Things Always Look Different from the Mountaintops

I can't even explain how surreal I feel right now.

Three days before I graduated, I had an interview at a middle school. It was my first interview ever, and I thought I did pretty well. I loved interacting with my potential colleagues, and I felt pretty good after I left. I graduated, returned home, and vegged for a while.

No call came. Upset but not defeated, I prepared myself for other job opportunities, which actually meant trying to find application paperwork and then sitting around waiting for my teaching certificate to be processed.

Then the call. "We have one more interview, but we wanted you to know that you're in the top two. If you're still interested--" Of course I was. I told him that my parents and I had been discussing some logistical things, but I was definitely still interested. My father told me he was certain this principal would offer me the position, so I hoped, but I kept the thought in mind that I could still walk out of this jobless.

Then the principal called again with the final answer: "We decided to go with the other applicant."

Oh. Heartbroken, I listened to him commend me for my excellent interview and abilities, heard him say any school would be lucky to have me. He mentioned a possible second opening, but he couldn't be sure. If I didn't have set plans for the year after, he would definitely call me again.

Heavy-hearted, I told my father, we grieved (he was even more emotionally invested than I was, I think, hahaha), and then we jumped into an action plan for my teaching job here at home.

Until today.

When another phone call came.

I panicked, daring to hope. The second position...? I answered with my typical, "Yellow?" which made the principal chuckle (I'd like to think I'm at least as amusing as a new puppy to him). He told me about the second position opening up. "So, is this, like, how I officially accept? Because I would totally officially accept right now if this is the official thing."

It was. "The school board will be contacting you soon..."

God, I cannot even begin to tell You how thrilled I am. Thank You. Thank You that even when You scare me or disappoint me by shutting one door, You always open another one. Thank You for speaking through others when I am anxious and stressed and worried. Thank You for providing peace and prosperity.

Thank You that even in the midst of pain and heartache when a baby brother dies a tragic death, You are there to bring comfort. You are the Healer of hearts and souls and relationships, and You have a plan. Thank You for giving us the chance that we will all meet our beloveds once again. Thank You for death, because without it, we cannot have life. Thank You that one day balances such as those between life and death can be cast aside when we celebrate new adventures with You, when we reunite our souls with Yours. Thank You that despite our curse, we can find healing and redemption and life anew. Thank You. Continue to bring Your peace and Your healing to us all, especially in these times of anxiety and tragedy and grief.

Let it Snow, I Say, for the First Time Ever

I keep hoping for a snow day tomorrow because I really just want to take the day to cry and scream and get all this emotional crap out of my system.

My emotions have been rampant this week, and I'm sure part of the reason is Alexis' passing and my inability to brace myself and tear off scabs. Some kids acted up in class yesterday and today, and I just--I haven't felt so enraged for some time, fire in my blood, sharp on the outside but not overly so--that quiet, level rage breaking forth. Writing that referral felt good. But I know it doesn't mean a damn thing to him. I wasn't even embarrassed by his noncompliance--I just felt justified.

Then the teacher's been out for days and I just want to know what we're doing with my unit with the seniors so I can accommodate whatever he needs, but I get the feeling the students don't even care about what I have to say. This disrespect inflames me. I couldn't care less if they liked me--I just want their respect. But I'm a newbie, a temp, so I guess I can't really expect it. So I keep asking myself if I'm giving it to them. I wonder if everyone has different ideas of what respect looks like. I wonder if I'm not meeting their needs.

Two more solid weeks. Then a four-day week. Then another two solid weeks. God, give me patience and strength and creativity and adaptability and flexibility and understanding and authority and everything else. And please heal my teacher but give us the timing we need to work together over logistics and discussions and teachings.

And please let it snow and ice and hail so school's closed. Don't let anyone get hurt though.

I Lift Mine Eyes Up to the Hills

Strange how one text can shatter your world, yet denial keeps the fractures perfectly shielded as you blink and wonder what in the hell is wrong with Autocorrect or T9 and then--

"Alexis Monasterio is dead..."

Blank stares.
Tossing and turning.
Sleep is far,
Rise and read for yourself.

Some dickhead makes some comment about jaywalkers
So you go to bed again, this time pissed.
Two hours in and you're at stage two.

Two phone calls.
Explaining, voice fairly strong,
Twice
What's happened. (Yet, strangely, your parents haven't called.)

