Author Archives: Sage

Paper: Adapted

I recently joined the slam poetry team at my school and this is my first poem I’m going to present. It is an adaptation of the poem I posted last month called Paper.


Mouths are beautiful

The simplicity of the curves and lines that make up a person’s character

That define

Mouths define

Emotions, thoughts

Wishes, prayer

All whispered through the soft pink lips


Creased and folded with smiles

Where both pain and elation reside

Two seemingly opposite ends of one spectrum

When in reality, life is a circle

And truly what goes around comes around

So these opposite in fact unite

Cross, layer, overlap

Says the postulate of something or other

Shoved down our brains in that geometry class we forgot about

No these opposite are not too far off

Elation and pain

Just ask a wristcutter

They aren’t hard to find in this new ear of self pity

Where everyone is stuck in a rut of immaturiy

and- middle school?

Where everything that happened was blown out of proportion

By everyone around us

So much so that now ever the older generations can’t find their way out of their own claustrophobic boxes

that are so dark that they can’t see past their own asses

Caught in a Peter Pan syndrome

And I’m afraid to grown up and set long-term goals

Because I’m afraid I’ll never change

And those who cut their wrists because they actually have a pain they need to escape

Not one fabricated by our minds’ rape by he media

But something so terrible they need a way out

Those ones are forgotten about

Lost in a sea of attention-starved Facebook statuses

Posted every other minute

Like someone really gives a shit

Making the world hard-pressed to find a smile

And that’s why I folded my tips at the diner into origami shapes

For the sake of a smile

Because those lines on the side of your mouth

That you let stay even after you laugh

Prove you are immune to the ignorance

of the media

Of the anti-age propaganda

Saying that to be happy is not what you really want

Because you could crack the powdered-smooth face of youth that wasn’t yours in the first place

But that of the Barbie dolls lying on your daughter’s shelves

Staring demonically up at you

And hold your gaze until you buy that new wrinkle remover

Whose active ingredients, if you bothered to check, are the exact same as the last one you tried

Feeding your addiction


Your drug that distorts your mind and puts shadows of wrinkles in your mirror

And now your daughter snoops hungrily through your stash

of old and worn beauty products leaking onto the bathroom sink

Because she was born hungry

For mommy’s obsession

It’s all an illusuion

This world we think we dominate

Our ignorance humored by the higher intelligence studying us

Like a rat caught in a labrynth

On our shiny, sterilized stainless steel

We laugh at that because we feel

a distant connection?

And that makes us nervous

That we might discover the truth behind the allusive veil

It’s all foreshadowing

And last night I dreamed of a paper moon

Full and bright and confident

Taking up the whole of the sky

And the whole time I reached outfor it

All I wanted was to stroke the light

the curves

Because they reminded me of a familiar face

and that made me smile


This Weekend of Mine

I am sitting in the beige armchair in our living room. It is old and very out of place in the new modern-furnished room. The worn upholstery that was once covered with a soft micro-fleece, continues to scratch and nip at my legs. With my feet tucked beneath me steadily growing numb, I stare into the contents of a microwave-safe bowl. The burnt, stiff mess that was supposed to be my macaroni covered with cheese, was now covered in an almost fetus-like film of boiled cheese. I just continue to stare at the monstrosity. I am nearly amused at how the light reflects sickly off the opaque burnt-snot cheese covering my hard noodles.

And it was a Sunday night. me home alone on this last, depressing day of the weekend. But I wasn’t alone due to some miracle enabling me to relax and watch MY shows no one else likes (PBS). But in fact it was a night where I was left alone due to unhappy circumstances and a cubbard filled with two cans of tomato paste and instant dry noodles containing a thing of powdered cheese inside the package. The kind of night home alone that made you talk to yourself because you had something weighing down on you that you needed to expell in some way. And where you tried to busy yourself into being productive by examining noises around your home.

The terribly stressful circumstances by which I was left alone were thick in the air. Only because my sweat fears seemed to permiate off my skin into the artifically-heated living room. My brother had been gone for nearly 23 hours now.

