The Names of Us

 The Names of Us
by me(whatever)
to Moonfall

Do they know my name?
a light bulb,
I can't help but be cruel to them
when they speak that way.

It's a method,
I crack my fingers
and yawn myself to wakefulness
as they pull out my ear wax

I can't understand,
the 30's lady words spouting out,
around and around my head.
They sure sound good,
but what do they mean?

Pay attention,
pencils/  no PENS ready
pretty piper paper poised
against all dared prayers.

Who is your name?
I won't ask what again.
It's not anything, is it?
Yes, I knew it.

Are you colored over?
A moth who couldn't make it to day?
Charlatan checkers over the chickens,
I'm so very tired of it all.

Modeled clay,
let's harden to an ugly state
just to infuriate them.

Who's dead,
and who's alive?

Guess what it is?
You already know it.
I find your attitude
incredibly annoying.

"Become what you want,
we'll show you how!"
They said.

"Become whatever,
I'm your factory product,
and you know it as well as I"
Should I say, I said?

It's a war,
exhausted of this fight
against hypnotism.

Hypnotism: 
Definition relays the disease of a hippo who doesn't want to be one.
And who has back pains. 

Shut up.  

Screw all this, I'm writing Poetry

Screw all this, I'm writing poetry
by me(whatever)
to Sky Fish

Screw all this,
I'm writing poetry.
The fuzz in the headphones,
is sending my brain away.

So screw all this,
I'm writing poetry.
Let us return to my lone room,
white posted.

Your voice has always been annoying,
it's hard to stop remembering.
Through this catharsis, perhaps,
I can regain my gainings.

So screw all this,
I'm writing poetry.
I'm black on this background,
like confessing my sins.

So screw all this,
this junk people have shoved on me.
It only clogs the clockwork.
They take and never give. 

I'm writing poetry,
at least I think I am.
What if I didn't exist at all,
would I be happy then?

So screw all this,
I'm writing poetry.
I know I've repeated this line,
way too many times.

Are you bored?
with me?
with this poem?
I don't care, I don't care, I don't care.

So screw all this,
I'm writing poetry.
quite simply,
I've given up on my homework.

This little Earth,
I know nothing about, not even a tiny weeny bit.
They've hidden it,
in their lying eyes.

So screw it all,
I'm eating mud.
floating, floating,
buried, buried. 

They starve you,
and pretend their feeding you.
Fish, Fish, Fish,
swimming with bird brains.

I'm angry, if you haven't noticed.
So screw it all,
I'm writing poetry. 

Living Words

I want to experience so many more things. I'm sick of this repeated every day. With no interest, no excitement, no difference. All stress, all boredom. I'm sick of it all. So tell me, where did my motivation go? And all I can do is recall past feelings to write about. I can't stand this. I want to feel new things! I want to experience the world with all my might and soul, and try and live so hard that I don't even make it back in the end. I don't want to wither in this same place and scenery. I'm not a flower on display; I'm a human being with legs, arms, beating heart, brain, and flowing blood. I want to move farther and farther on. I don't care for competition, I don't care for a system that can only reduce me to a few letters. I'm more than a few words. In fact, once I answer a question in words, it almost always feels as though I wasn't able to convey everything. And besides, most words in the question died. It's a special occasion when words are remembered. What's more important: the words or the person? Truthfully, I already know the answer. It must be the person, right? So why must I be reduced to not even words, and only numbers and letters- dead things. I, a living being, am reduced to a list of dead things (things that didn't even live in the first place-incomplete), to represent what people don't understand about me. Everything I produce is dead. Every word I speak dies as soon as it is released from the tongue. So I thought about this. My goal as a human being is rather simple.

I will write living words.

Why? while reading Shuntaro Tanikawa

Why?
by me(whatever)

The poet I'm reading,
does not want to write,
does not want to speak,
does not know his words.

Yet he writes.

