Living Life: An Arbitrary Account of my Absence

Sometimes, I like to live life instead of writing about it.

I think that's the first time I really can say that statement and understand that that's exactly what's been happening to me.

I REALLY ENJOY LIFE RIGHT NOW.

Not that I don't enjoy my life in other periods, but that currently, I'm not depressed/tired/stressed/introverted/hermit-y/etc. enough to obsess and overanalyze the things that are bothering me. Yes, I wouldn't say my situation in life has changed much since I redid my blog and started my manifestos of melancholy, but I think I've attempted to enjoy it much more.

I'm still dealing with a lot o the same things--what I will be doing a year from now, the life-changing of November that's the most awkward thing ever, the fact that since the life-chaning event of November my mom and I haven't been doing as well as we should, the stress of staying on top of things in school when I just really don't freaking want to. However, some things have improved-- Katie and I are on our way to an even better friendship, I actually have a somewhat legit social, I'm trying new thing (especially new foods--it can't be worse than pig's blood!), planning trips and events that I actually want to go on and do, the weather is all sorts of brilliance, taking new classes, taking a few risks (AH Guardian!)... and you know what?

It feels real freakin' good.

And I'm happy.

And when the cycle starts anew, which I know it eventually will, I can remember that I just need to power through it so I can again come to a place like this in my life.

St. Valentine Secrets: Things Better Left Said By PostSecret

Sometimes, I believe other people can capture what I feel so much better than I can.

Today, Valentine's Day, I give you my heartsick and hearthopeful secrets in the form of others'.

Enjoy.

The Nuances of Neurosis: A Brief Look Into My Superstitions

Sometimes, my life is controlled by superstitions.

I seriously have no idea why these things happen to me. But once I get locked into a patten, things must go that way.

This happens to me on airplanes--

when entering the plane, I have to touch the outside of the plane with my right hand.

I know how this one started... I was flying from San Diego to Las Vegas, alone for the first time heading up to San Jose where Kelsey would meet me and we would drive to Redding together, the last real time I ever spent with her. I was terrified because 1. my mom didn't know what I was doing. I mean, not that she needed to. I'm 18 and an adult and everything, but I had never done anything so big without telling her. It wasn't the fact that I could have potentially died, because I've put myself in those kinds of situations multiple times. It was just the fact that she didn't exactly know where I was or what I was doing or how to get ahold of me if something should happen. And 2. I was travelling for the first time alone. I'm used to it now, but then I was basically in panic attack mode. I had called the SD, LV, and SJ airports to get an idea of what it would be like. I had printed out maps, directions, tips to getting through security, emptied bottles of Purell to put my hair conditioner in less than 1 oz. bottles. Now, I basically check in, go through security, and sit and wait for my plane.

I freak out a little at security. I pray every time I don't get stopped for random body scans or anal probing or whatever. I'm always reminded of when I crossed the border coming back from Mexico and all my bags had gone through the scanners and the guy stops me and asks if I have candy in my bag. I say yes. And he says "Ok, just checking." But I was wide-eyed and flight-or-fight ready. He totally let me go after that, but I was seriously shaking at the thought that my Nerds were going to get me thrown into a detention cell in the middle of nowhere, Mexico, and I wouldn't be seen or heard from again.

I think my mom has instilled in me this worst-case-possible-scenario-ideology-- if someone isn't dead, they will be in .3 seconds. I always do that. I really like to know that the people I care about and even simply my acquaintances, shoot even my enemies, are safe. And I will go out of my way to make sure of it. It bugs me to no end if I don't know the safety status of someone. It's why I would have severe difficulties marrying someone in a position of danger (police officer, firefighter, military, pro-wrestling, etc.).

Anyway, so when it comes to planes, I have to touch the outside of the plane. I usually also pray that God carries our plane safely to our destination with His own hands. I also always pack my Converse in my carry-on. If there's a Lost-situation that I ever become a part of, I do not want to be stuck with my plane-slippers.

And all of these things must be down if I want the plane to get me to where I need to go. Seriously.

My superstitions heavily come out when I take tests.

Multiple choices tests are absolutely the worst things to have superstitions about because I'm already questioning every answer I put down, but patterns start emerging, there's seven D's in a row and what professor would fucking do that to his students.

But it's happened.

