my first nature poem (live)

Something I wrote about my step-brother, Josh. It started out being about nature, but it ended up being about me, about people, about Josh, about death.

One of those three kids riding bikes is my son, Bo.

Sorry I'm so bald. I shaved my head right after watching this video. 

Just Be Yourself

What does this even mean?

Nobody knows who they are. We're all just trying to figure it out. 

I watched Freaky Friday with my kids, and it made me grateful to be 35. Not that I wouldn't want to be 17 again. I think I could be 17 again. Oh, that reminds me, I want to watch 17 Again again.

There's a lot I would do differently, and I think I could do it better the second time around.
But I would need to actually be 17 again. Not just a voodoo switch where I switch back after I learn a lesson.

Here's what sucks about being a teenager:
-You can't stay out past midnight.
-You have to sit in uncomfortable desks all day.
-Homework.
-Low pay.
-Acne.
-Can't vote.
-Your parents don't listen to you.
-How you could start drinking or smoking at any second.
-Peer pressure.
-Caring so much about jeans.
-Caring so much about brands.
-Caring so much about hairstyles.
-Trying to find money for gas.
-Other things.

Here's what sucks about being an adult:
-You can't go to movies whenever you want.
-Belly fat.
-Male Pattern Baldness.
-Annoying teenagers.
-Bills.
-You can vote, but you're too busy or you don't care.
-Your parents don't listen to you.
-You can't have your friend call and quit for you over the phone.
-Worrying about your kids getting hurt or dying or doing drugs or getting bullied or not eating enough or having low self-esteem or having a parent who worries too much about them.
-Facebook was not created for you, but you still have taken it over.
-You wear shirts and hats and jeans that weren't made for you and you look stupid.
-Monotony.
-You start to notice the sand in the hourglass.
-Other things.

So everything sucks. It sucks to be young, it sucks to be old. Yeah, there's good stuff too, and life is great, but life is freaking hard and it sucks sometimes.

I'm just glad I get to be me today. I don't have to pretend to be you or my son or anyone else. I've been trying to figure out who I am for 35 years now, and even though I still don't know for sure, I'm pretty close to cracking the case. And that's liberating.

Being yourself is liberating.

Sometimes you have to fake it for awhile before you get it down fully. But that whole thing can be fun, too. It's like going to the mall with store credit. You get to try on a bunch of different things and decide what looks good on you and what doesn't. (I've been watching way too much Gossip Girl lately.)

Just don't spend too much time worrying about which shirt will make you popular, because I promise- the shirt that will make you popular will definitely be worn by someone else at your school.

And there's nothing worse than being caught wearing the same shirt as someone else. Nothing.

Here's to not having to pretend to be someone else tomorrow.

x-ray vision

Today I saw a picture of my heart for the first time.

I didn't recognize it.

For all the poems, for all the blogs, the journal entries, the letters...I thought for sure it would look familiar to me. But it didn't look familiar. It looked like a foreign language. A foreign country. My mother's cursive.

Tonight I coughed so hard that I understood math for a second. Tonight I coughed so hard I saw stars. Tonight I coughed so hard that I stopped breathing. There's no poetry there, I just wanted to illustrate how hard I was coughing.

Ever since I was 17, my writing has been angst. My words have been longing. My journals have been wish lists. I wrote about trying to get the girl. I wrote about trying to escape the job. I wrote about trying to find my way. I wrote about what it means to be alive.

But this week, I couldn't breathe.

And poetry may help me breathe metaphorically, but I got at least three prescriptions from doctors and poetry wasn't one of them.

Azithromycin? Yes. Amoxicillin? Yes. Hydrocodone? Yes.
Metaphors? No. Truth? No. Beauty? No. 

I've spent seven years watching some young people struggle to find air. I wrote poems about saving them, then I locked my door during lunch. I took attendance and replied to e-mails and sat through meetings. But only this week did I understand what they were really going through.

There's no assignment I can give that will fix your lungs. There's no lesson plan that will remove the weight on your chest. You need azithromycin, You need need amoxicillin.

I have an inhaler you can borrow, but it's running out of inhalations.

I watched more Netflix than I read and wrote combined. I was too tired to create. I felt like my father. I felt like my father. Damn it, people, I felt like my father. 

This is me trying to breathe again. Please join me.

LOVE MAIL

It's my youngest son's birthday, so I shouldn't be thinking about you guys.

But I feel bad.

I'm here at the District watching the Spongebob Squarepants movie and how Spongebob loves everything and I love that about Spongebob.

Mallary continues to surprise me. She's turned into one of my favorite poets and I don't think she was really into poetry before this class.

Michael is hilarious and I've thought so since his sophomore year.

Abby Waters doesn't swear at me even when I mark her absent on accident.

Tanner Johanson must be sick of me by now. English 10, TA, CW1, CW2, is he sick of me yet? Thanks for being real and funny and shy and funny. 
 
Kailee writes sick blog posts like this.

