Dreams invade my world.
Become my world.

When my head hits the pillow,
Dreams are my reality.

To get lost in the dreams,
To forget the day.

Night's playground.
Climb, jump, swing.

Join the Man on the Moon,
What a curious man.

Has he found love?
Does he know desire?

Is he afraid to face the day?
Is that why he hides up there?

What does he dream?
Who is it for?

One day she'll join him,
Up there in those stars.

They shall find love.
They shall know desire.

In the playground of the night.
In the dreams.

-------------------------------------------------

Desire is my constant companion.
To desire a life of love.
A life of beauty.
A life of splendor.
To reach for the sky.
Desiring each of these things.
To need them even.

Everyone craves something from this world.
Companionship.
Love.
Health.
Adventure.
Beauty.

I desire each of things in their own way.
But most of all I desire love.
And beauty.
In myself and the ones around.
A life I can look forward to
Each day.

I look to the sky for these things.

Funny thing is,
The Moon Man hides in it.
Afraid to be let down.
Afraid to see ugliness,
That so often shadows the beauty.
How could he know love,
In his solitude?

-----------------------------------

I like to think I am not so like
The Man on the Moon.
Not so alike, are he and I,
Right?
Instead of hide in the sky,
Only showing myself fully once a month,
The rest in secret,
The world can see my face.

I wear my heart on my sleeve.
Quick to let even a stranger in,
To know my secrets,
The big and the small.
Allow another to accept or reject me,
From the very beginning.

Is the Moon Man wise,
To hide himself save for that one night?
Or only a coward who hides behind a mask,
Of deceit.

Is he wise to let you in,
Slowly, but surely?
Or a fool for then shutting you out again,
Slowly, but surely,
When he sees the world is not such a
Bright and good place
As he would hope?

Why the push and pull?
As with the tide.
Hell, he is the tide.
Almost and cold.
That Moon Man.

To be continued...

The first ramblings

So, I have recently decided to try my hand at writing.

By recently, I mean, during my senior year of high school when I was forced to pick up a study hall at a point in the day that both the art and the choir rooms were unavailable to me. From the moment I stepped through that cafeteria door, I decided it was time to face my fears and begin to fill an extra notebook. Senior year was arguably both my roughest and easiest year, by far. Luckily, I found an outlet for my frustrations circling the loss of friends, college drama, and having to say goodbye to one of the few teachers that inspired me to continue what I loved, art.

(By the way, it was my easiest year because I spent half the day either in one of the two music rooms or in the art room...)

Once I began my collegiate career at the Bowling Green State University last year, my writing slowed down. My poor study hall companion that I had filled almost every centimeter with my tiny scrawl, was pushed aside, and I finally began to find my own way and friends. Spring semester, my writing, though poor, began again, and a leather bound friend found its way into my hands, courtesy of my "best friend, forever," Jaime. Unfortunately, as with the rest of my generation, I find myself spending far too much time at computers, (pauvre Phillipe) and have decided to record my thoughts in a blog.