scribble

The wind drifts lazily in through the open window, raising goosebumps on my bare legs... maybe it was too cold too wear shorts today. The still-new tree leaves stand out sharply against the perfectly blue sky, radiant in the sunlight. My cat, Libby, sits at the window sill. Being an indoors cat, she is consequently fascinated by outside, contantly attempting to sneak out the door when one of my younger siblings has carelessly left it ajar, but she always just freezes up once she finally manages it, petrified by the crazy, messed-up spherical thing we call home. 

People may think I am quite an ordinary person. They never expect this bookworm to be a hockey player. They don't see beyond the glasses, they do not realize I can draw a Dalek from memory. They do not see my muddy shoes and think "oh, she must know the woods well". They will never know if I can shoot a BB gun, or if I've ever been to Oregon. They will never know that I have climed Mt Cadillac. They will never look at me and assume that know the Konami code, or that I know the little green dude is Link, not Zelda. They will never think I am different than anyone else they walk by on the street. That is, until they meet me.

My stomach twists and turns. You are right there. Living, breathing, taking in whatever we are staring at. My vision is blurred by the rush of thought. You smell like cologne, and toothpaste. The bitter thoughts seep through my pores again. I can hear the inhaling and exhaling. The loud movement of your diaphragm.  My eardrums pull in tension. The scrapping of my thumb nail grinding into my palm. I use it as a distraction of the aggravating nervousness that rests at the pit of my stomach. The softness of your hands settings in. Lifting the hair off my body like an electrocution might. The feeling sending chills that raise small bumps on my skin. My body barely moves. I focus on the tension in my ears again. You rattled your vocal chords with your mouth to clear the esophagus and let out a soft cough. I feel like heat rising from my hand, the sense of your body diagonal from me. I can’t see your face, but I feel my face get hot. I get the chill from my head to my heels when your eyes rest on me. My heart is making an enormous amount of noise. As if someone is locked inside, screaming and banging. The being, scraps its hands along my insides. Read more »

I never know what to write anymore, my thoughts like the old pen I threw in the trash-- empty, all dried out and longing for ink, inspiration. A while ago, I would write a love poem, or some detailed short story, full of metaphors and complicated things not even I fully understood. Now, love, and just life in general, is complicated, and I know more people on here in person, and they know people involved with what I would write about, so one word would give it all away, and I'm simply all out of metaphors. I guess I'm mostly afraid of what people will think of my thoughts... honestly, most of them scare even myself. It's not as though I'm even good at writing-- I just have this unexplainable need to do it. Maybe that's why I'm writing this, because I can't think of any other reason-- simply to write, to get my thoughts down on paper (okay, okay-- transfigurative digital pape, but still). The more I feel the pull to write, the less I know what exactly to write about. People, mostly teachers, always say writing is difficult. That you need to edit, and edit again, making it perfect. That it's easier to write what you know. But I think that writing is more about imperfection than anything else. Imperfection equals beauty, perfection equals nice writing, but no personality. And writing about something unfamiliar, something new, ensures uniqueness and originality. You get to decide exactly how you want everything to be, instead of only basing things off what you know from day-to-day experiences. I realize that most people will completely ignore this little glimpse of... Read more »

Raindrops splatter against shattered thoughts and machines skim over roads leading nowhere, splashing through soiled puddles of discarded dreams and broken souls, making it hard to sleep. Hearing the dissonant syncopation of lightning-- the loud, harsh laugh-- and teardrops from ominous clouds, a blight upon the light of day. Branches dance, due to the exhalation of angels, but then again, maybe not. Maybe breathing isn't necessary for beings of superiority. Little feet clad in rubber boots seek to soak up the dreams, renewing them, bringing the souls back to life. To happily slop them back onto damp pavement. So often are these things forgotten, ignored. The predictable simplicity of a raindrop cast aside for the beautiful complexity of a snowflake.

