Public Eye

I wrote a poem

and someone asked me if it was about you,

but from you, my mind and I do roam;

we are not stuck together by invincible glue.

I reread my words

and asked myself why that question was automatic.

Was it not my own voice and experience heard?

I guess it could apply to anything really, thought based in specifics.

I rewrote my life

as I moved myself away from what was,

but that’s still a part of my past strife –

not only in glimpses and fuzz.

Why does public eye choose what gets over-blown?

Am I no longer a person on my own?

Cons of Your Pros Not Cons

Generator running

Back-up power switched on

Elevators moving

All of the pros and almost none of the cons

Just a week off to vacation and explore

Some wind and rain outside

“What’s the big deal?” you implore

We have a place to reside

But leave it anyway to go out and about

Where is the media getting its hype and clamor?

There’s always another route

Get out of town, walk around, enamor

Have you cared though to look?

More than out the window and down a few feet?

Through laughing eyes and the camera lens nook?

To the blocks shut down, evacuated, drowned and beat?

Generator running – but so are you

Back-up power switched on – but perception switched off

Elevators moving – but is your upper floor functioning true?

Pros for you and cons for them – all that’s in common: a common cough

Mentality

Mentality

You questioned mine

Contradictory

Why would I spend my time and money

Other than on myself, to wine and dine?

Mentality

Why would I choose to pay to go overseas

To give aid to those whose lives aren’t as fine?

Contradictory

You say I have a good heart and generosity

But then you say to care for my success first – that’s the bottom line

Mentality

Contradictory

Jail Cell of Memory

You were just some boy

I didn’t even know your existence

I didn’t even know your name

Then you spoke to me

A single goodbye

And you had my brain entangled

I had to know more

I had to satiate my curiosity

I didn’t know what I was getting

            myself into

            my heart into

            my emotions into

            my life into

Except that I did

I knew

you were that boy

you would have your life

you would have admirers

you would have your flaws

you would make me forget – or, rather, not care

you would break my heart

you would one day leave, be gone, be free

A final goodbye

            just as it started, it would end

            you with your singular line – your single goodbye

            and I would be caught off guard

Stunned

            into silence

            heart pierced

mind racing, wondering, curious

by need, to be satiated

without a response to sustain moment

And eventually, you have been erased

– removed, except not really

And that goodbye, that forgetting

            is the best and worst moment of my life

Because I cannot deal with all the pain and tears

            that you caused me

            that I brought upon myself in my paranoia, my silence, my presence by your presence

Glad to be away from it all,

            Yet I want to be back again

Glad to know I’ll still have you in my brain and heart

– memory

yet I want to know why can’t I free you

            from this jail cell within me

                        and why can’t this jail cell let me free?

Locking up these emotions and thoughts and memories

            is the best and the worst for me

                        it was and is the death and life of you and me

                                    and of you

and of I

Marriage of Time and Nature

Father Time:
He sees the leaves turn green and life give birth.
He stirs the leaves in the wind and tends to the house and mends the socks.
He lets the leaves die, licking at it with tongues of fire.

Mother Nature:
Is she dead?
Reach out for her?
She isn't dead.
She reaches out for him.

Father Time:
He flees from her.

Mother Nature:
She is following.

Father Time and Mother Nature:
Are they dying and at their end?
Are they continuing in their cycle?
No, they are dying in cycles
And continuing through ends.

Us:
We see
We feel
We live
We are a part of
This marriage of Time and Nature

Us:
We grow old
We leave
We say goodbye
We are no longer a part of
This marriage of Time and Nature

Three

Three. More than three.
Reckless drivers. Turning corners.
Eyes only 5000 miles away at where they are supposed to be
The cars a blur, the trees a blur, the signs a blur, the people a blur, the blurs blur

No sounds get through; they can't get through
The roaring engines of the hum of your voice
The beating music of thoughts your mind accrues
The swish of the cars' 5 wheels turning, uniformly and without much choice

Three. More than three.
Calmed bikers. Peddling straight.
Eyes as far as 5000 steps would make be.
The cars will wait, the lights will change, the signs will stay, you won't be late

Then sound envelopes you  with a screech, thud, clash, halt
Front wheel crashed and bent, bike flat on the cement
Your cheek blushing like the sun, crying leaves of red, kissing the asphalt
And I am home, wondering where you went

Minutes pass and I am admiring the sun
Hours pass and I now am admiring the moon
Days pass and I am admiring the changes in the sky
Thoughts pass and I am still wondering where you went

Under this sun, your face burns against the scrapes
Under this moon, you're walking back home
Under this sky, they drive on by
Under the impression that one, three, more than three, isn't much to give to get where they need to be

Minutes into hours into days into eternity
Until finally you show your face to me
Upon it drying blood, peeled skin, the hickey of the sidewalk's embrace
But I am admiring the smile on your face

Awareness Subpar

This is my version/interpretation of Carl Dennis' poem "The God Who Loves You."

