December 9, 2011

What I Learned


What did I learn this semester?

I think that personally, this semester has more to do with self-discovery as a writer than anything else.  When you write you discover new things about yourself.  I found out that I write some seriously depressing stuff even if it is good.  I really think that it is all because I'm good at being happy.  I am.  However, I am horrible at expressing anger, disappointment, or sadness.  It either overwhelms me or I keep it too bottled inside and both options are unhealthy.  Either way, I have learned about my skills at expressing myself through poetry.  I knew already I could write poems fairly easily.  I never knew I was any good at it.  I always felt that my writing was insignificant compared to what others wrote, it still is but a little less if that makes any sense.  I know now that I don't have to be afraid of showing others my work.  I can Be Proud Of My Words.

That is what I learned on a personal level.  There is also the philosophical route to take with this assignment.  The world will never be perfect.  We always have to keep telling ourselves that we have to be our own person.  We can't just go along with the crowd. We have to stand up for what we believe in, others around us, anything that is worth standing up for in our own minds.  We have to learn to try and fail but to never fail to try.  We can fail at so many things but at least we tried, right?  When you're dead, do you want people to talk about how many things you wanted to do but were too afraid to even try?  Or would you rather them laugh and reminisce in the failed attempts at living life? 

People die.  It is a horrible thing that should never happen, but it does.  We deal with it everyday.  We even remind ourselves of them all the time.  Maybe it's because we are gluttons for punishment.  Maybe it's because there will always be the pain of them being gone and yet it gets just a little bit better with each step towards clarity of our memories of them.  We will always love them but it will now be accompanied with a touch of pain, sorrow, and longing.
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Life is like a windshield, there may be a few raindrops to blur things, but we need to have our wipers on.  Rain are the things that distract us everyday from our goals, dreams, from life.  Wipers are the things, people, events that happen to us that ground us in our life.  Then we'll be able to see where the road is.

Basically, we have to remember we all need a little Poetic Clarity from time to time.

December 8, 2011

wRite a Riff #2

This is basically me ranting about life.  Life is life when people don't ever fully understand.  They will never be you and they will never see past the exterior and you don't want them to anyways because it's scary.  That is what inspired this piece of work.

I Want To Be A Singer

I want to be a singer
I love the sound of music in the background
I love the meaning each of us has
For the same words spelled the same way.
I hope that maybe
just maybe if
I sing with enough emotion,
just a little bit louder,
maybe, just maybe
someone will see my meaning.
Someone will see my thoughts.
Someone will see my feelings.
But this will never happen I fear.
Every word, every syllable
resonates deep within me
and you see the evidence
in the bumps along my arms.
How can anyone see?
How can anyone not see?
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There is deep pain and deep joy
but mostly deep fear and deep love
of that which surrounds me.
I pretend, ignore, and withstand
yet I am not an actress.
I still see the world through myself.
I am not someone else
yet you cannot see
because of the mask I hold over my face.
It is see-through
yet you cannot see trough it.
Because I want to be a singer
and yet you will never know it.

December 7, 2011

Things We Forget

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This is a blog I found online.  It posts random things that we all need to remember on sticky notes then posts them somewhere in the city they live in. 
Click Here For Amazingness!


Original Amazingness
Original Amazingness

Poem by Martin Williams

This is a poem by Martin Williams. 

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Canvas 
Some men's lives
Are printed in the skin
In crowsfeet and crevasses,
In the weary knowing slant
Of shielded eyes,
Chapters indelibly written
Scrawled in the dark
By life, by choices,
By all that's hidden beneath the flesh,
By what's been broken and healed over,
Unhealed and neglected,
Praised in the light
And dishonoered in the darkness

Until the tattered canvas 
Can no longer hold the paint.