|
Post by Thursday on Feb 14, 2010 17:45:07 GMT -5
It's that time of year again. No, not Kaitlin avoiding doing her homework (although it is), It's Valentine's Day. V-day. But it my case it's more like Virgin Day and yet again I am almost pain fully aware of my single status. It is impossible to ignore. Walking down the aisles of Walmart I am bombarded by bouquets of wilting roses, heart-shaped boxes of over-priced chocolate, and teddy bears that are bigger than a small child. Turning on the TV, it's an omage to love and sex on every channel. I pick up my book, it just so happens to be taking place on Valentine's Day. A knock sounds on my door. It's a Valentine's Day delivery! From my mom. Normally V-day doesn't bother me much. I enjoy any holiday that advocates the consumption of candy but this year for some reason every reminder is like a shot through the heart, only not in a good way. I hate that a date, a day, a tradition can make you feel worse about yourself just for not being in a relationship. Not that I wouldn't love to be in one myself. I am eighteen years old and have never had a boyfriend. Sad, but true. I can blame on it a lot of things but it basically boils down to my shyness and lack of self-esteem. I'm not able to put myself out there enough and I don't want to be the first one to make a move. You could call it laziness or old-fashioned-ness but I don't want to be the initiater. I excel in a number of things but in social situations I just don't make the cut. It's not just the physical stuff I want, although I am a healthy teenage girl and the hormones are crazy enough to make you want to jump the next guy you see sometimes. I would just like to be close to someone, have someone to confide in besides a girlfriend (who aren't nessecarily the most objective), someone to be there for me when I've had a rough day. Someone to make me feel beautiful when I think I look my worst. Basically, I want to be in love. I've read enough books and watched enough movies to know a casual relationship isn't my thing. But unfortunately for me most guys in college aren't really looking for love that lasts longer than one night. I know that there's someone (hopefully multiple someones) out there for me. I truly believe there's someone for everyone. I just haven't met you yet.
|
|
|
Post by Thursday on Feb 21, 2010 2:16:23 GMT -5
I've never been good at coping. When something happens, something bad or confusing, something that I just can't deal with at the moment, I push it to the back of my mind to handle later and usually to rear up at the most inopportune moments. But the problem is, I don't handle it. I don't confront, accost, defy, or face. Passive aggressive is my middle name. I don't talk about what bothers me, scares me, or confuses me beyond commonplace things. The real stuff, the feelings I don't even admit to myself are hidden and dormant. Dormant but ever present, like a virus, eating away parts of my soul, taking away little bits of myself. Okay, that's a little dramatic but sometimes that's what it feels like. It's like having a permanent secret, a secret burden. Sometimes it light and I barely notice the weight, other times it bogs me down and it seems like I'm wading through molasses. There doesn't really seem to be a balance, some sort of equilibrium to keep everything in check and prevent it from growing out of proportion. There's a sadness sometimes I just can't shake but it's not something depressing or morbid, it's just sadness, wistfulness, a pang in my metaphorical heart. If I cry, it's more cathartic than anything else, often the only emotional purging I get. But surprisingly, it helps. If there's a reason behind my sporadic sorrow, I don't give it much thought. I know why. I've always known. But I believe it's okay just to be sad once in a while. We can't be happy all the time and if you are there's something wrong with you. You don't know true joy unless you've known true sorrow.
|
|
|
Post by Thursday on Mar 4, 2010 21:42:05 GMT -5
There are moments of restlessness. Times when nothing seems to satsify. I flip on the TV, but nothing is on. I try and pick up a book, but none of them seem quite right. Plugging in my ipod, no song seems to match my mood. Suddenly I am aching to be anywhere but where I am. These four white walls feel more like a prison than a home and I am sick. Sick of everything I see and everything I feel, and the only cure is get out. Get outside, where the air is fresh and life doesn't seem quite so hard. So I do what I do when this mood strikes me. I run. I skip the gym. Running nowhere isn't what I need. I need to fly. There's times when running is easy and light, even fun but then there's times when you just have to get angry. Fury is my fuel and I am racing, heart pounding in my chest, blood pumping in my ears so loud, the roar drowns out every sound. The first steps are hard. They always are. But the force driving me is stronger than I am and it pushes me. Against the wind, against the pain, and against myself. The trail is uneven and rough but nothing is perfect. The air is bitterly cold against my face but the rest of my body is on fire. The setting sun casts a glow on the world and the horizon burns red and gold. Then I am fighting the sun's descent. The velvet black night chases me. I run faster. Faster. Fastest. My heart is about to burst but the darkness looms ever closer to my back. The end is near, a few more steps, a final sprint, and then the flaming sun sinks deep into the sky just as I cross the end of the path. I am dripping in sweat, my face is red, my shoes are untied. But I breath easier than I did before the run. And just like that, I feel better.
|
|
|
Post by Thursday on Mar 9, 2010 19:48:45 GMT -5
The Concho River always looks better after a good rainstorm, as most things do. The normally stagnant brown waters run clear and green, temporarily fresh with new life. I've always felt a kinship towards water, found it peaceful, beautiful, and relaxing. So it's no surprise to me, I seek it out naturally. There's some kind of biological thing about man finding peace out of doors. As we live most of our lives in the artifically lighted and climate controlled worlds we've created for ourselves, it's ironic that we leave it every chance we get.
