|
Monday, May 5, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
The Art of Disappearing
The Art of Disappearing
by Naomi Shihab Nye
When they say Don't I know you?
say no.
When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.
If they say We should get together
say why?
It's not that you don’t love them anymore.
You’re trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.
When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven't seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don't start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.
Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.
Monday, April 7, 2008
journal entry, April 7, 2008, 4:34 pm
Silence. I spend my life in silence.
Dr. Barrett tried to make me talk in class today. Professors don't understand. It's not that I have nothing to say. It's not that I can't find the words. I just can't speak. I feel all jumbled. Thousands of voices inside of me. Each knows exactly what it needs to say. Each fighting to live on more minute. Each begging to be the one released. But the only voice I want to listen to, the only voice that really matters is silent. I still haven't found my voice. I'm still being pushed down into nothing. Sound can't travel in a vacuum. My body is a vacuum. I can't push my voice out. My ideas aren't new or radical, but I fear the repercussions of voicing them. You can't control what people think of you, but you can control what you give them to think about. Words. In the end, that's all there is. "Don't forget your obituary." He asked me what I thought that meant. It's what's left you when you're gone -- what people think of you. "But that's not what an obituary is." But that's what it made me think of. Silence. "Go on. You've got a good idea. You need the participation points." I can't. They don't understand. Am I the only person who feels like this? Am I the only person who's forced silent by something inside? I cry. That's the only way my words can escape. Even poetry can't hold this pain. Even poetry can't help me escape. My voice has been silenced. Not by society, men, or God. I've been silenced by the most powerful force -- myself.
Dr. Barrett tried to make me talk in class today. Professors don't understand. It's not that I have nothing to say. It's not that I can't find the words. I just can't speak. I feel all jumbled. Thousands of voices inside of me. Each knows exactly what it needs to say. Each fighting to live on more minute. Each begging to be the one released. But the only voice I want to listen to, the only voice that really matters is silent. I still haven't found my voice. I'm still being pushed down into nothing. Sound can't travel in a vacuum. My body is a vacuum. I can't push my voice out. My ideas aren't new or radical, but I fear the repercussions of voicing them. You can't control what people think of you, but you can control what you give them to think about. Words. In the end, that's all there is. "Don't forget your obituary." He asked me what I thought that meant. It's what's left you when you're gone -- what people think of you. "But that's not what an obituary is." But that's what it made me think of. Silence. "Go on. You've got a good idea. You need the participation points." I can't. They don't understand. Am I the only person who feels like this? Am I the only person who's forced silent by something inside? I cry. That's the only way my words can escape. Even poetry can't hold this pain. Even poetry can't help me escape. My voice has been silenced. Not by society, men, or God. I've been silenced by the most powerful force -- myself.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Depression, too, is a kind of fire - Taylor Mali
I’m an idiot because once
before we were married she asked me whether I knew
that we would not be having children
if we did get married, and I said yes.
And because she knew I was lying,
she asked if I was really okay with that.
And because I’m an idiot I said yes again.
And once during a fight, not married
more than two years, she said she felt like my first wife,
and I, like an idiot, assured her that she was.
She worked out at the gym five times a week
and smoked as many packs of ultra lights,
and I’m an idiot because when I asked her why,
She said, Because I hate myself and I want to die.
And I laughed and said something I don’t recall,
something completely and utterly insufficient.
From the roof of our apartment,
I saw 40 or 50 people jump from the towers
on a Tuesday morning—we used to be able to see them to the south,
just as, to the north, we can still see
(and by “we” I guess I mean now just me)
the Empire State Building,
which still steeps me in gratitude
because I’m an idiot—
out of the smoke with arms flailing.
And I swear I saw a perfect swan.
And I was going to write a poem
about how fire is the only thing
that can make a person jump out a window.
And maybe I’m an idiot for thinking I could have saved her—
call me her knight in shattered armor—
could have loved her more,
or told the truth about children.
But depression, too, is a kind of fire.
And I know nothing of either.
before we were married she asked me whether I knew
that we would not be having children
if we did get married, and I said yes.
And because she knew I was lying,
she asked if I was really okay with that.
And because I’m an idiot I said yes again.
And once during a fight, not married
more than two years, she said she felt like my first wife,
and I, like an idiot, assured her that she was.
