Five minutes, any day. Spent writing—something anything not for anyone anything no edits no outlines no plans no correction, this is where it goes.enjoy.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Once-- but now . . .

Once
I thought every man was an island
and I was a tunnel
reaching far into the center of the universe
and though shallow to the eye
depth unreachable beneath.
But slowly
as I learn
and grow
and live
I realize:
there is no end to anyone
and each man goes on until he can't see the end of his own thoughts--

and it's made me a little less important, I think.
And a little less perfect.

Thursday, November 29, 2012

The spring in my step will be gone in the morning

Don't let yourself think too long or you'll convince yourself you're a functioning adult.
A good camera and a video editing system would be all it too. Also hours of work but it's sounding more and more appealing but success isn't imminent and I need someone to remind me of this. My eyes are burning and my head hurts, but it's what happens when you revert back to eyeglasses after blissful years of contact lenses.
My handwriting consists of a swoopy flow of letters, without picking up the pencil and without thinking too hard about what I'm doing. It just falls from my hands and I let it.
I've never seen her when she hasn't been wearing that brown belt. But eh now, watch your words. I know we're all thinking it but when you actually believe it that's when you've made the wrong decision.  She isn't an idiot, she's just a little flighty. But she's kinder than you'll ever be.
I'm a bit of an Amazon. You insult one of my girls and I will tear your head off without remorse. I get that from my mother.
Fingernails always look so good while they're still wet but the instant they start to dry the entire world sets out to destroy their lovely sheen.

STOP.

Wow, haven't done that for a while. It was kind of fun.
Hi there, other blog. Haven't posted on you in a while. How have you been? :]

Monday, October 15, 2012

Doubting

What if this isn't where I belong
What if this isn't what I'm meant to be doing
What if this is a result of a bad decision I made
What if this is because I thought wrong
What if this is because I believed wrong

What if I wasn't ever supposed to get here
What if I was meant to be doing so much more than this
What if I made a bad decision even though it felt right/
What if I thought wrong
What if I did wrong

But if I really believed it was right
But if nothing told me it wasn't
maybe it is right

but can it really be right?

Things shouldn't be like this
Things shouldn't be like this if it was right
Things should only be like this if it was wrong

unless
unless I was told wrong
unless I was told wrong my entire life
unless I was told wrong my whole childhood

I know we go through seasons
I know we do

But this feels like winter
But this feels so wrong

I thought that things worked out
I thought that dreams wouldn't die
I thought that I could do anything
I thought that this would end like Cinderella
I thought this was a happy ever after

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Solve the problem

Pain.
that's what this feels like.
I was comfortable. It was okay.
Okay like a splinter you've grown long used to.
Okay like a wound you've had for a while that continues to throb.
Don't pull it out--
Don't pull it off, it'll bleed--

Bleed
and I don't want that.
I've grown used to it. It is okay.
Okay like a bad habit you've justified.
Okay like a little lie you've allowed to grow.
Don't change it--
Don't change me, it'll hurt

Hurt
that's what I don't want.
I want tolerable. It's desirable.
Desirable to leave the problem to avoid momentary pain.
Desirable to be as comfortable as I can for as long as possible.
Don't cut it out--
Don't cut it out, just leave it--

Leave it
that's not an option. It's not acceptable.
Not acceptable to ignore the bigger problem for momentary enjoyment.
Not acceptable to make bad decisions to please yourself.
It's not okay--
It's not okay, you know--

And since I know
the time has come
to cut it out
cut it off
pull it out

staunch the bleeding

and let it heal

Saturday, August 4, 2012

thinking&thinking

I wonder why I can't think the way that I used to?
I wonder why I can't remember how I used to think?
Adults are always saying that they feel the same as they did at 16, 17, 18, 19...
But I don't think that will be true ov me.
Because my thought process--
the way I think--
has changed so drastically in the past two years how do you know it will ever stop changing?

