Hello everyone!
I'm posting from my best friend's laptop. I'm having issues getting over the weirdness of the keyboard.

Anywho, as promised, although very, very late, here is my list of summer highlights!!

Camp!
This year I spent two weeks at International Music Camp. Huzzah!
First week was nothing but Drama. Theater. Play writing.

At one point during the week, I made one of my guy friends laughed until he drooled.
During the final evening of drama week, I sat in the grass with said friend, and we watched the sun set.
I recieved a Playwriting award. I cried.

Second week, Choir week.
Dustin and I lay in the grass and napped while some kids played bluegrass off in the distance
Joseph and I singing together in his private practise room. Phantom of the Opera. Time to say Goodbye.
Walking back after private lessons, through the forest. Music drifting around me. Random songs and bits of classical music. The birch trees swooshing at me.

Jordan
He took me for dinner. He changed a tire. He got his hands dirty.
We walked in a wheat field.
He held my hand.

General?
Swimming with Steven.
Watching the sunrise by myself.
A day of adventure with Trish and Chloe.
Countless walks for coffee.
Sleeping in til 2pm!
Being barefoot

School tomorrow.

Which means summer is leaving.

Today, it is raining out.
I think I'm fine with that.
I've made my peace with summer. Shook it's hand and kissed it goodbye. We are the best of friends every year, and I know next year will be no different.

Tomorrow I'll post something lovely and long, including a list of my summer highlights, pictures and all.

For now, I have school to get ready for. A room to clean. Tea to make. Walks to be had. People to be chatted with.
So long, farewell
etc
goodbye

Dear World,

Dear World,

HE LIKES ME!

We went for coffee. Then I helped him run errands.
Then we went to Oak Bluff, the small municpality outside the city where he lives.
"My aunt lives there. My grandmother there. The Morrisons there. That's where I went to school. There's my dad working in the fields there. That's where I  had my first job, there's where my mom works."
We went to a wheat field. We sat in the box of his pickup. We were silent. Nothing needed to be said.
The world was quiet. The wind was blowing the wheat. The crickets were singing.
I laughed because we had sparkles on our fingers. I smeared it on his face. He laughed and smeared mine.
We walked up to the edge of the field.
"Reckon' it's wet?"
"Probably."
"Reckon I care?"
"From the why you're looking at it? No."
The other day at the beach, we ran head first into the water, only to find it freezing.
This time, we walked into the field carefully. The ground was dry as you please.
We went a ways in. We were laughing. He showed me how to eat the wheat stalkes that are almost ready.
Our laughter echo'd out across the fields and into places beyond us.
Silence suited us just as well as speaking did.
World, I found in this one spot, the place I belong.

He texted me afterwards.
"I had alot of fun today. We should make a real date next time. Not that this improvising isn't fun and all..."
"I'd like that a lot :)"

I think you're just swell

August Third:

you can't decide
to turn your back
or to reach out.
So
goodbye.
I'm not the one to shirk desicions
of this nature.
You and I know me.
I love a challenge
but I'm not stupid.
I know a hopeless case
when it hopelessly sways in front of me.

I miss the ocean
really, I do.
Cups of coffee
reading books
writing.
Staring out and out forever

See you laying in the sun
and I can't beat around the bush.
You, good sir,
are a spoonfull of sugar.
There's no reason now to hide.
You're safe and I'm safe, and you're more than just
a dream in my head.
My fingertips brushed your skin briefly-
the most contact we've had thus far-
and rejoice at the feeling of the youness of you;
of the fact that they have not gone straight through you
like a ghost.
I cannot recall when I last felt this way.
I guess,
you'll just have to excuse me today,
because I can no longer beat around the bush good sir.

Come home
'cause nothing feels quite right
nothing feels the same
Nothing doesn't remind me of you.
What's left in this prairie town,
besides the memories?
Down by the river, you fell to the ground
and On the side street, I fell for you
because you lifted me
right off my feet, and I haven't stopped spinning yet.
so won't you come back to me?
Come, I'll make it home,
it'll be okay.
This prairie town misses your sweet face, and so do I.
Your sweet face, and large hands, and bent nose.

Knowing I am no longer the object
of his affection
[fixation]
makes the air a little cleaner.
My legs relax themselves into the mattress,
it's good to be new and freed.
To be young, with so many better and worse than him to come.
To be alone in this room, which messy though it is, is mine.
Is safe.
Never realized how solid these four walls could be.
How much I love the mess and the green.
I think I need a plant.

Knowing all this, I think I'll just get some sleep for now.
Maybe say a quiet thank you
to whomever or whatever is listening,
and then let the silence of
2am take me where I ought to be.

