Happy New Year, 2012

Sorry for being M.I.A. lately. The holidays hit, half of which was spent without cell service or internet access, so I'm far behind on blogging. I have been writing a lot though. Spent a fair amount of time wandering the past couple weeks, getting lost in the beauty of nature and the craziness of my wonderings and discoveries. Being with family has spurred much of it, being away from the selfishness of college has spurred the rest. Once I have refined all the poems I have written and all the random thoughts I have ventured I promise to share and I hope to hear your own responses.

I get to ring in the New Year with family once again, I wouldn't have it any other way. Might even go to bed early just so I can wake up early and play with my cute nephews. I think for once I will finally have some New Year's resolutions, though I won't call them that. They are just goals I have set for myself this next year. Most of which are personal, but all will make me a better me, and all will help me find out who "me" even is :) I will share one- I am hoping to run a marathon this year. Mainly because it will get me into shape and then also because it will get me back into the habit of running on a regular basis. Should be interesting... Hope you all have a great New Year's!

PS the photo is a picture of the sunset last night in Utah from the I-15. It was beautiful and sparked a bilion more ideas

Shh... (if you don't like scary stories, don't read)

I have debated long and hard about whether or not to post this piece on my blog, but a lot of people have asked that I do so I will, maybe only for a short while. We'll see.

I took a creative writing class this semester and for Halloween we had a writing competition. I wrote a poem that won the scariest. I've never won anything in writing except for my essay in 6th grade for the D.A.R.E presentation. I don't think that one counted. So here is the first, legitimate piece that won me something. My prize was actually this nice picture frame, which was specifically chosen since this piece is about friends, it's kind of ironic honestly.

Don't Forget

"Shhh…

Can you hear it?

It’s the faint screaming

of the tortured soul.

The one that was stolen away

that night with five others.

Shh…

Can you hear it?

You wonder why it’s so familiar sounding?

It’s your own scream

escaping from your cracked and bleeding lips

as your body hangs

But no one else can hear you

You’re miles away from any town

with only me to keep you company

Shh...

We’re in this together

We’ll escape together

Do you remember how you got here?

No? I’ll tell you.

I was there watching it all happen

You and five of your friends were coming

home from a weekend trip

Everything was fine until you started telling

stories and awoke the wicked creature

that roams the reservation borders.

He was trapped in a corner after his death.
His soul could not leave this world so he is

forever tormented to roam the earth

Never to taste freedom

Only to cling to his victim’s dying breath

as if it is his own.

Shh,,,

Let me tell you what happened

You ran out of gas three hours out of Tuba City

You’re kids and rather than flag down a passing car,

which there were none,

you decided to camp out for the night.

You naïve suckling

Late hours into the night

the six growing cold

your friend left to gather more wood.

The five gathering in close

to steal one another’s heat

Shh…

Do you remember the sound?

The rustling?

It’s coming closer

Behind you

In front of you

Right next to you

That’s when you saw the eyes,

The glowing, crimson blood eyes

He’s been watching, waiting for you to drift off

into that foolish escape you call dreams

Dreams ha

After you see his eyes you notice the rest of him

He’s tall, big, muscular

but his skin hangs on him

as if it’s not his own.

His fingers are boney

his fingernails short and raw

as if he’s just scratched his way

out of a dark hole

where they bury the desperate lost ones.

His breathing is deep and raspy

like he’s been breathing in dirt

from the living tomb he sleeps in.

It’s quick as if he’s been running all night

but he hasn’t,

he’s only been there a few moments

called forth by your foolish stories of spirits.

But his hunger for release riles his breath.

It riles his yearning

He looks at you. The curve of your body.

The freshness of your skin.

His blood pulses in his veins, his muscles

throbbing to touch.

To caress.

Blood drips from his eyes as he stands there naked,

with his long, brown matted hair

Shh…

Remember what happens next?

Remember the bitter cold air that crawls over you,

from your toes to your calves,

around your knees and thighs, past your hips and stomach,

across your chest and wrists, up your arms to your shoulders

clutching at your skin as it grasps your face.

The hair on your body stands on end

You don’t realize what’s happening till it’s already done

You don’t hear your own voice before it’s over

Watch as he creeps across the way,

through the fire

Watch as he grabs your friend’s leg

and begins peeling back her skin like wrapping paper.