Imagine a god who loves you
And knows your every what if
Imagine a god who knows you
And loves what could have been

Wouldn't it hurt this god to sit and watch?
As you go about your job and life and death - ignorant?
Wouldn't it hurt this god to know and see
As you choose paths subpar to your potential and possibility?

Does it haunt you not knowing
The what-ifs and what-could-have-beens?
It does haunt him knowing
The could've, should've, and would've beens

Where does he sit
But at the back of your head, nagging?
Where does he pace
But in your heart racing?

But are you aware of his existence?
And are you aware of your existence?

The Brothers Grimm Spectaculathon (Vanessa and Sumesh's Final Cut)

This is Sumesh and my Dual Interpretation (Duo) script for the 2011-2012 school year. We went through SO many cuts and versions and spins of this script by Don Zolidis. We had so much fun developing the characters and putting our own spin to the story. I hope you enjoy what ended up being our final cut of the year! The Brothers Grimm Spectaculathon - Vanessa and Sumesh's version, everyone. Enjoy!

NARRATOR 2. Sunday Sunday Sunday. It's EXTREME! See! Monster slaying action as the three-headed pig battles the wolf-o-bot in a bone-crushing cage match of death. They'll huff and they'll puff and they'll kick some! –

NARRATOR 1. Okay, stop. We're not doing that.

NARRATOR 2. Blood! Violence! Death! People being cut open with scissors!

NARRATOR 1. Can you stop?

NARRATOR 2. Flames! Flames!

NARRATOR 1. Enough, You're weirding them out.

NARRATOR 2. I'm EXTREME.

NARRATOR 1. No you're not. Can we just do the show?                                                                        

NARRATOR 2. I’m so excited I’m going to throw up.

NARRATOR 1. A little background to begin.

NARRATOR 2. The Brothers Grimm were brothers named Grimm. They are dead. But in the period before they died the Brothers Grimm wrote 209 fairy tales –

NARRATOR 1. They didn't write them –

NARRATOR 2. The Brothers Grimm did not write 209 fairy tales that we know today, they were frauds. We should dig up their bodies and spit on their corpses.

NARRATOR 1. No! I'm just saying that they were collectors of stories. Quite a few of these stories have become immortalized in film and television-

NARRATOR 2. Of course they've all been changed by "the mouse," to feed their enormous octopus-like animation empire which sucks the life out of existence and crushes your soul in a death-grip of happy happy songs and talking objects. I can't even speak their name aloud because they're looking for a way to sue me right now. You won't win. My uncle is a lawyer! He defended OJ. That means I can kill anyone I want and no one can get me.

NARRATOR 1. O-kay. What we are going to do for you right now is return these fairy tales to their original glory.

SUMESH.  Society is a myriad of problems…

VANESSA. My chocolate chip cookie was oatmeal raisin.

SUMESH.  My family fights over the remote.

VANESSA. Teenagers

SUMESH. Trespassing.

VANESSA. Backroom deals.

SUMESH. Theft.

VANESSA. Violence.

SUMESH.  Drug abuse.

VANESSA. Starvation.

SUMESH.  Dehumanization.

VANESSA. Politics.

BOTH. My duo partner

SUMESH. Which all leads to nuclear war.

VANESSA. Dude. Wrong event.

SUMESH. Right.  But the biggest problem is that these problems have their own problem. Perception.

VANESSA. Instead of portraying reality, fairy tales have us believe in “happily ever afters.”

SUMESH. So, today, we’d like to put a more realistic spin on the problems of

 Snow White

 The Stepmother

Hansel

Gretel

The Witch

Rapunzel

The Devil

Rapunzel’s Mother

BOTH. In The Brother’s Grimm Spectaculathon by Don Zolidis.

