A poem.

Most of my journals are filled with poems- many terrible poems.  I wrote a lot of poetry that reflected what I was reading or listening to at the time.  It wasn't until my junior/senior years that I started to find a voice of my own.

January 2, 2001
"Tonight I drove into the orange crescent of the moon
with my hands on the wheel
of my little gold Saturn
and a love poem
an ode
a song (quicker and longer
than that of a forest full of song birds)
caught in my throat.
I hummed a little hum
and thought of the blue clouds
you flew through a few days ago
you know, I'm going to be poor
oh yes, I want to lay my bohemian eyes
on a fresh world
and like a butterfly I want to
capture it, catalog it, and put it on display
all with my new pen and this notebook I tote around
I want to be a writer
and you say yes,
nod your heavy blonde head
and your hair lazily drifts in your eyes -
your teeth glow
yes."