Miss a third phone call.
Wake up to a friend
Trying to hold it together
As she asks you what went down.

Jump into stage Depression
But try to wipe it from your face.
Still a student notices,
Asks why you're so glum.

Maybe you should've cracked,
Just told them.
But your throat doesn't work
The words too lumpy, sticky,
Burning in your gullet.

Back to denial.
Keep it at arm's length.

Then you lip-scream to a favorite song
And the cold and the lyrics and the moment
Make tears prick your eyelids.

But you have seminar
So you suck it up.
For now.

Prayers are already hard--
Now they seem impossible.
But He knows your spirit,
Knows your words
Their intentions.

So you give Him your nothingness,
Pray He makes miracles out of your chaos.

Smile because you know
You'll see her smile again.
And her cakes will taste even better
With all that nectar and ambrosia.

Where does my help come from?
My [hope] comes from the Lord--
The Maker
Of heaven and earth.

Musings in the Shadow of the Valley

I don't think I'll be remembered.

And I'm perfectly okay with that.

Seems to me like our society is big on individuals becoming legends and leaving a legacy. I thought I could have that when I left my high school, but now that I'm a teacher, I realize that no one up and coming remembers or even knows those that have left, nevermind who they were or how they acted or what they did.

Tonight I wondered where this counter-culture feeling in me started. When my friend from middle school always talked about how we'd be friends forever, I knew we wouldn't. I knew that wasn't how life worked. I knew we'd drift apart (an ominous foreshadowing of our falling out). I just...I had a realistic view of the future, I guess. And part of me was certain she'd go on to be famous and forget all about me.

I wondered if I'd ever had any thoughts like that sooner in my life, before meeting her. Not that I'm aware of.

By now some of you probably think I'm fishing for compliments or being falsely modest, but unless I'm deluding myself--which is entirely possible--I really don't put stock into being remembered. Sure, I'll be considered briefly, maybe thought about fondly, but I'm not going to impact anyone so deeply that my name will forever live on. Maybe my ideas, my thoughts, will but they'll be free-floating in this stream of consciousness that is humanity without my name or identity attached.

And I'm okay with that.

I find it difficult to believe that anyone could be radically changed by something I did. I don't believe that's possible. I think a lot of other factors come into play, and I just happen to be one of them. I'm not significant. And that's okay. 

But then I wonder if this means I'm not confident in anything I do.

A student's parent replied to a mass email I sent out, saying her daughter sang my praises. I was dumbfounded. Then I rationalized, based on the context of the email and the student and her relationship with Mr. Smith, that this girl probably already flourishes in every English class (maybe every class regardless of subject) with ease. I didn't have anything to do with it.

I listened to an hour long conversation between my roommate and her former roommate. I didn't reply, didn't say anything. Just sat there and listened. I learned much, but I realized my roommate must not have respect for me because I am light years beneath her. We've never talked like that, and she's never understood me like she understood her old roommate. Those two were on the same level of eloquence, of intellect, that I didn't even dare to utter a sound for fear of revealing how utterly poor I am. I always receive, but I can never seem to give back. Instead I concede in order to learn. How can I expect to teach?

My students don't respect me, don't respect themselves. I don't know how to reach them, to find them, to make them see. I'm not like the sub that could just chat with them about anything. "All about building relationships," he said. That's just...not me. I live in a closed-off way because I know that I will only disappoint and be disappointed. By never offering myself, I never have to let that disappointment crush me.

I keep thinking about how my teaching career should energize me and excite me, but it doesn't. I feel lost. What scares me the most is the fact that I can't back out--I have nothing to fall back on. This is all I know, all I have, and I'm so close to finishing.

But I suck at this. I'm not educated enough, not smart enough to teach, to help kids learn. I hate myself for hating this job, for fearing this job.

I hate myself in general. I keep trying to lose weight and get healthy, but I eat and eat and god then I--my roommate called me on it the other day, just joking around about how I'd be eating ever since I got back. That had been an hour ago. As soon as she said it, I hated myself and chucked my food. Then I went to bed. Because when I'm sleeping, I'm not eating, not blowing up into this fat ugly ogre that I actually am, not trying to fix that overeating with other bad habits. So I slept.

I hate how ugly I am, how unhealthy I am--mind, body, spirit--Oh, Abba, my spirit. I don't have words for You anymore, Abba. I don't know what to pray anymore.

