| I am avoiding studying for finals - my backpack is staring at me across from my semi-cleaned room. I am lounging on my bed while the ice storm plays on TV. Kind of ironic, considering the icy feel I�ve been having lately. Kids far too young are experimenting with alcohol and sexual innuendos as my Backstreet Boys collage slowly starts to fall. It is now hanging by one pushpin daggered into my paneled bedroom wall. My mind is traveling far too fast for my pen, but my mom is downstairs and I don�t feel like typing this all in front of her. I wore red flip-flops and a red shirt and two red necklaces today, but I still feel blue. My red beads are around my wrist, gnawing little bead-marks into my skin. I feel like a tree counting its rings. This one stands for my impatience, and this one for love-see it�s smaller than the rest, yet pressed hardest into my skin. Why do people take advantage of other�s weaknesses? Power is a 5-letter word with a 500 watt bolt behind it. I stood in the rain yesterday and actually stared into it-not giving a damn about hair-makeup-or clothes-it was kind of like a transcendentalist moment mrs. p talks about. Does that qualify as studying for my Lit final? My mind is jumping from subject to subject and for once I don�t mind. I welcome the insanity as my pen flies across lined paper, slurring my words into indecipherable slop. Good then now no one will ever understand this, or me. Ooh Emily Dickinson moment. I should stop and study for exams, but what the hey I already am in a way. Emily Dickinson lost her love and then refused to leave her room, let alone her house. Didn�t she believe in fate? It bothers me that I am apathetic to so many things lately. I�m feeling numb to emotions and I don�t like it. Snatches of conversation seep through my walls- another male ego bruised. Buffer it carefully and maybe he�ll forgive you. I say dump him and she says emotions are in the way. Screw emotions that�s all they ever do is get in the way. My crystal bead bracelet broke while I was talking to mrs. p None of the beads fell off remarkably. Somehow the bracelet was tied at both ends. I tied the ends back together and slipped it into the left pocket of my jeans purse. If only macaroni and cheese could solve life�s problems. If only this, if only that oh blah! Deal with what you�ve got and quit crying about it. Gazing about my room I think it reflects me in a way no one understands. Its an organized mess. With poetry lining one wall. I�m running out of space to put my poems and I fear I will have to take down more posters for them. Yes I like pop music and don�t bother me about it. I�m arguing with myself now. Part of me tells myself to grow up out of this childish phase and the other part tells me to cling on for dear life. It�s my escape from people. Smooth voices and melodies soothe my mind and make me smile. So what-they�re married, in their 20�s and don�t know I exist. They�re safe and I�m safe. Words have double meanings and voices have different tones. I feel like I�m caught in a whirlwind of emotion except I�m not feeling emotions lately. I wish I could mute the world lately cause I don�t give a damn, actually I do and I�m a walking paradox but I�m purging my soul now so all�s good. I�m staring at my shelves right now and my little age dolls are all carefully lined up ages 1-8 and then 16. The first doll, proudly proclaiming age One is t-i-p-p-e-d- o-v-e-r- s-i-d-e-w-a-y-s-, an after-effect the dried flowers from past proms fell. I skipped from age 8 to age 16 and they are in two different shelves s e p a r a t e d by colorless wall. Sisters argue over the computer on TV and it reminds me of me and my sister. My door just burped open and my mom is running up the stairs. If your soul was on fire, what would you save? My eyes are itchy and I should take out my contacts, but I don�t want to take them off. A train is rattling by and it shakes my room and I experience a mini earthquake. It�s sad to know that adults still suffer from peer pressure, damn I guess it never goes away. I stand on my bed and reach for the ceiling. I�m still too short, so I stand on tiptoes. Love stories and romantic movies raise expectations too high. It�s not that easy. Damn movieland. I�m saying damn a lot and it feels good. I should stop but my mind is blinking on and off like an answering machine. But I�m saying goodnight, clicking off my pen, and taking my red beads off of my wrist. hb 6-2-01 |