Posts tagged ‘writing’

May 30, 2012

awakened.

I am writing again. Really writing. And feeling. And putting feelings onto paper.

It’s such a relief. Something in me craves the release of that kind, of being able to see it and feel it and go back to remember if I need to.

It’s like breathing for me. If I don’t write for a while, I feel stagnant, like everything is just going along and has little meaning. Like things are growing but can’t bloom.

Life is better for me with words. Words that actually say something. Words that paint a picture in a person’s mind. Each one beautifully different than the next.

I’ve got a new journal with hundreds of blank pages and a pen waiting to be drained of its ink.

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September 18, 2010

just a reminder.

I’m not sad and lonely (all the time, ha), and I don’t always write about myself or my own relationships. Sometimes those poems that I post aren’t about me or my life at all. I see people around me, my friends, family, coworkers, peers, going through things too, and I put myself in their shoes. Or try to anyway.

I ask myself what I would feel if it were me going through the same thing, and that’s where some of the poetry comes from. I’m not constantly heartbroken, believe it or not.

In fact, I am sort of at a stand still on words lately, from my life or anyone else’s life. When things get busy, I don’t have the time or energy to put into writing. It may be different for others, but, for me, it takes energy.

So you’ll see some writing, but it will probably be sporadic. When I don’t have work or something scheduled every single day, more will come here.

Don’t give up on me til then!

May 5, 2010

job.


Well, they hired somebody else for that job I applied for. Okay, it’s not a huge surprise, but still, I’m a little disappointed. I totally understand their reasoning though. I am inexperienced in their sort of work/writing and would like to focus more on the graphic and layout design avenue than they needed. I’m glad they gave me a straight answer about that, instead of giving me some vague “you’re not what we’re looking for” crap.

Anyway, onto the next. I am amped up and ready to keep looking.

February 4, 2010

Happy birthday, Darcy.


Sometimes I forget to tell you
the little things that you might need to hear,
the ones I’m not very good at saying,
like I don’t really mind being compared to you,
or how I always know my secrets
are safe with you.

Thank you for rescuing me
when I’m crying too hard to breathe,
believing in me and my dreams,
even when no one else will,
and laughing when my crazy comes out.

You always encourage me
to go for what I want,
and just want me to be happy.

Even in our occasional fights,
we always emerge stronger
and better friends than before.

I’ve only been lucky enough
to have one sister,
and I am glad she is you.

happy birthday! I love you.

June 10, 2009

no rhyming required.

There are only a handful of people that I can say have influenced me as a writer, many of them accomplished writers themselves, most of them I’ve never met or known beside the words in their books. But one person I can credit with boosting my creative writing confidence would be Amy Fleury. As my first college creative writing professor, and shortly after, my poetry professor, I gained so much knowledge and direction from her. I pulled her book, Beautiful Trouble, from my shelf today and knew right away that her words would again give me something to be inspired with.

I love that feeling. Sometimes I wonder how people go through life without it. Or if maybe they have it by doing something else. Maybe everyone has their thing, their outlet.

Mine just goes on paper.

February 9, 2009

New-ness.

There is always something exciting about meeting a new person,
and being really excited to get to know them, about being around them
and knowing they are excited to be learning who you are too.

It’s always the small things that he does
that I remember the next day.
These small things, happy things,
can sneak up on me when I least expect them to,
and they are becoming the things
I look forward to making me smile.

I haven’t been so happy or felt so adored in quite a long time.
And I could certainly get used to it.

And I told myself I wouldn’t be smitten again.

Damn.

September 15, 2008

but to hold you over…

I found this today in an older notebook, and it resonated with me again, in a way that I never meant them to, in a different friendship/relationship. I won’t explain the words, so you just enjoy them how they are.

gone fishing?

hook’s in, anchor down,
heart stolen, smile fixed.
Or so you think.
You’ve got me–true–
but there’s slack in the line,
dropping lazily with no reeling
to be done by your hands.

Before, you tried, you reeled
until the hooked snagged my attention
ever so gently, then
you settled for that, easy catch.

But easy catches release
themselves in time of no suspicion,
take themselves back
to the deepest part of the pond,
reluctant to follow any wriggly worm
that shows itself again.

So you’d better sit up and take notice
before you end up watching
for the movement of your next bobber.

