The Best Luck I Had Was You

I've been oddly in touch with my artsy side lately. High-heeled boots, graffiti paint, graphite-smudged fingers, all that jazz. I can't even draw...? Anyway, today was nice. I had my first meeting with STAND; very inspiring.

Bombs hit your villages,

You are innocent and we will never know.

I want nothing more than

To catch the first plane,

And hold your hand

And dance with you

To the beat of the music of your own brothers and sisters.

To guide you through the day,

Every struggle and

Every journey.

You are my inspiration,

To keep living and keep hoping,

And I want to be the same for you.

My cousin recently went to Ghana for a recycling project. Beautiful pictures (as seen above), wonderful music. I think Africa is most wonderful left alone.
Anywho, I miss summer a lot. Not just the weather, but everything that went on; especially camp. One of my greatest fears is being forgotten by AGQ. By far, I write my best pieces there. Speaking of summer, I found an old poem I wrote there and I think I still like it. I brushed up a bit, but it's pretty much the same. The picture I chose is from the beach right outside my house in Avon, one of my favorite places in the world. I'm reluctant to share this, as it's kind of cheesy and I'm not much of a romantic person. Here goes.

The sun is dipping under the sea grass.

Your fingers entwined with mine,

My feet in time with yours.

Sand forms a thin layer over my toes.

The sun is dipping under the sea grass,

Slowly turning the ocean water black.

We stop in the shadows

Under the pier.

You caress my soft blowing hair,

The waves tickling my bare feet,

But I am already smiling.

The sun is dipping under the sea grass,

And you kiss me, our hair dancing together in the light wind.

The warmth of your lips sends

Sparks down to my sand-covered toes.

When we break apart,

The ghost of your lips on mine remains,

The sun is dipping under the sea grass.

What will I do without you?
Once summer ends, the memories will fade

Without hesitation.

You turn to kiss me again as the sun dips under the sea grass.

How I Feel: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1B0IcPba_g

Upon request, I have posted my english narrative that is due tomorrow. We were assigned three topics - losing something valuable, getting lost, and how you got a scar - and we were to pick one and write a three page paper on it. I've been feeling lost lately, so I thought it would only be fitting. Here's mine -

Pink Velcro Shoes and a Windy Day

In my memory, it doesn’t matter whose birthday party it was, where it was held, or how my friend was going to be. All I know is that I loved that balloon. A supervising mother thrust it into my hands seconds before I left the party, holding a small bag proclaiming “THANK YOU!” full of candy and little toys. My focus was on this bag, envisioning myself unwrapping the delectable Hershey’s bar, and devouring the sweets I wasn’t usually allowed to have. But somehow I remember this balloon more vividly than I remember what happened yesterday. It wasn’t even all that pretty, either; it was orange, with a broad brown stripe in the middle, with two narrow yellow bands around the brown. When I received this balloon, I was more proud than I would be getting my high school diploma, and the desire for the forbidden candy disappeared as quickly as it came.

I have a massive pine tree in my backyard, taller than my two-story house, and I learned the hard way that several treasured balloons would fall as accidental victims to this beast. Gripping the ribbon, trailing from the knot of security at the bottom of the balloon, until my knuckles faded to white, I carefully and gently pulled the balloon close to me to the point where I could feel the static on its surface. I was continuously checking my arms for silent killer pine needles that could have very likely fallen off the tree, and obsessively looking for everything that could easily end the life of this innocent object.

Tiptoeing across each studied and memorized crack and bump in the sidewalk, I took every step as if it were my last, making sure to eliminate every possible chance that I would slip and fall, releasing my new prized possession from my clutches and literally sending my hopes into space. My pink, size one, kid’s Velcro shoes became creased where my toes met my feet, scarring my shoes with reminders of this day. Even now, the tension of taking a test does not compare to the high stakes of this journey from driveway to door. Every square of cement I passed on the pavement brought me one step closer to a checkpoint along my destination: inside my house. Safe.

Finally reaching the porch, relief escaping through my toes as the soles of my feet touched down on the freshly sanded wood, I waited impatiently for my mom to unlock the door. Each ticking second opened more opportunities for my balloon to escape, and it seemed to take her hours to go around each side of our worn-out car to collect her belongings. Based on how long she was taking, she might as well have been digging out hidden bags of future Christmas presents, hinting at me to walk to my friend Greta’s house, a few blocks away.

But suddenly, out of nowhere, a devilish gust of wind flew in quickly and unexpectedly, and somehow the ribbon of my precious balloon shimmied through a careless miniscule gap in my fingers. I sharply remember staring helplessly at the free balloon, the distance between us agonizingly growing every moment that passed. Gone.

I was absolutely crushed. Now that I look back at it, what would I have even done with the balloon anyway? It would have been situated in my bedroom for maybe two or three days, slowly inching towards the ground and gradually deflating. Then it would be left for my mother to cut it open, the helium floating into the surrounding air, only for the balloon to be completely flattened and then thrown out. But there was just something about this balloon that kept me longing to extend my arm, brush past the hazy sky, and retrieve it, keeping it forever.

To this day, I can still point out the exact spot on my back porch where I watched the balloon disappear through the clouds, barely an identifiable speck in the sky, and I often have mysterious dreams of it fighting to leave my grip, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Every time it manages to escape me.

A few thoughts for the day

Perhaps we are meant to disturb the surface,
Disrupt the water in its dreams to send repeating waves,
Fractals of ideas and thoughts,
Altering its intentions.
For the longest time I thought we were meant to leave it be,
An untouched subject.
Maybe you see things differently;
We are supposed to go head first,
Scattering serenity and touseling tranquility,
As if we never second-guessed it.


That's what came to mind when I found this picture. Lately I have been second-guessing things, especially now that my mom has began talking to me about college... who knows. I thought the water represented the future, untouched and foreign, unable to breathe when you're surrounded, overwhelmed by it.
The trampoline is what I would like to be feeling... read the poem, I guess.


A leap, a tuck of my legs,
And I am suspended,
Frozen in the air,
Able to feel every muscle in my back,
Suddenly all too aware of the complexity
Of the human body.
Aware of this world and my place in it.
Frozen with time to think,
Without commitment.

This is where I begin.

So I don't know if anyone will even read this... but I thought I might as well start something.

I had a dilemma on what to make my username on this thing, and I just sorted through several of my favorite songs. I had chosen two - "no mystery to me" from Jack's Mannequin's "Miss California" and "unraveling with every word" from their song "I'm Ready."

Obviously, you can see what I chose. Why is that? I asked a friend. She said: "I kinda like [the first one] because. I don't know. It's your own writing. But at the same time you're saying you're not hard to figure out. It's just writing."

So there you have it. This is my first hello to winter.

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