Sunday, January 26, 2014

Nothing lost but Lipstick

The music could have been better but the food was fantastic.
There was pineapple and melon and popcorn and chips and sandwiches. I'm still confused about why I was the only one eating the strawberries. They had a Snow-Cone machine and ice cream.  All for free.  How nice of dear Pasadena Waldorf High School.
That is where all the memories of my 9th & 10th grade Winter Formal are stored.  They are captured in moments of time and beats of a song.  They are ground into the dirt by the bouncing heels. They are spilled down the front steps like glitter and lost on the bus with my disappearing lipstick. They are happening again and again in alternate universes and I am overjoyed every time they play the song again.
I met a person named Quinn who had boundless energy and was from San Diego, introducing himself to us to "break the ice."  He reminded me of Patrick from The Perks of Being a Wallflower, except for the gay part--I met his girlfriend too.
A side note: If you haven't seen The Perks of Being a Wallflower, stop reading this immediately and go watch it.  If you're under 13, tell your parents first and then go watch it.  It is not a cheesy chick flick in the slightest and if you say you don't like it, we can no longer be friends.  I'm sorry.  And for all you movie vs. book critics out there, the movie is directed by the author, so whatever argument you think you have is no longer valid. (EOE, ZAM)
Anyways, Quinn and his girlfriend reminded me of Sam and Patrick in their shameless dancing and nonjudgmental character.  I seriously thought to myself that I would like to meet someone who I can be like that with when I grow up.  Who am I kidding-I'm never growing up.
The music drifted between dubstep and dubstep, with the occasional dubstep thrown in.  When they finally played something danceable they cut it off in the middle of the song.  In what universe does that make sense? The real question is, who rules that universe?
The bus ride on the way back was considerably less loud than the one on the way there, and this one was filled with the sharing of life stories.  (there is surprisingly a lot of information under the 'Life story' category for a 16 year old.)
Many hugs were exchanged when we reached the school, even though we would be seeing each other in less than 36 hours. A party can do that to people-The love is magnified.
I grew closer to the people I wanted to and the only thing I lost was my lipstick.
I met some people who renewed my faith in the teenage race and showed me we might have a chance of not destroying the world with our shallow attitudes.
And since I'm terrible at endings I'm just going to end this now.  Good Night.

Monday, January 20, 2014

The Crazies


The words flow effervescent from my lips like a silent dance.
Effervescent is not often compared to silent.  The sky was the color of dreams: lavender silk.
How does one keep this up?
This constant reaching, pulling, tugging, cutting.  How does one continue for so long?
I’m already beginning to admit defeat.  The sky is turning dark.
The buttons on my jacket sparkle red.  The rich clink quietly against each other.
The light bounces off one and lands on another, each diamond fighting for the spotlight.
A deafening drop resonates through the marrow in every one's bones.
How dost thou even heist??
How dost thou even dream of a heist??
These words drip gold from the now-emerald sky and pile themselves at my feet.
I trip.
I fall.
The ground turns water than glass than fire than smoke.
I plummet through them all, leaving no trace but a singed bit of hair.
My DNA floats above me, untraceable unless you are crazy.
Only crazy people can understand crazy people.
The sane ones all run and hide.
They lock themselves up in their big cars and their little houses and hope for the best.
They turn on the news and wait for someone to tell them what's going on.
But we crazies, we run out into the storm and frolick in the eye of it.
The sound hurts their ears but we only dance faster.
Spinning until we match the pace of this whirlwind.
The eye of the storm, the heart of it, the next best thing to life, is sizing us up.
Do we deserve this flee-ridden joy? I would say yes, of course we do.


Friday, January 17, 2014

A Quote

"We need never be hopeless,
because we can never be irreparably broken.
We think that we are invincible because we are.
We cannot be born, and we cannot die.
Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old.
They get scared of losing and failing.
But the part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail."
-John Greene
From Looking for Alaska

Secret Sister Whispers

~To My Secret Sister Whisperer~

Secret sister whispers
       Are best
In dead of night

Secret sister whispers
      Are best
Without the light

Hidden under blankets
Hidden behind trees

My secret sister whisperer is
surely the bee's knees

We whisper quietly together
   Let not the parents hear
For if the do our work is ruined
We worked so hard my dear

We built the lighthouse tall and strong
It can weather any storm
And it took a long long time to get here,
But now we're never wrong

So secret whispers in the night
Are very much the best
I love you sister whisperer
You fill my days with zest.