Why?
I contemplate the question in my brain.
Is it for money?
Pride?
Reassurance?
Love?
Duty?

No, no, I don't think that's it.
I don't think so, yet...
The question roams on.

Why?

Words, Actions, and A Piece of the World

Words and Actions
by me(whatever)
at 5 A.M.

We are all
What we are
by words

We are all
Who we are
by actions

But words are also actions,
and actions also words

So it could also be said

We are all
What we are
by actions

We are all
Who we are
by words.

 A Piece of the World

by me(whatever)

at 5 A.M.

I returned from my corner

attempting to salvage

A piece of the world

But it tore from my finger-tips,

and sighing,

I sunk deep into the wall;

empty-handed.

Before the Dandelion dies

Things I need to do before I die, NEED TO!

*See fireflies
*Stand in a graveyard at midnight on Halloween night
*Have an adventure
*Witness/create something impossible
*Write my story of the sky
*Combine the twins inside myself
*Take random pictures of places, at least a thousand of them, and have a whole book of them
*Fold a thousand cranes
*Travel the world
*Become a wanderer
*Find my roots
*blow another umbrella inside out
*Find my own Shangri-la
*Jump through the cracks in time
*Discover love
*Sing as loud as I want without caring if anyone hears it
*Finish my scrapbook
*Help someone
*learn how to argue without my tongue swelling up, and Hold to it
*Become as stubborn as a weed (if I was one, I'd be a dandelion)
*Get rid of my robotic 'habits', and become an actual person
*Find a four-leafed clover
*Get a wish on a shooting star before it vanishes
*Get a house all to myself and paint the walls all crazy, decorating it strangely too
*Learn all types of mythology and different fairy tales
*Own my own black cat
*Explore some kind of abandoned building
*Have a solitary supper in the mountains at night, just watching the moon
*Watch the fireworks from beginning to end
*Sneak out for something important
*Run away
*Read all the books ever written by Diana Wynne Jones
*Fly on a hot air balloon
*Never stop

Underneath the stairs

It seems all I've really written this month is poems.....that's okay, I guess. Anyways, this one was written under my school stairs. I was sitting there after school waiting for someone to come pick me up....or not pick me up, which one was it? I do weird things every once in a while. They're fun though. I think different things.

Under the stairs
by me(whatever) 
11-29-12

Sunlight slants down through the school windows,
as I stop from the pace of my world,
and I watch people pass on their business,
towards destinations outside.
Underneath the stairs,
I have no business,
but here I am all the same,
with the perpendiculars.

Here are some other stuff I wrote down:

Mix-up

Cruelty is a sort of kindness,

and kindness a cruelty.

So with all these mix-ups,

which am I?

The people inside can't see me-

only the people outside.

Shadow

Shadow
by me(whatever)
to Disillusion by Tainaka Sachi

I had a dream like a shadow,
screams echoing through the darkness.
if even your memories are abandoned,
Return to the past

The shatters of your reflection
Cut to the very essence of your soul
The hand that grabbed for you,
Will you let it fall?

The voice disappeared from misty lips,
and silence fell over as snow
This time I will search through the forest,
for your nostalgic smile

If the stars keep sparkling like this,
I will believe in silver over gold.
Because the mirror shards you wore over your body,
will only slice you to pieces

Your memory is before your heart,
so you decided to never, ever forget
Even if the eyes dissolve in water,
please wait for me, because I am there.

The ice moon will only turn you to dust,
freezing the crumbles of your thoughts
A temporary fix, but if you take my hand
I'll unravel the future

So retell your wishes to the sky,
and even snow will cry it
The wind is moving along the glacier,
To find where you are.

Clouds

The truth is, I don't think that true happiness exists while we are alive.
but I think that if we humans are able to not only live with our pain, our sadness,
that if we can find a way to get past the boundary,
to fly past our gray skies,
Then we will be able to find something out there

and that something will definitely be valuable.