I know this is just another valley, another low tide in the ever fluctuating ebb-and-flow of life. I know I'll climb a mountain again and rest on another plateau and inevitably return here and begin again. I know that. So I'll keep climbing, keep trying, keep hoping. Because what else am I going to do?

This is Why I Can't Ship Anything

Ok.

I need help.

I'm re-obsessed with Malec.

And I haven't read City of Lost Souls yet.

Even though I know what happens.

And I know.

That once I hit page 511.

I'm going to keel over.

So for now.

I'm going to punish myself.

By reliving all of their beautiful moments.

And finding made up ones.

Just so I can obsess some more.

And fall to my knees sobbing.

Upon reading that fateful page.

Heavenly Fire.

Better bring good tidings.



Or I'm going after Clare.

Our eyes met

Our eyes met across the crowded room,
And I saw you like I always do.
So how did we end up like this,
A tangled, breathing mess?

You're hers, not mine.
I thought you shared a love
No one could define.

You told her
and she told me.
Our friends stared on
With apathy.
Confusion never seemed so cold.

Somehow she forgave me,
Forced away my portion of blame,
Even when you silenced her,
Saying you wanted me instead.

You argued she called your relationship
A broken toy,
But she still deserved to find joy
With some other boy.

So we're together now
Because I don't know how
To say no.

~*~

Based on a dream I had last night which rather perturbed me in the light of day, though I think I can point to the reasons why my subconscious threw this one together.

Deep Gnawing On My Flesh; Hear My Prayer

That old familiar emptiness again. That uncertainty of the future. That deep seated annoyance with pity or false encouragement. I'm not sure why I'm so bummed. I'm not leaving anything or anyone behind; I'll be back soon. Maybe because I don't have much to go to out there; friends gone or out of sight, last semester, graduation. I will never see these people again. Maybe I'm bummed that my parents won't be there when I take the stage. Which really isn't a big deal in light of the whole picture: 500 kids, each taking .5 seconds to cross the stage, shake the president's hand, and take a diploma. Maybe this is the first of many lasts, so already I am emotional.

Lonely. Maybe that's it. I'm lonely. How embarrassing. Why do I feel this way? I have friends, I have parents, I have comrades--all of whom care about me. I know that. So why...?

Papa? I need you. I love you. 

It nears 5:30 as I write this portion now. At midnight, I tried sleeping, only to turn and turn and turn to find a position comfortable enough to fall asleep in, to no avail. My mind is relatively empty, fearing and worrying over only general, vague concerns--the barren future that I cannot see, most immediately this semester until the end of my education where my career begins.

I know You have all this covered, that worrying does not add a single hour to my life; so why then does my stomach turn?

My thoughts turn now to random musings. Consequences. Will those begin now? How long shall I await Your justice for destroying one of your daughters, for violating the sacredness meant between married lovers? This loneliness cannot be a punishment; I cannot sow in the physical and reap in the emotional. I am frightened, but I know punishment is deserved.

Papa, why am I so empty? I keep looking for You, I know, but instead I write and pretend because I don't know love for myself--that earth-moving love that only You are capable of giving us, the one I write about so intimately though I can never know it for myself.

Is that my consequence? To never know that love? No, that is a lie. I know You; I will give Your love away as you continue to shower me with it, though I am deeply undeserving. But I keep myself sealed away, emotionally distanced from You, from Your children--why?

I need Your peace, my Father, my God, my King. I am lowly, capable only of prostrating myself before Your grandness. Will you grant this peasant her wish? To let go. To be happy. To be free.

I love You. As superficial and worthless that love may be. Still, You love me too. Thank You, my God.

G-dawg

So there's this gorgeous 74-year-old woman who lives across the street from me--been livin' there longer than my parents and I have been livin' in this house, and every time I come home, I make the effort to go talk to her. I always dread it at first because, well, I'm a sucky conversationalist (which doesn't even matter because our conversations are always great) and I hate phoning her (which is stupid because she always picks up and always tells me "Yeah, come on over!" or "Yeah, I'll be ready for you in 20!"). But of course, everything works out in the end.

