Thursday, May 31, 2012


After trying to write a poem all morning and failing, one appeared out of nowhere this evening as I was taking a nap. Who knows! But I kind of like it :)

Outside my room I hear the clod
of dad's heavy boots
and from the street the soft
shuuUUuuushing of the cars
and the clomping and the shiiishing
and the white noise of my brain
is an orchestra that's tuning
it's the prelude to my dreams.


Wednesday, May 30, 2012

My first miss

So yes, I missed a day. I was horrified when I thought of it this morning, I really didn't think of it a single time yesterday. My excuse is that I'm sick, I slept for about eight hours during the day yesterday (but not even two today, so I might be getting better). Oh well, I made it 33 days in a row!

 Here is a bad poem from October that sums up the past two days, and it's all I have the energy to post unfortunately.

 I hate being sick
My throats full of ick
 My head is a brick
I hate being sick.


Monday, May 28, 2012

Day #33

Here is the start of my new story! One of my goals with this story is to make the MC's voice distinctly different from all the rest of my stories. When I get writing longer pieces they tend to sound all the same, especially if it's first person. But I'm so used to first person, I don't really want to attempt third :P I don't know how well I did on this first section though, other than the beginning.

I couldn’t wait to get out of my no-name, god-forsaken, bug-infested marsh of a town. The whole thing was slowly sinking; the buildings into the soupy land, the population as all the old people died, and even my parents. They all had been going downhill so steadily for years that there was no saving them. I was on the boat as soon as I turned seventeen, waving goodbye for as long as I could see my watery-eyed parents, and then looking the hell away. Once I was across the lake I’d be in Vardia, where my life would be so different that I couldn’t even imagine it yet.
There were only five other seventeen year olds with me on the boat, and I didn’t think any of us would be in the same division in Vardia. We talked and laughed the whole boat ride though, clinging onto the last bits of home that were in each other. “Come on Karina,” a girl named Malee said to me, not really surprised. “You won‘t be homesick at all?”
“Why should I be?” I asked, laughing. “Did anyone actually like that awful town or anyone in it?”
“Hey, I like my parents,” she protested. Malee and I had been in the same grade our whole lives and she still wasn’t used to how blunt I was. “You could care a little.”
“Sure,” I said with a shrug and grin. “But really, can’t you learn to recognize sarcasm?”
“Oh Karina,” Rinna cut in, throwing her arm dramatically across my shoulders. “Don’t terrorize the innocents on our last day together, please.”
“You know I’m only joking,” I said, turning to smirk at Rinna. She raised one eyebrow, managing to look serious for one second before ruining it by laughing. “Why do you have to be going into culinary arts and not my profession?” I begged her again as Liam dragged Malee away from us.
“Because I cannot throw a punch to save my life,” she told me sadly, sighing like it really was a life goal of hers.
“No, you can’t,” I agreed, and she made a face at me. There was no helping it. Vardia was as big as a city, and in our two completely different divisions we’d probably never run into each other. I’d be fine I knew, it’s not like we were that close, but she was the only person from my town that I’d be really sad to part ways with.
“Hey you two!” Liam called to us, from where he was leaning over the railing so far that he would topple if I poked him. “Come look, I can see Vardia!”
I was next to him in an instant, squinting to see the horizon. It was starting to look prickly, and I grinned. I’d heard so many stories of Vardia from my teachers-- some of them idiotic, “The place that turns you into an adult!” “The place where you find out who you truly are!” and some of them more practical-- “You choose what you want to do, you work at it, and you stick with it, for the rest of your life,” one teacher determined to make an impression on us whimsical sixteen years old had told us sternly. That made it sound like the kind of place I would like. And as for choosing what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, well I’d known that for years.


Sunday, May 27, 2012

Day #32

Today was exciting because 1. I started a new job, my first job that does not involve piano or music at all! and 2. There is strawberry rhubarb pie, and also doughnuts :D :D :D Here's a poem from January 2011.

