What do you do when you are in love, but you are too afraid to give it?
What do you do when you are freaked out of your mind and
you are to afraid to receive love?
Is it because you don't feel deserving enough?
Is it because of the lingering pain from broken hearts gone by?
Are you hopeless?
I stood by you in the veiled jasmine, wishing for a hand to hold that never came.
You looked at me with longing, yet longing did not spur you,
did not inspire great orchestrations of ardor or desire.
One ray of sun cast shadows on our faces which painted our hearts sinful crimson
and our hearts danced in that moment.
But all moments come and go alike, like fleeting breaths of wind or wisps of wave on the shore.
We stand as the ivy twines between us, and I remember less and less
of the man I call my heart's request.
When do we stop loving? When do I start calling you the one who got away?
Is it giving up when I look at you, sitting on the fence between the man who
owns hope and earnest pursuit and the sad woman with a straw hat in her
roses, dead from the bitter winters, pulling weeds and bleeding from the thorns,
who claims the lost love, the flower fallen from its hip, haven given all it can and recedes
when the fruit of the bloom shrivels and whispers away. I do not want to go to her realm,
full of sadness and disappointment, yet the more I wait,
the less patience I have for the eager man whistling tunes and expecting sunshine
when the gray clouds threaten to burst.
Someday, you will have to tell her - whether she be me or a girl who stood next to you in a bar -
that you love her, that you need her, and if you allow this fear, this flinching reaction
to rule your heart, you will end up
lamenting a lost love, the heart broken that was never promised,
and that day will be infinitely more immense a burden on your heart
than all the pain you sought to avoid in the first place.
And then, truly, you will see that life is built around endurance and not evasion,
and you will wish you had endured the life which would have
been well worth the trepidation
for all that human frailty.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Friday, May 16, 2014
Millennials Might Be Ill-Equipped for the World, But It Isn't Our Fault
I am really super sick of all the smack talk about millennials. After reading an article about how millennials aren't active enough in the stock market, I am thinking really hard to recall when anyone taught me anything about how to engage in shareholding, and I am drawing a blank. Don't blame us for the crappy education system that thinks teaching us from pointless curricula like Springboard and Common Core that are both impossibly difficult and mind-numbingly mundane, instead of teaching us the value of the stock market, is a good idea. That was all on you all, you baby boomers and Gen X-ers. You raised us. It is on you, so here's a little letter from your progeny, summing up their frustrations on the whole thing.
Dear Baby Boomers and Gen X-ers,
Please stop mocking millennials for being inadequate or insufficient. It isn't helpful, it is shameful. We can't help what we are. You raised us to think we are all special so that we would fix all the problems that you will eventually leave us with (global warming, drought, corrupt government, a shrinking middle class - have I made my point?), and thus leaving us to believe that we were all miracle children and that success would come to us like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. We don't work hard because you failed to teach us the merits of working hard, because you spoiled us. Stop blaming us for what you did and start helping us get where you want us to be.
Sincerely,
Your Disgruntled Legacy
Dear Baby Boomers and Gen X-ers,
Please stop mocking millennials for being inadequate or insufficient. It isn't helpful, it is shameful. We can't help what we are. You raised us to think we are all special so that we would fix all the problems that you will eventually leave us with (global warming, drought, corrupt government, a shrinking middle class - have I made my point?), and thus leaving us to believe that we were all miracle children and that success would come to us like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. We don't work hard because you failed to teach us the merits of working hard, because you spoiled us. Stop blaming us for what you did and start helping us get where you want us to be.
Sincerely,
Your Disgruntled Legacy
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Sometimes, All It Takes is Getting Your Space...
The end of the school year is finally here, and what do I have to show for it? My car is - or soon will be - full to bursting, my bank account is starving for some funds, and all I want is to go home, breathe deep the brine of Puget Sound, and unwind in every humanly possible way. There is also the part where I totally would love to reunite with a few people, but that is a natural given.
Don't get me wrong. Bozeman is great. But lately, all I want is to get out of here and be with the people who have loved me for all this time. Because that is the great thing about real friends. You can stop talking for months at a time, and all of a sudden, they call you up and it is like only an hour has passed by.
And the thing about friends is that nothing is ever forced, something that not a lot of people get. So when I applied to be an RA, and let me preface this by saying I wanted absolutely nothing to do with this job in the first place, I wasn't really thinking I would have to force anything. Everyone kept telling me to be myself and that I would get the job for sure.
RA camp comes around when we all interact with one another, strangers though we might be, and the underlying expectation is that we make nice. Recall my INFJ article? I stands for Introvert - and one characteristic of introverts is that small talk is highly frowned upon, avoided, tolerated at best. When we had free time, and the expectation was to mingle, I sat and listened to the people around me. I had nothing meaningful to contribute to the conversation, so I left it alone. I didn't feel the need to interject.
The letters come a week later, informing us if we've been hired or not. I ran to my room, hoping I'd been pooled - meaning that they liked me, but they didn't have a place for me. I open the envelope, and there it is: they didn't want me period.
The reason this frustrates me so is because they stress so definitely how they don't want a set personality on staff, but as I continue to hear from other people their outcomes, a pattern emerges. Everyone who forces it, everyone who is willing to blindly do as they are told, they are the ones who get the job. I ask questions, I listen and wait for somewhere to enter a conversation in a meaningful way, and I don't blindly follow. I am not right for the job simply because I am not a blathering fool who can't self-motivate.
Do I sound bitter? Maybe I am. But the major thing, I think, is that I did not want to go through this arduous process in the first place, and was pushed into it anyway, only to be met with a "you aren't good enough". For one so prideful as I am, it stings. It burns to hear this. And all for something I had no desire to be a part of in the first place. There was no reward and no lesson other than "don't strive for things you don't want".
So I am going to go home this Saturday and I will remain in Washington for another three months to cool off and come back fresh and renewed, and hopefully those who told me I wasn't good enough enjoy their fools, for that is what they have gotten. I wash my hands of it all.
Don't get me wrong. Bozeman is great. But lately, all I want is to get out of here and be with the people who have loved me for all this time. Because that is the great thing about real friends. You can stop talking for months at a time, and all of a sudden, they call you up and it is like only an hour has passed by.
And the thing about friends is that nothing is ever forced, something that not a lot of people get. So when I applied to be an RA, and let me preface this by saying I wanted absolutely nothing to do with this job in the first place, I wasn't really thinking I would have to force anything. Everyone kept telling me to be myself and that I would get the job for sure.
RA camp comes around when we all interact with one another, strangers though we might be, and the underlying expectation is that we make nice. Recall my INFJ article? I stands for Introvert - and one characteristic of introverts is that small talk is highly frowned upon, avoided, tolerated at best. When we had free time, and the expectation was to mingle, I sat and listened to the people around me. I had nothing meaningful to contribute to the conversation, so I left it alone. I didn't feel the need to interject.
The letters come a week later, informing us if we've been hired or not. I ran to my room, hoping I'd been pooled - meaning that they liked me, but they didn't have a place for me. I open the envelope, and there it is: they didn't want me period.
The reason this frustrates me so is because they stress so definitely how they don't want a set personality on staff, but as I continue to hear from other people their outcomes, a pattern emerges. Everyone who forces it, everyone who is willing to blindly do as they are told, they are the ones who get the job. I ask questions, I listen and wait for somewhere to enter a conversation in a meaningful way, and I don't blindly follow. I am not right for the job simply because I am not a blathering fool who can't self-motivate.
Do I sound bitter? Maybe I am. But the major thing, I think, is that I did not want to go through this arduous process in the first place, and was pushed into it anyway, only to be met with a "you aren't good enough". For one so prideful as I am, it stings. It burns to hear this. And all for something I had no desire to be a part of in the first place. There was no reward and no lesson other than "don't strive for things you don't want".
So I am going to go home this Saturday and I will remain in Washington for another three months to cool off and come back fresh and renewed, and hopefully those who told me I wasn't good enough enjoy their fools, for that is what they have gotten. I wash my hands of it all.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Sexuality and My Withering Patience
In a different and new way to attempt to understand human emotion, I have started watching "Sexplanations" on YouTube by Dr. Lindsay Doe of U. of Montana (OMG, Grizzlies = bad!).
"Oh my God, you really need to watch that?" Yes, I do.
"Seriously, what a creeper." Not really...sex is a natural thing after all.
"Are you sheltered?"
Yes, in fact, I am. You see, we live in a society that makes sexuality something very taboo - we don't talk about it, we make a mockery of it, and we refuse to teach our kids about it because that "invites sin". I really don't want to go on this rant because I get really frustrated and angry about how religion dictates how we go about our politics. Don't get me wrong, I am very religious - I just think there is a time and a place to be religious as there is a time and a place to be rational, just like there is a time and a place for emotion and a time and place for level heads. When it comes to preparing my future children for STDs, pregnancy, and broken hearts, I prefer to be rational, not religious. No sacrificial wine or crucifixes over my daughter's bed will prevent nature from taking course - a.k.a., if you feel like playing a game of chance, the sperm will eventually find its way to the egg, a curious boy will fall into the arms of a herpes-ridden hippie and wake up infected as well, and a girl desperate to prove herself to her boyfriend will find herself feeling cheap because she gave her virginity to him before she was emotionally ready, simply because he demanded it, because he felt she owed it to him.
But, no. It is too much. It is too much to teach our children the hard facts of life. We need to keep our secrets and face the consequences we could have avoided had we pulled our heads our of our asses. I was raised in a town where abstinence-only was demanded by the parents who thought it was inappropriate to be showing children what sex is, how to do it properly, and how to prevent both physical and emotional harm, as well as unplanned pregnancy.
