Saturday, April 28, 2007

Window to Babyhood

So, finally, I converted this picture to the right file. I'm sure it wasn't difficult to do, but my technological skills stop at "Create Post". Without further ado:

Well look at that. I was a rather happy baby. Here, I believe, I am learning to walk at a parent's friend's house. So smiley.

Friday, April 27, 2007

Yes, There Is a Poetry Club

Fliers posted with that headline summoned me to B-223 this afternoon. Three juniors, three sophomores, and me. All girls. It was fun, nonetheless...I'd had a hankering for people watching. It's refreshing, being thrown into a room full of strangers. No pretenses, no reputation.

Some read original pieces, and another read "A Boy Named Sue" written by Shel Silverstein. This was surprising to me; I only ever knew it as Johnny Cash's hit. Turns out Silverstein was a songwriter...and a good one at that. Poetry and songwriting go hand in hand, I suppose.

A literary magazine is published at the end of every year. I can contribute anything but can't be on staff for another two years. Considering I'm the only member my age, I could soon be the club's president. Sweet.

Come and Pass

No, yesterday wasn't my best. That's a pretty good summary. I got through it though, as you said I would.

I find only posting the Good dishonest. Good and Bad are very close friends, I've found. I experience both, and readers should know of both.

So it goes.

Yesterday I went to the library and introduced myself to Vonnegut. Slaughterhouse Five is the victim of my choice book report. The weather was perfect. I could feel the rain in the air, but the sun broke through. It was cool and quiet. I felt a sense of calm that should only be accompanied by...rows and rows and rows of my next favorite book. That's an exaggeration -- some I would never read. I wonder, though, how many life-changing books I walked right past. Plenty, I just know it. I'm not too disappointed. All I've got is time.

I gotta get ready for school...and that I don't have time to vent about.

I'm okay. Are you okay?

Happy Friday, everyone. This should be a good day.

Thursday, April 26, 2007


"they don't know my head is a mess"

Writer's block is a mean thing, simply put. So many thoughts running around but no way to set them free. My thoughts run away from me. They offer seconds of solace and move on. I am not at a loss for words, but ideas.

I need a mental revolution. A recharge. I need to stray from the norm. Did you know the people I see every day blend together? Everything does. Did you know I cry every day? Neither did I. Did you know I haven't written a poem in weeks?

Believe it or not, I am spiritually strong. Unusually so. Spiritual strength can cause both of these: a newfound look at life, and a sadness for what we come back to. That's a sad thing. Oh well. I know how to be sad.

Today I wished it would rain. There's a good did rain. Rain is sweetly depressing. It can be gentle or strong, always cleaning, always gray, always wet. Yes. Rain is always wet. I can lean on that.

It stopped too soon. I wanted to jump up and down in the rain, in the horrendous rain. It reminds me of myself. I wanted to soak in silence.

I need to sleep. I need to read. I need a hug, probably. I don't want one. I want to shiver, to burn. I want to smile. Please don't tell me to smile.

I'm sorry, I'm going nowhere with this. Go and read something happy.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Sing Me a Song

I got to thinking about my love for good music recommendations...

A favorite song of mine is Hide and Seek: Imogen Heap. The album, Speak For Yourself, is fantastic. That song is one of the best musical experiences I have ever beheld in four and a half minutes. It is one of the only songs I own that can be looped for hours and still loved.

So. What is your favorite song? Either currently or of all time, it doesn't matter. Leave what it means to you -- its significance, if any. Blogless friends: comment using "other". You can leave your name and input. I'd appreciate it... I really am curious.

I Need A Hero

Inspired (as they often are) by Stephen's latest post.

I am strong and broken.
I am independent, but don't understand why people leave.
I've created a best friend out of many people.
Is it okay to take what I like and overlook the rest? I suppose not.
Is it acceptable to expect this one person to be, at some point, a package deal?
I realize my own flaws through the judgement of others'.
I am honest to the point of brutality.
I am fragile and try to hide it.
I think too highly of myself and my opinions.
I expect others to reach those conclusions.
..This isn't smart. But that's not what I'm concerned with, at the moment.
I want to breathe freely.
I want to be an innocent bystander
fists unclenched.
I want to rely on God completely.
I want to know this will be sufficient for the rest of my life.
Yeah, I'd like an earthly hero. Those impossible heroes.
I don't want to be my own hero. I am no hero.


I wondered how it could be that closure survives on its own, independent from the persons involved. But it does.

I wrote him a letter he will never see. He won't need it -- he hasn't noticed anything for seven months.

I needed it. I needed to know I am happier alone. Technically, I was always alone. But I'm okay with that.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Heartbeat of God

The music kicked in as I brought my head to my knees. In no time the jeans were tear-stained, as the lyrics identified with my past couple days. "I can't do it alone..."

April came to pray for me. She spoke of my percussive talents (thank you, April..though they are exaggerated) and referred to percussion as the "heartbeat of God". There is no better relief than that felt through relevant words of God...relevant to my current struggles and prayers. These windows of hope spark further prayer and the ancticipation of clarity. This was clear:

I had been dropped off, abandoned. By whom I wasn't sure. I lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of a gigantic cement staircase. Sensing that comfort rested at the peak, I summoned all remaining energy and pulled myself up stair by stair. I found an enormous throne, also cement. The man's feet were all I could see. Once again, I collapsed. Within minutes I was lifted by the hands of this man and lifted to eye level. I couldn't bring myself to make eye contact; the majesty was too great. He held me close between his hands and removed my heart. There was no pain. He proceeded to remove his own heart. It was bigger than my entire body, yet he put it where mine used to be. The effect was unimaginable. I could live again. My broken little heart beat inconsistently; it seemed bruised. With one touch, by this great man, it was restored. But I no longer needed it...I had more than I could never need. He threw it to the floor. And let me go.

The music stopped. The tears subsided. Clarity surfaced, and a mended life began to live again.

I only hope that I will remember the way to those concrete stairs, and that life's monotony will not extinguish this new faith's dwindling flame.