions and instructions, yadda; yadda; yadda. He finally told us to take our notebooks out. His instructions were simple; "look around the circle, look at everyone," he says. So we did, we memorized everyones face, their appearance and more. "Choose one person out of ths room, and then describe them." To you this may be an easy task, and even I tought that at the time. "Oh how hard could this be", I accidently said outloud.

I've always been interested in the supernatural and all that great stuff. I believe that at one time (maybe even still) there were witches, and I'm not even talking about the blare witch project or even the salem witch trials. I'm talking about all that great power that people can hold inside themselves, where they obsorb true magic from the elements of the world around us. I know, you might be thinking that I'm delusional but thats just my take on the situation.

I just heard, even though it is old news by now that Hawthorne Heights guitar player Casey died. As I was waching fnMTV yesterday morning, I was shocked to hear about it. Constantly thinking if that was me I wouldn't be able to go back to a band that I created with that person. The loss would be to great for me.
But as the band gathers their act together again and made a new song that was titled "rescue me" I now see that their heartbreaking accident only made them stronger. It made them see a lot that they couldn't before. In the interview they admit that each day that they try something new without him its a heart wrenching experience, but one that none the less hasn't helped people realize that life may have endings, but with every end there is a new beginning.

R.I.P. Casey.

So, I just got online and I went to my blog to write more stories and all my poems and stories weren't there. Does anyone know what could of happened?

I've seen it all, oddly enough seeing as I'm only 17. The judgement, the pain, the illision of many things; and yet here I am still standing here watching everything pass on beside me. I stand there taking everything in, the town, the people, and their words. Their words are strong, and usually always have a bitter aftereffect of an insult that stains you. Never mind trying to get the stain off, its already done its damage. I've seen it all.

In my small town, you wouldn't ever guess that people could be so cruel. But they are, they choose a person to insult based on appearance. so what if they don't dress in the newest fashion, who seriously does now of days? I sure as hell don't. Who gives two shits if they had a muffin instead of a small yogurt that wont hold you over till lunch? I eat cereal for breakfast, and I enjoy it so much that I might even have another bowl.

I'm not sure if I'm into writing for the correct reasons. I don't know if I enjoy it or if me writing about other things is interferring with my own life. I'm 17, haven't been kissed, I don't party, I don't drink, I hardly hang with my friends. Could it be that I use reading and writing as substitute for my life? For so long I've wondered this, I wonder if I'm afraid to step out of this confortable shell of my make-believe lives.

Oh my gosh! Again, and again, its like you guys NEVER get out of your routine. Like a bug attracted to light, you draw yourself into a certain group and ban the rest of us away. UGH! I'm so tired of this. I wrote a really great letter on here to my sister, and I didn't get any feedback. It was an amazing piece of work. Then I wrote a poem that was just as great and again, no feedback. LACK OF COMMUNICATION WITH THE OUTSIDERS! Its called killing a pattern and learning one to better us all. I think we should all try it sometime. Take the first step, I dare you!

This is a letter to my twin sister. She'll never read it, and she will never know how truly hurt I am by her actions lately, but I need to get them out.

To my loving sister,
You are my twin, my world and my connection to something greater than I, or anyone else will ever know. I grew up with you, remembering holding your small identical hand in mine, wearing the same ugly green sweaters mom used to make us wear to school, talking to each other about nothing in particular, and last but not least, giving me the best childhood that I could have ever imagined. For that I will always be greatful to have you by my side to be the ear that I could talk into, to be the arms I could run into, and to be the sister that I'm glad that I had.

To my loving sister,

I'm not going to lie, but this site infuriates me. I bring subjects up constantly, and people discuss them and say "oh, thanks for bringing that up, i'll make sure to change.. yadda, yadda, yadda".

Yes, I'm a little bit mean, but I believe that I have the right to be at least angry enough to write this.. Again.

It may look empty,
but its not.
A presence lingures,
holding onto every last strand of
life.
Forming nothing in the air.
Almost forgotten.

You may think it to be empty,
but you are not aware.
Open up your mind,
Do you feel it?
Its strong; its torn.
Don't you believe?
Its there beside you.

Hold out your hand,
grab ahold,
and you'll understand.
Soon.
You'll be whole..
again.

I think I'm insane,
Is this even humanly possible to fall in love with someone
that you've never met?
We've talked, and he lives near by, and I've seen him physically seen him,
But we've never went up to each other and said "hey, etc".
It could be an extreme like, but I highly doubt that its love.
I don't believe in love. If it exits I think it would take a really great person to persuade me that, that is what I am truely feeling towards that individual. But until then, I think its a like, and for some reason I feel that its a mutual attraction. But we've never met. That could cause a problem.

So, tonight is prom for my lovely hick shool. Everyone is on a high with excitment. Girls are out right now getting their hair or nails done, making sure that they look close to a perfection that doesn't exist. The guys, are sitting around playing video games or gathering alcohol for tonights festivities, hoping that if they get their escort just a little bit drunk they can have their way with the young impressionable ladies.

I don't know whats gotten into me.
I feel kind of..
Different.

I don't know him, really.
We just met.
Why does he have such an impact on
me?

Its nothing,
A chant I keep repeating.
Giving it time to show its
affects.

I get online every night;
Hoping, dreaming that he's on.
When he is I smile, thinking of that
one poem he allowed me to read.

Amazing.
His words mingle together,
just tasting and mingling together,
then gently passing by, like a
breeze passing through leaves.

He's my inspiration.

I wish i knew more about him.
He's never shy,
So I easily pull information
from his advanced mind.

I like him.
Not love, but like.
I can't wait to talk to him more.

he shoudn't be allowed to make me feel this
happy.
I'm glad I met him.

Today during english my teacher handed out a poem. The poem was about life, how the poet used a metaphor for life through running a race. In each stanza he had four lines or in other words a quadrain or something along those lines. Either way, I need help understanding why a writer/poet/lyricist uses the certain amount of lines in each stanza?

Even though I myself love to have four line stanzas, I don't truely know why I, myself chooses to use that many lines, or that many stanzas to tell my story, and this is where you come in.

If possible, I would like to hear why you as writers use the certain amount of lines in your stanzas to help me gain a better knowledge and understanding on what this certain poet was thinking when creating this poem.