I have a big problem with multiple questions answered with the same letter in a row. However, this is contingent upon which form I have. If I have Form A, I automatically assume that this would never happen. Two in a row, maybe. But three? Four? Simply out of the question. If I have Form B, I am less scared about this occurrence, though I still definitely worry. However, the more versions of the test there are and the farther away from the original the test I have is, the less worried I get.

I think that's an inverse relationship.

The Creativity midterm I just took had so many of these triple, quadruples in a row, I was literally second guessing everything. I've already put down four B's in a row. Could this question really be B too? WHO THE FUCK DOES PROFESSOR MCKENZIE THINK HE IS? WHY IS HE DOING THIS TO ME?

I sincerely doubt he even knows he's completely torturing me, but he is and if I can't say this to him in person without sounding like I need to be locked up, then I'm at least going to say it here.

Another test superstition has to do with question 13. It's a really arbitrary one, but I like question 13 to be answered with a C. 13 is my favorite number, C is my first initial. I feel like I will ace a test, if this occurs, no matter how poorly I know I'm doing.

13 = C = A++.

It's a pretty simple equation.

If 13 isn't C, then I'm fine with D, for Davis. We're still all good in the neighborhood.

However, if 13 is either A or B, then we need to do some work to make myself feel better. I first look at 7 and see what that is- if it matches 13, then I look to 20, if the matches we've got a pretty good set-up and I feel awesome.

See, 7-20 is my birthday and 20 - 7 = 13 and so because of the complex and personally important relationship that these numbers create for me, if they all match, I feel elated.

During my Creativity midterm, I had 13 as a B. Not a good sign. I didn't like it once bit. I read and reread that question over and over, trying to find any way that the answer could possibly be C or D. There wasn't. So, I looked at 7- also B. Ok, now we're getting somewhere. I get to 20- also B. Whew, that was close. BUT WAIT! if I have the 7+13 relationship to 20, then I also need 7+20 and 20+13 as well.

Seriously, this new hang up just created itself this past week. And in all honesty, I'm not mad I have new relationships to check. I'm frustrated that I haven't thought of this before and how many Scantron tests have I taken in my life? How many of these relationships did I fail to match and figure out? It's unbelievable. I wish I could go back and see every test I've ever taken to double check.

Back to Creativity midterm, I check out 27- B. Good. But 33, that's a no go. D. I go back and check every answer in the relationships- 7, 13, 20, 27, 33. I need these to connect before I turn in my test.

Unfortunately, I cannot forge a full relationship. Fortunately, I;m not so bound by this need that I will change answers I know to wrong ones just to make things fit into my compulsive-patterned brain. I can walk away and turn in this test and be ok with the results, come what may.

Wouldn't you know? I was finished with my test first and got the second highest grade in the class. HELLA!

The Un-date-able Vibe: Speculations On My Singleness

Sometimes I am seriously convinced that I give off an "un-date-able vibe."

Ok, not sometimes.

All the time.

"It's your whole demeanor," he said. "Everything about you says, 'Don't even think about it.'" This was an unnerving moment of truth. I mean, I know how much people annoy me, but was it so obvious to others?

Charmed Thirds

I've considered I give off the un-date-able vibe for quite some time now. I don't think I've even been a contender for someone in the past three years because I sincerely reek of this malodorous stench of un-date-ability. I'm not the girl who gets flirted with by the waiter, the girl who gets a double-take walking to class, the girl who can go dancing and have a guy ask to dance with her. I'm none of them.

And I have to wonder... why not?

When I hear songs that remind me of Blake, it still really hurts. There are a lot of them too. A lot of Taylor Swift to be exact (I have a penchant for equating songs to certain moments or places or people and I bought her first cd soon after we broke up. Think "Cold As You" for our 'fail-ship.') I've quite moved on from that relationship, but there's still so much that connects me to it that it's hard in moments, though they grow more and more infrequent. Redding used to be a huge crutch in my weakness after that relationship. Everywhere I went, I saw him: moments where we drove down long stretches of road smiling, moments where we walked through a city asleep, moments in empty bathtubs with large bowls of macaroni-and-cheese, moments made at mountaintops somewhere down a highway, moments where I could have been more scared than I've ever been in my entire life but I wasn't simply because I was with him.

And then I have to remember that most, if not all, of those moments were carefully calculated to follow the relationship template he had built in his mind.