Shh…

you’ll soon forget the sound of her agonized scream

You’ll soon forget the scene that unfolded next as she bled

from every part of her body after he ripped the skin

from her and draped it on his shoulders.

You’ll soon forget he then took her to a tree

and hung her from a branch.

Remember how he came back for the others?

And for you?

How each time he pulled the skin from their faces

their eyes met yours and pleaded for release.

For an escape from this demon

His eyes

His eyes

His eyes as they bled with ejaculation cried the same plea.

His chest heaving with ecstasy as he stole their breath

calling it his own.

Shh…

Can you see the river?

The rippling red river underneath

their bodies as they hung from the aching wood?

Can you see his dangling finger

as he scratches the symbols in the dirt beneath the tree?

Those symbols

His raw fingers

His arched back

Why didn’t you run?

Why did you stay and watch?

Shh…

It’s almost over

You should have run. But maybe

he still would have found you

maybe you didn’t want to keep on living with these images

haunting you for eternity.

It’s ok, I’ll help you forget

just like he helped me to forget.

Shh…

Hold still as I erase those memories

I should have sent you to get more firewood

then you would see what he sees,

what I see

Then you would learn to forget

to just do as he does.

You don’t want to?

Ok then.

Hold still.

It stings at first but I’ll be quick,

quicker than he so you won’t feel it

for too long.

As I tear think of something else

Think of your family and how

I know where they live.

You should have ran.

Why didn’t you?

Shh…

Can you finally hear it?

It’s you screaming."

Come What May

This is a poem about me.
Wait, no. This is a poem about you.
This is a poem about you
and all the things I will do
to prove to you
that I will fight for you no matter what happens.
Come what may and love it, they say.
Come what may and I will fight it!
I will tear down every brick of those walls they throw up,
break through every barrier they force in our way,
destroy the barbed wire fence of rules and "musts"
and scar my hands on the thorns of every voice in my head
that says I can't.
When every stinging nettle of doubt pricks up from this path we wander on
I will go before you to keep your feet from bleeding;
from the bitter poison of fear that seeps into your skin
and lingers in your soul.
I will hack my way through the army of "never's" and "not now's,"
sludge through the grasping swamps whose wicked vapor settles on your heart
and smothers your pulse with the worry of dreams never seen.
I promise to stave off whatever aching pains and harrowing sorrows will come into your life;
to cut down the giants of empty yesterdays and unfulfilled tomorrows.
All the while standing next to you
to prove to you
that come what may,
I will fight for you.

Oh BYU

Yes I would love it if you stopped in the middle of the small, narrow staircase as hordes of stampeding students are leaving and going to class and begin walking up these very same said narrow stairs Yes I would love it if you decide to stand there stoic without moving with that innocent look on your face because you have just ran in to a good friend who you cannot wait to catch up with on life hence the immediate plantation of your feet into this marble floor worn down from years upon years of students treading across them. Yes I would love it if you act defensive like you have every right to stand there in complete shock and excitement of running into this friend whom you probably actually just saw two weeks ago but you act like it has been forever and are completely entitled to hold up the entire student populace while you spend your 30 seconds of fortune and exchange pleasantries with the other unintelligent person who chose to also stand there in feigned innocence and tell you about the girl, the sports, the schoolwork, the work work, etc. Please continue to stand there as we all wait patiently to get by with our raised eyebrows and accusing looks. You have every right to stand there. You have every right to keep us all from our work schedules, to make us late to class. No, no, please, do continue your conversation and act like the bro's that you are. I've got all day to stand here trying to politely squeeze past you and make it to my next appointment without being late. Don't worry, we all understand, it's all about you.

Oh BYU.

Poetry

I've been on a poetry kick lately. It began with a poetry reading a...month?....ago Wait, wait, wait. It actually began when that one time my mom told me to write poetry and I put those two poems up on here. From there I began sharing my words with a few friends, whose enthusiasm sparked my own and whose compliments gave me hope for success. Then there was the poetry reading, and finally a friend who writes more often than I do, and probably about cooler things.

I want to share some videos by poets who blow me away. Their words and their performances are amazing and I love what they do and who they are and just everything about these poems. Enjoy!