Poems are always sad, I thought
(which isn't true, but many are)
but why? except the poet's sad
and if I thought to write a poem
when I'm joyous (not sad, as now)
would not my poems be happy too?


Saturday, May 26, 2012

Day #31

I have been brainstorming all day for a new story idea, which I might post parts of once I actually write it :) but all I've got so far are characters. That's a first for me, since usually I come up with a plot and then characters. We'll see if it actually goes anywhere! Here's a poem I wrote in February 2010.

Except for me, there's nothing moving
in the room
if I am still I cease to be,
and then the stillness is complete
air hangs balanced
time is frozen, does not move


Friday, May 25, 2012

Day #30

Recently Maggie Stiefvater (whose books and blog I adore) wrote this post about how she chose what to do with her life. The whole thing is interesting and useful for me, but one thing she said completely sums up my career choice dilemma for the past six years.

"I used to tell people I felt lucky because I always knew what I wanted to do when I grew up, but I’ve come to understand from my teen journals that this is only the beauty of hindsight speaking. In reality, I basically wanted to do everything, and I had long, agonizing brainstorming sessions where I wondered how I could possibly be, for instance, both an animator AND a fighter pilot. I could’ve made any of the things on that list the goal for my life."

I've written many, many poems about not being sure of what I want to do and having too many wants and desires and interests, but she says it so clearly there. Basically I want to do everything. And how do I choose? She chose by figuring out which career would let her be everything she wanted to be. 
For me, I don't know if there's any one thing which would do that. I love so many different things, and I haven't found a way to combine them into the one perfect thing yet. I don't know if I can live my life constantly divided between everything I want to do, or devote years to particular things, or just have boundless energy and live a long time so I can do it all. 
But for me the most important thing that realizing I want to do everything is just this: I don't have to feel guilty for not loving piano every minute of every day. Does that mean I might let myself not practice as much, and I might end up missing some opportunities because I'm not as good as I might be? Yes, but being the BEST at piano is not my goal in life. I'm realizing that more and more, I don't really care if I never play at Carnegie hall (though that would be AWESOME), I just want to have fun playing with other people. And maybe that means that I'll never achieve my full potential because I just don't care quite enough, but if I'm not enjoying it in the first place, it's noticeable and I'd never get to Carnegie anyways.

Anyways, sorry for the ramble! I was planning on posting one of my old angsty-trying-to-figure-it-all-out poems, but that long preamble inspired a new one! :)

You say I have to choose
you have been saying that for years
you say this is the time
that will determine all my life.
You say that every day
is one more step to that dream-goal - 
and yet that goal is so
far off I cannot make it out.
You say but this is what
I love, and more, I'm good at it
and that is true, but it
was not my first love or my last.
You say, but imagine
the life I could have if I tried
But is that what I want?
I ask. Now please shut up, dear brain.

And no, this does not mean I'm going to give up on piano. I really do love music, and I do need to work hard on it, but that doesn't mean it's the only thing that's going to fill my life. Either I'll eventually find a career that satisfies all my wishes, or I'm just going to have to do everything :)

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Day #29

The moments go on
from one to the next
they drag or they fly
seamlessly stretching
like taffy you're pulling
your thoughts ever shouting
or murmuring, whisper
scolding and pleading
this moment to stay,
as it is, evermore. 

I don't really like this poem at all, but I have two minutes to post this, so there it is :P 

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Day #28

This blog has made it four weeks! 28 posts in a row is pretty amazing, (never mind that they don't have much content) considering I'm pretty sure my record for most posts in a month is probably five. Here is a poem I wrote today, that's three haiku's except for the last one which didn't turn out right.

If I could add just
one thing to the chorus of
thoughts,what would it be?

If I could shout just
one thing to the whole big wide
world, what would I say?

(If none of my poems
started with if, I would not
have this problem.)