Now I've realized that there wasn't one moment where I remembered 'this is something Blake and I used to do' during this past Christmas break. I was nervous he'd be at church, but I think that's just because of my outlandish social anxiety I am carefully cultivating here in college. But it's good that I don't think of him like I used to. It was all consuming for over a year. That relationship left me with so many questions that I don't think a conversation with him until the end of time would have given me the closure I so desperately needed.

This is where, I'm sure, my un-date-able vibe truly began, though I'm believe it's been floating all around me since the day I was brought to the world. How can any boy find you attractive when you're so pathetically holding onto the shreds of a failure of a relationship? And I was clinging to those threads with strength I never knew I had.

However, that ended in June of 2009. So, I still need an explanation for the next two years. Let's continue.

Christmas of 2008, well into my Blake-worship, I received two Christmas presents that were highly unlikely to be given to me--I got two rings from two separate people. I've never really worn jewelry. I mean, those who know me now, know those rings are a constant presence on my freakishly small carnie hands, but never before this Christmas. These rings were given to me without consulting ring size and therefore, wouldn't it be such a coincidence that they both only fit on the fourth finger of each hand. I wear both of them proudly and almost without ceasing, leaving one to go on a specially designated finger enclosed in a binding circle of silver.

Is this a part of my un-date-ability? I have to wonder if this is seen by boys as a sign to stay away from me. Am I a girl who threw caution to the wind and married young, too poor to sport a real diamond but instead having a simple silver band as the symbol of my infatuation of a marriage?

Or is it just a ring?

I guess I could be that girl who marries young. I seem like it, don't I? The really good girl who found a really good guy and settled into what should be a long, happy, and loving marriage.

But I'm not. And therefore, this annoys me.

Where to go from there?

I guess we could talk about my endless crushes and infatuations after the Blake-episode.

Here's where I get a bit more honest than I would like...

After Blake there was Andrew (for awhile and throughout), Josh (for a year and a half), Eyal (for a second), Michael (for a time), Chad (for a summer), Henry (for a night) etc. (The strikeout is there for me to feel a little less vulnerable saying things I've never really told anyone, Stephanie aside. A way for me to hide behind a small HTML tag. Thank you for this indulgence. I feel less... naked.) Most of these are simply fleeting infatuations that are mostly just fun for me. To like someone for a little bit, daydream obsessively for a second, then move on. There were a couple scattered throughout that actually meant something to me, but I've learned to just accept that although I may want more with someone, it's usually not mutual.

Could that be a part of my un-date-able vibe? Do I so immediately assume that a current object of obsession won't like me back that I shut down the opportunity before I even let it happen?

That could be the case.

I'm hesitant to doubt myself in this matter. Not because I'm completely convinced of my infallible awesomeness, but because I don't think I'm a bad catch. I'm smart (despite being a psych major in a school full of engineers, doctors, researchers, and researching doctor engineers). I'm funny. I'm not freaking ugly. I would love "cute" and be thrilled with "pretty," though I might be wary if you called me "beautiful" and laugh in your face if you called me "hot" or "HAWT" or anything else remotely like that. I'm mostly happy with who I am as a person. And that's pretty good for me, since I can absolutely abhor myself sometimes.

(Come to think of it, I wonder if I could actually measure the amount I love myself and the amount I hate myself and what those things entail. Future blog post, yes? Line up my insecurities for all the world to see.)

I know I'm a neurotic and rough around the edges. I'm not the feminine girly girl, but I'm not the bad ass Joile kind of girl either. I'm an adaptable middle ground.

Ultimately, with time and patience, I think I will eventually make a pretty kick ass wife.

And therefore, I must admit, those of you who have indeed passed me over, that's going to suck for you.

Ok, so maybe I'm a little convinced of my infallible awesomeness.

You know, I've never been on a date.

No, seriously.

Yes, I've had a boyfriend. I've even had boyfriends.

But I've never been on a real date.

I know this sounds corny, but I would really like someone just to ask me out. Show a little interest. Let me know that I'm not the girl you wouldn't even have sex with in post-apocalyptic world where you and I are the only survivors.

I say I've never been on a date because in truth I haven't. I've never been on one of those "You look cute today in the coffee shop and I would like to get to know you better dates." Granted, those are the ones Joshua Harris warns us good Christians against. But all I'm asking is for one. Heck, I would take one with someone I know.

