Late Night Daydreams June 18, 2009

Last night I was at a friends house, partying one final time before I go down to college. I didn’t get home till midnight. Everyone in my house was asleep. Silent. And I just went in my room, left the light off, and sat on my very cluttered bed. (Yes, my room is still a mess.) I was just sitting there, thinking. About fading friendships. About all the new possibilities. About dreams. About fears. I just got caught up in this whole daydream-esque affair. Except it was night. But I literally zoned out for an hour, just lost completely in my thoughts.

This is it. Those friends I just watched The Swan Princess with–twice in a row, I might add–were all staying and I was going. I’m kind of a realist. And I can’t help but know most of those friends will forget me. I’ll forget them. We’re just on different paths now and, soon, they’ll just be an old memory in a diary, a forgotten Facebook friend, someone in my phone who I just don’t call anymore. Even though we had just been laughing about Jean-bob and Speed; even though we played the “I Never” game twice in a row; even though we relived all our favorite times together–it’s just the end. Which is sad. Really, it is. But that is all life really gives us: change. We have to either make it work or resent it. I want to make it work.

I’m excited for college. I’m excited for boys and professors and late-night study groups and roommates. Really, I am. It’s this whole new world and I want to embrace that change that is coming. Tomorrow. But, last night, at one in the morning, just sitting in the dark, I kept imagining what it will be like. Who will I be in five years? Married? Will I have sent invites to all those old friends? Maybe I’ll be graduated. Will I have a job? Be published? I could still be stuck in college, plowing away, perhaps caught up in daydreams about the past. But I don’t know. And that’s a really, really cool thing. I. Don’t. Know.

We can go around, pretending we rule our universe, thinking we’re in control, professing we’ve got it covered. But no one really does. Change is life and we have no control over it. Not really. Change is always one step ahead of us and we have to let it be. Learn to roll with the punches. We don’t have any idea what life will be like tomorrow, next week, next year. Life comes at you fast. All we can do is try to smile through it, make every moment count because that’s your reality.

So I was sitting in the dark. All alone. The house eerily silent. But I smiled. I smiled because I got to watch The Swan Princess one more time with some of my best friends. I smiled because, tomorrow, I’m stepping into a whole new reality. I smiled because I have no idea what’s coming next; who I’ll be tomorrow. And I also smiled because it was extremely late and I was a little delirious.

Seriously though, isn’t life pretty sweet? Not perfect–never will be–but there’s something comforting about change. Because, cliche or not, change is the one constant. And that’s sort of synonymous with hope. At least for me. …At least at one in the morning.

The End Meets the Beginning June 16, 2009

My room is a mess. Catastrophic, really. It usually is. But this is a different sort. Because I’m leaving. Moving away. Going forward, but always looking back. Maybe that’s wrong–looking back. I’m sure someone wants to turn his nose up, tell me to look to the future; to realize I have a whole world at my feet. And I do, I know that. But I can’t help but glance back. Especially now.

This very friday I am going away to college. Not that far–just an hour, less when my brother is driving. But I’ve been working this week at packing up my room. Which is, I’ve realized, just like packing up my life. How can one ever decide what to bring, what to leave? I don’t want to give anything up. These eighteen years have made everything in my room a part of me. And I want to take it all with me. The coloring books, the legos, the porcelain dolls, old diaries, my baby blanket, my un-scrapbooked photos, the cheaply-created scrapbooks, neon green nailpolish I haven’t used since I was twelve. I want to take it all. But I can’t. Not only is my dorm the size of my bathroom and therefore far beyond unable to hold ALL the life of Shelby Boyer. But I shouldn’t bring it all. This is the end. Morbid, I know. But not really. It’s kind of hopeful. Because an end is only a sad way of saying a beginning. And I don’t think there’s any other way of explaining what I am doing (or why my bedroom looks like a tsunami came and pulled up the carpet). This is a beginning–my beginning. So why am I so desperate to hold to the end?

