(no subject)
My Apologies
It needs to be said that I've neglected this journal. I simply don't have time. I still try to read my friends page, and I love you all.
It needs to be said that I'm takeing a creative writing class the semester, and therefore will be forced to produce poetry. This journal will become the depository of said poetry. (Beckie don't gag!) I do not expect you to read it, or comment, but I, like all who bother to write have the ego enough to think that at least some of it might be, you know, not totally aweful, and therefore, if you feel so inclined, read and comment.
It needs to be said that this is not an attempt for attention.
It needs to be said that I am likely much less upset about things than this poetry may allude to.
And it starts...
The black bags waited by the shiny red door
It had been painted two weeks before
Candy Apple Red - it was called -
Said to be good luck;
By the Chinese - in China
Who didn't live in this house
I sat on the floor, Indian style
And ran, my fingers, over a familiar crack
in the sunny yellow tiles, which,
ironically, were cold, and uninviting
And I picked up my black bags and
Walked away from the sunny tiles
Through the candy apple door
Into the gray of the early morning
Beacuse I didn't live in this house -- anymore.
It needs to be said that I've neglected this journal. I simply don't have time. I still try to read my friends page, and I love you all.
It needs to be said that I'm takeing a creative writing class the semester, and therefore will be forced to produce poetry. This journal will become the depository of said poetry. (Beckie don't gag!) I do not expect you to read it, or comment, but I, like all who bother to write have the ego enough to think that at least some of it might be, you know, not totally aweful, and therefore, if you feel so inclined, read and comment.
It needs to be said that this is not an attempt for attention.
It needs to be said that I am likely much less upset about things than this poetry may allude to.
And it starts...
The black bags waited by the shiny red door
It had been painted two weeks before
Candy Apple Red - it was called -
Said to be good luck;
By the Chinese - in China
Who didn't live in this house
I sat on the floor, Indian style
And ran, my fingers, over a familiar crack
in the sunny yellow tiles, which,
ironically, were cold, and uninviting
And I picked up my black bags and
Walked away from the sunny tiles
Through the candy apple door
Into the gray of the early morning
Beacuse I didn't live in this house -- anymore.