Also, check out my friend Dave's blog here

The Most Amazing Slam Poet

by Peter Nevland

Love Poem
by Rudy Francisco

My Honest Poem
by Rudy Francisco

Ick

Ick
It's that feeling in my gut
The bitter taste in my mouth
The rank smell in my nose
The white noise in my head
This foreboding of something unwanted
coming towards me
It's that worry that I've misplaced something
the worry that I've missed the picture
that I've been blinded to the fault
of what really is
and not what I want to see.
It festers and grows
ravenous and insatiable,
eating out my insides,
seeking out that sliver of peace
I hold within me.
Unsure of how to face it
I lie here waiting for the light to come
and show me what I could not see before.
Or maybe what I would not
nor wanted to
see.

The After Effects

Remember that really fun mocktail birthday party? Well this is what your hair looks like after having it curled, teased, put up so beautifully by an awesome friend, and then after you run around looking pretty for 3 hours go dancing for another two, followed by hot cocoa at 7-11, and then youtube videos snuggled up on the couch until *cough 2am *cough:

Just another Friday night in the college life of my friends and me. Was the 'fro worth it? You bet, I had great hair alllllll the next day on Saturday :)

Mocktail Birthday Party

Mocktail Party- a reason to dress up fancy and drink sparkling cider and eat key lime pie, yep key lime pie

Oh and to use our fancy, cool cameras to take awesome photos...

Levi in the wonderful armchair that graces their living room along with the wonderful record player that was very much in use on this memorable evening

The birthday boy, Morgan, looking dapper as always

The beautiful Jamie and me bonding over pina colada drinks and all too similar past experiences

Oh Sam, looking right at home

The adorable couple JJ and Nicole; adore and respect the heck out of these two!

Kali and a new friend Tiffany suddenly realizing they've met before...in Seattle?

Laura and Ryley's wife being camera shy, but making a great photo with all those wonderful colors

Cake pops!

Never fails that these boys always get photos of me either in mid-sentence or eating something

Yes, the snake was rented as well

Don't forget the other cute couple- Jamie and Morgan

Yes this was a fixture on the coffee table. Yes you can rent, rent! animals from the Bean Museum on BYU campus, so of course the boys needed a lion head

Ryley

It took us five tries to get a "serious photo" (be like pioneers everyone!), Nicole is still about to laugh but we finally managed one!

photography by Max Daines

It's a "big sweatshirt" kind of day

It has been a miracle that I haven't been sick yet this semester, especially since there were a number of weeks with late nights and not the greatest nutrition, but I survived thus far. Until last week. Last week may possibly have been the week sent from the devil's spawn in hopes of thwarting my all existence into total chaos. It is my absolute belief that college professors have a meeting before school begins, before the syllabi are printed off, before room assignments are even made, where they decide which week they want to make every student absolutely suffer (besides finals week of course). They must chuckle quietly to themselves as they parry back and forth trying to get all of their midterms to fall into the same week too. It is a murderous business that they bandy with.

And so last week consisted of a test in my Family History class, an exam in British Literary History (which was no small feat- you try memorizing which Romantic poet said what in which poem and why on earth why!), on top of which we also had a 5-page paper due in the same class, plus another paper due in Creative Writing (which may be the class I work my hardest in and try my best in), and don't forget the take-home exam that was due in my Mission Prep class. My "aha" moment came last week on Saturday around 4pm when I had that 5-pager due at 6pm and I had yet to begin it. I realized there was no way I would finish it by staying at home, so I trudged up to campus, locked myself in at work (great place to study, no distractions with everyone coming in and out like at the library) and wrote straight for an hour and a half, wherein I finished the paper and ran upstairs to drop off. That was my "aha" moment when I remembered "Oh yeah, this is why I chose English" :)

Once the stress finally died down of that wonderfully hellatious week I guess my body decided to break down too. No more need to force myself to stay healthy and active. Now here I am on a beautiful fall Tuesday morning with gunk in my nose and a scratchy throat. The body aches are starting to set in too, but I am pretending that I do not feel them, if I do they just might actually become real and begin to take over my already viciously exhausted body. It is a sorry state of denial, but oft times believing you are sick is the only reason why you truly are. So I am telling myself it is only a little cold, something trifle and easily taken care of with insubordinate amounts of water, orange juice, lots of vitamin-C and a ton of Emergen-C. I should probably go buy some of all that then, hmmm...I've only got water at home...