September 13, 2008

release.

Letting go really is easier than I thought.
But the fact that I haven’t had time to hang onto anything is a factor also.
I have stayed caught up on all of my reading and assignments for all of my classes,
and even had extra time to read Succulent Wild Woman by SARK.

This woman is phenomenal.
As I was reading, I dog-earred pages that I wanted to come back to,
to read again, to absolutely absorb the essence of that page.
When I was through, I had marked over 30 pages.
She just said everything that I have been feeling,
about being yourself and letting any hate or anger or bitterness or sadness go,
and if you can’t do that, at least try to.
She wrote about being wild and too much (not in a negative way, but a good way),
which sometimes I feel I am for some people, and embracing it.

I have been trying to do all of that,
holding nothing back and not apologizing for being just who I am.
In my mind, I’m moving on and growing up and expanding
and I have never felt better.

September 6, 2008

finally going right.

This week was a hectic one, with yearbook deadlines and such. Plus I wasn’t feeling the greatest.

But somehow I managed to get everything done (and on time!), plus schedule time to paint and write and go shooting. I don’t know how it has been working out this way, how with more classes and commitments than any other semester, I have time for myself that I never had before. It doesn’t make any sense, except for the fact that I have cut out procrastinating. For the most part anyway; I did spent this evening painting/collaging rather than doing homework that is waiting. But that’s okay. It’s the weekend, and I needed a break.

I always heard that art can relieve stress. I knew writing did because that way my outlet, but since I have been been painting, I am a believer. I will be the first to admit that I suck at painting. I couldn’t paint anything recognizable even if I really tried, but I am learning that creating doesn’t necessarily have to be pretty. It doesn’t have to be anything. I just enjoy doing it. I’ll probably throw half of it away, but it’s fun and relaxing. Maybe I’ll take a pic of the stupid little collage I am making, just so you guys and girls can see.

I may have finally found an internship that I can enjoy! It’s at the public library in the PR department and is pretty much everything I want. Books, PR, non-profit, kids, intelligent people. When I saw the application, I literally sighed a huge sigh because it just felt so right. I am going to ask Regina to help me complete all the forms and such. I normally would figure it all out on my own, but I want to make sure that I have a really good chance of clinching it. I really want it. I won’t know until December probably, but I am just going to hope.

Missing my writing? Well, me too. I need to spend some time being creative with words, but the focus is elsewhere right now. I need to pull it back apparently.

August 13, 2008

when it’s done,

what am I to do
with only a smile
and a worn note
inside an empty wallet?

what will words from your heart
buy for a girl like me
in the middle
of this dark night?

where will I go
to cry my tears
when the only place
I am accustomed to is you?

and who will I love
if I don’t love you?

August 9, 2008

sweetness in leather.


So thanks to Kristi and her birthday gift, I have a brand new journal (and a book too). I’ve had my eye on it for a while, but I just couldn’t buy it. I’m weird in a way; I feel that people who appreciate and understand the mindset of a writer should know that giving the gift of a journal, blank and ready for the thoughts in their crazy little head, is in many ways better than giving any other kind of gift. For me, it is. I try to get gifts for people that mean something to them, or that I KNOW they will love. I love it when that favor is returned.

So when I opened the card and saw that she understood just what I could have wanted (books!), I was so happy. Thankfully my other journal only had a few pages left so I just immediately started using the new one. It makes me feel like everything that is written in it should be important, or touch me or others in some way. The leather is beautiful and still clean and unmarred. The smell of it is intoxicating and makes my writing smell expensive. How long that will last is hard to tell. I take my journals everywhere with me, just in case an idea pops in my head that is too long for a Post It, and they show the abuse that is unintentionally given to them. Others have pop or cup rings, splatters left from rain droplets, makeup smears, and just dirt on them from being handled all the time. This one I hope ages well.

Writing to me is so much more than just writing. It is a way of living, a way of thinking, a part of me that just is, a feeling that is hard to describe. Even though I am shy about showing my work sometimes, I am proud of it. I am always proud of it, even when I don’t feel like I have a single cell of creativity in my body. It’s something that I need to do everyday, just the same as brushing my teeth. It’s programmed, I guess.

It’s real, in there in me. And it’s beautiful.