Saturday, July 28, 2012

Twisted

I understand how you feel that way. I understand. I do.
I know how that seems.  I know what it looks like, what it does to you.  I know the things its capable of.
I know why you want it, crave it, desire it, adore it.
But I don't. I can't.
It's like poison to me.
It's like poison to you, too, but you just don't know it yet.
And I don't care how wonderful it seems and how wonderful it makes your thoughts and how lovely you see it but the fact is it's not.
It's not and there are so many things wrong with it.
But they're not things I can put into words.  They're not things I can express.
I'm not good enough with words yet.  Not adroit enough.  Not skilled enough.
But it's not okay.  It's not okay.
And I know that you thing it's sublime, millions of miles better than okay.
But you're wrong.
And I'm not afraid to tell you that.
The rub comes with backing that up.
You're drinking poison
but you love it

so many people love it

and everything is just so twisted

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Space Cadets Sans Cash

Once upon a time there was a girl named Laura who wanted to be an intergalactic space trader.  (No, don't laugh, this is a serious story here.)

She wanted more than anything to soar across the black nothing of space and show off her wares to the locals before settling on a deal and taking her new goods to the next planet/comet/moon/dwarf.

So this girl moved to Pluto, where she adopted the planet as her own (capitalizing on those pretentious earth people's decision to hurl it from their galactic family) and got a very nice deal on it through her Realtor. It cost her next to nothing, a true once-in-a-light-year opportunity.

But even though it was a nice deal, a planet is still very expensive (even a dwarf planet like Pluto).  Since Laura spent all of her money on the planet, she had to sell her space ship, leaving her stranded on her little icy blue home.

However, about that time her long lost cousin Ernest was puttering through the neighborhood in his new space ship X-actor 3000, the very latest model.  It was extremely expensive, and he had to sell all HE owned to buy it!  (Including his house, his vacuum cleaner collection, and his pet cat, Melvin).

STOP

Well that was fun.  I may or may not finish it, but it was fun. :]

Sunday, June 17, 2012

This is getting predictable

I should not ever take naps in the day.
Someone please remember me of this next time I fall asleep to the Merlin theme song at the end of the episode.
My head still feels fuzzy and my tongue still feels heavy and my eyes are dry and I'm terribly full of thoughts that wouldn't be here at 10.34 pm if I had just stayed awake.

I wonder since my brother works nights every time is morning to him?
 ...because, when he wakes, it is his morning,
and when he eats his lunch, it is past midnight,
and when he comes home, the sun has risen and it is again morning.

I like to live with time.

Forever is a hard thing to comprehend and I'm glad someone out there is Timeless because otherwise

otherwise I don't even know

I said it was hard to comprehend.

Well I had hoped this would be more quality

but wer're running out of time now

and of course

I have deteriourated into writing as though my life is a poem again

just like i do

with every thing

oh and look there went my grammar whoops

this is getting predictable

i just don't know

I just don't know

can I not care for a while

is that okay

I need a break

but I'd rather have a breakthrough

and

time

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Blank

Blank
as a clean sheet
Blank
as my mind

Free
as a bird
Free
without lines

empty
as an urn
empty
waiting to be filled

hollow
it's all so hollow

vast empty spaces

and if you do nothing with them
(how dare you do nothing with them)
and if you just look at the emptiness
(the emptiness will swallow you up)

Empty
blank
waiting
empty

you're free

free to do with it what you will
so why aren't you doing anything
why are you content with doing nothing
and just waiting for the spaces to eat you up?

why are you watching the blank white sky
and waiting for something to fall upon you
you do nothing
and nothing is done to you

why

your mouth is dry
because you have no answer
and because you have no reason
because your mind is blank

but at least you have
that one question
and with that question
comes the urge for an answer

