well not quite, but sort of.
i'm going to keep this blog for just my writing, and dedicate my new blog to my musings of all types.
this be my new home: http://existthinkfeellive.blogspot.com/
keep writing.
live.
[ffffound.]
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
newest exercise
So there's this thing I've been trying out on my poetry for a little while. I wrote two separate poems on different days, and I decided after reading them both a couple of times that I wanted to put them together. So I waited a while and then alternated the lines. Then, after looking at them again a little while later, I edited. And then today I came across them after not seeing them for a while and edited again (haha my break from studying for my european history final). Yes, they are kind of depressing, as is most of my work, so sorry in advance if you like happy poems.
ORIGINAL TWO:
Learning
To break the spirit you must touch
crush, and then watch carefully
as the soul begins to seep
from the crevices left by that earthquake on Sunday.
Watch as the limbs grow into branches
branching out, but never reaching
Roots travel deeper and deeper
How does it feel to be so stationary?
The eyes will sweep across the room
screaming because the mouth can't.
The arms will bend and twist like torture
when they're trying to get something from you that you don't want to give up.
And then, only then,
when the unteachable learn their lesson,
will a girl flourish in such company.
Again, still.
The corners slept shrouded by the shadows,
their breathing the whispers of the night.
His broken spirit lay wounded
while his too-long legs dangled over
the side of his too-small bed.
No longer did the ghosts of his past haunt him
but the ones of his present stayed the night instead.
Curling up by his closet, they leaned their heads on the wall
and closed their eyes, as if they were asleep.
But their whispers joined the corners'
in a song of guilt and shame.
She had tried reaching for forgiveness,
but it was just too far away.
So she sat on her polka-dot bedspread
and listened to the wind tap on her window.
AND THENNN TOGETHER WITH ALTERNATING LINES
To break the spirit you must touch
the corners that sleep shrouded by the shadows.
Crush, and then watch carefully
as their breaths become the whispers of the night,
as the soul begins to seep,
as his broken spirit lays wounded
from the crevices left by that earthquake on Sunday.
While his too-long legs dangle over
watch as the limbs grow into branches
the side of his too-small bed
branching out, but never reaching.
No longer do the ghosts of his past haunt him
but roots travel deeper and deeper
and the ones of his present stay the night instead.
How does it feel to be so stationary?
Curling up by his closet, they leaned their heads on the wall
The eyes will sweep across the room
and close, as if they were asleep,
screaming because the mouth can't.
But their whispers have joined the corners'
the arms will bend and twist like torture
in a song of guilt and shame.
And they're trying to get something from you that you don't want to give up.
She had tried reaching for forgiveness,
then, and only then,
but it was just too far away.
when the unteachable learn their lesson,
So she sat on her polka-dot bedspread--
will a girl flourish in such company?
--and listened to the wind tap on her window.
THENNN MY MOST RECENT!
Step 1.
To break the spirit you must touch
the corners that sleep shrouded by the shadows.
Step 2.
Crush.
3.
Watch carefully
as their breaths become the whispers of the night,
as the soul begins to seep,
as his broken spirit lies wounded
from the crevices left by that earthquake on Sunday.
Step 4.
While his too-long legs dangle over
watch as the limbs grow into branches
the side of his too-small bed
branching out, but never reaching.
5.
No longer will the ghosts of his past haunt him
but roots travel deeper and deeper
and the ones of his present stay the night instead.
How does it feel to be so stationary?
Step 6.
Curling up by his closet, they will lean their heads on the wall
The eyes will sweep across the room
and close, as if they were asleep,
screaming because the mouth can't.
7.
But their whispers have joined the corners'
the arms will bend and twist like torture
in a song of guilt and shame.
They're trying to get something from you that you don't want to give up.
8.
She will try reaching for forgiveness,
then, and only then,
but it will be too far away.
9.
So when the unteachable learn their lesson,
she will sit on her polka-dot bedspread
and listen to the wind tap on her window.
Will a girl ever flourish in such company?
tell me what you think.
:) keep writing. love, me.
ORIGINAL TWO:
Learning
To break the spirit you must touch
crush, and then watch carefully
as the soul begins to seep
from the crevices left by that earthquake on Sunday.
Watch as the limbs grow into branches
branching out, but never reaching
Roots travel deeper and deeper
How does it feel to be so stationary?
The eyes will sweep across the room
screaming because the mouth can't.
