school..bleh

So I'm at school right now and it's a time for silent reading but I'm not in the mood to do that...I would really like to go work on my art project but I'm just stuck to this stupid chair. And what's with a teacher just standing at the front of the room, watching people work? I feel policed, like I should hand prof a baton or something. The minute someone starts talking it's "Are you okay? Do you need something? Are you reading?"

AHHHH!

I'm just not liking today.

haha I'm such a whiner.

And I'm sick of 'The Great Gatsby'

I'm posting this, because there might be someone who's ever felt this way.

I wrote this a long time ago, in a notebook. When I was writing in it yesterday for homework, I found it. It's very metaphorical and dark (probably one of the darkest ones I've written). I constantly find these random poems (ramblings?) and I just feel like it won't do any good staying where it is. I'm learning to love myself (and my dreams) these days...drama included :)

I am judged

As you dry up everything I like about myself

And leave the faults

I'm left with my faults

I am loved

Under a microscope that searches me for anything you dislike

I'm staring into your eyes

Interrupted

Unconfident

Breaking like a glass that shines unpure

Here you go, here's my skin

You can take what you see

but leave my soul

It's desperate

This calling

That haunts me when I dream

I know I'm not

good enough for it

Thank you for reminding me.

I don't think I love her, but SOMETIMES she's slightly funny

www.dooce.com (read 'Three sets of ten'...today's entry)

I used to like Heather Armstrong.

She was relatable and quirky and not perfect.

And able to say that.

Then...I guess she got rich?

No lie...she's truly starting to get on my nerves.

A bit pretentious.

I don't know if it's because she doesn't really know who she is.

Or because she just had a baby.

But she's kind of super annoying now.

HOWEVER!!!---this recent post is pretty funny...even though it's slightly stuffy ("yo heather, not all of us can afford a personal trainer, or even a gym membership, thanks" :) (p.s. "i was like your daughter leta, and even though you'll probably like marlo more, maybe you should realize that you could be a lot like leta, and that's why you struggle with her...") haha she'll never read this.

Last night we were in a cabin

Mascaraed eyes

Blinking back at this screen

Too bright for

Thinking

I'm thinking

Last night

Amongst wintered trees

Bare of leaves

Living above a ground

Snow and burnt orange earth

Too beautiful for

Words

I lost mine

Tonight

We sleep in "civilization"

Secretly grateful

For all of our comfort

But I know

This life is a mask

For what He made

Is closer to his Heaven

Thinking

I'm thinking

I'm weakened

By my own inability

To desire that seclusion

That perfection

Those dirty

Immaculate

Woods

Written in the voice of a man distraught

Hang on Lucy Goosy!

One day the stars will fall with you...

But today, be patient

Are you listening when I speak to you?

Or are you already thinking about tomorrow?

I'll be gone tomorrow

I'll be gone by tonight

Have you forgot your promise to me?

You said you'd miss me

And it seems like you missed me

For a day

Yesterday

How long will you be here?

Silly silent goose

My open book

My favorite modern interpretation

Of real love

Stop!

Rewind...

And love me too

I think I'm a flower

This house is so dry

Sometimes I swear I can feel my throat chafing

My ashy tonsils wish they could sing again

But the air is free of moisture

Water doesn't quench the thirst of this winter

My dreams are so big

Sometimes I swear I can feel my fingers buzzing; feet itching to go where I feel needed

But the days are like one sewn together Monday

Time doesn't bring a new morning

I wish I could start running

And not get tired

Distracted

I like watching other things living

But the need to watch is deeper than the need to run

I don't want to stand here long enough to

Join the grass

I think I'm a flower

Tempted by light rain and

Little Sun

To open early

And stay where my roots have been

Week of Poetry Day 3, one I wrote awhile ago

Why do we cry at someone’s death we do not truly love?

Is it because we realize the sudden, instant inability to grow with another soul when they look the way we’ve painted them in our earthly minds?

When we hear the rain, and watch lightning light up the orange-gray sky with angry veins, and wonder how the view is from Heaven…

Do we miss Heaven more?

How do you miss something you’ve never seen, like crying for a miscarried dream?

I’ve seen the tears washed up on oceans too powerful to feel in dreams fuzzy like ferns

And let me tell you, they look like tears.