And I want my colors to always be there

so that even when the sky is crying tears,

I want to look up 

and see that even gray is beautiful.

I want to be sure that life is not meaningless,

that my something is not only layers of blue,

 But I'm sure that even if that is what it is,

then it will come out lighter on the opposite side,

and I will eventually be able to see something,

Perhaps,

a clear blue sky?

Return to Golden Memories Who Stay

 Return to Memories 
by Me(whatomic) 

And again I return to myself
after everything is over with
I remember loving you
was that just a myth?

You may say to your face in the mirror
"I gave it my hardest, again"
There is only one happiness I need
Can I write it with a pen?

Only seasons revolve around me
memories overlap common days
the mind is bored of its job
Be alleviated when it frays

I wish it would rain
clouding over the painful sun
Bring moisture to the skin

remember where it will run

There is no rhyme or reason

I just want to live

to know "Stay Gold" once again              

What would you give?

Constant notes in my head
competing in their own thoughts
But I want to stay dry for now
Dreams are something they sought

For the sake of opening hope
and cornering it in the vastness of this heart
I'll bring it over as a gift
Let the flow do its part

deep in the forest of happenings
I get lost in a labyrinth made of stripes
animals come to consume me
Or so the author types

I can't find anything to inspirate
motivate, excite, truly right
A pirate of ridiculous proportions
am I the one I'll fight?

Because the wind blew me back
the past is the path in front of me
I lost something there I want back
So come to be.

Wings of Words

I've been at girls camp these last four days....hurray for no showers!

Here's a poem I wrote before I went. It's different from the other ones I've done; it has a rhythm.

The Journey of My Thoughts and Me
By Me(Whatomic)
written 7/23/12

Wherever the far wind goes,
Dear Sir
I'm carried along fast with it
My books, my stories, my countless bought-breaths
down flutter in a river of mist

They twist, they turn
they swing haps-a-loopsy
still struggle to get caught in the reeds
but all their attempts
get lost in the current
as they float listlessly in their deeds

But the breeze picks up-
Oh blessed wind!
and it flings them out of the river
and out to the sky
where the great whales live
in a sight to make paper quiver

And so it goes on!
In the distance unheard
lies a story again yet discovered
My thoughts spread their book-wings
and stretching them so
begin to be slightly uncovered

We fly over mountains,
stone castles and oceans
Searching for something that-will-be
We live here so fine,
So high, In the sky! It's called-

the journey of my thoughts and me.


Might've been inspired by this.....I think.
 The Fantastic flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore, Short film

Answers From the Heart

Answers

*written to Kokoro no Kara by Team. (ending theme of the anime "Kokoro Connect")

My flimsy dream disappeared when I woke up
I don't know anymore,
Please tell me;
Who am I?

bare-footed, and stumbling on shards of glass
I was wrong the entire time
Wasn't I?

Though the sunset was so beautiful befalling the city
I wonder if it can provide me with answers?
All I ever ask are questions clothed in prideful riddles
My mother says I think too much.

Someone irreplaceable; I could die defending them
I don't have anyone like that
Though they often portray that in movies,
My skepticism only hides my envy.

Someone please help me!
I feel as though I've lost my way
Not understanding those words
is painful, isn't it?

My alarm clock proclaims the time as it passes away
I watch it every day
In my mind the past replays
As I imagine different turn-outs.

The sky is so wide, it almost hurts
I wanted to live there long ago
who was that person behind me?
I feel as though they've been abandoned.

Can I live in this world I've been born in?
I'm still learning, so
Slowly but continuously, maybe
I'll find the answers.

Once Upon a Time Soaked in Rain

If you compare rain to sadness, love to a rose, and sunshine to happiness, what do you get?

             "Love's roots might be soaked in sadness, however it blooms in happiness."


That's what I came up with at least. It was raining so I was thinking about it.

Strange huh?

Once Upon Time
by Me(Whatomic)
written to If only you knew (Piano composition)

"Once upon a Time"
There was a story.
it had been forgotten,
buried in the vast lines of others.