It's ridiculous how many of my poems start with If or And if :P

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Day #27

I want to look at stars again
to stand, staring up
at all the not-dark
the comets and galaxies
planets more ancient than ours
and suns just beginning to live.
I want it all to flood my mind
till there's nothing else,
and all that I am
is so tiny it might
float away on the breeze
and I would never notice.


Monday, May 21, 2012

Day #26

My head's so filled with all
these thoughts I don't know which
to write about.
The smell of fall? The crispy leaves
and biting chill the rattling trees
and deep blue skies, the aching days
the moments where I don't know why
or how or what to do,
the days where all I do is wait?

That's from October 2010, and now a silly one from a month earlier that I just stumbled across and love. It's so bad, but it so truly describes how insane I get when I cannot sleep :P

All my mind seems wont to
grow some wings and fly away,
then hitherto and thither, too
I'd look around and say,
'Alas, alas! My brain, alas!'
And fall asleep at last.


Sunday, May 20, 2012

Day #25

A very random poem from October 2010.

The world is sideways
and the sky outside this room is still, so still
if not for the singing
somewhere else in the building
and the steady tick-tock of the clock,
I would think that time had stopped.
The world is new and strange
and frightening, somehow, sideways
(in a room where you are waiting
for time to begin)


Saturday, May 19, 2012

Day #24

It feels like summer in the air
and in the sky, the perfect blue
the flowers slowly opening, and all
the trees are bursting green.
I need the AC in the car
to cool the red-hot steering wheel
the windows cranked down all the way,
the wind takes control of my hair.
Tomorrow I'll go to the beach
and maybe if the sun's too strong,
my toes will brave the icy shock
and splash the rest of me with cold.
It looks like summer in the sky
and in the air, the thick hotness
that brings out flowers everywhere,
and all the trees have burst alive.

Written this moment! I love summer.

Friday, May 18, 2012

Day #23

Here's a very random short story/scene that I wrote in October. I don't have much of an idea what it's about, but it's fun :)

