Watch What Happens, Alana Williamson

  In every creative work, in any meaningful work there’s always a point of vulnerability, When the narrative retracts from the speaker and acknowledges the author When the protagonist reflects on their wrongdoings When the actor is telling their story onstage, or When my poets flip the mirror back from the world and unto themselves. And then I am vulnerable I’m exposed for the nasty wad of human flesh I am I’m no more precious than the dirt beneath our feet No wiser than an infant, and far more foolish than any creature that roams the ear th. Oh, how open am I How free am I? The world has shifted the wind is cold, harsh, it devours my skin But I’m more alive than I was swaddled in that jacket! The wind has meaning now that it can touch me My voice has meaning, as I must speak truthfully— Be vulnerable, and don’t mock! Being honest is being you

  It’s warm, and familiar It’s familiar to feel this but the warmth and the nerves are new You’re different, but I remember you from the years past I think inferiority, the indecision, and doubt is exactly the same except now there’s more reason for it, and less fight on my end I’ll just sit down and accept my failure, because I’m not surprised And I’ll realize my feelings and avoid you before anything could happen, before you or your friends could know I’ll gradually stop ta lking to you, or talking about you And hopefully the thoughts and fantasies will di e too Eventually, I’ll forget to ponder the wonder of your melody, echoing down the hall and resonating in my mind Or I’ll arrange a new piece, fixate on that composition instead  That’s just what I do, When I like someone, I try to forget

  It’s so condescending, overbearing, endless even to be here Their laughter is sandpaper, scratching my cranium, crawling through my ears and into my mind They’re done.  They’re all done because what takes me hours—weeks—takes them 20 minutes. And it’s my fault, my flaw in answering the perfect question. Oh you know the one, that paper that has to be right The assignment that’s a pain to start, a burden to touch because of the expectations attached to it,  Passions plastered across the perfunctory page, useless as it’s late It’s my error to answer the perfect question, to attempt to understand. Obviously school work shouldn’t mean anything, as a student I shouldn’t care and write random crap I don’t care about to meet deadlines and pass. But it's so hard when you care, when you care too much to ruin it, when you care too much to start. When every word holds power

they well and strain and burn  they don't fall suspended on the edge, in silence silence, silently suffering, never shedding ever-present, pulsing, pulverising thoughts draining, drizzle snifff whyyyy Why is sorrow wasted on you, meant to bring about change but you remain You remain useless and ignorant unchanging complaining gone gone gone gone they fall and fall and stop and I'm numb and the same, still the same I should leave

All of you are better Lovely Of course I'd Never change Even after your inspiration

  Boom, Boom, flash It's 20 miles away, the thunder It's loud and shakes the house, but I can ignore it I can ignore the electrified sky and rumbling walls, because it's not here yet BOOm, BOOm, hissss But it's coming, it's coming, it's coming I am stationary, but I was moving, I am not moving so the storm is was, I was the storm, but now I am the house steeling itself against inescapable winds and waves I tremble through the torrents, I don't change, I don't try, I can't move But I was the storm The raging chaos of our souls, shimmering in cyclones destroying itself, yet ever growing, roaring against the night BOOM, BOOM, BOOM it is coming, it's coming, it's coming Please don't come

The wind howls, the rain pours, and the trees rustle out of time. But I kind of prefer this weather. While it’s not the most enjoyable to walk through (more like slip and fall through), the rain is fun to watch. If you stare hard enough it falls slower, and maybe for a moment, you can pick a raindrop out of the cascade to claim for yourself.  But inevitably the rain falls, the storm passes, the seasons change and the year ends.  The rain is sanctum, it makes the world shimmer despite the storm clouds; makes the house seem calmer as chaos rages outside I’ll hold onto the rain, hold onto its memory for a single second, and watch it fall. Goodbye rain. The cold bite of the breeze cowers. The leaves' jive slows into a sway and eyes wander, cognizant of our loss. I have to go back. It’s time for the clouds to part, for the traffic to move—it’s time for me to stop staring out the window.   The storm has passed The sun raptures my retinas in a plethora of pulverizing waves. The...

