I'm onto something. I can't quite figure out where it came from. The sparks. It could be my lack of people to converse with before bed, or my continuous comparison of my life to that of those whose lives are made up in the first season of 'Gossip Girl'. I've pondered quite frequently on my inability to write my thoughts out on paper. My mind drew a constant blank that seemed to overstay it's welcome. Reflecting into my past works, I've noticed all was written with the same tone ; that same unfortunate mindset. The happiest were those that described the struggle to, in-fact, reach my acme point. Nonetheless, nothing was "happy enough". I've never had an issue with simply scratching a few ideas and setting up the perfect transitions. Yet, I couldn't figure out why. Why? Why was I stuck? I tried to dig as deep as possible, but the words spilled out on the paper lasted as long as the end of the sentence - which wasn't very long at all. What does this mean? What does this all mean? I can't remember the last time I've cried, nor is a single thing bothering me, although there probably should be. I'm fine. Everything is running so smoothly. All the parts in my life fell right into place the way I always wished it would. I get everything I want. No challenges and no obstacles stand in my way. Nothing that I can't take care of, at least. Everything plays such a predictable role ; a book I've read a thousand times. Almost as if I could even recite the words. Is this happiness? Am I finally at that state I've been longing for? Have I arrived? As predicted, this is exactly what I planned. With such happiness, why am I struggling on a topic to write about? Writing has been a love of mine since I can remember -- so where is it? I've only ever written through pain. With such happiness, why have I been longing to write some more. It has nothing to do with my future goals, but NOW. Why have I been craving to spill my thoughts while on a blank mind. Perhaps it isn't literary work I'm longing for. Perhaps it's the pain. The value of happiness depreciates as the struggle to receive it, lessens.

Definition of Beauty -- 07/02/09

Beauty ; Watch as it's redfined.

It's the blue sky after the rain,

the college acceptance letter,

safe arrival to one's destination,

and the birthday cake after another year of life.

It's the street lights at night,

the diversity in people crossing a Manhattan intersection simultaneously,

the birth of new kittens,

and the smile on the father's face after reuniting with his son.

It's the book read before bed,

the garden flowers that have yet to grow,

the passing grade after hours of studying,

and the satisfaction of knowing that everything went accordingly.

It's the crumpled candy wrapper that's moving with the wind,

the reflection in the puddle,

the comfort in being 'one' with another,

and the sublime feeling in knowing you made it this far.

It's the beauty in knowing that beauty exists.

Watch, as it's redefined.

Does She Know? -- 9/23/09

Does she know that I'll always have your heart?
Does she know that you'll never love her the way you did me?
Does she know you're lying when you say she's the best you ever had?
Does she know that she's only around because I chose not to be?
Does it bother her that I'm still the number one love of your life?
Does she mind being in second place?
Does she know she'll never be me?
Because you know she'll never be me.
After all, you told me she'll never be me.
So I guess, she just can't be me.
Would it hurt her if she knew that when you say "I love you" before hanging up the telephone, it isn't meant the way she thinks its meant?
Would it hurt her if she knew that when she called and you "missed" her call, you were riding in my car?
Would it hurt her even more if she found out that when you claimed to be with your mother, you were actually with me?
Would that hurt her?
Did it bother her when she saw the both of us walking together?
With no one else, just you and I?
Would it hurt her if she knew that the one thing she feared we had done - we had done?
Would it hurt her if she found out you were lying when you denied it?
Would that hurt her?
Do you think she'd be upset if she knew you never stopped texting me when you claimed to?
Do you think she'd care if she knew that the only reason you stopped was because I hurt you to the point where you couldn't take it?
Do you think she knows that you don't devote half as much time to her than you once did with me?
Do you think she knows that if she even attempted to pull half the shit I pulled, she'd be gone before she even knew it?
Does it bother you knowing that everything I'm saying is true?
Does it bother you that I know you better than anyone else?
Quite possibly, better than you know yourself.
Does it bother you that I know when there's something wrong with you, before you even realized something's wrong in the first place?
Does it bother you that I'm speaking with confidence?
Does it bother you knowing that you'll never forget me?
Does it upset you that I've played a role in your life for years - & then i'm gone?
Does this bother you?
Tell me.
Does this bother you?

Matthew Nelson Cuadra --Before July 08

I had a dream with you, last night. I've never felt anything so real. My continuous questioning is contradicting my thoughts, leaving me undecided as to whether or not a dream is what it was. I can only remember my fingertips on a sky that seemed more vibrant than I can ever recall. While I skimmed the blue, I felt your flesh. Similar to a blind man, my touch helped me see. Boy, I have missed that smile. And then, you spoke to me. What you said, I couldn't understand, but it meant more to me than the clearest of words. You looked gorgeous. As beautiful as you've always been, and as peaceful as your sleeping soul. I remembered how I felt, that very day. My knees bent down beside you and hands clasped together. With so many words, I said nothing. My fingers met my lips as I kissed them. I rubbed your chest, and went on my way. And there we were. And here we are, closer than ever. I can't say it was a dream. I'd consider it more of a heart-warming visit.
Next time you stop by, stay forever.

