Friday, January 30, 2009

Because I'm too tired to think of a coherent paragraph.


-Ultimate Frisbee is the sport of champions.

- Note to self : Although Ultimate is the best sport ever, one should not stick one's hand in the way of a Frisbee traveling seventy miles an hour.

- Yes, there is a nice red welt. Possibly a bruise tomorrow.

- Perhaps donating both ice packs when I'm going to be sore isn't the best idea. Too late now.

- 16 credit hours + track + non-relationship = stressed-out blogger who hasn't written a word of fiction in over a month.

- Noise is irritating at this point.

- Shrieking girls are irritating at this point.

- I hate technical writing with a passion.

- I am so confused.

- Can I just go to sleep for a month?

- My head hurts, my nose is raw, and my heart hurts too.

Yes. Edge is having a rough month. Clearly. She's talking about herself in third person. I just want all this stuff to go one way or another and be resolved! Argh! For some reason, I was thinking about this a couple days ago - I haven't screamed in over five years, if not more. I'm just not a screamer, and there hasn't been a need.

I want to go to the balcony (again) and just scream out my frustration for a while.

Friday, January 23, 2009


Sorry, y'all. I have been super-spotty with my blog reading and updating. It's the college life - 16 credit hours on top of track, which easily occupies the space another class would, homework and all. So basically, I'm taking a very full load, and yet somehow finding time to write these happy little poems. That time is usually past midnight, when I should definitely be in bed, but those stupid things called emotions keep me up.

The bad news: I have realized I am about six feet in over my head, and have an insane amount of homework.

The good news: I'm emotionally stable, and therefore able to (mostly) logically deal with it.

The best news: It's Friday. As soon as I'm done with the workout of death (to which I am headed in exactly three minutes), I have nothing else scheduled for the weekend except a birthday party and church. Happy days. The unscheduled time, though, really is scheduled. Homework is a demanding taskmaster.

Hasta luego...

Monday, January 19, 2009

All I can say in my muteness


waterfall of music roaring in my ears
feet touch, lift, push in furious dance
cool air sears lungs
this pain is good
just run

shut out all the thoughts
don't want to think
legs begin to ache
to a place of safety
that exists only in someone's arms
just run

pray he'll come
and understand
and see as I scream past, that I
because there is nothing else I can do but
and I need help, and I
because I can not admit that, so I
just run

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Interview Meme

The Rules of the Interview
1. Leave me a comment saying you want to be interviewed.
2. I'll email you five questions, of my determination not yours!
3. You update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

My questions as asked by Gretch-a-Sketch:

1. If you were limited to seeing one genre of movie for the rest of your life, which genre would you choose?

Action-adventure. No question. Think of it: the Bourne movies, National Treasure, Batman...

2. What would a pair of Converse shoes designed by yourself look like?

I'm a fan of the class black Converse, but I'd throw in some silver.

3. Which of the 48 continental states would you visit if you had a free month and unlimited funds?

Washington D.C or Washington state. Seattle or D.C....hmm. Or possibly Utah. Or Idaho. It depends upon who could meet me where.

4. Do you have a favorite class this semester? What is it?

I'm gonna go with my Christianity Honors class. Cool people (yes, including you-know-who), amazing teacher.

5. If you received a bouquet of flowers from a secret admirer, what kind of flowers would they be?

Ooooo. Red roses. Crimson. Velvet petals. Long-stemmed. Tied with a silver ribbon.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009


I enter, laugh, am hugged hard while she
and I smile. Friends together four months,
and back together. Perhaps it will be different
this time.

Five minutes later I stand by the elevators
hearing voices ring against the stainless steel doors.
She and another, eyes wide, laughing, heads tilted,
mermaid hair streaming.
Off two steps, half-there, half-not
a seeming imposition, I stand
wondering what it is about me
that I do not - can not - join these talks.
When she and I are alone it seems
we are sisters.
When she and I and x or y stand near each other
I am out of the equation

They don't do it on purpose
but I become a stranger
pushing myself into the conversation.
When they are in the suite
I am an interloper
in my home.

I know. I am different. Somehow in a way
I cannot yet define.
I search for the other one that is different
the other one who stands just outside the groups
of two or three
and does not join but waits
a entity, separate and unique
thinking, watching, observing, alright alone
but also desiring to know
a similar soul.

Saturday, January 10, 2009


Take me
into your arms
Hold me
tell me I am not alone
Love me
when I am uncertain, when
I know who I am is who I should be
and they will love me for who I am
and not who I pretend to be

Call me
Let me know you are thinking of me
Put your hand on my head
Tell me it will be alright
Despite my weakness
and my emotion
I am not helpless
but wanting to be rescued
and tonight I want you to realize
and swoop in
and save me.

I don't need rescue. I will make it through
the night, with tears and heartacheand come out fragile, not shattered.
But - I want that closeness
that wordless communion of souls
I think we could have. I crave
the interlace of heart
and mind
for then
I would know
I am not alone.

Maybe this is forcing me to see
that I am not
an island
I cannot, as much as I want to,
be a prop to others and have none myself
I trust God to carry me through
but it would be easier if I had you.

Friday, January 9, 2009

My Tired Thoughts on a Few Songs

Beyonce's song has proper grammar and Nickleback's does not. "If I Were A Boy" uses the subjunctive mood. "If Today Was Your Last Day" uses the more popular, but technically incorrect indicative mood. Yes, I think too much.

So What by P!nk is a rough song. This is where you're going to possibly laugh and call me crazy, but I think behind the song is someone who is hurting, but determined not to show it, and have a devil-may-car attitude to disguise pain. She says 'So what', but I feel more behind that. I'm not sure what else to say, but this is what I think every time I hear the song.

