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There is something in my past
It eats away at my future I do not yet know what it is But it is jeopardizing tomorrow I must pull it by the root So that it may never grow again
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Your Horoscope Says: “Contemplate the purpose of being. The philosophy of endeavoring.
The west favors you today. Be suspicious of those wearing the color green.” Find me all the time in a castle of gray and white
When you do, ask me what I left behind In time you will see that all I am Is not what I proclaim to be I am a shell of a shell Was never true to myself Perhaps it's not too late to learn That a helping hand eases the pain My castle is overgrown, I should cut the weed But the thorns are digging deeper, leaving fine scratches on my skin I hired a gardener to oversee The cleaning and pruning of thorns and weeds He took one close look at me And created a sculpture of my visage It is me, he corrected eagerly How he sees me! Surprised, I've never seen myself I am amazed, looking around, noticing That the thorns and weed were made to resemble me Come spring, I'll have a garden of fragrant flowers That my gardener has nurtured himself He's got a green thumb, an affinity for growth I meant to keep him... If he's not already mine Your Horoscope says: “Endurance through the long night reveals the brightest dawn.
Consult the stars. Your True Love folds six socks. He frowns. They are missing their half. The dryer smirks. Carry a water bottle with you today." Inhale the winter’s breeze
Green turns bare Life; a knotted ending Your horoscope says: “Perfection cannot be rushed. It does not exist.
Your soulmate awaits in the unlikeliest of places. Remain vigilant. Your True Love hides his face. ” Your Horoscope Says: “To everything there is a season.
The eve is upon us. Patience will flower beauty while impatience yields only barren fields."  NaNoWriMo is upon us once again and just at the last minute, my characters mutinied and are doing their own thing. My story went from Sci-Fi to Fantasy in a hot second. This might have taken the wind out of my sail but I assure you, this ship will not sink.
I'm teaching you how a girl became a monster
All the dreams she'd hoped to spin All the songs she'd hope to sing On the road she drove too fast out of control The sad and the lonely The arms wrapped around me The truth and the tales All the lies we sold We're chasing tomorrow We're chasing fortunes We're chasing our pasts Trying to forget misfortunes Never a fantasy we couldn't ruin Fill in between lines and, true, You'll find us running as fast To get away from who we are *** Little ants. Tiny, little ants. **** I'm teaching you how a girl became a monster All the dreams she'd hoped to spin All the songs she'd hope to sing On the road she drove too fast out of control Your horoscope says: “You wake up with a frog in your throat. Leave it there. Reminiscence about a past decision. You are better off not making that choice. Thunder will strike, revealing the diamond in the rock.”
We were past the highway when you realized you never knew me at all
Regret is the word we use when we wish we could forget So you ask And I speak You glance anywhere but at me The trees reach in: soft, canary yellow appendages gliding against your skin As if to comfort you I am alone in my box, watching the scene like a bystander The cars weave in and out in front of you My words do the same, monosyllabic as they are Perhaps the silence held the knife While my words were mere menacing pinpricks Stoplight: blinking yellow then un-approving red Stop Exactly like a mother would scold Her bright-eyed child for being too eager Green You realize it might have been better not knowing me at all Afterall, forgetting ensures there is nothing to regret Your horoscope says: “Take a break from studying. The numbers 6 and 2 comes to you in a dream. Play them. Do not turn left at the sign. Your destiny awaits on the right.
Sun: light, glare, heat, crisp
Butterflies dancing, gleeful Does not feel like fall Sometime in 2014, I wrote a book. It was not great nor was it moderately okay but it was 400 pages of my dreams and hopes. It was mine. I got feedback saying that it needed work. I edited, sent it out in the world, and the rejection letters, deservingly, came pouring in. I wanted to burn the bridge so that I could not scramble across it and get lost, ever again, in between the slopes of my imagination. Autumn, students chat
Worried about new school year Boredom, grades, what’s next? This place is not a home
It’s a place that thrives on tragedy It leaves me feeling cold And I cannot explain it You keep telling me how good it’s been But I can't stand my life Destroyed in front of me I wished I had enough courage to leave I don’t know what I’m still doing here I keep telling myself it ends now But the next morning I wake To see nothing’s changed And my prison gets smaller My leash suffocate me This place is not a home It’s a place that slowly Squeezes the life out of me A sacrifice of only one Dreams was written sometime in 2013. In my dreams I have lived a hundred lives
I have been both good and bad with iridescent shades of grays Once I was a teacher who led a revolution A cook who cooked for the king A revolutionary leader who killed a king A traitor with a heart of gold A queen who ran away The child who knew it all And the axeman who let the axe fall A cell phone which talked too much A book holding unto stories and touch Of the reader who left it behind But the best dreams are the ones When I'm with you The best part of dreaming Is that these are songs I've yet to sing Life is not easy. Living is one the hardest things to do. It is a choice made each and every single day. A conscious decision to go on. I want this to be a place where I can tell my truths. All the ugly aspects of it. The struggles and the triumphs. My truth is I am struggling to write. To dedicate myself to my goal of being a published author. It seems like I am fighting myself. Fighting against what is set for me and what I want to become, especially now that I am an "adult." I'm trying not to be a disappointment to those around me but I feel like it is inevitable. Life is never what you want it to be, even when it seems that way. I am struggling but I am still fighting. Trying to find a balance where I don't disappoint myself as well. I pick up stream and I lose it. I pick up a pen and nothing but a thin line of abstract sorrow comes from it. Life is inhaling, holding that one precious breath while visualizing shelter from the storm. I hope this can become my shelter. #apathappears was written to commenmorate the show, during the viewing around January 27, 2015 A few years ago, February 5, 2014 to be precise, I started posting poems on Twitter (under #poetrylive). Well, for the next few weeks, I'll be reposting those poems here as a part of #tuesdaytreats.  One aspect of writing that a writer must know is genre. Most don't think they know much until it is explained. No matter where your writing takes you (be it author, screenwriting, or directing e.t.c.) you will always encounter genres. It is inescapable so you might as well become friends now.  Tunnel by f.e.c. As I am trying to get back into blogging more, I feel that it is only appropriate to start this new chapter by introducing myself. Not all in one go because I prefer shorter posts and I am at a lost about what to write. I hope to start posting updates about my works as this blog takes off. Schedule right now is going to be about twice a month. I don't want to commit to something more strenuous and have to disappoint. So, here goes something. |
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