She had tea on the cloud every Wednesday, at two a clock. Wednesdays were always overcast and sometimes rainy, but above the cloud layer it was just puffy whiteness and the brilliant sun. Her carpet almost matched the sky, a little square of blue with red fringe perched on as flat a section as she could find. Her teapot was dented copper but it gleamed in the light.
“I do wish you’d visit more often,” Mr. Jalopy said, trying to frown at her and looking sheepish when he couldn’t. His face just didn’t form that expression.
“I come as often as I can,” she said, sipping daintily from her cup. She came regular as clockwork in fact, but he didn’t have to know that.
“Well then thank you for sparing the time,” he said, reverting back to a beaming grin. He leaned back into the cloud and drank his tea in one big gulp, then sighed pleasantly at the sun. “I can’t fathom how you aren’t up here all the time,” he remarked. “Don’t you miss the sun down there?”
“I see it often enough,” she said and produced the cookies from the hamper. There was something about eating cookies in the air that made them even more delicious, and these were still warm from the oven. She was silent for a moment as she reverently bit in, and then offered the plate to Mr. Jalopy.
“No thank you,” he said apologetically. “I don’t have much of an appetite these days.” She shrugged and handed one to the cloud. She hadn’t found a cloud yet who didn’t love her cookies. “Come then, what’s your question?” Mr. Jalopy asked as she took another swallow of tea. “Have you got another riddle for me? Or a real question this time?”
“They’re all real questions,” she murmured, but he didn’t hear her. “Well then,” she said, eyeing a bird that was flying in lazy circles some ways away from them. “Have you ever been to the lost city of the Sahara?”
“Been above, not to,” he corrected her. “I’ve drifted across it a few times.”
“Then where is it?” she asked when he didn’t say anything else.
“How should I know?” he said with a laugh. “I wafted around for days, there was a lot of land, then some water, then more land, and more water, and eventually a whole lot of sand. I only know it’s called the lost city because of the myths about it.”
“But you found it,” she said, leaning forward and trying to stop the teapot from tipping off the carpet. “It can be found.”
“I suppose,” he said vaguely. “I couldn’t find it again, mind you.” She nodded and put the teapot back in the hamper, which was set in the very middle of the carpet so it couldn’t fall off. Taking out her notebook she jotted a few words down, then handed the book to Mr. Jalopy.
“Could you draw it do you think?” she asked, and he came as close to frowning as he ever did.
“You know I don’t think much of these pens,” he said disdainfully. She replaced the pen for a pencil and he shrugged, taking it warily. She came as close to smiling as she ever did watching him hold it with two fingers and drag the point across the page. He hated drawing. “Are you ever going to tell me what all these questions are for?” he asked as he drew.
“Curiosity, mostly,” she said lightly and he looked at her. It was true, she was very curious to know his answers. As for the rest of the mostly, if he hadn’t guessed by now, he never would.
“Well then, time for my curious questions,” he said and handed her back the pencil. She took it and stared down at the little drawing, trying to decipher what it was of. Clusters of squares, those would be buildings seen from above. They were large in the center and got smaller farther out, and spaced further apart until a tight ring of them made the outer wall.
“It’s not in ruins?” she asked in surprise and he laughed again.
“Why would it be?” he asked back. “It’s lost, not abandoned.” She digested that for a moment and he cleared his throat. “My question,” he said. “How’s the garden doing?”
“Very well,” she said, and he looked pleased. “The zinnias are in bloom, and I got some new rose bushes.”
“And the tree?” he asked eagerly.
“Is wonderful,” she answered. “I pruned it yesterday, looks like it’ll be a good year for pears.”
“Good,” he sighed. “I wish I could see it again, you know.”
“You can,” she said, frowning slightly. “Can’t you see it from up here?”
“Well yes,” he amended. “But not like before. I can’t go up close. I can’t touch the flowers, or eat the pears.”
“I’ll bring some up, when they're ripe,” she said immediately, and he smiled at her.
“You’re too kind,” he said, his wistfulness forgotten immediately. No, I’m not, she contradicted him in her head. There was a soft sigh beneath them and she looked down, it had started to rain. “You’ll be wanting to go,” he said, squinting up at the sun.
“Yes, I should,” she agreed. It was getting near four a clock and she had things to do.
“Safe journey, come back soon,” he said like always.
“I’ll come back when I can,” she said and he drifted away slowly, waving as he went. “Please stop raining for just a few minutes,” she whispered, slipping another cookie from her hand. The cloud grumbled and the cookie disappeared, but she put her raincoat on anyway. She curled her legs back onto the carpet and set the hamper in her lap, clutching the edges and guiding it downwards with a dip of her head. Half of her disappeared into mist and she looked back at the sun, breathing in it’s warmth, before plunging into the chilly cloud. There were things to be done and cities to be found before the next Wednesday tea.


Thursday, May 17, 2012

Day #22

I keep meaning to post something more interesting than another poem, and then the day gets away :/ oh well. An odd one from January 2010 :)

Each day that I wake up
my thoughts have re-arranged themselves
some sitting here
some standing there
when before they were all
jumping in the air
so I don't recognize
any of them
and I have to go through them all again.
It's a clever trick.
If they just stayed still
through the night, for once
I wouldn't have to think
all day.


Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Day #21

Three weeks! And I'm losing my momentum. We'll see how much longer this lasts :/

My thoughts fly out of my head
as soon as I think them tonight
I don't know where they're going.
Darkness swallows them up
and to follow, if I dare,
I'll have to fold up and spread wings
become a thought myself
and find a way outside
into the world of unknown things.


Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Day #20

Just a very short, silly poem from October. I am one chapter away from finishing the most amazing book ever, so this pretty much sums up my emotion right now, but ten times more :D

My thoughts are a giddy scattering
of bouncy exclamation points
balanced by a fair amount
of silly grins -
someone looking on might think
that I've fallen in love.