But I told you I wasn't going to rant - or, at least, that I don't want to. This is about - and I say this risking sounding self-absorbed - about my emotional journey. I watched little videos about how the clitoris works and how the penis works and how attraction starts. I found out what style of love I generally adhere to (it is Storge, if you want to know, which is familial love, as opposed to Agape, selfless love, or Mania, the passionate love, and a few others.) I learned that consent is important, that fear of consequences is in no way a replacement for consent, and that consent comes in many more forms than the literal word, "yes" (though you should ALWAYS ask when you are first starting your relationship, or establish boundaries before entering scenarios when you will be impaired, i.e., as opposed to getting drunk and having sex, PLAN on getting drunk and then having sex before alcoholic consumption begins.) I learned that flirtation really is about reading the situation and the present body language, that maybe my doubts about the distances between me and the people I love really are the only thing hindering the progression of those relationships.
Dr. Doe gave me a more clear view of how I should view the sexual human experience. It isn't something to be ashamed of. It isn't something that we need to hide - it is one of our most natural functions and has so many more benefits than it has risks. And maybe that is the same with my emotions: maybe all these natural defenses might not be so productive, and maybe I need to get my head out of my ass and get out there. I must sound like a broken record, but I am hoping that talking about it, writing about it, helps in the long run.
One of these days, I will get around to writing you all a poem. That's the secondary reason for this blog anyways, isn't it? Right now, though, I have my book and school and I haven't been sleeping. Lots of stuff on my mind. In four weeks, you'll likely hear more from me. This semester cannot be done soon enough.
Oh my...
"Oh my God, you really need to watch that?" Yes, I do.
"Seriously, what a creeper." Not really...sex is a natural thing after all.
"Are you sheltered?"
Yes, in fact, I am. You see, we live in a society that makes sexuality something very taboo - we don't talk about it, we make a mockery of it, and we refuse to teach our kids about it because that "invites sin". I really don't want to go on this rant because I get really frustrated and angry about how religion dictates how we go about our politics. Don't get me wrong, I am very religious - I just think there is a time and a place to be religious as there is a time and a place to be rational, just like there is a time and a place for emotion and a time and place for level heads. When it comes to preparing my future children for STDs, pregnancy, and broken hearts, I prefer to be rational, not religious. No sacrificial wine or crucifixes over my daughter's bed will prevent nature from taking course - a.k.a., if you feel like playing a game of chance, the sperm will eventually find its way to the egg, a curious boy will fall into the arms of a herpes-ridden hippie and wake up infected as well, and a girl desperate to prove herself to her boyfriend will find herself feeling cheap because she gave her virginity to him before she was emotionally ready, simply because he demanded it, because he felt she owed it to him.
But, no. It is too much. It is too much to teach our children the hard facts of life. We need to keep our secrets and face the consequences we could have avoided had we pulled our heads our of our asses. I was raised in a town where abstinence-only was demanded by the parents who thought it was inappropriate to be showing children what sex is, how to do it properly, and how to prevent both physical and emotional harm, as well as unplanned pregnancy.
But I told you I wasn't going to rant - or, at least, that I don't want to. This is about - and I say this risking sounding self-absorbed - about my emotional journey. I watched little videos about how the clitoris works and how the penis works and how attraction starts. I found out what style of love I generally adhere to (it is Storge, if you want to know, which is familial love, as opposed to Agape, selfless love, or Mania, the passionate love, and a few others.) I learned that consent is important, that fear of consequences is in no way a replacement for consent, and that consent comes in many more forms than the literal word, "yes" (though you should ALWAYS ask when you are first starting your relationship, or establish boundaries before entering scenarios when you will be impaired, i.e., as opposed to getting drunk and having sex, PLAN on getting drunk and then having sex before alcoholic consumption begins.) I learned that flirtation really is about reading the situation and the present body language, that maybe my doubts about the distances between me and the people I love really are the only thing hindering the progression of those relationships.
Dr. Doe gave me a more clear view of how I should view the sexual human experience. It isn't something to be ashamed of. It isn't something that we need to hide - it is one of our most natural functions and has so many more benefits than it has risks. And maybe that is the same with my emotions: maybe all these natural defenses might not be so productive, and maybe I need to get my head out of my ass and get out there. I must sound like a broken record, but I am hoping that talking about it, writing about it, helps in the long run.
One of these days, I will get around to writing you all a poem. That's the secondary reason for this blog anyways, isn't it? Right now, though, I have my book and school and I haven't been sleeping. Lots of stuff on my mind. In four weeks, you'll likely hear more from me. This semester cannot be done soon enough.
Oh my...
Monday, March 24, 2014
INFJ and Other Myers Briggs Typology Nonsense
So, basically, this blog, besides posting ridiculously sappy poetry (sorry, not sorry), is about discovering my more emotional side, so I am going to talk about a recent activity that shed a lot of light on my emotional and mental construct.
I think everyone should take the Myers Briggs personality test. (http://www.humanmetrics.com/)
Not only does it help you uncover neat little tidbits about yourself, it opens up a whole can of worms on how you relate to other people and how you can/should improve on it. And, unlike the astrology mumbo-jumbo I used to be so into, it is actually very detailed and very, VERY spot on, because it is testing you on your social and psychological tendencies.
There are about 16 different outcomes based on four groupings: Extrovert (E) versus Introvert (I), Sensing (S) versus iNtuitive (N), Thinking (T) versus Feeling (F), and Judging (J) versus Perceiving (P). You can have any percentage of preference of one over the other - I have a 34% preference of F over T based on the answers I've given, for example. Any combination determines what kind of human you are, fit into four different categories: Rationals (NT), Idealists (NF), Guardians (SJ), and Artisans (SP).
I turned out to be INFJ. Funny part that I liked the most was that I am one of 1-3% of the tested human population that falls under this category. I am one in one hundred. It seems almost nice that I am so...unique. Of course, I get beyond having an ego moment, and, looking through the many descriptions of the INFJ, or the Counselor, as most behaviorists would dub me and my ilk, it seems readily accurate. I seek harmony among my peers, I strive for perfection and am constantly seeking self-improvement, and I desire more than anything meaning within my relationships and ideas. I like writing my ideas down more than speaking them (obviously) and I am extremely guarded with my inner feelings and opinions.
What struck me most was how clear-cut it was about how, despite the fact that I could be mistaken for an extrovert for how well I can camouflage in social settings, I am a true introvert and find it difficult to let people in. I am easily hurt, but I will never show it, even in my dearest relationships. When hurt enough, I do not outright confront someone, but will slowly back away from the relationship until the bond has been stretched to a breaking point. This tendency leads to a lot of hurt and confusion on the part of my peers.
I am still trying to take it all in, and I am immersing myself in the psychology of it all. It is mind-opening, but confusing and startling at the same time, despite having secretly known it all along. Again, I highly recommend it, and will continue my research into it.
JUST DO IT.
I think everyone should take the Myers Briggs personality test. (http://www.humanmetrics.com/)
Not only does it help you uncover neat little tidbits about yourself, it opens up a whole can of worms on how you relate to other people and how you can/should improve on it. And, unlike the astrology mumbo-jumbo I used to be so into, it is actually very detailed and very, VERY spot on, because it is testing you on your social and psychological tendencies.
There are about 16 different outcomes based on four groupings: Extrovert (E) versus Introvert (I), Sensing (S) versus iNtuitive (N), Thinking (T) versus Feeling (F), and Judging (J) versus Perceiving (P). You can have any percentage of preference of one over the other - I have a 34% preference of F over T based on the answers I've given, for example. Any combination determines what kind of human you are, fit into four different categories: Rationals (NT), Idealists (NF), Guardians (SJ), and Artisans (SP).
I turned out to be INFJ. Funny part that I liked the most was that I am one of 1-3% of the tested human population that falls under this category. I am one in one hundred. It seems almost nice that I am so...unique. Of course, I get beyond having an ego moment, and, looking through the many descriptions of the INFJ, or the Counselor, as most behaviorists would dub me and my ilk, it seems readily accurate. I seek harmony among my peers, I strive for perfection and am constantly seeking self-improvement, and I desire more than anything meaning within my relationships and ideas. I like writing my ideas down more than speaking them (obviously) and I am extremely guarded with my inner feelings and opinions.
What struck me most was how clear-cut it was about how, despite the fact that I could be mistaken for an extrovert for how well I can camouflage in social settings, I am a true introvert and find it difficult to let people in. I am easily hurt, but I will never show it, even in my dearest relationships. When hurt enough, I do not outright confront someone, but will slowly back away from the relationship until the bond has been stretched to a breaking point. This tendency leads to a lot of hurt and confusion on the part of my peers.
I am still trying to take it all in, and I am immersing myself in the psychology of it all. It is mind-opening, but confusing and startling at the same time, despite having secretly known it all along. Again, I highly recommend it, and will continue my research into it.
JUST DO IT.
Monday, March 3, 2014
The Disillusionment: Meeting More Bigots than I Can Handle
"Kind of sick of this whole "my religion is better than yours" game, a.k.a. American Founding Fathers were actually Deists, not Christians. Look your sh*t up before you claim America was founded on Christianity and tell me that because the Bible says so-and-so that it should be a federal law. Two words. SECULAR SOCIETY. Get with the 21st century and stop shoving your dogma in everyone else's face. It is getting really annoying really fast."
I am really wondering what would happen if I had posted this in my Facebook. Not going to lie, it would have been pretty entertaining for the people I would be directing this at. As for any innocent by-standers...I put off enough people by being as weird as I am. I don't need to start coming off as obnoxious on top of it.
This, for some background, is due to one specific person who I thought was a good friend. Then his girlfriend cheated on him, he became pretty depressed, and then she said sorry. This led to the notion that she deserved a second chance (no cheater EVER deserves a second chance) and now he thinks he has to compensate for a shitty girlfriend by being a religious freak. How do you become a religious freak?
Ellie's Guide to Becoming a Religious Freak
Step One: pressure your close friends to go to church with you every single Sunday without fail, no excuse, and if they don't, guilt them by telling them that their "souls need saving". Even the atheist ones. ESPECIALLY the atheist ones. (FYI, I am Episcopalian, for the record, and he never asked me to go to church because...
