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.

I can't write
and I don't know why

Oh who will teach me to make daisy chains?

I went to Gay Pride on Sunday.
I'm very, very, very sunburnt.
It was great fun.


I don't blog enough, I know.



Once in a while someone walks into your life
and you overlook them for a while.
Then all of a sudden.
"Flash. Bam. Alakazam"
And now,
now,
I look up and see
several somethings different.
I see,
you
different.
I see me. Different.


I've been studying a lot, as I am sure many of you are.
I have plans to go to KP tomorrow, possibly swimming.
Wed I'm going to a blues concert.
Friday is a bonfire.
Saturday is a birthday dinner.
Sunday? More studying (as I will be throughout the entire week)
Monday is my bio exam.
Tuesday is the grad dance.
Wed i'll SLEEP
Thursday I have an almost maybe sorta date?
Friday is my foot's MRI
Saturday is another birthday
Sunday is camp.

Quite the week and a bit in front of me.


Parting wisdom:

STOP
BREATHE
CRY IF YOU MUST

Little Star & Little Bird

Since when does it matter that it might not be good enough?

Since when does it mean something so big and huge and important that you might not win?

Have you ever seen someone inspiring?
What inspired you?


Certainly not the way they took everything out of their way, leaving nothing but a straight path.
Certainly not.

So why do we think it should be so easy for ourselves?

I want to inspire.

Maybe I do.

You know, I love fashion but I'm afraid of it.
I wonder why that is?

I follow so many fashion blogs. They start my day and often finish it.

I want to take photographs and write about them for a living.

I want to draw.

I want to find love.
I want to find that one person who makes my stomach feel like I've swallowed a million mexican jumping beans.
I want to find someone who will come over when I'm sick, and who won't care how nasty I am.
I want to find someone I can look at everyday, and everyday know that he is beautiful, and constantly find a new way he is.
I want to fall asleep on someone's stomach again, waking up only because time is always an essence.

I want to have someone I think is a gift

[all people are gifts, am I right? All persons are something to value, never mind have something to value.]

I want to not just have someone, but be had. And have it not matter how many came before or might come after for either one of us. I want to breathe in and act on impulse. If I want to kiss someone, damn it, why don't I? Why haven't I?

I want to go to Europe this spring break, and finally DO the fashion thing! WHY NOT?

I want to go for walks in the rain and come home and take a bath. I want to get soaked in these puddles. I want to have Ester home; she'd dance with me in the rain.

I remember one day before school, Ee and I were at school really early. We ended up walking to Starbucks in the POURING rain. And I mean, within 5 minutes we were so wet, nothing mattered anymore. We jumped in puddles, and screamed and laughed and got coffee that was so watered down it was ridiculous. We got to school drenched. We changed into gym clothes and missed the morning classes, as we waited for the dryer to finish with our clothing.

I'm fine alone.
But that doesn't mean I wouldn't prefer the alternative.

I can't picture me without you, even on the days I am.
And that sentence goes out to two different people, oddly enough.
Two different loves, two different kinds.

Love?

It's so easy to spend my days upbeat and "big" (as Longtin would say, BE BIG!)
It's so easy.
But I love sitting at home with my notebooks
my scrapbooks
my cameras
my guitar
my books
my paints.

I love sitting down, talking to you on the phone.
You know me. A few sides
You say I still surprise you, which is great.

I love being so calm when I'm with you.
What is it about you that makes me take a step back most of time?

Once upon a time there was a little star.
It lived so very high up, in the sky.
Little star had a friend named little bird.
Little Bird was little, but she was able to fly up just high enough, and Little Star was able to sink just low enough, that they were able to spend lots of time together.
Little Bird and Little Star loved eachother very much.
But Little Star was a star, and as the Earth turned, it took her away from her Little Bird.
Little Bird cryed and cryed and cryed, she was so said.
She tried to fly after Little Star, but her wings were too weak to keep up.
So, Little Bird accepted her place in the world.
She waited patiently.

She had faith that one day, the Earth would turn again in her favour, bringing her Little Star back to her.
And by then- her wings would be strong enough so that she'd never be left behind again.

MAYBE THIS MEANS MORE TO ME THAN I EVER WANTED;
NINETY NINE DAYS

More magical BC pictures

All pictures by me, uneditted

You know, I love the rain. maybe not the cold weather accompanying it lately, but the rain is wonderful. I love big storms.

I can't wait to go to Europe next SpringBreak. I'm all signed up.