And then one day,
a star came down.
It politely asked of it's wish;
The story said:
"To be found."

I want to ride in time,
not once upon it.
I want to see where my loved ones have gone,
I want to hear them.

"Can I be remembered?"
Pleadingly the story inquired.
The star shed a tear at this, and said,
"My dear, you were never forgotten."

"Can you remember?"

Boredom; I'm the Same Word

Don't you want something unexplainable to happen? Something like an adventure to another world, or super powers, or a mysterious person who you happen to find out their true identity. Something exciting like that. Ahh, I want it to happen so bad to me. I think most people agree with me, though the critics are always there nagging me to get up and look at the 'so-called' reality. What if this world and the 'reality' we seem to accept as normal, was actually the places in someones dream? And what if our dreams created new worlds out of scratch from our unconscious data? What if some people could find a way to seep into their dream-worlds and explore them consciously? Like in a physical body? I would have a field day with that, if only. I'm getting some nice ideas from 'The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya'.

I haven't done anything productive this entire summer. I feel sluggish and good for nothing. Most of all, bored. I'm So Bored!!!!!!!!! Someone give me an adventure! I'll even say Please! Someone Please give me an adventure!!!! Cherry on top? Or will I have to search for one myself? Most likely. Tch, typical 'so-called' reality.


I'm the Same Words as the Worlds Questions
 by me(whatomic)
written to this song: Arrietty's song

Turn me large, turn me small
I'm the same
spinning in this different world
And the words....

I want to know even more
what these feelings are like
running in my own perception
I might hit the ground,

But,
I'm still living, aren't I?
again with the unanswerable questions
they spin me

See, the sun still arises
over the tiny horizon I am unsatisfied with
Again and Again, over and over again
Is this my answer from the world?

Or, am I still hidden in the dark
from all the mystery's I can never seem to find
Ah, Well
Shall I just follow the moon?

Just, I simply don't feel it
Is it over there, over the hill they say has greener grass?
Maybe, but you know
I'm still contradictive

On that.

'Tac-Ti-Turn' =Box in my closet

Memory Box

by Whatomic(Me)

Can you decipher it?
The weaving language of the summer wind-
The bouncy laughter floating on bubbles of life-
My lost balloons still wandering in the sky-
A sound existing only on feathers;
Wistful sunny Flight.

Can you Feel it?
Just around the bend of an alleyway-
Before the beginning-
After the ending-
When you turn the knob of your door-
When you tell the most important thing;
precious everyday anticipation.

Can you remember it?
Things you ate for breakfast-
toys you played with as a child-
Long forgotten?-No, -buried-
The face of the person you loved-
The melody sang below the pavement,
but just above the sun-
Memories of loved ones.

                          "The box I had in my closet,
                                  old letters and photos....
                               things I used to feel, hear, see.....
                                                Are they completely gone?"



Tac-ti-turn -favorite word of the day

Before drawing my Night Blinds in the Summer Times

Before Drawing Blinds

by whatomic(me)-written June 2,2012 at 1:30 A.M. (random thoughts before I finally went to sleep)

The moon behind
my shoes scattered bewildered on the floor,
wrapped in a cocoon
a late night gamer below
even late in sleep
I still write unrelentlessly
graffitied on from two days ago
my eyes are heavy enough
to draw the blinds
to my world windows.
And my camouflaged flashlight,
my black and white tiger
taunt me to sleep
Subtly
Against the wind,
in the garden outside, below
where water is sucked into the ground
The sprinkler that sounds
like someone breathing
A far-off memory,
and a guilty sharpness
covered in mists
A piano stringed mess
but no rain
Falls
out into the wistful world
I dream about
going to
one day.
Out.
My clarinet in a corner, A tuxedo trick? Comedy?
Hand tired.
Stop.


I like to think I'm creative sometimes. Only some times. some-or times. summer times.