Skip to main content

Fill in the blank exercise

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 the next read"

Protag upon protag battling for their dream

The neverending cringe of second hand embarrassment

The tears of truth spurted by the reality of this fictional story

Why must it end.

sigh

I wish I was that ambitious.



Glance

I feel scared when you see me

I feel scared you'll see something that you shouldn't

Maybe you'll draw your own conclusion, construct a false narrative of the thoughts lingering behind my eyes, never to be spoken.

Maybe by some miracle you'll see straight through me

You are capable of seeing what I am blind too

Capable of knowing the things I wish to fade into ignorance

Things that should be shrouded in obscurity.

Or maybe you'll look to me and see nothing.

You will come to know of my foley, my selfish, blinding hurricane of worlds invented for my own distraction

I'm scared you will see and learn of my inadequacy

That you will know of my shortcomings

See me as the dirt beneath your feet.

Not that I can retort, neither deny, nor argue this candid belief

It's better if you don't see.

So meeting your eyes...scares me

Or rather, I'd prefer to count the tiles on the floor, explore the myriad of splotches on my shoes, or look to the ceiling tiles, than fall beneath your gaze.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dream Story

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...

(Sonnet) "Finding the Secret Symphony," & Response to Harry Baker's Ted Talk

  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."...

First Day of My New Blog!

 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.