He insisted on taking the dog on a walk, and never showed back up. On his own accord, of course. He recently had been in the mindset of running away for a while and not coming home. Untill he fucked up so bad, he didn’t want to come home and we had to pin him into the backseat of the car. Our town is small you see, and it’s pretty hard to hide for too long. Especially now, when he held the safety and comfort of my dog with him.

The dog never liked him. We recieved her from the shelter and she was very, very timid. The workers explained that she was taken from her home by her previous owners’ neighbors who called serveral times of abuse toward the puppy, but never got anything done. So this 8-month old mutt we now owned was scared of my brother who made sport out of hiding under his over-sized hood and jumping out at her. She hated walks with him, but we made them happen anyways. And while I was only slightly worried about my brother’s safety (I figured he’d be fine, like always), but my dog has a thin coat and he wouldn’t think to feed her.

Anyways, they had been gone all night and it was about nighttime the next day, now. I hadn’t slept at my campout because there was frost on the foot-end of my sleeping bag and my scalp had nearly caught fire in the night. I dind’t sleep a wink. Then I didn’t sleep all night last night due to the sudden, yet not entirely unexpected disappearance of my brother. And so, about 3 days straight with no sleep, I am staring in disgust at my dinner I have eaten half of. Only subconciously because I was multi-tasking. Writing notices all over Facebook asking anyone downtown with theri facy mobile internet access if they had seen him. Waiting and staring. Tired but unab;e to sleep.

Then the most annoying noise in the whole world springs into my ears. It is the noise of a dreaded chatbox appearing on my screen. With the name of one of my friends and a little number 1 beside it. I open it up, hakf-heartidly hoping it’s about my brother.

“Hey, I need to talk to you about something…” It says plainly. Missing the proper grammar tools, however.

“About what?” I type, nearly dazed. And when he finally replies, the noise, I realize, shakes me out of spacy moment.

“Well, I don’t know if you know, but I like you and I was wondering if you felt the same?” I stared at the screen in my stressed and sleep-deprived state. “Of course I like you. We’re friends aren’t we?” I replied a bit confused.

And then as a heart and smiley face appeared in the chat-box. I realized my fatal mistake. Though one of my closest friends had asked me out in the lamest way possible, even though they know full-well who I fancied (and it wasn’t him).

My chest started to hammer to the beat of knowing something bad was about to happen. Knowing someone’s feelings were about to be hurt. Knowing you may have possibly changed your friendship in one sleep-drunk stupor. That stressful beat. When I heard a rattling of my brother’s bedroom window. He was trying to get in and he didn’t know Mum had nailed it shut hours ago. Quickly I hopped up, spilling the puddy-like hardly-edible food all over my lap. But it stuck to nothing, only bounced, and I was okay.

I ran outside in the pouring rain around to the other side of the house. The cold roughness of the sidewalk scraping my feet and the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I was miserable, tired, scared, and stressed. And when he noticed me bracing myself into a run, he began to sprint down the sidewalk. Letting go of my dog’s leash and commanding her to stay.

He had been gone exactly 24 hours and 3 minutes now and my mum was hell-bent out looking for him.

Greatful for the numbing cold of the water, I stepped into as much of a stride as I could manage in my pencile skirt and tackled him in the mud. He struggled and spat curses at me. Ones that I wouldn’t even dare to whisper at his age. And I waited for him to give me a reason to finally relieve the anger that was built up over these days I’m entitled to for rest every week by the law. And how my time over these days was melded together into a juxtapose if what it should be.

And so when he ended up crossing that line with the insults he was spilling at me, I hiked up my skirt enough to not rip it while I held him down.

And I punched him the face.




I stare at the glowing computer screen

Just stare

Because nothing I can think of

Seems to make sense

Though nothing really ever does

And when I think about

The words that rattle around

The abyss of some authors habit

I wonder aloud

If they know just what they’re saying

Or if they make it up on the spot

Because it sounds nice

Because they have a deadline

And I wonder if when they have a deadline

Then that means that the driving beat

Of their creative heart

Has gone flat

Killed by the abstraction of time

That they will follow as zombies

I think about this while

I procrastinate

While my typing is at a stand-still

Because my hands are busy scratching

Poison-ivy scars from last month

That don’t itch

But only because it’s a habit

My Misadventure of the Morning

Person riding bike along road with field of sunflowers on one side.

