i. If there's anything I've learned about writing, it's that, you write your thoughts down when they come to you. Always have a pen (something to write with is optional. I always new my skin was paper-white for a reason). No matter how beautiful the thought is, you'll forget it if you wait.
ii. Every worried phone call I've made has only solidified my relationship with the recipient.
iii. History class--
head -> desk.
Out like a light.
Rain coming in through
getting the floor
Rain coming in through
distractions... Read more »
An April snowfall.
Missing springtime already.
I sat in the grass
while my mother & sister planted a peony garden
along the curb of our driveway.
I had to
(I got burnt anyway. Y'all know me. Pale as pale can be.)
I do hope the peonies don't die.
I planted Susan the tomato on
she is living on the windowsill in my kitchen &
I hope she doesn't die.
I made cookies today. Read more »
Hey, guys. Click the link. Add your name.
Have you heard that right-wing groups like Focus on the Family and the American Family Association are insisting that gays and lesbians should be disqualified from serving on the Supreme Court?
It's outrageous. With a Supreme Court vacancy opening up after the retirement of Justice John Paul Stevens, I just signed a letter to President Obama insisting that sexual orientation should NOT be a factor in selecting his Supreme Court nominee. Read more »
Swore off love addled poetry in grade eight when my words were dripping with angst & I didn't really know what love was.
Sometimes I wonder what love really is & I wonder if I really know what it is & I think I do because sometimes I'm so sure of it I'd bet my life on it but other times...
Love isn't anything permanent. I've learned as much from my extended family. Read more »
Once upon a time Little girl wondered why the
sky was blue & the grass was green.
Daddy told her that was
just the way things were &
she need not worry about it or spend her time on
thinking about such trivial things.
The sky is the sky &
the grass is the grass.
The colors don't matter & thinking about them was a waste of time.
Little Girl didn't believe him.
She thought about them anyway.
She thought about how maybe
God made the sky blue to
make the people happy, because,
blue was a very nice color.
She thought about how maybe God made the Read more »
My parents have never been the sentimental type. I've heard the story of how they met once or twice, from my aunt. Never from them. I've never heard my mom talk about their wedding, I've never heard my father talk about the proposal. The only thing my mother ever said about it was that my father didn't dance with her. Not even at their wedding. Read more »
So, as many of you know the Champlain College Young Writers' Conference is coming up (you should all apply! Submissions are due by April 10 http://www.champlain.edu/Young-Writers-Conference/Application-and-Fees.html)
I have the problem that I cannot decide which piece to submit.
Anyone care to help me decide?
I've narrowed it down to three...
http://youngwritersproject.org/node/37791 (Fire Places-- Poetry)
http://youngwritersproject.org/node/36568 (Medication-- Poetry) Read more »
Rain is falling & all I can think of is how much I have to do & how much I have to say & how come? & why is? & who said?--
Who said high school had to be like this?
Once upon a time school was about going & learning & being with friends & understanding & now...
Now it's just... sitting & listening to teachers I couldn't care less about & geometry. Oh how I hate geometry.
I want more creative writing classes!
I need poetry & prose let into my schedule somewhere because somehow the musings I scribble in the margins of my biology binder are never very pretty. Read more »
Heart-- mind. (the same?)(no)
Mind over matter? (do things ever work out that way?)(no)
Neither of us really know what we're doing.
This is a healing process.
Made up of
tea, tears, midnight writings on the backs of song lyrics.
Hair pinned back with a comb-- 75 years old.
I never met my grandmother.
She died before my birth.
Her name was Camille. She lived in Maine her entire life & she always had perfect hair.
She gave me my middle name.
I never met my other grandmother either.
She died of cancer before my birth. Read more »
Don't really know where this is going. Ideas?
There are lots of things in this world that I don't understand.
I don't understand why today was such a beautiful day.
I don't understand why none of my teachers would go let us sit in the sun (not even for a minute).
I don't understand love.
I don't understand high school.
I don't understand pain.
I don't understand the concept of understanding.
Sometimes I wonder why we have to understand.
Why must we understand love?
Isn't it beautiful enough on its own? Read more »
I write you letters now.
Black ink fountain pen.
Spiraling, nonsensical musings
thick notebook paper
(sometimes- bright white torn from my sketchbook
I like the idea that I'm the kind of person who carries a sketchbook).
They (I) never make sense.
Sometimes I wonder if you
I ramble-- Science class-- Read more »
"On any given day you'll find me gone..."
