Antagonist

Silent noises         from my pen
              pierce the darkness,
though there is someone standing there
                                they do not hear me.
    I paint them now
                                      with words of gray -
           Steel eyes that have misjudged me,
                          ashen fingers taint my words,
most grievously of all
a cloudy heart destroys my treasures.
                                   I pass on
              and am forgotten


I realize this poem lacks structure, but remember that ties me down? I got the idea for the jumbled sentences from some nice pieces featured in an Anthropologie catalog. The subject of this poem is someone that was very discouraging to me in my writing.

Sit under a tree and write - Write on Wednesday

    She stood with her back to the world, wanting to see only her special tree. One hand rested over the carved initials, perhaps because she didn't want to see them or maybe because she wanted to hold them and feel that yesterday wasn't just a dream. Another pair of initials was carved above the ones she was either protecting or blocking out. The letters in the second pair had worn out over the years and were barely visible. Strange that over time, the second pair, which had been carved in first had moved to second place in her heart. Since the death of her father many years ago she hadn't brought anyone to her special tree. At least not until she met him and was foolish enough to let him carve a place in her heart.

So, I'm not exactly happy that this exercise turned out as the aftermath of a love story, but it's what came to me. Hope you enjoy it and I appreciate your honest feedback.

General Information

Now for a few facts about me :)
* Christian (John 14:6 Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life, no man cometh unto the Father but by me)
* advocate for the fatherless, the widow, and those who cannot speak for themselves (Job 29, Isaiah 58)
* 17 (I still feel like a little kid)
* Senior in high school (unsure about the future)
* home-schooled (so I can completely control my schedule)
* not American (a little browner than you :D)
* music lover
* almost vegetarian (I eat meat when there's nothing else to munch on)
* a conundrum (I have motley tastes)
* indecisive
* short (it makes me stand out ;p)
* extremely forgetful (when asked my age my first answer is 13 <.<)

These will do for now until I have time to think of some more. Keep dreaming until next time!

My overdue introduction :)

    I realize this post is way overdue, and since I am in danger of using a cliche (better late than never), I will go ahead and simply excuse myself by saying that I have been busy with a project and have  therefore neglected to make myself known to my readers.
    Poetry is something that I started dabbling in when I was eight, but left off after a few failed attempts. It wasn't until my freshman year that an assignment from my English teacher (who by the way has been my greatest encouragement in the writing field outside of my family) prompted me to start once again. Since then I have looked for poetry wherever I could find it, and use it as my primary way to express myself.
    The subjects in my poetry are very personal and intricately connected to my life. I usually write after an event that stands out to me, listening to a good song, or reading a good book. Many people that I have interacted with have also made it into my poetry.
    Of course, poetry is not all I write. I love writing essays, starting and never finishing short stories, and journaling. I am very loose in my structure, and at times come off as being grammatically (or poetically) incorrect. I feel that structure ties me down and doesn't let me freely express myself. Also, I only write formally when writing a paper for school.
    My time is up and I must now finish my mundane household tasks. Until next time, which will hopefully include something other than information about my writing, keep inspiring yourself to reach greater heights in whatever it is you are interested in.

6/26/11

Meaning
is what they all strive for
So what am I
supposed to do
when all my words
seem meaningless to you?

What if my clouds
resemble death
when they were meant to bring life?

Will you search for me
in every line?
Or must I be lost
as you so desperately search
the corners of my life
for meaning?

The Picture of You

7/14/11
I sat down to write a poem about you
and to discover how I feel
The strangest thing,
the words wouldn't come

So I went outside
and took a walk
Perhaps then my heart would feel
But strangely,
the world was still

I walked on listening
to the music of the world
Hoping it would show me what to feel
As strange as me,
the trees went silent

So I took out
an old photograph of you
Maybe then I'd be able to feel
Strange though,
it was no longer you

The Sickness 3/2/11

He longed to be
Ranked a hero
But see,
His heart was weak

His heart was weak
And his mind was weak
And in public
He dared not speak

The fear of pain
That sudden weakness
Was like a chain
Around his spirit

Chained and pained
His character was stained
For to be a hero
Cannot be feigned

Songs from the Night

5/11/11
The thoughts are swirling around in my head
And I cannot seem to string them together
They seem incomplete and empty
These thoughts of you
Incomprehensible, unreal
Yet you are my reality
But who are you?
To you I have no name
We are both shadows
Shapeless on the wall
Unseen, unheard
But you have a song
While I am merely colorless dust

Perspective

11/20/10
I speak one language
And you another
My shade of blue
Looks red to you

I keep speaking
And you keep speaking
But still my blue
Looks red to you

The harder we struggle
The worse it gets
For I see blue
But it's red to you