Hey, It's me in '04!

HERE IS an incredible picture of me during my most awkward stage of life!

Not saying I'm a winner now, but I can look back at this particular photo and remember how goofy I was.

I had a Xanga Page. I wanted to be a stand up comic. I thought it was cute to post overzealous mugshots as profile pictures. I called myself Pauline aka BiggieSh0rtii aka Pnk*Bunni aka crazygrll. (oh brother)

Everything I did back then was a product of peer influence. I wore tight jeans that cut off my belly (as my mom would say lol), I rocked really shiny lipgloss that sparkled in the sun (I was also an ardent body glitter enthusiast). I affected an ignorant way of talking when I was around certain people. And if that isn't foolish enough, thought I could seduce older men with my super thin eyebrows! In essence, I was 14 years old.

Nearly 6 years have passed since then and I am about to turn 20 in 2 weeks. Although the years have passed and I have shed my insecure oddities I'm sure I'm still quite a joke.

We shall see 6 years from now...

I'll Get there, It better be Worth the trip. by John Donovan

Yes. This is one of those late 60's coming of age joints about self discovery, budding sexuality, and all those things in the vein of Judy Blume's, "Are you there God? It's me, Margaret."

But this book was real talk when I was around 13 and 14 years old. And It's not filled with self pity like "The Catcher in the Rye" or "Perks of being a Wallflower"

I really miss this genre of books.

On the Legacy of Leaves

This is a Poem I wrote about 3 yrs ago... I entered it in some contests and It is probably a work in progress, but it is still a very important poem to me.

The Legacy of Leaves

These withered hands that built the Earth

Are cupped to offer all their worth
To we Young Buds who come from birth;
Into a world of strife and sin
Of trees that rattle in the wind
To shake the old leaves down
So to cast them on the ground
While young buds sleep safe and sound
In cradles of blissful ignorance;
Blanketed by sheer innocence

Into leaves we young buds grow
However, little do we know,
As those old leaves are drying brown
We just neglect to hear the sound
Of their voices
Rustling in the autumn breeze.

It seems the farther that we stray
The more those old leaves have to say
And now that they will soon be dust,
Our deed to listen is a must
This tragic circle we
can defeat
By ending history’s repeat
So next time winds blow listen well
For leaves have many things to tell
And these are lessons to behold
That prove more valuable than gold.