The arms will bend and twist like torture
when they're trying to get something from you that you don't want to give up.
And then, only then,
when the unteachable learn their lesson,
will a girl flourish in such company.
Again, still.
The corners slept shrouded by the shadows,
their breathing the whispers of the night.
His broken spirit lay wounded
while his too-long legs dangled over
the side of his too-small bed.
No longer did the ghosts of his past haunt him
but the ones of his present stayed the night instead.
Curling up by his closet, they leaned their heads on the wall
and closed their eyes, as if they were asleep.
But their whispers joined the corners'
in a song of guilt and shame.
She had tried reaching for forgiveness,
but it was just too far away.
So she sat on her polka-dot bedspread
and listened to the wind tap on her window.
AND THENNN TOGETHER WITH ALTERNATING LINES
To break the spirit you must touch
the corners that sleep shrouded by the shadows.
Crush, and then watch carefully
as their breaths become the whispers of the night,
as the soul begins to seep,
as his broken spirit lays wounded
from the crevices left by that earthquake on Sunday.
While his too-long legs dangle over
watch as the limbs grow into branches
the side of his too-small bed
branching out, but never reaching.
No longer do the ghosts of his past haunt him
but roots travel deeper and deeper
and the ones of his present stay the night instead.
How does it feel to be so stationary?
Curling up by his closet, they leaned their heads on the wall
The eyes will sweep across the room
and close, as if they were asleep,
screaming because the mouth can't.
But their whispers have joined the corners'
the arms will bend and twist like torture
in a song of guilt and shame.
And they're trying to get something from you that you don't want to give up.
She had tried reaching for forgiveness,
then, and only then,
but it was just too far away.
when the unteachable learn their lesson,
So she sat on her polka-dot bedspread--
will a girl flourish in such company?
--and listened to the wind tap on her window.
THENNN MY MOST RECENT!
Step 1.
To break the spirit you must touch
the corners that sleep shrouded by the shadows.
Step 2.
Crush.
3.
Watch carefully
as their breaths become the whispers of the night,
as the soul begins to seep,
as his broken spirit lies wounded
from the crevices left by that earthquake on Sunday.
Step 4.
While his too-long legs dangle over
watch as the limbs grow into branches
the side of his too-small bed
branching out, but never reaching.
5.
No longer will the ghosts of his past haunt him
but roots travel deeper and deeper
and the ones of his present stay the night instead.
How does it feel to be so stationary?
Step 6.
Curling up by his closet, they will lean their heads on the wall
The eyes will sweep across the room
and close, as if they were asleep,
screaming because the mouth can't.
7.
But their whispers have joined the corners'
the arms will bend and twist like torture
in a song of guilt and shame.
They're trying to get something from you that you don't want to give up.
8.
She will try reaching for forgiveness,
then, and only then,
but it will be too far away.
9.
So when the unteachable learn their lesson,
she will sit on her polka-dot bedspread
and listen to the wind tap on her window.
Will a girl ever flourish in such company?
tell me what you think.
:) keep writing. love, me.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Again, still.
The corners slept shrouded by the shadows,
their breathing the whispers of the night.
His broken spirit lay wounded
while his too-long legs dangled over
the side of his too-small bed.
No longer did the ghosts of his past haunt him
but the ones of his present stayed the night instead.
Curling up by his closet, they leaned their heads on the wall
and closed their eyes, as if they were asleep.
But their whispers joined the corners'
in a song of guilt and shame.
She had tried reaching for forgiveness,
but it was just too far away.
So she sat on her polka-dot bedspread
and listened to the wind tap on her window.
their breathing the whispers of the night.
His broken spirit lay wounded
while his too-long legs dangled over
the side of his too-small bed.
No longer did the ghosts of his past haunt him
but the ones of his present stayed the night instead.
Curling up by his closet, they leaned their heads on the wall
and closed their eyes, as if they were asleep.
But their whispers joined the corners'
in a song of guilt and shame.
She had tried reaching for forgiveness,
but it was just too far away.
So she sat on her polka-dot bedspread
and listened to the wind tap on her window.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Maybe.
Maybe these six word things will help me write again.
I miss the feeling of pen on paper. I miss
sharpening my pencils.
Or waking up in a panic at three o'clock in the morning just to write four words down because they're in such a perfect order that if you forget then your life is over.
