Posts tagged historics series

This Is Me
By Nicholas Petela
Written April 29, 2012

(Okay, I missed blogging, like, a lot, and so I decided to give you guys a little something to remind you all that you have me on here. The product was a little… forced, but beautiful in that, and I like the free-formed, rough cut rhymes. It’s funny how, despite all the chaos I’m going through right now (being 18 is horrible, by the way. I urge my followers to avoid it if you can. :P), I still write about people, people who aren’t me, people and their problems instead of me and mine (this does, very explicitly, show it’s inspiration in the problems of a friend of mine I’ve been worried sick about lately). Nothing to do with what I’m currently going through whatsoever. Because that’s still what I care about. It’s kind of uncensored stream of consciousness, so all in all it’s a beautiful poem. :P)

I just want to speak
To be heard
To not be obsolete
To say the word
That brings peace
Where nothing else used to be

I am me
Harder than anyone else could be
Harder than anyone is themselves
As if there is anything else

So why would you dislike
A guy
Who is real?
I don’t get how you feel
Or why you don’t believe
Why you think I’d fake something
Like me

Girls go look for guys
Who like to despise
Who hide all the lies
Behind calm and collected eyes

Oh, to go and be hurt
To be treated like dirt
What’s worse
It replays
In such sick, disturbing ways
I tried to pity them
And almost gave up one day

The small gaps I see
In this grim reality
Is her
And me
A thing never to be

Still, I seek to be different
Calm and diligent
Wanting to bring change
Bring good to this world
See the misery unfurled
And waving tattered on the breeze
Of forgotten memories
But these
Dreams
Are never to be

But still I try
Because this is me
 

A Night To Remember
By Nicholas Petela
Written March 21, 2012

(So I just got back from my school’s annual British Literature Ball, held for seniors. Finally got to break in that new suit of mine and let loose. It was a blast. I decided to commemorate that moment with a little poem. The posters all said “A Night To Remember” and after the events of this night, I couldn’t agree more.)

A night to remember
And our night to claim
Held now in our minds
As our moment, our fame

A night to remember
And just be ourselves
Let out all the difference
Be like no one else

A night to remember
A moment to trust
That nothing is slipping
Away from us

A night to remember
A treasure to save
A smile to carry
On the path to the grave

Know It All
By Nicholas Petela
Written February 7, 2011
Historics Series 

(I’m not claiming I’m intelligent, by writing this. It does seem to indicate I have more of an ego than I really do. It’s about how people perceive me. And how I perceive myself. Mostly, about how I try to exist outside the traditional social sphere and instead analyze it. How I look into things while most people just look at things. Later on, it took the classic “know it all” insult to a new kind of meaning for me.)
(Alsofacts: The hearing thing seems kind of out of place, but it originated in a discussion I had with someone where I mentioned that I had pinpointed her voice out of a smaller group. I don’t really have the knack that some people do for hearing smaller parts of a whole, but it was a slightly different perspective of my eye, or mind rather, for detail.) 

I know the smaller things I see
Not a whole lot gets past me
Patterns I form of all that’s there
It isn’t obvious
It isn’t air
But I know it all

I know the tiny flaws in sound
As it echoes all around
To hear one voice where many are
It isn’t easy
It isn’t hard
But I know it all

I know volumes of the world itself
These little things known by so few else
I saw them while looking between the lines
It isn’t secret
It isn’t mine
But I know it all

I know the ways that people think
And the deep, dark depths to which they sink
What they will do to get it done
It isn’t happy
It isn’t fun
But I know it all

I know the lies that people tell
The silly secrets I know too well
The things they say to sleep at night
It isn’t healthy
It isn’t right
And I know it all

I know that looks they always give
My insight threatens the life they live
I never could hate them though they hate me
They just don’t get it
They just don’t see
But still they know
I know it all

All For Intensity/Dramatize
By Nicholas Petela
Written December 29, 2011
Historics Series (Abyssals Series)

