Izziey's blog

She walked across campus; purple wig and green striped tights and bright red lipstick and combat boots and leather jacket. The persona drew many stares, but it was not an act; just her true witchy self showing through as it occasionally did. 

mother says
you can pick one thing
what do you want
too many shelves
too loud too many choices
too bright 
mother says
pick something already
we don't have all day
this is not enough time to make a decision
it is too loud too bright
now mother is yelling
get ahold of yourself dammit
you're an embarrassment
this is why I don't take you out in public
stop crying stop making that face
stop stop stop
too many people
people staring
people averting their eyes and
"retard"
whispered harshly from the fat lips of
men who will never understand

I stayed true to my word. I've been writing you letters. I don't think you'll ever fully understand how much I love you. I never knew it was possible to miss one person this much, and although you say you miss me too, I don't think you really do; not as much as I miss you, anyway.

I've been writing you letters but I never write exactly what I want to tell you. My words get lost between what I mean and what you want me to mean. I only wish you could someday love me as much as I love you, even though I know you never will. Read more »

I think I’ve reached my max and now I’m regressing back to childhood. I was a child prodigy and now look,
look at me.

I’m nothing.

i) I miss the ocean.
I still have dreams every night about the waves
consuming me.

ii) I’m certain that I visit
other worlds
in my dreams.
They all take place in a time before I had
thoughts or words,
only emotions with no name.
Maybe I’m remembering before my birth.

iii) Consciousness with
movement, but stillness.
Sound, but silence.
Thoughts, but no understanding.
Dark, but light.
There is some alien universe
that I visit.
I am trapped in it. Read more »

“It’s been happening more and more, and I’m scared. I can’t remember if I used to have a reason for crying; I’m certain I did once, but not anymore. Now it’s just like I stumble by mistake onto a water slide and once I’m on it there’s no slowing down. No matter what I say or do or think, even, there’s no stopping it. Read more »

It feels like we're always pulling at strings,
two amateur puppeteers tugging blindly,
still unsure of which string does what.
There is always that tension,
that unease that makes us tread lightly,
for fear of pulling the wrong string by mistake. Read more »

We stay up all night talking and I say your name in a small childish voice and you look at me, and I wonder if you are examining my face as closely as I am examining yours. Read more »

4 years old. Picking berries.
One berry falls out of my bucket, onto the ground.
I explode.
I dump my whole entire bucket of berries,
start stomping on them,
the whole while screaming and sobbing
that my berries are stupid.
Stupid berries.
“BERRIES ARE STUUUUPIIIIDDDDD.” Read more »

The people I miss the most are the people I’ve never even met.
—————————————————————————————————
I scratched 10 new lines, neat and even, across my forearm yesterday; I don’t know why.
————————————————————————————————— Read more »

i. she found me curled up on the bench outside,
& i hoped my tears had dried and vanished in the breeze,
but i didn't dare brush my hand across my cheek to check.

ii) you need to shut your mouth.
i don't want to hear another word from you for the rest of class.
do you understand me?!!

iii) so i shut my mouth
& crossed my arms
& held back an uncomfortable laugh
& didn't say another word for the rest of class. Read more »

just watch it just watch it just watch it just watch it
you'll become numb after a while
it won't bother you anymore
just watch it just watch it just watch it
no no no no i can't
just watch it just watch it
no i'm going to be sick
just watch it just watch it
don't look away
you just have to watch it
just watch it just watch it just watch it just watch it

Sure, my flute’s great and all,

but the cello is an instrument you can really

fall in love with.

Violinstuff.mp3

A song I just finished writing. It consists of a flute, a clarinet, and two violins.

Green Day .mp3

I started learning the guitar a while ago, but quit after about a week. I picked it up again yesterday, and learned this song in the past two days.

I'm very proud of myself for this because it is the very first time I've ever succeeded at playing and singing at the same time. So I felt like sharing it.

I messed up on a few of the words, but whatever. Here you go.

I remember now.

I never did want to grow up.