BOTH. Once upon a time there was...

STEPMOTHER. Snow White.

SNOW WHITE. Stepmother.

BOTH NARRATORS.  The battle you’ve all been waiting for.

STEPMOTHER. I believe you're putting on weight.

SNOW WHITE. Not on this body, sister. These curves are tight and streamlined like a racing yacht owned by a rich Colombian drug dealer.

STEPMOTHER. I think you might need to tweeze your eyebrows. They're looking ... puffy.

SNOW WHITE. My eyebrows are sculpted like a block of clay in the hands of a blind god of sculpting eyebrows.

BOTH NARRATORS. What happens when they stop being nice and start being real?

STEPMOTHER. Look at me and know despair, Snow White. I've tucked , sucked , and erased every visible trace of the past twenty-seven years, and now, I am more beautiful than even you.

SNOW WHITE. You're hideous and deformed! My stomach recoils in horror as you approach!

STEPMOTHER. I AM more beautiful than you. I am! I am the prettiest!

SNOW WHITE. When are you going to learn Stepmother, that we women shouldn't be judged by our surface beauty but rather by the contents of our brains?

BOTH NARRATORS. You’ll find out, who’s the toughest of them all?

STEPMOTHER. That's stupid. No one cares about ugly people.

SNOW WHITE. Well no one cares about you!

STEPMOTHER. How about I take you on then?

SNOW WHITE. A titanic struggle of good and evil. Purity versus corruption.

BOTH. Everybody was kung fu fighting!

STEPMOTHER. Your kung fu is strong.

NARRATOR 2. Our next story: Hansel. And. Gretel.

GRETEL. Hansel, I saw you smoking.

HANSEL. Smoking is cool, Gretel. It makes me feel like a man with dark, sultry lungs and a deep, masculine cough. Let's go out in the woods.

GRETEL. I don't know if I want to.

HANSEL. IN SOVIET RUSSIA YOU DON’T KNOW WANT. WANT KNOW YOU..

GRETEL.  Okay.

HANSEL. Here we are in the woods.  IT’S A HOUSE. MADE OUT OF CANDY!

WITCH 1. Are you eating my house?

HANSEL. No!

WITCH. I'm going to teach you a lesson. By eating you.

WITCH. But I'm going to fatten you up first.

NARRATOR 2. So Hansel and Gretel were locked away and force fed sugar water and they got fatter.

HANSEL.  Are you going to eat that?

GRETEL. No!

NARRATOR 1. Then they dieted a little bit. But then they got fatter again.

NARRATOR 2. Until one day…

HANSEL. Eat this, witch!

WITCH. Ah I'm melting! Oh wait ... I'm burning and dying in an ironic way!!

HANSEL. Hey Gretel. I was talking to some bad kids. And they were telling me that drugs are cool. It's fairy dust. Everyone's doing it. It lets you fly.

GRETEL. No!

 HANSEL. I'll do it myself then.

NARRATOR 1. And he jumped off a cliff.

HANSEL. I believe I can fly! I believe I can…

GRETEL. Oh no. Fairy dust has claimed another life. All we are is dust in the wind.

NARRATOR 2. Our next story: Rapunzel and her Mother

NARRATOR 1. Her mother? She was poor.

GIRL. Oh I am poor.

NARRATOR 1. I just said that.

GIRL. Oh, I can’t even afford dirt.

DEVIL. Excuse me - but I couldn't help overhearing your tale of misery and woe. Tell you what-I will grant you your heart's desire if you give me one small thing.

GIRL. That sounds like a great bargain. I won't even ask what the small thing is because I'm so innocent and trusting and stupid!

DEVIL. Just sign this one small contract and I shall make you rich. Beyond your wildest dreams. And you shall conceive a daughter so beautiful the very earth will want to kiss her. But in a platonic way. Nothing kinky.

GIRL. That sounds like a great idea. Because I’m stupid.

DEVIL. Moo ah ha ha ha ha ha!

GIRL. Hey look a giant pot of gold!

NARRATOR 1. And she conceived a child.

GIRL. Whoah! How did that happen?

RAPUNZEL. Through magic. The magic of the devil!

NARRATOR 1. Years passed.

GIRL. Rapunzel, cut your hair.

