Magzdoodle's blog

I put the sauce on my spaghetti for the first time tonight.

They always give me too much - too much spaghetti, too much sauce, too many meatballs.

But when I say less, they hardly change it, even thought they asked for my opinion - asked how much I wanted. They ask and pretend that they care, but just keep talking. Ignoring me. Just not listening.

I ask if I can handle my spaghetti. They just scoff, act offended that I don't trust their spaghetti-dealing abilities.

The ridiculous stabs the center of my stomach, ridding my hunger.

i.
I fall uncontrollably in and out of sleep.

A strange sensation, hearing the beginning of one conversation and waking up to the end of another. Opening my eyes to see that the TV is on a new channel, a show I wasn't watching before. The lighting is darker or brighter, depending on how much I slept.

ii.
In the shower, I notice for the first time how much weight I've lost. My hips are jutting out and my legs seem empty.

iii.
I can't walk. My head is too heavy and my body shakes too much.

iv.

I'm starting
To close all the
Cupboards and doors
That you insisted on keeping
Open.

You think there's something wrong
With always wanting to be
Alone,
But we both know
That we do not think
The same ways.

These past few months
Have been happier
Without your ups and downs
That I never understood,
Happier
Than I think you'll ever know.

I wish you could
See the world
Through my eyes,
Wish you could
Take the time
To close all the cupboard doors.

Happiness can be found
Anywhere that you want,
Wherever you wish to create it.

And maybe

There is something calming about the night, something peaceful.

There is so much I could be doing right now, so much that I should be doing right now.

Homework and studying and preparing myself for things that I don't care all that much about.

Sometimes I enjoy the assignments. But not when it's late at night and the house is quiet. Not when I start thinking like this and writing. Especially not when I start writing.

The days
used to be full
of monotony.

The sky
a boring gray,
My hands
empty;
idle.

The days
used to be so plain,
so foreign.

And now
Everything that I hear
is music.

The forks are jangling
in the soapy sink water
and the footsteps
always keep a steady beat.

I blink with colors
that belt out the chromatics
of undying happiness
and life.

The silence
used to scare me
But even that
now has rhythm.
Allargandos-
Long and stretched out,
But always
Still Alive.

Sometimes
I run out of breath
in the middle of a song,
but I know

Emotions come in waves, rising and falling in predictable yet surprising patterns.

I am surrounded by happiness, enveloped in its aura. Breathing the pleasant scent - vanilla flowerbeds with the small hint of cookie dough and mint.

I breathe it all in without thinking twice. I breathe and I breathe and I breathe and it smells so good and I can't help it. My nose fills up and my heart is so full and my head is spinning spinning spinning, high with adrenaline and hope, passion.

I kick snow chunks ahead of me until they disappear.

About halfway home, I lift my hood to warm my ears.
Nothing else is cold. Just my ears. My small little ears.

Bits and pieces of prose develop in my head, writing themselves and repeating so I can remember later on. But then I get distracted and they dissolve and disperse and become one and escape my memory. Beautiful words are just gone.

There are people living in my head.

They are beautiful and perfect. Their skin is flawless and their faces are wonderful.

They do not ever stutter, unless they are trying to appear to be innocent or scared or even cute. Everything is intentional.

They change their names to fit their faces, and change their faces to fit their words, their actions.

Their hair is always just the right shade, just the perfect length. They never have haircuts; their hair does not grow, like them - they do not age. Never will they age.

With my feet gliding
Along the
Smooth, fresh ice
I can almost imagine
I am finally
Flying.

If only
I could close my eyes
And skate through the rink
Forever-
If only
I could remain
So alive
Forever-

If only
Everything
Was as simple
As my feet on the ice
And the cold air on my face,
The rush in my body
And the poetry releasing
In my heart.

If only
Everything
Was this simple.

Oh, Meghann,
I hope you know
I have not forgotten you.

Oh, Meghann,
I hope you know
You are still constantly in my thoughts.