Step Two: Upon realization that another friend (this is where I come in) has dabbled in other religions (Wicca), tell them that "my opinion of you went from here" *hand held up high* "to here." *hand held significantly lower* Friend gets pissed off and doesn't feel like being around you anymore, but, hey, she doesn't revere God in the exact. damn. way. you. do. And that is baaaaaaaaad. So she's telling all your friends, who think a little more highly of her more rational and ethical personality than yours, that you are being an asshole. No big deal! Your soul is guaranteed a spot in heaven from all that church-going and witch-shaming you've been doing. Good job, fella.
Step Three: Post ASININE BULLSHIT about how you are significantly better at being Christian than everyone else. This includes reposting videos about God's saving grace, memes about how despite that you will defend your (non-existent) gay friends in the face of bullying, you don't believe they deserve the right to marriage (reason #1 why they are non-existent), and by making yourself out to be a generally better human being than everyone else despite the fact that your friends are slowly, but surely pulling their support away from beneath you.
Here is where this kid, by following these steps, will end up: friendless, angry, and stuck with a cheating bitch of an not-ex-girlfriend (yes, bud - she's still cheating on your ass, and no talk about her cystic ovaries is going to make that fact go away). All this will happen if he doesn't pull his large, seriously inflamed head out of his ass. Your religion doesn't make you a better person. It is WHAT YOU DO and WHO YOU ARE that make or break your chances of leaving a good memory on this earth.
In a few days, I will have no choice but to bitch-slap this kid and tell him what a moron he is being. I cannot stand the condescending glances, the "holier than thou" attitude, and this idea that he is so much smarter than me because he is choosing to save his soul - he, however, doesn't believe in evolution, thinks the Earth is 6,000 years old, and because Leviticus says that homosexuality is a sin (by the way, so is cooking beef with cheese, according to that - how was that cheeseburger last week, huh? And that mixed fiber cloth you wear all the time - polyester AND cotton? Break out the stones and stick him in the sand! We got ourselves a real sinner!) How can he possibly think he is the smarter one?
There is a New Testament for a reason: one that teaches us that it does not matter as long as you follow these two simple rules that Jesus laid out for us.
1. Love God above all things.
2. Love thy neighbor as thyself.
The New Testament is a creed which all Christians should live by, and really, that is all they should be thinking of abiding by. Just because you are so caught up in your insecurities about how manly or unmanly you are doesn't require that you vilify that guy in class who wears eyeliner and makes doe eyes at the dreamy male TA. He has feelings and needs and dreams (some of being MARRIED and being equal to his fellow man) and fears too.
So before you get you panties in a twist, just remember that before you start shoving your goddamn dogma in my face, you had better prepare yourself for having it slammed right back down your throat and out your ass. America is as much a Christian nation as it is a Zoroastrian nation or a Buddhist nation or a Wiccan nation. It belongs to all of us - that is the whole idea of America, the melting pot of cultures. If we start getting up on our high horses and proclaiming ourselves as better than another simply because we are different, then something has gone terribly wrong in the scheme of things.
Final word: get your religion out of our politics, and maybe we can all settle our social rights war with a little less personal hatred in the mix. Capisce?
I am really wondering what would happen if I had posted this in my Facebook. Not going to lie, it would have been pretty entertaining for the people I would be directing this at. As for any innocent by-standers...I put off enough people by being as weird as I am. I don't need to start coming off as obnoxious on top of it.
This, for some background, is due to one specific person who I thought was a good friend. Then his girlfriend cheated on him, he became pretty depressed, and then she said sorry. This led to the notion that she deserved a second chance (no cheater EVER deserves a second chance) and now he thinks he has to compensate for a shitty girlfriend by being a religious freak. How do you become a religious freak?
Ellie's Guide to Becoming a Religious Freak
Step One: pressure your close friends to go to church with you every single Sunday without fail, no excuse, and if they don't, guilt them by telling them that their "souls need saving". Even the atheist ones. ESPECIALLY the atheist ones. (FYI, I am Episcopalian, for the record, and he never asked me to go to church because...
Step Two: Upon realization that another friend (this is where I come in) has dabbled in other religions (Wicca), tell them that "my opinion of you went from here" *hand held up high* "to here." *hand held significantly lower* Friend gets pissed off and doesn't feel like being around you anymore, but, hey, she doesn't revere God in the exact. damn. way. you. do. And that is baaaaaaaaad. So she's telling all your friends, who think a little more highly of her more rational and ethical personality than yours, that you are being an asshole. No big deal! Your soul is guaranteed a spot in heaven from all that church-going and witch-shaming you've been doing. Good job, fella.
Step Three: Post ASININE BULLSHIT about how you are significantly better at being Christian than everyone else. This includes reposting videos about God's saving grace, memes about how despite that you will defend your (non-existent) gay friends in the face of bullying, you don't believe they deserve the right to marriage (reason #1 why they are non-existent), and by making yourself out to be a generally better human being than everyone else despite the fact that your friends are slowly, but surely pulling their support away from beneath you.
Here is where this kid, by following these steps, will end up: friendless, angry, and stuck with a cheating bitch of an not-ex-girlfriend (yes, bud - she's still cheating on your ass, and no talk about her cystic ovaries is going to make that fact go away). All this will happen if he doesn't pull his large, seriously inflamed head out of his ass. Your religion doesn't make you a better person. It is WHAT YOU DO and WHO YOU ARE that make or break your chances of leaving a good memory on this earth.
In a few days, I will have no choice but to bitch-slap this kid and tell him what a moron he is being. I cannot stand the condescending glances, the "holier than thou" attitude, and this idea that he is so much smarter than me because he is choosing to save his soul - he, however, doesn't believe in evolution, thinks the Earth is 6,000 years old, and because Leviticus says that homosexuality is a sin (by the way, so is cooking beef with cheese, according to that - how was that cheeseburger last week, huh? And that mixed fiber cloth you wear all the time - polyester AND cotton? Break out the stones and stick him in the sand! We got ourselves a real sinner!) How can he possibly think he is the smarter one?
There is a New Testament for a reason: one that teaches us that it does not matter as long as you follow these two simple rules that Jesus laid out for us.
1. Love God above all things.
2. Love thy neighbor as thyself.
The New Testament is a creed which all Christians should live by, and really, that is all they should be thinking of abiding by. Just because you are so caught up in your insecurities about how manly or unmanly you are doesn't require that you vilify that guy in class who wears eyeliner and makes doe eyes at the dreamy male TA. He has feelings and needs and dreams (some of being MARRIED and being equal to his fellow man) and fears too.
So before you get you panties in a twist, just remember that before you start shoving your goddamn dogma in my face, you had better prepare yourself for having it slammed right back down your throat and out your ass. America is as much a Christian nation as it is a Zoroastrian nation or a Buddhist nation or a Wiccan nation. It belongs to all of us - that is the whole idea of America, the melting pot of cultures. If we start getting up on our high horses and proclaiming ourselves as better than another simply because we are different, then something has gone terribly wrong in the scheme of things.
Final word: get your religion out of our politics, and maybe we can all settle our social rights war with a little less personal hatred in the mix. Capisce?
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Serendipity is a Funny Thing
I think I am going to let this one stand alone. No explanation, no nothing. But it is in lieu of something I totally saw coming...
The Odometer Reads Sideways Infinity
800 miles.
That is what I traveled.
Through stone and snow and pine, I drove my heart,
an angry fire screaming down the path of quiet sorrow
inflamed in desire for your secluded love.
A red-hot core burning through my bone and brine moaned
and creaked for you, like a house yet filled, swelling and shrinking
in the winter's chill, a hope enshrouded in graveyards and fences.
800 miles.
A drink, a whisper, a secret smile, and your hand is on
the small of my back - that sweet dip that beckons imagination,
that slopes into dark dreams and beautiful answers to anxious questions.
I lead you away from roaring crushes and milling crowds,
from the prying eyes of your friends who dare to flirt,
who could not know how deep this curiosity goes.
Your urgency follows me into the night as
you lead me off to a place of lonely music and warmth.
800 miles.
A cup of tea is a cup of trust -
you know I would not lead you here if I did not want more.
You kissed me, a happy rule broken into a promise made.
My head lies in the soft cloud of pillows and sighs as
your hands span my body, lovely cartographers,
and your strong body eclipses the fervent shudders of mine.
You pull at my hair, a briar patch in which you lose your mind.
I claw, scream into sheets in which you will undoubtedly smell my musk
weeks after I depart your embrace, hoping
that our dream will not die.
Morning comes, a somber reminder of the real world, and
I slip away, not knowing where you stand.
I do not say good-bye, but touch your shoulder,
silent, reverent farewell.
After a night of travel and one more of your love, I,
bleary-eyed, look at my odometer. 800 miles.
This is how far I went to find you and make you mine.
800 miles is how much further, if not more, I would go to keep you.
The Odometer Reads Sideways Infinity
800 miles.
That is what I traveled.
Through stone and snow and pine, I drove my heart,
an angry fire screaming down the path of quiet sorrow
inflamed in desire for your secluded love.
A red-hot core burning through my bone and brine moaned
and creaked for you, like a house yet filled, swelling and shrinking
in the winter's chill, a hope enshrouded in graveyards and fences.
800 miles.
A drink, a whisper, a secret smile, and your hand is on
the small of my back - that sweet dip that beckons imagination,
that slopes into dark dreams and beautiful answers to anxious questions.
I lead you away from roaring crushes and milling crowds,
from the prying eyes of your friends who dare to flirt,
who could not know how deep this curiosity goes.
Your urgency follows me into the night as
you lead me off to a place of lonely music and warmth.
800 miles.
A cup of tea is a cup of trust -
you know I would not lead you here if I did not want more.
You kissed me, a happy rule broken into a promise made.
