Well here goes nothing. It's been awhile friends. Though I'm sure I'm talking to myself, it has even been awhile for that. A wise artist once told me, that too much TV makes it difficult to be creative. I truly believe he is correct. I've been watching more TV shows and writing a lot less.
One thing I haven't been doing less of is is reading. I literally just finished Amanda Palmer's book (The Dresden Dolls, Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra) The Art of Asking. The entire time I was reading this book all I wanted to do was create. I wanted to write. I wanted to paint. I wanted to play guitar. I wanted to have heart felt, philosophical discussions with strangers. The closest I came to this desire was a philosophical discussion with my tattoo artist. I love him. He is an amazing soul and for some reason he likes talking to me. I consider myself lucky!
I also had deep conversation with my boyfriend who I love exponentially! However, he's in school and balls deep in finals so our conversations are brief (I know the struggle). All this to say, I've been wanting to write. I feel I have things to say.
Tonight at Teen Writer's Group I actually participated instead of strictly presiding. Below are the products of that participation. I hope you enjoy them. <3
This idiot box is deceiving
It blinks at me in codes
It flashes at me in time
And I believe the lies
I dance to its rhymes
And sing with its melodies
And rarely do I deviate
And strive to be...
And walk away...
And see a different side of me
Than what this idiot box is blinking
Than what this idiot box is singing
Than what this idiot box is saying
I need to change what I'm believing
_________________________________________
He wasn't aware of his actions
He just stood there and stared blankly at her
Like she was a rag doll
And he was the unsuspecting male owner
"Father will find out soon"
"And father will take it from you"
He often heard her voice in his head
Like a plague
Chiming right and wrong
Volleying his sanity and spiking it down.
"He will take nothing from me now sister."
His eyes a shimmering glaze of tears.
They ran down his cheeks and convened at his feet.
Co-mingling with her blood and making them one again
As they use to be
As they ought but are not
Because outside the womb he is a psycho
And she is a corpse