it's funny how the sun starts running through everyone's minds now spring has finally sprung and suddenly everyone can look up again instead of letting sleet subdue them shuffling through six inches of slush and now that things have begun again they can bring out their daughters and sons and start gardening while the wind wages wars and the streets again begin to thrum

all winter the dusk and the dawn were ditched for this dullness, just the death of the day and then, late, the light wearily crawling back into the sky (just at the edges of our sight since we never looked up) without ever not being dead anymore and giving us no guidance as we crawled out of bed still in the dark which is a terrible thing to do alone and what a terrible time to be alone at all, in the dark and the drear and the dread forgetting how not to be alone at all, how to be more than one

and what a time to start being not so much alone, in that tentative interval between the last snowmelt and the first buds and then you and the grass seeping up all Irish Green around our feet and the first crocuses and you and all the trees blooming at once, arms hung heavy with the temptation to out-flower each other and you under them my own temptation letting me glimpse how I tempted you too and letting it all just happen like the impossiblest truth like without the weight of winter I could look you in the eye and you liked what you saw and the world and all its impossibilities opened with the sky because we could see each other in the sun  Read more »

 I still want to gather everyones experiences with bullying whether that was as a bully yourself (And you learned a lesson), a bystander, or a survivor. Below is an example from a short book so that you know what to write. I would like to take your writing and put it into a giant book to get published. It can be anonymous or say who the author was, its up to you. Please do this and once you have, message me and post it so I can gather it all. Thank you so muh ♥ No More Silence

              “I just had to write to you in regard to your item ‘Target’s that appeared in today’s (March 8) Inquirer,” wrote Ray Windsor of Lansdowne. I received several letters about that piece which concerned girl I knew in high school who was the victim of cruel and unrelenting ridicule because she was unattractive, uncool and unable to defend herself. That piece touched a chord in people, and I think Ray’s story will, too. Here it is.

“Back in high school I had to contend with many of the malicious deeds and taunts from my ‘fellow students,’ similar but different. With me, however, I was a victim of gross physical immaturity…I actually didn’t start shaving regularly until I was 25 or so. Read more »

Epologe

"Your beautiful..." the words wisper softly, then drift away like the wind...."WAIT?!"  

My eyes flutter open, I dont know where I am...my older brother is sprawled over on the chair beside my bed, and even though he was asleep he look egsausted. ...what?...what was I doing here again?  A million questions running thorugh my head, feeling overwelmed my eyes darted around the room.  White, clean, quiet, almost like...a hospital!  Not again, was this the first time?  I could hardly remember because with everything darting around in my head, I couldnt think straight.  I was soo confused, emostions filled me like nothing ive felt, getting the best of me ofcoarse 

to be continued, couldnt finish yet...

I can't hear what you're saying for the nature around me is screaming just to be heard. Nature is fighting against the man made objects surrounding society, to remind us how its still here; full of life. To escape outside away from technology and listen to what it has to say to you. Look into the distance of the woods, see how the trees go on and on, almost forever, into the depths of the woods? Notice how you're standing right in front of what could be an amazing adventure. Notice how as you walk the sound of the leaves and twigs crunching beneath your feet or if you're barefoot, the feeling of the dirt and mud between you toes. Remember how i said to notice how you're in front of the woods, well start walking. The light of the sun is shining on the outside just giving you a hint of what its about. Then see how its gets darker towards the middle, hard to tell what is in there but once you reach the end you see the light again. The woods is like a person being the inside of you, not everyone knows what is going on in there waiting to explore the depths of the woods to get to know you. The sun shining again on you is the moment when the person knows all about you and wants to explore again, and hang out some more. For in the woods there is something new to explore every time and the person you are can be discovered every day, something new to learn about. Even if you don't know yourself.

So, yes, I did "borrow" the first three lines of this from a song. I've always loved these lyrics, and tried in many different ways to use them as inspiration because I just adore the concept behind the lyrics... but anyways. The song is “Nothing Left to Say” by Imagine Dragons, one of my favorite bands.

The shadows on my wall don't sleep

They keep calling me

Beckoning

The night lights lining the hall shimmer

They keep taunting me

Drawing

The fireflies light up the night sky

They keep waking me

Summoning

The dark heavy clouds linger above

They keep singing their lullaby

Pacifying

The stars sitting in the celestial thrones

They keep whispering softly

Placating

The universe and my mind in their drowsiness

They keep moving me

Toying

And as the moon rises in the distance, shushing,

He keeps a watchful eye on me

Dreaming

I wish for universal awakening to the many current problems of the world.

I wish for everyone to be happy and contented.

Finally, I wish the forests, and desserts, and oceans, and the North, were not polluted.

#1 I wish I had the skills of the greatest soccer player in the world and the skills of the best goalie ever.

#2 I wish I had all the superpowers of all the superheroes ever created.

#3 This wish I can't say because it's a secret!

