AlysiaMichelle's blog

Are you still there?

(Are) you sick of me yet
(you) probably are
it (still) surprises me that you've stayed this long
i seem to push people (there)
(I) can't keep friends
(doubt), even from the beginning I knew
 (you'll) leave , but i wish you wouldn't
(stay),please stay with me
even if not for (long)

[I'm just in the writing kind of mood]

Do you feel the same?

(Do you) know what you mean to me
I don't know how to explain it, you just make me (feel) happy
Things aren't (the same) as they used to be
(I) don't know what to do
 So I'll just sit here and (hope)
I'll wait  for you to make the first move (so) I don't have to
(but) you won't do it
(if) I had the courage
(not) like a mouse
(that's) so weak
I would have told you
but I didn't and that's (okay) ,okay?

Time is running out.

AIDEN Time for me is running out. I can taste it in the air. Every nerve ending in my body is screaming to me that I'm going to die. I can't speak. I've been in a coma for a year now. I can no longer talk or walk, my brain doesn't remember those things. I try and let them know I'm still here. I'm still alive. My brother is standing there squeezing my hand and crying. He knows it too. I try to scream but nothing comes out. I fade in and out of consciousness. The doctors now have to play God. Will they let me live? Or will they kick out my lights. Gone forever. I wish I could have told him I loved him, but my last words were spoken a year before I died. They pulled the plug. TODD They pulled the plug on my brother and I screamed. I told him loved him right before he closed his eyes for the last time. A lot of people told me he deserved all that happened to him. He made a poor choice, driving drunk is stupid, but he didn’t deserve to die. That’s not fair. He only hurt himself. He landed himself in the hospital. He forgot the basic conventions of life. He could still see and hear, but he couldn’t move or speak. I saw the tear escape his eye before the plug was pulled. Maybe this would be less painful for him. I punched my best friend out because he told me that Aiden deserved it. My best friend thought that poorly of my family. My brother is the only family I had. Now he’s gone. My brother was just nineteen. He had sandy blond hair and green eyes, just like I remember Mom had. Things changed when she died. I never expected him to take up drinking, and I tried to get him to stop. He just wouldn’t listen. The pain was too much. He became addicted. He was doomed to face the same fate as my father: Only, there’s no prison time for the dead. AIDEN “I wish you could have seen it,” I said excitedly to Todd. “Limbo I mean. It was the craziest place I’ve ever seen.” I’m sure my eyes were wide and my hand movements distracting. I continued on anyways.” There were people EVERYWHERE! Millions of them! They were just standing in line. There were two lines, but I wasn’t standing in either of them. I was an observer. I was trapped in the middle looking at everybody’s faces.” I paused and made a face. “They must not have seen things how I saw them, cause they all had blank stares.” Todd stared at me like I was crazy, like this whole thing was nuts. I don’t blame him. “I was in awe. The beauty of this place was astounding! There were no buildings it was just pure nature. There was no trash on the ground. Animals roamed freely around the two lines. To be perfectly truthful, I didn’t ever want to leave.” That last bit made Todd wince and I was sorry having said it. “I woke up; I was encased in metal wrapped in plastic.” I re-enacted my time in the morgue. “I started to panic and I thrashed around as I tried escaping this bag. I realized I was naked when a panicked nurse came and opened my drawer. It was cold, I realized where I was. I was in the morgue. All I could think is: why am I alive? I wiggled my appendages and shouted with joy. For some unthinkable reason I am alive. My brain is fully functional and I’m BREATHING.” I finished out of breath and my brother just hugged me tight. “I don’t know how you did it,” he ruffled his hand through my hair. “Don’t you ever do that again you damn fool!” He yelled. I felt sorry. I am the only one he’s got left and I up and died on him. I’m back now though. “I’m sorry I really am. I promise to quit drinking. I’m gonna change. I have a feeling next time, I’m going to be IN the line and not just a passerby.” “You’re crazy,” Todd laughed. TODD Life is good now that my brother is back. It’s summer time and both of our hours for work are decent. I work at a bakery called Sunshine. I know it’s peculiar for a guy to work at a bakery, or at least most people find it that way, but I love my job. The ladies also dig a man who can bake. I speak from experience. I don’t look much like my brother. I have dark brown hair much to the same style as Johnny Depp. I have golden brown eyes and fairly straight teeth. “Hey when you get off work would you wanna come to the movies with me and Susie?” Susie is a fairly tall punky sort of girl. That’s the only word I can think to describe her as. Her hair is always different colors. She’s cute. My brother really has a thing for her. “Uh sure, I guess I could bring Tyler.” I reply. Tyler is my best friend. She, yes Tyler is a she, has long brown hair and the prettiest green eyes. She’s gorgeous. We’ve known each other since middle school. As you could imagine, I have a huge crush. Also I’m pretty sure I’ve been friend zoned. “Cool, the drive in is open and it’s a nice night. I don’t know what’s there, so we’ll choose as we go.” Aiden said running out the door so he isn’t late to work. “Cool.” I say to myself. I look at the clock. It reads 6:45. I finish up getting ready and start my car. AIDEN Summertime is grand. My brother and I live in Annapolis, Maryland. It’s gorgeous where we live, especially in the summer. We’re just a short drive away from the Chesapeake Bay.

