Think Of Me

I know this is kind of cheesy, and I wrote it in about 7 mins, but I guess it has some meaning?
Let me know what you think.
I wrote it as a song.






"You walk into different places.
always looking for familiar faces.
but did you ever once think of me?


Well, I'm no famous artist.
But I paint what I see in time.
From your first walk to your
romance talk.
I never was behind.
No I never was, I never was behind.


So now you're far away now,
living on your own now.
I bought you that golden key,
that leaded you into victory,
but did you ever once think of me?
oh did you ever once think of me?

Well, I'm no famous artist.
But I paint what I see in time.
From your first fight to your
midnight crime.
I never was behind.
No I never was, I never was behind."

You don't

look at me and see my looks. You look at me and see yourself. You strive for everything but what you have, and crave to the other girl you wish to be. If I wanted to be you, I'd tell you. But how would you feel of that? Admired? Worthy? No. You should feel satisfied with yourself and what you make of it. If you aren't please with the way you look, the words you use, then change it. But remember me by telling you this:

We are made with different lengths of toes and fingers. We are made with slow walks or long runs. We are made with our eyes close or far apart from each other. We are made for our own reason and only God can have this reason for us. Don't get mad at one trying to change into you, if you are willing to change yourself.

I'm

not so sure why I love to write so much.
Maybe it's because I look at what I felt and reading it feels so much stronger.

today. shall. be. good.

lots of green tea.

I miss

the way you would laugh at my sneeze. I miss you tying my shoes. I miss the sound of innocence in your voice. I miss your long words and short actions. I miss your short actions and long words. I miss the way you played the piano late in the summer. I miss your maturity at such a young age. I miss your scent of capability. I miss you being honest at the toughest times. I miss you for your kind heart. If I have to miss one thing, then let it be that. Your kind heart.

So be it

If I breathe in, will I remain this way?
Same ol' lungs through out the day.
Maybe if I sleep for an hour more,
Turn out the lights.
I have awaken, my bones are sore.
Turn on the lights.
My cabinet is a treasure chest.
The many bottles to explore.
I'll have a glass when I can't rest.
Maybe just one more.
My clock is always ticking.
At midnight it rings her bell.
I miss my sweetheart, dearly.
At midnight I believe that's her way to tell.
My children are far apart now, living on their own.
And here I am now, in my own zone.
I turn out the lights just once more.
My memories are fading as I enter that door.
I struggle to the mirror and see a hopeless man.
A hopeless man that deserves a second chance.
So be it, if it's my time.
So be it, if I must die.
So be it, if I'm alone.
So be it, I'll eventually know.









This is a poem I wrote a few months back.
It isn't my best, but it really got my eye.

I'm not too sure

I'm not too sure if I'll always think this way.
My thoughts crumble as the paper stays.

I love

I love how you say "I love you" to her in the mornings, but not me.

The days when I thought I could write

My childhood memories have the capacity of zero.
Part in the moment, feeling of my hero.
New colors absorb the lifeless painting.
No absolute move to cause the fainting.
Candy never tasted so sweet.
Playing in that field, dancing on your street.
My day of play is only beginning.
Notice of the ones around, no nonsense, just winning.
Breathe in, breathe out,
no looks, no doubt.
I keep on thinking of what had me in sight.
Just those hours we contained, good day and good night.

- Lauren












I was so..lame.

My Saturday

I received a phone call.
It was from my grandmother.
Do know her and I aren't close.
I feel the need to be someone I'm not in her presence.
I'm sitting there with her at the table.
She and I order the exact same meal.
Her tea is sweeten.
As she is sitting there, feeding me stories, I began to cry.
I'm not too sure why I cry at times like this.
I was thinking of how she must of felt in Florida.
How she wished to be back there several years ago.
I was thinking of how she felt when she would say my grandfather's name.
How she missed him throughout the long nights.
I was thinking of how she manages to wear that ring.
I was thinking of why she denies about my mom's wrong doings.
And then I thought some more.
And it continued.
I thought of how happier she must of been years back.
The pictures she contains.
The antiques that keep her whole.
And it's little things like this that make me cry.
And as I began to write, I cry more.
And maybe it's just because I'm scared of dying.
And I'm scared for her.
And how she knows absolutely nothing about me.
I wish she knew how I felt towards her stories.
That I just want her to know I'm more like her than she thinks.
I watched her finish her meal.
She was so happy to have that meal with me.
I was quiet.
And much colder now.
As she payed the man, she smiled at me.
I opened the door, and headed back.
I wish I didn't think so much sometimes.
But I'm glad you didn't see my cry.
I wouldn't know why.

If I could tell

you what time meant to me, I wouldn't know how to describe it.
When I'm sitting in class, I hope for it to fly.
But at the end of the day, I take time and think.
I really don't want to grow old.
I really don't.
And most teens are ready to be twenty one.
But I'm not even ready to be sixteen.
And I will in a little more than a week.
I'm not ready for the future even though I've planned it out.
But most plans don't even work out.
Not for you and your friends.
Or for mine and I.
So, if I could tell you what time meant to mean, I would just tell you
I think.
I think of time and what it does to me.

