Oldest and dearest

Last lecture's done. I stack my scattered notes,
fold up my beaten binder, close my book,
throw pencil, cracked with use, away. My coat's
slung on, then ragged bag. I turn to look
around the quickly emptied classroom where
I studied some, disrupted class a bit,
took piles of quizzes, toyed with frizzing hair,
all while I tried to listen. I admit
I haven't put the effort that I could,
or been the most exemplary student,
but it was fun, this place. I know I would
do nothing differently. I loose a pent
up sigh. It's over, now; all things must end.
I close a gentle door on school, my friend.

Broken

In my hands was a thing,
valued, but very unimportant.
I slackened my grip on slippery edges
and cracked the screen.
It's hard to see now, but I can use it.

In my hands was a possibility,
gleaming, but growing slowly.
I pushed too hard and scarred tender pride
and hurt his feelings.
We talk now, but it's not what it could have been.

In my hands was a life,
precious, but panting for air.
I poured too fast, surpassed its tiny appetite,
and drowned a kitten.
I still cry about it now, but it's dead.

In my hands was my time,
unformed, but unrelenting in its progress.
I let it go, was towed into chaotic ruin,
and wasted the years.
They seem pathetic now, but I can't get them back.

Not even trying.

Tingling fingers twisting up into my innards had me frantic to be staring anywhere but precisely where my eyes were glued, so it was a hopeless case. That was the last thing I needed today, just so you know.

Don't you know how hard I'm trying? Very hard, is my answer, if you bothered to ask. Though I'm really hoping you don't and won't.

You're not helping.

Longest convo ever

I am becoming one with this chair

she mused to herself

slipping into lethargy


I am melding with the metal and musty fabric

she yawned behind her lips

sinking into lassitude


I am fading into dusty browns and caustic brickish reds

she sighed long and quiet

seeping into lovely

nothing

a cry for help

ummmmmmm so i keep remembering things that make it about a hundred times worse.

i'm going to . . . pray some more.

(that is a quote, and i can't place it. help?)

Too transparent by half, but what can one do

I didn't think it would end this way. I think I'm getting worse at it, and I didn't know that was possible. I only managed two days. I had hoped it might last a bit longer, if I'm being honest, and though I rarely am about this sort of thing, this is an occasion for it. I began with nothing, so I've got nothing to lose. 

Actually, to take the cynic's perspective, I think I see improvement in my performance. Lying to myself has never been easier. I know what I want to hear and I say it louder and faster than the truth can squeak out a counterargument. The lie is what sticks. The lie is what ruins it. I write the lie on my mind with my own hand, and my pitiful heart believes its appealing deceit. Then I act the fool and there's an end.

Argh. This sucks.

Throwback

Will someone please punch me in the face?

I am begging anyone to punch some sense into me, because I have none. I ruin everything because I think too much, or maybe not enough, or just the perfect amount to smash to bits anything I am trying to keep balanced, fragile as it is.

It was a secret, she said.

There's another bubble burst, I replied.

Code accepted.

Self destruct sequence initiated.

this is the part where i whine a bit.

i wrote a bad song petey

(that is reference for caitlin who doesn't get on here anymore but I DO WHAT I WANT THOR)

isn't it just the worst, tho? when you know what you just turned in for group review is genuine horseshitakeshrooms? writers' block, man. you have to push out something, anything, so you do, but it's never even remotely going to be anything approaching what you could do if you weren't crushed into literary bits.

bleh.

Listening

"School" was what He said,
And "school" was what I heard.
A gentle voice inside my head
Intoned a single word.

School it is, I smiled.
So that was what I did.
I read and wrote and calmly whiled
Away the months. I hid.

Once more He would speak.
I waited for His will.
His new word sending me to seek
A place for me to fill.

Several years did pass,
But that one word remained.
I thought that sitting in a class
Was what had been ordained.

I thought He left me.
Perhaps He just forgot
This servant waiting patiently
To find her chosen spot.

Prayers got one reply:
That single vexing word.
I whispered, yelled, began to cry,
But "school" was all I heard.

Still more months slipped on.
I gave up plaintive pleas.
I just had trust, for hope was gone
To see the things He sees.

Time was pulling tight.
Decisions overhead
Were blotting out my Father's light
When He finally said:

"School." And I heard it
As He'd meant for my fate.
Instead of being one to sit
In desks, I'll educate.

Father laughed at me.
I heard Him chuckling when
He said it: "School," where I will be
Until He speaks again.

you didn't need to see this but you are welcome

Phooey. That was not what I meant to do for the last hour. Let's try this again.