Sacred Runaway - 07/03/08

When I reach out my hand, I want you to be the first to hold it, and we can take off on a remarkable journey. We'll get lost in a place with just you and I , and we can be here forever. And when the rain gets too heavy, we'll squeeze beneath the rocks. And when it gets too cold, we'll wrap our arms around eachother and act as if we're just cuddling by the fireplace we were once familiar with. And we'll be happy on our amazing journey. So very happy. And when the sun becomes too hot, we'll sit under a tree. And if ever you're feeling under the weather, I'll find water in a nearby lake, and I'll nurse you back into your normal skin. It'll be just you and I and we'll be so very cheerful. We'll be so very perfect on our getaway. When you need me, I'll be right where I always am. You'll be so glad to have grabbed my hand. And I'll be so glad that you did as well, for there is noone I'd rather run away with. Let's forget the world we left behind, because it's useless, in this far away place. Let's disreguard those we have abandoned because they have abandoned us far before we escaped. This may not be what you hoped for, but you'll see. It'll be all that you could want. Far away is the place with the pain. Over here, they can't hurt you. They can't hurt us, and they won't ever catch us, for only we know about this garden of life. You'll forget all images of tears from sadness and you'll become great friends with tears of joy. You'll only know if you join me on this sacred adventure. And we'll be happily ever after, forever, on this runaway of just you and I.

--untitled. 8/26/09.

could you tell me what i look like?
as a matter of fact, could you tell me what i am?
everyone seems to know who i've been with, spoke with, danced with, locked eyes with, walked with, talked with, and those i despise and --
could you tell me what else you know?
or is it what you think you know?
'cause you can never be too sure.
i'm not an angel; i've done my dirt.
but there you are - there you all are, pointing your filthy fingers at me.
& for what??
to say i'm wrong for doing all of the things you secretly wish you could have done as you strain your index finger while shaking your head in this top secret admiration:
and you know me.
and you know me.
and you know what i'm about.
let me tell you - you have no idea.
you don't choose my path; i write my own damn book.
there you go - walking with pride saying that only one that can judge you is way up there.
now look at you:
spreading my life story like it's mayonaisse on a piece of bread.
get a grip.
and when you do, hold on tight.
you're going to need a firm hand.
as firm as that god-forsaken finger aimed at me.
turn it around at yourself.
saying all of this 'he-said, she-said, i-did, i-cried, i-lied, i-told, i'm-cold,
"i'm heartless."
why?
i don't care about feelings? i use and abuse and boy, do i get around?
isn't that what you said? - is that the name i want to make for myself?
is that the image i want everyone to see when they hear my name?
kalani. kalani.
what comes to your head?
now, i got a lot of things going for me, and oh god, am i appreciative.
i know i'm not this one night stand,
this backdoor whore,
this one time slut,
this my-girl-don't-gotta-know-what-we-just-did kind of hoe.
i hold myself to higher standards,
but thank you - please play again.
because you lost.
lost as much as you are lost.
thinking you know all about me when it's about time you get to know yourself.
and that's the difference between me and you.
you and me.
you walk around pointing fingers and still saying that only god can judge you as you continue to judge everyone else and get judged in return.
and then there's me,
with my hand toward the sky, knowing and truly believing that he is, infact, the only one whose judgment matters.
so continue claiming to know me.
because he really is the only one that can judge me.

---dated back in junior year.

Fire burns at my fingertips.

The attraction reels me in.

Ash becomes a black hole as it replaces my prints.

The sensation burns through.

I've touched this flame twice before;

Unsuccessful every time.

It intrigues me; the appeal.

It isn't good for me.

It isn't good at all.

I can't stay away.

Amazing, that's what I'll call it.

Addiction, that's what it is.

It'll be my fire.

The cigarette you take in.

It'll be my flame.

The kryptonite weakening your knees.

With so much to lose,

I don't back away from it.

I add the fuel.

Fire burns at my fingertips.

It isn't good for me.

It isn't good at all.

I keep going back to him.

I keep going back.

I burn myself in this fire.

I burn myself in his fire.

I've touched this flame twice before;

Unsuccessful every time.

I can't help to think that maybe,

Maybe, it's different. Maybe.

They say 3 times a charm.

I keep adding fuel to the fire.