I've always done the good dating thing-- be friends first, get to really know a guy before taking that next big step into a relationship-- but you know what? I epically fail at that because by the time we get to the "next big step" I'm usually head over heels infatuated and then I'm the crazy girlfriend because I've waited so long for this moment and then I'm clingy and awful and obsessed and absolutely bat shit insane.

Guys, you are definitely wanting to date me now.

HELLO UN-DATE-ABILITY VIBE!
I can feel it.

I mean when the friendships I had with guys turned into relationships, it never felt like dating. We were still hanging out. There was never anything special or exciting or anything that really changed from the friendship. Is courting the friendship? Getting to know each other in groups and then eventually alone? The only thing that ever changed was that now it was ok to hold each others' hand.

Personally, I kind of find a lot of fault in the "friends to relationship" because the only thing that's really different seems to be the physical. And that gets me in a lot of trouble.

So, I would like to go out on a date.

Nothing special. Let me get dressed up and take me to a dinner and a movie. Preferably one I would enjoy. But don't worry, I like movies where things get blown up and there's a lot of gratuitous violence more than the run-of-the-mill romcoms Hollywood shits out every other month. It's not as painful as it would seem, is it?

I don't know what is the ultimate factor of my un-date-ability. It could simply be God protecting me since He knows I go all crazy and He's keeping me safe until the guy who won't mind comes along. And that's fine with me. Well, as much as a single-for-awhile twenty-year-old girl can be fine with it. It still doesn't mean I can't wonder and write about and obsess over in the mean time. It could be any of the multitude of things that I've already talked about. It could be something I've never even considered.

So, I'm asking you, dear readers, my friends, those who are supposed to be honest with me, what do you think makes me this way?

Resolutions and Redemption: The Return to Sporadic, Prolific Blogging

Sometimes I forget I am in college.

That's weird, right?

I think it is.

See, I forget until someone unknowingly snaps my mind back into my brain and brings the fact into obvious light. I was walking down the street that spans from The Village and ends abruptly in the T-intersection in front of the plastic bubble building everyone asks about but no one ever seems to have a real answer as to what happens inside of it situated conspicuously in the inbetween of the Muir upper and lower parking lots, on my way to (of all things) PSYC176: Creativity when it happened this past Thursday. It was simply two boys, one of his longboard and one on his bike, pedaling and pushing after each other, who brought me back to the world in front of me with a single we question-- "Are we going to OVT or Cafe V?" It seemed so normal; a question that everyone on campus would have asked at least once in their time here, at least since both buildings have been built and used as functioning dining halls (but I don't know if I should quite give that label to either as I'm still scarred by high school cafeteria lunches).
It was a part of an everyday lexicon that, had I not gone here, I would have never understood.
And that's when I remembered I was in college.

What can I say about my time spent in college? I'm not sure yet. I'm not sure if it's the place where I've discovered my self, tried new things, "experimented," found my life's purpose and path, found a political identity, found out what sex is really like in all its forms, made mistakes but learned from them. I'm not sure what this place is for me at all.

I'm tempted to call it a continuation of my high school existence, a place of waiting-for-the-next-big-thing. But that would cheapen something I know is not either of those things. Though it feels like it in low moments.

I feel as if my time in college has been on this path I've never veered from. I picked psychology because that's what I've always felt I should and wanted to study "...because after years and years of school, something I'm good at, I could get a job where I could work all the time and make a ton of money to support my family and be comfortable, which is never something I've ever once had in my life." I started working at the thrift store because I love thrift store shopping, buying so many books that I don't think I'll ever get through all of them in my life (my home and school bookshelves are in overflow mode currently). I started doing the radio show because I wanted a time where I could listen to my music as loudly as I wanted (though it is not exactly the place I can do that). I got involved in iHop because I wanted to do something in iHouse that padded my application to get into it next year. I must say though, I continue going because I enjoy the people who go there and what we do. I pick classes that fit what I'm supposed to do, what I like, though they never end up seeming to go the way I wanted and I fall back into my memorize-regurgitate-forget pattern that I so dearly relied upon throughout my pre-college academia. I picked up a Writing minor so I could do the classes, though I feel like I might want to major in it more.

And honestly, I don't know what's bad about any of that.