Do you believe in magic?

            In all of her fifty two years she always enjoyed the magic story telling. She or her children didn’t have many toys growing up, but they had their imagination. Imagination made for a better toy than any other anyways. Imagination was just like magic. The worlds you create through a story are just as real as the one you live in. She, like any good mother passed on her magic to her children. Story telling helped that family overcome one of their hardest trials. In 1990 she saw her then Army soldier husband off on what should have been a routine deployment with his new unit on an ongoing assignment in Bahrain. He had left her and her three sons to wonder what came next. Two days later, Iraq invaded Kuwait. The family would not hear from their husband or dad for 2 weeks, during which time their active imagination was fed by solely by what the media could provide. Steve would return home safe after several months but returned to the region several more times.  By then the mission had a name.  Desert Storm/Desert Shield and Americans were dying.  One night the oldest son Gabe, who was six at the time, asked his mother if Daddy was going to die.  Her own mind traveled down that road so her doubts made her heart fall to her stomach. So she told him a story. She did what any mother would to ease her children’s and her own doubts. She told him no and went on to tell him the greatest story that she was ever told.

         “Once upon a time, long ago, there lived some children who moved from town to town quicker than they were able to make friends. With their father traveling away from the family so often, the children spent much of their time indoors.  Money was tight but they barely noticed for Mother had given them each the gift of imagination.

             One child in particular used her gift to weave stories.  These stories were woven rather than told because they were constructed as the story went along and listeners were encouraged to give suggestions to help with the direction of the fantasy.  In the beginning these stories were created on a big, shared bed, crowded with fluffy blankets and feather pillows.  Before long the bed became too confining for such imagination.  Enter Mother and her Blanket Tent.

             The Blanket Tent was a simple structure that varied from time to time.  Sometimes it was a chenille bedspread with long twirled fringe.  Other times it was a thin sheet in which the moon could be seen through if it was full enough.  But it was always a place of intrigue, of comforting closeness and bursting with imagination.

              The Story Weaver was more or less the middle child.  She wasn't the smartest by any means, but she had a way with words that even drew the Parents to the door of the bedroom to listen to the progressing tales that were being told from beneath the blankets and sheets draped over beds, chairs, sides held up by dresser drawers and anchored by story books that had lost their appeal.  As the years passed, the blanket tents became more elaborate, and were no longer confined to the bedroom.  Occasionally Mother would turn a blind eye as multiple bedspreads were draped over the dining table.

               The tales never used real names, the characters were fictional, and yet they were molded by the occupants of the Blanket Tent.  The stories were never the same either, once there was a trip into town in a child-sized car, which was unheard of in those times.  Another time focused on chocolate chip cookies, which just happened to be the favorite food of the Story Weaver.  Special detail was added when the cookies were described as being slightly burnt.  The Story Weaver preferred her cookies that way.  The first and last batch of cookies made by the Mother were almost always burned and the Story Weaver had discovered that because the other children found them distasteful, she would almost always get the first and last batches to herself.  Did I say she wasn't the smartest?  Perhaps not, but she was smart enough.  Unbeknown to her at the time, her Mother was not a careless baker, but often deliberately left a batch in slightly longer than required to achieve the desired color for the Story Weaver.