My head lies in the soft cloud of pillows and sighs as
your hands span my body, lovely cartographers,
and your strong body eclipses the fervent shudders of mine.
You pull at my hair, a briar patch in which you lose your mind.
I claw, scream into sheets in which you will undoubtedly smell my musk
weeks after I depart your embrace, hoping
that our dream will not die.
Morning comes, a somber reminder of the real world, and
I slip away, not knowing where you stand.
I do not say good-bye, but touch your shoulder,
silent, reverent farewell.
After a night of travel and one more of your love, I,
bleary-eyed, look at my odometer. 800 miles.
This is how far I went to find you and make you mine.
800 miles is how much further, if not more, I would go to keep you.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Doubt Only Makes Us Stronger
A friend of mine, one I am fairly certain would like it more if we were more...intimate, has told me that holding onto a love that I've had for a while, one greatly unreciprocated for the most part, is folly. I am foolish to hold onto this feeling that I have, that I should give up. Stubborn thing that I am, I refuse.
Unbeknownst to him, my doubts are always present. I have ran through every scenario in my head on how this plays out, and I understand the risks. Yet, doubt lingers. I was sitting in class today, and for the first time in a long time, I wrote a poem that I can actually call good. I'd like to share it with you now.
Leaving Something to be Desired
Summer gave a bounty of fruit
- apples and raspberry kisses and wine and
new cheese at the corner of your mouth, creamy and soft -
and nights spilled forth with moonshine and starlight,
dancing in your muddled irises like fairies exchanging wings for fins.
Skin and teeth and tongue and dark folds in the
sheets that conceal darker deeds with angelic exploits.
Autumn - a depression left when good-byes take our love
and stretches it over mountains and rivers and borders -
is reaching, reaching for a hand still reaching for you,
and while fingers graze each other, desire's razor,
there is not skin enough to take hold, to keep strong,
and thus we break.
We turn.
We fall. We sleep in the hibernating misery as we learn to cope
with the searing light and the snatching winds that once
you and I guarded the other against.
Winter brushes my skin, and I stand alone, once a half, now a shadow.
I ache for you like a mare whickering at a fence, which she heeds as a barrier
between her and some virile stallion, all hot blood and swollen flesh and
my heart panics, my eyes dull in the late wanting, and while
all wishes and songs yearn to tempt your ears to me, I am too far,
I run. I bolt. I dream of days and nights of walking back,
of your arms around me.
And I do return to a charred house at last, where love's mark is burned with despair.
Spring calls, and we kiss the earth where once we lay laughing
- prayers for a new dawn, like a child's hope.
Your perfect eyes bore a shiver into mine, and a flame,
somewhere, bursts into new truth, in an ether no man has touched.
Your rough, callused, gentle hand takes mine - my fence, my fury, is sated,
soothed as I remember, as sweet tasting memory returns.
The bridge is rebuilt, and our love is reborn into something bright.
The light no longer stings my eyes.
Unbeknownst to him, my doubts are always present. I have ran through every scenario in my head on how this plays out, and I understand the risks. Yet, doubt lingers. I was sitting in class today, and for the first time in a long time, I wrote a poem that I can actually call good. I'd like to share it with you now.
Leaving Something to be Desired
Summer gave a bounty of fruit
- apples and raspberry kisses and wine and
new cheese at the corner of your mouth, creamy and soft -
and nights spilled forth with moonshine and starlight,
dancing in your muddled irises like fairies exchanging wings for fins.
Skin and teeth and tongue and dark folds in the
sheets that conceal darker deeds with angelic exploits.
Autumn - a depression left when good-byes take our love
and stretches it over mountains and rivers and borders -
is reaching, reaching for a hand still reaching for you,
and while fingers graze each other, desire's razor,
there is not skin enough to take hold, to keep strong,
and thus we break.
We turn.
We fall. We sleep in the hibernating misery as we learn to cope
with the searing light and the snatching winds that once
you and I guarded the other against.
Winter brushes my skin, and I stand alone, once a half, now a shadow.
I ache for you like a mare whickering at a fence, which she heeds as a barrier
between her and some virile stallion, all hot blood and swollen flesh and
my heart panics, my eyes dull in the late wanting, and while
all wishes and songs yearn to tempt your ears to me, I am too far,
I run. I bolt. I dream of days and nights of walking back,
of your arms around me.
And I do return to a charred house at last, where love's mark is burned with despair.
Spring calls, and we kiss the earth where once we lay laughing
- prayers for a new dawn, like a child's hope.
Your perfect eyes bore a shiver into mine, and a flame,
somewhere, bursts into new truth, in an ether no man has touched.
Your rough, callused, gentle hand takes mine - my fence, my fury, is sated,
soothed as I remember, as sweet tasting memory returns.
The bridge is rebuilt, and our love is reborn into something bright.
The light no longer stings my eyes.
Friday, October 18, 2013
You Know Who You Are...
Oh, my psychoanalyst friend is really trying to get me in trouble...I don't know how to say the words I need to. I wish I could be brave, let you see my vulnerable side, and tell you...everything. God knows I am a coward when it comes to you. God knows you scare me shitless. I want to be so perfect for you, so wonderful that you can't possibly ever say no to me. Here it goes, and I hope, like I think you do, that you read this, because I am too afraid to text you or email you. I don't have Erik this time to pep talk me into sending you another email, who is so sure that you want me too. Good kid, he is. I am too afraid to say it to your face, and I am sorry for that. You deserve better, a brazen beauty that I have only ever written about. Please forgive me if this isn't what you want to hear. I only think you should know...
A quarter after one in the morning, like the song, and I toss in my bed,
pacing from my covers to my computer, to write about love that other people have,
thinking about the one I want to have.
It hurts, being so far from you.
My mornings starts with thoughts of you.
My slumber starts with your face teasing me,
but it is never a perfect likeness, though I know the face I see
is meant to be yours.
I strain to remember how you inflect the words you say,
elusive syllables that I once mocked mercilessly.
I miss your smell, clean and male and subtle enough to draw me in.
I miss your voice, mellow and strong.
I miss your eyes, two storms on the edge of the sea.
I miss hearing your singular footsteps behind me, the knowing of precisely who approaches.
I miss your laugh, my reward, my cookie, for being witty.
Most of all, I miss the way you look at me,
as if I was the only woman you'd ever seen before.
Maybe it was a lie, a figment of my imagination, but others saw it too.
They saw the light in your heart for me
and sang your praises to me, furthering my admiration.
I tried, I promise. I tried so hard not to love you.
From the beginning, it was a losing war I fought desperately.
I cried endlessly, for fear that I was walking into a trap,
and I would have to forsake my heart again in order to walk away.
But, for every doubt, you countered me,
setting my weary, restless mind at ease.
You saw through me, like a glass rose ready to shatter, and you saw that too.
So you withheld from me, fearing just as much as I.
No words can express my gratitude
for how well you have guarded my heart from yourself.
I ask, no more. Let me say the words I need to tell you.
Let me, please, tell you how I miss you,
and how much I need to see your face again
Please, please, let me tell you that I need you,
that every day away from you is a sin and a mistake.
Every day is a countdown to the joy of return.
I miss you, son of the earth.
Let me come back to you.
Let me find a love in you.
A quarter after one in the morning, like the song, and I toss in my bed,
pacing from my covers to my computer, to write about love that other people have,
thinking about the one I want to have.
It hurts, being so far from you.
My mornings starts with thoughts of you.
My slumber starts with your face teasing me,
but it is never a perfect likeness, though I know the face I see
is meant to be yours.
I strain to remember how you inflect the words you say,
elusive syllables that I once mocked mercilessly.
I miss your smell, clean and male and subtle enough to draw me in.
I miss your voice, mellow and strong.
I miss your eyes, two storms on the edge of the sea.
I miss hearing your singular footsteps behind me, the knowing of precisely who approaches.
I miss your laugh, my reward, my cookie, for being witty.
Most of all, I miss the way you look at me,
as if I was the only woman you'd ever seen before.
Maybe it was a lie, a figment of my imagination, but others saw it too.
They saw the light in your heart for me
and sang your praises to me, furthering my admiration.
I tried, I promise. I tried so hard not to love you.
From the beginning, it was a losing war I fought desperately.
I cried endlessly, for fear that I was walking into a trap,
and I would have to forsake my heart again in order to walk away.
But, for every doubt, you countered me,
setting my weary, restless mind at ease.
You saw through me, like a glass rose ready to shatter, and you saw that too.
So you withheld from me, fearing just as much as I.
No words can express my gratitude
for how well you have guarded my heart from yourself.
I ask, no more. Let me say the words I need to tell you.
Let me, please, tell you how I miss you,
and how much I need to see your face again
Please, please, let me tell you that I need you,
that every day away from you is a sin and a mistake.
Every day is a countdown to the joy of return.
I miss you, son of the earth.
Let me come back to you.
Let me find a love in you.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Advocacy: Stop Trying to be Who You Aren't
Life is hard. When we are young and naive, we don't need to put up walls. Our only defenses are our parents and our teachers who look after our own well-being. We are immune to the effects of tragedy far away, and we are too young to understand tragedy close to home. then we grow up, and we begin to comprehend the world around us.
That is when we start building our fortresses.
A friend of mine thought it prudent to psychoanalyze me one night. I wonder if it was just because he saw my pain and wanted me to know it is okay. I haven't felt pain in a while - just numbness and refusal to register the lack of emotion I feel for most anyone at this point in time. I will be the first to admit that I read like an open book. I am not hard to figure out. I am, for the most part, as transparent as anyone can get. For this reason, I make a very terrible liar.
I stood at the counter of the desk that he works, downstairs in our residence hall, and he sat at the desk, watching me as he listed off so many things I didn't believe were obvious. It scared the shit out of me. For all my armor against the world, it does me no good when people can see me for what I truly am: a romantic, a girl who desires love and who desires to give love tantamount to that which she receives, a girl who is afraid of making connections, but doesn't want to be...how did he know all this?