This is a post about my day because so many people have asked me about it today. And I fear that if one more person asks me how my day went, I may implode. So here. This is how my day went…

Tonight one of my school clubs is having a camp-out  in a local bit of woods. In order to go tonight, we had to set up all of the necessary things. We had to set up our fire pit, our food table, some tarps, and of course; our mighty tepee. So I joined this extra-curricular out of my own unfortunate naivety. Sure camping out in the woods by a roaring fire sounds fun, and setting up isn’t too bad either.

However, one never exactly thinks about transportation the bit of it. As transportation is often a greatly over-looked part of anything. And when my mom had an unexpected meeting this morning, I was forced to bike to my destination. So at about 11am, I set out on my yet-known misadventure.

It was early in the morning on a teacher in-service day, not hardly a soul had arisen from their beds. The breeze was crisp and clean and the sunshine was lovely. I was feeling pretty great on this early-December day when I thought I had no use for a coat. And I rolled along through my small town, enjoying the view of still-green grass and the yellow orb in the sky. My little brown vintage 3-speed huffy sped over the streets with ease. And then I turned.

It was a gaping mouth of a turn, going immediately from suburban street to country road lined thick with trees on either side. To turn down this road, you needed to roll down a very steep hill-and-curve. A terrifying one at that.

Soon I was headed down a steep hill going extremely to fast for my poor little bike. I didn’t want to go too fast in fear of popping my wheels. I didn’t want to hold down my breaks in fear of ruining them. I instead skimmed my feet over the asphalt to slow me down. And it went on like this for a few minutes. Riding down a very lonely road, skidding my feet, and going down a giant twisting hill. All went well until I approached yet another dangerous curve, just like the one before, but the opposite.

Right after I passed our water-treatment facility with no employee cars int he parking lot, and then an abandoned bed and breakfast, I had to turn again. Onto a steeply-inclined one-lane road. On one side, nothing but thick forest, on the other a complete drop over a cliff.

I attempted feebly to bike at this almost 70 degree incline before realizing my legs weren’t exactly the strongest things in the world. At all. And with this epiphany came a quick and depressing self-esteem buster. Only quick, though. As I had to fear for my life walking painfully up this never-ending blind spot. Cars, on the other road who were never there, now suddenly were zooming down toward me in alarming numbers. Every driver I saw turned back pitifully in my direction. With good reason, as I’m positive I looked very disheveled.

And the further up this hill I went, I noticed all the cars I saw were either old, beat-up vans with rust spots and no windows. Or scary-looking pick-up trucks (all gray or white) with windows all tinted past the illegal numbers. I began to get a tightening sense of fear in my chest, a defense mechanism most girls my age walking alone on isolated country roads should have. And I reached for my phone. I needed to feel the shape of what could be my savoir as scenes, bad scenes, began to play through my head. When my fingers touched my pocket, I realized in a panic that my savoir was absent. And when I found it to not be anywhere on me, I was really in a pickle.

And so I realized that in the frenzy of giving my brother a note telling my mom when I had left, and feeding my cat and dog, I had left the shell of blue plastic and silicon on my dresser.

Now, almost there, I began to jog/ bounce my way up the last stretch of hill. Pushing hard with my legs while my arms were stretched out comically to hold my handle bars. So close! I could see the rocks marking the entrance to the campsite and could see the field where we stayed through the thin lining of trees. I saw our fire wood we stacked yesterday put neatly by our fire pit and the giant logs we were going to use as seats. YES! I was here.

I pushed the bit of now-tangled hair out of my eyes and viewed the smooth, nearly worn-through bottoms of my converse, damage due to my self- breaking down the hill. Then I walked into our entrance, smiling at my feat I had just conquered, ready to tell my sad story.

Only to find that no one was there.