Why do I feel like I have simultaneously explored new things but stuck to my comfort zone? Why do I feel like I've rebelled against the norm but fit amongst the many here? Why do I feel stuck but in retrospect know that that isn't the case at all?

I've been reading the Jessica Darling series after finally completing ownership of the entire series. I realize how much that girl had an impact on my college path. I applied to Columbia because she went there. I picked majoring in psychology because of the reasoning she did-- I analyze so much, might as well get paid for it. Ok, the two don't seem like much but now when reading her words, I feel less like this main character and I are so similar and more like "Wow, I definitely attempted to follow in her footsteps." I even write like she does. This currently-being-written blog SCREAMS "I am trying to be Jessica Darling" though it doesn't feel too far from myself. Also, she would never blog. At least as far as book three is concerned.
She has this boyfriend, Marcus Flutie, who I am obsessed with. I remember in eighth grade when my passionate love affair with Jessica Darling began, I obscured the pink canvas of my Jansport backpack with "I heart MF." I think he would be my Marcus Flutie because of the awkward history we have together. It's a history I'm not going to dabble in on the for-everyone's-eyes Internet, but it's a history that's never had a real closure for me. It's a little unstable.

I've been wondering what it would be like to get back into contact with Nate and I even looked him up on myspace because I knew that's where he would be. I wondered what he would think if "Chelsey"-no picture, no profile, no nothing- were to contact him out of the blue with a friend request. I wonder if he would remember who I was.

I feel as if there were anyone currently in my life like Marcus, it would be Josh. He's really opened himself up to new things it seems- vegetarianism, Habitat for Humanity, the Peace Corps, doing things I could never dream of doing. Ok, I'm making him sound like some super-liberal-left-wing-nutcase, but I don't see that in Josh at all. He's not that kind to shove opinions down anyone's throat which is just one of the things saves him from being the stereotypical-Save the Whales-dreadhead and being labeled as anything but awesome. He's not into this stuff for political reasons- maybe the vegetarianism- but because he likes them. I remember meeting him in his sophomore year and how he seemed really young and lost in life. Seeing how much Josh has changed since then is a really neat thing. I think he's still a lost though, which is something I think he will fully admit to.

I like the way Josh lives his life though. I don't know how to define it but I don't think I could ever do it, whatever "it" is. I just definitely know it doesn't include this downer, socially phobic, judgmental, close-mindedness thing I have going on. I don't know how to change that though.

Because today is the first day of that time of the month where my body violently turns on itself and attempts to rid itself of all that my uterus has been holding onto, I've been stuck in bed eating Froot Loops straight from the bag and reading Jessica Darling. Reading these books have brought up a lot of new things to think about and I fell into of those thought-naps where you're asleep but it feels like you've been thinking the whole time.

I knew I had been asleep, yet I still woke up wondering why my room was dark, why I hadn't seen the divine blend of colors reflected against the sterile white walls of my dorm room. I was still surprised that time had passed at all though I was in the same on-my-side position with my had holding my place in my book and my heating pad lying on top of my raised hip.

However, I knew it was time to start blogging again.

Weird, huh?

I've been thinking about coming back to really blogging for awhile now. Not that shit I've randomly posted from time to time this past summer and quarter. Something more real.

I've had my doubts about this blog. First, it was merely something to be creative in. Then it was influenced by Hyperbole and Half's wit and comic autobiographical epicness and turned into this must-produce-must-advertise-must-must-must thing that ended up sucking all the fun out of it. And I haven't really been able to go back to it since.

Also add onto the fact that I don't feel like I can be honest on here because of the 20-something people who read it. I'm not that vulnerable, ok? I can't spread my life like that for people. I'm much more of a closed-off, in-my-shell, don't-ask-me-how-I'm-doing-unless-you-want-a-lie kind of girl. I have to work up telling my best friend things, but that's as far as I'm willing to work at the moment.

Well, except for the fact that I'm attempting a new blog yet again. I shall not advertise; I shall not tell anyone that I'm really writing again and trying to write openly and honestly (except for the one event that shall remain "The Event" for legal and safety purposes); I shall not let the blog become a must.

I think these are the New Resolution's I will make.

LTWR8B Poem 1

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in. This is the first one--unfortunately none of the formatting stays the same when I put in an actual post, so I apologize. I swear these two poems look a lot cooler. The format also has to do a lot with the tone and feeling I'm trying to convey, so I'm sorry if that gets lost in the technological transition.