I kept my brave face on as he continued, but I knew in my heart that once I was alone, I would break down. So I did. All that effort, all those prickly barbs I had grown to shield myself, they were all for nothing. They were nothing more than a waste of time. I still am the naive little girl with rose-tinted glasses, praying for someday to meet someone to share a life with, and despite trying to groom myself to be otherwise, it has all been in vain.
The point in all this? You can't change who you are. However, you can learn to do with that person what is best for you. God knows how I am going to make this work for me, but I will try...
That is when we start building our fortresses.
A friend of mine thought it prudent to psychoanalyze me one night. I wonder if it was just because he saw my pain and wanted me to know it is okay. I haven't felt pain in a while - just numbness and refusal to register the lack of emotion I feel for most anyone at this point in time. I will be the first to admit that I read like an open book. I am not hard to figure out. I am, for the most part, as transparent as anyone can get. For this reason, I make a very terrible liar.
I stood at the counter of the desk that he works, downstairs in our residence hall, and he sat at the desk, watching me as he listed off so many things I didn't believe were obvious. It scared the shit out of me. For all my armor against the world, it does me no good when people can see me for what I truly am: a romantic, a girl who desires love and who desires to give love tantamount to that which she receives, a girl who is afraid of making connections, but doesn't want to be...how did he know all this?
I kept my brave face on as he continued, but I knew in my heart that once I was alone, I would break down. So I did. All that effort, all those prickly barbs I had grown to shield myself, they were all for nothing. They were nothing more than a waste of time. I still am the naive little girl with rose-tinted glasses, praying for someday to meet someone to share a life with, and despite trying to groom myself to be otherwise, it has all been in vain.
The point in all this? You can't change who you are. However, you can learn to do with that person what is best for you. God knows how I am going to make this work for me, but I will try...
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
At Least Derek Kilmer Has Vowed to Refuse His Pay
To the crackpots in Congress: thanks, guys. Now I can't do my Earth System Science lab because you couldn't get it together. Now the NOAA, NASA, USGS, and all those other websites we use for our work book are down. Don't worry. My teacher is scrambling to figure something out for us. And, hey, once you get your rears in gear, you can send my dad a big bonus for being cool about you cutting his employment. Oh, and I didn't need that government money for school anyways, so its cool if you lay off all those people who would be taking care of my application. You guys are stellar.
WTF?!?!?!?
Come on, guys! How hard is it to be real human beings for once? How hard is it to look for a good compromise? Stop sticking to your party lines, stop worrying about getting re-elected next year, because at this rate, I don't think it will happen anyways. People cannot live off of their savings for long. People cannot just stop using money. For one thing, we just got out of the Great Recession. We don't need a new one. For another thing, it will come, one way or another, to bite you in the ass.
Good luck getting re-elected. The only one of you who will is Derek Kilmer, and that is because he is giving up his pay until Congress gets back on track. Meanwhile, I am going to continue fuming and wait for everything to cool off while I look for a new job...something that has absolutely nothing to do with the government shutdown.
WTF?!?!?!?
Come on, guys! How hard is it to be real human beings for once? How hard is it to look for a good compromise? Stop sticking to your party lines, stop worrying about getting re-elected next year, because at this rate, I don't think it will happen anyways. People cannot live off of their savings for long. People cannot just stop using money. For one thing, we just got out of the Great Recession. We don't need a new one. For another thing, it will come, one way or another, to bite you in the ass.
Good luck getting re-elected. The only one of you who will is Derek Kilmer, and that is because he is giving up his pay until Congress gets back on track. Meanwhile, I am going to continue fuming and wait for everything to cool off while I look for a new job...something that has absolutely nothing to do with the government shutdown.
Opposites Attract...And Then the Relationship Commits Seppuku
As I gradually make more friends here in Bozeman, and my view of the people here goes from rose-tinted to dark and angry, and gradually lightens again, my world rocks once more with drama. DRAMA, DRAMA, DRAMA.
I will be the first to admit that I am not very emotionally available. There is one person of non-blood relation to me who has ever gotten past my walls, and he is two states away and doing his best to forget me, which is fine...because I need less people to count on, I guess. This leads to a very flighty, flaky individual who gets nervous when the progression of a relationship takes off at speeds that move too fast for her to examine the person she is interacting with appropriately. My latest realization: not only does my new friend attract drama, but she creates it as well, and it is annoying as shit. The best part: the more she makes, the more inclined I am to retreat into myself.
As much as I appreciate how welcome she made me feel, I do not need a rerun of my last "great" friendship - a big cluster of "I love you"s and a whole vat of passive aggressive remarks from one party to the other (me) to result in me feeling like I am insignificant, like my feelings are insignificant, and like the whole world of details that I forwent in the process of going with the flow are greater than the sum of the whole. Does that logic seem a little unsound to you too? It does to me. And I am female, last I checked, so, despite crazy coming with the territory, I am left feeling like the calmer, less unsettled party.
Sometimes, Letting Go is Best
Rush of water - you get caught up.
You get caught up in flows and flux that you don't know the end to.
You think it is fun. You think that it's a game to play.
But when we hit the wall, and the water falls from beneath us,
you will cry for help.
How can I help you
when I'm drowning just the same as you.?
Why do you shout at me, looking for attention,
when I am swept up in currents too strong
to swim against, to catch you and save you from yourself?
You wanted this - you yearned for the thrill of new faces,
new experiences, someone to give you vent.
Now we're headed to the cannery,
and you claim I held the gun, safety off, trigger loose.
Did you look at the fingerprints? They look like yours,
but they could be mine.
Still, I wasn't drunk enough to forget.
I wasn't the one who wanted to chase white rabbits down black holes.
I wasn't the one who pushed the boat into white waters.
I will be the first to admit that I am not very emotionally available. There is one person of non-blood relation to me who has ever gotten past my walls, and he is two states away and doing his best to forget me, which is fine...because I need less people to count on, I guess. This leads to a very flighty, flaky individual who gets nervous when the progression of a relationship takes off at speeds that move too fast for her to examine the person she is interacting with appropriately. My latest realization: not only does my new friend attract drama, but she creates it as well, and it is annoying as shit. The best part: the more she makes, the more inclined I am to retreat into myself.
As much as I appreciate how welcome she made me feel, I do not need a rerun of my last "great" friendship - a big cluster of "I love you"s and a whole vat of passive aggressive remarks from one party to the other (me) to result in me feeling like I am insignificant, like my feelings are insignificant, and like the whole world of details that I forwent in the process of going with the flow are greater than the sum of the whole. Does that logic seem a little unsound to you too? It does to me. And I am female, last I checked, so, despite crazy coming with the territory, I am left feeling like the calmer, less unsettled party.
Sometimes, Letting Go is Best
Rush of water - you get caught up.
You get caught up in flows and flux that you don't know the end to.
You think it is fun. You think that it's a game to play.
But when we hit the wall, and the water falls from beneath us,
you will cry for help.
How can I help you
when I'm drowning just the same as you.?
Why do you shout at me, looking for attention,
when I am swept up in currents too strong
to swim against, to catch you and save you from yourself?
You wanted this - you yearned for the thrill of new faces,
new experiences, someone to give you vent.
Now we're headed to the cannery,
and you claim I held the gun, safety off, trigger loose.
Did you look at the fingerprints? They look like yours,
but they could be mine.
Still, I wasn't drunk enough to forget.
I wasn't the one who wanted to chase white rabbits down black holes.
I wasn't the one who pushed the boat into white waters.
Monday, September 23, 2013
So That's Why I Don't Like You
So now that I have the whole "I hate stupid people" rant out of the way, I will say this.
God loves people who laugh at themselves.
Okay, maybe I'm making God in my own image. That being said, I'm pretty sure he does anyways. For all those times I've been shunned or spurned or cast an evil glare, behind it is someone who doesn't know how to live life to the fullest. They can't learn to just let it go.
Life is spreading sunshine to each other. Life is like love. It dies if you don't give it away. It shrivels up inside you, and it makes you gross and mean and hateful. You then pass that on, and people around you start looking at life through gray-tinted shades. You really do reap what you sow.
I may be a little shy. I am the new girl, after all. I am not exactly comfortable going into a new environment and proclaiming to the world, "Hey, look at me! I'm new!" But isn't that even better of a reason to reach out and say, "Hey, I'm Mary! Let's talk about you!"? (FYI, that really happened, and I adore this lady now.) I am not demanding a maid of honor for that wedding that I may or may not have someday, nor am I looking for some handsome stranger to make babies with. I just want to be able to go to work and not feel like an outcast.
Which leads me to my main point: I have an old coworker back home who I adore. She is like my second mother. I made a great game out of scaring the bajeezus out of her constantly. I would sass and prank and snark with all my buddies back home. I can't do that here. I am fairly certain I would get stabbed if I made so much as a move to make someone look like a fool. They take themselves way, way too damn seriously. Even the girl who best resembles a best friend here takes herself way too seriously, and I cannot, for the life of me, find it in my heart to so much as put her foolishness on display, because I know she'd be offended. Back home, this simply would not be true.
I try to set a good example. I am hoping to make it so that my charming, devil-may-care ways rub off on them. My ways might not be so devil-may-care back home, granted, but here, I am finding myself in dire need of someone to play with, and really play with in a comforting and free manner in which I don't have to worry about what is about to come out of my mouth. I don't have anyone here like that. I hope for someday, but for now...I guess I will have to do for now.
God loves people who laugh at themselves.
Okay, maybe I'm making God in my own image. That being said, I'm pretty sure he does anyways. For all those times I've been shunned or spurned or cast an evil glare, behind it is someone who doesn't know how to live life to the fullest. They can't learn to just let it go.
