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.

when is it ok to lie?

I want to say never. I personally would rather people tell me the truth because I don't like hurting people and sometimes I do it without even realizing. Whenever there's drama in my life, it's usually because someone hasn't spoken up about something. I feel like I gotta quote Taylor Swift here when I say "SPEAK NOW."
TSwizzle-- "Real life is a funny thing, you know. In real life, saying the right thing at the right moment is beyond crucial. So crucial, in fact, that most of us start to hesitate, for fear of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. But lately what I've begun to fear more than that is letting the moment pass without saying anything."
I think letting that fear of saying what you want to say just makes life harder. I'm not saying that I follow my own advice, but I start thinking about it when there's something I really want to say but don't know if I should say it. Recently, I went out on a limb and asked someone to my house for dinner. That sounds really lame, but I'm pretty antisocial around new people and that was big for me. Especially because I kind of have a crush on him. So, I was pretty proud of myself for the rest of the day even though he said he had other plans. I felt like a BAMF and at least I knew that I didn't let the chance go by me.
Speaking of going out on a limb, I'm going to quote the wise and philosophical Joshua Ottoson when I say "Why not go out on a limb? That's where the fruit is."
So, get your fruit. Say what's on your mind. Don't lie and cover it up. Be honest. I'll work on it if you do.

Ask me anything. I dare you.

An Interview, Pt. 1

"You have a very interesting mind," she said as she sat down at the table across from me. "I'd rather like to take a look inside."

She meant my cerebellum and corpus callosum and amygdala, but I didn't correct her.

"Every word going through your mind is pertinent. Did you know that? I don't know why you don't write your thoughts down more often."

Because I'd rather not let anyone see inside, that's why. Because I'd rather censor what people see so that each person has a specific version that I've cultivated specifically for them. Everyone has a piece of me. No one has a whole. 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.

All this happens inside me, but I only give her a piece--

"I just don't think they're that important."

UPDATE:

I changed this into a poem for poetry class. In case you haven't checked out the Practice Makes Perfect page where I'm featuring my poetry, it's there.

The Boston Chronicles: Tuesday, 8-24-10 (Day 2)

Today was awesome. It's raining here like crazy so we didn't do a whole bunch. First we woke up extremely late and had DELICIOUS chocolate chip pancakes, that I've been dying and craving for since like April when I bought my ticket to come here.

Then we talked for hours. Katie caught me up on all of the Shall-Not-Be-Named, ridiculous drama that someone is putting her through. Katie is so awesome, that before we left for the day, I told Betsy I wanted to give her a makeshift

surprise birthday party later. The three of us took the T, yeah the T because I'm in Boston an

d can do amazing stuff like take

the T, to Newton Centre and got challah at the Blue Sky Bakery, which reminds me of the Blue Sky Cellar in Disneyland California Adventures, but there's cooler things like models of the new World of Color in there.

Afterwards, Betsy and I got some things together for Katie's makeshift surprise birthday bonanza--two kinds of ice cream because I don't like peanut butter as a dessert, M&M's toppings, "streamers" which were really wrapping paper ribbons because CVS blows a bit in that department, cards that were AWESOME, and a magazine as a birthday present. When we got back to the BK Lounge, we decorated the place with our "streamers" and I made dinosaurs/work horses to put up on the kitchen wall. We also made her a crown because she is QUEEN OF THE DINOSAURS!

Then we talked some more and convinced her to go New York City with us! Betsy and I leave tomorrow! Yay!

The Boston Chronicles: Monday, 8-23-10 (Day 1)

Bad things come in threes and hopefully I've had my three bad things for this trip.

1. I have a MONSTER PERIOD.

2. New York Pass = NO SHOW.

3. I have a 2 hour delay in Dallas.

Good things

1. My check-in luggage made it to Boston.

2. Free water from Subway

3. Being in BOSTON!

4. God getting me through this crazy day.

5. Meeting the lovely Katie Russell.

6. My first taxi ride through the bright lights of Boston at two in the morning

and finally

7. SEEING BETSARIO, MY OLDER SISTER FIGURE!

Sending out prayers for an awesome trip!

do you agree with me when I say if there's a just God, He/She/It would rather us spend our days of worship volunteering or doing charity rather than church?

Yes. I do agree. I believe he wants us to do that too. Sometimes, I think people view worship as a singular act of singing along to some songs in church, but worship comes in all sorts of ways. I love the topic of spiritual gifts (1 Corinthians 12, Ephesians 4) because these show just how many different ways you can worship the Lord, just by serving in Spirit. If volunteering is your thing, maybe the Spirit has blessed you with a gift for compassion, or servitude, or both, or something else. Personally, forms of worship for me come in my own spiritual gifts of shepherding and encouragement, which for me translates to giving people advice and counseling. I also believe that when I'm married, being a good wife will be a form of worship. There are so many amazing spiritual gifts and different ways to worship and I love to talk about them, preferably in person, so if you ever want to talk to me about it, feel free.

Ask me anything. I dare you.

Shingles Me Timbers

Ladies and gentleman, specifically to gross you out, I have Shingles.

It's a real classy disease, let me tell you.