Did you know
That I thought
We would remain best friends
Forever?
That I thought
We would grow up together
And be the godparents
Of each others children?

And I know now
That maybe we won't do
Everything
Together
Anymore,
And maybe
We won't see much
of each other
Later on in our lives,
But you will always
Be my best friend-
My first and truest friend
That I ever had
(and probably ever will).

I could never
Forget you,

I carried the music stands to the awaiting bus outside the school. It was cold, but not too cold; there was the cool breeze on my bare legs.

What I miss most in the winter is wearing shorts or skirts. Or maybe just having a reason to dress up for sports. Either way, I am sick of the monotonous jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie that confine my winter attire.

It is only December and I am already bored with the season, bored with the cold and the ice on my way home from school. Bored with begging for snow days and only being granted false hope.

i.
Winter is finally here for good.

I stayed after school just a little longer than normal. Tried to find a ride home. I didn't want to walk through the snow. I didn't want to walk past him - walk past everything that is so full of him because of how much he is lacking in it. Everything that is now so empty.

ii.
I slipped and stumbled home. The whiteness stuck to the bottom of my shoes and crawled up my pant legs. Tiny snowflakes found their way to my eyelashes and the stray wisps of my hair.

When I wake up, I can hear my dad outside shoveling the snow from the driveway.

One of my cats is curled up at my side.

The spot near my fee is cold. The spot where he should be is empty.

I stumble to the bathroom, drunk with sleepiness. I don't need to be cautious anymore, I don't need to worry about tripping over his small and excited paws.

I pull the curtain back to glimpse the deep darkness of the morning, pull it back to glimpse the deep white snow.

We bought him a new cat bed, with red on the outside and fluffy white fabric where he could lay, picking out the colors so they would look perfect with his black and white fur. And he did. He looked perfect.

We put the bed upstairs in our bedroom and he instantly crawled up into it, like it was his all along. Like he knew we had picked it out especially for him. And he loved it. He looked perfect and he loved it.

This was Black Friday, only a few weeks ago. And now he's gone.

I know
the water is hot,
burning my flesh,
but all I can feel
is the coldness
inside.

As much
as I scrub,
the tears will not erase
from this stained face-

Tiny drops
of crimson wine
glued to the whiteness
of my skin.
Tiny drops
that will never erase,
forever stuck
in my mind.

He did not know where he was going, or why he was here. Something was simply pulling him along the pathway, an oversized magnet that had smitten his body with electromagnetism.

Is this what had happened to everyone else? They felt a pull and they followed it, until they disappeared into God knows where? Was he foolish, then, to continue his journey?

The dust rose up around her as she continued trudging along the desolate path. The bare trees were her only companions, their empty arms falsely protecting her from the elusively somber sky. She would glimpse up every now and then to check if they sky was still that awful gray, reaching around the tree branches as if to bend down and scoop her up into the terrifying unknown.

Her insides shook just imagining what the tiny fingers would feel like around her body, just imagining where those tiny fingers took the rest of the bodies on this earth.

Each time I fall asleep,
It's like falling into your arms
Once more.

And maybe
if I try hard enough,
I'll be able to feel you breathe.

Everything is different
in the dark,
after all,

and after all we've been through
you'd expect my fingertips
to not flutter

at the though of another chance
to be with you.

Watching your chest simply
rise and fall
is a perfection no one can begin
to explain.

How much
I would love
to reach out and touch
something so simple
and pure.

And sometimes
our eyes still catch
for a few soft moments
and I wonder

i.
The runemarks of her
many mismatched paper cuts-
tiny incisions to the deepest sections
of her heart,
tiny reminders
of the deepest blood
in her arms-
tell the story she jots
in her hidden notebooks,
The story she writes
so no one will forget
what she knows.

She writes these poems
to release the soul
sitting beneath the depths
of her soft and flabby skin.

ii.
At the end of the day,
all that matters
is what she did
to keep the balance,
keep the groove.
Breathe here, breathe there-
One step, two.

iii.
We work so hard
to make it to the top
but in the end

i.
We left our hearts
out on that field
and all I want
is for them to come back.

