Refraction

I sit on the bed with a heavy sigh.

Just a few more hours

and everything will be packed up.

Cardboard boxes

covered in marker and

thousands of layers of tape

are scattered around the room.

Everything, of course,

is going to her parents house.

It’s been hard for everyone she knew.

The slow drag of each day

knowing you won’t be able

to make weekend plans,

or text her goodnight.

The slow drag of each day

knowing I don’t get to see her

walking towards me

in a snow white dress.

A few weeks ago

she came home to me

and taught me about refraction--

a term for

the bending of light.

She made news,

which was what she wanted in life,

to be noticed,

to have a meaningful death.

Young woman dead--

Crashed car found on the side

of the highway,

driver of other car

appeared to be intoxicated,

he received no life threatening injuries.

It’s kind of funny how life works.

One minute you’re perfectly happy,

the next it’s bent,

your light

trying to find stability.

Six Ways of Looking at Writing

I.
In a bubble,
the only sound that can be heard
is the drag of a pen across paper.

II.
There is a loud sigh
as the bubble pops.
All the ideas pouring out
and leaving.

III.
The click and clack of the keys
drive others crazy.
Word after word
appears on the screen,
a new world,
with its people,
is coming to life.

IV.
Yet again,
reality breaks through.
Noise and all
ripping hands away from
the pen,
the keys.
Words ripped away
from minds.

V.
Then, again,
a drive moves the hands faster.
The words come naturally
and effectively.
That once lost world is coming back,
becoming more prominent and real.

VI.
With a few more clacks,
a few more strokes,
the story is done.

Clean

She breathe deep, thinking of all the nights she would cry,
letting everything get to her.
She was finally able to breathe.
She was finally free.
She was finally clean.
She fell back into her ocean with a small touch.

Remembering all the days she couldn’t touch
the surface. She would cry
for help. Beg for fresh air to come and clean
her lungs. Beg for anyone to help her
break free.
Beg for air to breathe.

When she couldn’t breathe
she’d touch
and press her wrist. The feel of it would free
a portion of her pain, but still she would cry.
There was no around her
to help her get clean.

She didn’t know getting clean
would be this hard. The constant struggle to breathe.
The constant drowning in her
ocean. The constant need for someone to love and touch.
All she could do was cry
and wait for someone, anyone, to free

her. One day, though, she did break free.
She did get clean.
She finally didn’t cry.
She finally could breathe.
She didn’t find someone to touch
but she realized her

worth was much more than that. Her
worth was how free
she could live. Not someone to touch.
Being clean
was about your own terms. Learning when to stop and breathe
and when to stop and cry.

    

She would not be pushed to cry, she would let nothing get to her.

She would breathe and be free.

She was now clean, with only the sky to  touch.

They, Them, Me, and I

They are almost exactly like me. Their pieces are simple and straight to the point. We both follow the rules and don’t go above and beyond, for fear of being shot down. We’re both quiet and timid, always afraid to share and shine. In a way, though, they are more dangerous. They’ve gone through so much criticism and critique they’ve developed a bad trait. The need for acceptance. If something is not on par to the standard of a certain person they will try and work their hardest until it is. In some ways though, they are their own person. They’re not afraid to take some risks. They’re not afraid to throw in a “damn” or a “hell” every now and then. They like being risky sometimes. It makes them feel free for five minutes, it helps them put more words on the paper. They’re me, and I am them. But in ways more than one, I aspire, want, and need to be them.

Paper Towns: Review

Thanks to Isabella, over the Spring Break I was able to read Paper Towns by John Green. Overall the novel is about a boy named Quentin whose had a huge crush on Margot since he was younger. He perceives Margot as some sort of god in a way, he worships every move she makes. One night when she knocks on his window asking for help getting revenge on her ex-boyfriend. The next day we find out Margot is missing. Quentin and his friends go on a wild goose chase to find her when Quentin believes she's leaving him clues. The main reason I wanted to read this was because they're turning it into a movie with one of my favorite actors (Nat Wolff). Overall I thought the book was great. It had the typical "John Green novel personality" to it and it was just overall entertaining.
Rating: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

View the trailer for the movie (out July 24th) here:

The Knife of Never Letting Go: Review

A couple weeks back I started the novel The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness. When I first learned of the plot I thought it was quite interesting. It's about a young boy named Todd who lives in a time on Earth after a horrific war. Because of gas that was let go, everyone can hear everyone's thoughts, they call this "Noise". When Todd discovers a whole in the Noise, nothing is the same. When I first started reading I thought the book was quite well, but the language was quite difficult to deal with. Todd and other children stopped going to school years ago. That being said, Ness chose to showcase this in novel. There was misspelled and misunderstandings of words that come natural and easy to us. At first I thought that it was an excellent decision to do this but after a while it just got repetitive and quite annoying. The novel, overall, was good , though.
Rating: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ 

Arms

Arms are made for holding.

They make people comfortable.

They squeeze the pain out of you.

But what happens when the one

Your arms were accustomed to leaves?

Arms were made for reaching.

They were made for reaching for you.

They were made for making sure you never left.

They obviously didn’t do a very good job.

Arms were made for welcoming.

They were made for welcoming you back.

They were made for making sure you have a home

With me.

No matter what happens.

Arms were made for forgiving.