It's crazy

how everything connects to something. It's crazy how everyone can relate in one way or another. It's crazy how we can speak differently. It's crazy how your five year old sweater is still stylish. It's crazy how your alcoholic mother doesn't care. It's crazy how that drug makes you feel. It's crazy how your best friend is in love with you. It's crazy how your dog is your secret keeper. It's crazy how you hate what everyone loves. It's crazy how your drawings look more like lines than anything. It's crazy how I get your sense of humor. It's crazy how your B's look like 8's. It's crazy that you don't want a favorite color. It's crazy that I've known you for so long. It's crazy that you can listen to so much. It's crazy how you're confused. It's crazy that you can never choose. It's crazy how you can always rhyme. It's crazy how I know more about you than you know of yourself. It's crazy that you're still living that way. It's crazy that you don't ever mark your i's. It's crazy that you trust me more than anyone. It's crazy of how much you mean to me. If meaning means anything to you.

For the children

who have the parents of this kind.

When your father tells you that you are worthless, please don't listen to him. When you hear your mom crying in the other room, please don't leave. When your brother or sister tell you they hate you, please ignore all. Please always be passionate in what you do, and never give up. I just want you to feel good about yourself. Even if it doesn't matter to your family, let it matter to yourself.

Love Always, Lauren

I'm here to tell you

about things I think, places I've been, and journeys I hope for.
I think about the little things. The amount of dots on those brand new rain boots. The amount of people that don't believe in anything. The clouds being my favorite form of art. I've only traveled in steps. I've been to towns, and a few states. But I only get by with what I have. And it's what I have that meets my destination. I hope to write a book not only for you, but for myself. I want to write about realistic things, and not to feed lies about the world. I want you to know that there is good and bad and don't believe in everything someone tells you. No human being knows for sure that we will end in 2012. No animal can tell me my name backwards. Everything is involved in lies with our peers and family. I just want to be that one individual who can finally tell the truth. I can't save you from your tragedies. I can't promise you everything has a happy ending. But, I can tell you of my life. And the changes that I've done as a whole. I'm moving one step at a time. And I'm telling you the things I think, for someone to relate. The places I've been, so you see my distance. And the journeys I hope for, so we both can hope.

Love Always, Lauren

I wish I knew

what your frown looked like. Not the one being contained with eggs and bacon. The real thing. I always see you with this smile. Always with a friend around. But I know deep down, there is more to you. There is more than that charm you have. There is something holding you back. Maybe it's your brother. Perhaps your enemy. Just do know this. I frown because I'm human. And it'll eventually come to you and there is no need to hide it, knowing you are strong. Whenever it may be, I hope one day to see your frown. Just so I know that everyone feels everything.








Something else:
I'm not here to write you lies, I just want you to know how I feel. For what I feel, is sincerely real.

Love Always, Lauren

Tender Child

Tender Child
Tender child, oh tender child, do you sleep at night?
with the weight on your shoulders,
and your dreams on hold,
are you alright?

your three beats, match mine.
oh how i listen clearly.
your hand passes mine.
oh how i want sincerely.

Tender child, oh tender child, do you sleep at night?
with the weight on your shoulders,
and your dreams on hold,
are you alright?

when will i see you?
please tell me again.
mark down my calender, i have began.

-Lauren

Something I wrote on October 15, 2009

Pretend for just a moment,

that I exist through the tall labyrinth.

That the trees aren't blinding your vision.

For I was there.















If I'm living five years from now, remember my writings. About you, the world, and vision. If I'm living thirteen years from now, remember my heart. The beat matching with the notes. If I'm living seventeen years from now, remember my anger. For not being able to control it, but knowing my flaws. If I'm living twenty four years from now, remember my desire. The painting of the sunrise in the late fall. If I'm living thirty two years from now, remember my smile. For me being able to fake it when needed. If I'm living forty six years from now, remember my honesty. For being so hard to maintain but that I eventually did it. And if I die sooner than those five years, remember me by my name. That being the one thing I can claim and call my own.

Love Always, Lauren





I wish I had someone to write to..

Just Like My Sofa

If you only knew what you did to me. You'd write down everything you see. You'd see a girl with a broken heart, and long, locked knees. -Lauren

My sofa is fifteen years old. We've lived the same amount of years. You and I sofa, have so much in common. We've been sat on for more than a decade. Having people push us up and down, we just want settlement. You and I sofa, are more than a seat. We are something to appreciate. If I was only looked at more than a teenager, all would be surprised. If you were treated more gently, you'd last through out. People spill things all over us. And we just soak up their mess. Sofa, you are truly made to be a seat. But, there is more to me.