My hand Clutching, Grasping for dear life Tensing and clenching, as perspiration percolates at its palm. Jerking back and forth to weave wonder onto the page, to destroy its own image, to draft a new narrative. Intertwined in a pair to comfort, to soothe, to cry out for compassion, bound together like a promise, An oath broken as they open and whip across my skin, an effort to convince me of my errors. Caressing the surface, Flailing in exclamation, Smushed and balled to cap off the pain, Stroking the air of impossibility  Reaching out for the unknown Wrapped around one another, again bound, promised Protected

The grass is green The night is cool, and the stars? The stars are infinite, expanding, dotting dreams about the world. And tonight I am free. I fall to my knees and hear the shuffling in the grass. But I’m not in the grass anymore, I’m beyond it. My hands are pressed into one other, protecting a promise. My eyes are squeezed shut, and my heart no longer beats for me. Instead, it soars for you And we’re speaking And you know me, and I’ve found myself whispering to you I’ve found freedom and faithfulness and friendship in our prayer,  In our promise

A melody unfinished stirring in me. With lyrics half written, mumbling softly A clutter of calling piano keys Notes I grasped for in your absence, your voice whispered to me in fragments of who I knew you to be. Constantly playing in the back of my brain, some graced with hopefulness, or resounding in pain, A song still unfinished, The permanent refrain of “I need you” It’s spontaneous praise to our god. It’s helpless poems & the birth of new songs. It’s the silence of a house awaiting his laughter. It’s the breeze through the trees and the lack screaming after, it’s the pacing and racing and making a choice to move and to work and to find a new voice. To finish a song, and to write till I’m bored of quaking and shaking in the numbness of not having you, and embracing the moment of knowing truth was present in your person, and blooms in these dedications to the man who grounds our family. Thank you for Pop-Pop The Unfinished Music :) Half Written Lyrics: You bared your heart You sp...

Saucers, beating bowls of brown, crayola colored crescents, expanding and retreating, veering right and slinking center, wandering into the wonders of my world—Thank you for my perception. Streams flowing, faltering round t he peaks and valleys of my cheeks, releasing words unspoken in water. Salty and sparkling, retrieving the rain, the pain, the remnants of ruin and all that remains—My tears, thank you for falling. Unbound and bouncing, caressing my face, soft and wild, begrudgingly embraced. This head of hair is my crown, take its rightful place protecting my dreams from floating to space. This natural, never ending supply of black beauty—Thank you for being mine. This body, crafted by god, cradled by angels and passed to my mom, can carry my soul and my songs and for that I am grateful…Thank you to the gracious god who made me beautiful, even though I feel I’m not. Thank you for this body, a tent for terrific plans yet to come! A body, my body, a house for hope.

Comfort is a lie, Crafted by you and I A fancy name for complacency. Negligence is neverending A cycle of never sending Messages of change Our lives rearranged around chasing bliss Laziness is lacking desire Extinguishing your fire Denying yourself a chance to inspire others with your own pursuits.

If life were a race i'd be running, running down a winding road. The finish line exists it's inevitable,  yet sometimes it's nowhere in sight. Then I glance towards the horizon and unknowingly my eyes catch the light. Run towards the sun only to stumble. A breath hitches as the scent fills the air, Blood swirling, and flowing, its smell rising Far faster than my legs could ever bare. But I spring up with a start and I smile! I bleed out as my legs start swish. The world blurry and dewy and hurtful. But all of this journey is something I wished. The rocks they pierce into my sneakers. They're worn and unfit for the mud. It squelches and squishes and I want to squirm, but I don't flinch because good posture is a must. I hum to keep myself company, as the shock from the fall starts to fade. The roots and the vines all cling to me, and I wonder if I'll ever feel the same. There are travelers, but they're far ahead now. All rushing straight towards the bright sun...

