Jun 08
Fiona Ella's picture

words (a rant)

a few disclaimers: 
first, i fully ackowledge that screaming "fuck" down the hallway
was not the most mature or sensible way for him to respond. 
second, i recognize that the word "slut" is not one meant to be used in polite company,
that it carries enough connotations
that even i, 
embracer of profanity, 
don't use it. 
i don't see, however, why quoting it as said by someone else
is disrespectful. 
thirdly, 
i acknowledge that, as this is your school (sort of)
you have the right to attempt to keep goings on
safe and appropriate for all students. 
with this taken into account, 
i object. 
i object to the tone you used when you stepped out, 
after lingering behind a wall for the duration of our conversation, 
disrespecful and borderline threatening. 
it is the tone of voice which suggests
you are all too familiar with the casual use of the words
you vetoed. 
May 22
Fiona Ella's picture

fear

i used to say i was afraid of going insane. 
which is true. 
insanity is terrifying. 
but i've been thinking
that even though there's a specific phobia name
for going insane. 
sometimes, 
i'm a controlling person. 
i have to have both the remotes near me when i'm watching things. 
like the world might end if someone else adjusts the volume. 
and in a way i think i'm afraid of going insane
because insanity is the ultimate loss of control. 
the same way i'm afraid of drugs
of alcohol
and anaesthetics 
because those lower your inhibitions. 
your control. 
like maybe i'm afraid
that if i lost control, 
if i stopped inhibiting myself, 
then the person it uncovered
might not be someone
i want to be. 

an incoherent thought i first had at like one in the morning. i know it's short. 
 
May 16
Fiona Ella's picture

cursing my brain out (politely)

i don't like to talk. 
well i do, 
i talk a lot. 
i like joking around. 
but i don't like going deeper. 
i don't like telling people how i feel--
maybe because i always cry, 
or maybe i always cry because i'm not used enough 
to discussing my feelings
to know how not to cry. 
or maybe because i like denial
and if i'm upset and can just sulk
i don't have to say "i'm upset"
so in a way i don't have to really be upset.
i like to say my thoughts make sense. 
which isn't really true. 
i'm mean to myself
so no one else has to be.
i cut myself down before anyone else can
to ensure i won't be disappointed. 
somehow, it generally doesn't work. 
i don't have a clue who i am
or who i'm supposed to be, 
just this mess of a teenager
who constantly takes on different characters
different semblances
trying to find someone to strive to be
Apr 09
Fiona Ella's picture

to the teachers who think i have a time machine

so, 
do teachers not understand time? 
does it not enter their brains
that if i left at eight o'clock a.m. on friday
and returned eleven o'clock sunday night--
and was quite literally busy the entire time
then i actually, physically could not have done the homework. 
screw school policy 
and screw the rules there should be
you can't expect a student to follow a rule 
when they're not allowed to. 
do you not understand that? 
if you wanted us to do the homework in time, 
then maybe you should have posted it 
at a time when we actually could do it. 
this isn't just our fault, you know.
students
are not grade-making machines
with all the time in the world to stay up
obediently slaving at a computer. 
we can't put up
with everyone expecting us to be perfect. 
it's a privilege to go on a field trip. 
so it's a privilege to be given no time to do homework
Mar 29
Fiona Ella's picture

so what happened?

i remember when i was in first grade
we learned the alphabet. 
the teacher stood up in front of the classroom every day for a week
teaching us all the possible nuances there could be
of the letter "a." 
meanwhile i sat in the back fuming
because my mother started teaching me to read
when i was going into kindergarten. 
for god's sake, 
i knew what an "a" looked like.
in second grade one of my classmates told me proudly
that he was illiterate. 
i remembered wondering why on earth that would be a good thing. 
i had a lot of problems in third grade
but my academic performance was not one of them. 
going into fourth grade my parents looked at other schools for me
and i shadowed a student for one day. 
in the car going home, i excitedly told my parents we'd had a spelling test--
the words were actually hard, 
and i'd even gotten one of them wrong. 
i was overjoyed. 
Mar 20
Fiona Ella's picture

dear mr substitute

"this is math class"
he says
"of course you're going to do math. 
what else are you gonna do, 
write a poem or something
stupid
like that?"
he goes away muttering
"can't make any money off of that." 
thank you 
ever so much for enforcing your philosophy on us. 
i like poetry. 
we are teenagers,
not moneymaking machines
and you are a substitute, 
not our teacher. 

i'm sorry. the math sub insulted poetry to the entire class and i needed to rant. 
 
Mar 09
Fiona Ella's picture

nice little song

this is something i made more than a month ago at this point and it just kind of slipped my mind to post it. i think it sounds pretty nice, it's one of the only things i planned out before i hit the actual software, which is probably why it's almost entirely piano. i'm still touching it up and might post a revised version at some point, but here you go: 

i was thinking of the lie tree by frances hardinge when i composed it, but upon reviewing it i realized that this was absolutely nonindicative of the book. so if you're like me and you fit music to things, fit it to whatever you want. enjoy?
 
Feb 22
Fiona Ella's picture

calming

there's something reassuring
about the plain rhythm of gloves on a bag. 
after days of being lost, 
unmoored, 
six hours from home and trying to be a tourist
all while wrestling with sickness. 
there's something about traveling 
that raises all these lost, uncertain feelings
like your own head is trying to tip the world off balance
or like you're not necessarily
you 
anymore. 
alone in the basement 
being able to beat out your frustrations
calms me down. 
stops my head whirling. 
i only really think of people who get out their feelings
with violence
as those maniacs on midsomer murders 
with no impulse control
but yet here i am. 
it clears my head 
much the same way, i imagine, running does--
but whenever i run my mind wanders
and i end up stuck within myself again. 
here there is only
trying to get the angle right so i don't hurt my hand
Feb 13
Fiona Ella's picture

bothers me a little

in middle school
i was told my grades didn't really matter
that seventh and eighth grade 
were more a test of your ability to survive highly unpleasant social conditions
than anything like academic prowess. 
that was all right, 
i didn't feel really compelled to fail--
school was easy, anyways. 
i tried to fail one class and scraped by with a 90. 
in high school 
suddenly i feel as if
grades are everything. 
not because anyone's told me specifically, 
but because of the underlying sentiment. 
think of your gpa!
colleges look at those. 
everything counts

it's meant to be motivating, 
maybe. 
i'm supposed to be encouraged
that all of my work today is going to the purpose of sending me to college,
even the mandatory, somewhat pointless health and diversity. 
really,
it's just more pressure. 
i am fourteen years old. 
not even fifteen. 
Feb 08
Fiona Ella's picture

sleeplessness

11 p.m. 
i finish sketching out music--
too few lines, 
too simple
but maybe it'll come to something
when i can hear what i'm writing down. 
turn of the light and go to bed. 
the house clicks and the dark writhes. 
it's too quiet. the quiet feels cold. 
i'm still sore
from self defense class on sunday. 
some nights it's like
the universe shifts and gets this off-kilter feeling. 
lying there
trying to think of something solid
but it all gives way. 
my identity, 
i'm too young and still changing. 
my writing, 
too uncertain. 
school, 
ugh. 
(not much chance of a delay tomorrow
with the snow having already stopped and all. 
pity. 
it was pretty. i always sleep easier
when something's falling out of the sky.)
the eventuality of death,
just morbid. 
the ground. 
that's good, the ground is solid. 
but... 

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