July 22, 2008

small bravery.

there was so much riding on this–
and with only a small nervousness
she backed herself into a corner
and wept away the boulders
that had settled themselves onto her tiny shoulders
then emerged with red-rimmed eyed
and an immensely lighter heart.

working on herself, she knew,
was the only way she could help her
work on everyone else.

who says you can’t make a difference in the world?

July 19, 2008

discussion in the van.

I tried to hide the creak in my voice,
but with the swift turn of her head,
I knew she caught it.

But thankfully she let the silence
linger in the air,
long enough for the tears to force themselves down,
pooling for a different day.

July 14, 2008

hangman’s break.

If only I could hang
my fears from a rope
swinging gently, lifeless
against the dead of tonight.

Fears banished, doubts gone
free to live, free
to feel with a smile
carefully curled up on my mouth.

Sky blue days, evenings
from a postcard, I would live
abolishing all apprehensions
of a future with you. You alone

with me. Forever, we’d be
perfect, perfectly happy, completely
I could love you,
if I killed my fears.

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July 14, 2008

lately.

In the massive amount of free time that I have had the past week, I have done quite a bit of writing.  I never used to want anyone to read anything that I wrote that was too personal, but I have been feeling more confident lately about my writing and have let a few people dive their heads into my two latest notebooks.  Between the scribbles and doodles and nonsensical jargon that I have developed for myself are many of the emotions that I have felt in the past few months, and as a few people know, most of it has to deal with a break-up, of both a romantic relationship and a few friendships, and a make-up of a past relationship.  

So I have more tears and smiles in those notebooks than anyone has seen.  And I have decided that I may post a few things from them.  Feel free to comment and criticize.  I can take it.

June 11, 2008

On hold.

The creativity I had felt flourish up in me just a few weeks ago is thwarted again. By papers. For school. Again.

With only 2 and a half weeks left (yesterday was the hump and now we’re on the downhill stretch), I have 4 papers and a wellness due (plus a few quizzes) before June 26. My self-control is going to have to kick in, and the procrastination is going to have to take a back seat until I get this all done. So if my blog looks slightly bare, boring, and lonely, don’t worry. I’ll be back again, full-force and ready to write, on June 27.

June 2, 2008

He and I.

We met so very long ago.

I was not sold at first.
He turned out to be more than I expected though.

I expected some hesitation.
He saved me from holding my breath.

I expected it to take longer to fall.
He gave me no time for questions.

I assumed the flaws were obvious.
He only called me beautiful.

I melted under his fingertips.
He never went too far.

I wanted it to go there.
He let me lead.

I spilled the worst of me, deep and dark.
He delicately kissed tears away.

I never really deserved his heart.
He gave it to me anyway.

I believe in who he is.
He will be in the stars someday.

I love him with every ounce of my being.
He keeps it safe in his heart.

We’re wasting all kinds of time.

May 20, 2008

struck treasure.

As I was lazily browsing blogs last night, I happened upon a new one.  And it made me feel a little bit poetic.  So just to warn everyone:  I’m on a writing binge and you all are the ones who might suffer.

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March 11, 2008

Reflection.

I was reading through my notebook from the last 2 years and just thought I’d share a few things I found still important to me. I always save everything I write to remind myself of where I was and where I am headed. Most of them were written about two very important people, one of whom I don’t talk to anymore & the other who is still very much a huge part of my life.

    • You don’t even know who I am. You lost me a long time ago. (October 2006)
    • When I said I wanted nothing to change, I meant I wanted everything to change. (February 2007)
    • I still smile when I think of you, and that’s enough for me. (January 2007)
    • Love is the way you look at me, the way I look back, the friendship we share, and the laughs we’ve had. It’s a feeling people look for and sometimes never find. We are lucky to have shared it, and even when things don’t go as planned, it’s always there. (July 18, 2007)
    • There’s nothing like a sore stomach from laughing for all the right reasons.
    • I’m holding myself back
      on purpose. I am living
      without you to see how long
      you can live without me. (August 2007)
    • It’s all got to mean something
      because if this is all empty nothings
      then nothing is what I’ll start to give
      and your everything will be gone. (September 19, 2007)
    February 14, 2008

    Rekindled.