We all dance, we dance and dance and dance Pretending to grow older, maturer, better with new pacifiers attached to our hands Soothe yourself with hum of a television Stroke your thumb 'cross a luminous screen Hide behind a skill or a title We all dance, we dance and dance and dance Remove the distractions and examine what's left Just me Just a failure Inferiority complex? Or simple inferiority? We all dance, we dance and dance and dance Jump to sign up for greatness Smile at your promise Lie about your capabilities Deny your foley We all dance, we dance and dance and dance Falling, fallen, sinking stumbling, tumbling deeper into ruin What's left? Reflect on your mistakes Everything I touch is ridden with wrong We all dance, we dance and dance and dance We dance 'round the pain that exists in plain sight We hide the hurt in humor and commonplace We laugh at the life we've left behind We normalize the humiliation We all dance. we dance and dance and dance A funny, fu...

There's a place beyond knowledge or reason A place within our grasp Unknown to the liars, the sinners, denyers But there for those who dream and laugh As real as the rain's odd comfort As soft as an encouraging hug As safe as an unbroken circle A place for those who love Walk with me to the end of our burdens run with me to the dawn of the day Sing with me the song of salvation Tell me your fears and we'll wash them away Tell me your wrongs and we'll right them anyway Oo, Oo, Oo x2  Ahhhhh Oo, Oo,Oo x2 Lah, DAh, Dah Oo, oo,oooo You are more than the world takes you for You will always be less than perfect I can't fathom the lives we've been given But let's give more Oo, Oo, Oo x2  Ahhhhh Oo, Oo,Oo x2 Lah, DAh, Dah Oo, oo,oooo Gone away are the wither some worries (I'll hold your hand.....) Gone away the distractions to be buried (A promise, promise to be kept) Oo, Oo, Oo x2  Ahhhhh Oo, Oo,Oo x2 Lah, DAh, Dah I hope you to see you I hope to keep you I hop...

I followed the impulse up the stairs to stand in my bedroom, to fade into its familiarity. The same bed, the same tousled covers flung haphazardly the past morning. If we each owned a lifelong landscape, in this moment my bedroom would be mine. The same mess...the same solace. Sometimes being in my room feels like an escape. It feels like I could detach from the world and drift into the clouds on my worn rug island. I proceed to bury my face in the blankets, pick up a pillow and press it to my skin, plummet into a sweatshirt. My sanctuary. In here, even if it's temporary, I'm safe from everything else. Free from everyone else. I'm distracted from the inevitable. You're supposed to be looking for something... Ah! Thank you brain for the reminder. I'm here because I'm looking for something! Something I need... I feel my eyes snap into their searching regimen. Scan the room, glance left then right, identify the difference. Find what's out of place.....remove it...

  I am the nebula. I am but the gas of a dying star. A fading remnant of greatness, I am the mass, the mess, the dust left in my star's death. Watch as my star explodes and dies. Marvel at its life and admire the trash it's left behind. Yes the nebula glistens, yes the nebula expands in technicolor. But I am the nebula and my star is dying, maybe it's already dead. Wrapped in abandoned dreams. Grasping for forgotten memories. Acknowledged as a sight, yet existing as haphazard haze. Swallowing the star in its wake. The star strains to break free, but I've consumed it. The star must explode. It twinkled so brightly. It lit the darkest of nights, it admired the expanse of the sky. The star loved, the star worked, the star strived for more. But now the star is gone. And I am here. The nebula. Stretching, disgracing the star's plane. Reaching out to hold it's hand, the hand of a dying star. A hand I can no longer hold. A hand I have no right to hold. I am the nebula....

 "Continuity of Parks" Reaction Julio Cortazar's "Continuity of the Parks," blurred the line between fantasy and reality, the experience resembled that of reading a book. The short story reminded me of immersing myself in a good novel, the more you read the further you slip into a different world, no longer aware of your own. The same thing happened to the protagonist as he read. This sentiment is evident in the writing, forcing the reader to bare witness to the implosion of both worlds, the further along the short story goes the more the book coincides with the protagonist's reality. Falling deeper into the story seemed to summon its inception of the book and reality, leaving the reader unable to discern the two. The concept of continuity is interesting and beautifully wielded throughout the short story, seamlessly connecting fiction with reality, an interception of novels and prophecy. "Continuity of Creative Writing Class," Mr. Herring bounded o...