I've been listening to Carbon Leaf quite a bit lately. I'm not really sure why. I only have three of their songs, but they've been stuck on repeat on my iPod now for about a week.
I spent the past week in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Eating cupcakes & Indian food & drinking expensive tea.
You told me you loved me on a Monday night.
Your hair falls onto you forehead perfectly in black-brown curls & your eyes are always happy.
I've missed you now for about a week.
5. Read more »
The final draft of my short story for English class...
_____________________ Read more »
A short story I wrote for my English class.
My problem-- the end. It's just kind of like "What?"
Any suggestions for how to end it?
______________________________________ Read more »
Haven't let my fingers breathe
for a good couple months now.
They miss that freedom, the computer keys.
I've never been able to handwrite
My mind works faster than the pen.
Computer keys make clicking noises
not quite as
perfect as a typewriter
a happy medium
(seeing as I
do not own a typewriter).
on my bed
last night and
how much I missed this
The aesthetic is a part of it, as we all know.
I love our conversations
they have been
sane Read more »
(An English assignment. Based loosely on Allen Guinsberg's "Is About").
Heap is about
reality, Read more »
An English assignment- describe the character's personality type in a situation.
It's a work in progress, but as we all know, I struggle with where to take things next. I also think a lot of the wording sounds a little off. Help would be greatly appreciated. Read more »
I have this theory- funerals for people who were loved are always held on beautiful days.
It's the end of January in Denver, Colorado. It's always sunny here, I forget that sometimes. I used to live here. I lived here for most of my life, for some reason I always think of it in the summertime. Sunshine goes with summertime in my mind, along with green grass, blooming flowers, & bicycles.
I haven't been here in the winter for about 3.5 years. & I've never spend just four days here.
The funeral is at 2pm, because of the time change that means my body will think it's about 4pm. Read more »
I’ve started shrinking away when certain people try to hug me. They say things that make me mad & it always reminds me that they are not my best friends. They are people who I spend abnormal amounts of time with. I miss it when we were all young, naive. None of us really had anything to worry about. We worried about boys, of course. Who asked who to dance and who liked who and who maybe liked us… Read more »
(I'll write more later.)
"Anna, I need to talk to you and your sister."
"No, privately. When are you and Breanna going to be done with French?"
"I dunno, twenty minutes?"
"Okay." Read more »
Sometimes I miss sunshine. Not very often (I’ve never been one for warm weather), but sometimes all I want is summer time. This begins to happen especially around this time of the year. Mid-January. The holiday season is over, there are no breaks from school for quite a while and the only time anything seems beautiful is when it’s snowing. I love the snow. I’ve always loved the snow. I started skiing, literally, before I could walk. My father had one of those little backpack things that you can put babies in and ski down the mountain with them. Apparently I used to love it. Read more »
A poem I am in the process of writing for my English class. It's supposed to be based loosely on Allen Ginsberg's poem- Is About (http://www.writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/ginsberg-is-about.html). The things in in up typeface are things I still need to write stanzas on... I would very much appreciate help with it. Mostly with flow, rhymes, content... Also- my last line. I have no idea what to do with it.
Heap is about Read more »
Snow falls and it is beautiful.
My fingers are ice cubes and I can't even feel my toes.
My window is wide open- as always.
I have Tibetan prayer flags hanging from a wall, cutting right above a Janis Joplin poster and a painting of an iris.
I found monogrammed tissues on my floor and the only thing I could think was "Why would anyone ever want monogrammed tissues?"
"Take these sunken eyes and learn to see..." Read more »
I was raised knowing
there is never such thing as music that is
I don't really know what's going on with this... It doesn't make very much sense in my head, I don't really know how to make it make sense... Suggestions?
Fire places are terrible places to raise children
the smoke gets into their lungs
& the flames burn their skin
& needless to say these children never turn out quite right.
Their eyes- forever a smoky blue-gray.
Their hair- a little too dull to be blond & a little too pale to be brown.
Their skin- white. Ashen.
I was raised in a fire place. Read more »
i. It amazes me sometimes- how quickly I can train my fingers to type a certain word or phrase.
ii. My sister sister has become that person I hated going through middle school and I wish there was something I could do about it. She comes home and talks about "that weird girl" who sits in the back and hums to herself and how weird she is. I just want to look at her and yell at her "That was me! Don't you get it?". But no. I am silent. Of course she doesn't get it. She is the kind of person that doesn't get any of it. Read more »