A Significant Song



Well grey clouds wrapped round the town like elastic
Cars stood like toys made of Taiwanese plastic
The boy laughed at the spastic dancing around in the rain
While laundrettes cleaned clothes, high heals rub toes
Puddles splashed huddles of bus stop crows
Dressed in their suits and their boots well they all look the same

I took myself down to the cafe to find all the boys lost in books and crackling vinyl
And carved out a poem above the urinal that read
Don’t you cry for the lost
Smile for the living
Get what you need and give what you’re given
Life’s for the living so live it
Or you’re better off dead

While the evening pulled the moon out of it’s packet
Stars shone like buttons on an old man’s jacket
We needed a nail but we tacked it ’til it fell of the wall

While pigeon’s pecked trains, sparks flew like planes
The rain showed the rainbows in the oil stains
And we all had new iPhones but no one had no one to call

And I stumbled down to the stomach of the town
Where the widow takes memories to slowly drown
With a hand to the sky and a mist in her eye she said
Don’t you cry for the lost
Smile for the living
Get what you need and give what you’re given
Life’s for the living so live it
Or you’re better off dead

Well I’m sick of this town, this blind man’s forage
They take your dreams down and stick them in storage
You can have them back son when you’ve paid off your mortgage and loans
Oh hell with this place, I’ll go it my own way
I’ll stick out my thumb and I trudge down the highway
Someday someone must be going my way home

Till then I’ll make my bed from a disused car
With a mattress of leaves and a blanket of stars
And I’ll stitch the words into my heart with a needle and thread
Don’t you cry for the lost
Smile for the living
Get what you need and give what you’re given
You know life’s for the living so live it
Or you’re better off dead

Don’t you cry for the lost
Smile for the living
Get what you need and give what you’re given
Life’s for the living so live it
Or you’re better off dead


Wednesday, January 8, 2014

This is an Imagery Poem describing something--Try and guess what it is.

Stand tall, stand strong, what other choice do I have?
I have no will, no ability to move.
And trust me, if I could I would.
I would run and yell and whoop and holler, but for me that is impossible.
I will never be heard, I will never be valued in the way you are.
Me and my kind will always be taken for granted.
Our time has come and pass.
They give me no choice as they bring the blade to my feet; they give me no option,
No second chance. No redo for my mistakes.
Was it me?
Did I cause this? Did I do something wrong?
I was doing my best you know.
I am your very intake of breath, and without me you would be nothing.
And this is how you repay me?
No last smile, no last wave?
With barely recognition you march toward me like a reaper to the grave.
I gave you shelter, freedom, air and life,
And all you bring for me is this, this glistening blade and leaden dread,
And with one, two, three swings of your arm it is all brought to and end.

A Poem in Anapest Trimeter

Anapest Trimeter is the rhythm that this poem is measured in.  The rhythm goes...
short short long, short short long...and so on.  It is written like this:  . . -  . . -  . . -
which looks suspiciously like Morse code to me...
Anywayzzzz....

A Poem in Anapest Trimeter
Wishful thinking is what got us here.
Now all that we're left with is fear.
Help me dear, please save me, I'm so close
To the ends of the earth I would fly
But my wings are all broken and red.
Catch my fall, weave the net, use my mind
Save not one little thread, use them all,
They are hidden in my smallest drawer.
Heart Shaking, earth quaking,I tried, really I did.
But it is just too much to carry
Even my shadow is heavy please
Don't let me break, no not, not like this.

The Most Complicated Feeling

The assignment for this poem was to write a "Simile Poem".  For those of you who don't know, a simile is a poetic device that is used to compare to things using "like" or "as".  It is used to compare to things in a more interesting and understandable way.  An example: 
"The sun rose and poured over the land like melted butter on mashed potatoes."
So the assignment was to write a poem about something, start it out with "Like..."  and end it with the thing we were describing.
Here's mine.