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

walking to stay upright

It all depends on where you put your eyes.
Are you looking down?  Are you examining the grains of sand in the dirt at your feet, the flecks of leaves, the million tiny particles that are piled on top of one another so far down that there isn't a clue in the world as to how deep they really go?  Are you looking at your toes, watching the scuffs on the white rubber, the stains that tell stories, just like the first one you tried so hard to avoid collecting?
Are you looking right in front of you, watching where you put one foot at a time, one foot and then the other and then that one and so on as you go?  Are you watching for pitfalls, holes, miry trenches and traps and twists and nettles?  Are you surprised when you find some flowers?
Or do you look beyond, far beyond?  Are you looking so far you see the sun in the sky and the distant horizon, straining to see the sea so far ahead of you?  Are you watching ever for what's to come, always looking forward and heading towards that hopeful future?

I think it all depends on where we look.  And someday we seek the small things and the details, sometimes we're just walking to stay upright, and then there are those days when nothing matters but the only things that matter and those are so far beyond us we don't see the ground at all.

It's all there.

But it all depends on where you put your eyes.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Ambivalent (Vital) Mirages

Fleeing
running fleeing skittering
out out out
it's going going going

running away
Away but what reason
what reasons compel them
compel them to do so
to do such harm

To me there is no reason
but that's just my opinion
but what can you do but watch
and what does she do but look unsure
and watch them run to the dark corners
the darkest dark and blackest black corners
and they're gone
Flown

and whence have they gone?
what shall we do whilst they disappear?
What can we do?
Where could you ever go
where can i ever go
to find what's vanished
to reveal what's hidden
to chase down what runs too fast
to claim what can't be held
and see again what cannot be seen?
and yet
here they are
 but yet
only as
as ever
they are
only perhaps

Perhaps holds no promises nor compels them to stay

Monday, March 12, 2012

We live in a state of constant rebellion

What is your passion?
What is your drive?
What is it that you've been putting your heart your soul your mind your thoughts your dreams your wishes your every waking desire into?
What is it that's consuming you?

What is it that makes you want to wake up every morning?
What is it that gives you chills when you pick it up?  thrills when you look it over?

What is it that brings tears to your eyes?
Where is it that you find your beauty?

Where do you create your love?
Where do you discover your meaning?

What pushes pulls tugs aches yanks on that heart of yours so much that it hurts sometimes?  that you don't even understand why?
What is your motivation?
What makes you want to move forward? move on? live longer? keep going?  never stop?  never turn back?
What is it that pushes you on?

Where do you go to find that?
What did you do to get it?


What are you going to do about it?

What are you going to do with it as you live as you're living right now? right now and farther down the road? now and always?







What have you been neglecting it for?

Monday, February 27, 2012

February Sunshine


I love days like this.
Days when you wake up, and the air is fresh and it feels new and it’s chilly, but not so chilly that you want to stay in bed.
But you do anyway, for a little longer, and when you wake up you feel alive because you’ve finally gained those lost hours back.  And you sit up, and stretch, and the sun has it’s hand on your blinds, asking you to open up and let him come and say hello.
So you do, of course you do, and you let in the February sun and look out your window.  The trees are tall and the sky is blue and there’s not a cloud in it.  The trees don’t even look dead without their leaves--- they just look like they’re resting, or standing there, enjoying the light and the morning.
There’s a silence even when the cars drive by.
And the light is just so beautifully everywhere that you want to sing.  And you don’t really have anywhere to go, but you get up and put on something nice just because you want to, just because you can and it’s a nice day, a very nice day.  You don’t even have to put on socks, even though your fingers are cold against your skin.
It’s a really lovely morning.
And it’s mornings like this you can forgive February for the rest of the days it gives you, the cold salty grimy slushy days and the gross icy days.  Because every once in a while, the sun peeks through.  And when it does, it’s really something beautifully special.

STOP

  50th post~ ^___^

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Feelings

There are some feelings that can be described by words.  There are some emotions that have names.  There are those that are called 'happy', named 'sad', described as 'excited'.  They have titles.  They have forms.  They have shapes and definite shades to them.  They're the definite, the solid.