    When I agreed to write the story for the yearbook this week, I started and it was just doing Regina a favor. But soon I realized again that writing is still a passion. When I don’t feel pressured and obligated to go out, interview sources, and get the story, I really enjoy doing it.

    In every writing class I’ve ever taken, the stress of my other classes and deadlines overwhelmed me, and in the process killed the enjoyment of writing. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to pursue a career in any kind of journalism because it simply wasn’t fun anymore the way it had been. It had become a chore, a pain in my side, just another assignment to put on the list of a million other assignments I had.

    It has brought a new motivation to offer to help the newspaper and yearbook when they need it. I think it could do both of us a favor.

    February 6, 2008

    For you.

    I wrote a letter to you today,
    a letter so long my hand cramped
    and the nail marks of gripping my pen so tightly
    are still visibly red on my palm,
    a letter so full of emotion the tears
    could be shed from each stroke.

    That letter lay thick, pages stacked,
    on the nightstand near my bed,
    my heart not strong enough
    to let you know its secrets yet.
    I read it again and imagined
    what your reaction will be once
    the envelope is torn open
    and you scan the scrawled sentences
    that make my heart scared.

    My ink is dry now, permanent on the paper.
    No going back now.

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    February 1, 2008

    Love like this makes life okay.

    I bought Ted Kooser’s new book today, Valentines. It contains 21 of his poems that he written over the past 21 years, starting in 1986 (my very first Valentine’s Day on this earth), one for each Valentine’s Day. He had these poems printed on postcards and sent to women that he knew, as well as random ones who signed up to receive one. His first, Pocket Poem, is by far my favorite. There are only a handful of poems that strike me but can still stay with me over time. I think this one will stay. It’s so simple, yet so beautiful and brings all the warm feelings in my heart out through his words.

    Pocket Poem

    If this comes creased and creased again and soiled
    as if I’d opened it a thousand times
    to see if what I’d written here was right,
    it’s all because I looked too long for you
    to put it in your pocket. Midnight says
    the little gifts of loneliness come wrapped
    by nervous fingers. What I wanted this
    to say was that I want to be so close
    that when you find it, it is warm for me.

    January 18, 2008

    past and future.

    The things I am to regret
    in this curving life
    have not yet taken
    their chance to make me cry.

    The mistakes I made
    grew around me in a hard shell,
    absorbing all the tears
    before they fell. I am tough.

    Future plans are bright, sparkling,
    big, as far as I can see.
    The past only pushed me so far
    and now I’m pushing myself.

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    January 15, 2008

    Re-injury.

    Re-injury

    Today a re-injury occurred
    when it was thought
    that healing had finished–
    and moving on had begun.
    Something like a voicemail,
    with a shaky voice
    and concerned words,
    is all it takes to open
    a tender wound,
    still pink,
    inviting pain back into it.

    Today my mind,
    provoked and dazed,
    argued with my fatigued heart,
    absorbed with the words
    that so easily sliced me agape.

    So much I don’t want
    to see the mouth
    that delivered an interest
    in my own well-being–
    for fear I would need
    to press it to mine
    in a plead for lips
    of familiarity.

    Nor do I want
    to conjure memories–
    between myself and the man
    behind the recorded voice–
    that had gradually gained opacity
    leaving a white fog
    to sheer the happiness
    they once held.

    Feelings swelter, awakened,
    singeing my eyelashes
    as tears drip from my eyes.
    The tiny flame erupted outward
    without the knowledge of embers
    of even molecular size
    still hidden in existence.

    Today, my re-injury occurred.
    I couldn’t have seen it coming.

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    January 13, 2008

    It’s in his kiss…

    With the simplest of smiles
    he reads the premature lines of my eyes
    and takes my hand into his,
    enfolding carefully the nails
    colored with Dr Pepper paint,
    as if sealing a letter
    ink-ridden with secrets,
    compliments of the heart.

    As my lips touch his,
    a smile lingers against their softness,
    only for a second, then invites him in
    as rough whiskers braze my cheek,
    the coarseness of a day not shaved.
    Free fingers find his jaw, fond of this man,
    owner of imperfection so genuine.

    A comfort he provides engulfs me
    relaxing tensions I had feared
    and igniting a hysteria inside
    that fuels the need for more of his kiss,
    a kiss so new yet familiar,
    definitely worth knowing.