Familiarity

Lord knows I haven't been on here in quite some time but I felt reminiscent; like a mother fawning through winter's window at the plot where her garden once lay.
This blog, after reading it, gives me a comfortable warm feeling that spread from the depths of my rib cage and out. I can't deny that I didn't swell with a bit of pride at the past me's way of words.
It's undeniable that I've probably and almost certainly lost my touch. College will do that to you.
If there's anything that college has taught me it is that you are never right, in the English department's world that is.
Creativity within the English major is all but diminished. The memory of it nothing but masonry, now encased between the bricks of scholastic academia. It's an inevitable wall I've found myself beating my head against.
Apart from being screwed by my advisers and the entire college curriculum as a whole, I am more than disappointed with myself when I said that I am changing majors.
I never wanted to be that type of person who flopped between what they wanted. I'm a very set person in choices and once I choose a direction I am more than reluctant to leave it.
Take note of the way I walk to class. It's routine to follow the path of the sidewalk but for me, I make a bee line. If the paths even so much as flits to the right or left, I continue to steamroll my way straight on. I've been known to trample shrubs, take down bushes, and limbo my way under "caution tapes."
It never fail that when I catch myself doing this, I get a case of instant paranoia. I always think that there is a psychology major observing me making note of my behavior and analyzing my demeanor. You can tell a lot by the way the body speaks and I'm sure mine usually screams "get the hell out of my way."

Untitled # 56

Like the black crow,
you wait
upon your wooden post
strung with wire
As the rail road,
ties around your wrists
and the dawn, She
cloaks herself in sighs
as you sit
upon your pride,
Waiting
for the tracks
that never glance

/creative writing class archives/

"Loose Strife" by Felicia Mitchell

It never comes in small packages,
only in bulk, like tea or heartbreak--

and it is as tenacious as crows
circling the pinnacle of your life

while you stand there above it all
looking down at wildflowers

that would never be as pretty in a vase
as on top of that earthen grave.

------------------>

This poem is close to me in all of my ways.

------------------>
Now, a few of my own.


Untitled #41

I looked up to the geese
that called across my winters south
and envied for the one who carried the wind
Yet I found myself hoping for the few
left behind in their own ghost formation
that continued to drown out the rest
with their desperate cries
of wait


Untitled #51

A swirl of color
runs down the back of my neck
spine first and then some--
whimsical
It laces the contours of my shoulders
and shawls the pattern of my thoughts
with mayday, mayday

--------------->

And for Today

I'm too sleepy to write.

Friends don't let friends be mothers...

"You do not need both fridge doors open."
Actually, yes I do. It's completely impossible for me to decide what to eat if the unknown tundra of the other side is not seen.
This is just one of the few things Sarah nags me about. Sarah, my friend/mother or "frother" is a constant reminder of why I'm thankful to be nineteen. Although I've escaped the scrutiny of my real mother, my frother is not so merciful.
"Turn down your music"
She says this but feels the need to do it for me, usually reaching over and twisting the volume dial to an unbearable 11 on a scale of 34. However, in her car her speakers practically implode. I never watch for her when she comes over to my house. All I have to do is listen for the low rumbling "bump" of 93.9 as she pulls into my drive.
Did I mention she falls asleep around 2 a.m.? Who in there right mind gets sleep before 9a.m. in the morning!?
Honestly, she might as well have in floral nightgown and lacy socks.
(No offense Mammaw hahah)
Apart from being a parental downfall to my childish antics, she claims that I wouldn't know what to do if she didn't regulate my actions.
Grant it, she keeps me out of trouble sometimes.. But I know how to use a microwave perfectly well thank you very much, I'd just prefer you to do it for me out of pure laziness... not stupidity.
After a decided argument in the kitchen I told her I would write a blog about her frothering me. She pointedly told me to go right ahead and so I did, in a joking manner.
Now she's laying beside me, quite furious about this post.. I think I might be grounded. :P

I could lie to you all my days

Perhaps, I could say that my favorite thing to do in the Summer is drive at night. I am comforted by the constricted feeling I get when nothing but blind emptiness surrounds me and the rushing wind and the sound of trees. Each limb has it's own tone of passing--a rhythm that knots my hair around the seat and is burdened with the scent of dogwood and honeysuckle. I love the heavy sway of curves on Broles Lane and often find myself taking the long way home just to feel them. In those moments, life and gravity are just a concept.