Every time I finish a conversation with her, I learn something new and I smile. She's always telling me to count my blessings: I have loving parents who are still together (and I should always always always show them my gratitude), I wasn't born out of wedlock, and I have a relationship with Papa. Our conversations also almost always include knowing my relationship to Father because without that, I can't do anything. Now, I'm a Christian and Mrs. G's a Mormon, but our ideologies match fairly well. This time around, she reminded me to "La ti da"--whatever happens, happens--Hakuna Matata. Using humor in my future classroom (especially the much too near future for student teaching) and that adaptability will make my life so much easier.

Also, apparently I can buy really pretty cards at some place called Papyrus. Some of which are $20.

Anyways, another conversation, another lesson learned. Thanks again, Mrs. G. Love you!

Dark Blue by Melody Carlson

~~~~~~SPOILERS (AND JUMBLED CONFUSION) BELOW.~~~~~~

Dark Blue revolves around Kara, who's been BFFLs with this chick Jordan since kindergarten. All the sudden, sophomore year, Jordan becomes a cheerleader and leaves Kara in the dust for her new popular crowd. The book deals with Kara's struggle of feeling so hopelessly lonely after losing her best friend.

Twenty pages into Dark Blue, I felt like I was reliving my high school years, and more personally, my struggle with severing a friendship--a sisterhood like Kara's. I kept finding parts of Kara's narrative that absolutely hit home for me. The one I remember most vividly was Kara's crying over realizing that her relationship with Jordan was over. Holy beejeebus, that was me. Totally, completely, awfully. Another time, Kara walked out of school one day, went back to her house, and crawled under her covers; I remember calling my mom to come pick me up one day because I couldn't stand how god-awful I felt and then I went to bed.

Luckily, like me, Kara ends up connecting with some other people and realizes that her codependent relationship, her utter obsession with Jordan, was unhealthy--a way to fill the gap. I remember that obsession, all of those frightening moments where she and I would try to avoid each other and hate ourselves for caring about what the other thought or didn't do. I still remember when she ran out of church because she couldn't handle seeing me; I still remember craving to see her, even though seeing her scared the crap out of me. But it beat the utter numbness, the complete loneliness I felt.

Anyways, Melody Carlson is a Christian author, so of course Jesus references abound, but I gotta say...I cried when Kara did, so touched by a message that she felt was just for her; I cried when Kara accepted the message, when she realized that her obsession was just to fill the gap we all have because we all crave our Savior to fill that hole. Basically, I cried a lot in this book--one chapter after another near the end. I don't really know if I cried because I knew Kara's feelings or because I was so happy to find out that Kara was going to find happiness.

Which kind of helped me realize that I'm not totally heartless or callous or hardened. Which is both nice and confusing. Nevertheless, after the desert I've been crawling through--or maybe the gorge I've been stuck in--and despite some water to drink--or brief glimpses of the sky--those tearful experiences reminded me that I can still hear You, still feel You.

On another note, I gotta say, I always fall for the dudes in books. They're always so dang cute, and this one was no exception: Edgar wins my heart this round, though if he and Ian from Identical showed up before me, I have no idea who I'd choose. Edgar wasn't even a love interest in this book, but he was so dang adorable--and heartbreaking. Dude, ya made me sob. I hope you make a random appearance in the next book.

The book has a nice conclusion where Kara and Jordan hang out again because Jordan's basically been ostracized, or on the verge of being so, from her cool kid crew. Kara, now with Jesus as her BFFL, doesn't have this overwhelming need to latch back onto Jordan. In fact, she kinda feels bad for Jordan, but she's not gonna go crawling back. To which I say, "Cheers, Brah!" So they're cool again, just like in my experience, but all the codependency is broken, also like my experience.

The next one, which is kind of a sequel and kind of not, is about Jordan. Apparently she "stole" one of her cheerleader friends' boyfriends. Which always begs the question for me--why the heck do girls always go after each other instead of the dude? Ain't nobody got "stole"; brotha made his choice to be a jerk.

Jezebel by Jacquelin Thomas

So I just read this book (see title) and despite some weird content-edit issues, it was rather good. Basically a modern day version of Jezebel from 1 and 2 Kings, Jessie Belle (clever name, right?) marries a pastor and uses her beauty to dominate and manipulate every relationship in her life, as well as those relationships' relationships. She's flat out awful, and I had to slam the book down and mutter angrily several times before I could pick the book back up again and continue reading. Then bad things happened (which I already knew about because before I actually read the book, I flipped through and skimmed every couple of pages, plus the last page) and at first I cheered. Then I cried. Out of freakin' nowhere.

