Friday, September 11, 2015

Writers Dreaming


5.) After going though a major trauma at age seven, Angelou didn't talk for almost five years. Could you live this way? Do you think you talk too little? What could you learn if you listened more and spoke less? How could you grow as a person by speaking more? – I think it may be considered arrogant and ridiculous to firmly say I could go five years without talking. But here’s the thing, I think I could. I don’t really like to talk, and I do it too much as it is. I bet I could learn so much if I just kept my mouth shut, I could observe things I never could have before. I’ve never been very adept at reacting to social situations, I understand this. I’ve always felt as if most of my problems come from my mouth. I often say things I don’t mean, and that are in no way what was expected of me. I am a skilled master at making something uncomfortable and awkward. I have a crippling desire to make and keep other people happy, and it may sound like a good thing, but it usually isn’t. If I even think I’ve done something to upset someone I will beg for their forgiveness until they really have no choice but to give it to me. I feel intense guilt over tiny things I did six years ago, and I do and say whatever I possibly can to make other’s laugh. I often suffer from both anxiety and depression, but most of my friends would never know how bad it gets because of the way I act. I never seem sad or down at all. This is done on purpose. So, I think I could go five years without talking. I’d be happier. And me, being happy, this would be a welcome change. And maybe I would grow as a person if I did speak more, if I let people know what I felt all the time, but I'd come to regret it. I know I would. 

7.) Angelou says she often has "total recall" of the events in her life. Are you a person who remembers everything or someone who remembers almost nothing? Which is better to be? Which periods or times in your life are clearest? Fuzziest? Do you have better recall of the times you consider happy or the ones you consider sad or embarrassing or uncomfortable or humorous? – I don’t have some amazing memory. In my case, I will often remember insignificant things that make no real difference to my life at all. I’m always thinking, and so I spend a good deal of time by myself inside my head. And, although I can recall in distinct detail events that may have taken place a decade ago, I cannot take back the memory of what happened last week. However, I do think I have a tendency to either romanticize a memory or completely over-analyze and destroy it. For instance, I think about myself as a young girl and I cripple myself with regret for things I’ve done that really aren’t as disastrous as I’ve made them out to be. And, although I can tell myself over and over again how much all these things don’t matter, I can’t get over much of it. A big part of my personality is how deeply I feel things. I’m either riding high on intense bliss or I’ve exhausted myself with dark sadness. This is part of my problem. My memory seems to only give up material of extremely good things or extremely bad things. Sometimes I wish I was different. But I’m not, and nothing is going to change that. But I think it's better to not remember everything, and to think of everything that's happened as beautiful and golden, to go though life with a kind of ignorance that's bliss-like. That would be lovely.

10.) Angelou quotes Nathaniel West as saying, "easy reading is damned hard writing" and says writing is "just hard work, you know?" Do you agree with this? What is easiest and hardest to you about writing? Is writing hard work?  – If writing is not hard, then I doubt you’re doing it right. For me, writing is emotionally exhausting. Sometimes I’ll be depressed for weeks after writing something. I think that Nathaniel West’s statement was extremely accurate. For me, the only easy writing is the writing I’m forced to do. I have a genuine need to defy authority, so I almost never put my whole self into something I have no choice in creating. However, when it’s my own fate I’m deciding, I do whatever I can to put every ounce of effort into it. This is extremely difficult for me to do. I hope day I will find a way not to make writing easier for me, but I sincerely doubt that day will ever come.

Dream Threads


"The silhouette was staring at me, I tried to speak but I was paralyzed." I knew who it was. It was her. I reached out, my blood was poison, it had poisoned her. I reached out again, but my mouth was useless. It was stitched together, bound by the silence that had killed us both. My throat was clogged with fear, unbroken and unbreakable diamonds froze my tongue. My voice was shattered by memory. She stepped into the light, but I could only see her eyes. God, those eyes. I would've fought the stars and gutted the moon to see those eyes again. But now it felt wrong, I knew, somehow, that she wasn't really looking at me. I wanted so much to kiss her, to feel something on my lips again, even if it was only the pale grayness of death. It felt like I was walking towards her, like I was trying to help her find her way back into a world where she still existed. I would follow her there. Did she know that? How could I tell her that she wouldn't have to be alone anymore? She looked so young. It was as if time had stood still for her. What did I look like to her? Now, after all these eons. Had she missed me? When I made an effort to speak again it came out like a bellowing screech. My hands wrapped around my throat. This was awful, it was a nightmare. Still, trapped here, in this nightmare with her, was better than my reality. No words erupted from her. Her blank stare pained me, a knife in a stomach. I could feel this wound in my heart that cut into the very fabric of my soul. I could feel myself waking up. I fought against it with all my spirit. I knew it was useless, and I sensed she knew it too.  Her eyes went down, and I knew it was over. "She would never grow up, never kiss a boy, never grow old with me."