  Slipping Away I feel the energy draining, leaving Face the insomniac dreading the night Swaying shadows are often deceiving Scared of the darkness yet fearing the light Praying for safety that I don't deserve The voices are swirling, reeling my mind Do I have sanity left to preserve? Feel my eyes flutter, what beast will I find? Slipping, ticking away are the hours Guilty this conscience, deny don't confide All my ambitions, wrongdoing devours Recalling happiness, swept it aside Footsteps approaching I know that it's time Forgive my negligence breathing I've mimed

"It is completely normal to be afraid of your computer mouse," My hands are slick with the liquid anxiety percolating on my palms.  My eyes dart across the room as though the piece of lint on my stairwell will save me from the inevitable. They settle for the clock instead, Drat, fifteen minutes till. Something inside of me plummets, and the swoosh of its impact sends my sanity swirling into oblivion. "What are words?" "Why must I speak them?" "Isn't my knowledge of words enough for you?" Ten minutes... Gahh It was a bomb, an explosion that found its way to the depths of my abdomen Bursts of heat sprout under my skin and consume my being. My stomach is empty and raging, fluttering, flitting about with fate. There's a tremor in the swords extending from me, growing ever stronger, threatening to never cease. Carelessly slicing through the air hovering over the keyboard, suspended by an invisible barrier between myself and failure. It doesn...

She grew colder At the thought of lonesome hours Knowing the silence was self-induced She grew colder Noticing the barren tree The colors she admires, only dead did she see She grew colder as the wind howled and leaves stirred into oblivion

  Finding the Secret Symphony, Written by Alana W. Watch as the rhythms rise off of the page Words twinkling like starlight, the melody Weaving the wisdom, the song of our age A paper, a piece of our remedy Pencil is poised our sword or salvation Thoughts brimming off of the top of my brain Tempo, allegro, pace of creation Releasing laughter, adventure , and pain Cry for compassion, myriad mistakes Crescendoing chords resounding in me Bawling my narrative, tears could flood lakes A sweet serenade to who I can be The absence of sound, the pencil is still A swift glance around, a sacred thrill Written Response Harry Baker's poems Paper People and The Sunshine Kid inspired me to write this sonnet. Baker's poetry was unique in that it displays the capability of writing. The endless possibilities and the means to move people, the ability to change. Baker's poems reflected the state of our world, and acknowledge experiences I've known too well in "The Sunshine Kid."...

A Closing Curtain, Written by Alana W. and Lisey P. When I enter the room and stand onstage Thousands of people exist in my gaze Something I have wished for since a young age Having a chance, now its my trail to blaze I feel the lights blaring, they shine on me Adrenaline bursts awaiting the cue In moments they will know who I can be Twinkling performance in various hue With raucous applause, the curtains go down The nerves I once felt, insignificant I return their gaze I see not a frown Their joy served a worthy participant Theatre brings me joy, as it has done A closing performance second to none

 Children's eyes are endless A child's eyes twinkle with wonder, they gaze upon the world with awe and dance about your face. Children share their beliefs without fear of persecution. The only "dumb" question is the question that remains unasked. Who told us different? Better yet, why do we feel different? Why do we fear criticism with age? Who deemed sharing our imagination ignorant? Your mind is as limited as you make it. Don't limit your creative, joyful thoughts. Spread love, spread joy. Give what you've got. Only you can share that joy. One girl told me, "The blue sky is a reflection of the ocean, the expanse as wide as the ocean is deep. Are we the clouds of the ocean? Ever-shifting, coming and going, yet dotting the deep blue." Tell me your story, write down your beautiful mind. I'll read with you, I'll walk with you, and we'll change the world together. Just like children.