For a long time now I’ve been holding a one-way ticket to Neverland. I talked about going, I thought about it, I’ve even prayed about it. But I’ve never been able to step away. Because I realized I like growing up. I want to grow up. But I don’t want to let go. Not ever. Peter Pan can have his pirates and his lost boys and mean mermaids. I’m going to stick with that step into the unknown. I’m going to let go of my mommies hand and go to that first day of school without screaming and crying. I’m going to figure out how to cook and clean and get going without my parent’s help. I’m going to dream about tomorrow–boys, parties, degrees, apartments–but, I promise you this, I’m never going to forget that moment where the end meets the beginning. Now, here, with my room a disaster and the memories creating a traffic jam in my brain, I’m going to hold to this. This serendipitous point in time where you have your hand on the door but you can’t help but look back a bit. I look at those journals and scrapbooks and blankets and pictures and I remember. I remember how my dad used to let me climb on his feet and he’d walk me around the kitchen. I remember when mom and I played with baking soda in the kitchen and Travis and I went back to make even bigger explosions. I remember the fights I had with my friends when dances and boys were supposedly more important than each other. I remember plotting out the best surprise party ever and seeing her face when we were all there, waiting. I remember my driving test when I accidentally changed lanes over the white line and I thought the world was over. I remember opening my email and seeing that “You have been accepted” phrase beaming up at me. I remember the night after graduation, lying in bed, holding to my raggedy baby blanket and just crying because, too soon, I would be here, saying goodbye. But then, even as I remember, I put it down. That blanket is staying. Those pictures are still in the box, gathering dust on my closet shelf. I have packed my journals but only so they don’t burn up in a fire I’m scared will take my house by storm as soon as I leave them.

I’m glad for the memories. But I’m even more glad for the chance to make new ones. This is the end. But I’d like to see it as a beginning. I mean, that way my disturbingly dirty room isn’t such a bad thing. When my mom comes in, angry about the mess, I can gently remind her that I have more important things to worry about. Like putting that Neverland ticket through the shredder. There’s no way I’m going now.

What Teachers Make April 9, 2009

(I’ve put a link to the original poem and the email version I discuss in the analysis. Please read them before)

In Taylor Mali’s popular poem, “What Teachers Make, or Objection Overruled, or If things don’t work out, you can always go back to law school,” he stands up for teachers in a lively, no-nonsense sort of way. It’s humorous, original, meaningful. No wonder a copy was made. Too bad it’s ridiculous. The version injected into cyberspace, boringly labeled “What Teachers Make,” completely manhandles the original, mauling the casual humor and wry wit Mali was so good at. The copy—really, a mess of a revision—is sentimental and dull, lacking the vivacious spirit that made the original so powerful. The anonymous author tried to dumb it down for the masses, but, in the decimating act, they took the very soul away. Now we’re forced to examine the two, desperately trying to wipe the nonsensical copy from everyone’s memory and instead give the original its due worth in praise.

Taylor Mali’s long-titled piece stays true to itself, beginning to end, keeping us entertained as well as informed. His banter reigns, his sarcasm drips. Even the title serves as a wise-crack to all who doubt a teacher’s power. The first-person point of view makes it real and believable. We’re sitting at the dinner table getting the rant of the century from a rattled teacher. “You want to know what I make?” he asks, preparing us for his “honesty and ass-kicking.” Then he dives right in, heartlessly. Mali refrains from quotations, allowing his words to jumble together without the interruption of quote-end-quote. Instead, the words and phrases twist together, leaving the reader to untangle who exactly he’s talking to. His detail isn’t in imagery but in honesty. When he describes what she “makes,” we understand. Because we’ve been there. We’ve had the teacher who knows just why we want to get a drink of water—“You’re not thirsty, you’re bored.”—or who can make us feel like horrible human beings—“How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.” We get it. We see it. Mali brings life to generic memories and we take them, making them personal. The detail is only intricate because we can remember what teachers have made of us. It’s not at all sentimental, only honest. More dry than emotional; sarcastic more than sappy. The humor of the piece is not in jokes but in his “let you have it” policy. “You want to know what I make?” he asks again, without sounding like a broken record. It emphasizes just how much he does make. It rubs it in “his” face that he is on a roll and knows exactly what he is worth. Mali doesn’t back down, but rather gears up. His poetry isn’t about rhyme schemes or pretty stories. The breaks and rhythm only help move the piece forward, riddled with meaning and purpose. Not a stop, drop or pause is in place that wasn’t planned. It flows because of the sudden breaks and jumpy rhythm. It is, after all, “definitely/beautiful.” In the end, we understand why Mali was so involved. The “what about you?” at the end is for us. More a challenge than an accusation. We understand exactly what it is he teaches and pick up the lesson for ourselves: “If you got [brains] then you follow [your heart] and if someone ever tries to judge you by what you make, you give them [the finger].” Simple as that.