The book is interesting in its portrayal of Jessie Belle, specifically because she dominates and controls everything for the sake of her husband, whom I think she really does love, but she just sucks at loving him like 1 Corinthians 13 commands, as well as her constant connection to her church background. She frequently prays and tosses up thanksgivings, but obviously she is not living in connection with the true and living God.

I think the most powerful thing about this book is the question that loomed over me while I read it: am I possessed by the spirit of Jezebel? The author notes that this spirit is one of greed and dissatisfaction, as well as manipulation in order to achieve more more more.

I wonder if I'm like Jessie Belle--manipulative and luke-warm in my reverence for God. Although she perceived quite a bit as if gifted with the spirit of knowledge, she clearly took those perceptions into her own hands to make them happen. Which, for me, begs the question: how far is too far? I think I relate to her dual nature, a nature that she's not even aware of, and that makes her a powerful character. She is contradictory in nature, but that's what makes her compelling: she is just like us.

A fuller review may come, but I always need time to digest before writing anything definitive. Whether I do or not, I'll be on the lookout for more of Thomas' books, particularly the newest one about a modern day Vasthi.

Ana and Mia--Dangerous, Diabolical, Disorders

And then Ana and Mia come stalking around, and the eating disorder lioness won't release her claws from your flesh. Reminds me of Skinny by Ibi Kaslik

I posted this on Pinterest a long time ago because it scared me. I don't totally get eating disorders, but I know they can move me to tears.

Especially when they touch people close to me, and I'm too chicken-shit to point it out in them. When I know the signs but I don't know quite enough to make that judgment call. Instead I rationalize it, write it off.

I hate myself. 

I just found a friend's Tumblr about her amazing weight loss journey. She inspired me, helped me lead a healthier life. Turns out she has been struggling with anorexic. And I was too fucking stupid to realize that during my time with her last year.

God, why am I so damn stupid? I knew it. I knew she wasn't eating enough, that she was getting obsessive. I knew that, knew it knew it knew it, shared a damn room with her for two nights on trip. Why didn't I see it, call her out on it?

She confided part of herself to me. That she worried about how obsessive she was getting. We talked about eating disorders. Talked about my potential dive into that world. 

Why didn't I see it? Why didn't I stop it?

Regardless, she is seeking help. Looking for guidance. I pray, Father, that she returns to You, that You take this cup from her. Does Setting Captives Free have a program for anorexia? I know they have one for over-eating/weight loss.

Thank You, Papa, for opening her eyes even when I blinded mine. Thank You, God, for Your power and Your wisdom and Your mercy.

Learning and Growing in Writing and Performing

Read again at the coffeehouse tonight--the scene where Audric finds out that Nora is supposedly in love with him. Not so happy with this read-through. I think the last one worked because it was more of a personal narrative, but this one had dialogue, narrative, and so on, so I had trouble distinguishing those forms for the audience.

As a side note, I'm supposed to do this research paper on performance theory, which is a criticism that asserts no literature can really be understood until it is performed. To be honest, I felt that last time with Nora's monologue. I felt like I knew her, like I was her. This time, however, I didn't use many ways to separate dialogue from narration, nor did I inflect or express the right tones. I was not Audric.

I did get one compliment, though, on my dialogue from a fellow writer who is rather brilliant. Looking back, I chuckled a bit because the dialogue is mostly Nora being a total jerk.

Anyways, here's to next time. Supposedly our theme is horror, so I might write a new piece featuring other characters--characters that I love simply because they're diabolical and psychotic.

Unspoken Promises (Snipets and Tidbits)

Darkness. So much darkness that I forgot what light looked like, what it felt like. When I saw sunlight again, I hated it, hated how it felt when it tore at my flesh, how it stabbed my eye sockets, until I was raw. I vowed to kill all light so that I would never burn again.

I owe my childhood survival to two people, and two people only. My mother. She nursed me to health when she finally found me, locked away in the palace dungeons, surviving on the water that leaked over the stones and seeped into the prison floor.

And Marie. A servant girl. She hid me in cabinets, away from my father and his assassins and their prying eyes. Sneaked me food, half of her own meals. She serves me now, and I wonder if she remembers those nights when she brought me blankets (never enough to assuage my freezing skin) or stayed awake with me when nightmares plagued me.