She worked out at the gym five times a week
and smoked as many packs of ultra lights,
and I’m an idiot because when I asked her why,
She said, Because I hate myself and I want to die.
And I laughed and said something I don’t recall,
something completely and utterly insufficient.
From the roof of our apartment,
I saw 40 or 50 people jump from the towers
on a Tuesday morning—we used to be able to see them to the south,
just as, to the north, we can still see
(and by “we” I guess I mean now just me)
the Empire State Building,
which still steeps me in gratitude
because I’m an idiot—
out of the smoke with arms flailing.
And I swear I saw a perfect swan.
And I was going to write a poem
about how fire is the only thing
that can make a person jump out a window.
And maybe I’m an idiot for thinking I could have saved her—
call me her knight in shattered armor—
could have loved her more,
or told the truth about children.
But depression, too, is a kind of fire.
And I know nothing of either.
Monday, March 24, 2008
In search of something more...
I'm running out of options in the friends department. I'm in a very creative mood right now and want to be with creative people. However, my friend options don't allow that. There's Missy, Eric, Ryan, and Dustin... video games. There's Jason... religion and sports. There's Anie and Schrader... mindless television. There's Debon... boring television. There's Corey... hyper-ness. The only person left is Kelsey and she's in the hospital. I'm really out of options here. I need new friends. I need friends who understand the things I like... poetry, art, video blogs... I need new friends.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
"One Time, One Day" from Burned by Ellen Hopkins
One Time, One Day
between Davie | and Roberta
I asked my mom | why she persisted,
kept on having | baby after baby.
She looked
at me, at a spot | between my eyes,
blinking like I had | suddenly fallen
crazy. She paused | before answering
as if
to confide would | legitimize my fears.
She drew a deep | breath, leaned against
the chair. I touched | her hand and I thought
she might
cry. Instead she put | baby Davie in my arms.
Pattyn, she said, | it's a woman's role.
I decided if it was | my role, I'd rather
disappear.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I asked my mom | why she persisted,
kept on having | baby after baby.
She looked
at me, at a spot | between my eyes,
blinking like I had | suddenly fallen
crazy. She paused | before answering
as if
to confide would | legitimize my fears.
She drew a deep | breath, leaned against
the chair. I touched | her hand and I thought
she might
cry. Instead she put | baby Davie in my arms.
Pattyn, she said, | it's a woman's role.
I decided if it was | my role, I'd rather
disappear.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I attempted to keep the visual integrity of this intact, but this thing won't let me. The vertical lines are supposed to be spaces. It's set up to represent her eyes and the spot between them where her mother is looking. Use your imagination.
I've had similar conversations with my own mother. Of course, since I'm her only child, these conversations were really not similar at all. Her sister, however, has 12 children. And once when I asked her why, she said essentially the same thing Pattyn's mother did... It's a woman's role.
I've had similar conversations with my own mother. Of course, since I'm her only child, these conversations were really not similar at all. Her sister, however, has 12 children. And once when I asked her why, she said essentially the same thing Pattyn's mother did... It's a woman's role.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
second draft of my short memoir for Creative Writing
Silent Night
Christmas Eve with the Myers family: eighteen cousins, seven cousin’s children, two aunts, two uncles, a great aunt and a great uncle, a few scattered non-relatives, my grandma, my mom, my dad, and me. One night a year we put aside all the things that fight to pull apart our family: teen pregnancy, alcohol, drugs, heart attacks, MS, guns, the military. We put aside all the things that have pained us throughout the year. We celebrate family. We reminisce. We pray, though half of us have no god to pray to. We look at each other as beautiful human beings who are different in so many ways but are held together by the strongest bond.
Christmas Eve with the Myers family. We all possess an unconditional love for Grandma. It pains us all to watch her struggle with such a debilitating disease as MS. She receives many hugs this Christmas. We all fear it may be her last. She bridges the gap between her children’s worlds. Her five children are remarkably different from each other. My mom, the oldest, has only one child. Aunt Penny, a radically conservative Christian, is the mother of twelve. Larry is an alcoholic with four daughters, each on the same path he took. Aunt Julie, the most liberal of the girls, became a mother at age sixteen. Galen, the loner, has multiple sclerosis like his mother. Extremes are expected in my family. Myers children do nothing in moderation.
