handwritten . . .

. . . and in French.  And no, I’m not talking about a literal eggplant.

“Technicalities” (written last year)

I shouldn’t have said what I said about horses
horses and riders
in castles of air
I shouldn’t’ve dropped hints all over the ground
where they could be found by
anyone who’d pick them up
I shouldn’t just wait
until it’s too late
it’s already happened
I already have
I shouldn’t have wished
so imprecisely
that’s how wishes go wrong
why haven’t we learned?
we’ll always be burned
by the gift of three wishes
it’s just like a fire and never a warning and
there’s no returning it
so you get what you wish for
but not what you want

—–

I wrote this poem last year, based in part off of a journal entry. Posting it here because I never put it anywhere public. (I did submit it to my school’s litmag, but that hasn’t come out yet this year.)

I’ll try to write something more later, but I have selection day for the school dance concert for a lot of the day. Much excitement! I choreographed a solo, let’s see if it gets in . . .

two sentences

I want to distill your essence down down down until I can put all of what you are into a syringe and inject you into my veins. I want to be able to mainline to you to fill the craving need I get when I can’t be with you.

a bit from my paper journal, a collection of thoughts

“Catholicism – walking in a snowy parking lot – cold & slushy, more flakes coming down – grey all around – stained glass – confusion, questions – crosses – smoke and candles – inconsistencies – disagreement – unexplained – unexplainable? – books”

I was raised Catholic.  But I didn’t really believe.  So when Confirmation approached, I told my mom I wasn’t doing it.  (A fight ensued.)

I sometimes wish I believed in someone to pray to.

But I don’t.  And I can’t just wake up and decide to.

I can’t just throw faith out into a mysterious something that may or may not have someone in it.

This needs more thought.

metaphorically speaking . . .

There’s this middle school girl in my head. And every time I’m talking to a certain boy I like and one of the other parts of my mind starts getting ready to be really gutsy and say something, she turns bright red at the thought. Then conks the gutsy girl on the head with a 3-ring binder (those can get really heavy!). And gutsy girl wakes up later with a headache and starts plotting against middle school girl. She hasn’t managed to get around her yet.
My potential love life is being metaphorically held hostage by a metaphorical middle schooler with a metaphorical 3-ring binder.