What Ever Happened To the Lending of The Jacket?

Remember all of those movies you see? You know, the old teen romance films where the jock gives the cheerleader his letter jacket to sport (get it? haha-ehm). Or the timid boy lends the girl of his dreams his blazer in the cold weather? Say, what ever did happened to that? The act is one of cordiality and it’s sweet. It makes the girl want to sit  staring into his eyes, smelling the cologne that’s rubbed off inside and smile. I wonder why the boys don’t do this anymore.

What I witness nowadays is, most of the time the girl has to steal the jacket to get the boys attention. Yes steal it! I witnessed this often walking through the cruddy, stinky hallways of my brother’s middle school. I hate going there because every single thing I see I end up saying to myself: “Now I know we weren’t like that.”, and besides, the odor is atrocious. Anyways, the girls tease the boys by taking their jackets and wearing them all day. They smell them and keep them and in most cases, the boys get mad! Completely understandable of course, especially when the girls take them home. But they boys just don’t get it.

Now up in high-school (where the air is fresher, for the most part) the boys mostly don’t bother anyways. Or they just don’t know how to react when a cute girl standing with them says, “You know, I’m freezing. I wish I brought a jacket…” The boys just blank out, imaging the act of offering their jacket to the girl and feeling like a hero, but in reality they just stand there in an awkward silence only penetrated by their snurking up their nose. Others when in this situation just chuckle. The flirtatious opportunity going straight over their heads.

Well, you say, why don’t you acknowledge the smart and sweet souls out there who aren’t so thick and can take a hint? Well, actually I would like to acknowledge them. Very much so. I personally have encountered two of these brave men. One, my crush. Though I’m positive it’s not mutual, he was just kind enough to lend me his jacket when our school’s heat broke on a very cold day. Like I said, he’s just a nice guy, but that just makes him seem all the more knightly. The other, a close friend who was worried I was going to freeze when I was walking around in the snow without a jacket.  He didn’t just lend me the jacket, he gave it to me. And while I have no feelings for him excepting that of friendship, just that small act made me blush and stop to think about him in a different light.

The moral of this post? Boys, if you want to form a bit of a trap for the girl of your dreams to slip into (that sounded kind of creepy) then you need to invest your time wisely and perk up your ears. Next time she’s cold, offer her your jacket. She’ll know your freezing for her and in that split second she’ll begin to notice you differently, even if it’s just for a second. Her heart will flutter, she’ll blush, and you have a starting point.

CAUTION: Exercise this with caution, though. If she rejects you it may be for these reasons: 1. She doesn’t know you well enough. 2. She’s trying to tough it out. In which case, insist. 3. She was hinting for someone else to assist her. If any of these scenarios play out and you get rejected, try again or find another way to approach her say… get to know her first?

That’s all. Just me trying to deploy a comeback for the chivalry when it come to young romance. It wouldn’t hurt…

So I Told You I was Writing A Book

Ok, I’ll catch you up in case you haven’t read my first post (it’s not necessary to have. Actually, just don’t waste your time…) However, I noted that I am currently in the process of writing a novel called Circle Patterns. I’m just working on it and I’ll see how it turns out but I was thinking that I would put some information about it on here. Like the cover blurb and possibly chapters. Updates as it come to finality and possible publishing or what not. So without further ado, I give you what at the moment would appear ont he back of the cover. Maybe.

In a new America that is being eaten inside out from the Brother
Depression or ‘frater depressio’ as the “experts” call
it, there is nothing but sadness and confusion. After America
lost all its resources and respect from other nations, it became
almost a third-world country. With the people still contrived and
living in the past, the struggle to face reality becomes a huge
issue. Everyone is obsessed with rareities; jewels, money, fresh
fruit, drugs, and pretty young girls. No one is trustworthy. No one is
safe. Faith is the thing shunned by everyone so in the public eye, it does not exist.
Amidst all the confusion, a young blind girl
moves through the world that is invisible to her. She seeks hope.
An abstract concept her world refuses to believe in, much less
show her.

And that’s just the sneak peak to wet your chops. But I’ll upload the first chapter in a few days.

