Some demons play
Others scheme
Some in our waking
And some when we dream
My demons laugh
While your demons cry
Hers help her kill
His make him lie
We all have our demons
None would protest
They’re the first thing to come
And don’t leave ‘til we rest
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
Einstein of the Night
In the dead of night I never sleep
No time to waste on counting sheep
Oh so many thoughts to think
Out my window stars at me wink
But all too many things to do
In my room where the darkly darkness grew
In the dead of night you put me to bed
Then glorious thoughts came into my head
Plans of mouse traps and flying devices
Catchy French phrases and comma splices
The watch whispers “tick tock” into my ear
And reminds me that the dawn draws ever nearer
In the dead of night I pace the floor
While my brain teems with ideas galore
Cures for cancer and other diseases
Cracker combinations with smelly cheeses
No I don’t sleep, I’ll do that when I croak
For while hear on earth, thoughts I must evoke
In the dead of night I have so little time
For I must go to school when 6 doth chime
School seems futile when at night I’m so pensive
When I fall asleep in class, teachers find me offensive
But I can’t help it you see, I was born this way
I’m the Einstein of the night who sleeps in the day
No time to waste on counting sheep
Oh so many thoughts to think
Out my window stars at me wink
But all too many things to do
In my room where the darkly darkness grew
In the dead of night you put me to bed
Then glorious thoughts came into my head
Plans of mouse traps and flying devices
Catchy French phrases and comma splices
The watch whispers “tick tock” into my ear
And reminds me that the dawn draws ever nearer
In the dead of night I pace the floor
While my brain teems with ideas galore
Cures for cancer and other diseases
Cracker combinations with smelly cheeses
No I don’t sleep, I’ll do that when I croak
For while hear on earth, thoughts I must evoke
In the dead of night I have so little time
For I must go to school when 6 doth chime
School seems futile when at night I’m so pensive
When I fall asleep in class, teachers find me offensive
But I can’t help it you see, I was born this way
I’m the Einstein of the night who sleeps in the day
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Pitiful, Shitiful.
I'll always be the strange, black girl in the corner of the party holding her breath pretending she doesn't exist. I will always be "too short" or "too white" for someone's liking. People will always mispronounce and misspell my name, despite my numerous corrections. I will forever remain suspiciously clever and unassumingly quiet (both of which prevent people from fully understanding me). I don't want to be understood. At least not by everyone. I suppose I think that would steal my essence, my charm, my mystery, all of which I strive to preserve. I shudder at the idea of being so pitifully superficial.
Pity. City. Bitty. Shitty. Shit. I keep having nightmares in which I do things I wouldn't normally do only to wake up feeling guilty that I did them, though only in my subconscious. It's almost funny because in reality, I have no desire whatsoever to do any of these things. In the dreams, I always have different friends. By different, I mean friends other people who actually aren't my friends or even acquaintances. Anyway, they convince me to do things that I detest and I wake up in cold sweats ready to vomit.
I am writing this plot-less blog at the suggestion of my younger brother. I was feeling a bit foamy at the mouth (if you get what I mean) and was on the brink of psychological collapse when he suggested I blog. Not that it would have been my first mental breakdown. In fact, I feel as though I have them more frequently than other girls who have nothing but couture magazines and boys driving fast cars flitting about in their brains.
It was supposed to storm tonight, but it wasn't much of a show. Two flashes of lighting and a distant roll of thunder. Poop.
Hopefully by this time next week things will be better and I won't have to write pitiful, shitiful blog entries.
Pity. City. Bitty. Shitty. Shit. I keep having nightmares in which I do things I wouldn't normally do only to wake up feeling guilty that I did them, though only in my subconscious. It's almost funny because in reality, I have no desire whatsoever to do any of these things. In the dreams, I always have different friends. By different, I mean friends other people who actually aren't my friends or even acquaintances. Anyway, they convince me to do things that I detest and I wake up in cold sweats ready to vomit.
I am writing this plot-less blog at the suggestion of my younger brother. I was feeling a bit foamy at the mouth (if you get what I mean) and was on the brink of psychological collapse when he suggested I blog. Not that it would have been my first mental breakdown. In fact, I feel as though I have them more frequently than other girls who have nothing but couture magazines and boys driving fast cars flitting about in their brains.
It was supposed to storm tonight, but it wasn't much of a show. Two flashes of lighting and a distant roll of thunder. Poop.
Hopefully by this time next week things will be better and I won't have to write pitiful, shitiful blog entries.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Chances
Once upon a time, when I was a little girl, I believed everyone to be perfect. The most severe blows I’d received were the ones on my backside which I more than likely deserved and only hurt my ego. There was never a need to forgive and due to inherent innocence, I could not help but forget. Then I grew up.