I didn't know him
but I could have,
he just as easily could have been
a friend,
an acquaintance,
even just a random kid
at my school.
Before today I'd never even
heard his name.
But who says that
next time it will be
a stranger?
(because as much as we'd like to hope
this was the last one,
we all know that there will always
be a next time.) Read more »

I walk into school
and the blood is pounding
in my ears in my chest
and my backpack is light on my back,
light but heavy,
heavy because I know what it hides,
heavy because I can feel the contents
pressing hotly against my back,
heavy with the weight of all I hate,
heavy but light,
light because of what lingers inside,
light because I know
it will be empty soon empty soon. Read more »

"Izziey's sleeping."
The all too familiar whisper
caught my ear for a moment
before I drifted off again.

Only the occasional footstep or
whisper of my name
hit my barely conscious ear.
The rest just passed over,
unnoticed.
The buzz of hallway chatter,
school gossip,
none of it important enough.
My mind's gears were set
to wake only
to the ring of the school bell. Read more »

the day after vacation is always
different
it’s like the first day of school
because everyone is fresh and new and
rested
(or maybe not so much)
and people have new haircuts
and new clothes
and cheeks are rosier
and you know, faces look less
dead
less zombie-like
(because school turns us all
into zombies after
a while)

(For our end-of-unit writing assignment in English class)
Imitation of “The Gift of the Magi” Read more »

"Shovel shovel shovel."
"Sir."
"Shovel shovel shovel."
"Sir, are you okay?"
"No, I'm just shoveling."
"Shoveling."
"Yes, fancy that, shoveling in the middle of summer."
"Sir, it's not summer."
"Yes, the middle of summer. Summer summer summer."
"Sir, it's winter."
"Winter."
"It's winter, sir."
"Fancy that, snow in the middle of winter."
"Sir?"
"I'm shoveling."
"I see. Sir, are you okay?"
"There's snow, I have to shovel. Did you find it?"
"Find it?"
"Yes, did you find it?" Read more »

I've had a taste
of life on the edge,
life on the bad side.
(And it's hard to tell,
but I think
I want it back.)

I sat with him.
Just one day,
that's all it took
for the glimmer
of the knife,
the rush of
the excitement,
the adrenaline.
The nervousness
of the unknown,
the unexpected,
the unplanned.
And the anticipation
of what might happen
if these knives
fell into the wrong hands.
(But who says our hands
are the right ones?) Read more »

"I just... need this. I need YWP. I need these people, this place. It's the only thing that keeps me insane."

"Insane? Don't you mean sane?" Read more »

Writing about writing.
It’s like dreaming about dreaming;
where does one dream end?
the other begin?
It’s like a Midsummer Night’s Dream.
It’s like a story
within a story
within a story
within a story.
A picture
within a picture.
It’s 1000 tales
for 1000 nights.
It’s like running barefoot
through piles and piles
of crisp autumn leaves.
Crunch,
crunch,
crunch.
Or crunching raw carrot sticks.
There’s always a crunch.
The crunch of broken glass; Read more »

The cello
is a fascinating
instrument, and
I am
in love
with it
because it
sings the notes
that I
cannot.

So I'm sitting here on the bus,

looking for inspiration.

We're headed for Quechee

for a volleyball game.

I just ate 3 and a half pieces of pizza  Read more »

You spin moonbeams from clouds,
and cotton candy from cobwebs
hidden in the corners.
You trace your autumn leaves
onto my toes,
so that I can walk on
comfort and colour, and
I carve you stones with
hidden love notes in the ridges;
only you know how to read them.
As if your handwriting is
new, pure, innocent,
the curls and heights and dips and blocks
are all in the right places,
the letters attach just right,
each word separate, yet
fitting perfectly into the lines.
You hold the pen Read more »

Read more »

Back before the cool kids wrote poetry,
and only old-fashioned snobs drank tea,
a girl who was born loved ampersands,
and writing came alive through her hands.
As she grew older, or so it seems,
others were slowly lured in by her dreams,
caught up in the cobwebs of her mind,
and not a single parent could find
the cause of this "childish nonsense", they said.
They decided something was wrong with her head.
But she kept getting older,
and stronger, and bolder,
and she sat up in trees Read more »