P.S. This will most likely NOT be what it’s supposed to be because as my story is unfolding, it continues to change often.

Strangeness, the Showdown, The snatch

These are some new photos that I’m putting up (check out my others here: They are just a collection of strange photos I’ve taken over the course of this week. Featuring: a person, my brother’s abundant Star Wars action figure collection, a game of hungry hungry hippos, a fish, and my puppy Aubrey. Enjoy.

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Mouths are beautiful

The simplicity of the curves and lines

That make up a person’s character

Mouths define

Emotions, thoughts

Wishes, prayers


Whispered through the soft pink lips

Creased and folded with smiles

And that’s why I fold my tips

into origami shapes

For the sake of a smile

Because those beautiful lines on the sides

Of your mouth

That you let stay even after you laugh

Prove you are immune to the ignorance

Of media

To the anti-age propaganda

Wanting you to believe that to be happy

Is not what you really want

Because you could crack the powdered smooth face of youth

That wasn’t yours in the first place

And last night I dreamed of a paper moon

Taking up the whole of the sky

Full and bright and confident

And the whole time I reached out for it

All I wanted was to stroke the light

The curves

Because they looked like the creases of a familiar face

And that made me smile

I’m a Compulsive Liar

Ever since I can remember I have lied. Lied about little things. Lied About big things. But everyone always takes me seriously. There is not one eprson I know who thinks I lie about anything. Despite the truth, I apparently come off as a very honest person. It just goes to show how self-ritious people are. “Oh, she’s a good girl. She don’t ever look like she could do nothin wrong.” Like they know.

Of course, I’m not on here confessing that I’m a girl-gone-wild who is as slick as a wet bar of soap. I just would like to say that I have a gift. An incredible gift packaged with some big responsibility. I don’t lie when it matters.  However, I lie constantly, ignoring the rule I just stated. When I was little, a girl on the playground walked up to me with her pink frilly dress and long golden hair that, at that time, I envied. She looked me in the eye and said “Hi, my favorite color is magenta. What’s yours?” Immediantly the little dials and cranks in my brain whirred and with the most believable voice I could muster I said, “Really? Manenta? Me too!” I didn’t do it on purpose, there was just something about this little girl’s eyes that made me want to lie to her. To need to lie to her.

It’s always the eyes of a person that drives that dangerous automatic pilot in my subconscious.

And it continued from there. My web that shakespear told of thickened and thickened until it seemed inpossible that I would be able to keep up with the stories. But I’m great mutli-tasker. And if I don’t remember a specific lie, then I pretend I didn’t hear someone when they are talking to me. They will procede to tell me and excerpt of their version of my story. By then I will have gained enough information to piece it back together. That’s how I work.

Over the short course of my life I have told some rediculous lies. That I decended from the vikings. That I have a glass eye. That I can talk to arachnids. That I started my period when I was nine… All acting on impulse. Something inside me pulling on the strings of my creative mind and forcing a random story out of my throat. But everyone takes me seriously.

Being able to lie perfectly, has gained me insight to how badly other people lie.

Me: “Do you like that guy? I know you like him.”

Friend: *pause for a second* “No?” *quick, subtle cough*

Me: “Right. Of course.”

Friend: *guffaw* “No. I don’t”

Me: “But you do.”

Friend *pupils shrink. body doesn’t move. Gives me death look* “Okay, maybe…”

I’m really good at getting people to admit they’re lying as well. But that only comes from experience.

Okay, first post!

So this is my first post on this blog, but I have another. However, I am still a fledgling in the world of blogging (i only started yesterday). I would really appreciate comments to help me get moving in the right direction or comments on my photography and art when I get it up here.

I am currently writing a book, slowly but surly. I have it on the website, which by the way is a really encouraging site filled with Teen lit written by teens. My book isn’t exactly up on the charts yet because I’m really far behind on writing and even further behind on updating to the site. But here I thought I could just post bits and pieces about it.

And such. So here I’ll just ramble about me and such, here, I’ll post cool things around the world. How’s that?