The older I got, the harder it became to forgive people, yet the need to do so felt more imperative. The first time I remember having to forgive someone was when my cousin bit me on the arm while trying to attain his favorite toy. His mother made him apologize, which, I felt was completely vain as he said it in such a curt and insincere fashion. Despite his half-hearted apology, and my wounded limb, I didn’t hold any of it against him and we continued to play legos in the carefree way that young children tend to do.
Age brought many opportunities to exercise blind forgiveness, but the fog of my teen angst clouded my vision and made it easier to turn my back on forgiveness and join the team of angry antagonists. Over the years, I rejected the apologies of many, and with each grudge I held, my heart became heavier and emptier; a twisted paradox indeed.
A great many years later, wallowing in a swamp of self pity and loath, I went on a school retreat called Kairos. To say that everyone got the same thing out of Kairos, would be a damned lie. Kairos re-opened my eyes to the fact that no matter what, I needed to forgive people, unless I wanted to be the walking carcass I had been for years; completely numb and unable to truly love. I learned that the hard way and have since walked tall with a “free chance” sign plastered to my forehead.
Second, third, and fourth chances are great, but unless you’re a super-perfect robot, you will likely be needing more than that. Freely giving chances in the double digits is where true happiness is found. This I believe.
The older I got, the harder it became to forgive people, yet the need to do so felt more imperative. The first time I remember having to forgive someone was when my cousin bit me on the arm while trying to attain his favorite toy. His mother made him apologize, which, I felt was completely vain as he said it in such a curt and insincere fashion. Despite his half-hearted apology, and my wounded limb, I didn’t hold any of it against him and we continued to play legos in the carefree way that young children tend to do.
Age brought many opportunities to exercise blind forgiveness, but the fog of my teen angst clouded my vision and made it easier to turn my back on forgiveness and join the team of angry antagonists. Over the years, I rejected the apologies of many, and with each grudge I held, my heart became heavier and emptier; a twisted paradox indeed.
A great many years later, wallowing in a swamp of self pity and loath, I went on a school retreat called Kairos. To say that everyone got the same thing out of Kairos, would be a damned lie. Kairos re-opened my eyes to the fact that no matter what, I needed to forgive people, unless I wanted to be the walking carcass I had been for years; completely numb and unable to truly love. I learned that the hard way and have since walked tall with a “free chance” sign plastered to my forehead.
Second, third, and fourth chances are great, but unless you’re a super-perfect robot, you will likely be needing more than that. Freely giving chances in the double digits is where true happiness is found. This I believe.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
"B" is for "Band" and "Basketball" and "Brats"...
Friday, my boyfriend, Darius, coerced me into attending a high school basketball game at his school. He knew that school sporting events weren’t exactly my scene but assured me that we would only be there for all of thirty minutes. You see, he had to play saxophone in the school’s “pep band” and as it turns out, this was to be his last opportunity to ever play in the pep band. I suppose I couldn’t quite label it coercion as I did have another option. Had I completely objected to the game, my other option was to stay at home with his six younger siblings and two sick parents. The lesser of the two evils was evident.
I chose a seat on the bleachers, which I believed to be innocuous and out of the way. Ready for the game to start, a man on the microphone announced that we were in for “a real treat” at half time. Just then, a giggly party of dancers clad in tight purple and black jumpers filed into the gym. They were none other than the dance team from my rival school. They sauntered onto the bleachers and I found myself now drowning in a sea of them. I couldn’t help but scrutinize them. They all looked the same. Little skinny robots with high, ribboned pony-tails. Faces encrusted with rouge and mascara. They were girls, just the same as me, just like the girls at my school, but irrefutably different. They had an air of superficiality to them. They sat and breathed as if the worst plague God could bestow upon them was to be fat or, in this instance, to have someone like me sitting amongst them. One of the robots sitting in front of me turned around and looked me up and down. She didn’t seem to care that I could see her turning up her nose at my grungy jeans, five year-old jacket and matted hair. She exhaled imperiously. I had half a mind to take off my tattered shoe and introduce my feet to her face.
“Today, my friend and I walked around barefoot outside for a few hours,” I would say yielding half-polished toes. Oh how I would have loved to have seen them all squeal in horror as the pungent odor of my moldy shoes polluted their breathing space.
“Cannot compute! Error 404! Dimwitted malfunction!”
The band began playing “Play that Funky Music” but I could barely play out the lyrics in my head at the fault of the chatty bots. I tried to make out what they were actually saying.
“Perhaps they only looked superficial and were really speaking on something of great consequence,” the cautiously optimistic side of me pondered.
“Look at him!” One android pointed. “He’s really hot!”
“Heather! OMG, you have a boyfriend,” another retorted.