             The stories almost always included a very detailed description of a meal.  The food would depend on the family's location at the time.  While in Connecticut the favorite fantasy meal included warm dinner rolls (Mother made them from scratch) washed down with a bottle of Hostess Cream Soda.  In Scotland the meal was almost always a crusty afternoon roll such as the ones bought from the bakery a few doors down, slathered with butter and topped with a slab of thick cheese, washed down with Ginger Beer (Ginger Ale).  The audience would listen to the Story Weaver with big eyes as the meal was described, giggling when someone's stomach rumbled uncontrollably.

             And outside the walls illuminated by a single flashlight, the Mother stood silently, with a smile on her small dark face.  She knew one day that there would be no more stories shared beneath the Great Blanket Tent, that the children would no longer whisper and giggle at shadows cast against its sides.  But she hoped that the Story Weaver would never forget her gift and would someday weave stories for her own children.

               Years later and thousands of miles away from Mother, giggles fill a darkened house.  In the dining room a warm gentle glow illuminated through the blankets draped over a large wooden table.  From within the walls of the blankets, five pair of eyes peered eagerly at the Story Weaver who held a single flashlight.  The Story Weaver spoke in a soft voice but it was full of excitement as she described the cool, salty air by the ocean's edge.  The children never took their eyes from her face as they nibbled on simple, crusty rolls slathered with butter and stuffed with slabs of cheddar cheese, washed down with small bottles of Coca Cola.  Occasionally a child would make a suggestion which was immediately woven into the story.  And the Story Weaver smiled as she looked back at the young faces before her, flashing back to an earlier time when it was her brother and sisters’ faces that stared back at her with anticipation.  She wondered as she saw the magic of imagination play across her children’s faces if any of them would carry on the legacy of Story Weaving.

                  Her question was answered when late one evening when the house was unnaturally quiet.  She walked through the rooms, looking for the children and found them huddled under a lopsided Blanket Tent, the sides illuminated by the soft glow of a single flashlight, the voices of her children within taking turns weaving a story.  She stood there for a long while, just smiling.  Before the story was finished, the Mother moved away from the doorway so as not to break the spell.

                The children are older now, and there are no more Blanket Tents.  But the Mother is confident that her children will rekindle the magic with their own children and once again the stories will be woven in the Great Blanket Tent.”

                The story she told was a true tale. The story applied to her child hood and her children’s. Her three sons and two daughters were raised well, they were raised with magic. What came next she could hardly prepare for. In 2004 Gabe joined the Army and upon completion of basic training he was assigned to a unit in Fort Campbell and deployed to the Gulf.  It was heart breaking to say the least.  At first she thought she could handle it having already dealt with it being the wife of a soldier it should have been easy.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  A mother's fear is so much worse than a wife's fear.

                   Gabe returned home safely. She had major respect for the soldiers. What they did to keep the peace was brave. They were warriors of freedom and she had the pleasure of being close to two of them. Families still are left to face this same horror that she felt. Don’t think that being the mother or wife of a soldier isn’t difficult, because it is. The loved ones of soldiers are brave warriors just the same. The trials at home become more difficult than usual. The worry never stops. She is a courageous, loving, magic woman that I am glad to have in my life. And even as you age the blankets might disappear, but the stories are still woven together. Trials can be overcome if you just look around. I promise you that the magic is still within you. Anyone who tells you that magic isn’t real, has obviously never been told a story.

:This story is partial fiction mixed in with a bunch of reality.

Remember Remember The Fifth of December

Remember remember the fifth of December
A beautiful baby was born on that day
She smiled and laughed and wiggled and played
She was the happiest baby ever to be found
She lived a short life,
But still she touched many hearts,
When she left us many were torn apart
July second is the day she passed away
She didn't even live to her first birthday
She brought me joy
Laughter and smiles
She was a loved child
and all of you will say
too bad about her mother
but to that I say don't even bother
She was still loved and
She was still cared for
Maybe not from her mother,
but what would she need her for?
Lillian was a blessing for sure
For bad mothering, I can't say there's a cure
However there are others who cared for her just as a mother
She was my baby girl I loved her like no other
I miss her more than you could even imagine
Such a sweet little girl with a sweet older sister
Man oh man, boy do I miss her.

Lillian.

