angela weasly's blog

I love you,

I love you so much.

The thing is it’s blind love,

I love you, but I might not trust you fully. Read more »

Sometimes she sits in the chair,

staring into the complexity of life from an observers point of view.

Her hair grasps her head in short waves,

her fingers riddled with change.

Her eyes a light twinkling blue.

She smells of things that comfort us,

Her arms envelop us in a hug,

made of love and caring.

She sits,

understanding,

every particle that was placed.

She tells us of boxes,

that have not limeted her,

but have made her wiser.

her love can follow you,

her love can make you live,

She is amazing,

She is blazing,

She is Addie.

  Read more »

Music is a series of notes,

made by simple hand,

uncovered by us,

and found as,

music.

Music becomes a series of stories,

made by an artful twisting hand,

found by everyone,

it is music.

  Read more »

The gem glitters,

as the sun's warm hands caress it.

the jem smiles as darkness encases it.

The gem splits,

to find not yet beauty,

but vain.

The dirt stiffens,

as the suns hard rays cross it,

the dirt shivers,

as the night falls.

The dirt splits,

to find life.

The rain falls,

ignoring us all,

the rain pours,

dressing us all,

the rain stops,

and droplets shine.

A human sweats,

as the suns warm rays pass it,

a human looks,

into the adjusting darkness,

a human splits,

revealing...

life.

Things are important no matter how ''ugly'' they are. 

Do not become a lover of the china,

become a lover of the inside.

My three Wishes:

Wish #1: I wish, that all people understood that people are linked, and millions are built to be together.

Wish #2: I wish that every single person in the world or the galaxy was ultimately happy.

Wish #3 I wish, that yes, I know this is odd, that I had green eyes.

Click, click, click.

the clock makes an odd clicking sound.

I await ‘till the sharp click is interrupted by a loud Read more »

Four times the candles count,

the times my sister’s come to mount,

the wild ride of life itself.

      Fire counts the pillars four, Read more »

A certain darkness has seeped into my world,

Turning things fifty shades of black.

Tuning the world till haunting music comes out.

Gravity has come out truly, bringing us down.

My feet are grounded in the darkest soil.

I am hand fed little trifles of Alone,

I am forced to drink dark waters of Dread.

Sat in front of a dreadful banquet,

my stomach is full of dark content.

Plastic encases tables.

Salt shapes in little salt shakers shaped like girls,

pepper vows for salts heart in form of a little boy.

Steam from sandwiches climbs the air until it disappears into oblivion.

Brick walls covered in remiders of old things taken.

  Read more »

At my school there are theses peanut butter banana jamwiches, they are packeged. There is actually no banana in them, here are the ingredients for the ''banana spread''  Read more »

I shout at him,

he says,

I love you too.

I tell him I love him

and he leaves me.

Sometimes I wonder what crosses his mind when he stays,

and what evaperates when he leaves.

He makes me follow him,

leaving a broken trail of my heart to pick up.

Dangling leaf thin,

above the river of death that sweeps beneath me.

hanging on,

to the skinniest twig,

surrounded by thicker sturdy branches.

But any movement will break the thin delicate branch.

Looking down,

at my fate,

life comes into perspective,

something like sunshine and daises.

No boats rage below,

no ducks dip their heads,

Dying alone is worse than together.

Face death alone,

no one will cry, 

just let go,

and let life slip away.

On the tip of a mountin,

looking below.

A murder of crows vies for regenge.

I take a step foward,

carried by will,

just as I slip, I remember as well,

the life in the flowers,

curled beneath my feet,

before taking flight,

I think about defeat,

no one there at all.

I let go.

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Here comes Scarlett!

Falling leaves,

hit the ground.

Falling through the years,

brilliant vivid paints, brush these flouresent falling leaves.

Fallen Leaves,

on the ground,

graying where things are neglected. 

Falling leaves,

fall sofly,

catching up with time itself,

before hitting the ground as,

fallen leaves.

Intertwing between the days.

Fallen Leaves.

Warm and cold,
Fire and water.
Opposites attract,
Usually,
Wind and rain,
Earth and sky,
Both the same, but different,
Why?

Maybe opposites are necessary--
Enemy forces colliding, multiplying,
Regenerating, growing weaker, stronger,
Evolving.

Magic,

music.

Swirling tempo.

The bow beckons the music from inside me.

leaving little quarter notes behind.

Reaching to ballads of rosin, strings and wood.

