Recurring Dream

I had a dream of you last night.

Us in the dark room, blind tentacles reaching for me.

Me shrinking away

Up against the wall, no where to go

Tidal wave of fear,

“No,” you disgust me.

You don’t love me,

You know I am weak

Reaching, reaching

Muscles tighten, broken strings wound too tight

The line has been blurred

between what is love and what is sickness.

And then I remember the other room

This time it’s blue

And he and I are young

And I don’t know what to do

It goes blank, was it me? was it him?

Sometimes I recall death, and sometimes love, but always I am sick

Just like I remember you sometimes

In those days I was your ghost.

Me, Myself, and I

I am a bi-polar, brie addicted, slightly OCD  teenage girl with a wanna be badass alter ego.

 

Contact info: hippiechick24@comcast.net

A Little Personal Essay

In January 2011 my life began to change when a young man in need opened his heart to me. This boy, Matthew, had been a long time acquaintance. We played cello in the same Orchestra since sixth grade. I thought he was a sweet but unorthodox kid, and I never gave him much thought until that fateful Saturday morning in January of last year.

Both of us were attending our local youth orchestra that year. The meetings were Saturday morning at eight o’clock sharp, and lasted until noon. I walked into youth symphony that morning feeling like I’d been run over several times with a Mac truck. I was emotionally and physically winded. This was somewhat due to the fact that I was first chair in the cello section, which was not an easy task for a girl like me who had visions of becoming the next Yo-Yo Ma. But the biggest contributor to my melancholy mood was the fact that my current boyfriend stressed me out to unbelievable degrees. He was mean and shady but I somehow convinced myself of his value in my life. I felt like absolute trash that morning for sure.

But it seemed that Matthew was much worse off than me. I immediately knew something was wrong; it was glaringly obvious. He looked like a raw open wound. He was so upset I could almost see the anger and pain rising up like a tide behind his green eyes. Normally his eyes were soft and welcoming, but today, they were hard and full of angst, but most of all frightened. But the most striking difference of all were the scabbed over but still fresh gashes on the top of his forearms. I knew those cuts were no accident, and that he had made them. He was quite literally bleeding for the world to see.

I had never seen someone in so much pain and anguish. It gushed out from his pores, and I felt like I had to stop the bleeding or at least slow it in some small way. I wanted to wrap him in my arms and help him forget all the hurt. It was not because I thought he was attractive and it was nothing sexual; I would have felt the same way about anyone because I have been on the other end of scenario. I have felt that damaged and that raw. In any case, I knew it was impossible to comfort Matthew physically, but if I did not do something I felt as if I would regret it for a very long time.

So I did the only thing I could. I asked him to talk and to my surprise he obliged. We spoke the whole morning, and by the end I did not feel as angry and scared and it seemed like Matt though, of course not a great deal better, felt like he had someone to confide in.

Little did I know the simple action of reaching out to Matthew started a chain reaction of events that resulted in a relationship that is deep, loving, and meaningful. It took many months, and a great amount of hard work from both of us to get out of the deep well of depression we were in, but we did it together.

When I look at Matthew I see someone who has so much potential and goodness in his heart as I always did. But now I also see a boy with sparkling green eyes that let in the light, and do not have a fear of losing everything in an instant. And of course there are scars, but they are barely visible against new, strong, and healed skin.

 

 

 

The Tell Tale Heart Revisited

I wrote this story as an alternate ending to Edgar Allen Poe’s famous story, “The Tell Tale Heart”. Of course it’s not Poe, but I hope I paid homage to him in the best way possible! 

NOTE: My story starts with the last line of “The Tell Tale Heart”

The Tell Tale Heart Revisited

“‘Villains!’ I shrieked, ‘dissemble no more! I admit the deed!—tear up the planks!—here, here!—it is the beating of his hideous heart!’” (Poe, 306).

As if compelled by the pulsating heart I fell to the floor, and the last sound I heard was the thunder! – the thundering of his hateful heart! I awoke on the floor of a small cell. Looking through the bars I could hear the constable fiercely debating with another personage of whom I could not see.

“He is absolutely mad! To chop up a man into pieces? How does one reconcile that?” the constable began. But no! He does not understand! I was very careful about the whole thing! I am not mad. It was a very well done crime, except for that old man. His heart!—it would not stop!— my demise is the old man’s doing!

“Well then what do you suggest we do with him?” the other voice inquired.

“Just get rid of him. I see no point in a trial. We have a full confession, and witnesses to the scream of the old man. I suppose we will have to go through with it, but that man is not fit to stand trial. Just make it quick and painless so we can hang the demented creature as soon as possible. I do not want any fuss about it.”

“Hang me?!” I cried out. “But it was the old man who made me do the deed! His ghastly eye beckoned me! Can’t you see? He drove me to it, so terrible was his eye. And, then, his heart—it drove me to confess wrongly when it was the old man himself that bademe into the room to kill him!”