Obviously not. Just when I thought I could stand it no longer, the buzzer chimed and the band was preparing to play the national anthem. Everyone stood and faced the American flag pulled taught at one end of the gymnasium and raised their hands to their hearts. Everyone, that is, save the bots. For the most part, the only sounds that could be heard were the horns bellowing the anthem, a handful of people attempting to sing along, and shuffling of feet. Sadly, the shrill sniggers the bots didn’t bother to conceal could be heard above it all.
After the anthem was sung, I watched Darius casually stroll along the sideline right past me and the bot army. He said we would leave after he played. Where was he going? Had he forgotten me? Did he think I was enjoying myself sitting next to those insufferable dancers? Surely not. Moments later I received a phone call from Darius.
His “ready to go?” was barely discernible.
I could not quite express how eager I was to leave and escaped with much haste without another word.
I chose a seat on the bleachers, which I believed to be innocuous and out of the way. Ready for the game to start, a man on the microphone announced that we were in for “a real treat” at half time. Just then, a giggly party of dancers clad in tight purple and black jumpers filed into the gym. They were none other than the dance team from my rival school. They sauntered onto the bleachers and I found myself now drowning in a sea of them. I couldn’t help but scrutinize them. They all looked the same. Little skinny robots with high, ribboned pony-tails. Faces encrusted with rouge and mascara. They were girls, just the same as me, just like the girls at my school, but irrefutably different. They had an air of superficiality to them. They sat and breathed as if the worst plague God could bestow upon them was to be fat or, in this instance, to have someone like me sitting amongst them. One of the robots sitting in front of me turned around and looked me up and down. She didn’t seem to care that I could see her turning up her nose at my grungy jeans, five year-old jacket and matted hair. She exhaled imperiously. I had half a mind to take off my tattered shoe and introduce my feet to her face.
“Today, my friend and I walked around barefoot outside for a few hours,” I would say yielding half-polished toes. Oh how I would have loved to have seen them all squeal in horror as the pungent odor of my moldy shoes polluted their breathing space.
“Cannot compute! Error 404! Dimwitted malfunction!”
The band began playing “Play that Funky Music” but I could barely play out the lyrics in my head at the fault of the chatty bots. I tried to make out what they were actually saying.
“Perhaps they only looked superficial and were really speaking on something of great consequence,” the cautiously optimistic side of me pondered.
“Look at him!” One android pointed. “He’s really hot!”
“Heather! OMG, you have a boyfriend,” another retorted.
Obviously not. Just when I thought I could stand it no longer, the buzzer chimed and the band was preparing to play the national anthem. Everyone stood and faced the American flag pulled taught at one end of the gymnasium and raised their hands to their hearts. Everyone, that is, save the bots. For the most part, the only sounds that could be heard were the horns bellowing the anthem, a handful of people attempting to sing along, and shuffling of feet. Sadly, the shrill sniggers the bots didn’t bother to conceal could be heard above it all.
After the anthem was sung, I watched Darius casually stroll along the sideline right past me and the bot army. He said we would leave after he played. Where was he going? Had he forgotten me? Did he think I was enjoying myself sitting next to those insufferable dancers? Surely not. Moments later I received a phone call from Darius.
His “ready to go?” was barely discernible.
I could not quite express how eager I was to leave and escaped with much haste without another word.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Dear St. Valentine...
Valentine's day. Here again. We set aside a whole day to celebrate Love. If you think you can only show love to someone one day a year, a day designated by a calendar, you have some serious issues that you may want to take up with a counselor. To me, Valentine's day is like a Monday. Something you just have to tolerate and pray you survive. This isn't even one of those holidays you see on the calendar and can just forget about. No. They must advertise it! I can't even go to the thrift store without them advertising a "Valentine's Day Sale. 30% off all women's jewelry!". As far as I'm concerned, Valentine's day is almost as big of a consumerism holiday as Christmas. You all (Haha, who? Only one person reads my blog. *knee slap*) may be thinking that I resent Valentine's day because I have no sweetheart. False. I have always despised Valentine's day. In the fourth grade, during one mandatory class Valentine's day party, everyone received a Valentine from this girl, Spencer. Everyone but me. And the Valentines I did get were filled with those nasty, chalky, heart-shaped candies that have been stamped with cheesy phrases people don't actually mean. Another year, I made my crush a Valentine. While sharpening my pencil later that day, I saw my card amongst the rubbish in the trash can. I think I get it from my parents, this disdain for Valentine's day. They don't celebrate Valentine's day, unless you count not speaking to each other as observance of the holiday of love. I don't know many people who honestly enjoy Valentine's day, because as I said earlier, you should be expressing your love regularly. However, there are a few instances in which Valentine's day can come in mighty handy. Exhibit A: You screwed up big time, but here comes Valentine's day rounding the corner to save the day. Buy her a card and a few roses and you're off the hook, right? Wrong. If anyone were to ever buy me a card (especially with the intentions of making amends), I'd sprinkle some salt on it and make them eat it. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with celebrating it, even if it is for compensation purposes, it just has to be properly done. You can't buy love, right? That being the case, you cannot conceivably buy a representation for said love. Valentine's day should be the day you unleash your inventive side. If you want to go the card route, make it. Come up with the poem yourself. Sadly, few precious few people choose this course (otherwise, Hallmark would cease to exist). And perhaps it's not that I hate Valentine's day, rather the way people approach it. Point is, for all these reasons, I am inclined to inquire as to why the hell we designate a twenty-four hours to this.