((work in progress))
|
|
|
Post by Thursday on Mar 29, 2010 20:54:06 GMT -5
I was baptized at the tender age of ten at my local Baptist church, after raising my hand at a revival (a ceremony I didn't fully understand at the time). So I put on a white robe and waded into a lukewarm tub of water and let our pastor dunk me in front of the entire congregation. I was saved. As a child, you can't really understand the concept of religion. I knew I liked going to I Sunday school and coloring pictures of Jesus. I liked the bible stories and the singing. My family and friends went to church, so I did too. When I was young and amiable, even tempered and just plain good and innocent, it didn't occur to me to question what I was told. It wasn't until I grew older and learned a little bit more about the world, that I really began to wonder about a higher power. My family stopped making time for church (it was more a habit started by their families anyway) and I started to question. I have rarely had true faith. I envy those that do. The people who know for sure, someones watching over them, God has a plan, and a heavenly afterlife awaits them after their earthly lives are ended. But only if you have been saved and accepted Jesus Christ into your heart. It was the if's that got me. I couldn't understand a religion that didn't let all good people into heaven. Christians are the minority in this world and I didn't like others trying to destroy centuries of culture and force their religion on the heathens. I refused to believe in a religion that called other heathens and denied them tolerance. I am intolerant of intolerance. There are so many religions and belief systems in the world, not all of them can be wrong or right. So I am open to possibility. I believe in something, in someone. I can't look around me at all the beauty in this world and believe there's not a reason for it. My moral compass has never pointed straight North but I live my life day to day and try and be a good person, help others when I can, and I pray. A pray sent, who knows where, but I hope it gets heard. And maybe that's faith.
|
|
|
Post by Thursday on Apr 15, 2010 20:50:23 GMT -5
I am a lot of things. A dreamer, a lover, a student, a teacher, a bookworm, a runner and a million other -er words. I am impatient, cautious, shy, loud, insecure, beautiful, ugly, funny, serious and confused. I am a contradiction. But above all I am just a girl. I am just a girl. I like to dress up in beautiful dresses. I like to pretend I'm a princess in a fairy tale. I cry during chick flicks or when I'm having a bad day. I like to look pretty and I like it when boys hold open doors for me. I am simple in that way. But I don't put up with what I don't deserve. I won't change because you tell me to, change to fit your mold. I won't apologize for who I am. I can't tell you how to live your life but you can't comment on mine either. We are different but we are the same. Explain to me the pettiness around me, the cruelty only I can seem to see. Tell me why you are the way that you are because I don't understand. I want answers you can't give, and I'm sorry that I won't settle. For anything. I want too much out of this all too brief life we are given. But don't worry. I'm stronger than you'll ever know.
|
|
|
Post by Thursday on Sept 25, 2010 20:08:23 GMT -5
There are secrets we keep for fear. There are secrets we keep for love. There are secrets we keep that we don't know keep. Then there are secrets that aren't really secrets at all. Everyone has them. We carry them on our hearts, invisible. Some out of necessity and the rest by choice. They can cause ruin or delight, damnation or joy. Could there be a world without secrets? I don't think so. Sometimes we need them to keep our sanity, to protect ourselves and especially to protect others. Other times they build up inside us, the pressure rising, the urge to tell it ever growing, until they explode and no one can escape the collateral damage. To some, the keeping of secrets is unbearable. The urge to tell it is far greater than the safety of silence. Some are too afraid of the secrets they hold, fear the knowledge of themselves and what we really are on the inside. A single moment of self-reflective contemplation would make them come undone. So they spill their guts so someone else can share their pain. Secrets can't be kept forever. There are three sides to every story; yours, mine, and the truth. And eventually the truth comes out. For some odd reason we are attracted to secrecy. There's a mysterious allure to them hard to describe with words. How many times have you passed someone on the street and wondered what they were hiding? How many times have you looked into a person's eyes and known they were lying, known that there was something that they weren't telling you? But curiosity is a dangerous thing. Men and women have killed for less. Because when it comes down to it, secrets are power. If there's one universal truth about man kind, it's that the quest for power is never-ending. The hunt for it is ruthless. Some seek it with no regard to the consequences, with no regret for the casualties left in their wake. For myself, I've never felt much desire for power. My mouth stays closed but my ears stay open and sometimes you just can't help what you may hear.
