Dirty Poems and Impending Death
I haven't written for a while. It's finally December: the end of another year. It's amazing how when you're little, a year seems like an eternity. You have no concept of time. All you know is the day is too short to get in all of your playtime and you never want to go to bed. Then, one day, you are inescapably aware of time. A year is year. A day is a day and you still don't have enough time to get everything. Yet there is one blatant difference: sleep is all you want. Ah, to be five again.
Brendan came home...and left again. It was quite nice. A vacation from reality, yet still very real. Although I love visiting him in Boston, having that freedom, and waking up to him every morning I'm there, I think I like it best (at least for now) when he comes home. I have said before that it feels like I'm living two separate lives. When he is here, I don't feel that way. Both of my lives are one again and it's so much more settling within me. Hopefully I'll soon be able to make my home in Boston. Then, I can feel like that all the time.
One of the highlights of that weekend was lemon meringue pie. We made our own. Everything from scratch (except for the pie crust -- so sue us). It looked iffy, but it tasted soooo good. We do need to work on the meringue though and, even though I like it, the general concensus seemed to be that it was too sweet. We'll try again and fix it.
I got into NHS. That was exciting. And Forman had a little talk with me. He never came out and said that it wasn't him, but he was on the verge of tears and, at points, so was I. He says he believes in me and I can't help but forgive him, if he, in fact, did anything wrong. So it's over and done with. And, for the final chapter in the NHS drama, I have chosen him as the one who writes a blurb about me and escorts me to the stage.
I wrote a poem for Creative Writing. We had to go to certain pages in the dictionary, pick at least one word from each, and use them in a poem no less that fourteen lines long. Mine's kind of...well you'll see. I have my doubts about handing it in, but I don't have any other words so it's this or nothing:
MY HANDS AND OUR BEAUTY
Tonight I will leave
My hands on your body.
Prints that prove the truth
In my arable cries:
To multiply and overlie
With this overdrive of lecherous desire.
The rock and rye is done
And you have not yet come
To realize that this is not cruelty.
This is my humble plea
To crumble beneath
The venereal beauty
That is you and me.
Tonight I will leave
My hands on your body.
Ten little red lines
Scraped down your back. Reminders
That you will always be mine.
And time will stop in this moment
That we have claimed as our own.
You know that I am your port of call;
I am your all. You need me to breathe;
You need me to be. So just give in.
There's no point to deny
What you need to get by.
Believe in the beauty
That is you and me.
Tonight I will leave
My hands on your body.
Tracing a tribute too few
Will have seen.
My tiny red fingers
Transpose time to linger
To sing you a song
When the nights are too long
And the rain falls too cold
For too old are the mem'ries...
But my fingers still linger
To bring you the beauty
That was you and me.
So my father when to Brooklyn today to see my grandparents. I couldn't go because I had work in the morning. Apparently, they both have big problems with their hearts. I'm really worried that they don't have much time left. Some of my fondest memories from childhood are waiting every night until after dinner when we called grandma and I got to talk to her. I still remember the phone number as I did then: I didn't know the difference between the area code and the number, I just thought she had one huge phone number. That's how I remember it. I remember my little fingers pressing those numbers every night. Then talking to grandma about school and my grandpa telling me riddles. I've never had anyone close to me that I really care about pass away. My other grandfather -- I never really liked or felt close with him. But my father's parents... It makes me sad just thinking about not having them. When they would come and visit when I was little, I would never want them to go home. It was so hard for me to say goodbye to them because I knew they were old, I, myself, was afraid of death, and I thought I might never see them again. Now, it's more true than it's ever been. What am I going to do?
Brendan came home...and left again. It was quite nice. A vacation from reality, yet still very real. Although I love visiting him in Boston, having that freedom, and waking up to him every morning I'm there, I think I like it best (at least for now) when he comes home. I have said before that it feels like I'm living two separate lives. When he is here, I don't feel that way. Both of my lives are one again and it's so much more settling within me. Hopefully I'll soon be able to make my home in Boston. Then, I can feel like that all the time.
One of the highlights of that weekend was lemon meringue pie. We made our own. Everything from scratch (except for the pie crust -- so sue us). It looked iffy, but it tasted soooo good. We do need to work on the meringue though and, even though I like it, the general concensus seemed to be that it was too sweet. We'll try again and fix it.
I got into NHS. That was exciting. And Forman had a little talk with me. He never came out and said that it wasn't him, but he was on the verge of tears and, at points, so was I. He says he believes in me and I can't help but forgive him, if he, in fact, did anything wrong. So it's over and done with. And, for the final chapter in the NHS drama, I have chosen him as the one who writes a blurb about me and escorts me to the stage.
I wrote a poem for Creative Writing. We had to go to certain pages in the dictionary, pick at least one word from each, and use them in a poem no less that fourteen lines long. Mine's kind of...well you'll see. I have my doubts about handing it in, but I don't have any other words so it's this or nothing:
MY HANDS AND OUR BEAUTY
Tonight I will leave
My hands on your body.
Prints that prove the truth
In my arable cries:
To multiply and overlie
With this overdrive of lecherous desire.
The rock and rye is done
And you have not yet come
To realize that this is not cruelty.
This is my humble plea
To crumble beneath
The venereal beauty
That is you and me.
Tonight I will leave
My hands on your body.
Ten little red lines
Scraped down your back. Reminders
That you will always be mine.
And time will stop in this moment
That we have claimed as our own.
You know that I am your port of call;
I am your all. You need me to breathe;
You need me to be. So just give in.
There's no point to deny
What you need to get by.
Believe in the beauty
That is you and me.
Tonight I will leave
My hands on your body.
Tracing a tribute too few
Will have seen.
My tiny red fingers
Transpose time to linger
To sing you a song
When the nights are too long
And the rain falls too cold
For too old are the mem'ries...
But my fingers still linger
To bring you the beauty
That was you and me.
So my father when to Brooklyn today to see my grandparents. I couldn't go because I had work in the morning. Apparently, they both have big problems with their hearts. I'm really worried that they don't have much time left. Some of my fondest memories from childhood are waiting every night until after dinner when we called grandma and I got to talk to her. I still remember the phone number as I did then: I didn't know the difference between the area code and the number, I just thought she had one huge phone number. That's how I remember it. I remember my little fingers pressing those numbers every night. Then talking to grandma about school and my grandpa telling me riddles. I've never had anyone close to me that I really care about pass away. My other grandfather -- I never really liked or felt close with him. But my father's parents... It makes me sad just thinking about not having them. When they would come and visit when I was little, I would never want them to go home. It was so hard for me to say goodbye to them because I knew they were old, I, myself, was afraid of death, and I thought I might never see them again. Now, it's more true than it's ever been. What am I going to do?