I've Never Really Liked The Number 13...

Maybe I'm just grumpy. Maybe it's that I haven't been alone in a while. Maybe all these migraines are just frying my hormones to a grouchy crisp. But I just can't see much of a bright side. I have low expectations for this year. I'll sleep it off and there'll be joy in the morning. I missed being with my friends for the night. That creeping sensation of being forgotten is familiar in my heart. I'm still a little sad. I hate these little times of melodrama in me. The suck, and everyone hates them. So, anyways. Goodnight. Enjoy your awkward numbered year.

Second Annual Reason For The Ribbons Day

  Today was my second annual Reason for the Ribbons Day. Because I believe writing out the full, detailed story behind RfR would most likely do more harm than good, I will simply give this poem.

Ribbons, ribbons

Hide these fresh scars

Heal my heart and take this pain far

 

Far away from a tender mind

Conceal my fears and watch me die

Hold my hand while I wish for peace

Create this illusion of happiness

 

Ribbons, ribbons

You let me down

What you couldn't hide was seen, was found.

 

Ribbons, ribbons

Now remind me

Of everything I've done

What I've survived--where I've gone wrong

 

Seal my fate in the gates of Heaven

Ribbons, in remembrance of

The Hell they pulled me through.

~dated March, 2011

  Will you celebrate this day with me? May I always worship God, who has preserved me though I have been unfaithful.

When Suffering From A Mild Case Of Heartache...

...Try doing lots of math problems and watching Korean dramas. It works wonders, my friends.

Daisies&Autumn Sunsets

The smell of daisies in the cold air, and the golden rays of sunset on the deep red and soft orange and pink leaves. It's hard to believe that it's real. Sometimes I find it hard to believe anything beautiful is real, for that matter. But it is. Oh, it is so real! That is what makes my heart swell and beat faster. My breath catches inside my throat. My vision blurs with joyful tears, and the only response I can give is to smile. A thankful smile. I celebrate reality, because reality is where God is and beauty exists thereby. I am so imperfect... I am so guilty. I am so dirty: unclean and ugly. I will always need more beauty in my life. More God. More reality. I am in love with these.

The Tears Are Starting...

Tonight, on the way home from the sock hop. The tears started to start coming. I held them back, of course. But they were still there. What benefit does the world inherit from held-back tears? I do not kn I'm going to miss them so much... All these precious times... Seeing them having fun, enjoying themselves, even if it means looking like idiots. I'm going to miss having a place beside them. The funny dancing. Feeling comfortable dancing like crazy around them. Being able to sign to my favorite signs and everyone being cool with it. The cute secret crushes that Blondie never seems to get over ;] The shy couples... Knowing everyone's name. Knowing guys who are cool with asking me to dance. The familiar hugs at the end of the night... The tears didn't come tonight, but they'll be here eventually. And it'll be one heck of a hard job getting them to leave...

Humm....

I think one of the worst lies the Devil can tell to those who are suffering, is that they are not really suffering at all. He gives them comparisons, reasons to make them feel like they're insignifcant, compared to other's trials. It makes them suppress their needs. It enstills guilt and shame. They isolate themselves, adhering to the bizarre reasoning of a solitary, confined mind. They deteriorate and decay. Or is this the gift of Heaven? Perhaps. When it directs our minds outward and upward. When it causes us to rejoice, because our Heavenly Father suffered more than we will ever have to for our sakes. When it allows us to love others with a deeper sympathy for their hurt. But this is no lie. In this form, our suffering is not denied, but rather consoled and resolved. I think, this is a truth. Maybe there are situations in life that just are dramatic, and hail a proper dramatic response in feeling and action. I sometimes think 'drama' is useless, only existent for the entertainment of teenage girls' frivolous minds. But when you're in the midst of real misery, is it wrong or immature to be a poet? To express this inside you to the extent of its true capacity for pain? Is it so? Can it be so?

I Want So Much To Open Your Eyes, Because I Need You To Look Into Mine

It's going to be a long three months.