I love being in love

Throughout my life, including my earliest memories, I have been in love. From the twin in kindergarten, to the boy with piercing blue eyes in first grade, to the popular boys in junior high and high school, and then the beautiful nerds in college. These do not exclude boys (and men) in movies, novels, and even manga. Life for me has been one seamless transition from one crush to another.

Why do I prefer this existence? My affections have never been reciprocated. The closest I have been to a relationship is harmless flirtation with no expectation of it to be taken seriously on either side.

Actually, honestly, some have liked me. But either they were unlucky enough to not happen to be that week's crush, or I was scared and laughed off their attention. Or I didn't notice. I've been told stories of some that liked me. I couldn't tell, at the time. Or they scared me. Some boys are scary. I can't imagine even dating them, I just start shuddering and feel the need to take a shower because I feel dirty under their gaze.

But back to the nice ones. The ones I didn't notice or I laughed off. Why? Obviously I couldn't help the ones I didn't notice. What was I afraid of, though? I watch romantic movies, and my heart bursts with the desire to exchange those glances with someone who might, actually, feel the same way I do. Am I afraid of finding someone who loves me? Am I afraid of actually exchanging those glances and taking their force fully instead of over the shoulder and through a camera lens? Or am I afraid of the vulnerability of loving someone and not having it returned? I shouldn't. I've loved everyone who's never loved me. I've had my heart broken daily since I was five. And I've embarrassed myself for acting foolishly since I've been old enough to.

But I've never invested in someone who then let me down. Not really. Perhaps that's what I'm afraid of. Because my loves and broken hearts have been private, known only to me and my unfortunate roommates and close friends.

I'm done for now. I'm exhausted.

I am the Doppleganger

On the other side of a chain link fence
I can see the woman I want to be
I've looked for the gate
But I don't even know how to start the journey
I gaze between the chains at her
Pure smile, her lovely laughter, her beauty overflows from within
On this side, ther is only a mean, bitter woman
A woman without friends, because she can't keep them
A woman without lovers, because they can see her black soul
A woman without children, because God protects the little ones
Over there, she loves all and is loved by all
Her husband is grateful to wake up with her
And her children are good
What will it take?

Random bits and pieces

Autumn is one big audition.
Each leaf falls like a ballerina
Twisting and twirling in her first (and only) solo.

Life is ugly, squirming, and messy

...and then the clouds burst into flame...

Why is dog man's best friend? What do they have that I don't?

"Alea Jacta Est" -Caesar

To my Boobs

To those fraternal twins peeking over my shirt.
To those two water balloons under my skin.
Bouncing gently with every step.
Boost you up,
Squish you down,
Still there you are undaunted.
My orbs of seduction.
My shy, modest orbs of seduction.

Just Me

Once I wanted to be skinny
Once I wanted to be blonde
Once I wanted bright blue eyes
Once I wanted an elven face
Once I wanted 36-24-28
Once I wanted to be slight and short
Once I wanted perfect skin, perfect hair, and expensive clothes.
Once I wanted to be tan.

Then one day, not so long ago, my mother flipped my world.
"White is beautiful, too."

Now I love my blue white skin
Now I love my freckles, my curls, and my stains
Now I love looking you in the eye
Now I love my 38-32-44
Now I love my jowls
Now I love my hazel eyes
Now I love my dun colored hair
Now I love my muffin top
Now I love me.

While noticing unfamiliar toothmarks on a favorite pen

Staring at the teeth marks on the cap of my pen, I wonder whose they are.
They aren't mine. I don't have that habit.
Where have you been, little pen?
Did some fourth grader gnaw her frustrations on you while she took a test?
Did some foreign poet nibble on you while he composed a sonnet to his love?
Did some senator chew absentmindedly on you while wondering if he had time to run to the bathroom?
Or did some forgetful college student drop you on the floor and her dog took an inquisitive bite or two? I need to take better care of my pens.

