Unspoken Words

I can not even count the times I have wanted to reach out to you, scrolled through my contacts to find your number, went to type out a message I never sent, or looked at old pictures and felt an urge to speak to you again. But I remained silent and kept the words unspoken. I’ve wanted to tell you how much I’ve missed you in these last six months. There is not a day that goes by where I do not think of you… But recently you’ve been living in my mind much much more.

Recently everything has reminded me of you. I see images of us from a year ago to the date, hear your name in conversation, or see things we would have shared with each other and something tells me I must speak to you again. But instead, I keep the words unspoken, although there’s this feeling deep in me that we need to speak once again and that something will bring us back.

My unspoken words consist of these thoughts for the most part; you rapidly became the most significant person in my life, and for that, I’ll forever be grateful for, but the day we stopped speaking a little part of me began to crumble. You took a part of me with you when you evaporated from my life. You were part of my daily routine, we spoke every day from the second we woke up, to when we would lie our heads on the pillow each night. We shared some of our highest highs and lowest lows together, and always made an effort to check in and see how we both were feeling. You being gone felt like I was missing my other half. You were my person.

These unspoken words have given me the chance to reflect on how I feel, and what drove us apart. I understand why you had to leave, but I do not accept it, and if I am being honest I probably never will. But I am slowly becoming okay with that, with the idea that you are in fact gone, weather that be for now or for forever.

I still often wonder how you are doing though, and I check in on you from afar. I only hope that you are doing as well as you used to be, and you are carrying on. I hope you still have the call for adventure, and a sparkle of mischief in your blue eyes. But I miss you more than you’ll ever know. I miss us, our adventures, late night conversations, and most of all I miss my best friend. I hope we cross paths one day in the future, for you will always hold captive a large part of my heart.

Photo credit: Pintrest.com

Barnacles on the Boat

On the bottom of my ship,

Clumped and clustered the stiff beasts lie,

If I face them all I might just die,

They hide in the safety of the sea,

So they are not visible to anyone but me,

The razored tipped bumps gather as time goes on,

And I must keep sailing,

Though they will never be gone,

And ship I am,

Though it’s not for all,

Some stand proud and tall,

They are whales instead,

And they wear their barnacles on their head,

Barnacles make it hard to be,

But that is life a great captain once said to me,

You must accept the barnacles if you are going to sail the sea.

Image found on dreamstime.com

Reams Full Of Dreams

It really just begins as a question:

Who do you want to be?

There’s no answer yet,

just confusing clues,

and time.

At some point the rough outline, the shadow, the future is visible: 

now just a gossamer dream, 

but focusing with time, condensing…

I pour myself into the process.

I’m buying what they’re selling,

buying a future,

buying a me.

They’re selling dreams, outlines, frames for faces,

65 bucks a pop!

Expensive. But this boardwalk is a long one.

I pick places.

Leaves?

Seasons?

Words etched in stone?

Wood?

Steel?

All the while working, working.

Pressure to be better,

be happy,

be me,

pressure to do more,

to be more,

and all the while working. Guilty

because I know I could work harder,

and be happier.

Do more.

I could cover more ground,

jump through more gilded hoops,

be better,

do more,

be me-er.

Ideas stuck on frail words

clamouring to speak out

above the clamor.

Distilling self

into neat columns,

busy with intricacy.

From a fermenting mess:

fine spirit.

Then I wait,

as a man in Massachusetts thumbs through reams of dreams.

from istock.com

A Page of Four Years

February has brought about the time to create senior pages. I have spent time scrolling through my camera roll, searching for the perfect photos that can encapsulate four years of high school into a single 8″x10″ page.

I found photos of my friends. Photos of projects I had done in art class. Photos I had taken for AP World History projects. Sifting through hundreds of memories to find the most valuable moments has proven to be more difficult than I had thought. I have narrowed it down to about forty photographs, which, if I were to use them all, would be about a centimeter wide each.

While small on paper, many memories still remain as vivid as the day I experienced them. I remember carving pumpkins at my freshman Halloween dance. Is that memory less valuable than the time I hung my art in an exhibit? Do I feature friends, experiences, or accomplishments? What photograph will take up the most space?

As I sift through the photos, I imagine what words will be written on a page. I could write a classic senior quote, a thank you to those who helped me through school, or simply my name in a basic font.

I know my senior page will encapsulate my high school experience as I remember it. I just need to find what moment will serve as the biggest picture.

