I’m having trouble finding time to write down my thoughts. It seems to me that the words do not flow out of my brain so naturally anymore. The voice inside my head has become rusty at coherently forming sentences and translating them on to this little white rectangle.
My words have lost all their poetry.
I think one of the reasons why I do not write as often as I did before, (back when people had multiply blogs), is the fact that writing in tumblr would mean that everyone can see what you wrote. Everyone can judge what you’re thinking. You can’t be a whiny little emo kid that could complain about certain things that matter to you, even if these things did not matter to anyone else. Plus, you don’t know who even reads what you wrote here on tumblr. I might want to write an angry blog about certain things and use incredibly incredibly colorful language and it might end up in the hands of my future employers or something.
God. I write like I’m writing an essay. I hate making essays. I miss typing incoherent mumbo jumbo and not caring so much about who saw it because they’re probably my friends in real life anyway.
POTATOOOOOOO YEAAAHHH.
I want not to care who gets to read this but the fact of the matter is I really do. Goddamit.
Tonight is the last night before my graduation. I’m not entirely emotional about it because I have another year or so. It would have been better to finish both my majors at the same time but the curriculum/program of study does not actually allow me to do that. Oh well, at least I have extra time to do the things I wish I had done this year.
POTATTTOOOO NAAAAHHHHH
Jackie
There’s a lot of things going on inside of my head. I don’t really know how to feel about them. All I know is I should not over think and try to use logic to understand the irrationality of stupid human emotions. I will probably go crazy if I tried to do it.
I think I may have been to the line between of sanity and lunacy once. I am not willing to go there again. Not for this, it simply is not worth it.
It was never worth it. And I should never settle for less. Ever.
But I do know this, I need to understand what to feel or why I am feeling this way. I need to sort it all out.
Then, I will be able to forget it all happened.
I haven’t really written in a long time. So long in fact that I have forgotten what it feels like to let words just flow onto this endless expanse of white blank space. Part of it largely involves my fear of producing some half-assed whiny journal entry that’s a hodgepodge of garbled words and bad grammar. Or worse, that I would sound like some pretentious know-it-all artsy writer who gives readers the impression that he is more knowledgeable about life and its many motherflipping wonders.
Typing up something that one day I would regret. Something that people would read and laugh about. Especially now that on the internet, there is absolutely no concept of privacy. I mean, there are quite a few websites that keep the mess of your catharsis from the view of anyone who has access to your blog URL.
Kinda posted my link on fb, I guess to let some of the people I care about to read what I’m thinking. But it also allows so many people who are merely acquaintances to get to know what exactly goes on in my head. And maybe you, dear reader, are one of these people and you’re probably thinking “This is Jackie?!?” (God, it’s so weird to refer to yourself in third person) or “Who the hell does Jackie think she is?!?”
I am not asking you to read this. I never made this for you. I did this for myself.
I forget that if I should write, first and foremost, it should be for me.
Laugh all you want, this isn’t for you. The only way I’d achieve whatever semblance of skill I had back then is to keep writing. You sure as hell aren’t going to stop me from trying to improve from this sorry state of literacy.
So, I guess I can do this by relating what happens in my life.
Let me start by introducing myself then:
Hi. I am Jackie. I’m twenty. I feel old. I like to sing/draw/paint/judo/write/play guitar. I like spaghetti, sushi, and hazelnut chocolate (Each on their own of course, not mixed together. ICK) I can’t write to save my life but please bear with me. I would like to try to be better.
I just want to get better.
Walking the rope.
A length of taught string.
thin and tightly-wound.
Never knowing where
the point of breaking
lies.
Each step is heavier
carefully placed,
as eyes are downcast
into the abyss.
But still
you cannot
stop
what is inevitable.
Damn this tendency to be so obsessed.
To be so incredibly needy.
Sometimes I wish I could just walk away.
Or focus my energies on something else that’s far more productive.
The sound of something
pulsating, beating
against my ribs,
resonating
through every single bone
in my body.
Anticipating, anticipating
Waiting
for an absence of words
for the never ending silence.
Waiting for that final
shudder, the final beat
to make it shatter,
splintering,
piercing,
lung,
flesh,
and skin.
I need to start writing again. I haven’t written anything in a long long while. Not even pathetic keso poetry. Let me try.
Silence.
My hands curl up into fists
and pound against
the glass walls
that refuse to break
when everything is broken.
“Listen”
I say.
“Listen to the sound
of the shards crashing
into the ground”.
I wish I didn’t have this disability to relate to the rest of the human race.
We could get along. But I have no social skills.
Stupid primary defense mechanism.
ALSO! PLUG FOR MY OTHER BLOG!
that sorta rhymes:
Http://songsunday.tumblr.com
I record stuff and put it up there. I recently put my originals. go checkitout.