Goodnight.

have a great day

Thoughts up a tree

Upside down,
I find you most
compelling

as you stroke my nose
and call me
your little one.

And we take a tumble
into the
all forgiving grass

This weekend we are in love, and I'd have it no other way.

Later is for later.

Tonight I'll let you compell me.
Tonight
maybe I'll be upside down as well,

less this becomes
tomorrow, and nothing but
silent stillshots.

So catch me.
Catch me, I'm a wild child.
Catch me, I'm wildly yours.

Here Comes The Sun

And I say, it's alright.


What's going on with me? I know I haven't written in a long, long time.


I've been on a few dates with this guy, let's call him...... J.
I can't seem to wrap my head around him.
He's fun and romantic. He makes me laugh. He yells. He's serious. He has both feet on the ground. He holds doors open for me, pulls out chairs.
I like him.
You know that feeling, when you look at someone, and suddenly, you're inexplicably, completely elated?
Yeah. I get that from him.

Love? Love love love love love love love.
Love.
I don't understand that word right now.

Love does not come in a box.
There is no preconspetion.
No constrictions or confides to it.

Love isn't something you can ask for and recieve.
Love can't be given with rules.
Love can't be requested in a size five, canary yellow.

It's not that someone comes to you, with a box
and you open it;
Oh! It's exactly what I wanted!
Look, it highlights the colour of my eyes!

It's not that you can wear it a while, and then pack it up because it doesn't suit you any longer.
Pack it up, and put it back in it's box, and give it away again.
Or store it under your bed, waiting for a cold and rainy day when you need it again.

Love isn't like that.

But while I can tell you with some confidence what love is not,
I cannot tell you exactly what it is.





Though, I'm no longer fearless
I'm no longer reduced to
that shaking sniviling child you had me.
Let me see this clearly;
am I a novelty?
A wild flower that catches your eye,
you pluck and take with you,
until you reach where wild flowers grow rampent? And I am no longer special?
Or, until we reach the city,
where I seem odd and young and foolish and decidedly out of place.
My large hair, changing in your opinion only;
Wild and careless and untamed at first
now is messy and difficult.
It was always all those things.
So discet me, to my smallest parts
and try to know what you are in for.
But once you do, I'll become nothing but
my various bits and pieces.
An arm, a leg
absent minded, loud
a toenail,
sensitive.
What now?

1,

2,

3,

jump

I daydream too much.

















Or not enough

I'm back

I can't see why

everytime you fall
it's my job to catch.
When I fall
Where are you?

I'm seeing a pattern
as I shift through the ruins
of lovers past.

I want you to love me
when you're sober.
I want to be loved for
who I am, now how I make
you feel.

I can do the math
but math can't figure
what's in your heart, or mine.

Something inside me tells me
sober love is a different breed.
One who's contact has been limited.
One who I fear,
though loathe the alternative.

Which will win I wonder?
Fear or hate?
I can train the hate, the distaste from me.
But is that really

how it should be?

I'm a new soul- no.
No, I'm an old soul
with a new spirit.
I'm a young girl
I'm a small
to mid sized city girl
I'm a women with a left over lover history.
I've got big dreams
and I've got a heartbeat
so tell me why I stay here
in this state.
I'm an odd child, and I
have a strange sense of how to
live this life.

Pig Song - Margaret Atwood

This is what you changed me to
a greypink vegetable with slug

eyes, buttok

incarnate, speading like a slow turnip,

a skin you stuff so you may feed
in your turn, a stinking wart
of flesh, a large tuber
of blood which munches
and bloats. Very well then. Meanwhile

I have the sky, which is only half
caged, I have my weed corners,
I keep myself busy, singing
my song of roots and noses,

my sog of dung. Madame,
this song offendes you, these grunts
which you find oppressively sexual,
mistaking simple greed for lust.

I am yours. If you feed me garbage,
I will sing a song of garbage.
This is a hymn.

The burdick theater will always feel like home to me. The catwalks, the wings, backstage, basement. The musty smell mixing with the uncommon smell of cool air. The squeek of certain chairs, the movable walls

I watched your eyes
shift and sparkle and change
grean to grey to blue

with my words
and our stolen subtle touches.

Now I close my own and recall
the snowflake raindrops
dancing in time to our music,

resting finally, softly, on
your pink cheeks and my warm lips
before melting away

to something more pure.
Absorbed by our words.
I remember you lent me your gloves
though your hands shook as much as mine.

You smiled at me
and I smiled into my coffee.
You shifted green and closer, or must have,
because I could feel

the heat of your knee
through four layers of fake skin.