From times of squeaky tired notes,

to times up on stage.

Glimmering,

casting wooden entranced rays around the magic,

music.

But theres  no real difference is there?

Magic.

Music.

They were both born from the same nest.

What is the meaning of life? I ask myself that question so many times that I can't remember when I last bothered to daydream.

     My dad is a very sensitive person. He listens but he doesn't. I think that he is sometimes in his own little world. He doesn't say much, and he is pretty shy. I think that he feels a little awkward in Burlington, I think this is because he lives in Mexico. He believes that his job in the family is to support them with money. He is not exactly talkative. He keeps to himself a lot. My mom says that he expresses his love in different ways. I don't think that many people understand my dad, including myself.  

    When I was four months old I moved to Mexico with my mom. My dad lives there so that was the reason we moved. My mom moved back to Oregon and then to Vermont with me, because she wanted me to get a good education. My dad stayed in Mexico though. That was where his family and his job were. About a year ago my parents divorced. Whoo hoo! Go long term relationships. (not).

    I have gotten to see my father less and less after that. He sometimes visits, about once or twice a year, three times if I'm lucky. His job kinda holds him back from coming, because he doesn't get many breaks. He was going to come for my Birthday, but at the last second, he couldn't. Because of his job of course.

Dear Amanda,

Today when I was having tea with my dolls Jack and Jill and I got the most peculiar feeling. It was like some cold shiver running down my back. I looked behind myself only to find you. Which is very odd, seeing last time I went to the graveyard you seemed quite dead.

I will write again soon! But I must go in because Mama is calling!

Love you very much,

Lucy

Dear Amanda,

It happened again today. I want to tell Mama, but I don't think she will think me sane. What should I do Amanda? What if this means I'll be dead to? I don't want to be dead. Then I will miss Mama and Papa. I don't visit the graveyard much anymore because I'm starting school. School is quite good, and the teacher is very kind. I wish you were here.

Love you very much,

Lucy

P.S. I will write again when I get a chance.

  Read more »

He used to,

He used to.

He used to.

But now he doesn't.

Because it's gone.

Spiraled inside his heart,

Was music.

But it's all gone now,

all gone now.

He used to,

he used to,

he used to.

Play music out of his soul.

Bowing across days without rozin,

trying not to squeak.

Remembering days that he was left in the car,

cold, cold, cold.

He thought that he could almost hear the music extracted out of his beaten body.

Lying there.

Broken.

His strings sqeaky,

his scroll chipped.

The music beaten out of him.

Viola.

Is no more

I walked the lines that run to your heart,

to me they are more than veins,

they are pathways, out of the dark.

You think about me,

I think about you.

It's quite simple you see,

I was meant for you.

I walked the lines that run to your heart;

To me the red that flows along,

is not blood,

but tomato soup.

You rememeber the old days?

Were we used to sit,

sipping grape juice and sweltering in the heat.

I walked the lines that run to your heart,

I have walked them again and again,

and then we come to this moment.

It's old and worn and corse.

I used to walk long pathes to your heart.

In till you came to me.

Again.

To my heart that tied it's shoes,
getting ready not to lose,
going going to use,
it's beating pace,
to win the race.

Ready ready getting ready
keep it very steady,
as you go to the start line.
It's almost time,
to make that gold medal mine.

To my heart that raced a race,
it's legs pounded at a frightening pace.
Beating, beating, ever faster.
Just to be the master,
of the race.
 

Do you really want to say,

the forbidden words on lips.

Setting fire to the rumor,

so it parches every breath.

I have seen your lines.

I have seen your tides roar up,

as inside you,

your courage fallters.

Slashing words,

Punching fists.

As inside you,

you quiver.

Like jelly.

Let this side be known, and your ''reputation'' shall fail.

Everything you have worked for has made you fall and fail.

Do you still want to say the forbidden words on lip?

Setting fire to the rumor,

Burning every bit.

Your choice is easy,

be burned by fire,

or by your own guilt.

  Read more »

Editor's note: This is the continuation of angela w's engaging conversations with her 3 year old sister scarlett. There are others, as in 8 others, that you can access by clicking on her blog link below or on her profile page. We are hoping that angela will give us a summary of all these so we can keep them straight! -- gg

talk with scarlett!!!!!!!

Blow away from the wind.

open up your favorite tin,

only to find that you'll never win

I'm seriously bad at rhyming.