The cliché-ridden copy falls flat in comparison. It’s in a whole other league. And not in a good way. Where Mali’s had heart, this version is inane; where Mali’s relied on character, this nonsense desperately clings to sentimentality. This is “family friendly” to the extreme, cutting the curse words and Mali’s no-nonsense approach to teaching, therefore destroying the character we had in the original. The revision shoves ideals, hopes, and dreams down our throats, begging us to choke on our tears and cheer for this selfless teacher named Bonnie. Who is Bonnie? Good question. She comes off timid and unsure. “You want to know what I make?” she stutters, saying it again and again as if she’s trying to figure it out herself, pausing and blushing, racking her brain for something important to say to the ever-imposing “CEO” that just happens to be “discussing life” with the dinner guests. It’s only after droning on and on about random, unconnected nonsense that Bonnie remembers something she must have read in When In Doubt, Say You’re Making a Difference: The Golden Feel-Good Answer For Anyone. “I MAKE A DIFFERENCE.” She cries out, finally finished. It seems even the anonymous author knew how silly it sounded, so they capitalized the entire phrase. More impressive that way. No, Bonnie is just one, hypocritical mess. She’s introduced as having a “reputation for honesty and frankness” but seems frightened to live up to it. Never does one phrase seem powerful or heartfelt. It’s forced and unimportant; nothing more than a list. When the author took the first-person away, relying instead upon third-person point of view, we lost the reality of the character. Bonnie is just a teacher at dinner protesting her own importance all while struggling with her own self-esteem. In the end she begins to whine, obviously threatened and frightened by her own measly existence: “When people try to judge me…I can hold my head up high and pay no attention because they are ignorant.” You tell ‘em, Bonnie! The entire piece is as much a mess as the struggling main character. Half the poem is prose and the whole thing is devoid of any rhythm or structure. It’s almost as if halfway through the author decided it needed to look more like a poem and so threw in some random breaks and pauses, still littering every line with meaningless filler and frilly feelings. The whole poem is a mouthful with little detail or imagery to make up for it. And Mali, it seems, wasn’t patriotic enough to be a teacher, because this version injects their sentimental bit about cultural diversity and the Pledge of Allegiance “because we live in the United States of America.” Thanks for the reminder. The author managed to keep a few of the “I make” statements from the original. But it does little-to-no good because it has lost its context and power of the character. Now it’s just words. Mali’s original poem is desecrated in this rendition, diluted to nothing more than a vague, shattered shadow. It lost it’s magic when it lost Mali. There’s no character; no driver. It’s just a simple, skeletal, empty, worthless mess.

The two poems are so very different, it does Mali’s poem injustice to hold them together. Where one is an honest confession, the other is a droning storybook. While one has heart because of character, the other beats the heart into it. Mali’s is real poetry, but most of the world doesn’t care, happy instead with the sappy rendition your best friend’s hairdresser’s mailman’s dog sent you in a forward. Click. One massacred, almost-plagiaristic poem coming right up. In the words of Mali, there’s a huge “goddamn difference” between the two, and if I get the revised version in an email, I may have to do some serious “ass-kicking” because it’s such an eyesore to the poetic community.

Reality For Real March 26, 2009

Last night i was watching the Bachelor episode i had TiVo-ed. That’s when Matt came over. He said his girlfriend had just dumped him. He said his girlfriend had felt unloved. He said he hadn’t seen it coming. I had. Everyone had. That is, everyone who saw her with Austin. But i didn’t tell Matt that. I couldn’t really talk. I mean, his now-ex girlfriend is my roommate. Not that I like her. I don’t. She was totally wrong for him. He was totally above her. Of course, I have to say that. Because he’s my best guy-friend. Actually, he’s my only guy-friend. Seems most guys won’t just be friends with you if your boyfriend is the quarterback. I thought that stuff ended with high school. It doesn’t.