I miss writing something and editing and editing
and editing. or even writing something
and knowing, at least for five minutes, that you got it right the first time.
I even miss writers block.
I miss the rush- when your handwriting becomes illegible because your mind is moving too fast for your hand and there is no possible way you can keep the entire sentence in there.
I miss writing in the margins.
Keeping three sentences in my head at once and moving them around as I walk to my next class.
I miss being able to get inspiration from anywhere and everywhere.
I miss knowing that my handwriting was going to change
halfway through a sentence.
(I miss the smell of bookstores and old books.)
I miss trying to figure out what I had written five minutes before.
I miss writing.
I miss the feeling of pen on paper. I miss
sharpening my pencils.
Or waking up in a panic at three o'clock in the morning just to write four words down because they're in such a perfect order that if you forget then your life is over.
I miss writing something and editing and editing
and editing. or even writing something
and knowing, at least for five minutes, that you got it right the first time.
I even miss writers block.
I miss the rush- when your handwriting becomes illegible because your mind is moving too fast for your hand and there is no possible way you can keep the entire sentence in there.
I miss writing in the margins.
Keeping three sentences in my head at once and moving them around as I walk to my next class.
I miss being able to get inspiration from anywhere and everywhere.
I miss knowing that my handwriting was going to change
halfway through a sentence.
(I miss the smell of bookstores and old books.)
I miss trying to figure out what I had written five minutes before.
I miss writing.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
mirages, holographs, etc. (for corey)
i haven't written in a while. which depresses me. but i was washing dishes (when i do all of my deepest thinking, randomly) and decided to write. here's what came out. still a work in progress i think.
Sometimes things aren't what they seem.
They shimmer at the edge of your senses
so you can feel them, but you try and touch
and they dissipate at your fingertips
disappearing into a world you can only hope to ever see again.
the rythmic hum of your heart sounds under my ear.
it calms me and my breath in and out match the beat
there is no beginning or end,
and i forget where you start and i finish,
where we meet is all i dream of.
I bring my fingers to my mouth and taste the iridescence.
i think it tastes like you, but i'm no longer sure.
it's been so long.
i reach further and further back into my mind
streching to the recesses,
wondering if i'll ever remember.
and then you're back
and its been so long.
But my lips remember the way yours wrap around them
and my fingers remember how they intertwine
my body remembers how it feels when you touch me
and when my eyes find yours easily in this crowded room
i know i never forgot.
Sometimes things aren't what they seem.
They shimmer at the edge of your senses
so you can feel them, but you try and touch
and they dissipate at your fingertips
disappearing into a world you can only hope to ever see again.
the rythmic hum of your heart sounds under my ear.
it calms me and my breath in and out match the beat
there is no beginning or end,
and i forget where you start and i finish,
where we meet is all i dream of.
I bring my fingers to my mouth and taste the iridescence.
i think it tastes like you, but i'm no longer sure.
it's been so long.
i reach further and further back into my mind
streching to the recesses,
wondering if i'll ever remember.
and then you're back
and its been so long.
But my lips remember the way yours wrap around them
and my fingers remember how they intertwine
my body remembers how it feels when you touch me
and when my eyes find yours easily in this crowded room
i know i never forgot.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
apology.....
so because I actually just moved all of my posts, some of the time references will not make sense... however, some are timeless.
you'll figure it out.
happy writing :)
you'll figure it out.
happy writing :)
6.2.09: (I don’t know what to title it yet)
I wrote this in the morning on the bus. You would think that the poem would be happier. It was sunny and I wasn’t at all in a bad mood. Who knows…. when the words come, they come….
I move slower than myself in spirit form
because it hurts to be away from my body for so long.
It’s harder to bear separation when you’re not used to it,
when your heart has never had a piece wrenched from it,
when your soul is still as unblemished as the day
you tumbled from your mother’s body.
A piece of her was ripped out then, too.
You were unaware that one day you would cry out
because your spirit was being torn from you,
leaving you only to wish that being meant you never felt pain.
I move slower than myself in spirit form
because it hurts to be away from my body for so long.
It’s harder to bear separation when you’re not used to it,
when your heart has never had a piece wrenched from it,
when your soul is still as unblemished as the day
you tumbled from your mother’s body.
A piece of her was ripped out then, too.
You were unaware that one day you would cry out
because your spirit was being torn from you,
leaving you only to wish that being meant you never felt pain.
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