The Most Complicated Feeling
Like the soft whisper of summer breezes humming in my ear,
Barely brushing against my conscience,
A sigh, a nearly spoken thought.

Like the cat on silent paws,
Treading it way lightly.
You would never know it was there if not for the faint hiss.

Like the ocean, the continuous lapping that becomes lost so easily, that becomes habit.

Like the bashful sunlight that pours over the earth on an early spring day, slowly enveloping everything in its warmth.

Like those first few moments when sleep is winging on its way
That nirvana that comes with morning peace and blessed abeyance.

Like the cold blade against soft skin,
The loss of all thought and the sharp tang of pain.

Like cold snow falling softly on sun-warmed roads.

Like the wind beneath the wings of a bird, lifting up and up.

Like a roller coaster, dipping and spinning on the narrow metal track, threatening to overturn with every squeal of the brakes.

Such is the feeling of love. 
 

This Late Hour

This short poem is a Shakespearean Sonnet.  A sonnet is a poem about a problem or conflict that is solved and resolved in the last six lines.
It is a 14 line poem.  The first 8 lines are the problem, the next 4 is a solution, and the last 2 are the resolution.
A sonnet is also written in a quatrain rhyme scheme with the last two lines in couplet.

This Late Hour
I envy her sleeping across the room,
Visions of sugarplums filling her head
And I am back here with this chilling doom.
I wish that I were sleeping in my bed.
The clock is ticking quickly now and my
Time's running out to finish and not fail.
It may be time for me to say good-bye,
Or I might just have to finally bail.
But wait, I might be able to finish,
I just have to think hard and then must hurry
And when, at last my mind does turn to rubbish,
I can say that I tried in such a flurry.
At last I escape this terrible fate,
And can fall into bed and close the gate.

Monday, January 6, 2014

Ramblings to the Extreme

So many things in my mind but not enough words to say them.
I write on this blog to write them out.
And they're not even bad feelings.  They're not even really feelings.  They're just thoughts running around the inside of my mind, bouncing against the walls and each other.  But that's good right?  That I have a busy mind?  It certainly doesn't seem good when I'm trying to fall asleep at night.

Whenever I write on here I find myself wondering if someone important is reading this.  (Of course you're all important. You know what I mean.)  I guess I phrased that wrong.  I wonder if a future publisher is reading this.  And then I wonder what they're thinking, if they find it something people would want to read.
I actually wonder what any of you are thinking when you read this, because no one ever COMMENTS. (hint, hint)
The posts are mostly ramblings, me pursuing what ever thought or notion has been nagging me all day.

Have you ever realized how nice lists are?  It's so easy to make lists.  There's no embellishment necessary, no description necessary, no need to truly express the feelings.  You can simply write everything down with only a number to put it in context.  Let me make a list.
Things running through my Mind: (note that "Mind" is capitalized)
1) Have you ever noticed how weird the seeds of a papaya are?
2) I'm pretty lucky.  I should appreciate that more.
3) I need to call him back.
4) Bring ukulele to school tomorrow.
5) I wish I was reading manga right now.
6) I should probably go practice my violin...
7) Salad sounds  really good right now.
8) I want to go cliff-diving before I die.
9) "Palm trees are not real trees"
10) I wish people would comment on my blog so I know what they think (again, hint, hint)
11) Why should I care? This is my blog.
12) If you want to tell me anything about this blog, or random life stuff in general, please email me!!
withglitteringwings@gmail.com
13) I need to empty the trash tonight.
And trust me, it gets so much worse when I'm (trying) to do homework.
14) What if this isn't real life.  What if we're dreaming, and dying is just waking up, and when we wake up everything is so much brighter and clearer and more vibrant.  We wake up and everyone who died before us is there and they all tell us how long we were sleeping and that "It's about time you woke up!" And dying isn't dying it's waking up and we've just been asleep for so long that what we think is life seems real but whenever someone dies they're just waking up before us? And we were asleep for so long that actual life that was going on before we went to sleep was completely forgotten but when we wake up everything comes rushing back and we know completely different people and we tell them all about "The strangest dream I just had..."
OK. Now that I wrote all that out of me I really should go do my homework.  And call him back.
Writing really is quite cleansing.  I highly suggest it to anyone who doesn't do it on a regular basis.