But back to the guy-friend thing. Matt was my best friend from sophomore year in high school to sophomore year now. I think my boyfriend once threatened him. But Matt just laughed. That’s how he always is. But it’s kinda stupid to laugh at a quarterback. So I had to tell my boyfriend Matt was gay. And since he doesn’t really hang out with Matt’s crowd, he bought it. Funny how easy it was. I actually see Matt way more than said boyfriend. And, come to think of it, said boyfriend has plenty of girl friends. He always did have a double standard.

So, the reality show night. I was totally just watching the T.V. And Matt was sitting there, ragging on the ex when he suddenly shut up. I glanced over at the sudden silence and he was just staring off, mouth half-opened. I asked what his deal was and then he just looked at me and laughed. He always laughs, remember?

“I didn’t even love her.” He said, as if it was the epiphany of the year. But I’d so known that. It was a duh moment for me. I mean, him and her was like me and BF. It just…happened. And it didn’t matter. That’s when I put The Bachelor on mute. And I stared at him.

“I don’t love him.” I said. He smiled slyly. “Duh.” he said. Then I laughed.

“I just wasted a year.”

“And I wasted five.” he interjected, still sly.

“What?” I argued, “you were only with her for a few months!”

He just shrugged, leaning forward, obviously eager to get to a point. “Why were we such idiots, do you think?”

I shrugged, turning the volume back up. Conversations about my boyfriend always bored me. But, i guess, by that time he wasn’t really my boyfriend. Because of my not loving and not caring and all. Still, like I wanted to analyze my own stupidity when the Bachelor was handing out his final rose. Matt understood. Sort of. He leaned back on the couch, slouching to level himself with me. He always was tall. Massive torso. But he never ever slouched. So of course I glanced at him, wondering what he was up to. But he seemed pretty intent on The Bachelor as well. It was only after the commercial break that I realized he’d inched closer. Weird. I mean, he isn’t exactly the touchy type. Which, to me was one of the deciding factors in his recent break-up since the ex was very, very touchy. So I asked if he was cold. He laughed. But then the Bachelor was up and the first girl was getting out of the limo and I was so invested in the decision that my eyes were glued to the T.V and nothing else.

The girl was my favorite. Probably because she was a lot like me. Petite. Blonde. A little cynical but still sweet. Attitude with a little bit of shyness. I’d been rooting for her since the first night when she called the bachelor out on a stupid thing he’d said. And now I was watching the finale. They were perfect for each other. Like The Notebook couple. Totally get in each other’s faces but so perfectly romantic and complete opposite. And what does he do??? He lets her go! For some green-eyed brunette who laughs like a cow. And, no, cows DO NOT laugh. I got so angry! I leapt from the couch and screamed, kneeling up by the T.V. and cursing the day the Bachelor ever got accepted to be on national television.

Matt laughed at me. Which is NOT smart to do when I’m emotionally involved in a T.V. show. i turned on him. But he just knelt next to me, allowing me to be angry for a while before he interrupted.

“Didn’t you once say I was like him?”

Yes, I had. The second week it was on. They were almost clones. Except his eyes weren’t as blue as Matt’s. But that did not seem the best time to bring up a likeness. Especially since I wanted to destroy the one on T.V. Maybe i’d settle with the twin. But Matt didn’t seem scared. He just laughed again. “And aren’t you like her?”

“YES! And he just let her go! They were perfect and he was her SOULMATE and he just made her WALK AWAY!!! It was like the best couple in the universe and–BAM–now, it’s nothing. They were perfect and….”

I stopped. Because I realized–everything. The way he looked at me when he said he hadn’t loved the ex. The way he looked when I said I didn’t love my BF. The way he said Five Years–the time we’d known each other. The way he inched closer. The way he smiled. The way he was crawling closer to me. The way I was in his arms now. The way he pushed my hair out of my eyes. The way his thumb slid across my stressed brow, softening my scowl. And now I couldn’t breathe. The Bachelor was proposing behind me to the wrong girl . But I didn’t care. My eyes were locked on Matt’s. Which were laughing. Yes, eyes DO laugh. At least his do.

“Why was he such an idiot, do you think?” His voice was a whisper, surprising.

“Maybe he just didn’t realize what was right in front of him. And they just let it go because they couldn’t see….”