RAPUNZEL. I do what I want! GOT IT? OR I WILL TEAR OUT YOUR TINY HEART AND USE IT AS A CHEW TOY FOR MY HALF-CHIHUAHUA, HALF-DOBERMAN MIX, GOT IT?

DEVIL. I have returned. Your time is up.

GIRL. Fine. What do you want?

DEVIL. Your child.

RAPUNZEL. Mom!?!!

GIRL. I may have signed with the devil…

RAPUNZEL. Mom!?!!

GIRL. What?! I was young! I needed the money! And the baby! But really just the money.

RAPUNZEL. I can't believe you! I hate you! I am so outta here!

NARRATOR 2. Our next story is

NARRATOR 1. Hold on. We don’t have enough actors left to continue…

NARRATOR 2. So it's time for the lightning round re-cap? Ready?

NARRATOR 1. I was born ready.

NARRATOR 2. All right then. And ... GO!

NARRATOR 1. Snow White.

NARRATOR 2. Vanity. Violence.

NARRATOR 1. Hansel and Gretel.

NARRATOR 2. Gluttony. Drug abuse.

NARRATOR 1. Rapunzel and her mother.

NARRATOR 2. Greed. Teenagers.

NARRATOR 1. The Brothers Grimm Spectaculathon.

NARRATOR 2.It's EXTREME!

NARRATOR 1. Our problems are extreme.

The Force Called Frenemy

This was my Original Prose and Poetry (OPP) piece for my 2011-2012 Speech and Debate year. Wow. My final year of high school speech and debate... I had a good run. I final-ed at state qualifiers, but unfortunately did not get to attend state. Either way, I'm still rather proud of this piece [: It originated as a satirical, humorous process analysis piece I wrote for English class last year on "How to be the Perfect Frenemy," but then I tweeked it to create some slam poetry type pieces along with a few other additions/changes. Hope you like it!

Gather for the ultimatum

Angel and demons gain momentum

Focused on the battle royale

Tic Tac Toe style

It seems simple enough; it is a child’s game. But amongst all those X’s and O’s, draws emerge. The enlightened angels draw their illuminating halos (O’s) as the demonic devils screech behind their burning crosses (X’s). You? You’re shy. You’re shy… You’re... sh-sh-shy…? Head down. Eyes on the ground. Shuffle your feet. Glipse around. There. There, in the corner, is a table, in plain sight. Sit. Pull out a piece of paper. Time to doodle. An X, an O, an X, an O, again and again and… Again the intensity downplays in the eyes of the public. The unsuspecting observer falls victim to these blinding hugs (O’s) and kisses (X’s) and is led astray. She naively decides to join what she thought was an innocent game. Now the angels and demons have decided to join sides, merging into the lonely individual being born in the eyes of society, and a new round of tic-tac-toe has begun.

Life is complicated.

Often times, we can’t tell who is a friend and who is an enemy.

Sometimes, we’re left wondering if we’ll ever be the victor, the one that comes out on top, or if we’ll simply be the straggler left behind.

Unfortunately, some people stoop to the most desperate, even manipulative, measures,

Especially us girls.

Join me today as we explore the demented mind of a girl teaching you the ways to reach the top.

It’s easy. It’s step by step. It’s… crazy.

But you’ve got to plan carefully

In “The Force Called Frenemy”

An original.

Step 1: Find your target

The game has begun

It’s time for the hunt

Locate your target

Lock on and don’t forget

She should have the same hobbies, interests, extracurriculars; same everything, other than how she always seems to be on top of things and better (she isn’t better… you can do it much better). She will be your latest frenemy. This will be the perfect rivalry to fuel this endless war. Stalk up to her, as stealthily as a lioness to a gazelle, but retract your claws. You don’t want to reveal the devil smirking from behind those angelic wings. Introduce yourself with a sugary sweet smile and invite her to join you in a game of Tic. Tac. Toe.

Step 2: Build your hatred

Innocent façade kept all the while

Deep animosity quickly stockpiles

Stored away as ammunition

For her complete annihilation

Breed your hatred like bloodhounds ready for the hunt. Better yet, breed it like the bunnies in the rabbit holes. Harbor and bottle up your loathing until beating your frenemy – so you can be the best at everything – stands as your sole motivation and purpose in life. Always compare yourself to her because if you do not beat her in every single test, sport, activity – scratch that – if you do not beat her at every feat known to mankind, your organs will light on fire and vaporize into a supernova of ashes. Even worse than internally combusting, if you do not beat said person, your parents will rave obsessively over her.