Monday, May 14, 2012

Day #19

The light is starting to spill in
through the hole in the clouds
and the airport is mumbling
and rubbing it's eyes
as planes soar off into the pale blue
fly straight into the gap of clouds
and the sleeping creatures
disappear in the sky.


Sunday, May 13, 2012

Day #18

As it says, this poem means nothing at all. I've had a great past two days, and now I'm really really tired. This was all that came out :P

I don't know what I'm trying to say
or how I should say it
or who I am talking to.
I'm usually talking to someone--
myself or an older me or
a person I love or a person
who I can't really talk to.
I wonder what those people would think
if they read all my thoughts, or
those thoughts that make it onto the page.
(This is not the poem I wanted to write.
There are too many words
mashed together in my head
I'm talking to no one,
I'm not saying anything,
and it means nothing at all.)


Saturday, May 12, 2012

Day #17

A very random poem, not based on anything real in my life. From December 2011.

The rain was making
tear stains on the door
she watched drops gather
flecks of dirt and dust
they crawled towards her and
left a brighter blue
behind. The door was
streaked with rain and she
just watched she could not
move she could not knock.


Friday, May 11, 2012

Day #16

Each year I write a poem the day before my birthday, this was this year's!

Tomorrow I'll have aged another day -
though it's only combine with the last
three hundred and sixty four
that it is at all special I think
since every day I age some more
and gradually, not all in one chunk--
I won't wake up as somebody new
maturer, and wiser, and quite a lot taller
a person who's very certainly sure
that she's seventeen and not in fact
eleven - but at least I'll get cake
and I'll age one more day
and I'll gradually grow up
but only as slowly as I possibly can.


Thursday, May 10, 2012

Day #15

A poem from February 2010, about being a poet. Inspired a bit by reading poetry by e. e. cummings, who I LOVE.

It seems to me
a melancholy profession
always sighing and longing
and looking at stars
and wishing to fly
up away from the earth
but never escaping
gravity's grasp
so to make up for that loss
you add to the chorus
of wishes flying with the wind
(maybe when the earth dies)
becoming stars
but there are so many
most so dim
their names are forgotten
and all your wishes
are unheard
like the rest

I wrote it so long ago that I don't remember what I wanted to eventually become stars, I think it was either the wishes or the poet. Who knows!

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Day #14

This blog has made it two weeks! Here's a not very special poem that I wrote a month ago.

The world looks like an old photograph
the colors muted, just lightly flecked
with dirt. The neighbor's yard is slowly
turning into moss and a bush in
front of their house is blooming yellow -
it's the brightest thing against the blue-ish
gray clouds that are rumpled around the
lack of a sun.


Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Day #13

A silly poem from last October :) (If you know what book it's about, major brownie points to you! But it's not very obvious.)

My brain is currently trapped
in a world that is not my own
(a world that is color and
shadows and all in between)
and I eat and I walk
but I'm not really here
(and cobblestone streets
and the smell of sunlight)
I'm just waiting to go back
to that place where the world
(is bitter and sweet
like a slow chocolate death)
for a moment makes sense
even if it's not mine.


Monday, May 7, 2012

Day #12

A very short story I wrote in October. Not my favorite, but I like it better now than I did then. I had absolutely no idea what it was about when I started it, it was inspired from this song which I love passionately :D