My last words melted away, hazy and unimportant. He was inching closer, his hand around my neck, warm, sure. He kissed me. I kissed him. Time stopped. Everything stopped. Except him and me. That was enough. I didn’t even care what happened on The Bachelor. Because it was happening to me–my own reality. Crazy how things work out, isn’t it?

The Break-up Conversation March 25, 2009

“Can you tell me what it’s like?”

“What?”

“Being the biggest JERK in the friggin’ world?!”

“Um…. What are you talking about?”

“YOU! Don’t play stupid. I saw you with her! No, correction: I saw you ON her. All over her. So you have about five seconds to answer the friggin’ question!”

“What question? What are you smoking? What is going on? Am I being punk’d? What are you talking about?”

“Save the crap. Just tell me what it’s like being such a jacka–”

“I have NOT cheated on you. But, really, it’s starting to sound like a good idea. You are CRAZY!”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault you’re a philandering molester-of-women?? You’re such a son of a–”

“Okay, this has gotta be a joke. You are such a paranoid chick! I have never cheated on you. Never. So what do you want me to say to finish this conversation?”

“TELL ME THE TRUTH!”

“I have! I told you, I haven’t cheated on you! I mean, come ON! This is ridiculous. I don’t know where you’d even think I’d have time to do another girl: you are always on. my. BACK!”

“Don’t turn this on me. I’m not the one taking a stroll in another girl’s pants!”

“News flash: neither am I! I didn’t even see this coming! You are so insecure, It’s like you WANT an excuse to break up with me.”

“Who said anything about breaking up?”

“Ha! Okay, that’s it. You’ve lost it. Totally INSANE! I stuck around you for way too long, you clingy, little control freak!”

“Where are you going?”

“You tell me! Maybe I’m gonna take a stroll in your sister’s pants!”

“I knew it! You ARE cheating on me!!”

Twilight, condensed* … condensed again March 18, 2009

*As requested, it’s about a page and a half shorter. I wasn’t sure what was wanted, so sorry if this isn’t exactly it.*

It all started when I, like, moved up to Forks and my dad got me a piece-of-crap truck. Which I loved. Cuz I have this thing for really, really old, potentially dangerous things. Duh. At school, there was this super attractive family that nobody talked to cuz they are “weird”. Edward was the youngest and his eyeballs were so mesmerizing. I just stared and stared. But he thought I smelt which totally sucked cuz I so wanted him. So I did what any normal girl would do: I started stalking him. And I found out he was a really, really old, potentially dangerous vampire who happened to be stalking me as well. He told me I should never ever love him. Something about him wanting to eat me. Whatever. That’s way hot. So what did I do? I fell head over heels for him. And he totally HEARTS me too.

He showed me how he sparkles. It was so sexy. Too bad he’s like a slab of ice. I still can’t resist making out with him. I just want more and more, cuz he has perfect lips, of course. But he’s all, “No, I’ll eat you, Bella.” Which just makes me want more. I mean, right? I just try again and again and we’re always arguing as we kiss cuz he’s hungry and he can’t take any more and I’m hungry and all I want is HIM. It’s way precious.

Everything else was so perfect and wonderful. But then this other vampire clan came and they just weren’t nice. Ruined everything. Edward, who is so overprotective and smothering it’s cute, freaks and makes me hit the road. I end up at my mom’s cuz the evil vampire is stalking me. Kinda like Edward did. Except this guy wants to rip my heart out. I would be turned on, but I’m so smitten by Mr. Perfect-marble-god Edward that I can’t think about any other guys.

Well, I end up falling into the evil vampire’s trap cuz I’m so selfless I give myself up to save cool people I love so very much. So I go and practically serve myself up with gravy and potatoes. The evil vampire is so about to kill me when Edward comes from nowhere—he’s magic, you know—and they get into this enormous Vamp fight. It was so exciting: they were fighting over me! But I got bit, it seems. And it hurt. I was writhing on the floor and was all in and out of consciousness. Mostly I was worried about how I looked cuz I’m so scared Edward thinks I’m just an ugly human and me weeping on the floor, bleeding and foaming at the mouth wasn’t helping the matter. But I know, somehow, Edward saved me and ripped the evil vampire to shreds and burned those shreds in a great bonfire. That’s how it’s done.