Yearbook
Image Credit: Josten’s Memory Book

A Memory Box

Have you ever heard of those little boxes where people store their favorite keepsakes from their first love, a corsage from a school dance, a sunburnt polaroid with their best friends smiling, a love letter from a lost relationship, a ring, or even a rock from an unnamed location.

Its so sweet to think how people house and store these little insignificant items in boxes that sit for years and years under beds, or at the top of a shelf that doesn’t see the sunlight just because these little items hold so many incredibly dear memories.

I think everyone should keep items from their past, because there will always be a day when you want to go back and look upon life before you became the person that you are today.

Personally, I regret ridding my life of my first love letter, jewelry from my first love, pictures from movie theater photo booths, corsages from some of the best nights of my life, rocks that I deemed beautiful, pictures that were drawn for me, and little odds and ends that reminded me of people. I wish I would have taken a moment to reflect and think about how significant these little things would be down the road.

photo credit: etsy.com

Fantasy

Have you ever wanted to escape reality and live in an imaginary world? Well, I have. Through books and my wild imagination, I have been to many places.

One time I escaped to Hogwarts and it was amazing. I got to learn different spells and play quidditch, and I became a witch. Another place I escaped to was Australia. I visited the Sydney Opera House and swam safely around the Great Barrier Reef.

Photo credit: About my Brain Institute Blog

My imagination is a weird one. Sometimes I am in a scary mood, so I go to a haunted house, and other times I feel happy so I envision myself as a mermaid.

Escaping is a sort of coping mechanism for me. It allows me to forget about all my struggles, stresses of life, and calm down a bit. Although it is good for coping, I have to remember to live in the real world as well.

Platter

Today I sat down and threw a platter on the wheel. In the end, it will be a chips and salsa platter once I attach another bowl I made to it. I was throwing with a larger amount of clay than I’m used to, and I was seriously struggling. I’m sitting there, sweating, in my stiff wooden chair, cursing and extremely angered at this lump of clay that won’t center for anything. Finally, it centers enough so I can continue. I get it into a nice shape and feel better about my ceramic abilities. Then I go to smooth it, can’t find my usual smoothing rib, and use this old one. Suddenly it slices my finger. I’m bleeding all over this platter, exhausted and mad. I finish the platter with thick clay water, bloody clay water all over my hands and the platter. And surprisingly I feel more accomplished than I have for a while (after finishing a thrown piece).

Moral of the story. Perseverance will not only end with a nice platter, but you will finish your task feeling satisfied and accomplished.

photo taken off of The Arts Center sight


Better to stand alone than in the standards of others

Skin sunk around bones in protruding starvation is beauty.

Normalized with eyes melted into pits of blackened seas. Salted water burned pain into a sickening sensation of emptiness.

Body twisted into a sensual blur. Collar bones puppeteering her breasts.

Blossoming from spirited youth into the world of never ending expectations and misdirections.

Bones expected to be filled with feathers, skin expected to be tightly pulled against every crevice, face expected to be whipped with unreal and unnatural smoothness.

She mustn’t let the words of broken societies control her body, though she’s tempting to hurl herself into the vortex of self deprivation, rising above will unleash her true beauty wrapped in a pleasant blanket of happiness.

knife painting done by Pino

Rain

Cold winter days often seem to fall short of the media’s predictions. We scheduled an early departure from school in anticipation of dangerous storms, though we’re met with trickles of water creating small puddles in dry dirt.

I tend to dress dramatically for the cold. I wear two pears of socks, two jackets, and keep a spare pair of gloves in my backpack. I prefer to overheat than freeze from the brisk winds. My wardrobe has many jackets, though only one of them I have deemed warm enough for January weather.

Although the cold is difficult, I do hope for adventure’s sake that we experience more rain. I keep my prized umbrella tucked away in my backpack, waiting for the day when I can use it again. I enjoy the trek from classroom to classroom as I use my umbrella as a shield from the harsh sky. February is likely to bring more rain, and I won’t put my umbrella away until the sun is revealed.

Image Credit: Ali Berman

the chipping paint of time

she sits atop the white picket fence

behind her sits the sturdy one story house with green grass cut in a perfect 90 degree angle

ahead of her lies the freshly poured concrete road

she does not see anything up the road, or nothing that she can see clearly

she’s drawn to the adventure of the clean and untouched road, but it’s intimidating

she’s even more scared to of what lies behind her

she’s afraid to fall into the tightly packed neighborhood and a life of plastered smiles

her hands grip the sun touched wood with the flaking white paint

the fence of youth will not hold her forever she must step down into her direction of life

Photo credit: Smalltown Stock-PhotoShelter