First, you notice a pain wherever Shingles is preparing to erupt and ruin your life. It can feel like a soreness. Some people believe they've pulled a muscle. This, my friends, is not the case. Your nerve is being attacked by the little Shingles gnomes (of course they're gnomes) and undergoing severe gnome devastation like that can make anything feel sore.

Then, the little Shingles gnomes start popping up in the spot where they conquered your nerve. There's like one or two, in my case three, and you feel them one day as you're rubbing your sore ass shoulder. If you're anything like me you think "Whoa... are these cancer bumps?" because you are always, and I mean ALWAYS, scared you will get cancer on your back. And for some reason it always, and I mean ALWAYS, starts with tiny bumps. You run to your mom "MOM I HAVE CANCER BUMPS!!!" and she rolls her eyes at you and looks at them. "No, you have pimples... now SHUT THE HELL UP!" *Author's note: My mom probably wouldn't say that to me, well, maybe she would, but not so dramatically. The dramatic use of cursing and CAPS LOCK is specifically for humor purposes only. Now, let's continue*

BUT YOU'RE BOTH WRONG BECAUSE IT'S THE SHINGLES GNOMES. AND THEY ARE LAUGHING MANICALLY AT YOUR CANCER HYPOTHESIS BECAUSE YOU ARE SO FUCKING WRONG!

The little Shingles gnomes start reproducing and gyrating to some awful techno music that Chad Michael Murray probably enjoys. This creates more bumps and makes them all itchy. All you want to do is itch those stupid bumps because you KNOW that if you just itched it once it would all go away, so you do. But the itch does not go away because the little Shingles gnomes are all on ecstasy and that makes their itchy dance rave go for 24 hours a day.

So, in my situation because I am poor, I do not go to a doctor's office. I probably could count the number of times I've been to the doctor with my limbs. I fight the little Shingles gnomes dance rave with itch cream. Take that, little suckers. Screw your dancing. I will win. I won't itch!

This itch-cream-repeat routine happens for a while. You get another patch on your arm that isn't as crazy looking as the back, but makes you seriously consider the fact that you have a flesh eating virus and that you are dying. You think about life and what it's meant to you and you pray a lot that you don't have the flesh eating virus. You finish the letters that you'd half written in your "In The Event of My Death" folder you have on your laptop. You figure out who gets what of your possessions (I'm taking Little Foot to my fiery kiln of a burial, mofos. Don't even think about it.).

Your aunt tells you you have a fungus. What the hell? There's mushrooms or moss or whatever fungus is growing on your back!?! You don't know what "fungus" means exactly, but it doesn't sound pretty. And, in fact, it does not look pretty either. As you desperately search Google images for "skin eating fungus" (Don't do it.), you realize that your life will probably end and you will look disgusting. You will look like your skin is entirely gone and your muscles are just out there, exposed to the world, naked of their protective epidermis layers.

And then you get a new patch on your wrist. You either have some insanely awkward cancer, or in fact you do have the flesh eating virus. Those are the only options.

You go to the doctor. She exclaims "YOU HAVE HERPES."

You reply, "Listen, lady. I'm sure you are very adequate at your job. I'm sure you excel at it. But the thing is, there's no way I can have herpes because... well... I... don't... do it. Yes, I don't have sex? Don't look at me like that. I'm not lying. Yeah, so I can't have herpes."

But you think there's a possibility because that one time you were in the Sonic bathroom with your mom and she realized you don't really like toilet seat covers and she told you if you kept doing that you'd probably gets AIDS and STD's. You remember how that one time she asked you what would happen when your survivor phone finally broke and you told her stfu because your survivor phone would never break and then IT DID FOR NO REASON! You realize she's right about things all the time and maybe she's right about you having herpes because you don't use toilet seat covers. You think about how no one will want to marry you because you will probably get those creepy wart things down below and who wants someone with an STD and they've never even have the S?!?

All this passes through your mind quicker than it took to read that paragraph and then you realize the doctor is looking at you like you're an idiot.

"You have Shingles, which is a reoccurrence of chicken pox. When you have gone through chicken pox, the virus lays dormant in your nerves and sometimes it can resurface as Shingles, which is treated the same way as Herpes."

And then you figure out the little bumps are actually the dancing, gyrating, techno-loving little Shingles gnomes. You get a prescription and you take the first pill, thinking SCREW YOU, LITTLE SHINGLES GNOMES! I AM CALLING THE ACYCLOVIR POPO ON YOUR DUMB BACK/ARM/WRIST BLOCK PARTY!

And then you win. The tides turn and once you've got the acyclovir popo on your side, there's nothing the little Shingles gnomes can do. You're destroying them five times a day with food and plenty of water.

Thank you to all who were with me technologically when I went to the doctor's and for all the encouragement and prayers you sent my way. This post is dedicated to you.

Which is worse: a striped cat or a plain cat?

Both make me want to projectile vomit.


Maybe a striped cat.

Ask me anything. I dare you.

Which is worse: moldy food or spotty bananas?

Moldy food is worse because you can't really do much with it. Spotty bananas are disgusting but you can put them in my famous Poor-Man's-Smoothie so they do have their uses. Moldy food does not.

Ask me anything. I dare you.