All we wanted
was history.
All we wanted
was to make history.
And we did-
WeDid WeDid WeDid.

ii.
Maybe everyday
we're making history,
Maybe everyday
we're doing something
that will somehow affect tomorrow.

Maybe the soccer team
wins the state championships
every year
and that alone is history.

But then what is a neglected
wimpy little
girls field hockey team,
who hasn't won a single game in
Two Full Years called
when they finally catch the fire
and believe,
and grow,

Essay for AP English about "My Personal American Dream." It ended up being more of an overall story of my life. Ha.

LEE! I don't directly mention you in this, but there were a few parts that were slightly aimed you way...soo read this if you get a chance :)

By the way, I miss you very much, YWP!!

==================================================================

They stare
Almost past me,
A monotonous grayish blue
That shines so indifferently,
Careless of the circumstances.

I wish they would shine brighter,
Maybe turn bluer,
But never lose that glossied
Brilliance.

Even
When she throws her head back
In deep laughter,
I can see those strong creases
In her forehead,
Still see
Her furrowed brow.

I want to reach up
And gently stroke the pain away.

Her eyes
Reveal so much of her,
So much I thought I'd never understand.
Yet here I am,
Staring right into her soul.


But everything around us
Remains a whizzing blur,

I haven't been writing lately.

Haven't had the time, I suppose.

But at the same time, I feel like I've grown out of YWP. It makes me so sad. Like, breathtakingly sad.

I had the sudden urge to read through all my blog posts tonight, and I've realized how much I've grown up through these poems and stories and rants and proses. I have grown up so much!

For AP English, we had to write 3 college essays. By tomorrow (Monday), we need to have our favorite essay picked so we can distribute it to "mock colleges" in our classroom. I desperately need help - I can't pick my favorite one!! I would greatly appreciate some/ any/ all advice...Thanks!

Watchful of Time
http://youngwritersproject.org/node/34317

Who Has Written This
http://youngwritersproject.org/node/34508

Under the Influence
http://youngwritersproject.org/node/34316

-Magz :)

This is my 3rd college essay for an AP English project. One of the essays had to be a "stretch" essay. hm. I kind of strayed from the topic. Advice on this piece is especially appreciated- does this even make sense?

AP English college essay...

Prompt (paraphrased because I don't feel like typing it all out): Beauty is everywhere. What's something you love because it reflects a kid of idiosyncratic beauty? These things can reveal (or conceal) our identity; so describe something that tells us who you are (or aren't).

(Again, sorry for the awful title.)

Sorry for my total lack of YWP-ness. There is literally no spare second of my days/ weeks that I can possibly do something besides homework/ school/ practice/ sleeping. Ugh. But anyway, for AP English, we've been practicing writing college essays.

Prompt: Describe a character in fiction, a historical figure, or a creative work (as in art, music, science, etc) that has had an influence on you, and explain that influence.

Sorry for the lame title.

I was sitting on the front of the boat as we sped across the lake, the warm sun melting the drops of water that were left on my body from tubing. The wind ferociously blew my hair in every direction, blew into my eyes along with water spray and the sharp summer sun rays, forcing me to squint.

The water was so calm and the boat was so loud that we didn't have to say anything. But if we did, I knew it would be just as comforting as this peacefulness. Girl talk and giggles and smiles and pictures.

At the end of June, I attended the Rotary Youth Leadership Award (RYLA) conference. It was amazing and fun and eye-opening and AWESOME. They had us write ourselves letters on the last day about our favorite memories, what we learned, and goals for the next school year. They mailed us these letters last week (you should have seen me when I got mine). My letter really made me think and smile and reminisce etc, and I felt obliged to share it...

so much depends
upon

a black spider
crawling

down the side
of the dresser

beside my abandoned
bed.