Obsessively Compulsive

A torturous tip-toe terror.

And more

Piles. And more

And more Piles.

Piles.

Bottles, receipts, mitten 2, trash, hats, glasses. Pens and pencils.

Blankets, trash, wrappers, lists, pictures, postcards. Clothes and laundry.

Bedding, tissues, food, mitten 1, mail, trash. Newspaper and magazines.

Always filled.

Books

Papers. Books

CD’s and And more.

Records.

Arranging, shifting, switching. Start again.

Layering, lifting, classifying. Completely lost.

A dangerous and dirty, disorderly disorder.

Compulsion.

And more

Piles. And more

And more Piles.

Piles.

Glassbottles,fiftytworeceipts,trash,Mitten2.BlackinkBicBallpointpens.Blackticonderogapencils.

Shoes,trash wrappers,Pictures,Postcards,lists.clothesandlaundry aMass in Masses of Mountains.

Books

Papers. Books

Mitten 1 and And more.

Records.

Arranging,shifting,switching. start Again.
Layering,Lifting,cleaning. completely Lost.

LTWR8B Poem 2

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in. This poem was supposed to convey and ambiguous or unreliable narrator. Apparently I didn't do as well with that in the original and a lot of people thought it was someone trying to make their lover jealous (everyone thought a lot of my poems were that-- what the heck, people? Stop projecting on me. Just because you have love troubles doesn't mean that I do, capiche?), so I had to fix that too.

You Believe Me

When I tell you I’m not crazy,
You believe me.
And when I tell you the Moon
Fell down from the sky tonight,
You believe me.
And when I tell you He swung
From star to star on His way
Down from the infinite heavens,
Landing with a soft thud at
The end of Prince Street,
And He rolled the gritty
Asphalt, stopping right in front
Of me, bowing politely
As His genteel introduction,
You believe me.
And when I tell you, without words,
The Moon took hold of my hands
And brought them together
For a gentle kiss before
Flinging them wide into a circle
And dancing barefoot
In a placid prance of hilarity
Under the familiar galaxies and starbursts
Of inequitable phenomenon,
You believe me.

You believe the dance lasted all night
And you believe there was love.

When I tell you the Moon
Tucked me into bed tonight,
Tousling my auburn hair about
The pillow, and, whispering sweet
Nothings into my ears, He
Gracefully moved from the bed
To and through the window looking onto
His night skies
Now growing in glow,
You believe me.

You Believe Me

When I tell you the Moon
Fell down from the sky tonight,
You believe me.
And when I tell you He swung
From star to star on His way
Down from the infinite heavens,
Landing with a soft thud at
The end of Prince Street,
And He rolled down the gritty asphalt,
Stopping right in front of me
You believe me.
And when I tell you the Moon
Took hold of my hands,
Squeezing them gently before
Flinging them wide into a circle
And dancing barefoot
In a placid prance of hilarity
Under the familiar galaxies and starbursts
Of inequitable phenomenon,
You believe me.

When I tell you the Moon
Tucked me into bed tonight,
Tousling my hair about the pillow, then
Gracefully He moved from the bed
To and through the window looking onto
His night skies
Now growing in glow,
You might believe me.

When I tell you the Moon
Fell down from the sky tonight
You tell me I’m lying.
You tell me you saw the Moon
Resting amongst the stars,
Watching over the world
As they slept soundly in their beds,
The whole night long.
You tell me He winked at you
Before you laid down for the night
And sang a lullaby as you fell asleep.
You tell me He never fell.
You tell me He never moved an inch.
And I believe you.

LTWR8B Poem 3

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in. I would like to say that I no longer feel this way about said person and that we are on civil, almost friendly terms with each other after a lot of communication and a lot of time. I just added the name at the end of the poem to make it more interesting.

To Blake: If Only I’d Known

Things are really never as they seem.

My eyes are stars, you say?
Your eyes are the dark, deluded depths
Of an oil tanker truck, filled with
Murky disgrace.

My smile is captivating, you say?
Your smile is my captor, beating
Me mercilessly over the head as he
Laughs and laughs a menacing
Awkward squalor.

My love is divine, you say?
Your love is a cockroach, running
From the light and doting to the dark,
Surviving squashings and apocalypse,
Enduring when all just simply
Want you dead.