Life is spreading sunshine to each other. Life is like love. It dies if you don't give it away. It shrivels up inside you, and it makes you gross and mean and hateful. You then pass that on, and people around you start looking at life through gray-tinted shades. You really do reap what you sow.
I may be a little shy. I am the new girl, after all. I am not exactly comfortable going into a new environment and proclaiming to the world, "Hey, look at me! I'm new!" But isn't that even better of a reason to reach out and say, "Hey, I'm Mary! Let's talk about you!"? (FYI, that really happened, and I adore this lady now.) I am not demanding a maid of honor for that wedding that I may or may not have someday, nor am I looking for some handsome stranger to make babies with. I just want to be able to go to work and not feel like an outcast.
Which leads me to my main point: I have an old coworker back home who I adore. She is like my second mother. I made a great game out of scaring the bajeezus out of her constantly. I would sass and prank and snark with all my buddies back home. I can't do that here. I am fairly certain I would get stabbed if I made so much as a move to make someone look like a fool. They take themselves way, way too damn seriously. Even the girl who best resembles a best friend here takes herself way too seriously, and I cannot, for the life of me, find it in my heart to so much as put her foolishness on display, because I know she'd be offended. Back home, this simply would not be true.
I try to set a good example. I am hoping to make it so that my charming, devil-may-care ways rub off on them. My ways might not be so devil-may-care back home, granted, but here, I am finding myself in dire need of someone to play with, and really play with in a comforting and free manner in which I don't have to worry about what is about to come out of my mouth. I don't have anyone here like that. I hope for someday, but for now...I guess I will have to do for now.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
For The People at Home, and the People Who Won't let Me Feel at Home
It is always great being the one inside looking out, mocking all the people who wish they were you, who wish they could be friends with you, or who think they are as good as you.
Bullshit. Whoever you are, if you have that attitude, you are a jerk and a half, and I loathe everything you stand for.
I am in the process of getting a huge, HUGE reality check. All that stuff about Montana being God's country? I feared I would take it too far, but here it is: totally romanticized bullshit.
It is, to a degree, God's country, for the people who refer to themselves as "natives". It is a wonderful place where you can go have conversations with random people in bars and spend the night with them (I did this once with an interior designer named Lori, and we went bar hopping after talking for an hour) or going out with your buddies and getting drunk off your you-know-whats, or even going to the football game and cozying up with strangers as you all cheer on the home team.
I was born in Great Falls. I hoped that this fact would lend itself to my admittance into the "in" crowd. The very plain and simple (and very painful) truth of it is that being a native is knowing the right people, knowing the culture, knowing the ins and outs of the place you are from. If you are an outsider, no one likes you, you are instantly judged, and people start a crap load of gossip about you, even though they haven't bothered to ask you what or who you are. Apparently I am a lesbian, sleeping with the girl who was brave enough and kind enough to be my friend. No one has asked me if this is true or not. In fact, the most I get out of ninety percent of my coworkers on a regular basis is silence and a turned-up nose. If I say hello, fifty percent say hello back and casually ask me how I am doing, the other fifty are broken into a ten percent of "hey, I want to know more about you: let's talk!" and forty percent, "oh my God, it's talking to me."
And I though Gig Harbor was snotty.
While the money and uptight air that presented itself to me back home was stifling and made me feel constantly judged, I feel like an exile here. I have done NOTHING to make you people think that I am a bad person. I have done NOTHING to give you the idea that I want to take all your secrets and sell them to the government to spy on you. I have done ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to allow you the right to look down on me like a second-class citizen. I am not here because I am trying to steal your land or your guns. I am not here to bastardize your culture by playing Hollywood's version of cowgirl. I am here to get back to my roots, to learn, to broaden my horizons. And all you can do is snub me? You all are some pieces of work.
You are not better than me. You are not more cultured than me. You are not tougher or smarter or kinder than me. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW ME. So what the hell gives you the right to walk on past me without so much as a kind smile and a hello to make me feel human? How would you like it? How would you like to be thrown in a strange place and treated like a bug on the floor? I am working my ass off to make this world a better place by exhibiting some compassion, and all you can do is ignore me when I greet you?! And here I thought the Seattle Freeze was bad! Jesus, people, are you so uncaring that you can't take in a young woman, miles away from home, with no family or friends nearby to speak of, under your wing? I'm not asking for dinner and a movie or anything! I just want a human connection so I don't feel so damn alienated! Is that too much to ask?!?!?!?!
Obviously, I feel a little passionate about this. Obviously, I am feeling a little crazed. But why shouldn't I? I spend most of my day crammed in my dorm room, hiding from the leering eyes that condemn my every move as "outsider". I spend nights awake, crying, wishing I could go home because everyone here is too stubborn and pig-headed to let me in. I haven't done anything wrong! I will not let you punish me for simply living! Get over your self-obsessive ideals that outsiders are not welcome. If that were true, you would have a serious issue with inbreeding, and I don't mean your cats. Stop acting like the rest of the world thinks you are : a bunch of crazy hicks. I know you aren't. I know that you are becoming engineers, or that you've been sign-makers, or that you love the Body Exhibit, or that you secretly want to marry Audrey Tautou. I listen. I hear you. I understand. If I am willing to look beyond your stereotype and appreciate you for the human you are, I don't think it would be that much trouble to take a moment and ask me, "So, what brings you to Bozeman?" You will probably make my day, especially if you really listen. Stop treating me like a leper. Start treating me like a peer. Don't be the haters that you are making yourselves out to be.
Bullshit. Whoever you are, if you have that attitude, you are a jerk and a half, and I loathe everything you stand for.
I am in the process of getting a huge, HUGE reality check. All that stuff about Montana being God's country? I feared I would take it too far, but here it is: totally romanticized bullshit.
It is, to a degree, God's country, for the people who refer to themselves as "natives". It is a wonderful place where you can go have conversations with random people in bars and spend the night with them (I did this once with an interior designer named Lori, and we went bar hopping after talking for an hour) or going out with your buddies and getting drunk off your you-know-whats, or even going to the football game and cozying up with strangers as you all cheer on the home team.
I was born in Great Falls. I hoped that this fact would lend itself to my admittance into the "in" crowd. The very plain and simple (and very painful) truth of it is that being a native is knowing the right people, knowing the culture, knowing the ins and outs of the place you are from. If you are an outsider, no one likes you, you are instantly judged, and people start a crap load of gossip about you, even though they haven't bothered to ask you what or who you are. Apparently I am a lesbian, sleeping with the girl who was brave enough and kind enough to be my friend. No one has asked me if this is true or not. In fact, the most I get out of ninety percent of my coworkers on a regular basis is silence and a turned-up nose. If I say hello, fifty percent say hello back and casually ask me how I am doing, the other fifty are broken into a ten percent of "hey, I want to know more about you: let's talk!" and forty percent, "oh my God, it's talking to me."
And I though Gig Harbor was snotty.
While the money and uptight air that presented itself to me back home was stifling and made me feel constantly judged, I feel like an exile here. I have done NOTHING to make you people think that I am a bad person. I have done NOTHING to give you the idea that I want to take all your secrets and sell them to the government to spy on you. I have done ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to allow you the right to look down on me like a second-class citizen. I am not here because I am trying to steal your land or your guns. I am not here to bastardize your culture by playing Hollywood's version of cowgirl. I am here to get back to my roots, to learn, to broaden my horizons. And all you can do is snub me? You all are some pieces of work.
You are not better than me. You are not more cultured than me. You are not tougher or smarter or kinder than me. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW ME. So what the hell gives you the right to walk on past me without so much as a kind smile and a hello to make me feel human? How would you like it? How would you like to be thrown in a strange place and treated like a bug on the floor? I am working my ass off to make this world a better place by exhibiting some compassion, and all you can do is ignore me when I greet you?! And here I thought the Seattle Freeze was bad! Jesus, people, are you so uncaring that you can't take in a young woman, miles away from home, with no family or friends nearby to speak of, under your wing? I'm not asking for dinner and a movie or anything! I just want a human connection so I don't feel so damn alienated! Is that too much to ask?!?!?!?!
Obviously, I feel a little passionate about this. Obviously, I am feeling a little crazed. But why shouldn't I? I spend most of my day crammed in my dorm room, hiding from the leering eyes that condemn my every move as "outsider". I spend nights awake, crying, wishing I could go home because everyone here is too stubborn and pig-headed to let me in. I haven't done anything wrong! I will not let you punish me for simply living! Get over your self-obsessive ideals that outsiders are not welcome. If that were true, you would have a serious issue with inbreeding, and I don't mean your cats. Stop acting like the rest of the world thinks you are : a bunch of crazy hicks. I know you aren't. I know that you are becoming engineers, or that you've been sign-makers, or that you love the Body Exhibit, or that you secretly want to marry Audrey Tautou. I listen. I hear you. I understand. If I am willing to look beyond your stereotype and appreciate you for the human you are, I don't think it would be that much trouble to take a moment and ask me, "So, what brings you to Bozeman?" You will probably make my day, especially if you really listen. Stop treating me like a leper. Start treating me like a peer. Don't be the haters that you are making yourselves out to be.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
For My Parents
The two people in the world who are not allowed to read this are getting a page devoted to them. My mom and my dad are two eccentric, smart-ass, perfectly devious people who have taken the last twenty-two years to make me the person I am today. Through everything I have been through, everything I'm about to go through, they have pushed and pulled my stubborn little ass through hell and back to make me stronger. I am who I am because they loved me.
I went home tonight, sat down on the kitchen floor, and started crying. It's something I do a lot now, because of what's about to happen in the next few weeks. I'm leaving home. I'm doing what none of my sisters or cousins have done. I'm flying the nest. And despite my mother's laughing pleas to make me stay forever, they have gone above and beyond to make this next step in my life possible. I won't forget that. And neither will I forget the fact that, despite the fact that fifty percent of their peers have gone through divorce (one set of my godparents included), they have stayed together. They stayed a team through my terrible twos, my dorky pubescence, my raging adolescence, and even now as I set sail to my independence.
