Tag Archives: sad

ODR: Mother’s Day

She wasn’t the best behaved child, it’s true. Hours were spent merely trying to get her to stay in one place, to pick up a pencil, to do something that was anything she was asked to be doing.

I saw her mother hold the paper in her hand, I could see the faint outline of a heart on the other side, and elaborate designs all alongside the paper. It was a Mother’s Day card, typed.
Her Mom looked at it, and smiling and happy, said “What does this mean? I don’t understand it, I’ll read it later, you have to go to your lesson.”

The small child started to pout, started to shuffle her feet, started to slip into the I-Will-Do-Absolutely-Nothing-But-Sulk mode. “NO! Read it now!” She half shouted and half complained.

The Mother softly obliged, began reading and then spoke again in a laughing voice, to excuse the words, “But, I don’t understand it. What did you write here? That “you are happy that I’m alive”? What does that mean? It doesn’t make sense. You have to have it make sense, now go to your lesson.”

The little girl stood, twisting her juice box in her hands, letting fruit punch drip onto the floor and her shirt and her hands, twisting and sipping, leaning on the wall, visibly upset and angry.

“No!” She yelled again, “I didn’t even want you to read it!” She snatched the letter from her Mother’s hands, crumpled it up, and threw it into the recycling bin. “Go to class silly,” her Mother lightheartedly responded, as if the last few moments had no impact on her daughter at all.

She did not go to class. She wandered, she sulked, she went and sat in a chair next to her mother, who I now noticed, was straightening out a crumpled sheet of paper and trying to read it again.

At some point her Mother shooed her away. Eventually the daughter came into the classroom and I tried very hard to distract her into learning, while she sat in the office chair, spinning in circles, falling out of the chair, and chewing on the straw from her crumpled juice box.

(May 2014)

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Filed under ODR: Old Drafts Revisited


I throw out lines in the hope that I’ll catch something.

A conversation will start up.

A fish will take the bait.

I throw out lines and hope that you’ll respond…

and you respond,

but then it’s never enough.

I chase after temporary distractions and hopes and dreams,

temporary fulfillment,

because I’m temporarily lost.

Part of me wants to give up and save my energy for people I don’t have to reach out for.

Part of me thinks that communication takes effort.

If it takes this much effort…

Then clearly you don’t care.

Do you care?

I’m thinking maybe it’s that you don’t think I care.

But guys aren’t that complicated.

Do they shelter themselves from oncoming disappointment by not bothering with people that they don’t think like them?

Because that’s what I do.

And so I keep hoping that that’s what you’re doing and eventually you’ll realize I’m worth talking to…

But maybe you just don’t care at all.

Maybe there’s far too much going on in your life to bother.

Maybe you only care when I’m around and then forget me the rest of the time.

Conservation of friendship power…

It hurts, but it makes sense.

So I guess I have to go find friends who care. Friends who actually care about this friendship. Friends who want to talk and be present. It’s crazy feeling so lonely in a world so populated. It’s crazy feeling so sad when there is so much happiness and so much love around me.

This is probably why I love music so much. Why I love jamming and sharing my songs with people…because when I do that they are actually there. They surround me and see me and talk to me and appreciate me. I don’t disappear into nothing. I can’t throw out lines and be utterly ignored, because it’s hard to ignore someone who is a foot away from you, making eye-contact.

I love you and wish I could know you better, but clearly it’s time to give up fishing.


Filed under Cdukulele's life.

Beautifully Rejected.

The most beautiful thing

I saw today

was a baby’s laugh,

God in my presence,

and your eyes, ever smiling, staring at me with a look that brought back images of that child and God’s glory all in one.

The beauty of my heart is that it is so easily touched by love.

The tragedy of my heart is that it is so easily touched by love.

Three months ago I wouldn’t have cared. Three months ago, I lie. When did you see me and ask me how I was, look into my eyes and notice the pain I wouldn’t share, and try to soothe my soul?

Why didn’t I let you?

Because I can’t let people in.

I can’t share the pain and the heart, because then I want you to be a greater part of this life, and you don’t want to be.

I could have done it, could have let whatever was broken be shared, and potentially repaired by your craftsman hands, and slowly fallen deeper into admiration of you, but I would have gotten stuck.

Stuck in the love and wanting to be love and be a part of something, while you were just being kind.

So I share too much with strangers, but not enough, and then when friends come by I let the heart remain untouched.

True, is this true? How much is true…

I attempt to guard my heart from the inevitable fall, and I lose myself in the process.

Shutting myself off to the love, I curl up and cry.

Giving too much of myself and being rejected, I feel like I want the feeling heart to die.

So I lose and I lose, and I don’t know if I’ll win,

or if I’ll just fall and break my own heart again.


Filed under All Poetry

A poem: Guard her heart.

You stole my heart, and I didn’t even realize it was missing until I saw you with her.

Then suddenly that heart was being shot straight through, more than pieces two.

Is there anyone who,

Can put it back together?

In a perfect world, you would have never got near it.