“Quiet in there!” said the old constable, and nothing more.

I called again and again to the constable proclaiming my innocence, but I heard only silence in return. Dreadful, terrible silence, until after sometime in the dank and windowless cell I began to hear it again. First softly like the buzz of a fly, then louder, louder, until the tympanic sound of the terrible heart deafened me. Suddenly, the old man was in my very cell, a dismembered vision face down on the floor. His arms began to move, reconnecting with his body–struggling to attach to his shoulders. I shrank back into the corner, fearing for my life. As I scrambled back my hand caught a nail in the floor boards and I began to bleed, but it did not matter! All I cared was to get away from the old man! The old man’s arms reached for his head, and I watched as the grotesque vision labored, head beneath its arm, and rose to its full height in front of me. There, staring back at me was the eye! The filmy, disgusting vulture’s eye sneering at me!—while the rhythm of the heart still pounded in my ears! It knew who had slain it and it wanted revenge. The gnarled hands of the old man pointed underneath me, and that was when I saw it. A crimson pool of blood, and the heartbeat grew deafening, as if it was underneath my very body. I ripped up the floor boards and there it was! The beating heart before my very eyes!

In an instant the light went out in the cell, and I was sucked away from the scene and bathed in blackness. In that in between stage I cried out to anyone, to save me from the hideous creature. But my fear was waylaid at last! I awoke in my own chamber to the sound of the clock striking four A.M., but there in my hand I felt the warmth of the beating heat.

 

Bibliography

Poe, Edgar Allen. Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe. New York: Random House,

1975. Print.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am Still Alive

Hi, all four of you followers, I am still alive contrary to what this blog might show. I have been listening to a lot of Leonard Cohen, and this poem sort of ‘happened’….tell me what you think?

NOTE: This is definitely not as good as Leonard Cohen, who is the master, this is an attempt!

I called your name and you came to me, blank and broken and  in misery.

I knew the wounds on your arms far too well,
I knew them because they scared me as well.

I knew the guilt; I’d seen it all
The rage, the fear, the crimson floor of the bathroom stall

My love was bent,  and frayed, and torn.
And so you and I we came to mourn,

All that was and all that is and all that will never be again.
In between the waves of pain,

We screamed ourselves to sleep at night
And beat the walls until they gave,

And when it all came crashing down
The walls, my cherry, and your silver crown

We lay in the darkness, or was it the light?
Making love and holding each other tight.

Teenage Love and Sex

A whispered copnversation in a back basement…

“Do you want to?”
                                       “You know we can’t”

“But I want to”

                                       ”Me too”

“But we shouldn’t”

                                        “But I want too!”

“Your parents could come down at any minute”

                                        “I know”

“So we shouldn’t”

                                    “Ok, we won’t”

Silence, hugging, kissing, more silence

                                  “What if?…no…”

“What? You want to now?”

                                    “No…Yes…I don’t know!”

“Such a simple thing and so conflicting…”

                                    “I know, right?”

Silence

“Well, it’s 8:15…”

                                   “It’s too late now”

“Shit…”

                                 “Oh well”

“We don’t need to do that to say I love you”

                                  “I know”

“I love you”

                                “I love you too hunny”

A work in progress…too cliche perhaps? Feedback would be much appreciated

In a smoky wood-paneled room with curtains yellowed and numbed from time and age,

and a certain special kind of sickliness reserved for only the atrophying of mind and body

there lies a man from whom time has taken much

            the hair on his head

            the redness in his cheeks

            the deep seeded passion which shown through in his clear gray eyes, now clouded

He knows not where he is,

only where he has been.

Memories from long ago ring clear

like the newly risen aurora of the sun.

              the lingering scent of fresh cut grass

              the taste of sour lemonade on his now exhausted tounge

              the vibrant checkerboard pattern on his young lovers skirt

             the passion that once was his

And there in his world of past glories he resides, never straying too far towards the dimly lit corridor of reality

And his is a world without the stench of  smoke

                     and rotting yellowed curtains

                     and bare forest prisons

A world with sunshine

                  and love

                  and beauty

                  but most of all

                                            Hope

 

His body is but a broken shell

from which his mind has escaped

If only for the sake

                             of  Hope

The Product of One Hotel Room and Insomnia

The melting crystalline snow trickles down the gutter outside our window

Masking the sounds of the gray highway

Deep breathing, from my mother

Rattling snores, from my father

The clock strikes 1 A.M.

More snoring, deep breathing

         like a heart beat

Breath snore, breath snore, breath snore, breath snore, breath snore

          in perfect iambic pentameter

“But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,”

Breath snore, breath snore, breath snore, breath snore, breath snore

A sonnet of dreams

While my dreams lay awake

          filling my head

                    splashing on the pages of my notebook

Melting snow from my mind

My pen the gutter plip plopping the letters down

          into the street,

                                   the page

Meanwhile the roaring highway of my fears,

Lies in the background

Covered by a sonnet of awake dreams,

           and dreamed dreams,

                   and dreams yet to be dreamed.