Back at Forks, everything returned to normal. Except Edward made me go to prom with him which was totally lame but I couldn’t argue cuz I love him. Besides, whenever I look at his glittery perfection, I just melt. So he’s in charge. He loves me, so he knows what’s best for me. Always. And you’re jealous. I know it. Cuz he’s hot. Just get that into your head. He’s totally hot and he’s all mine. I mean, I’m all his. Which is perfect. Too bad that evil vampire’s girlfriend is going to kill me. I could have been so happy.

Twilight, condensed* March 17, 2009

* No copyright infringement is intended*

So, like, I was gonna die but I totally didn’t care cuz—guess what?—I had a hot boyfriend, so I’d die happy. Totally. But, rewind. Let me tell you ALL about my life with said boyfriend.

It all started when I, like, moved up to the little town called Forks—I know, right?—and my dad got me a truck which was a total piece of junk but, hey, it’s the thought that counts. Besides, I love really, really old, potentially dangerous things. Which is why I was so attracted to my boyfriend. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

In Forks, there was either something in the water or every high school student was smoking pot cuz they all thought I was hot. Weird. But there was this super attractive family that nobody talked to cuz they were “weird”. Edward was the youngest and his eyeballs were so mesmerizing, I just stared and stared. But he thought I smelt which totally sucked cuz I sooo wanted him. In fact, I pretty much started stalking him. And I found out he was a really, really old, potentially dangerous vampire who happened to be stalking me as well. He saved me from my own stupidity—sometimes I just don’t think—and then I found out he wanted to eat me which is such a turn on for me. Plus, he could read minds. Super cool! Except he couldn’t read mine cuz I’m magic. He once brought me home to meet his family. Jasper was super chill, like some crazy beach bum hippie who was always like “Bella, relaaaax.” Alice, she totally loves me and is like super in tune with the world cuz she, like, really sees the future. Then there’s Rosalie who just wishes she was hot like me and totally has prima donna issues. But she’s so beautiful, I still worship her. Her boyfriend, Emmet, is a hunk who’s totally funny. Like, so. Then his parents, Esme and Carlisle, are just totally Stepford. They were so much cooler than my family. Speaking of which, my dad totally did not trust Edward cuz I did a lousy job at communicating how we were soul mates and I trusted him with my life and that I’d be a vampire one day too so that Edward and I could be totally happy for all eternity. (Secret reason for wanting to be a vampire? I’d be perfectly hot, so Edward would really want me as bad as I wanted him. Being a vampire ROCKS.) But Dads just don’t understand.

One day, Edward took me away and showed me how he sparkled in the sunlight. Like a crystal. It was so sexy. He’s just so cold, but I can’t resist making out with him. I just want more and more, cuz he has perfect lips, of course. But he’s all, “No, I’ll eat you, Bella. I can’t resist.” Which just makes me want more. I mean, how sexy is that? So I try and seduce him, but, cuz I’m so awkward, I’m really super bad at it. But he doesn’t think so. He groans and I make out with him and then he chides me like I was some kid who needed reprimanding. But I’m so needy I just try again and again and we’re just always arguing as we kiss cuz he’s hungry and he can’t take any more and I’m hungry and ll I want is HIM. It’s way precious.

That was a huge portion of the year—my making out with him and him saying no. But then this other vampire clan came and they just weren’t nice. It was so rude. They really were gonna eat me—I just smell so good, you know. I can’t help it. So Edward, who is so overprotective and smothering it’s cute, freaks and makes me scream at my dad to get away. I end up at my mom’s cuz the bad vampire is stalking me. Kinda like Edward did. Except this guy wants to rip my heart out with his teeth. I would be turned on, but I’m so smitten by Mr. Perfect-marble-god Edward that I can’t think about any other guys. It’s them who don’t catch the hint. They all come on so strong. I guess I just smell too good to resist.

What happens next is me falling for the evil vampire’s trickery cuz I’m so selfless I’d give myself up to save those cool people I love so very much. So I go to the ballet studio and practically serve myself up with gravy and potatoes. Which is where we are now. Dying, remember?