Love Thyself

Because today, the only mail I got was bills,
And the only chocolate I ate was mine,
And the words of endearment I heard came from the TV.
Because tomorrow is the same as yesterday,
and I am unchanging.
Still afraid to smile because I have chocolate clinging to my teeth.

Six word short story

Missing: romance. Call husband if found.

To all the happy squirrels

Before Grover flies across the screen in his red cape
Before King Friday gives his newest proclamation
There is a hippie with a pallette.
His calm, soothing, gentle voice teaches me the difference between burnt umber and sienna before I can spell "yellow".
I watch him take a blank canvas and dextriously create a beautiful forest with a puddly path.
As his knife puts a shine on the water, I stomp in the puddles.
As he adds branches to his pines, together we imagine a happy squirrel bounding home, his cheeks full.
And as he dries his brushes by "beating the devil out of them," I giggle.
During that quiet, still half hour in the living room, I am completely immersed in his magic
Watching him create a world just for me.

-in memory of Bob Ross

Superstitions and magic

I wonder if we're ignoring a part of existence because of our scientific understandings and our cultural reliance on the "logical" and "observable". All religions have ghosts. Some even demons. Those cultures that retain their superstitions as they become Christian... are they the purer? By combining the Truth with their lives?

What if demons can't stand the sign of the cross, even when made by fingers? What if witches do have power over us if they attain our DNA? What if the veil between the living and the dead is thinner than we thought? Why does voodoo work? Is it wrong to acknowledge the power of evil? Is it wrong to ignore the power of good? What if there is more truth in some superstitions than we realize? What if prayer is sometimes not enough?

1.30.08 Poetry

I hold my heart cupped and covered in my hands.
I offer it to you secretly, wholy,
I am holding your heart,
Take it from me.
Set it free from my ten barred cage.
But you don't see it.
You see only my hands
And my closed, secure visage.
What mischief do you imagine between my palms?
Something ugly or poisonous?
You give me a knowing smile
And walk away.
And my heart dies imprisoned.


My love is like a Valentine's card.
You enjoy it for a moment,
And in the morning,
I find it in the trash.

First Rant of '08! 1.30.08

I had a thought today. They sometimes happen. I was unprepared for a presentation today, and I stayed up all night throwing it together. I've learned how to give excellent presentations, and I've had roommates who were meticulous and wouldn't be satisfied with me practicing a few times with many flaws and calling it a night. So last night, and this morning, I knew I wasn't giving my all into this presentation. I also knew that from the professor's point of view, the presentation would be average, and I would get a decent grade for my performance.

I didn't have my introduction or my conclusion memorized, my information was listed mostly by dates so most sentences began with, "In 1457...", my handout was a full page single spaced (which is just too much to ask people to sort through), my inflection swung between being too high and being too low and soft, and I practically read all my information, with occasional, unnerving glances into the bored populace.

I knew what needed to happen to make this presentation amazing, and for one reason or another, I didn't do it. It doesn't matter that I got it over with, take my B grade back to my seat and let the teacher try to wake the class back up, I knew what I should have done. Because that's the way I've been trained.

There's a verse in the Bible that tells parents to train their children in the way they are supposed to go, so that the children will do it automatically when they grow up. But we're adults now. And it doesn't matter whether our parents trained us well or poorly, we are responsible for ourselves. Train yourself in the way you need to go, and when the time comes, regardless of other's standards, you will know what you're supposed to do. Whether you do it or not when the time comes, is up to you.

Rant 9.13.07

LOL. Check out my April Rant before you read this. I was just scanning old posts and saw it.

I mention two poems that I submitted to the poetry contest, "My lover's eyes" that I hoped would place, and "psychologists are the janitor's of our minds" that I didn't think would do anything. Well, "My lover's eyes" did NOT place, and my other poem won the contest! How crazy is that?

Meanwhile, I've almost finished two more Jedi cloaks, I finished one Jedi cross stitch, gave it away as a birthday present, and am making one for myself. And I'm wondering what I'd do if a boy asked me out.