“Why aren’t you pretty like her?”

“Why aren’t you smart like her?”

“Why can’t you be more like her?”

Why can’t she be their child instead? Why were you even born? Even worse than that, your parents will say it’s alright because if you try your best, everything will be fine. But doing fine is not fine. You will emerge as the victor and you will win at tic-tac-toe. You will show them all.

Step 3: Compete

Life is a competition

A place for your abomination

We start where you learned your X’s and O’s

The place of your very first blows

School: where you rush to beat her every score

If ever to fail,

-heartbeat sounds- A minus.

you must prepare more

You’ll just stay away from everyone other than your angels and demons, perfecting your skills.

In sports of every kind

Winning has made you blind

Hog the ball, make the most shots

Tie her shoelaces into knots

Trip her and beat her black and blue

Then smile and apologize as if true

Only an accident, you’re such a klutz

But healthy competition is a must

So sprint and race her for the mile, even if you puke; get dizzy; pass out. Actually, why stop with the mile? Race her no matter the distance, even if it is less than a foot away; after all, the tic-tac-toe grid is a matter of inches.

Step 4: Remember you’re better

Not only the first but also the best

Until you have it all, you cannot rest

Going broke? That’s of no issue…

Then you’ll be first at that too!

Even the quality of the air around you must be better. Now, you are wondering how that could possibly be since we all breathe the same air, right? Wrong. The air you breathe is better. Why? Simply because you are breathing it. Each breath fuels your life and your life purpose: beating your frenemy. At night, stay up talking to her. Load yourself on caffeine if you have to, but do NOT go to bed until she has. You cannot be tired; sleep is for the weak. If she only got two hours of sleep, you only got one. If she pulls an all-nighter, you say, “The concept of sleep? Psh. Hasn’t even crossed my mind.” Instead, you stay up strategically continuing the game of Tic. Tac. Toe.

Step 5: Betrayal

Infiltrate enemy grounds

Within late night talks, information found

She confided in you her life and more

Never expecting what’s in store

No need to be a small fly on the wall

No need to be a simple wall flower

No need to send angels and demons snooping

Because you already have this power

She unknowingly poses as the source

Her demise is straight on course

When she steps away: Unveil her crush. Expose that her F. Trash-talk that trash she was wearing. Talk about how much it clashes with those shades she “shoplifted” from the mall. Imitate the nasal sound of her voice. Bask in the glorious feeling of near success. Taste the sweetness of near victory. Listen to the bravura of the devil’s smirking remarks. Watch as the X’s and O’s play out the way you planned all along.

Step 6: The final touch

To complete your masterpiece string

You are missing but one thing

To claim what is hers as yours

And you’ll have unlocked all doors

Spread rumors and gossip

Then go with your own lips

Tell her boyfriend she wants to split

He’ll break it off to avoid the hit

Comfort both sides secretly

Continue on innocently

“She’s missing out. I don’t know why she’s been treating you like trash to be thrown out.”

“Out with him! He was such a jerk!”

Now here’s your chance to leap

            “How about you and I go out?”

But a sympathetic façade you must keep

            “Things happen for a reason; maybe this is just how it was meant to be.”

It somehow turned out this way

            “Funny how things go, that you and I are here today.”

And you’re sorry to say

            “I’m so sorry; let’s stay friends anyway?”

Inside, however, you gloat and exclaim

As the X’s and O’s line up and you’ve won the game

Step 7: The Aftermath

But always act caring and never let on

A frenemy is friend and enemy and a bit of a pawn

They are a rival of sorts

But only shall see the side you contort

Tell your two-sided conscience to shut up and comply

As in the end they aren’t too different in your lie

You are another battle closer to the end of this endless war, alone and companionless yet again. You won your solitude back. You won the animosity of another frenemy. You won the complete destruction of another life. You won the sweet, masochistic corrosion of your own life. Who needs friends when you can have frenemies? Who else do you need to confide in other than the angels and demons inside your head? And when others start to get jealous and tell you “It’s all in your head,” you know that it is all in your head – planned out exactly the way you want it.

Tic. Tac. Toe.