Dear St. Valentine, I hate your holiday, and were you alive today, you would die again of shame.
Dear St. Valentine, I hate your holiday, and were you alive today, you would die again of shame.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Blog of the Hours
To whom it may concern,
I am fully aware that I have missed the first few weeks of this "weekly blog" thing, but better late than never, right? A great many things have occurred in my life in the last three weeks and I feel that I would like to share them with you... Whoever you are.
First of all, I realized the importance of having good friends in your life. I do believe I have blogged about my friends in the past, but this is a lesson I keep learning. One friend in particular is Maggie Holt. Maggie is an extraordinarily optimistic person for which the world is a better place. Maggie, welcome back from the imaginary land of Kairos. I hope to visit someday.
I remembered that at the age of two I was on the cover of a swim magazine doing swiming-ish things. I also remembered that I rather like water and someday hope to visit a lake. A real lake. I live by a lake, but it's a fake lake. There are a lot of fake things about the neighborhood in which I live (fake-brown people, fake bricks on the fronts of houses, fake grass...).
I just realized that I could probably say anything I want on here because nobody reads this. So, it's sort of a blessing in disguise. I can use this as a diary of sorts. Speaking of diaries, I want to watch Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets but cannot find the disk. My boyfriend and I had movie night one day and to our dismay could not find the disk. Sad beans.
I realized that I am not ready for college or life or anything, but I'd better get ready as it is coming whether I like it or not. I am having a bit of trouble letting go of my childhood, or what is left of it. I just got comfortable here and now I'm being kicked out. Go figure.
I realized that playing the cello is the shit and no one can ever take that from me, except maybe arthritis. I want to play the flute but my teacher (who allegedly has my best interest at heart) doesn't want me to. *Ahem*
I realized that no matter how dark the clouds are, or bleak the situation seems to be, there is always something better waiting on the other side. I realized that I am very much like my mother in that I am tenacious and don't give up. Ever. You will be hard pressed to see me fully quit something (unless you watch me jog).
I realized that though I love my friends dearly, they are cynical and entirely unhelpful in times of extreme strife. I love you all.
Life's good.
I am fully aware that I have missed the first few weeks of this "weekly blog" thing, but better late than never, right? A great many things have occurred in my life in the last three weeks and I feel that I would like to share them with you... Whoever you are.
First of all, I realized the importance of having good friends in your life. I do believe I have blogged about my friends in the past, but this is a lesson I keep learning. One friend in particular is Maggie Holt. Maggie is an extraordinarily optimistic person for which the world is a better place. Maggie, welcome back from the imaginary land of Kairos. I hope to visit someday.
I remembered that at the age of two I was on the cover of a swim magazine doing swiming-ish things. I also remembered that I rather like water and someday hope to visit a lake. A real lake. I live by a lake, but it's a fake lake. There are a lot of fake things about the neighborhood in which I live (fake-brown people, fake bricks on the fronts of houses, fake grass...).
I just realized that I could probably say anything I want on here because nobody reads this. So, it's sort of a blessing in disguise. I can use this as a diary of sorts. Speaking of diaries, I want to watch Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets but cannot find the disk. My boyfriend and I had movie night one day and to our dismay could not find the disk. Sad beans.
I realized that I am not ready for college or life or anything, but I'd better get ready as it is coming whether I like it or not. I am having a bit of trouble letting go of my childhood, or what is left of it. I just got comfortable here and now I'm being kicked out. Go figure.
I realized that playing the cello is the shit and no one can ever take that from me, except maybe arthritis. I want to play the flute but my teacher (who allegedly has my best interest at heart) doesn't want me to. *Ahem*
I realized that no matter how dark the clouds are, or bleak the situation seems to be, there is always something better waiting on the other side. I realized that I am very much like my mother in that I am tenacious and don't give up. Ever. You will be hard pressed to see me fully quit something (unless you watch me jog).
I realized that though I love my friends dearly, they are cynical and entirely unhelpful in times of extreme strife. I love you all.
Life's good.
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