Squidward's talking about giving everyone refunds and I just hope these students don't ask me for a refund.

Morgan and Cass and McCall have broken the cheerleader stereotype. I'm serious. These girls have proven that you can be more than one thing and it's everything I've ever wanted people to get out of my class. They're dope writers and journalers and I'm glad they're in the class. I'm not afraid of cheerleaders anymore.

John melted the girls' hearts as a junior, so I can just imagine what he's doing to them this year. #jernhayes

Reagan has synesthesia and she said it so casually and it sounds amazing and you can read about it here.

Megan is Matt's little sister, and that means a lot to me. But it's getting close to "oh hey, that's Matt. That's Megan's older brother."

Tanner Thompson is Tim's little brother, and it will always be that way and I'm sorry. But his last blog post had me feeling some kind of way. (And I've never used that phrase before in my life.)

Sara is my daughter's favorite.

Plankton's talking about teamwork and he calls Spongebob the worst teammate ever. I felt like that today.

Isaac is good at Lacrosse and drawing and writing and other subjects and footbag and probably everything. And he's humble. What?

Abby Newell is a good person. I asked her to swear yesterday and she wouldn't. But she was smiling as she said it.

Annie probably doesn't do drugs and she probably never will. She took my class as a junior and I don't feel like she's ever left. In a good way.

Madeline is the Shawn Kemp of our class. Freak athlete who could jump out of the gym, but then they sold the Supersonics and I think he has like 17 biological children. I'm not sure that really connects, but I saw some socks at Nordstrom with him on it and I almost bought them even though they were $18. I seriously don't know how this connects with Madeline, but I've written more about her than anyone else, so I don't have time to explain anymore.

Colby has been on my mind since his sophomore year. That sounds really creepy. But I followed you to Arizona and I'm just glad you're home.


JJ wasn't supposed to be in this class, but I'm so glad she is. Her mom favorites some of my tweets.

Micah won the cutest couple with Mitchell Squires in the WritersParis Film Festival and I think she should win cutest couple when she was pretending to be me.

Squidward tells everyone it was fun while it lasted. We only have 16 classes left together.

Natty is Zack's little sister and I can still remember the video she made for the film festival. Just her in the forest. Goofy faces and poetry and it was dope squared.

Mallory, Ashley, and Saige aren't in the class anymore, but they still helped build our broken plane.

Sam is smart and I'm always trying to impress her.

C.J. has all the good ideas and I should do whatever she suggests.

McKay's blog was one of the greatest of all time. I talk trash that girls are the best writers and boys are cowards, but McKay is easily one of the most creative cats in the game. He changed what a blog could be.

Cole is a lyricist. He's a deep thinker who reminds me of myself when I was younger. Only he's much more opinionated and intelligent.

Taylor is straight up now tell me. There's no playing games with her and I DIG THAT ABOUT YOU MAN.

Emma is Clark's sister and I remember I once made the joke that Fruehan sounds like a yogurt, but I don't ever think of yogurt when I see her.

Natalie plays footbag sometimes with us during lunch and her leg bends sort of weird so now we call that kick The Pliler Leg.

Maddi's Beyonce rendition at the Noscars still blows my mind. How could such a powerful voice come out of such a small, quiet person?

Jess should be the president of the class.

Hannah doesn't talk much but she can sing the freaking roof off.

Hailey is directing A Winter's Tale, which plays tomorrow, Thursday, and Friday. Holy crap.

I need to shave my head. I need to trim my nose hairs. I'm doing a TEDx talk tomorrow for crying out loud, I shouldn't be writing this freaking blog post.

But at the end of the Spongebob movie, the dolphin (Bubbles) had a freestyle rap battle with a seagull and it made me think of you guys. This year will always be the specialest....

HATE MAIL

Dear students,

I'm annoyed.

Maybe I shouldn't write this right now, because I'm angry. But I want to get some things off my chest.

I'll start with my "advanced" creative writing class.

Today's Mini-Slam was one of my favorite class periods of all time. But for some reason, here I sit unsatisfied. 

I'm sure the people who need to read this won't. And that's part of what bothers me.

Some of my complaints (in no particular order):
-how often you're tardy
-how often you miss class
-you didn't dress up today
-you never comment on the blog
-you don't write on your blog enough
-you don't read other people's blogs
-how easy you make my class feel

I'm sure there's more.

I feel like I care about this class more than some of you. I know you're teenagers and you're seniors and you just want to leave, but....

I feel like last year's seniors might've deserved this class more than you.

I feel like some of my CW1 students wouldn't take this class for granted.

(I'm sorry for lecturing everyone when not everyone deserves it.)

I just spent almost an hour trying to figure out how to add a slideshow to the blog. I can't get some of you to spend an hour on my class in an entire week.

Like I said, the people who need to read this won't.

Some of you are golden. I'm so happy you're in the class. You're getting so much out of it. But out of 33 students, I bet that number is like 20. That makes me sad.

