You’re Missing

I wrote this poem a while ago and decided to post it. I just uncovered it and remembered how much I loved it.

 

I was the love of your life

and you were the love of mine

and you were the lover of my mind

and everything I wanted to find

But then you left

and you took it all away

and nothing I said could make you stay

and I shouldn’t even bother now, anyway

But I love you,I love you.

And screaming doesn’t help

because you never listen

to the pain I felt because I was missing

you so much that my blood would glisten

Across my skin

I started getting sick

and my hair was thin

and so was my body

Because I wasn’t enough

to keep you around

and I knew that, so I lay on the ground

hoping to stop this spinning around

but my world isn’t slowing down

So why is yours?

that’s not fair

you keep your sanity, your weight, your hair

and meanwhile I’m here, gasping for air

wondering, wondering why you’re not there.

10 Great Quotations from Writers about Work

Interesting Literature ‘Hard work is simply the refuge of people who have nothing whatever to do.’ – Oscar Wilde ‘I always arrive late at the office, but I make up for it by leaving early.’ – Charles Lamb ‘Ever tried. …

I actually think I’m more addicted to WordPress than I am any other site. Is that bad? No? Oh, good.

Novel Idea!!

I’ve been working on two autobiographies (I know. They’re about two completely different things, but I’m in love with both of them). Of course, life throws you curveballs, and I’ve been thrown a good deal of them lately. I’ve been having a very difficult time putting them all together. I was lying in bed this afternoon, crying because the heartache came over me again, and the idea hit me; I need to write about this. It will be fiction, but only sort of. I’m making a character and giving her experiences like mine, like my friends’…anything. The two of us need to understand each other with different ideas so we’ll actually have things to write about and learn about one another. I plan on calling it, Chasing Daisy, for reasons I will explain. Daisy is the name of Gatsby’s one true love; that almost unattainable dream that he needed to be truly happy. For me, Daisy is not just a novel character. She is the happiness I’m looking for in everything. She’s the ex-boyfriend who is now going into the air guard, saying he’ll be back for me when he comes home. She’s the sadness I feel–the demons that haunt me every single day. She’s so many things for me, and I need to address them. Hell, this whole book could be Daisy for me, and I could actually catch her. This is going to be interesting to write, but I can’t wait. I’m holding off all other projects until this one is complete. I’ll post things periodically about the book on here; maybe I’ll ask for opinions or editing or what I should even do, but I’ll definitely let all of you wonderful, talented people stay in the loop!

Sorry about that last post. It’s sort of dark, but I had written it for a good reason, and I’m so glad I did. I had the opportunity to meet with author Mindy Lewis last week and be a part of a small writing workshop with her. We had to write pieces about a time when we couldn’t speak for ourselves, and this experience was the first thing that came  to my mind. In this piece, we were asked to actually say what we wish we had said at the time, and that’s what I tried to do. People loved it, but I loved it even more, mainly because it felt like in my head, I was saying what I wanted to at the time. Maybe  there’s never really a lost chance to speak up. This was just the right time for me to do it. It was a risk for me, but I put it all out there. I’m rather proud of it. So, once again, I apologize if the last piece upset any of you, but it was very important to me that I get it out there, because I deserve to be heard.

A Thank You Note

            I used to be innocent, but things changed. I spent nine months under your power, not once questioning you—at least, not to your face. Looking back, not defending myself earlier than when I did is my sole regret in life.

            You had no right to do those things to me. Don’t you dare ask where you went wrong. You know what you did, but if it will really help you understand, I’ll go through it again. It’s not like I don’t relive it every day, anyway.

            I understand that people have their own ways of dealing with issues; we all have demons, and it’s important to face them in a way that is effective. Was taking them out on me really as effective as you thought? You would always say, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” and the funny thing was, I believed you. The cycle was relentless; I let you hurt me continuously for months because you convinced me that I deserved to be treated that way. From time to time, there wouldn’t be bruises—perhaps only a few stinging words—but those hurt just as much. I would hide the feelings and marks and brush it all off, still having a flicker of hope in my eyes that we would reconcile.

Do you know what that does to a person? Just holding everything in, just so that she will have a sliver of proof that what’s happening is reality and not just an awful dream? It has the ability to kill, but I didn’t reach that unfortunate fate. I just live with the memories and continue on with my life. I have yet to figure out of that is a blessing or a curse.

It wasn’t just me I let you hurt, though. I lied to our families and friends for you because everyone adored you. I acted thrilled when you gave me gifts—the ones that came conveniently after the fights that occurred while no one else was looking. Everyone thought it was so sweet of you to buy me flowers or strawberries or the brand new Taylor Swift CD the day it came out. The same goes for the stuffed animals, candy, and jewelry. They were like rewards for me for not saying anything about what you were really doing. If I don’t talk, I get hurt anyway, but if I do, I get hurt much, much worse. Nobody would have ever guessed that you were a guy who would abuse his girlfriend. I’m not even afraid to say that anymore; it was abuse. It wasn’t love, like you tried to tell me, nor was it deserved or a lesson or any of those manipulative tricks you tried to use in order to justify all the things you did. I never had to apologize to you, but I always did, hoping the attacks would stop, even though I knew they were inevitable. You were a hopeless case, but I never lost faith in either of us.

