i have a week and a half, maybe two, before school starts. tenth grade, which means more homework. i did my back-to-school shopping today. i still haven't done my precourse work or the essay that i need to write for the experiment in international living by september first. i know i nee to do them both, but it's too easy to put it off and blame my parents for forgetting to remind me. and now i'm back in that august frame of mind where i'm bored of all this doing-nothing, ready for something to start up, ready to see my friends again, almost even ready to eat lunch at the same time each day but i don't want this to ever end, i don't want to go back. not to my reportedly-insane geometry teacher, not to the institution to more stress. and-- ugh-- to homework. back to scalding tea in a to-go cup
A summer came and passed by fast. Leaving nothing but empty mass. In colors of orange and red and gold, will mark colors of death as summer foretold. Gone away are fire lit nights, The sweet sent of midday rain, the pretty sights of morning twilights.
The sweetest flowers once bloomed in your wake, Lilac, Daisy, and Sunflowers, now leave not an earthly trace. Summer's beauty, you may take, but you can't sow a field with yellow lace.
They say all stars burn out eventually, so is true of summer stars. They bloom and flourish right in your hand, then disappear to a far off land. Demands are made and promises kept, will you soon sing again?
Shall spring never compare to thy lighter brest? Will the deers still prance and birds still sing, under winter's turbulent test? Or must they wait again for you?
I thought I was good at this. The whole "Say goodbye and move on" ordeal. I told myself it was routine and it was exhilarating every time. I used to hail change as my savior, because it felt like despite my stable home I was still wrapped in a blanket of turmoil.
I love adventuring. I love the unfamiliarity. I crave chaos like it craves me. There was nothing I loved more than my muscles twitching with anticipation just waiting for my next move, the spontaneity and the unexpected that was vast enough to swallow me whole. I loved that.
Or so I thought.
I was raised in this world to move like a sprint, to pounce as if it was my vice. I was fine with that, I accepted that and believed it.
Why am I hesitating? Why are there clothes scattered on my floor, littered like the bodies of old versions of myself?
I believe that heaven is the place you go when you die, but it’s also much more, like a thing that is constantly on a mind, and tucked right above or below the surface of a heart. Heaven heals to clear the conscious of love and intimacy, and to cloud the mind away with that thought of an end. Trapped and searching is that of a lost soul, answers lye beneath their meek, while free is that of those whom weep and have been cried for. Heaven is a creation where people are never supposed to judge, but how does one never judge while they are asleep? A part of being a believer is that there will always be skeptics, but heaven knows, there will always be apologies.
The door creaks on its own, a breath to push it closed. A whisper through the phone, much like yours I suppose, tells me of horrors far beyond, the world we want to see, and those horrors reside deep, inside of the mind,
Midas’s greedy eyes wished for gold. They settles on a blank canvas and wished for glittering gold. He wished so badly to drip with finery, drenched to the hollow bone.
When he finally got it, his touch spread the riches as if it were a disease, some beautifully cruel virus. Enthralled, he overlooked his losses, discarded the original value to revel in his newfound fortune.
In the end, he sat alone atop his gold throne, cursed to be a solitaire king. He drowned in his greed and he suffered.
I think I made a wrong wish too many times, for my name has fallen from your lips and I sit alone in bed waiting to reach out and touch one last time.
On Gull Pond I look out and see a mama duck and ducklings I decide to name them Sam, Suzy, Hudson, etc Everyday they would go by bigger and bigger First baby feathers, then sleek glossy feathers, till one day thick shiny adult feathers As they enter the reeds they peck away at the leaves Chirping the songs of Spring
I can hear the choir, crying in the night, shouting inaudibly, barely kept in harmony. And though their voices ring, like chiming bells, and their shrieks, shatter my heart, I cover my ears, and duck my head, for the raven squawks, high in the forked tree. I mustn't listen. I mustn't see. I mustn't hear, the song of Thana, for I am afraid. The shadows which, beseech me to follow, are but a trick of the light. I have lost my mind, yet my soul is intact, and they have come, to rip it from me.
O, I have fathomed my grave! My mind is buried, and my bones ache.
Come sweet, come bitter. Come warm, come cold. Come cheery, come weary.
“Hate is such a strong word," No wonder Hate makes me weak, Lying down I watch my belly sink into nothingness, It's a cavity that has gotten worse over the years, The erosion of my energy and eating away of my sanity. . There are cliffs between my rib cage, I fell between, When I stepped onto that unsteady scale, An ever-lasting reflection in my mind’s eye, Of this thing that will never be enough! How could I have fallen? There is more than plenty to hold onto! The Hate on my hips, Hate on my thighs, Hate on my stomach, I’m so tired of this weight, The strain leaves stains of insecurities under my eyes, Desperately I clutch onto this brittle rock, Don’t let go, don’t let go, just a little less or a little more,