this is what it has come to.

sitting in the farthest, deepest corner of the old green library.

writing theory ii homework.

staring out a shaded window - at, rather.

staring at a shaded window.

no drums, no marimba, no piano sounds from any direction.

no people, no friends. no strangers.

neighbors are the newspaper archives and an empty shelf.

this is what it has come to.

move

oh, well. people - they need other people. people - they need what makes them burn. the fire inside is the fire of life and if it isn't burning, what will? the times you're alone are the times that you're scared and the times that you think you can't handle. but people, we need other people. people, we need what lights us on fire. the fire inside is the fire of life and if it isn't burning, what will? will you? the days we let go are the days that we missed and the days we won't ever get back. all people, they need other people. people, they need what ignites their souls. the fire inside is the fire of life and if it isn't burning, what will? the seconds we waste are not seconds at all but lines on your beautiful face.

july

hey. when i'm sitting in my dorm room, i'm so far away from all the memories we ever made together. i'm so far away from the people we both loved. i'm so far away from all the places we've ever been. but when it rains, you're closer. you're here. i can feel you're still around. all the times we ever laughed and sang together are caught up in my locket but the clasp broke, so i haven't worn it in a while. i used to keep you so close to my heart, but the clasp broke. your friends used to come over when it stormed and we'd sit in the grass and wait for the thunder so that we could feel you vibrate through our bodies again. i wanted to sing all the things i ever sang so that you could hear them. can you hear them?

harmonic

we posted all the fortunes we ever got on our windows but when it rained and condensation formed on the window all the little white fortunes turned into rainbows and our fortunes melted away. all the burts bees i've ever owned have been through the wash in the pockets of my worn-in jeans. our walls were too white for our liking so we ripped the pages from coloring books and covered the whiteness with pictures of sea animals and hello kitty. my side of the room was never neat, but it didn't bother caitlin. when the sun finally came out i bought watercolors and we sat in the quad and painted for hours. my mommom sent us valentine's day cards with tiny heart confetti inside that we'll never get unstuck from the carpet. we spent days and nights in practice rooms, not so much practicing but more of enjoying each other and singing together. the sounds you can make from the piano have always amazed me and i think i finally might have the courage to jam with you even though i'm not as good as you. bubble wrap and getting packages in the mail and brightly colored sunglasses were the things that got us through rainy days and mondays. i sang harmony to everything i heard and did laundry too often and didn't get home very much. we ordered rainboots from target but we never wore leggings and tshirts because we laughed at the girls who did. we made friends with the percussion studio and jammed out with them any chance we got because they're the coolest guys ever and we couldn't go without it. i wanted to get a tattoo but i'm definitely not allowed to, besides if i got one all i'd really want is a little tiny peace sign inside a treble clef right behind my ear because that's all we really ever want and that's where we found it - peace in music, music and peace, stairwells and teabags and sunshine and peace.

Shake the Dust.

This is for the fat girls.
This is for the little brothers.
This is for the school-yard wimps, this is for the childhood bullies who tormented them.
This is for the former prom queen, this is for the milk-crate ball players.
This is for the nighttime cereal eaters and for the retired, elderly Wal-Mart store front door greeters. Shake the dust.
This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them,
for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns,
for the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children,
for the nighttime schoolers and the midnight bike riders who are trying to fly. Shake the dust.
This is for the two-year-olds who cannot be understood because they speak half-English and half-god. Shake the dust.
For the girls with the brothers who are going crazy,
for those gym class wall flowers and the twelve-year-olds afraid of taking public showers,
for the kid who's always late to class because he forgets the combination to his lockers,
for the girl who loves somebody else. Shake the dust.
This is for the hard men, the hard men who want to love but know that is won't come.
For the ones who are forgotten, the ones the amendments do not stand up for.
For the ones who are told to speak only when you are spoken to and then are never spoken to. Speak every time you stand so you do not forget yourself.
Do not let a moment go by that doesn't remind you that your heart beats 900 times a day and that there are enough gallons of blood to make you an ocean.
Do not settle for letting these waves settle and the dust to collect in your veins.
This is for the celibate pedophile who keeps on struggling,
for the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacations alone.
For the sweat that drips off of Mick Jaggers' singing lips and for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner's shaking hips, for the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived.
This is for the tired and for the dreamers and for those families who'll never be like the Cleavers with perfectly made dinners and sons like Wally and the Beaver.
This is for the biggots,
this is for the sexists,
this is for the killers.
This is for the big house, pen-sentenced cats becoming redeemers and for the springtime that always shows up after the winters.
This? This is for you.
Make sure that by the time fisherman returns you are gone.
Because just like the days, I burn both ends and every time I write, every time I open my eyes I am cutting out a part of myself to give to you.
So shake the dust and take me with you when you do for none of this has never been for me.
All that pushes and pulls, pushes and pulls for you.
So grab this world by its clothespins and shake it out again and again and jump on top and take it for a spin and when you hop off shake it again for this is yours.
Make my words worth it, make this not just another poem that I write, not just another poem like just another night that sits heavy above us all.
Walk into it, breathe it in, let is crash through the halls of your arms at the millions of years of millions of poets coursing like blood pumping and pushing making you live, shaking the dust.
So when the world knocks at your front door, clutch the knob and open on up, running forward into its widespread greeting arms with your hands before you, fingertips trembling though they may be.

-Anis Mojgani

babe, you're not lost.

rhythm x aged out

memorial tattoo

performing

guitar jams on the quad

wildflowers

abstract fingerpaints

self-discipline

crown aged out

corps and wgi

I have been having a great deal of trouble finding my own passion. I am so inspired by members of corps and wgi, by grad students and undergrad students here who kick their own asses every day, by people who keep themselves in shape, by people who love what they do. Truly love what they do. To the point that they cry when they do it. I am honestly inspired. I get energy from that, from hearing those stories. It makes me want to have that, it makes me think that I might have that inside me. I can see it in so many people, in their eyes and in their auras, the fire that they have burning inside them for the thing that they love. And I'm trying to find my own, because I know I can't feed off of other peoples' forever. I have to have my own. It has to be somewhere. My own self-discipline and determination, my own fire burning inside me. I know I've felt it before. I need to feel it for the things that I have to do every day. I need to bring out my own inspiration. I need to light my own fire. I need to find my own passion, my own passionate energy.

tonight, tonight

ooh, lover boy...

really desperately missing chaz and needing to go home to be with my brother and my dog.

spirits

"Make it a good day. -M"

Not "have a good day," "make it a good day."

I like that better.