Christmas Eve with the Myers family. We ponder many things in the days before Christmas Eve. Will Larry stop by like he said he would? Will he take this opportunity to escape his hard life and get a warm meal for once? Will Galen visit? Twenty years of the Myers Family Christmas Eve Gathering and he never has. Will this be the one he attends? Have Larry’s daughters, the new generation of Myers girls, produced any more children this year? How many illegitimate children are in the family now? Will the girls bring the same boyfriends they did last Christmas Eve? The answers are predictable, but still we ask the questions.
Christmas Eve with the Myers family. There’s someone missing: Nicky. Twenty years of Christmas Eve and this is the first one without Nicholas. My cousin always picked on me, but I love him. He’ll spend his twenty-first birthday in Iraq. The family beams with pride at the portrait of their Nicholas in his army uniform. The family bonds over his excellent choice. I watch, silent.
Christmas Eve with the Myers family. This year we’re singing Christmas carols. Aunt Penny pulls out a box of hymnals. I sit in the corner of the newly-built living room and roll my eyes. All of the songs will be Christ-centered. Aunt Julie and the rest of the non-churchgoers won’t know any of them. I keep this thought to myself. This is not a day for me to speak. The children have all escaped to the freedom of the ice, snow, and trees outdoors. How I wish I could join them, be the child I never was. Only a handful of my older cousins are left with my mom, aunts, and grandma. The men are off talking about their days in the army or air force. Yet another time I have to keep my mouth closed. We sing five songs from the hymnals. My mom’s voice fills the room, sweet and wonderful. I sing along, my own voice a faint shadow of hers. Aunt Penny belts the lyrics with the confidence of someone unknowingly tone deaf. Aunt Julie teases us, laughing at how we sing without needing to look at the hymnal. The music is familiar to us. In truth, it’s lost some of its meaning.
Christmas Eve with the Myers family. The core group stays later than the rest. I’m left in the living room with Aunt Penny and Aunt Julie. The rest of my generation has run off to occupy themselves with something more interesting than gossip. How many months pregnant is Wendi now, seven months, eight? Do you think Lauren is pregnant again? Did she keep the last one or not? Have you heard anything from Galen? Is he taking the medicine for his MS? Is Mom improving? I stay silent. I have nothing to contribute to this conversation, or any other conversation my family has.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
I'm reading "Big Fat Manifesto"
"Point that gun.
Squeeze that trigger.
It's so easy to shoot the Fat Girl.
After all, we make the biggest targets."
"It's open season on fat people, no limits, and no restrictions. Hold on to your supersized butts, Fat Girls, because we're the last acceptable targets for bashing, snarking, and discrimination."
"According to some facts and figures printed in USA Today, the typical starlet or cover model is around 30 percent thinner than an average, healthy woman and is likely struggling with issues such as hypoglycemia, hair loss, and even risk of bone loss from lack of eating. Did you know a few decades back models and stars were only 7 or 8 percent thinner than "normal" people? Wonder how that relates to our national size obsession and "obesity epidemic"? Food for thought."
Squeeze that trigger.
It's so easy to shoot the Fat Girl.
After all, we make the biggest targets."
"It's open season on fat people, no limits, and no restrictions. Hold on to your supersized butts, Fat Girls, because we're the last acceptable targets for bashing, snarking, and discrimination."
"According to some facts and figures printed in USA Today, the typical starlet or cover model is around 30 percent thinner than an average, healthy woman and is likely struggling with issues such as hypoglycemia, hair loss, and even risk of bone loss from lack of eating. Did you know a few decades back models and stars were only 7 or 8 percent thinner than "normal" people? Wonder how that relates to our national size obsession and "obesity epidemic"? Food for thought."
Friday, December 28, 2007
I am coming to grips with the things I've done. I've hurt many people and deceived many more. The pain I feel is great, though I know others have felt greater. I seek forgiveness for my sins, but I don't know where to find it. I have fallen from the path and wandered into the depths. I no longer know the truth, though this is surely what I shall always seek. I beg your forgiveness, for I shall never forgive myself.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
Home for the Holidays
I'm back at home... and back to hiding my life. I have to keep a "safe page" open all the time now when I'm on the main computer. Sure, my laptop is safe - mostly. Whatever. This is my life. I'm used to it. Brio Mag... I'll become well acquainted with you once again.