In a perfect world, you couldn’t just sear it

with your words and your being and your look and me seeing

how much I want to be with you and be like you, and be made new

by growing into love with you.

You stole my heart, I glanced back and suddenly it was gone

like the lyrics of a song,

something forgotten, on the tip of the tongue, that just won’t come.

You stole my heart, and I wish you wouldn’t pawn it, with all the love that’s on it,

I wish you’d keep it for yourself, to guard and keep in health,

to hold and love and cherish, but to you I think it’s garish.

Too much beat and shine, “I don’t want this to be mine”,

you’ll think upon the time, when the chance comes to let it go.

Let it go, let me go, or break the pieces that are left, from your unexpected theft, and me seeing you with her.

I hope you guard her heart.

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Filed under Love Poems

Another Prayer

I seem resolved to be unhappy.

Something is wrong with me.

Depression makes for interesting reading.

His voice is gorgeous. I can’t believe I know the person that this voice belongs to.

I can’t believe that he cares so little about me.

I care so little about so many.

I miss happiness.

I miss happiness.

I miss happiness.

It’s so hard to hold onto.

And it’s not part of him.

I need happiness without him.

I need happiness by itself.

I need to be happy without him.

I need to be happy alone.

Because I’m always alone.

I always wind up alone.

Not truly alone, but alone enough.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Lord, Lord, Lord, I’m so poor in spirit, please make sure there’s a place for me up there. And him. Ultimately. In the end. Once I get through this. Today, tomorrow, the next day, for however long I have the chance to live.

Sometimes the pain. How is there so much pain?

My life’s too simple for this much pain.

There isn’t any reason to be in this pain.

Jealousy, loneliness, fear, sadness, emptiness, take it away Lord.

Replace it with…You.

Nothing better than You.

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Filed under Cdukulele's life.


I just sneezed like, 10 times while typing up a comment response to a blog post I was reading.

I think it was God’s way of telling me to give up and go to bed.

Either go to bed, or study, anything but spend two hours pointlessly on my computer because I’m bad at handling reality.

Here comes tomorrow.

Tomorrow and the second Grammar test of doom.

I got a perfect score on the first one that I procrastinated studying for, this killed my work ethic for the second one.

It’s hard to study when you didn’t want to study in the first place, and now your teacher made you think you don’t need to study anymore because you passed that test.

But…I don’t really know the stuff for this test.

MAN. First I post about being poor, then I post about being lazy, and every other post is about my non-existent relationship skills.

I feel like I must be obnoxious.


Um, I don’t insult people….to their face….by name….much….

Me failing the test tomorrow could be a good thing. Up my humility. Put my mind back on track. Get me out of the la-la-world where I can’t study because it makes me hate life.

Yes, I’m sure failing a test will make studying in the future a joyous occasion…

I really got to stop with the negativity.

On a happy note, God loves me, no matter how ridiculously poor and lazy and depressed and miserable I am.

Not that I am poor and depressed and miserable.

Why would I be those things?

Maybe because my toe started going numb again and I secretly fear that it is a sign that I am about to die?…NAH.

Oh Sarcasm, my dear friend.

Well, it’s time for me to sleep. I’ll study in the morning. You don’t know me, but in reality I really am a pretty decent student. Hardworking even. Or I was. Eh. Eh eh eh. I can always be better.

– Me


Filed under Cdukulele's life.

My fault

I don’t have a car.

Or a license.

Or a job.

Or an apartment.

Or independence.

I go to classes and I play ukulele.

I can’t afford to have a manager.

I might have hired my brother as a manager.

I do not want to give you 10% of the quarter you gave me for writing that song. It’s ridiculous.

Why did you even give me a quarter if you’re going to demand 2.5 cents back?

It is ridiculous, isn’t it?

I gave you 7 dollars. That’s more than 10 percent of all the money I’ve made from music. I don’t know what percentage it is, because I don’t know how to figure out how if 6.4 is ten percent of 64, what percent of 6.4 is 7 dollars. Apparently, it’s almost 11 percent. The internet.

Anyway, I’m not just trying to be selfish. I’m not trying to be selfish at all. You can have the 7 dollars, you can have the two cents, but seriously…….You’re going to ask for two cents and then imply that I owe you more money?

When…You have the job, and the car, and the employment, and the benefits, and the time, and you joke about how the money I made from that show in half an hour is nothing compared to what you make in the same time, and you demand the two cents.

Take the two cents.

Take the 10 percent.

Take the money.

Just stop being my manager.

I don’t need you to be my manager.

I don’t need you to put down my music and my songs and say that they are “good enough”, to drive me places begrudgingly, to make me feel guilty for taking up your precious time, to tell me that that song is good, but you gave me the idea for it, so where are your royalties.

You’re acting like I’m a millionaire.

If I was a millionaire, I’d accept the way you were acting. It would make sense. I would be selfish.

But I don’t have money.

Don’t you know I don’t have money?

You’re my brother for goodness sake.

Why are you being so mean?

Even jokingly, why are you being so mean?


Filed under Cdukulele's life.