And then there are feelings.  There are true, exuberant, overflowing feelings that have no name.
Listening to Illuminate and the mist of purple that comes over my brain, the feeling of sitting and making bracelets with a best friend, both age seven, listening to David Crowder on a Sunday afternoon.
The sleepy feeling that settles somewhere in the back of my brain when I think of that day when I had nothing to do.  That one specific day and the freezing there was on my mind.
The thrill that comes through me at the thought of mountains.  There aren't any words for that one, just a feeling of majestic, natural (meaning of nature, you know) colors (so many colors!) and feeling (all kinds-- absolutely all--) and height and passion and wonder and no, there just really aren't any words for this at all--

There just aren't.  There are feelings with words, and then there are emotions, true emotions, and there aren't any words or any reason or shape to them, just smoky, dancing color and vibrant taste and the most vivid feeling that absolutely nothing can capture.

STOP

 There are some things I wish to communicate and I just can't, because I'm a person.  There aren't any words for this.  None.
It . . .is slightly disappointing.

But then I'm glad there are aspects to humanity I haven't got figured out yet.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Sweaters and Stripes

Grey and teal stripes, cinched at the waist.  A brown suede&knit sweater plethorated with grommits.  Flare jeans.  Grey mary-jane-esque flats. Hair parted to the most lefterly side of your scalp possible, and a messy-but-slightly-sophisticated bun. Mismatching earrings, one dangling, one long.

A grey cardigan.  Navy and striped shirt.  Skinny jeans.  Classic chucks.   Messy bun, bangs hanging to the side of the face. Dangling locket.  Stud earrings.

A green, flowy sweater. It's three-quarter length. An orange and cream striped tank, and a grey one.  A big black belt.  A black and grey pattern-mottled scarf. Hair down in curly waves, a black headband. Seven bracelets, hemp, rubber, beaded, what have you. Again the skinny jeans, again the flats.

I don't really plan my outfits but February seems to be of stripes and sweaters.  I want desperately a pair of red skinny jeans to wear with my blue and tan striped shirt but I think it's only because I have an image of a singer that I love wearing something similar.

I don't really have a style at all.  I just throw things on.  Grab something from my mom's closet.  I have a darling friend who seems to have a very particular, lovely and lacy style that I can't get enough of.  But for me?  Let's rummage and see what we end up with.

STOP

Don't really know why I felt like writing about clothes.  I do like the way I've been parting my hair lately, maybe that was instrumental in its making.

Can't find a picture of the singer.  It's Louis Tomlinson, dontcha know, from 1D, but you actually probably didn't because I'm so hipster.  Or something. (Not really.)

I swear there is one, though.  It's going to bother me now.

I also don't know if plethorated is a word, but it should be, for I use it adroitly almost every day.

Anyway.  Happy Thursday.  Sorry I haven't posted in a while. :]

EDIT: I FOUND ITTTT
 He's on the leftest left.  Red jeans and a blue and white striped shirt.  I knew it. :D

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Cloudy with a High of 75

Where has the sunshine gone?

I don't feel as though it's completely disappeared.  On the contrary, often I often see it peek out from behind the fluffy clouds covering the sky and I can feel its fingers brush against my face before it slips back into hiding out of sight.

There is still sunshine.  I just don't know where it's gone.

It's not like there's no brightness.  There's plenty.  There's gallons.  I've just been busy, and business doesn't let you stop to look up into the big blue sky for rays of light before tugging at your wrist to keep on following it.

I don't think I need sunshine all of the time anyway.  It's all right to have a rainy day.  It's all right to sit in the shade of the clouds.

Or work in it.

The sunshine never left completely.  It's just not here presently.  It's behind the scenes, underfoot, hiding in the littlest things.  And I know it's there.  I'm content with this.

It just hasn't been coming out to play.  And so I can't write about what I can't see.  What I can't feel.