            I used to be innocent, but maybe that hasn’t really changed, after all. I’m innocent in the sense that I did nothing wrong. There’s so much I still want to say. Actually, I want to scream it all in your face, just like you did to me so many times. You stole my voice and my courage, and those are things you should never deny a person. Thankfully, all of the horrible impulses you acted on weren’t enough to end me. I’m still here, and I’ve gone a whole year without you. Leaving you and moving on were the two best things I’ve ever done in my life. I will forever be better than the punching bag you made me out to be, because I deserve to be happy and respected. So, thank you, for helping me discover my self-worth. If that’s the silver lining in this, I’ll gladly take it.

No Guts, No Gory

I sat outside the house, as I had been for several days now, reminiscing the time that I had spent silently hiding among the grass in a sprawling field. I remembered watching as they came, creatures in pairs and groups, sauntering along and stopping occasionally to grab and observe those around me with eager eyes. If one was not satisfactory, he would be dropped back onto the ground carelessly, and the creatures would continue on, leaving the rest of us glad that we had survived another day. After a good time of evading the eyes of the creatures and hoping that I wouldn’t be the one to be dragged away next, it was to my dismay that I was selected by a group of takers.

            Upon my arrival to their small dwelling, I was set on a table beside a few of my new acquaintances. We were terrified and curious as to what our fates would be, and we didn’t have to wait long before we found out. The young lad on my right was chosen as the creatures’ first sacrifice, and the rest of us were forced to watch in horror as the proceedings ensued. A knife shifted into our view, and we were shocked as one of the creatures dug the blade crudely into the top of our poor friend’s head and began to cut around its perimeter. After the larger creature had separated one part from the bottom, several of its smaller offspring dug in, tearing out his innards and dropping them into a bowl with a sickening splat. Following the gutting of our poor companion, we found ourselves looking on and holding our breath as the larger creature stepped in once again, this time slicing a grotesque image into his front side as the younger ones cheered in sick excitement.

            I watched as the horror continued on each time until finally, it was my turn to endure the damage. I had heard of these acts of insidious destruction before and had nightmares about the subject; families being separated, children and their parents being forced to stomach the inevitable torture that would occur, all the while knowing that they would never see their loved ones again. I never once thought it would happen to me; I was so young-I didn’t deserve to have my once peaceful life end in such a gruesome and untimely way!

~

            I woke up in a daze and eventually became aware of the steady warmth that was burning inside me. I felt no pain, just the brisk wind of the fall that I had come to know and love on so many autumn nights. Then I heard voices emerge from several of the small creatures as they walked down a path beside their fellow traveler;

            “Come on, Dad! Hurry up!”

            “It’s time to go trick-or-treating!”

            “The other kids will love our jack-o-lanterns when they come!”

Published Again!

I’m pleased to announce that for the SECOND time, my flash fiction piece, “No Guts, No Gory,” is set to be published! This time, it will be in the e-zine (internet magazine) called LongStoryShort. It’s a great read for Halloween time, or simply for anyone who enjoys a good, fun scare! I will post the piece shortly-let me know what you all think!

Untitled Poem

It’s not fair 

that you get to live a normal life

unharmed, untainted, unafraid.

It’s not fair 

that you’re strong and intimidating and wreckless.

It’s not fair

because here I am, a year later,

still broken, hurting, upset, sad, and scared.

I’m not scared of seeing you anymore.

I’m scared that I’ll fall back into your trap

like I did so many times,

apologizing because you said it was my fault

and I believed you..

I believed you.

And I lied to my family and my friends

when you gave me gifts and flowers and that damn Taylor Swift CD.

I let them think it was because you cared about me.

I let myself think it was a reward for being sorry.

I still don’t know what I was sorry for.

You chose to hurt me,

you chose to yell at me,

both for really no reason

and I know that now.

But I don’t understand why.

I doubt I ever will.

Timed Freewrites

I’m taking a composition class at college, and there is nothing that gives me more contrasting feelings than timed freewrites.

You can’t rush perfection, right?

Now, I’m not saying my writing is perfect, especially not at 8 am. But come on, it’s tough to start and finish a great idea in one minute. I write in cursive, which helps a bit, but let’s be real here. I need a bit of time to really develop what I’m trying to say and to have enough time to finish that last sentence to finish it off, even if my ideas aren’t fully processed. I want listeners and readers (we have to share them) to understand what I’m saying and where it’s coming from. 

The sharing thing is another thing that gets me. Sometimes, I write about something very personal that maybe I don’t want anyone else to read. Maybe it’s really sad or just something really intimate that I want to express. This should be a safe place to do that-that’s what writing is for. But I feel like I can’t express myself effectively without worrying about who in my class is going to read it. Ugh.

Okay. That’s my rant for the evening. Now, I must stop procrastinating on my break and finish writing a paper for US History to 1865 (shush. Don’t say anything) about the Puritans and a woman kidnapped by Native Americans. Enthralling. 

G’night, lovelies!