Free to roam the edges of my conscience,

               But afraid of what I will find there.

I sit in silence

                       With

                               Unquiet

                                                  Mind.

 

Works Cited

Shakespeare, William. “Sonnet XLIII.” Shakespeare’s Sonnets. Oxquarry Books Ltd, 2011. Web. 05 Jan. 2012. <http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/43&gt;.

 

The Welcoming…continued

still typing like a third grader due to lack of pointer finger agility…sorry. so i thought id start today with a few things i dislike with a passion.

Number 1: conservative ideals. its not that i hate conservatives, in fact, i dont really hate anyone at all. i dislike the ideals they pursue – small government, cutting federal funding to programs that really need it (like planned parenthood), and in general, being disrespectful. now i know the disrespectful thing goes for all parties, this is why i dislike politics. because i am short, and soft spoken (most of the time) i am often not taken seriously and not considered. this also has to do with the fact that i am a woman, sadly, and that i am stereotyped as “weird”.  more often than not, in our political debates at school, i find myself unable to speak or treated unfairly, and until i find someone who is willing to listen, ill stay out of it.

Number 2: Senseless High School Drama. Dont even get me started. it’s ridiculous and annoying, and to be honest…I DONT give a FUCK about whos FUCKING who! seriously, these people need to get lives!

Number 3: laziness. yes, i am guilty of being lazy too, but not to the extent that it ruins my life. i can’t stand when people dont do the work and then expect some sort of miraculous result! lazyiness ruins lives, ive seen it happen to people in my family. they sit in front of the t.v. all day and dont move an inch. i couldnt imagine that being the extent of my life, and i have vowed to myself to never let it happen.

Number 4: sexism. im a feminist all the way, but let me put this out there: I most certainly do not hate men! I love men….there’s one man i love very very much

Number 5: burning my tongue on hot coffee…worst feeling in the world!

so, i will start with real posts next time…for now ta-ta!

The Official Welcome Post….Even Though I have no Followers….

so, please forgive my messy typing. i burned my finger on an art project and developed a good sized, throbbing, pussy blister. it’s quite bad ass if i do say so myself, and it was worth it, despite the hours of pain from literally sticking my pointer finger right in a blistering (haha…get it..its funny because…NO…i hate when people do that! more on that later!) glob of hot glue that promptly stuck to my skin. in efforts to get it off, i made it completely and utterly worse. finally, i just said “screw this” and stuck it under running water, where it remained for the next 12 hours in some way, shape, or form. no joke – i slept with my hand in a bowl of ice water. so this lead me to think, “boy i am a fucking huge sissy”, it’s a little blister! But in all seriousness i can’t imagine the pain of a severe burn, and i feel so blessed that the extent of my burning is about a centimeter and a half in diameter.

MOVING ON…

I find myself drawing a hugemongus blank here. How am i supposed to tell anyone what this thing is going to be about since i dont even know what its going to be about myself? hmmm..the quandries of life. i suppose ill start with a little bit about myself.

5 things i love:

• Number one, hands down: my family and friends, especially My Mom, Dad, Sister, Neighbor, and Boyfriend. They are all amazing, beautiful people, that have helped me so much. i would be absolutely nothing without them. nothing i tell you!
• Number two: Books! They never cease to amaze, stun, and compel me! I love the way a book smells, its very texture, and of course, the escape is gives me. For a long time, I had three friends in my life; books, my mom, and a black scottish terrier named Beemer. And I am thankful for all three, but especially for literature.
• Number three: Music! Music is the universal language, and a shining light in my life. I have played cello since sixth grade, and i have a love/hate relationship with it. its a fiery passion, but i always manage to dissapoint myself. you’ll here a lot about that. in short i am absolutely facinated with all…well most kinds of music. the only genres i really dont listen to are mainstream country, rap, and pop.
• Number four: Food! I am not a skinny little bitch…I Am 183 pounds of 5′ 2” gorgeous girl! (i acknowledge i need to lose weight, but this is for health reasons.) Anyways, i freakin’ love food (but not meat, i dont eat meat)! sometimes more than sex! but then i really hate it to0. my inability to restrain myself has caused me a lot of problems to do with body image and health. i hate my body  and i love it. really, it depends on the day. food gets me into all sorts of issues, and that will probably be a topic in this blog.
• Number five: Nature! Being the little Buddha person I am, i feel that nature and the outdoors are very important in my quest for enligtenment…well were not shooting that far just yet…lets work on self peace first!  i feel very connected to the earth, and it sounds weird saying it, but i really really do.

Ok, so, hopefully you know a little bit more about me by now. i am crazy tired so im going to hit the sack! goodnight blogosphere!