To Mr. B. Schack: If Only I’d Known

Things are never really as they seem.

My eyes are stars, you say?
Your eyes are black holes,
Empty voids of nothingness—
Vacuums where I cannot last.

My smile is captivating, you say?
Your smile is my captor,
My torturer, my executioner, my end—
Violent, merciless, menacing, breaking
Bones and hearts.

My love is divine, you say?
Your love is a cockroach, fleeing
From the Light and doting on the Dark,
Surviving squashings and apocalypse—
Enduring, when all just simply
Want you dead.

LTWR8B Poem 4

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in. I'm not adding the original poems onto this entry as there are two and they're very long. I also didn't edit much so you're not missing anything. The formatting, also important to the first poem, was also technologically revised unfortunately. I think I'll leave it up on the "Practice Makes Perfect" page so you can see it if you want.

An Interview, Pt. 1

“You have a very interesting mind,”
She said, sitting down
Across from me at the table.
I don’t know about that.
A conversation starter for
A conversation I didn’t want started.
“I’d rather like to take a look inside.”
She meant my cerebellum,
My corpus callosum,
My amygdala,
But I didn’t correct her.
I don’t know why.
“Every word going through your mind is
pertinent.
I don’t know why you don’t write
your thoughts down
More.”
Because I’d rather
Not let anyone
See inside.
“Why don’t you share them?”
Because I’d rather
Censor what people see,
Give each person a version of myself
That I’ve cultivated for them.
So that each person has a
P i e c e
And no one has a
Whole.
“Why don’t you savor them?”
I don’t know who I’m saving it for,
But I certainly don’t want it
And I only show God
My thankful side.
This all happens inside of me but
I only give her a
P i e c e—
“I don’t know.
I just don’t think they’re that
important.”

Importance

I write in prose, ok?
I don’t think I need to ask permission.
I don’t think in free verse or sounds.
I don’t think either are bad,
I don’t think like that.
I don’t think everyone should though.
I don’t think world would be better.

I write in sentences, ok?
I like ending with a period.
I like the quick jab of my pen at the end of a long, elegant, complex line.
I like their connotation.
I like subjects and predicates.
I like having a sense of propriety.
I like it when things are final.

I don’t write poetically, ok?
I don’t like writing in rhythm and
I don’t like writing in rhyme.
I don’t like alliteration, anaphora, apostrophe.
I don’t like sonnets or sestinas.
I don’t like villanelles or ghazals.
I don’t like what I’m saying.

I’m just a girl, ok?
I think I’m figuring things out.
I think writing is a part of me.
I think there’s more though too.
I think there’s a lot more.
I think I need to write things down more.
I think it’s all important.

I write in prose, ok?

LTWR8B Poem 5

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in. This poem is a ghazal.

Of The Dinosaurs

I wish I could have lived in the time of the dinosaurs.
I think I would have liked the life of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have been a brontosaurus or a corythosaurus.
I think I would have played in the nightlife of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have seen the tyrannosaurus in battle, all teeth.
I think I would have been scared of the knife of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have watched the babies hatch and grow.
I think I would have been a good wife of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have roamed the unspoiled lands of the earth.
I think I would have enjoyed the nightlife of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have saved them from the meteor.
I think I would have handled the strife of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could stop people from making fun of me.
“I think Chelsey would like the afterlife of the dinosaurs!”

Of The Dinosaurs

I wish I could have lived in the time of the dinosaurs.
I think I would have loved the sight of the dinosaurs.

I smile when I see the sheets covering my bed—
The bright colored creatures over cream colored bones of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have been a brontosaurus or a corythosaurs.
I think I would have played in the light with the dinosaurs.

I love when I see my Little Foot, older than me, sitting on my bed—
Delight and safety come from the best one of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have seen the tyrannosaurus in battle, fierce.
I think I would have cried at the fight of the dinosaurs.

I love when I see my books spread across my bed—
Despite so much studying, little is still known of the dinosaurs.

I wish I could have saved them from the meteor—
Chelsey, the hero, fixed the plight of the dinosaurs.

LTWR8B Poem 6

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in.

To: Mom

Mother, Father please explain to me
How this world has come to be
While still blessed in all the things we see
Such a sad, sad home for you and me

Tell me when help is gonna come



She thinks, “Hey, how did it come to this?
I dream myself a thousand times around the world
But I can’t get out of this place.”