Ironically, I have H1N1. However, like I said, it's just the flu. It sucks like any flu does. So, no big deal



Go on and dream like New York/ As high as the sky line/ Aim for the stars/ Above those city lights/ Gotta dream like New York/ I'm running down Broadway/ Gotta catch the next train/ I'm makin' my way

I have this book. A notebook. I've been working on it slowly. It's... it's hard to explain. It's special.
In it I have my bucket list. A peacock feather. A poem I wrote for someone's birthday. Something I wrote that made someone cry. A picture of a mountain...
Like I said, this book is strange, but it's special to me.

I went with my mother and bought plants today. Rose bushs and azalias and lilacs and cedears.
I love gardening.

Soon summer will be here.
It's a hopeful thought

Madeleine - Sarah Slean

Madeleine
Shall her story end?
With this aftermath music,
My broken French?
Heal her, if you can
Pray the lions aren’t waiting
Take her hand
I want to be brave,
I want to be brave
But the night goes up in flames
The courage we need
A fury to tame
This madness, madness, madness
No more,will I count the dead
Bending gathering words
I should have said
When the night falls
It scrapes its knees
We watch the houses on fire
And she says to me
I want to be brave, I want to be brave
But I don’t think I’ll love again
The dark is so deep
I’ve lost my way
In this madness, madness, madness
Over time, luck runs out
And fate is not your friend
Over time, good must go
And are we safe, safe yet?
Madeleine,
Can I escape again?
Out of a dragonfly jar
Am I safe yet?

-Sarah Slean

Bar Song 5

It's a fast world :
"Where you from?"
We speed along.
Make you run so fast you can't focus on-
And the worst is, no one changed my mind.
The best is I still get all your time
So if we're in love, I suppose,
I'm out of here before I get too close

I think we should, we should, we should be together. I try to love you like you've never pushed me around.
I think we should, we should, we should be together.
With you, I could slow dance anywhere I go.

I used to write childrens stories.
I once wrote one about land where you had to purchase your names, letter by letter. And a girl who couldn't afford a name.

On that note, bar song four is here!

Bar Song Five
Decked in his navy pinstripe suit, which he always fancied himself quite dashing in, George drove to pick up Don for car pool to work.
Don, similarly decked, provided as much stimulating converstation as Beth had.
This was fortunate. A good thing about Don has always been his ablility to hold an entire conversation by himself.
Had Don not been so absorbed in his own highly amusing and slightly obscene tale regarding his wife and a hair dryer, he may have actually asked George a question, to which George would have had to answer.
So, as it was, Don prattled on and George drove on, thinking about her, and how he should not be thinking about her.
So absorbed was he, by thoughts of not thinking, that he failed to stop at the stopsign at Maple and Third.
Needless to sat, and with fate being what it is, the one sign he ignores is the one he shouldn't have. Isn't that the way it always is?

The resulting crash would not have been so catastrophic had he hitten, oh say, another car, instead of, once again fate being what it is, of the child on a bike.

The ear tearing scrap of metal on much smaller metal wasn't so bad. George could've handled that.
It was the sickening, solid thump of a body hitting the ground that was the worst.
Don stopped talking. George sat behind the wheel, his eyes hut tight, and fingers gripping the wheel for dear life.

Seconds pass.

George unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door. The dinging telling him his door was obviously open (a feature George always noted to be fairly useless) matched his thoughts.

"Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn..."

He looked at the bike first. Blue and yellow and....
small.
Deep breath.
The body.

I know you are but what am I

1. Although you do not approve of my choices, and although I respect that, I appreciate you a) not talking about it in a rude manner and b) respecting me enough to let me make them, and not calling me [dumb bitch] over them. Good? Good.

2. I thought, when i saw you yesterday,






what did i think?
Not what happened, for certain.

As if seeing you wasn't enough of a shock.

Imagine my surprise to find that, like me, you had grown as a person.
I should have realized.
Thank you.
Thank you for giving me space yesterday.
Thank you for, if judging, keeping it to yourself.
Thank you for not condemning me, or joining as others did [dumb bitch]


3. I have a problem with that.
Peoples words.
What people say about me.
It's all very well and good to say
"Oh don't worry about it, they don't know me"
But
it's very well another thing entirely doing so.
[dumb bitch]
People's words hurt me. Way more than I show it.
That's why I'm so loud, so aggresive when it comes to these things.
I may be talked about, I may be watched and whispered about.
But I will not let it go without a fight.
Even when I walk home early
because I can't stand the idea of crying at school,
of breaking down in front of everyone.
[dumb bitch]