a new for the new year's.
A semicolon introductory story.
New girl; big school; fatherly hug; kiss goodbye; school gates; strange glances; judgmental stares; principal's office; warm welcome; front of class; new student introduction; prim teacher; unfriendly girls; hormone-pumped boys; boring books; lunch bell; unappealing food; filled tables; go outside; munch alone; lonely yard; bare trees; emerging figure; solitary boy; exchange glances; curious smile; warm handshake; introduces self.
That's how Charlie and I met.
Locker conversations; lunch buddy; study dates; MSN chat; text alert; gather courage; asked out; nervous wreck; primps self; new dress; sweaty palms; 7 'o clock; dashing boy; gelled hair; fancy dinner; small talk; nervous smile; clinking silverware; charming manners; streetlight stroll; goodnight peck; sleepless night.
That was our first date.
boekbinder sisters.
Born on a bitter winter night
their mother screamed at the sight.
the doctor yelled "It isn't right!"
He left them alone in fright
for hours.
The sisters lay there,
one was rosy and one was fair
the only thing that they shared
is that they were connected
by the ends of their long red hair.
As they grew older their mother grew to love them
she couldn't bear to cut their hair
as it grew longer they grew apart
what only they knew is that they shared one heart
their blood flowed through their long red hair
they never thought to cut it, they wouldn't dare.
The sisters lived there
each loved the things
the other couldn't bear
the only thing that they shared
is that they were connected
by the ends of their long red hair.
One day the fair skinned sister met a man
while the rosy sister was at a news stand
they fell in love at first start
soon they were married and on their wedding night
The sisters lay there
one loved the man but the other didn't care
the only thing that they shared
is that they were connected by the ends of their long red hair
The man began to kiss his wife
he intended to perform the marriage right
but the rosy sister was still in sight
from far across the room their hair pulled tight
The man could not perform so he left her room
but he returned, very soon
he pulled out the scissors he pinched from the kitchen
and cut their hair down the middle
The sisters lay there
blood, poured from the ends of their hair
Now they both looked fair
In fact 'was the only thing that they shared
Except that they both had white hair
From one to another.
I like reading blogs because I know there are other people out there who find it easier to express themselves with a different medium, that is, through words. I admire and enjoy reading your works when you talk about just almost anything, and you have the talent to make the dull and mundane subjects sound highly intriguing and delightful. How you may string and construct your thoughts using bombastic and grandiloquent words or maybe simple, plain Jane ones shows your personality, the inner one that differs significantly from the one you carry when you are around your peers. I like how you talk about the world and your observations, about people you love; things you despise. Of course, I do admire the skill and perfection you put into your writings, so that they may express your thoughts and musings as accurately as possible. It is a highly sought after and admired skill, my dear writer. Don't you ever give up on that.
slowly shrinking to nothing
I hate the fact that I'm hungry and can't eat
that delicious waffle and ice cream
or the disgusting pile of hamburgers
because I want to be beautiful and skinny
and all the other things that society wants me to be
just so they will love me and not pick on me
and call me fat or ugly and point out my flaws.
My oh-so-obvious flaws and imperfections
that just cry out for attention.
For cruel, cruel attention.
You may laugh at the big girl who sits by the corner
eating her bacon and cheese sandwich
while you nibble on your 90 calorie bar.
But at least she's not the one starving herself
just so she can fit into a size 0 dress.
Honestly, I just hate the fact that I care sometimes.
a recording and a musing.
Will this 'eye candy' make up for it?Last I talked to you, it was Nov 20.
Oh how the time flies, does it not?
Or maybe it's due to the fact I feel less than inspired to write,
both here and in my novel.
My almost finished, so close but yet so far written sentiment.
To put it simply, I find it better to put my thoughts to words
after reading a thoughtful musing, or maybe coming across
a photo that speaks so much by using only so little.
There's an art to it, a skill, perhaps
by communicating using different means other than words.
However, not all have mastered this useful skill
and some of us are left to express ourselves in a way which we only know best.
I digress.
To be honest, I don't really have much to say.
Not a topic to talk about, nor a lovely (in my opinion) story to share to you.
I just had an itch in my fingers that had to be relieved.
An itch to run them across the keyboard like I would on the piano.
Ah, the piano, how I wish I had the patience to master the works of the fine composers,
of whom, please rest in peace.
A recording of the time so far:
I've read a delightful novel based on the works of Austen,
this one by a lass named Alexandra Potter.
I'm in the midst of completing yet another Nancy Drew game
and trying to find more productive ways to spend my time.
I have been bombarded with constant questions about my pending future after high school.
And yes, I do tell you something about graphic design
and drop a few hints of uncertainty.
But to be honest, I'm pretty much uncertain.
I really don't know what life brings forth to me- excuse the cliche- but really, I don't.
And while I leave my mind to wander, I welcome any helpful suggestions.
Because, no, sometimes I don't think it's fun to not know.
Christmas is how many? weeks away and I've still not done the necessities yet.
I want Christmas treats and all the lovely, warm feeling that this
bitter and frosty weather brings.
But we don't always get what we want, now do we?
I bid you adieu, and a sincere apology if I had wasted your time.
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