The evil vampire cackles and is about to suck my blood when Edward comes from nowhere—he’s magic, you know—and they get into this enormous fight. It was so exciting: they were fighting over me! Who would have thought I was so popular? I mean, really, it is so romantic what they would do for me. But I got bit, it seems. And it hurt. I was writhing on the floor and I was all in and out of conscience. Mostly I was worried about how I looked cuz I’m so scared Edward thinks I’m ugly already and me weeping on the floor, bleeding and foaming at the mouth wasn’t helping the matter. But I know, somehow, Edward won and saved me and the rest of the cool family came and ripped the evil vampire to shreds and burn those shreds of evil vampire. It just so happens to be the only way to kill a vampire. Since they’re so perfect.

I woke up in the hospital and everyone believed some nonsense about me crashing down the stairs, through a window and onto a poisonous mine field and surviving. I was gonna get mad at Edward for making me look like such an idiot, when, really, I’d just been so selfless. But I saw him in all his glittery perfection and I just melted. I ended up back in Forks and Edward made me go to prom with him which was totally lame but I couldn’t argue cuz I love him. So he’s in charge. He loves me so he knows what’s best for me. Always. So I’m really happy. And you’re jealous. I know it. Cuz he’s hot. Just get that into your head. He’s totally hot and he’s all mine. I mean, I’m all his. Which is perfect. Too bad that evil vampire’s girlfriend is going to kill me. I could have been so happy.

Snow White’s Secret March 5, 2009

Mirror,
Mirrror,
on the wall
I wish to be fairest—
Or prettiest,
maybe loveliest;
I’ll even settle
for Most Likely to Succeed—
of them all.
Make me,
Mirror, please,
something other than that
face that always stares.
Give me princes
and evil mothers;
send me packing,
keep me running—
I’m not picky, I swear.
I’ll live with men too countless;
I’ll make pies,
keep house,
sing to anything with ears.
Just make me pretty,
Magic Mirror,
stuck upon a wall.
If I am pretty,
Blessed Mirror,
I’ll live the life you give—
even if it puts me in a coffin;
even if I must be kissed by strangers.
Oh, dearest mirror,
give me
any reflection you wish.
Only
make it good;
I’ll make it work.
I’ll trust your eye.
But, one request:
Please, make me
Fairest
of them all.

Happiness Is… January 4, 2009

Writing on mirrors
Air hugs
Silent laughter
The smell of leather
Popping packing bubbles
Late nights
Singing in the car
Romantic comedies
a new pillow
Laughing till you can’t breathe, your sides hurt, and you’re crying
—Making someone laugh like that
The first time you wear something new
Ripping off wrapping paper
Erasing a mistake
Licking the spoon
Crying
Ogling over unavailable guys
A good hair day
Water fights
Crisp dollars
Permanent markers
Rain clouds
High heels
Coloring inside the lines
No homework
Quoting movies like nobody’s business
The color green
Sleeping in
Laughing with galpals
Sprawling
Holding hands
The scratch of a pen on paper
Watching snow fall
Slippers
Doodling
Heels clicking on tile
Your “doctor” signature
Hearing your favorite song on the radio
Ooing and Awing
Being told you’re beautiful
Making up words
Daydreaming
Trying something new and absolutely bombing
Spring blossoms
Cake batter
Speeding
Getting dressed up
Falling down with someone
Shouting out something random
Warm blankets
Roasted starbursts
Sunsets
Hearing a new joke
Watching people smile
Potatoes
Reading by a fire
Sitting on countertops
Dipping your toes in
Sounding awful but singing anyway
Trying on dresses
Old books
Walking into a home reeking with goodness
Loaded with paper bags
Using big words
Doing it when everybody says you can’t
Breaking something
Using words incorrectly
Warm food
Breathing in crisp, autumn air
Music
Laughing at your mistake
Eskimo kisses
Surprises
Making a difference and not being recognized for it
The smell of hairspray
Winning
–losing
Pretending life is a musical
Holidays
Standing up for something
The sound of typing
Slow dancing
Midnight showings
Basking in the sunlight
Countdowns
Shooting stars
Old books
Talking to yourself
Being crazy

Being yourself.

Life August 22, 2008

Whining,
Crying,
Sobbing.

Pain,
misery,
loss.

The world has
never
been so
dark.

Death,
Violence,
despair.

Anger,
betrayal,
Vengeance.

We survive, using the
excuse;
it’s just
life.