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Sept 26, 2010 11:23:30 GMT -5
((Awesome post!!! yay for self-reflective contemplation! lol))
|
|
|
Post by Thursday on Oct 2, 2010 23:59:51 GMT -5
I look around me at my life and I think, it should be enough. I should be satisfied. I'm going to college at a great school that's paid for, I have a warm bed and a roof over my head, enough money, friends and family that I love and that love me. It should be enough for me, for anyone. It should be enough. But it's not. There's something missing. It's something vital because I notice its absence but it is elusive. I can try all I want to grasp it but it slips through my fingers like smoke. I couldn't tell you what it is exactly and even not knowing what it is, I feel its loss like the loss of a limb. I don't know what it is, but I could take a pretty good guess. I can function without it, obviously I have for years. It may not be the fullest life but it's a life and it is mine at least. But what is the worth of a life if you have no one to share it with? There's something missing. The purpose of life it seems is to find it. But where do you start when you don't know what you're looking for?
|
|
|
Post by Thursday on Nov 26, 2010 20:47:59 GMT -5
Sometimes late at night when I can't sleep, I get up, pull aside the curtain and look outside my bedroom window. There's a street lamp across the way, bathing the road in a soft yellow glow, a field next to it lit by giant, glowing stadium lights, and beyond it the many, many lights of a city after dark. I wonder if perhaps the brightness is the cause of my insomnia but it’s not. Cars pass by, a rush of wind and noise and eery fluorescent brightness. In my mind I turn out all those lights, one by one until all I can see are the stars. It's peaceful at night when the rest of the world seems to be asleep. The halls are quiet and empty. The world is paused for just a few precious hours. The air is still and there’s something about it that makes you want to whisper. What keeps you awake at night? Our minds are restless, thinking of the day before and the day to come. I think it is a myth that people work on problems while sleeping. I believe we work them out while lying awake, wondering and once solved, sleep can come at last. However not all problems are so simple. We lay awake wondering and the answers still do not come. We fall asleep thinking about them yes, but in the morning, clarity still remains a mystery and any answers found in sleep stay hidden in dreamland until we may sleep again. Our only comfort is knowing that the answer is out there somewhere even if it is yet unknown to us. The sun comes up again and that endless cycle is comforting to us. Tomorrow is a new day. There is still time.
|
|
|
Post by Thursday on Dec 21, 2010 0:39:08 GMT -5
Words are, as any good writer knows, the most important weapon in their arsenal. Not that I am claiming to be a good writer in any way, shape, form, or fashion but the fact remains true despite my questionable credentials. I’m not talking about the old cliché “the pen is mightier than the sword”. God, knows that one has been beaten to death. Words, those simple and yet complex little utterances that we could not live without. Literally. Power is created from a seemingly random collection of letters and the right words all strung together, make and break us more than we would like to admit. They cut deeper than the sharpest of swords, can twist us to their purpose or turn us against our best friends. They are clever and cunning, despicable and terrible. I’ve always loved words. The joy of learning to read and growing up was studded with the discovery of these new and beautiful things which could capture emotion and create something wonderful and new as in all the stories I read. When I discovered something called a thesaurus, it seemed like fate. A little book that could tell me what words described other words. A marvelous, dazzling compiling of the most, MOST words. What’s another word for thesaurus? There are a million words to say a million things and with that deliriously delicious option the possibilities are as endless as a horizon. I could say that I am happy. I could say that I am brimming over with joy as bright as a sunrise on the Eastern seaboard. I could say that I am gleefully optimistic and am graciously basking in the zestful hilarity that is my life. The choices are infinite and in that limitless selection is the attraction. I constantly delight in stumbling upon words that I have never heard or seen before. I relish in looking them up and knowing the meaning, that knowledge giving me strength, a secret weapon no one less has. Each one is a joyous surprise, a fabulous present that makes my day a little bit brighter, a tad more amusing, a whole lot more interesting. They will slide off my tongue at inopportune moments but they will not be contained in just my mind. They spread like fire, like a disease, like a song and it will not rest until it has made its impact on the world at large. It must be shared. So here I am sharing a few of my favorite words with you.
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Dec 22, 2010 12:00:18 GMT -5
((Awesome! man i love words too. it kinda reminds me of LGFUAD when he says 'i'm addicted to words and they're useless'. i know what he means. lol))
|
|
|
Post by Thursday on Feb 28, 2011 22:14:21 GMT -5
Unseen No one looked my way I did not draw attention The world was blind to me I stood by and let it happen
I faded day by day Lost in all the faces A moment there, the next forgotten Not even a memory remaining
I sat back and looked at life Invisible and silent So much wrong, so little right I saw everything but could not change it
Locked away inside myself The key was lost forever Trapped and now alone it seemed I was half sick of hiding
I tried to speak, my voice was quiet There was no one there to listen Fury filled my troubled soul Then anger shook my prison
I made this place, I thought I know that I can leave it Just like that, the door clicked open Giving me strength I needed
Time had moved on again I wasted not another second So much to do, no limits now Returned and soon awakened
Courage fueled my flame Then doubt was swept away I called out and I was heard! Invisible no longer
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Feb 28, 2011 22:25:11 GMT -5
((That's so great! Is it too late to submit anything more to the literary magazine? You should write poems more often! :-)))
|
|
|
Post by Thursday on Feb 28, 2011 22:27:13 GMT -5
((lol. I think they are taking submissions until the 6th. Credit that to being bored in class))
|
|