Friday, September 4, 2015

The Colorless Gray of Lost Love





  Blue, when I see blue I think of him. The whole sky was poisoned with the painful memory. I keep my eyes down now, and pray that one day I will find a world not embedded with sapphires, his eyes were like sapphires. The corn flowers mock me, taunting me with their hue and tint.  I wince when the robin's eggs hatch in the spring, and the shattered remains of this new life fall from the oak tree and slice at my skin like glass. I see skin in cyan now. I cry in the night and my tears are indigo. I remember his eyes, so royal in their color. When will the day come that I stop seeing his eyes?

  His hair was black. Raven feathered and dark as the very depths of the ocean.  I am blinded by the ebony memory of him, and wonder how I've come to lose my sight. Was he made of onyx when the world created him, or was such a gemstone born by this very presence? Every morning when I wake, I choke on the charcoal he's decided to leave behind. The nights are starless now, only left with the inky darkness born of sin and doubt.  

  The lips he possessed were red. I've spend my life kissing roses, and now my mouth is infected with thorns. Rubies were hand chiseled by the Gods to form such a smile. How could such a crimson grin bring such agony? His knife was laden with the scarlet blood of my soul. The pain seeping from my battered spirit was like his wine. He only spoke when vermilion butterflies spread their wings and took flight, and he came to grow wings. And he fluttered away, leaving me.


  The light he brought to me was yellow. The sun herself would pay homage to such a golden glow as the one I remember. My hair became flaxen and colored, leaving behind the colorless gray of the storm clouds. He painted my world in the style of the goldenrod, and he came to slaughter the daisy. And as the moon comes to rise tonight, I am in his debt, for I can still recall the amber. One day I'll smile, and the dusk will come to rival the dawn.

Thursday, September 3, 2015

7-Line Poem




1 - She swings the softest lace over her shoulders, her head tilts back at a slant.
2 - He smiles blissfully at her, in awe, his eyes were made of crystal, gazing.
3 - Her voice is like a little trumpet, and he can feel himself go deft to everything but her.
4 - Her eyes are Finnish lavender spikes, they have impaled him.
5 - Her irises are a vineyard, purple royalty and majesty.
6 - How can he escape now, when the enduring purple shade of her eyes has enraptured his soul?
7 - Like a swift hawk, she can captured and devoured him, and his fight is over.

Haikus



Purple in the light
Royalty in the morning
Lavender at night 




Blue as the ocean
And dark as the moon tonight 
Unforgotten now

Private Sanctuary (acrostic)

Purple flowers that
Ripen and fade with age
Invite me back to memory and
Very tired flowers. I
Assemble the lavender beauties in my hand, bunching them together when
The night wind
Elopes with the stars, the

Stars smile as they
Align together in the
Night, the lilacs point up to the
Crescent moon,
Tears shed at midnight. The flowers
Unite, ready to
Assent and wither,
Ready to let go. And
Yet, I am not ready. Will I ever be?

Belle of the Ball



"Belle of the Ball."
  I'm not going to lie, all my life, I've desperately wanted to be a princess. "Belle of the Ball" is a pale yellow, light and soft in color. It reminds me of the dress Belle wears in Beauty and the Beast - my all time favorite film. When I was young, more than anything else, I wanted a magical night of dancing and massive puffy dresses and discovering I'd found my true love within ten seconds of meeting him. In short, I wanted to be a Disney princess. But, the older I got, the more I came to realize that this was not likely to happen. The closest I'd ever come was when I went to homecoming with some of my friends. And even then I hadn't really enjoyed myself. I'd all but given up on fairy-tale balls when a young man randomly came over to me and, very bluntly, asked if I would go to prom with him. I was in shock, I'd never been asked to a dance by a boy. Ever. I accepted, and then did what I do best. Procrastinated. I bought my dress online and didn't try it on until it would have been too late to buy another. I didn't plan or get too excited. I was convinced I would be socially awkward and make the entire night uncomfortable. In truth, I was just hoping not to make a total fool of myself. When the night came, and I got dressed, I felt like royalty. We went out and danced, my feet hurt by the end. What can I say? I was having fun. I didn't really think about what was happening, I was too happy to think about much of anything. Then, just when I though the night couldn't get any better, it was time for the slow dance. I told him I didn't know how to slow dance at all. He smiled and said he'd show me. My wrists ended up locked together around his neck, his arms went around my waist. We didn't say anything, I watched his feet for direction. Every now and then I looked up and saw his smile. Something happened inside of me then. I don't know what, but it was like a million butterflies decided to emerge from their cocoons at once. I felt like Belle, sharing that magical dance with her prince. I was one of those nights you can't forget, no matter what you do. And I swear, that night, I felt like the Belle of the Ball.