And so this beautifully treacherous fall day was begun with pulling out my "sick" outfit- the biggest, old-school style Brigham Young University sweatshirt I could possibly own. It has survived five winters of Utah cold, one semester of a sinus infection and tonsilitus, a Christmas with a cold so bad that I had to take horse-sized pills of anitbiotics (so big I had to cut them in half to swallow), several runny noses, a number of despondent days after break ups, and a great amount of lazy days watching movies and procrastinating the need-to-be-done homework.

Yep, it's a "big sweatshirt" kind of day

Sleep

I don't sleep well anymore; if at all. The nights are hot in our AC-less home. Mosquitos creep through my screen-less window invading my slumber with obnoxious buzzing in my ear. I wake up with countless red spots. Both from them and spiders that find their way in between my covers. My blankets are usually in the most absurd, tangled mess about my legs. Pillows crammed in between sheets or tossed onto the floor. My dreams leave me with a sick feeling in my stomach and my head throbs from the tossing and turning and endless array of thoughts that pervade my already exhausted brain.

Waking up is not so much a chore as it is a lunge from a world of nightmarish fog into a world of walking pandemonium. I spend my days wanting nothing but rest. To lie down; to collapse into that cocoon of peace and serenity. But when night does finally fall and my mind realizes the lateness of the hour I find myself begrudging the task ahead. It's worse than a task, it's that attic in every house that everyone avoids because cleaning it out would only create a larger mess. I sit at my desk condemning my bed with hateful stares. He, who should be a friend, has become my enemy in my search for tranquility.

Once I can no longer find anything with which to distract myself, I crawl up onto my mattress and feel it bite back. Determined to fight against my aching body and tortured soul, he provides no warmth or comfort. When I finally nestle down in it is only under deceptive terms. He laughs a wicked cackle and then shifts just so that my muscles lose their relaxed setting and I'm thrown back into a rolling mess of blankets and frustrating mind games.

I fear going to sleep. I don't want to know what cursed nightmares my mind has in store for me. What masquerading dreams it will weave. Once upon a time I had to listen to music every night to help me sleep and it is suddenly as if those wretched days have returned. I try to fall asleep to those soothing notes again, but constantly wake up fearing the sound is too loud or in annoyance to go slam it off.

My mind and heart wage an epic battle within my soul and my ability for comprehension is almost obliterated. I walk as if in a state of constant war within my body. I don't understand it. I cannot understand it. In the end though, I feel as if I don't want to understand it. I pray this time will pass and things will measure themselves out and smooth away. But what denial is that. What grave misunderstanding do I hold in my hands. Ignoring it makes it bigger. Pushing it aside makes it stronger. Leaving it alone makes it wiser.

But what is it? What starves me from sleep?

I know these people

And I like their music. They are just a fun band to go listen and jam to. And of course the most talented people show up to play at their open mic nights at their home, christened the Avocottage.

What got me through this day

(Disclaimer: I wrote this in about 30 seconds. No judging. It's ridiculous I know, but I needed something to do)

What got me through this day
Of what seemed like eternal gray

A little lot of sunshine
A Dr Pepper so I won't pine

Pirate Booty
To complete the looting

Peanut Butter M&M's,
Ate a bazillion of 'em

Odwalla smoothie
Helped me feel groovy

A bagel with cream cheese
For brunch (or was it lunch?) if you please

A classy sweater on my shoulders
Yes I did just give some smoulder

Chatting moments with a friend
Blogging for teachers, again and again

Errands to and fro
Picking up mail and well, you know

Finding excuses to leave these chairs
Up and down ten flights of stairs

Scentsy smells that reminded me of a boy
Brought short moments of illicit joy

Not having to take care of snack
Helped me to relax

Spotify  music filled with Taking Back Sunday
Made this such a good day

Ingrid Michaelson finished it up
Followed by Mumford and Sons to psyche me up


Writing terrible poetry got me going
Pretending like I know what I'm doing


To give you this ridiculous poem
Until I can finally go home