How she wishes it was different
She prays to God most every night
And though she swears he doesn’t listen
There’s still a hope in her He might



She says, “I pray, but they fall on deaf ears.
Am I supposed to take it on myself
To get out of this place?”



She feels like kicking out all the windows

It’s the lose and the win of the world

And setting fire to this life

Wrong and right, us and them of the world

She could change everything about her

The you and the me of the world

Using colors bold and bright

Only one way out of the world

But all the colors mix together—to grey

And it breaks her heart

The space between your heart and mine

By love, we’ll beat back the pain we’ve found

Take my hand ‘cause we’re walking out of here

Because tomorrow we may die

Take these chances



Want to pack your bags, something small

Take what you need and we disappear

Without a trace, we’ll be gone, gone

You’re coming with me



You know that you and me, we could do anything

If along the way, you are growing weary
You can rest with me until a brighter day
And you’re ok

From you my strength is full
To carry your burdens too



See you and me
Have a better time than most can dream
Have it better than the best

The moon and the stars follow the car
And then when we get to the ocean
We’re going to take a boat to the end of the world
All the way to the end of the world



Turns out not where but who you’re with
That really matters



I think the world of you
All of my heart I do
Blood through my veins for you

You and me together, we can do anything

Like a diamond in the sky

I give my world to you



So we can pull on through
Whatever tears at us
Whatever holds us down
And if nothing can be done
We’ll make the best of what’s around

Where you are is where I belong



So much you have given, love
That I would give you back again and again

All you need is
All you want is
All you need is love.
All you need is
What you want it
All you need is love.
Everyday

To: Mom

Citrus Heights
July 20th, 1990 to December 23rd, 1997
Such a sad, sad home for you and me

She thinks, “Hey, how did it come to this?
I dream myself a thousand times around the world
But I can’t get out of this place.”

She says, “I pray, but they fall on deaf ears.
Am I supposed to take it on myself
To get out of this place?”

Tell me when help is gonna come

She feels like kicking out all the windows

It’s the lose and the win of the world

And setting fire to this life

Wrong and right, us and them of the world

She could change everything about her

The you and the me of the world

Using colors bold and bright

Only one way out of the world

Take these chances

December 24th, 1997
12:01 am
Want to pack your bags, something small
Take what you need and we disappear

Because tomorrow we may die

Redding-The place I still call home
October 18th, 1998 to September 19th, 2008
By love, we’ll beat back the pain we’ve found

So we can pull on through
Whatever tears at us
Whatever holds us down

If along the way, you are growing weary
You can rest with me until a brighter day

La Jolla
September 20th, 2008
You and me together, we can do anything

Today and
What I've Learned
Turns out not where but who you’re with
That really matters

Tomorrow
And then when we get to the ocean
We’re going to take a boat to the end of the world
All the way to the end of the world

Where you are is where I belong

LTWR8B Poem 7

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in. This is my poetic statement that is supposed to wrap up my entire view on poetry, though I'm not sure it represents any of my feelings on poetry. Or maybe partially. However, this is the one means the most to me. I bet you'll never guess why.

The Lottery: A Poem

A gamble
Of words.

A jumble
Of feelings.

A 1 in 176 million chance
Of getting it right.

The Lottery: A Poem

August 27^th, 2010
Bottle Liquor and Deli
999 Main St.

A gamble
Of words.

A jumble
Of feelings.

A 1 in 176 million chance
Of getting it right.

4 10 26 32 41 Mega Number 31

What makes your truly happy?

I'm not sure I quite know yet. There are a lot of things that make me happy, but I'm not sure if they're what makes me truly happy. If anything at all, it would be my family. They frustrate me sometimes to no end, but I love them to death and my happiness in life would... just... be... annihilated if I were to ever lose one. Sometimes, when I see a movie where a family member dies and I start to think about life after I lose one, I cry. There's nothing but a void there, soul destroying and painful to no end. I hate that feeling. My family is my everything. The reason I get up in the morning and live each day out to make sure that I can better their lives as they have bettered mine. I guess my answer should be God, but there's a lot I need to work on with Him to get to a point where He is what makes me truly happy above all else. And that's my fault, not His.

Ask me anything. I dare you.