There was a demon standing in the rain. The water dripped off his coat and streamed down his fingers and flattened his hair into a black mess, and it looked like he was smiling. He was standing in the very middle of the square, next to the scraggly Christmas tree in the middle of plastic chairs and tables. It was not a cold day even with the rain and he slowly looked up so that it ran into his eyes and slid over his cheeks. I shivered and with that one movement he knew I was there, his head tilted in my direction and then his eyes found mine. From this distance it looked like they were the exact color of the sky, stormy gray and glittering with wetness. I stared back from the safety of the café and did not move.
“That’s very rude you know,” I heard somehow, I could barely see his lips moving but it sounded like he was standing right next to me.
“Show off,” I muttered under my breath. He smiled and tilted his head towards the table next to him.
“Care to join me?” I considered for a moment, he already knew I was there, not like I’d tried to hide, and the rain was slackening off. He was staring at me unwaveringly now but did not seem like he’d particularly care if I stayed inside. But he looked pleased when the bell on the door jangled open and I stepped outside, immediately hunching my shoulders against the rain. It had found its way underneath my collar already and was dripping down my spine-- not very cold but it felt like a spider crawling smoothly down. I twitched and avoided the puddles, only looking up when he was right in front of me.
“You don‘t like the rain,” he said, low and amused. My mouth smiled and I raised a dripping eyebrow. “I like it,” he said with a tiny shrug.
“Makes you stand out,” I said. “No one likes the rain when they’re in it.”
“Maybe I want to stand out,” was his answer, and I laughed at how juvenile he sounded. There was a growl from the sky and I looked up, blinking furiously as a drip fell directly on my eyelid. The rain was not slackening off after all, it had been a brief reprisal and now it came down in earnest.
“You’ve been watching me for the past two days,” he said lightly. His eyes were darker than they‘d seemed before, practically black and they looked at me unblinkingly.
“Much longer than that actually,” I said with a little smile. “I’ve let you see me these past two days.”
“Why?” he shifted in annoyance, he didn’t like to not be in charge of the conversation.
“Because I’m sure now,” I said and made myself straighten, I was almost as tall as him when I wasn’t hunched in the rain.
“Sure of?” He asked and frowned at me. I almost laughed, he was doing it again. He was steaming, warmth and anger making the rain sizzle as it hit his coat. He realized where I was looking and it stopped abruptly, but the cogs were beginning to turn in his head. “You shouldn’t have been able to see that,” he said slowly.
“Your illusions are bad in the rain,” I said with a shrug.
“They are not!” he retorted and I just laughed. Obviously they were or I wouldn’t have seen the steam, and he blinked as he realized he didn’t have an argument. “I think you should leave now,” he said coldly. “You have no idea just who you’re dealing with.”
“Really,” I said, and reached out to brush a straggly flop of hair off his forehead. He was having a hard time looking menacing while dripping everywhere, and he started to steam again.
“Don’t--” He growled, pushing my hand away, but something about my hand against his fingers made him freeze. “Do I know you?”
“I’m a little insulted you have to ask,” I said but I wasn’t, my illusion was very good. It even changed my voice, but my fingers-- he knew the feel of my hands. It had been a long time though, and he must have felt dozens of hands since then so I pulled them away and shoved them in my pockets. He looked up at me again, wary, and searched my unfamiliar face.
“How exactly do I know you?” I didn’t answer and he stepped forward, trying the menacing thing again and succeeding a little this time.
“There‘s just one thing I‘d like to ask you,” I cut in before he could say anything. “Have you ever fallen in love?” He laughed abruptly, and grimaced.
“That’s your question? God, no. You know what I am don’t you? We don’t fall in love.” My fingers gripped the liner of my pockets and I grimaced back at him. Just like I’d thought. His body lost it’s tension and he stepped back, regarding me. I was just a silly girl, asking him strange things about love. “Now for my question. Who are you?”
“What’s the point of telling you?” I shrugged nonchalantly, my fingertips were burning holes in the pocket liners and I took them out to cool in the rain. “In another twenty years you won’t remember me at all.” I gave him another smile with my lips and then I was walking away, splashing loudly in puddles and wiping the rain off my face. I wasn’t upset since I’d never been in love, demons couldn’t fall in love. But we couldn’t cry either, and the rain was making it feel like I was so I hurried back inside. He had turned his face back up to the sky by the time I grabbed my coffee, the odd conversation apparently already forgotten. I didn’t let my gaze do more than skim over him before turning away. There were much better things to be had in this world than soulless ex lovers and tiny, dreary, water infested towns.