Did I ever thank her?

~*~

When she barged into his study drunk, Siegfried felt hot irritation clench his jaw. "What are you doing?" he snapped. "Have you no self-control?" In the back of his mind, he already knew the answer.

With a wide grin she answered, "Sometimes I'm so cold that I have to drink. I think I might freeze otherwise."

"You know, of course, that alcohol only constricts blood ways. It doesn't actually warm the body; in fact, it just makes you colder." He didn't know why he bothered telling her this, for she just giggled and talked about something utterly insignificant. He buried himself in some work until he noticed her sudden silence.

When he looked up, he started at the indifference in her face as she stared past him. No, not indifference. Something-- "They're getting married," she whispered so brokenly that Siegfried winced and had to look away. Of course. That was why. He couldn't bear to see her grief. When he looked back at her to apologize, she'd collapsed into a chair and hunched over with her face in her hands. "And they're taking William." After some time she lifted her face, and the red in her eyes came into focus, the sallowness of her face--skin stretched too thinly, too tightly, for too long.

He wanted to die.

Then her face grew serious, darkened, hollowed. "I hate light," she spat, the growling of which raked his spine with chills. "What good is seeing anything by it if what you see only drives knives into your soul?"

Several seconds passed. "You could tell them," he said, not answering her question. "How you feel."

Even her smirk looked hollow, dark, like a scar ripped over her face. "Why? The king." And she had no more to say, needed not to say anything else.

Yes, Siegfried lamented. He'd be better off dead than to watch her porcelain soul chip, crack, shatter under every weathered blow it withstood, rather than watch what light glowed beneath her skin be snuffed out by every hardship.

They were all damned, and they deserved it for killing innocence and hope. Siegfried vowed never to forgive himself nor anyone else for their disgusting, animalistic actions. Humanity was diseased, and no number of doctors would be able to fix it.

~*~

Marie and heavy silences didn't get along; she'd learned this about herself early on. So she broke the silence, knowing she'd be prying when she asked, "How do you feel about marrying Her Highness?" Secretly, of course, she wanted him to hate the idea, balk at it, at least tell her what she and about a hundred people already knew.

Instead he didn't say anything. Confused, Marie straightened and turned back to look at him. He sat, staring across the room, lost in thought. Light slipped through his curtains, highlighting the gold accents in his shirt. "Audric?" He'd told her a long time ago that 'sir' was entirely too formal. "You heard me, didn't you?"

Reality flickered back into his face as he turned a bit to look at her, as if suddenly realizing she were even there. After clearing his throat, he said, "I am," he hesitated and Marie waited. Say it. Say it. Please. "Honored." No, you dummy, not that.

Hiding her frustration, she pressed, "Oh, I'm sure. Any man would be. But are you happy about the arrangement?" Instead he repeated himself, much to her annoyance. A new tactic then. "So you mean to say that you love Her Highness, and you've been hoping for this?"

"I do love Princess Ether. All of us do." She had half a mind to punch him, shake him around a bit until he stopped evading her. She'd have to settle for starching his clothes too heavily next time.

Speaking of laundry, Marie almost let her smirk cover her face as she slipped the garment into his drawer. His sudden sternness caught her off guard. "Marie, that's not mine, and you know it." How had he--?

Turning to apologize with a heated face, she faltered upon seeing his. Not looking quite her way, Audric appeared...defeated. Sullen. His face grew longer and heavier with every passing moment and his shoulders sunk. Either he was a god-awful liar or he didn't care that she saw because he repeated, very softly, "Not mine," before sinking farther into his chair. "I think I need some time alone. I'm sorry."

Heavy-hearted, Marie nodded, picked up her basket, and retreated. On her way out the door, she couldn't help tearing up when she caught him slip his hands over his face and exhale shakily. She almost vowed to leave them be.

When she tried the same in her mistress' room, Nora just handed it back to her, looking away and whispering, "Please stop this," before shutting her door in Marie's face. Stomach rolling, Marie tried not to cry until she returned to her own room.

Even more desperate, Marie tried praying. Even if she knew how to pray or who to, she didn't know what gods would hear her--a servant, a maid--on behalf of a cursed woman, but Marie couldn't fathom enduring the emptiness that love might've left Nora with.

Would this blow be too much? Nora could survive any number of physical tortures, but could she survive one that left her so raw inside?

~*~

Darkness and hatred go together for me. I will always have both, even when I have nothing else. That's why this place is perfect. Perpetual darkness. Everlasting hatred. Suspended between nothing in this place between worlds.