It's been cloudy lately.

But they're terrifically beautiful clouds.

STOP

Friday, January 27, 2012

I will never stop running (But He knows that)

My hands grasp the gritty dirt.  The rain falls, as it has been for so long, and the whole world is desolate, just has for as long as I ran away.
I ran away because I'm not good enough.  I'm not good enough and I can't be and it's better if I just leave.  The world is desolate with me.  And no one deserves to be with me, so maybe if I run away, if I try to escape, then I can be alone in my desolating without bringing it on anyone else.
The dirt stings the wounds on my hands, the wounds from scratching at the earth in a futile attempt to occupy myself.  A futile pathetic attempt to give myself something to focus on, anything but that great big oppressive sky that when I look up, it reminds me of you.
I hear you coming and I turn, I run, I flee to somewhere I hope you can't find me.  But you do because even my attempts to hide are futile.
You stand and give me your hand.
"But I'm not good enough.  I can't do this.  I can't be worthy, I'm a mess. I'm a disaster.  Why do you want this?  Why do you care?  I'm trying to get away from you.  i'm trying to get away because I can't ever be good enough for you and why do you want this wretch that I am?  I am running from you. Why do you come to get me?"

STOP

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Lilybuds

Amazing grace.

When I hear that song, my immediate thought is flowers.  Not typically, but just for today.  Flowers, pushing forward, up toward the sun.  Forcing their way through the gritty mire of the ground.  The slender green stalks looking so fresh and so vulnerable out there in the wide open air.  The green that slowly fades to white, the white that gradually unfurls, turns its weary face up to the sun and is refreshed.

Beauty from ashes

Today I think of the wind that sways the newborn flowers gently.  It's a celebration.  A celebration about what comes from the ashes and dirt and sand that is our lives.

It's beautiful.

Amazing grace.

Amazing.

Completely bewildering.  Breathtaking.  Awe-inspiring.  Full of wonder.  Incredible.  It leaves you without any idea as to how it happened.

Amazing.

It's what comes from the gritty mire of our hearts
if we let Him have us

STOP

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Hallelujah, We Are On Our Way

"Come on!"  He slips in the mud but pushes himself back up, dirt dribbling down his cheeks, his muddy newsboys cap on crookedly.  He's grinning like he's seen the sun beyond the clouds.
I trod on after him, each step up the hill sending aching thrills through my legs.  I look up at him, eyes empty and mouth slightly open.  The rain washes over my tired face.
"Come on!"  He cries again, propelling himself up the hill with an urgency I can't seem to muster.  "Can't you remember what we're on our way to?"
I try, and remembering somehow gets me to place my right foot in front of my left, my left foot in front of my right, through the sticking, sloughing mud, and I follow after him.  It's temporary, I remind myself.  We're making progress.  Today will be better than yesterday, better than the day before.  We're making it.
I look back, over my shoulder, to the other one.  His long hair is soaked with rain, hanging in his face, and his tired eyes stare down into the muddy hillside.  He doesn't want to go on.  He's forgotten the goal, as I do so often.  He's lost sight of where we're going.

STOP

Hallelujah, we are on our way
Hallelujah, we are on our way to God
From Egypt lately come
Where death and darkness reign to seek our new
Our better home where we our rest shall gain
There sin and sorrow cease and every conflict’s o’er
There we shall dwell in endless peace and never hunger more

Jerusalem, our happy home

Would God I were in Thee
Would God my woes were at an end
Thy joy that I might see
We soon shall join the throng
Their pleasures we shall share
And sing the everlasting song
With all the ransomed there

There in celestial strains enraptured myriads sing
There love in every bosom reigns for God Himself is King
 

Monday, January 16, 2012

Stream of Consciousness (?)