Initial thoughts: People read poetry to feel, to think, and learn. Author's write to expand and release, to dispel what they can give, to display or push out what is inside of them. Have you ever felt numb? Have you blocked or pushed down your feelings, your sympathy, hope, love, joy, or pain. Have you witnessed countless tragedies and ignored them, have you walked away "unscaved". No one can really walk away unscaved, everything that happens shapes who you are, you can choose how to grow from your experiences. Or you can chose to shutdown, block out opportunity, revel in the darkness and let malicious thought consume your being. Or can simply remain numb, distracted, unaffected, "unscaved". I wish people knew mourning with people, mourning something that hurt someone you love is necessary. I wish people knew to never belittle someone else's experience or pain, but to not let someone's pain consume them either. Don't revel in the dark, but help each ...

 ( Design Your Dream Home In 9 Easy Steps And We'll Reveal Your Perfect Job, Result: Author) An Author's home Snow drifts unto the blank page, the blank slate, the roof of my house The northern lights twinkle above me, illuminating the ever-changing landscape. Flip open the door to find a bustling city, the latest addition of my house The commuters each hold an adventure in their hearts, a narrative yet to be read. The actors rush to their auditions, the business men sigh and furrow their brows, baristas drink coffee having finished their shifts, and I add yet another room to my house. Worlds upon worlds that I can discover, I write each detail as to establish a new room. I collapse into the comfort of the couch, dawn my glasses, and retrieve my draft. Welcome to my story Welcome to my book Welcome to an author's home.

He lost no time in persuading the world His character, a flourishing state, illustrate his unknown wretchedness False magnificence, public oblivion, decline of life

1) I love rain outside my window 2) I dislike my own negligence 3) I have hours upon hours to do something beneficial 4) I want to be better 5) My friends say I am awkward 6) My family says I am different from the past 7) One day I will live in New York City 8) I feel safe when I am prepared 8A) I feel safe when I'm reading 9) I feel scared when I run out of time 9A) I feel scared when you see me 10) I will never be perfect A nice read Inhale the inky goodness swirling and spiraling off of the page Stroke the time-worn edge, watch it gingerly wave back, reluctantly join it's soon to be read brethren. Or maybe click on the cover, press your eyes to the screen until the words fill your brain with a world of your own design (The author's design I suppose) Flip the page eagerly retract from reality flood your senses with moments soaring into being "I relate!", "*chuckles*", "NOOOOOooo", "What happens next?" "March 21st, ughh, until t...

 2 Acrostics Does Reality Evade your grasp? Ascend into the Mind Safe in thoughts alone Drive Responsibility Effort Actions Memories & Moments Soar into reality 2 Haikus A symphony sound Chorus of pitter patter Falling swiftly down Twinkling so brightly Speckle the vast expanse now This night is too dark 2 Limericks There once was an actor from improv A ruler, with accent Romanov He'd dance, then he'd shout Spit sprayed from his mouth Now he only pantomimes monologues There once was a secret garden stump The tree it was cut from fell with a thump The crash made a sound The garden was found The tree hit my head, left a red bump Ode to Love A warm embrace from my mother A silent moment walking in the snow My sister's infinite laughter My brother's immature, but necessary jokes A gaze across the classroom A gaze that spans time and space because I'm searching for your eyes A voice that coxes me off of the bathroom floor A car seat jam session Looking at the rain fr...

1) "Look for the Silver Lining" music by Jerome Kern and lyrics by   B.G. DeSylva (as performed by Leslie Odom Jr.)- Leslie Odom Jr.'s Look for the Silver Lining encourages listeners to find the silver lining despite their situation. While reexamining the lyrics a few lines stood out to me: " Remember somewhere the sun is shining  And so the right thing to do I s make it shine for you" Those lyrics reminded me that optimism, joy, or simply positive actions are a choice, moreover an active behavior as opposed to an involuntary reaction. No one can literally force the sun to shine down on them, but anyone can make their day brighter by finding joy in  all situations. Furthermore, the song elaborates that seeking the good in life can fill people with joy. DeSylva writes, " A heart, full of joy and gladness  Will always banish sadness and strife  So always look for the silver lining  And try to find the sunny side of life." I think this...