It's nice when things work out, isn't it? When stuff goes back to how it was or was going to be without any extra effort added. It's fixed itself, and I figured that out in time not to ruin it by meddling in what wasn't, it turns out, broken. Hooray! So that was good. But not particularly useful/relevant.

I want to write a poem about something
that means a lot to me, but how to start?
Already stuck.

;alskdjf;laskjf

I just don't feel like being particularly fictional today? Like...the part of me that says *i only write stuff i know about so don't try to force me to write something ridic* is rearing its incredibly inconvenient head. COME ONNNNNN let's go let's do this think think think think fffffffffffffffffffffffff

I probably shouldn't post this. It is an insight into the way my head works that no one needs to see. I am probably going to post it anyway. For posterity or something.

Remember when I did that journal for Expository Writing and I basically just spent half an hour typing 1000 words of the first things that popped into my head? This is kind of like that.

Loved

Our professor reads us a classmate's letter, gently-accented voice catching on the rawer phrases as the room sits, collectively still. We, together, are breathing in this broken author's pain. His words weave their carefully chosen way into every listening heart, and in me, at least, they lodge just behind my eyes, burning. I lick a salty drip from the corner of my lip where it lands and pat at my cheeks with a stained sweater sleeve.

No class member moves until the letter is complete. Our professor asks for comments.

A few hands go up. One guy says stories like these make him very sad. A girl says they are familiar to her. She is crying. I sniff up my running nose as quietly as possible.

I cannot say to the man who wrote this letter, "I understand." I don't. I cannot know what it is that he goes through. I am not as he is. That is not what he needs. What I can offer, though, is something I cannot say aloud.

The last speaker offers it for me. If, at any point, we have said or done anything to hurt you, we are sorry, he says, and calls for a show of hands. As each person in the room lifts an arm, a voice from the center just says, "I love you, man. Wherever you are."

I know it isn't enough. I just want you to know, wherever any of you are, that you are loved.

Workshop Time

Raaaugh. Since I have the attention span of a gnat and a much less intrusive sense of responsibility, I am once more in the process of scouring my brain for any nuggets of mediocrity I can air before the rather kind audience of my Creative Writing class.

I've got little to nothing. I just had tons of feels about Human Sexuality and our discussions on homosexuality, but I cried those out in the car on the way home, and now they are gone. I don't think I would do the topic much credit, either, and I might get myself into a fair bit of trouble trying to make statements about something I have not experienced and am not very familiar with personally. Meh.

Anywho, I am going to get a fresh post and see where today takes me, I guess.

Hopefully somewhere no man has gone before. That would be awesome.

*poke*

I did it again, didn't I? I said the wrong thing.

Somehow I can't resist poking you, you know that? You are so eminently pokable. It's so easy to prod at you with a few choice words that I'm already thinking anyway, and then I see you deflate like a sad balloon.

I mean, don't think it's because I enjoy watching the light die in your eyes, though. That's not what I'm aiming at . . .  because when you're all puffed up and proud you are every variety of adorable. Why would I muck about with that? I didn't think I was a sadist.

I just have no filter.

Waiting for it

I am
. . . tired.
Deep tired, way down inside tired.
Like I'm wrung out in every direction tired.
But I don't want to sleep. Not yet.

I am also full up of feelings and words and regrets.
Full to stretching and pulling at the seams.

Until I rip.

And all of them will spill out into the night.

Hello again.

I have absented myself from the blog for a few days. Just didn't have it in me to write. Too many distractions.

I need to pick it back up, though. I am short on creative material, and I need to have more of it very soon.

We did Halloween at home tonight, which was awesome. I was a pirate. My siblings and mum did cooler things.

I went to Castle, which featured a sci-fi convention and JONATHAN FRAKES. I did a lot of screeching, a bit of sobbing, and made a noisy nuisance of myself throughout. No regrets at all.

A pretty good Monday, if I had to classify it.

Tense

I feel Damocles' sword swinging gently over my head, and there is nothing I can do about it. Or is there? I really don't know. I just know that I feel really, really bad about something, but I have no idea what that something is. I have a sucking hole right between my collarbones telling me something is very wrong, but for the life of me I cannot put my finger on the problem. It may very well be the life of me, and it will slip through my fingers because my mind is broken.

Augh. Thinking dismal things is getting me nowhere, and I have homework.

I just know something is going to jump on me and I will have royally screwed up by forgetting. I wish I knew what it was.