Sometimes I wish I were in hell; other times I remember that I am, in fact, there as I gaze upon the dusty bones of decrepit saints. Good people. Dead.

Because I don't know how not to kill. Doesn't matter how much I vow to live, to save. I am cursed.

The body drops into the pyre, and I feel all light leave my soul.

Addictions Part 2

You remind me of darkness,
                         of moonlight and stars.
    Hair and skin so pale, almost silver.
            Scars amid softness, heat in the midst of cold -
                      your skin.

With feather light touches
You call me closer.
       How can I not obey you, goddess of night, of moon and stars?

I'm not sure why people fear night, fear darkness,
for the two are for quiet meetings between lovers.
     Secluded by trees, hedged by silence
        Only us. Only our breath breaks the barrier.

Delicate,
Divine.
     A flower blooming beneath soft moonlight.
Gorgeous.
     Stripped of facades and favorite disguises.
But never fragile; not frail.
Lovely.
      Peeling away layers to reveal truth.
Gentle. Kind. Loving.

But also fierce. Wild.
Untamable.
          Who could ever hope to tame you? Who should ever want to?

You remind me of fire,
                      bright, beautiful fire.
      Hair and skin so white, hot to the touch,
              Yet I can't recoil away.
              Hungering need to be consumed by your flames.

Because I'm Addicted

My mind is filled with thoughts of you. 

                          Oh, how I love you so dearly. 

I can’t fathom the depths of your love for me, 

                                              
                                                 so I’ll keep sinking

                                                                      sinking

                                                                           sinking in this ocean of beauty.

Audric. My Audric. Forever mine. 

Just the sound of that makes me blush, makes my heart flutter.

Take me in your arms for the rest of our lives. 

Oh, to interwine myself with you—

                                                     all of me: body, mind, heart, soul.

The sound

             of your heartbeat.

                               Nor-uh. Nor-uh. Nor-uh. My love. My love. My love.

How do I tell you

                      just how much I love you?

I think you already know.

~*~

To my beloved,

Nyx, goddess of the night. Selene, goddess of the moon.

My queen, my goddess,

     More lovely than darkness

                               (Meant for intimate exchanges between lovers.

                   

               Perfect for us. For quiet nights with soft moonlight

                                                                   With softer skin and paler hair.

               Only our breath breaking barriers of silence,

                             Shivers, hums. Tickles and whispers.

                             The beating of our hearts, mine skipping, lurching. Tender kisses.)

More beautiful than Helen, 

                               than Aphrodite. Too lovely for words.

         (You know that's why you're cursed, don't you? 

                          Because your beauty incites jealous rage?)

My heart aches without your touch. My lungs crumble without your breath.

Your embrace is sweeter than honey, 

                              warmer than the afternoon sun.

I could lie here for hours, floating upon your love, 

     Feeling your laughter against my back, 

                         your kisses along my neck, 

                                 your fingers across my chest.

Sometimes We Just Jump

Can I just say how ridiculously validating it is to have other people tell you how great your writing is? At our first Epiphany Coffeehouse of the semester (tonight), I wrote up a narrative that kind of recaps Nora, Audric, and William's story--narrated by Nora when she's much older.

Nora overtook me while I read (which I love), and she's still so cock-sure and funny but also very willing to be vulnerable. Her voice shook when she recounted her life.

But I think one of my favorite parts was when, after she talks a bit about her sudden feelings for Audric, she said, "And then he [Audric] marries my sister." The whole room recoiled in outrage, which made us laugh. Of course she amended to "Well, almost."

One of my favorite comments of the evening was from one of my professors. The theme of the night was mythology--perfect for the fantasy backstory--and he asked if she was an Amazonian. Suddenly I realized that Nora could in fact be an Amazonian, and he listed several reasons why: how fierce she is, her fighting style, the horse, having a son, being a daughter of the king. I think some part of me channeled that race to build Nora's persona. Awesome. Thank you Oyola for that connection.

Another comment was from someone incredibly intelligent in my class. His poems were fantastic, and he told me I should look into publishing my work. He gave me some information on where to go. I should do that now, actually. (On a side note, in theory I shouldn't be publishing on my blog. Oops. I'll have to look into that.)