(Someone called me “too intense” and it got me thinking about how much of a drama queen I am. I think this was meant rather tongue-in-cheek, which doesn’t quite show through in the way it was written (thus qualifying as Abyssals). Chekkit) 

I don’t know why
I dramatize
Every sliver of my life

Too intense
So immense
These problems born
Of inner strife

Turmoil
Goes to boil
Over the edge
Beyond the hedge

My mind goes at a million miles per hour
The taste of the words grows sweet, then sour
They can’t get ahold of me
They fail to see
The way I think

Everything before my eyes
The dark of my mind does dramatize
Plays out
Stays out
Beyond the descent of the sun
Past sense, past sanity, then past fun

That’s why you sense
I’m too intense
And you can’t stand the stress
So you break or regress
You go back to the things
That are easy to see
You flee from the dark
By the light you’re set free
No such thing shall happen to me

So my entire life
I dramatize
Make the rules of this little game
Play my own way which is never the same
I’m like you all; I try to win
I fall, I crawl, I get back again

But I do it all
Because it’s all I know
When it’s all a game
When it’s all a show
Play out this drama
Like it’s always been
Call it dark, call it dreary
Even call it sin
But this is all I’m comfortable in

Illuminator
By Nicholas Petela
Written November 30, 2011
Historics Series

(New theory: If I publish this a little after school gets out where I’m from, I’ll receive more feedback from the locals who see the facebook RSS… go post queuing! Anyhow, all that aside, this is a little poem on what it feels like to be me. Kind of this “Nicholas is a poet who feels lonely a lot, but he’s kind of awesome most of the time” thing. It’s also on why I like my job (for a given value of “job”, I don’t get paid for this). So yeah. Good stuff. :D I thought of the first verse after I saw how boldly the dedication marker stood on some of my older poems (“You Are Loved” in Letters, several of them in Fleur, for those of you outside tumblr with the newer Stuffpack) and how much that history haunts me while still showing I’m a good guy.)

The dedication letters stand
Against the ruined monument
No matter what you said
They thought you meant
Something else

You write even more
To the world around
You’ve never found
A straight answer

You give even more
And you never take
And you never slake
Your thirst for love

Why do you fight
The shadows here?
They consume the light
And lengthen your fear

Perhaps you’ll tell them stories one day
Of the lives you’ve saved
Of the paths you’ve shaped

Perhaps you’ll recieve the things that you pray
Deep bonds, deep connections
Deep love, deep affections

Until then you wander
Your resources squander
As you try, though it’s futile
To bring light to the dark

Until then you’re seeking
Some new kind of meaning
Something to carry you through
And you’re out on a lark

Icicle Hours
By Nicholas Petela
Written September 24, 2011

(So, I wasn’t supposed to release this. This was in the reserve list (S-Vault) for my halfways planned publication sometime later 2012. But I liked it very much, and decided I would be nice and share it with the world earlier than I had expected. I don’t know where the term “Icicle Hours” really comes from, I have several really nice sounding poem titles that were really just series of words that popped into my head, and this was one such. I wrote it at 3:20 AM on the morning of the aforementioned date, when I REALLY could NOT sleep for the life of me. Therefore, it refers to those REALLY early hours in the morning where, no matter what the season, it’s freezing cold outside. The world, likewise, is kind of dead. Nothing much happening. Yet I sat awake. And wrote a poem. Yeah. :D )

In these,
The icicle hours
Of the new morning,
I sit,
Wait,
Contemplate,
Many things.
I wonder at questions
I ponder circumstances
I consider thoughts
To shy to see daylight

In these,
The icicle hours
Of the fading night
I think of somber nights gone by
I reflect on nights past
Where I’d sit
Restless
Wondering
About people who later left
Like a forgotten dream

In these,
The icicle hours
Of a starting day
I begin to chart a course
Toward a new life
Toward a brighter future
Toward a change
As this, the hour is,
From dark to light.