Anyways, so as I'm sitting in the middle of the floor, my mother comes up to me, and instead of any other mother who would ask if I was okay and rub me on the back, she laughed at me and likened my appearance to that of Piglet for how pathetic I looked. Then she sat down next to me and asked me "Can I get you anything? We've got plenty of beverage..." Beverage meaning alcohol of the distilled variety. I, of course, laughed ruefully. Alcohol isn't going to solve my problems. But then my dad joined in, and all of a sudden, I wasn't crying anymore. Granted, I was definitely whining for my dad to stop teasing me, but that is usually a given. The point is that I don't know what I would do without them. I really just don't know where I'd be if they weren't the people they are.
Momma, Da, if you ever read this blog (I'm praying for my dignity's sake that you won't) I love you. Thank you for everything you've taught me and everything that you have been to me.
I went home tonight, sat down on the kitchen floor, and started crying. It's something I do a lot now, because of what's about to happen in the next few weeks. I'm leaving home. I'm doing what none of my sisters or cousins have done. I'm flying the nest. And despite my mother's laughing pleas to make me stay forever, they have gone above and beyond to make this next step in my life possible. I won't forget that. And neither will I forget the fact that, despite the fact that fifty percent of their peers have gone through divorce (one set of my godparents included), they have stayed together. They stayed a team through my terrible twos, my dorky pubescence, my raging adolescence, and even now as I set sail to my independence.
Anyways, so as I'm sitting in the middle of the floor, my mother comes up to me, and instead of any other mother who would ask if I was okay and rub me on the back, she laughed at me and likened my appearance to that of Piglet for how pathetic I looked. Then she sat down next to me and asked me "Can I get you anything? We've got plenty of beverage..." Beverage meaning alcohol of the distilled variety. I, of course, laughed ruefully. Alcohol isn't going to solve my problems. But then my dad joined in, and all of a sudden, I wasn't crying anymore. Granted, I was definitely whining for my dad to stop teasing me, but that is usually a given. The point is that I don't know what I would do without them. I really just don't know where I'd be if they weren't the people they are.
Momma, Da, if you ever read this blog (I'm praying for my dignity's sake that you won't) I love you. Thank you for everything you've taught me and everything that you have been to me.
Monday, August 5, 2013
The Fallacies of Being a Human in Love
It is incredible how much effort a human being can put into something when the chances of success are so slim. Are we gamblers by nature, or is it the pressure of a society that thrives on rooting for the underdog? the reason I ask is because right now, there are a lot of relationships around me going sour. There has been talk of separation, divorce, abuse, anger...and all out of people wanting to be loved. Where does it go wrong? And why, when we finally get the chance to be happy, does it have to get so complicated? Where is it that human error gains its foothold? And how is it that we let it take control? Where's the line?
I have never doubted that there is someone out there who is almost perfect for me. Honestly, no one is ever one hundred percent, but it has always been a given that I would find someone who makes me feel safe and warm and loved. But all this sadness...it gets to you. It brings you down. And it makes you wonder if it is all really worth the struggle.
I get that people have baggage. I have baggage. I have my issues, my insecurities, but I deal. I've learned to never project if I can help it. My problems are for me to resolve. Am I the only one who sees that our baggage is our own and no one else's? It is one thing to find some comfort that someone else is going through what we are, but to make it someone else's problem when it wasn't there to begin with...it causes an awful lot of unnecessary drama.
I wish, for all my friends out there who are going through this, that they can find some resolve, some peace, and maybe even some strength in themselves and in the people who love them. I can't imagine what it is like to love someone and have that love hurt them more than it it saves them. For that, I have nothing to write. No poem for my friends, but a song that, today, inspired me to be stronger. I've always prided myself on being that strong, impenetrable fortress. This song is about finding the strength to rise above the hurt that we deal each other.
I have never doubted that there is someone out there who is almost perfect for me. Honestly, no one is ever one hundred percent, but it has always been a given that I would find someone who makes me feel safe and warm and loved. But all this sadness...it gets to you. It brings you down. And it makes you wonder if it is all really worth the struggle.
I get that people have baggage. I have baggage. I have my issues, my insecurities, but I deal. I've learned to never project if I can help it. My problems are for me to resolve. Am I the only one who sees that our baggage is our own and no one else's? It is one thing to find some comfort that someone else is going through what we are, but to make it someone else's problem when it wasn't there to begin with...it causes an awful lot of unnecessary drama.
I wish, for all my friends out there who are going through this, that they can find some resolve, some peace, and maybe even some strength in themselves and in the people who love them. I can't imagine what it is like to love someone and have that love hurt them more than it it saves them. For that, I have nothing to write. No poem for my friends, but a song that, today, inspired me to be stronger. I've always prided myself on being that strong, impenetrable fortress. This song is about finding the strength to rise above the hurt that we deal each other.
Friday, July 26, 2013
My Life in Retail in a Nut Shell
It is astounding how negativity can spread like a virus. What is more astounding is how the small things can make or break a good day. So when I was ringing up a woman at work today, I really wasn't expecting my day to go sour when I asked for a photo ID to verify her signature. When she showed me her Costco card (that has a photo but no signature), I asked again for something with a signature. For some reason, other than the fact that her hands were full of Tiki torches (by the way, I offered to take those from her so she could root through her wallet for the ID), she flew up in a rage. She demanded her receipt, looked at my name tag for my identity, and told me with all a manner of vitriol and spite what "fabulous customer service" I had provided. On a side note, this was all in front of her seemingly eleven-year-old daughter. After hearing a profuse apology from the woman behind her, my co-worker rushed to my register, asking if I was okay. Apparently, the harpy had gone to returns to vent to my cohorts, saying "Just so you know, the cashier, Ellie, is a bitch." Obviously, being the big weenie that I am, I started crying and banished myself to the bathroom for ten minutes. The big question is: what kind of person take their anger out on someone they don't even know?
First World, First Pain
A song in my head, bluebells and twittering sparrows, and
my day is, so assuredly, sunshine, golden and warm.
Free from the nettles and spew of bitter times is my feather-heart.
But you seek to usurp my pedestal.
Acetone and tar, you blacken and corrode.
All this for your petty first-world needs.
I had done nothing to you; your words, sharp as obsidian arrows,
they spear me with confusion.
There are children in the world starving, killing for one sip of water.
There are men slaughtering their brothers
all for the chance to be someone to another who will
only seek to grant them the same oblivion.
And you think your problems are so significant.
Your minor inconvenience has done you no permanent harm,
while others are left orphaned and widowed and malnourished.
Yet you seek to darken my sky with clouds.
I have not earned the right to look into the sun because your world is
imperfect, marred, tainted with inconsequential nothings.
My fault, my punishment.
The bluebells are gone.
All that was gold is now steel and rain.
Job well done:
You've pushed my last button.
Does that make you better than me?
Or is all that spittle and venom wasted on a good day?
First World, First Pain
A song in my head, bluebells and twittering sparrows, and
my day is, so assuredly, sunshine, golden and warm.
Free from the nettles and spew of bitter times is my feather-heart.
But you seek to usurp my pedestal.
Acetone and tar, you blacken and corrode.
All this for your petty first-world needs.
I had done nothing to you; your words, sharp as obsidian arrows,
they spear me with confusion.
There are children in the world starving, killing for one sip of water.
There are men slaughtering their brothers
all for the chance to be someone to another who will
only seek to grant them the same oblivion.
And you think your problems are so significant.
Your minor inconvenience has done you no permanent harm,
while others are left orphaned and widowed and malnourished.
Yet you seek to darken my sky with clouds.
I have not earned the right to look into the sun because your world is
imperfect, marred, tainted with inconsequential nothings.
My fault, my punishment.
The bluebells are gone.
All that was gold is now steel and rain.
Job well done:
You've pushed my last button.
Does that make you better than me?
Or is all that spittle and venom wasted on a good day?
Monday, July 15, 2013
Oh God. It is Actually About to Happen.
My mom has a best friend who is very spiritual. She has all sorts of enlightening little phrases posted around her house, crosses and pentagrams, pictures of the Virgin Mother and Jesus and other related paraphernalia. In her guest bathroom, there's one that, in a few words, says that we do not fear failure. Instead we fear success. It really has never occurred to me how true that is. Until now. I believe the word I'd use for myself right now is "chicken". At least, that is the first half of the word...
I am leaving in a little more than a month, and I was excited. Seriously, I was so stoked about going and pursuing my dreams, to leave nothing behind but the dust I kick up. Now...I am panicking. It is actually happening. I am leaving. And there aren't any present issues that I can't handle; I know what I'm doing. But the thought of leaving some of the people I've bonded with in the last year and a half...it is killing me. And I don't want to lose them. I don't want to miss out on my little sister's seventh birthday. I don't want to leave my new kitten to bond with someone else. And I sure as hell as not crazy about the idea of becoming a memory to my friends.
It strikes me, though, that success always must come with personal sacrifice. Is moving forward worth all that I am losing? I have moved before, several times, in fact, and I have healed. I am a relatively normal human being despite all the good-byes I've said. Will a few more be that terrible?
I've reassured them all that I will return, for birthdays, for Christmas, for summer, for what have you. I'm coming back. Everyone is excited for me, though many have begged my parents to make me stay. They all want me to do well and be happy, and this is what I've been aiming for forever. I'm doing what I always said I would. So why does it feel so bittersweet?
I will be frank: I may or may not have also developed a very singular attachment to someone, someone who has brought out a very singular woman in me. I've never felt like this with anyone before, never felt this kind of safety with someone, and we're finally starting to progress in our relationship...only to have him watch me leave. I have never, ever, hated myself so much in my entire life. The one time I feel like someone could handle the job of keeping me happy, and I am caught between my career and my love life. Do I really want to give up what I have here, with him, to further my life along? I mean, I'm really fond of the guy, almost to the point of...well...
