So it begins.

Today I am entering into the last year as a teenager. Thank God. I have been ready to get out of this long decade of akward since I turned 11.

I am working fulltime at a large corporation in food court type of set up, but due to legal issue won’t disclose which one I specifically work for.

I’m working fulltime during a year off before attending college. I hate it. Truely and sincerely. I have worked with food, as a maid in a hotel, and as a cleaning woman for a bar. I have taken the shit jobs to appriecate what those people go through day in and day out. These are the jobs no one respects, even within the business I have found these are the low on the totem pole positions. Moreso though I took the jobs because I knew I could get them, the ones no one wants offer great job security if nothing else. My parents were factory workers — my mom is back in school for a career in medicine, and my dad remains working insane hours at his job at the factory to support us.

I never understood the sacrifice they made, and now I don’t know how I’ll ever repay them for it.

enough sappy endearments of what, rereading, is a pathetic tv movie in the works.

I write, and I promise, usually better than this, I’m awful at the first start it off, background bio blogs. I’ve been working more with poetry, but have been on a short break since working during the holidays means more hours and crazy work life, leaving time for little else then unwinding and sleep.

I will leave you with a taste of some of my recent work.

A visitor rang at my door late one night, an old friendTaking his hand in mine without words we held no identity and breathed as oneHe held a bag of emptied hearts and broken spiritsHis eyes held the burden of truth

We knew, in the silent darkness, the way only hearts can, our parting that night would be short lived

A few days more my door rang again and there with his bag he slipped right in

I heard all the words he had to say, all the truths he’d forced me to face and begged him to go

Sadly he shook his head, kissed my forehead and took residence in my bed

I fought and persuaded, pushed , and hung my head defeated

This old friend, he told no lie

That time for now was no friend of mine

He never left my side in those months to come, in return I dropped my contributions into his bag

His hand stay tightly woven in mine as my eyes witness the cancer take so much from the youthful angel, the world only briefly could know

My friend, he saw this too, he’d wept with me weeks before, and for so many yet to come promising never to leave, at least never for long

I collapsed into him, into his tragic security

As a loved one slipped away to death he slid into my home

His name was grief and while I live neither he nor I will be alone

that poem was written over this last summer–about 5-7 months ago. It was about losing a loved one, whom was my age, to a rare aggressive cancer.

until next time

-chrish