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These brief minutes she will think on until the day's end.
As he talks she wonders if he can tell what she's thinking
If he knows the irregular way her heart thuds against her chest
The locket calls to her, but she dare not reach for it.
His aura surrounds her, both comforting and disturbing her being
She wills herself to speak but the shy, quiet sounds escaping her lips betray the beating drum inside her
The thin veil hiding her desires is falling
And something is screaming to know him.
She prays he doesn't see the tumult within her, but
The moment is passed
And they're on their separate paths again, one to the west, the other the east.
With his gaze no longer upon her,
She pulls her threaded secret from her blouse
Her hands caress the engraving on the locket, and
She wills herself to be there and not here
But that only works for her world.

Human?

I am flesh and blood but I am not human.

I haven't been human for quite some time.

I'm A Fake

Small, simple, safe price.
Rise the wake and carry me with all of my regrets.
This is not a small cut that scabs, and dries, and flakes, and heals.
And I am not afraid to die;
I'm not afraid to bleed and fuck and fight,
I want the pain of payment.
What's left, but a section of pygmy sized cuts.
Much like a slew of a thousand unwanted fucks.
Would you be my little cut?
Would you be my thousand fucks?
And make mark leaving space for the guilt to be liquid.
To fill and spill over and under my thoughts.
My sad, sorry, selfish cry out to the cutter.
I'm cutting trying to picture your black, broken heart.
Love is not like anything...


-The Used, the band.

Words

I'm a huge fan of the channel futureshorts and this... This was amazing.
It's beautiful how one word can be used to express a wide range thoughts, visuals and emotions.

I Want :(

Everchanging

I die before I go to sleep because I don't want to be the same in the morning. I keep adding and taking away from what I am, never the same person when I go to sleep as when I wake up. It's because I know I can be better than this. If not, I'd probably have to kill myself.

Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want

This Song by The Smiths is how I feel right now...

Good times for a change
see, the luck I've had
can make a good man
turn bad

So please please please
let me, let me, let me
let me get what I want
this time

Haven't had a dream in a long time
see, the life I've had
can make a good man bad

So for once in my life
let me get what I want
Lord knows it would be the first time
Lord knows it would be the first time 

They Speak But Don't Know

Someone made a comment that angered everything capable of thought within me. When C said we (C, R, A and I) were sophomore Literature majors, in response a guy said, "Oh, nothing practical."

I could not fathom the stupidity his mouth was spewing! I'm not a Literature major myself, I do Political Science, but if I wasn't studying what I do Literature would be my major of choice. Sometimes I even regret not pursuing Literature, but that's a tale for another post.

When people think of someone studying Literature they think either: you'll be unemployed, be a failed writer or be a teacher... Nothing's wrong with teaching actually. Anyway... He said he studied Management and Economics and he seemed quite pleased by this. Seeing his surprise at seeing someone studying Lit I was expecting him to be a man of science! The natural sciences viz. chemistry, physics etc. but no. 

A tried explaining that Literature is more than sitting with a book and it teaches you things you never would have thought to try to learn. Even today, as I excitedly told C about my Political Philosophy course this semester some of the things I relayed to her she knew already. Where did that knowledge come from?? Her Literature class!!

A's message fell on deaf ears because he went on to say he hated reading and there are better things to do than read a book. I wonder how he expects to get his B.Sc. While he prattled on I immersed myself in listening to the music of Oasis and messaging someone on bbm. I was quite upset and I knew if I spoke I'd slip into French and flip out. 

There's more to this story... 

This exchange was beginning to seem more like an interview/survey than a conversation. A and R asked if we were being recorded, because they could see a green light flashing on the little camera he was seeing and his conversation style felt forced, unnatural. Insert uncomfortable pause. After that he said, "Okay. No more questions." and left.

Even as I typed that I was upset all over again because day after day people focus on the wrong things.

As Dawn Approaches

Birds will sing their songs
Useless on these dreary days -
Ne'er the flowers dance.

Days Are Less Than I Would Like

Today was... blah.
First class (Caribbean Government and Politics) Dull. Really dull.
Second class (Western Political Philosophy) was simply enthralling but when it ended, I ended as well.
The library didn't have the book I wanted to take out and I could go on and on.
At least I had one of my dearest friends - my ipod. Without it I would surely explode! Beethoven and I had quite a time while I went about my day detached from most of what was going on around me.
I really wasn't looking forward to seeing anyone. At all. But at least I got to see C! Haven't seen her in a while ad I love her >:(
The rest of my day really isn't worth mentioning...
Except... My face lit up. Once. And only once. But now I hate you. So it doesn't matter really.


Oh! It will not go well for the next person that asks me if I will wear black almost every single day. Does my wearing black really offend people that much? I'll wear what I like, thanks. I always get: 'Are you trying to make a statement?', 'Are you goth??', 'Are you emo?', 'Are you depressed?' ...I'm me. Shut up.


Anyway... Gossip Girl started, tennis is showing, I have work to do, I'm hungry as shit...
but I can't be fucked to do any of that.
Instead I'm reading 'As You Like It' with a Light in my hand...
I'm pleased for the moment.

Which reminds me! I NEED to get my hands on 'The Isis Papers' by Frances Cress Welsing. 

And! 'The Stolen Philosophy' by George G. M. James

Lily Allen

Breathe. Stretch. Shake.

I just got back from the beach and... I stood on the shore and screamed my heart out. And I liked it.
It felt good to stand there, waves breaking around me and scream without thought. I made a try at tears but... None came. Can't say I was surprised at this. In a few minutes I was waist deep in the ocean and didn't even notice until I realised my skirt was no longer blowing around me (that wore me down getting back to shore)
I feel good... For now.

The Rain is My Own Metronome

In the rain. Again. It's nice out here.
It's only a drizzle now, but I don't mind.
As it falls around me, I can sense myself slipping away.
Am I? It's more like an awakening,
I always feel alive in the rain.
Every drop that touches my skin makes me more aware of myself,
Makes me feel... Something.
It's cold outside but the raw emotion within me burns once more.
I'm afraid to touch myself, would it hurt?
Would whatever it is surging through me somehow escape the confines of my veins?
I almost forgot how much I missed this sensation:
the rain even massages the far reaches of my mind, and
I feel it press upon my skull.
This... thing, inside me, is it real or imagined?
If I touched you now would you feel it? Would it spark?
Will it jolt what's been sleeping within you as well?
I'd hope so. Wish you could feel this. Know this.
Is that - even as the thunder's bellows call to me
My soul calls to it.
None has walked the Earth who has understood me like the thunder, my old friend.
The resonance of its cries pulls my soul from my body to meet it, and
We both thrash upon the ground.
I dance with the wind as it tugs at my clothes and tousles my curls
Never thinking that it would end, but it did.
It was a while before my soul saw that it was alone and retreated back into my body.
I didn't even notice the thunder had said its goodbye
The wind gave my face one final caress and my pants a parting playful tug
and he too, left me.
As the rain died, I thought I would join it.
My heart's erratic beat was replaced by dull, hollow thuds. Empty. Worthless.
I folded into myself again, unwilling to behold the world without my icy sheets
Or allow it to look at me.

Lover I Don't Have to Love

He closed tight his fist
Crushed rose ever beautiful
It then shed one tear

Plagiarism

My thoughts and writings are my soul.
What goes into a writer's work an ordinary person could never know.

Today my Political Philosophy tutor said, "I would rather a man steal my material things than to take my ideas and call them his own." ...This is true. 

You know who you are.

That is all.