Medicine

The Word is like medicine
Sometimes sweet and syrupy- you feel like you could eat it forever.
Other times it is bitter and hard to swallow- and it sits in your stomach like a rock.
Either way it keeps you healthy and safe, insuring long life.
The only wrong thing you can do is to avoid it for its bitterness,
For that way leads to sickness and death.

A Choice

Up a jagged hillside to an uncertain future,
Or down the even, paved road toward comfort and security.
The map's key shows a thin line zigzagging up the mountains, barely a trail,
And a wide highway, well worn with travel.
At the end of one, rumor tells of a vast treasure.
The other, a kingdom of full stomachs and soft beds.
A lifetime of scars, calluses, and happiness,
Or of salty pillows and unfulfilled dreams?

Dancing Trees

The trees love the wind.
It is their one true dance partner.
They shiver in delight as it rustles their leaves and twirls their branches.
Sometimes the dance is too much
And the trees, in an effort to dance as hard as the wind
Break
And Fall
Never to Dance Again.
But still the trees love the wind,
And raise their branches to it as it passes.
For it is better to dance and die than to never dance at all.

The Courtyard

It is a rainy day in a courtyard.
Every surface is covered with jugs to catch the water.
A woman walks among them, pouring colorful acid into certain jugs, ignoring others.
The acid is very toxic, and if there isn't enough water,
The acid will eat away at any imperfections until the jug cracks and dies.
To protect some jugs, lids cover them, but then water doesn't enter either.
Be warned, once a lid is put on, it is difficult to remove it completely and the woman is more likely to pass it by.
However, the more water in the jug, the less colorful the acid.
The jugs of water tsk and sigh each time one breaks and spills its brightly colored contents onto the courtyard.
But those of us with the acid inside cheer and applaud, regretful only that the jug will no longer experience the acid.
It burns, it cleans, it brightens and polishes.
The water soothes and heals, but we pay the price with diluted acid.

My muse has left me

My muse has left me.
What else do I have to say?
He gave me my words, my reason for speaking.
The world is a little less bright without him.
The little things in life have stopped whispering their secrets and truths to me.
I feel deaf without him.
I thought he would always be there.
I don’t think I took him for granted.
I was always so grateful for the gifts he gave me, without asking.
I loved his sense of humor, I didn’t even mind his ADD.
How he loved to start projects and yet never finished them.
How could he leave me?
Was I a one- night stand on his business trip to inspire someone else?
Is he with her, right now, making her words sing while mine clink like muted cymbals?
Are her stories running away from her, in different and wonderful directions?
Does she appreciate every moment she has with him?
I should be grateful for the time he spent with me, all the art that flowed from between us.
I should be happy for her, and hope that she makes the most of her time with him.
I should move on, and do the best I can with what he left behind.
Life doesn’t stop just because my muse has left me.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful--a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said,
"I love thee true."

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sighed fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lullèd me asleep,
And there I dreamed--Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill’s side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried--"La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

I really wanted to post something...

So you get a rant. I finished my replacement Jedi cloak, I began my Jedi cross stitch, and I need to practice my lines for a Jedi skit. Sense a theme? I may post a pic of my costume, if I get the nerve... I'll scan the opening layout for the skit sometime soon. That should be fun for some to look at. Unless you've already seen it. Then it would be boring.

I have submitted "My lover's eyes" and "psychologists are the janitors of our minds" to the poetry contest. It would be cool if I place or get an honorable mention for the former, I don't expect the latter to go anywhere.

The ants have discovered my room. But they've shown themselves in all corners, so I don't know where their entrance is. I found one crawling on my bra today. I don't need this.

I wish I had time to write. I wish my muse would come back, ADD and all. That's it! My muse has left me! I was wondering why I was depressed lately. All semester I've been in a funk. It's because my muse is gone. Wow. I need to find that poem about the lady by the lake that sucks the life out of men. That was a metapoem if there ever was one. I'll find it and post it for you guys so that you'll know how I feel.