The obvious but painful answer is, yes, I do. It hurts like a shot through the heart, but I do. I have to. Because I want to make a difference. And who knows? Maybe I will come back, to stay and rekindle old friendships, even old flames. I can't count on it, as awful as it is, but I have to make the choice with the least amount of regret behind it. And I know I will forever regret staying behind and not pursuing my dreams. Time heals, does it not? And my broken heart...it's going to need a lot of time.
Anyways. Being that I most likely will not be continuing my cooperation with the blog I have been working with for so long, due to my relocation, it looks like I'll be back on my old schedule, as best as I can manage. I will be writing poetry, along with my novel (I'm on page 71, guys!), and working towards my bachelor's. I just have to do what feels right...my only wish is that it was more black and white than this. But beggars can't be choosers, and I have to deal with what I have. God save me, I hope this is the right thing to do.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Hey, Guys!
I am on a break from my other blog right now. I am having a bad case writer's block; there's just nothing nerdy to write about right now that really catches my attention. However, I do have something I need to get off my chest, and I'm sure it has occurred to several of you what the phenomenon I'm speaking on is.
I am working on a very big transition in my life. I am moving in the fall, to (guess where) Montana. Bozeman. You guys totally saw that coming. I get it. But I'm currently working on my housing application, and it is possibly the most frustrating part out of it. It largely had to do with the tech, and they were slow to send me my password, but I finally got it all done, and that is when they asked me for $200. I am a starving college student, and they are asking for two hundred dollars. Are you crazy? I paid my application fee, I will be paying thousands of dollars in tuition, room, board, books, and other add-ons, and you want to bleed me of even more of my money?
Of course, it isn't the university's fault. No, really. I am serious. We live in a society that goes beyond encouraging our youth to pursue higher education. We demand it. And in an ideal world, we would all have degrees. But that is like saying in an ideal world, everyone has blue eyes, everyone has a high IQ, everyone are dog people. There needs to be large diversity in order for our world to function. Parents, however, don't see that. They see the failings of their lives or the lives of others, and a lot of times, the biggest theme of those failures is a lack of education. College, of course, is the obvious course of action. However, I would argue that it is not always the right one. Not everyone has the software for processing a college-style education. Not everyone can sit in a classroom and handle a full load of homework. Not everyone can take in the new lifestyle of being alone and independent, and put the expectations of three to four teachers on top of it. Are they failures because of this? Hell no! But when they flunk out or drop out, or whatever they do to escape their torment, not only have they wasted their own money (or their parents money, for that matter), they've wasted the resources of the facilities and faculties of the university. This brings me to my main frustration.
Due to this short-sighted demand that ALL high school graduates participate in collegiate activity, we see an increase in drop-outs and, with it, the increase in tuition cost, room and board, and class fees, to keep the list brief. I am paying for the mistakes of Johnny Smith's parents who couldn't be bothered to ask him what he really wanted to do with his life. I am paying for his mistake of not sticking up for himself and letting himself be prodded into an education he didn't want. Remember that kid who sat in the back of class when you were studying high school algebra? The one who carved poems about darkness and bloody faces into the desk while the teacher lectured about Napoleon and the Russian Winter? Yeah, that's the kid who was being told he had to go to college, whether he wanted to or not. And because he and millions like him were too busy moping and not figuring out an alternative to this plight, I am stuck paying way more than I'm worth to become only slightly more applicable to modern day employers and their needs.
This is my plea to society, and parents in specific: ask your children what they want to do with their life. If they don't know, get them involved in their community. Get them motivated - get them employed, get them into volunteering, get them working toward a goal to integrate themselves into polite society. There is no one-size-fits-all solution, not in any situation. And for God's sake, will someone please find a way to lower tuition rates?!
I am working on a very big transition in my life. I am moving in the fall, to (guess where) Montana. Bozeman. You guys totally saw that coming. I get it. But I'm currently working on my housing application, and it is possibly the most frustrating part out of it. It largely had to do with the tech, and they were slow to send me my password, but I finally got it all done, and that is when they asked me for $200. I am a starving college student, and they are asking for two hundred dollars. Are you crazy? I paid my application fee, I will be paying thousands of dollars in tuition, room, board, books, and other add-ons, and you want to bleed me of even more of my money?
Of course, it isn't the university's fault. No, really. I am serious. We live in a society that goes beyond encouraging our youth to pursue higher education. We demand it. And in an ideal world, we would all have degrees. But that is like saying in an ideal world, everyone has blue eyes, everyone has a high IQ, everyone are dog people. There needs to be large diversity in order for our world to function. Parents, however, don't see that. They see the failings of their lives or the lives of others, and a lot of times, the biggest theme of those failures is a lack of education. College, of course, is the obvious course of action. However, I would argue that it is not always the right one. Not everyone has the software for processing a college-style education. Not everyone can sit in a classroom and handle a full load of homework. Not everyone can take in the new lifestyle of being alone and independent, and put the expectations of three to four teachers on top of it. Are they failures because of this? Hell no! But when they flunk out or drop out, or whatever they do to escape their torment, not only have they wasted their own money (or their parents money, for that matter), they've wasted the resources of the facilities and faculties of the university. This brings me to my main frustration.
Due to this short-sighted demand that ALL high school graduates participate in collegiate activity, we see an increase in drop-outs and, with it, the increase in tuition cost, room and board, and class fees, to keep the list brief. I am paying for the mistakes of Johnny Smith's parents who couldn't be bothered to ask him what he really wanted to do with his life. I am paying for his mistake of not sticking up for himself and letting himself be prodded into an education he didn't want. Remember that kid who sat in the back of class when you were studying high school algebra? The one who carved poems about darkness and bloody faces into the desk while the teacher lectured about Napoleon and the Russian Winter? Yeah, that's the kid who was being told he had to go to college, whether he wanted to or not. And because he and millions like him were too busy moping and not figuring out an alternative to this plight, I am stuck paying way more than I'm worth to become only slightly more applicable to modern day employers and their needs.
This is my plea to society, and parents in specific: ask your children what they want to do with their life. If they don't know, get them involved in their community. Get them motivated - get them employed, get them into volunteering, get them working toward a goal to integrate themselves into polite society. There is no one-size-fits-all solution, not in any situation. And for God's sake, will someone please find a way to lower tuition rates?!
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
"So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish!"
Well, I thought I could juggle two blogs at once, but it seems writing for someone else takes a little more precedence over writing for myself. I am going to stop writing on this blog for a time indefinitely...maybe for good. But it this has helped me a lot, exploring myself through my writings. And I hope maybe, in the time I've done this, I've also helped someone else out there. Nothing is as important to the human experience as emotion and feeling. Emotional intellect is what makes our species so unique, for ours is the most emotionally complex.
I'd like to thank anyone out there who did take the time to read this, and I do appreciate anything you've taken away from it. For now, I will leave you with my most recent piece, one that I am very certain is one of my better poems. Please enjoy it for what it is. I hope I will return to this soon, but if not, it's been fun!
Darkness Fades
There is a life in these bones, these hollowed tubers, that sings,
And where sorrow followed me like a black nightmare, I feel the stretching, reeling presence of a smile again.
This has been your gift to me.
My few years in bitter knowing, burnt gardens, and twisted promises, made most of what they could of my fawning heart,
And while I cannot claim to be less of an aging cynic, I know from the glint in your sky streaked eyes that perhaps there is a way -
To live and let live -
Without all these shadows and deep, marring trenches formed in good company.
The irony is that you have seen more of life than I,
I, the sweet Daphne that covets the veil of mystery and prudence,
And you, the child within the warrior, the laugher with his sword held high. It seems life has not brought down a heavy hand on you as it did my soul, or perhaps
You have learned to rise above the devouring seas that have drowned weaker men, waters that leave me stranded with my echoing ideals.
O errant knight, I am sure you would not falter, if the day comes when I need saving, though arrogant and impatient you are in your brazen manner.
Of course, I ever seek to safeguard your boyish expressions and imp-like intentions; the world is cruel and never stops searching for pure hearts to blacken and taint.
Mine is close to irreparable, but you,
You are strong.
You are my calm harbor, my sanctuary.
You hold me tight in nights uncertain through the ether of misty reveries.
How can I do anything but bind my heart to your name?
How can I be expected to walk away from this?
I'd like to thank anyone out there who did take the time to read this, and I do appreciate anything you've taken away from it. For now, I will leave you with my most recent piece, one that I am very certain is one of my better poems. Please enjoy it for what it is. I hope I will return to this soon, but if not, it's been fun!
Darkness Fades
There is a life in these bones, these hollowed tubers, that sings,
And where sorrow followed me like a black nightmare, I feel the stretching, reeling presence of a smile again.
This has been your gift to me.
My few years in bitter knowing, burnt gardens, and twisted promises, made most of what they could of my fawning heart,
And while I cannot claim to be less of an aging cynic, I know from the glint in your sky streaked eyes that perhaps there is a way -
To live and let live -
Without all these shadows and deep, marring trenches formed in good company.
The irony is that you have seen more of life than I,
I, the sweet Daphne that covets the veil of mystery and prudence,
And you, the child within the warrior, the laugher with his sword held high. It seems life has not brought down a heavy hand on you as it did my soul, or perhaps
You have learned to rise above the devouring seas that have drowned weaker men, waters that leave me stranded with my echoing ideals.
O errant knight, I am sure you would not falter, if the day comes when I need saving, though arrogant and impatient you are in your brazen manner.
Of course, I ever seek to safeguard your boyish expressions and imp-like intentions; the world is cruel and never stops searching for pure hearts to blacken and taint.
Mine is close to irreparable, but you,
You are strong.
You are my calm harbor, my sanctuary.
You hold me tight in nights uncertain through the ether of misty reveries.
How can I do anything but bind my heart to your name?
How can I be expected to walk away from this?
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