Demons

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

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

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.

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.