Another friend, whose work I also admire, called me a tease for reading something from a prequel of a main series that I haven't even published yet. Hahaha, love her.

Another girl noted who the main character of the main series would be. Ten points for her observation. He just doesn't become a main character until about midway through.

Someone else called me brilliant and told me she loved it.

My friend, who does amazing art and writes great entries on her blog Whatever Your Heart Desires (as well as other writings, though I haven't seen many), also complemented me, saying she wanted to read more.

My roommate even liked it. Just...aww shucks.

So...validation acquired. Thank You, God. I pray I may keep writing because it is truly humbling. Thank You.

I Like That Number

1000 Page Views :D Thanks so much friends!

Pinterest plus Love equals a Fire to My Obsession

Saw this image on Pinterest, reminded me of a character and her boo, and spawned the thing below this image.

I'm the boy who wants to give you the whole garden--every flower, every bud, roses included. I'm the boy who wants to stay in with you any night of the week or go out to see stars and sunsets and sunrises. I'm the boy who would wait on you hand and foot because I'd do anything and everything for you. Your happiness, your eyes, your laughter make my heart flutter. I'm the boy who loves movie nights with you because we can cuddle under our blankets. I love fancy nights out, too, because your beauty inspires me to dress better, so the general public can at least kind of see why you would even bother with some guy like me. I'm the boy who closes his eyes just so your voice can touch him and locks all your secrets in his heart. I'm the boy who stammers under your touch, blushes at your nearness, but adores holding you or anything of yours just to say he's priviledged, honored to do so. No, I love you more than anyone can understand, and I will stay here, day after day, just to see you smile.

They think I'm crazy, and they're right: I'm crazy about you, and I can't wait until the day you recover and live again.

Ten years I have loved you, and I'll love you for a hundred more, even if you won't take me when you wake up.

Counteracting Wild Desperation with Explosive Affectation

I have some days where I love you so recklessly, with such abandon, that I can't even express this love in my heart with mere words. Strangely, I don't think I could express this love at all--in any way. For out of the abundance of the heart, my mouth overfloweth. But my lips cannot form the words to tell you how I feel. My mind cannot fathom the words, and when it tries to communicate, all I say pales in comparison to the love I cannot put into words. I don't even think sex could communicate to you the way I feel, the love I have. I could make love to you in a thousand ways for a thousand days and still we would fail to know this love in its entirety.

You are the purest, clearest, loveliest soul I could ever bind myself to. In all the world, you and you alone are the strongest, the toughest, the bravest, the most courageous human being. And you love me. You love me with this same ridiculous, overwhelming, inspiring love.

I see it in your eyes. You feel it in my touches. And our hearts know. We know without a doubt that we will protect. I will protect your honor, your integrity with a fierceness only a knight against a dragon could know. And you will protect me in kind. Our vulnerabilities, revealed only to each other, can never be exploited behind this strong tower, this fortress, this wall that conceals our love.

And I love that I can love with this intensity, this fire. And I love that you can finally let yourself love me the same way. I have forgiven you, forgiven myself, and you have forgiven me, forgiven yourself. So we lie here and sob and laugh and embrace. Because we know. We know that nothing will ever compare to this explosive affection, this extensive admiration.

I am safe in your arms under our covers and this closeness anchors us from the clouds, the stars above our heads. I don't think I can ever look you in the eye in the same way. Now I know you and you know me in the most intimate of ways, soul to soul, and I like that. Don't let go of me tonight. I will hold you against my heart for the rest of time.

But for now, rest in my embrace. I won't even say the obvious as our eyes shut for the night.

To Know Depth, We Must Know Worth

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=igCj3jsbcqs#

Janette..ikz is a gifted spoken-word poet. This particular poem is about waiting, dating, navigating, and instigating relationships-all in the name of finding "the one." Beautifully told and expressed with verses from the Word, this poem is a fantastic reminder to be in the One before we can find the one.

 

 

Thank you, Janette...ikz, for your lovely inspirational words. You got me through a tough time in my life, many a month ago, and now I can look back and smile at my Lover.

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0KQ9xG3yWfw&feature=relmfu#

 

 

Janette...ikz shares her testimony about being molested as a child. An insanely, deeply moving piece of spoken word. Thank You, God, for Your words.