If I had three wishes

One of them would be

WORLD PEACE

Another would be

HAPPINESS

My last would be

100,000,000,000,000,000,000 MORE WISHES

1. Prosperity & Happiness

2. No worries or concerns

3. Infinite wishes

IF HAD 3 WISHES I WOULD WISH FOR

HAPPINESS  Read more »

  Read more »

My three wishes

1.A happy life

2.No pollution in the world

3.A loving family

These wishes would make the world better!

in the corner, by the heater.

place your ocean

let it fill the room, soak the

ceiling, bleed salt.

swim in your ocean.

no beach, don't worry about

sand in between your tired toes.

over there, by the bureau.

place your river.

let it fragment the room.

create a journey with your hands;

trace the ripples, trace

the tangles, feel the Read more »

Good job.

You deserve a pat on the back, kiddo.

You finally did it, eh?

Finally got somewhere else to be.

Somewhere not with me.

I'm surprised you didn't realize what a horrible, horrible person I am sooner.

But then again, it took me thirteen years,

but it only look you a few months.

I'm glad you're moved on now.

Better for you.

Better to have someone who knows what to say

when you're feeling down

better to have something stable in your life,

instead of the fragile artist that I am.

Better to be done with the trash

throw it out to the curb

and wait for the trash man (or woman) to pick me up

and put me back with the rest of the trash.

Or at least, that's what you think they'll do.

But, you see, there are some pieces of trash that do not belong in dumpsters or landfills

they would ruin the other trash,

which is already horrid.

They put me in my own little place.

You call it a breakdown

I call it a revelation.

You call it death

I call it devine retribution.

You call it the end of what was once me

I call it the beginning of something better.

But I wish that I could forget you a little more.

Your threads still

bind me to this world

if only a little.

I wish for them to become weaker so that I could leave.

But pardon me,

this poem isn't about my salvation

it's about yours.

I don't know where you found it, excatly. Read more »

Why do we write in the sand even though we know the ocean will wash it away?

Why do we trust the ones we love the most when in the end it’s everyone for themselves?

How come every time you succeed someone tries to take your spotlight?

What makes the ocean so angry that it unleashes riptides? Read more »

A blank sheet of paper

Is like the sky on a cloudless day

One solid color

Yet a brightly painted picture

A drawing of possibility

Of creating something new

It can always be changed 

But should never be erased

My ponytail tucked tightly against my head

Only one loose thread

It's kind of brownish red

Stringy, and stale

But goes perfectly with my skin tone, pale

Then theirs my legs

Tall unbalanced pegs

My nails arent that great

Just clear slates

And I know I must sound like a torn up rag doll

But someone has to take the fall

My belt looped tightly around my waist

Now all that's left to judge is my dark freckled face.

I wish for million wishes. Spread them throughout the world.  Let the people decide.

They would be:

To not get in fights with my friend or family

To not have a peanut allergy

And to be a famous writer.

I get angry a lot. 

Angry at the girls in their breathtaking dresses.

Angry at the perfect couples, that maybe, aren't really so perfect after all.

I get angry at the people that can write, draw, sing, and look flawless all of the time.

Now, I'm not sure if I'm angry at them, or myself for not being able to do, or be, any of that.

I don't like to make eye contact a lot. 

It scares me. 

I get angry at the people that love me, for loving me.

I know there's better people out there to love.

So why love me?

It's strange.

I get angry a lot.

As soon as I walk

out of the

musty, sticky, sweaty

classroom, I feel relief.

Vacation. At last.

Vacation is finally here.

I am free.

Summer is the best time of the year.

No school. No rules.

Freedom.

Freedom!

I wish that everyone could be proud of themselves for a change. I wish that I could help discover the cure for cancer. I wish that I could have enough money to give back to people who have guided me along in life, people who have given me a chance, and people who have showed me how it’s okay to be who I want to be.

i can't do this forever, you know.

i can't keep

thinking of new, creative ways

to get myself numb, and

it seems that

i always return to 

my dark,

sweet,

home.

even though i know,

one day,

i'll be gone. 

i'll be gone.

and i won't be able

to come back.

I would wish for happiness, a million dollars, and support. A million dollars so I can sustain a lifestyle, get enough food, and pay for my children. When I say support I mean outelets where I can be myself and let all the stress and anger out and be at my worst but the people I'm around understand and no matter what, I know they will always love me.