Some of you are coasting. I wish I knew how to change that.

I feel like the coach whose voice you've heard for a little too long. And you've stopped listening.

I know I'm partly to blame. I've created a very laid back atmosphere and I've been very relaxed and the whole "building the plane as we sail it" thing.

BUT I'M SICK OF TAKING A BACK SEAT TO YOUR OTHER CLASSES.

This is the most important class on your schedule. Quit treating it like the 5th most important class.

I'm so angry. And I'm going to delete this instead of clicking PUBLISH.

It's 3:11 right now and I shouldn't be thinking about your class anymore. My son went to camp yesterday and I want to go home and see him. I miss him. (I just came back to this paragraph...it's 3:33 right now and my daughter just called to ask if I had her backpack. I do. I miss her too. Screw this stupid blog post.)

My CW1 students are revealing their pen names this weekend. I don't know why I wanted to share that, but it's on my mind. Landon's reveal is going to be hard to beat. It's sad to think that my CW1 class is getting more out of their creative writing class than my "advanced" creative writing class. It's probably my fault. They have clear expectations and you don't.

Some of my former students are getting more out of my class than you are. They still write, they still read, they're still present. Some of you are already on your 2-year missions but you're somehow getting credit in my class. Maybe that's why you're absent so much.

I NEED TO STOP COMPLAINING AND GO HOME ALREADY.

I guess I just want us all to get more out of life.

That's it. I'm sorry.

It's just...I was hoping to be happy by March 27th, and I'm not. And we're running out of time together.

Lifeguards (Draft #5)

Here's the original blog post last summer. 

Now I'm working on a poem performance for an upcoming TEDxUVU talk.

I'm going to read this poem to my classes tomorrow and gather feedback. I need to send my final draft to UVU tomorrow (Wednesday). And then I need to memorize the poem for the performance (next Wednesday).

Lifeguards

In 1st grade, I was waving. [wave]
In 2nd grade, I was waving. [wave]
In 3rd grade, I was drowning. [wave]
 
In 6th grade, I was waving again. [wave]
In 9th grade, drowning. [wave]
10th grade, drowning. [wave]
11th grade, drowning. [wave]
12th grade, drowning. [wave] 

I didn't become a teacher because I loved high school.

I did it for the money, money, money.  [wave, wave, wave]

When I was 12 years old, my mother went to see a fortune teller. The lady told my mom that one day I would pull a drowning boy from water and that I would spend the rest of my life trying to save people. 

I thought about becoming a lifeguard, but I'm afraid of sharks and I look weird with my shirt off.

So I wear sweater vests to work
and when I see young people waving in the halls,
I look twice to make sure they're not drowning.

Sometimes fortune tellers get it right. And sometimes they don't. 

You know what. Excuse me, sir. Would you put your phone away, please? I asked you to hold all questions until the end. No, you may not use the bathroom. Don't make me call home. Pay attention, follow along. Don't clean up while I'm talking. The bell doesn't dismiss you, I do. You, in the back, get your head up. No, you may NOT use the bathroom. Don't make me repeat myself. Don't make me repeat myself. 

(Sigh) Maybe I should've become a lifeguard. Maybe I did.

I mean, yeah, we work opposite seasons. But we have more in common than you think. 

Lifeguards and teachers. We got into it for the right reasons. For the children. For the summers. Parents rely on us and teenagers ignore us. We both have big plans. We're going to save up to buy a car, we're going to save the world. We were both going to save the world. But we spent more time blowing our whistles, telling kids to stop running, than we ever did diving in and saving people.

We make less than we should, and everyone thinks we have it easy. Each August adds another five years to our faces.

But we're not the only ones. No matter what you choose to do with your life, it probably won't go as planned. Lawyers got into it to find the truth, but they're too busy looking for technicalities. Doctors got into it to heal people, but they're too busy checking insurance cards. Police Officers got into it for the chase, but they're too busy filling out paperwork.

We'll spend the next offseason wondering if we're doing what we're supposed to.Then some random Tuesday, a kid with a shaved head will wave to us, and we'll decide to do it all over again.

writers and other things

starting now,

you guys can be writers and cheerleaders and writers and lacrosse players and writers and actors

you can be writers and singers and writers and designers and writers and dancers and writers and rappers and writers and pissed off and writers and kind and writers and everything

you can be good friends and writers and chefs and writers and hipsters and writers and artists and writers and AP students and writers

and you can be missionaries and writers and alcoholics and writers and make-up artists and writers and boyfriends and writers and girlfriends

and you can be writers

and you can be little sisters and writers and big sisters and writers and little brothers, big brothers, no brothers and writers

and you can be popular and writers and underdogs and writers and tall and writers and small and writers and business majors and writers and small business owners and writers and gardeners and writers and potheads and writers and procrastinators and writers and OCD and writers and ADHD and writers and LMNOP and writers and left-handed and writers and

I shouldn't have to give you permission, but here I am.