I really wish I could write performance poetry. Sure, I write normal poetry... but it's not that great. And besides, it's not performance-worthy. My current dream is to record a performance poem. I don't think I'm going to live that one.
You know what my mom told me today? "Wendi's pregnant. She's about ready to pop." Blank stare. Are you serious? I'm already crying because I may never see one of my closest new friends again and you think it's the perfect time to bring up Wendi? I still miss her. It's bee more than 4 years since she left, and I still miss her. I guess I'm not so good at letting go. I can't stand to see someone I love screwing up her life. I guess she's already screwed it up, though. There's not much left she can do. 18 years old with 2 kids and 1 on the way. And for some reason, I blame myself.
I really wish I could write performance poetry. Sure, I write normal poetry... but it's not that great. And besides, it's not performance-worthy. My current dream is to record a performance poem. I don't think I'm going to live that one.
You know what my mom told me today? "Wendi's pregnant. She's about ready to pop." Blank stare. Are you serious? I'm already crying because I may never see one of my closest new friends again and you think it's the perfect time to bring up Wendi? I still miss her. It's bee more than 4 years since she left, and I still miss her. I guess I'm not so good at letting go. I can't stand to see someone I love screwing up her life. I guess she's already screwed it up, though. There's not much left she can do. 18 years old with 2 kids and 1 on the way. And for some reason, I blame myself.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
xkcd "Couple"
This is quite possibly my favorite comic EVER. I have this strange urge to ask this to everyone I know... they'd say no of course, but still.
|
Wintery Mix
So... It's finals week here at Bloomsburg University. Everyone is stressed (except for those of us who've finished our finals already), and they decide to close the school. That means that the finals that were supposed to be today will be tomorrow, and the ones that were tomorrow will be on Saturday. Wow. That really sucks... but I finished last night, so I don't care. However, I'm really ready to go home, but I can't. Stupid wintery mix.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Snow has fallen, snow on snow on snow on snow...
I'm 18 now! I feel absolutely no different. Oh well. Don't I say that every year? The difference comes with experiences, not a date on the calendar.
It snowed!!! This was technically the second snow of the season, but it was the first snow of December... on December 1st. How perfect is that!? My college friends and I went sledding at 2 AM last night (this morning). We didn't really do much sledding, though. There were rocks at the bottom of the hill. (Dan found that out the hard way.)
The Women's Choral Ensemble (of which I'm a part), the Husky singers, and the Concert Choir had a concert last night and the night before. They went well. I didn't screw anything up horribly, so I'm happy. Mom came up last night for the concert. It made me happy.
I'm sick. It sucks. I have so much school work to do today it's not even funny. As a matter of fact, it makes me ill just thinking about how much work I have to do.
It snowed!!! This was technically the second snow of the season, but it was the first snow of December... on December 1st. How perfect is that!? My college friends and I went sledding at 2 AM last night (this morning). We didn't really do much sledding, though. There were rocks at the bottom of the hill. (Dan found that out the hard way.)
The Women's Choral Ensemble (of which I'm a part), the Husky singers, and the Concert Choir had a concert last night and the night before. They went well. I didn't screw anything up horribly, so I'm happy. Mom came up last night for the concert. It made me happy.
I'm sick. It sucks. I have so much school work to do today it's not even funny. As a matter of fact, it makes me ill just thinking about how much work I have to do.
Friday, November 9, 2007
9 days until adulthood
So I'm officially spending my 18th birthday alone. Ok, I lie. My college friends will be here, obviously (my birthday is on a Wednesday, where are they gonna go?). But none of my friends from home are gonna be here. It makes me so sad. Rachel was supposed to come the weekend after my birthday, but she's not. Thanks, hun. I love you, too.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
the end of my world?
I'm thinking it's time for a new layout. We'll see how that goes.
Turns out college wasn't the end of my world after all... just the end of a part of my world.
I really like it here. I have a bunch of amazing friends. I even like some of my classes. I feel more myself here than I ever have. I'm still not happy, though.
Turns out college wasn't the end of my world after all... just the end of a part of my world.
I really like it here. I have a bunch of amazing friends. I even like some of my classes. I feel more myself here than I ever have. I'm still not happy, though.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Hashivenu
Hashivenu Adonai Elecha, V'na-shuvah, Chadesh yameynu K'kedem
|
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