Blue and white, Dynamic lines Zigging, Zagging, criss crossing about the floor Slightly dinghy, but still appealing Often overlooked, yet unforgotten Step on the rug for comfort. Maybe stare at it for a sense of nostalgia Or just step over it, for it is a rug. Circles upon circles revolving around each other Meeting in the center, intertwining through each ring What is the purpose of this rug? Who carefully crafted each rung of the circle? What purpose does each pattern hold? Does the rug need purpose? Why can't the rug just be. It's simply a rug A pleasurable rug, a fine rug It's existence need not be defined by purpose It's not expected to be anything, it's just a rug

 Alana was sparkly, as always. She shimmered in her hannah montana costume and bounced on her toes, ready to sing. Today was her first talent show, the sparkly kindergartener who somehow got admitted into the show, had prepared for this moment. This child was obsessed with singing, she was determined to be a singer. General Music class? Um, excuse you, you meant Alana's personal practice room with the world's greatest teacher to guide her. Alana looked forward to having music in her day, everyday and now she got to perform a solo for her school! What could go wrong? Alana trudged onto stage in her purple sparkly dress, microphone in hand staring at her shoes. That's out of character for her. Why, this child lit up her bedroom! She sang High School Musical and Camp Rock as though they were the national anthem. Kidz Bop in the car, in the kitchen, and everywhere in between. If a movie had music, it was a sing along! So why... did she look so scared--so still. Alana looked to ...

 Joan Didion asserts that keeping a notebook is an action to reconnect with ourselves, although it may not serve very useful in accurately recording time. Instead keeping a notebook records who we once were, reminds us vaguely of the meaning experiences once had to us. Didion shifts describing how the memories all come back, and not necessarily in a comforting way. Didion depicts the aging of herself and the people around her, which was unnerving as a reader. Didion's piece encourages readers to not lose touch with their past selves. As time passes Didion becomes less and less recognizable to herself from years before, which is understandable as people change overtime. But Didion's change in thought process was something I recognized in myself, to elaborate it's easy to become more concerned about current events or notice aging and negativity in day to day life. Moreover, something that resonated with me was the fact that old versions of yourself can resurface when you leas...

 The universe is a vast, shining, ever-changing expanse. It's beautiful. If only people took the time to look out the window and stare at the night sky. To float out to the clouds, out of the atmosphere and into the stars. For a brief moment we can see them, we can see all the stars in the night sky, compacted into a single moment on our pale blue spec. But only for an instant, we can only live in our night sky, you and I, feel so happy I could die moment. Because we're too distracted, too caught up in everything else. The worries and issues we've created to consume our lives. To separate us from the dazzling expanse of life that is ours to be had. Possession? Why is joy associated with what you have? If it must be, then I would like to have the night sky, I would like to have joy from looking into the expanse alone. Take joy in living a life of joy, a life in which I love others and marvel at how many stars can exist in a moment. Marvel at the life I can live owning nothin...

 Hello! I'm not sure how to start, but I'm going to write things anyway. Quick disclaimer this post isn't very well thought out or essay-like. As of now I'm sort of typing the thoughts as they come. I really like rain and I'm not fond of cold weather. But I like it when it rains on a cold day, and I fairly enjoy the quiet that follows the cold. It's so nice to walk out into familiarity blanketed in snow, to be comforted by the quiet. It hasn't snowed recently, it's been a long time since i've heard peaceful quiet. You may question that statement as we've been home for months, there's bound to have been quiet. But the silence is all consuming, its strangling the sound of my voice, restricting my words to my mind--to myself. I sit in silence contemplating my shortcomings, looping the failures of the past days, hah who needs spotify when I have voice in my head 24/7? Ack, that's rough. Just thoughts, just words.

 Hello! I found a printed letter with unfamiliar, yet recognizable handwriting on it. I read the written message at the bottom of the document, but it didn't make sense. HICU? Barclays? Mom? This message was not written in my mom's handwriting, who is this note from? I looked to the top of the document, I looked to the printed text to discover this letter was from my grandmother. The letter was concerning hospital payments for my grandfather's treatment. He died of cancer among other things a few months ago. I knew I had other notes from classes or rambling, but I had to keep looking. I kept telling myself to find something new, find writing that's not mine. I found it. Writing that's not mine, words I wasn't meant to see.