And then last night, I was tired physically (aka - got hit by a train or played four hours of Ultimate Frisbee), and emotionally, and this song hit me hard. I've never actually heard the song, but someone recited the lyrics a few weeks ago. The first part I don't care as much for, but the second half...I hide my romantic side behind sarcasm, but this coaxes it out.

Manly Man (By Bradley Hathaway)

I don't want my long hair
pretty green eyes with
no I do not have on mascara
Skinny figure
Undersized T-shirt
when I walk
Confuse anybody...
I am a Manly Man!
Within this sissy frame
obviously rib laden chest
lies a heart
that beats
to the drum of a
Native American ritual dancing
It pumps an evercascading supply of untamedness
that a herd of wild mustangs have yet to grasp.
If danger lurks about, I will seek it out.
If adventure abounds, there I will be found.
If a damsel be in distress
I will show her who is best.
I am a Manly Man!
Because I don't flush
and I leave the lid up.
I drive a nineteen
Ford Pick-up truck.
Girls don't break up with me
I break up with them first!
(except the last time, it didn't really work out like that )
I don't shave the hair on my face
(because I still can't grow facial hair yet,but when I can
I won't.)
Because beards are tough.
I fart
when I want
Not caring who's nearby
Disrespect my momma
and I will punch you in the eye!
I am a Manly Man!
Or am I?
I tell my guy friends that I love them.
And sometimes,sometimes, I even hug them.
No because I'm not gay. But because I love em'.
When I watched Bambi
I cried.
When my mema gets mad
I still run and hide.
Like David I want to be a man after God's own heart.
I'm not there yet, but I'm past the start.
And when people talk
I try to listen
a spirit of compassion
That's my vision.
Surely I am a Manly Man
I want to be loved
and have love
and give Love.
(and not just that romantic kind either)
Although I am looking for that beauty
Not helpless
But wants to be rescued. [Best. Line. Ever.]
The Damsel in distress
I will fight for her.
Climb the highest tower for her
Love her.
Share with her.
Delight in her.
Be her warrior.
Her protector.
She will be my crown
and I will be hers.
My Masculinity will be passed down
and affirmed to my sons.
Each of my daughters will know they are lovely
and deserving of authentic romance.
Society tells me all day long
That I have defined manhood completely wrong.
But you ask any honest man and he will agree
You ask any honest woman and she too will see
That I am a Manly Man!

Hasta luego...

Monday, January 5, 2009

Home Sweet Dorm

Woot. I am back home. (FYI, I'm now referring to my dorm as home, and my parents' house as Kingwood). I have seen exactly six people on campus - most other people have to wait until Sunday to get back in. :D There is little food in the pantry, and it's rush-hour traffic right now, which means I'm waiting until tomorrow to grocery shop. That'll be fun.

Alas, I must go get the rest of the stuff out of my car...I've been stalling in the warmth. It's 43 degrees out, thank goodness. I was afraid we'd have more of that nasty, humid 80-degree weather. It's January, for goodness sake. Let it be cold!

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Daddy's Little Girl

So, last night I felt rather frustrated with my current relationship with my father. Introvert that I am, I process things by writing more often than speaking. A short story didn't work, a poem was close, but not quite, so I settled for something that could be either song lyrics or a poem. I'm settling on song lyrics, and if I read through them, I can hear someone singing them. Oddly, this unknown singer sounds a lot like Taylor Swift, of whose songs I own none, and don't particularly care for. I wrote this to the sounds of cannon and execution squads last night. Alright, fireworks and insanely long strings of firecrackers, and the screams of manic children hopped up on sugar. That has absolutely nothing to do with the song, I just thought I'd share.

Daddy's Little Girl

Can't you see, I'm seventeen,
Still young but so much older than you think
Impossible to tell, which am I gonna be today,
A friend or just a kid again?
One day you say, "Not there, not safe,"
Or "Make sure you're not back too late."
The next I pool my courage and ask,
Expecting disappointment, and then you laugh.
"It's no problem, girl, sure thing,
And when you're headed home just give me a ring."

Dad, someday, you've gotta see
That home's not where I want to be
It's hard, I know, and kind of scary, but to me it's worse to always be wary
To not know what you think of me.
Am I a friend, or am I a child,
You know I won't do something wild
Please, Dad, I know that it hurts,
And I pray this doesn't make it worse
But you know I won't go out and be beguiled.
I love you, and please don't close the door,
but I'm not your little girl anymore.

You let me go, you made this choice,
So please just let me have my own voice.
What you let out, you can't always take back,
So when I ask, please don't attack.
I loved you then, and I love you now,
But you've gotta make up your mind somehow.

Dad, someday, you've gotta see
That home's not where I want to be
It's hard, I know, and kind of scary, but to me it's worse to always be wary
To not know what you think of me.
Am I a friend, or am I a child,
You know I won't do something wild
Please, Dad, I know that it hurts,
And I pray this doesn't make it worse
But you know I won't go out and be beguiled.
I love you, and please don't close the door,
but I'm not your little girl anymore.

I can't be, you've gotta see
This is my chance to really be me
I'm living life, and it is good,
So please just treat me like you should.
I don't know it all, I know that much,
But I can't live with this heavy-handed touch.
Dad, you taught me, raised me,
Love me, praise me, laugh with me,
Run with me, but this ain't maybe
'Cause you've got see that I'm not your little girl anymore.
I'll always be your little girl.
I can't be your girl that way anymore.

Yeah. I only edited it once. So if it's rough, or sentimental, or just comes off as a whining rant, be honest and tell me. Hasta luego.