10/13/20

today i realized something about one of my characters.

i thought about her, the nameless one who saves the world someday, and how she lives in the future and loves books.

she watches the lives of her favorite fictional people go by from the other side of the page

sitting in a home made of wood and laobr, surrounded by a society that was torn down, and it hit me: she is jealous of how the characters don't know to be grateful for every little thing.

today i sat down to do my homework and explored the halls of these old threads instead.

i walked through a digital library of my past, and i could remember my hands working at these same keys, typing the words i saw. preserved, and old, and not quite perfect. 

i observed my old self from this side of the computer screen

and i recalled bits and pieces of the thoughts that drifted through my brain at those times; i thought about what i was aspiring to be and it hit me that i'm still not there yet.

today i wanted to write a poem.

i tried to draw out some little phrases from all the things i wondered about today, trying to string them into something deep and insightful and riddled with metaphors.

i watched from this side of the completed work as i erased what progress i had

and instead of creating a goal that involed the poem i wanted to write, i just sat with my eyes on the keys and went through the things i thought about today, and it hit me that the poem i wanted to write didn't have to be perfect. it didn't have to have a perfect rhythm and structure and just the right usage of metaphors and odd descriptions that tasted sweet on my lyrical tongue. i realized the best words could just be the ones i already had.

today i wrote a poem.

~~~And that poem was completely unedited, so please exuse any typos~ 

Despite the darkness,

The coldness,

The emptiness,

Suddenly shows a ray of light.

Reading a story, watching my hand

Drawing, sound

Reverberating all

Around us, the sharp, piercing emptiness softening finally

Maybe things won't get better,

Perhaps misery

Will always stalk us,

But just for a moment I can let

Myself smile, all the same, just a bit

Taken aback by the fact

That I can still

Truly and fully smile once in a while. 

Perhaps I'm in a better state than I had

Thought, or maybe 

That's just that cursed "hope,"

Either way, at least for now, I might really be okay? 

I wrote some poetry while I was gone, so I'm dumping some of it here haha. 

1:

a snapshot of a lady

she smokes a cigarette,

clutched between two cold fingers like a cup of tea

and breathes in the portland air,

balancing on platform heels over the concrete sidewalk

pink cardigan wrapped over her shoulders and

bleached blond curls tumbling in the wind

2: 

the need to feel important

she drifts on it as a means of transportation

tossing, turning, wind-blown

bolstered up by each and every single word of praise,

and every time the crowd turns an ear

but basically she's floating in a daydream,

in which strangers' approval

is more important than her happiness,

because their approval will turn into joy for her, right

that's the way it goes in her dreams

but in reality

out of her mentality, all she's doing right now is

sitting at a desk, tapping her pencil, bouncing her leg

and writing this, so you can read it

and approve. thank you, that's all.

she bows with a flourish

3: (this one's pretty raw, I didn't edit it at all so it might not be perfect and I might go back and change some things later) (I also had to screenshot it because some of the lines were too long to fit into the formatting right)

Pitch black darkness

Isn't the truth;

Cold, stony quiet; no,

Not that aloof;

The universe is a huge snow-

Globe, with us somewhere

Lost in there--

Flowers that burst

Into colourful rings,

Berries ground to jelly

Smeared around the sky,

Twinkling lights of those

Sun-shards wink through night;

All of it makes me think:

Space is amazing. 

I'm going to try to publish (or more realistically, self-publish) a book of poetry. I'm debating whether or not to add this poem. To me, it seems a bit choppy, but tell me what you think! Seriously, I want to hear any critique you have.

~~~ 

Ancient

I. ruined city, ruined past

can’t see, can’t feel,

these ghostly eyes are everywhere.

II. stones of ash, cracking

like marble pedestals

with too much ambition.

III. fogs of regret, misty tears,

but darling, the past

won’t change.

IV. tombs of dust,

long gone gold, sandstone

hearths and papery time.

V. candle wicks

with no more fire,

rivers long

run dry.

VI. Don’t let them go,

Your Majesty, please,

don’t let them go.

VII. but darling, the past

won’t change.

Also, this thread can not and WILL NOT DIE!!!!!!! TO THE TOP!!!!!!!!!!!

*ahem* Pardon the enthusiastic topping. But seriously, we gotta top!