I hate this house because you are no longer in it
Tears are once again ebbing from my eyes
I miss you more than I ever thought I could miss anyone
I still can't believe you're gone
Baby girl, I miss your laugh
I was going through my pictures again
Thinking back on the past
This house that used to be home to two beautiful little girls
Is now a house of pain
A house that housed so much change

I want to go back to that damn day
The day that took your breath away
We went on a walk just around the block
Your sister and you loved it
When we came back we went with your mom
We had a talk and bad things were said
It hurts to replay this all back in my head
We went to the pool and on the way back
We joked about the firetruck that passed
And oh baby girl I didn't know it was for you
I got a call and I didn't believe it could be true
Damn everything I felt so sick
When I found out I went in hysterics
My heart is so broken
So broken still
But inside I am angry
At people involved
How could they be so selfish
To pretend they cared
And still they will tell me I don't know how they feel
But baby girl, my love for you was real
What a mess this family is
It's broken to bits
I wish I could see you and give you a kiss
I feel so shaken and my tears don't run dry
Baby I miss you
I can't help but cry
I wouldn't let anyone see me
Cause they don't know how I feel
Baby girl I love you, and that love is real.

Hmm.

You and I are complicated
You and I can't make up our minds
The attraction is strong
But we fight it
It pulls at us and tugs at us
But I fight it I fight and you're giving in
I can't help but notice your stare
You hold me in it
You act as if I captivate you
I know I'm not like others
and maybe that's why I seem desirable 
but I don't know you just yet
and what I do know, do I like?
Is my mystery intriguing?
You confuse me
I like you, but I don't like you at all
I'm attracted to you, but I'm not attracted to you at all
You're foreign yet familiar
I know your presence
I've felt your warmth
But why does it bug me? 
I want it, but I can't stand you. 

When things are broken.

At what point are things too broken to fix?
Who decides that?
I don't know why the glass broke,
it just fell the pieces are so small
I can't even pick them up
The glass is too shattered
everyone is frustrated and everyone is heartbroken
and nobody knows what to do about it
so they yell
they yell and they cry
and they take out their pain anyway they can
even to the point of self harm
blame is thrown in the air
why must we search for happiness in places that will break us more places that destroy us
there is path to happiness elsewhere
you don't need the drugs
no need for the blood
you don't have to get high
WHY DON'T YOU JUST OPEN YOUR EYES
Look for once
There is beauty ALL around you even when you're broken
there is healing
there is a healer
there is a God who is willing to fix it all
nothing is too broken for him to fix
the pieces you can't see are forming together
because he heals
but you're too blind to see that
you can't just open your eyes
but if you just try
you'll be so surprised
at what you find
because even in the broken-ness there is beauty.

bam.

I miss you.
I miss being bestfriends and talking all the time.
I miss how you always make fun of me.
I miss joking around about everything.
I miss cheering you up and being there for you.
I miss how you could always make me smile even if you're the one who upset me.
I miss your stupid face and hair.
I miss our blog tv time and how we'd make fun of my stalkers.
I miss when everyone would leave, because I was talking to mainly you and they got jealous.
I miss my pouty face and the fact that my puppy dog face worked on you.
I miss you calling me asian.
I frigging miss you.:l
I also miss watching movies with you on the phone, yeeah that too.:p
I miss your love for my mom.
I hate the fact that it seems easy for you to move past
When I'm stuck here missing your ass
I want my best friend back
That's all I need
Just SOME hint of normalcy
My life is hectic and full of stress
I want to smile and forget about the rest
You've got new friends, so do I
But since we stopped talking
I haven't really let anyone in
All of my feelings are just kept in the dim
I don't share my thoughts
And I don't have anyone to go to
But it's probably the complete opposite with you
You still are my best friend
Even if you won't let me in
I promise you this
I'll always care
And no matter what I'll try and be there
I just want my friend back, that's all I ask
Maybe that's just too hard of a task
I'm not saying that I can't live without you
I'm just saying it's not worth trying to
Out of all people you know me best
Even better than my close friends
Oh and I guess I have pizza breasts.

Colorado Fires Summer 2012.

Beautiful flames
Hungry flames
Devouring trees
Devouring dreams
Brave warriors fight
Hot endless nights
When will it be contained
Continuously praying for rain
How many more homes will be taken
32,000 people have been evacuated
Our beautiful city is in desperate need
This fire is eating our beautiful trees
Flames are dancing high and mighty
Our heroes out there, for us, fighting
Remember out of this will come
Renewed beauty ,plus some.