Sunday, May 6, 2012

Day #11

Another journal poem, and one where I started out saying something and ended up discovering something completely different that I hadn't realized. Not the best, but I'm very attached to this one. I think it could be edited better, (does it seem awkward going suddenly from the 'someone' to calling that person 'you'?) but I'm not sure how. (Written April 2011)

I've felt so very young of late
too young to be here by myself
(though I'm not yet, I will soon be)
too young to brave the world just yet.
I feel so young, especially
when I'm around that someone too
sometimes it's fine, we laugh and joke
sometimes I try so hard to be
an older me, or try to say
the perfect thing to draw you out
but I just fail and feel so young
and strange inside, I'm not enough
when I'm with you but only since
I wanted to be and all this
makes my head spin round
maybe it would be best if I
had never had that thought since now
the times when I'm not trying are
the times you make me laugh.


Saturday, May 5, 2012

Day #10

Very busy day today (SATS are taken ugh, nap is taken yay, and now off to play in a concert an hour and a half away!) so this is just a short poem from last February. I might post a short story tomorrow :)

I love the sky right now
it's blue for once
been gray all day
little wisps of clouds
float by, they're tinged with pink
the sun glows orange
I've missed the sun today.
The trees are still
and so am I
we all are mesmerized
we stand upturned
to face the sky.


Friday, May 4, 2012

Day #9

Eleven thirty
the clock says in red
in big bight bold lines
against empty black
it still tells the time
when no one's around
and if we all left
(all people just gone)
the world would be full
of clocks telling time
to big empty rooms
recording the days
and minutes and hours
the world would tick on
with no one to care.

From March 2011. (My dad always says that time is a human concept, that it's just a way for us to measure things. So, seriously, in most sci-fi shows/books why has every other civilization switched over to the human way of measuring things? Random tangent :P)

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Day #8

This blog has survived for a week! :) I've been looking forward to summer a lot recently, so here's a poem that makes me think of summer. It's very old, I think from July 2009.

We sit
in the tree,
on the sand,
on the bed in the room
the wind is shushing
our worries away
the waves are pounding,
pulling back,
pounding, pulling back
emotions spill over
and we pull them quickly back
nothing can disturb
the hot sun and bright sky.
The wind is shushing away
our worries and
all worries quickly fade
the rustling leaves
and yellow-green sunlight
casts a warm veil over
the tree, our tree
our tree where we are queens.
Darkness flows in
through the window
tickles our feet
the room slowly enlarges until
we see the whole world
in it's ceiling.


Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Day #7

I am the queen of few words
and little, my brain was not made
for complicated thoughts
(but that's a lie, they all
are so overly tangled that
they can't be put into words
except for the most simple
and broad of terms-)
I am confused
I don't know why
I dislike my mind
I am fickle and
I am afraid.
I'll be a queen the day I unlock
the wall, (or it just comes crumbling
down from too much pounding
with my head)
and I can actually write
what I'm trying to say.

First poem I wrote this year. This is one of those journal-like poems I write a lot of (but one of my favorites, I like it an illogical amount), so I was wondering, does it make sense to anyone else? :)

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Day #6

It's no use to think of my life
as a tree - all the ways it could go,
every choice or decision as a fork
in a branch, all those paths
all those things that could happen
differently, and so every day determining
where my life will lead.
It's no use, since I can't time travel
or world hop, I cannot meet every
version of myself and pick the one
I'd like to be. I'm all I've got.
This life will only travel one
zigzaggy path full of sadnesses
and missed opportunities, bad luck,
coincidences, tiny miracles and things
I cannot yet imagine.

I wrote this poem last month when I was going crazy thinking "What if?" and it helped a lot. Things I cannot yet imagine :)