It's nippy outside today. The seats in the car are cold when you sit down, but when you push your hands underneath your thighs and fold over on yourself, breathing into the collar of your coat, you can pretend that it's July for a moment, if not April at least.
I wonder how people would feel about an electric blue wedding dress?  I think it's beautiful.
Sharpies have dominated my life for two days this week.  Coloring.  It's fun.
Working so you get things done feels rewarding.  Not wasting time . . . it makes me want to do it more.  Work.  Do things.
If you go to the front of a youth group and pray with a guy, everyone will think you're dating.  That's because it's a youth group.
I have three maroon Moleskines but two out of three are full.  The last one is starting to be full.
I have papers all over my room.  Rudolph makes a Christmas Eve cheerier than it otherwise would be.

"I don't know why you're being shy and turn away when I look you in the eye.  Everyone else in the room can see it, everyone else but you-- you don't know you're beautiful!"

Pink mechanical pencils make homework better.

STOP

Want to see that dress?  Of course you do.

 Isn't it enchanting?

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Just Black/whitE

There's a saturation to every emotion I feel.  I don't think I feel more than other people, but what I feel I feel so intensely.

When I'm sad, I'm so sad I can't do anything.  I simply wander, listless, around the house, around the building that I'm in.  Listless and aimless, and who knows where I'm headed.  I sit down and just want to curl up in a ball and cry.  I can't focus on things.  I just want to be gone from whatever is making me sad.

And when I'm mad, I'm so mad I want to scream.  I stomp around, lash out at everyone, slam things.  Grumble and curse things with every inoffensive insult I can conjure up.  I scowl so the milk turns when I even look at it.  I attack things with a ferocity, mess them up, and gloom away, into another room to ruin something else in my insatiable irk.

Then when I'm happy, I'm so happy I want to sing (and most of the time, I take that liberty).  I crow about what a lovely day it is, I dance through the house and then laugh because I can't dance, and I float everywhere I go.  I beam, and radiate joy onto others, who look at me quizzically.  All I can say is that it's a good day, and they respond mildly that they can tell.

Apathy, however, is still present.  And apathy is the hardest of all, because when I can't bring myself to care I can't bring myself to do much of anything, and I just want to sit and alternatively cry, sigh, or sleep.  There's no color there, none at all.

Black and white.  On days like today I feel like every emotion is solid black and white

STOP

They're not, though.  Not most days.  But today I feel like it's black and white.  There are no shades of grey.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Where do you live?

Where I live, it's warm.

Not literally, of course.  It's the beginning of January, you silly goose-- and it's rather cold up here in Indiana in January.  Although yesterday was pleasantly warm-- almost 60 degrees.  Which is strange, and absurd, and wonderful.  Like a Christmas present you forgot about until mid-February, when it's nasty and cold and covered in salt-residue outside and that red wrapping paper is just what you need to cheer you.

The kind of warmth I'm talking about is much different than the sun shining outside.  It's a warm contentment.  A peace with where I am.  My house is harmonious.

It's warm.

I know a lot of people don't have warm houses.  They're cold, either because of things they've done or things they haven't. But that's not how it is at my house.

I'm so thankful for that.

I'm so thankful that we all get along.  I'm so thankful that we all genuinely love one another.  That's so abnormal these days . . .  I'm so blessed.

I revel in this warmness.  I love it here, because I live here.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Exhasperated

It's like slow death.

A torture that is completely unprecedented.

There's no reason.

There is absolutely no stupid reason.

Why on earth would the only word processor to fail in this house be the one that belongs to the girl who can't live a day without opening it?!

I have stories to write!

Poems!

Homework that has to be done!

And now you're telling my my word processor doesn't work?!

WHY THE HECK NOT??!?!?!?!?!

Such a cruel betrayal.

Whatever shall my words do now?

There's no virtual paper and ink for them to be captured by.

And if they can't be captured they might attack an innocent bystander!

They might KILL SOMEONE!

Clearly my Microsoft Word is necessary to my sanity and health at this point in my life.

So why did it bail on me?

;_________________: