New Page!

If you direct your gaze to the top of my blog, you will see a the addition of a new page! Now all of my poems are in one place. I will no longer pain those who couldn’t care less about poetry, by making them wade through my written work on my main page. Plus, those who actually do enjoy seeing what I have cobbled together in the form of a poem, can go to one spot, so they do not have to try and locate all of the posts I have tagged with “My Poetry” or “My Written Work”. 

A win-win, I should think.

Enjoy! (Whether by enjoying that means you avoid that page like the plague, or you hastily click on it right now to read what I have composed. Enjoy how you will, at your own risk.)

Our Lives

Going through my computer this morning, deleting all the files and papers I no longer need for school, I came across some more of my poems. So, here is another one of my gasps at being a poet, before continuing with my series of posts on music.

This crucible of our existence!
This dramaturgy never ending
The façade we carry on
Just to feel like we belong

Belonging with the other actors
With costumes grandiose — but false
Oh, the magnificent fairytales we weave
While our true self begins to leave

Leaving our souls locked closets full
Not with skeletons but with yearning
To be whom we were meant to be!
But we’re too scared to let others see

Seeing through your lies transparent
Though we pretend we do not notice
Because, if we were truly honest
We’d know our masks are like the rest

Resting poorly in complacency
Fear holding us down, in fitful sleep
We wish we were bold enough to stand
We dream of leaving never-never-land

Never landing from our flight of fancy
Our souls beg us, “drop the fabrications”
Our pain betrays like Judas’ kiss
How much more torture before you abandon this?

This crucible of our existence!
This dramaturgy never ending
The façade we carry on
Just to feel like we belong

Music is the Rhythm of my Pulse. Part 1 — Listening

Music is one of the most important things to me. My mp3 is something I would list near the top of things I need if I am stranded on a island. Music is the rhythm of my pulse. Listening to music can cause my heart to race or calm down. Listening to music affects me in a dramatic way.

This has been a post I’ve been working on for a while — I’ve started typing a few paragraphs, only to erase them all. Music is so important to me, I want to give this topic the eloquence it deserves. I need to try and convey to those of you using the sense of sight to read this, what I feel while using my sense of listening. Not just hearing, but truly listening. There is a big difference.

Hearing: pretty much anyone can do that. You walk through a busy public place and you can hear the mixed conversations, the cries of children, the footsteps of twenty different people all rushing about. That is hearing.

But listening!

Listening is an art in and of itself; not everyone can do it (which is something I‘ve noticed more & more among my fellow college students),it takes practice — and when you become good at it, people enjoy being in your company, as if you were a famous star or artist.

Listening is also like it’s own form of currency. It is valuable. It validates the worth of something. When you take the time to really listen to someone, they feel more important. It gives them a better sense of self-worth. Some abuse this feeling of increased self-worth by talking incessantly, and making their peers, employees, or cellmates listen to their blather. Some are the abused by being made to listen to others but never getting a real chance to speak up themselves and have people really listen to them for a change. And with no one to listen, they can fall into the opinion their voice doesn’t matter, that they don’t matter.

That is probably one of the reasons I loved my public speaking class so much. Because for 4-6 minutes a roomful of people would actually have to listen to my voice, listen to my opinion, & listen to me (even though that roomful of people probably couldn‘t care less about what I had to say, it still felt good to be listened to, if even only a little bit).

That’s probably why Mr. Incredible Irishman was my favorite teacher. Yes, it was his job to listen, yeah, he had to pay attention to what I said so that he could give me a grade, but even if I was talking to him outside of class about something inconsequential, he was such a good listener. And in class he always stressed the importance of how each of our voices matters. Every time he told us that, it made me feel like maybe I was important after all (an idea that I have to guard close to my heart sometimes when feelings of being existential  are hovering over my head). If my voice matters, then my opinion matters, then I must matter. I hope that not only can I someday become as good a speaker as he, but also learn how to listen as well as he did.

Listening well doesn’t simply benefit those being listened to, though. Listening well also benefits those who are doing the listening.

When you listen well, you can learn so much more. You become more aware of the world around you when you immerse yourself in it’s sounds and beat. Your mind will be stretched with all of the amazing information you can gather by simply being an observant listener.

By truly listening & appreciating what you hear, you can make the most of your world by filling it with music.

Before I could even post about how much music affects me, I need to make sure you understand what I mean by when I say I listen to music. I don’t just hear the song; I listen and let it completely become a part of me & my world.
Now in any posts after this when I say I love a certain song, or I’m listening to every track I have by some artist or another, you will be understanding what I’m feeling or thinking better than what I can explain through a blog post. Also, now that I’ve explained how I listen to my music, you will understand where I’m coming from in the next post or two about how music influences me — it is valuable to me, I listen to it well, and when I listen to music well it becomes the soundtrack of my moments, and the rhythm to my pulse.

Who Says Text Messages Can’t Convey Emotions?

I really need to stop making wishes at random. Things turn out poorly when I do. For example: I wished earlier I had something to blog about. What I had in mind was something interesting and witty. However, that part stayed in my subconscious, while what I consciously wished for was merely something to blog about.

Stupid, stupid girl.

I got a text this evening.

From the only person who can so completely decimate every ounce of patience & peace; every iota of self-respect & self-worth. The only person who has that much hold on my heart, despite my best efforts to escape his grasp.

God, help me handle this well.

God help me not go ballistic on my dad.

I couldn’t stand how he never takes the blame for anything. How he is trying his best, and it is so hard for him to be away from his precious babies, but right now… (Insert Pathetic Excuse For Why He Can’t Visit/Doesn’t Call/Can’t Pay Child Support/Says He Loves Us When He Obviously Doesn’t/Tells Me I’m Beautiful To Him When I’m Obviously Not Or He Would Be A Batter Dad To Me/Or Other Assorted Excuses.) How he is emotional. How he is manipulative.

I am literally sick of being jerked around emotionally by him. I get sick to my stomach when I hear his latest excuse. I am so tired of being manipulated.

So, (If you read my post “Dying To Self” you know this already,) I told him I couldn’t handle it anymore — I told him not to contact me anymore, that I was tired of his false promises, and his excuses.

And he simply said, “‘Okay baby, I’ll respect that.”

At which point I choked out a goodbye, and hung up.

Apparently his respect only lasts about a week, before, I don’t know, maybe some deep sliver of conscience or soul rolled over in it’s sleep and caused him to think that he shouldn’t have been so okay with losing contact with his firstborn child, his eldest daughter. But whatever caused it, he sent me a text tonight. Thus sending me nice little world spiraling once again into conflicting ideas on what I should do. And the thing that makes this most difficult is that in the text is the closest thing to an apology he has ever said. I’m just going to write the text down here, for no real good reason except that it makes me feel a bit better to share it.

 

“I’m trying to respect your wishes (Bologna Sandwich!) as for me to be poof begone (if only). I just know this is not right or the Lord’s Will (Your one valid point. However, based on the Lord’s Will, “Fathers, do not embitter your children.” so you have kinda already failed in that aspect). I love you (Ha!) and I apologize (how do those words taste coming out of your mouth?) for every way I have (repeatedly, unforgivably) failed you and your siblings. I have for what it’s worth done my best (Uh-huh. Not worth much). It’s the only way I could sleep at night (Oh good. So glad you can sleep well. I spent last night listening to hard rock music, crying, and throwing rocks at trees because I was so fuming mad. Glad you could catch some shut-eye though).  My hope is in your forgiveness (Don’t. Hold. Your. Breath). That is a choice for you to make darlin (Aahh, here we go: put the blame for the direction this relationship takes on my shoulders. That’s the daddy I know). Be blessed my firstborn (Be blessed?!? I don’t want your blessing. Your every “blessing” has been a curse. And I have had enough).

 

So there is the text… with my opinion of it and his character in italics.

I’m just so exhausted. I don’t know what to do. I haven’t responded to his text, & I don’t think I will. I don’t know if I can! If I do, then maybe his fatherly side may last a week or two; but after that, he will revert to his absent, pitiful self. Because that’s how he always does it. And it’s going to take a lot more action on his part to try and win back my trust & respect (which will take a loooong time). He needs to prove he isn’t going to let me down this time.

I just hope I’m making the right choice.

Because inside, hidden far back behind the high walls I’ve built ’round my heart, buried deeper than all of my other secrets, is the fact that I know that if I really do break all ties with my dad forever, then I am going to end up being an emotional wreck — always hoping for affirmation, always looking for the love I didn’t get enough of, always searching for someone to tell me I matter, but never finding it because that is a hole only a dad could fill. Which will only lead to my failure and brokenness from giving my heart away to anyone who will make me feel safe for a moment. And that isn’t something I am willing to allow. Which means, in the course of events, I will at some point have to reconcile with him.

I just don’t know how or when.

God help me.

 

College Incognito.

 

 

The Reckless College Student I Am…

Look, I’m not proud of what I did, okay?

Sigh. I can’t believe I’ve done it.

I didn’t mean to!

I didn’t even really want to, at least, not at first.

I never meant for it to happen! But it did…. Now there is no going back.

It just happened so fast!

The pressure at school, with finals and all, it was just too much…

Ugh. How could I have let this happen?!?

Oh… I have to come out and admit it… I… I…

I drank a 5hr energy at school this afternoon! (That right there, ladies & gentlemen, is as reckless as my college years are ever going to get, thankyouverymuch! 😉 )

I’m ruined! Ruined I tell you! Gone are the days of youthful innocence & energy!  I have now trod another step down the road of a sleep-deprived college student. This is a very traumatic experience for me, you must understand! I enjoy a good 8hrs of sleep, and firmly believe in the Benjamin Franklin quote, “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a girl healthy, wealthy & wise. But, late to bed & groggy in the morn’, leaves brain cells frazzled, & my poor nerves worn” At least, I think it goes something like that…

😉

Jittery College Incognito

Warning: Nostalgia Ahead

Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Sitting here on the third floor veranda of my lovely community college, at one of the quaint little tables, just blogging away, watching the people below as they walk to and from their final exams. That is about to be me. In fact, several of my finals are already done. Now I only have two left… sigh.

Oh drat, some people just invaded my quiet space. With crinkly food wrappers, and murmurs of conversation. Slightly disruptive to my dreamy, nostalgic mood, but oh well.

I cannot believe the semester is finally over! A couple classes I am just glad are finally done and passed. A couple classes will cause me to truly feel like there is an emptiness next Tuesday/Thursday, when I don’t have them anymore. Grade-wise, I can’t go back, what’s done is done. But emotions-wise, I most definitely can go back and reminisce. So, here is a list of highlights from this past semester.

First day of the semester.

Trying to run around campus, figuring out where classes are and still get there on time.

Seeing a friendly, familiar face in algebra was great! And Mrs. Owl was so friendly, and she made algebra (algebra!!!) easy to understand!

Walking into public speaking for the first time… ooooh, that is memorable alright. At first I was raising my eyebrows at Mr. Incredible Irishman, because to a gal who came from a home where “crap” is considered a bad word potentially worthy of punishment, he seemed to swear every other word! Culture shock to little home schooled chick? Eh, maybe 🙂 But I quickly grew to enjoy that class… Which, if you see the number of times I have tagged that teacher in my blog, that became, & has continued to be, my favorite class.

Geography was interesting from the first. I already knew Mr. Everlasting, and he is one of the most amazing people I know. He has written a book on the history of my hometown, he has worked for so many important committees I can’t even list them. He knows so much about essentially everything! He has a tendency to jump from topic to topic, but… wow… He is just a fantastic person, and a pretty darn interesting teacher. As soon as class was over he came over to ask me how my family was doing, how I was, and to let me know if I ever needed anything, to let him know. Such a wonderful, kind man.

Sociology… Not bad, but only fine. No really great first-day memories there.

Biology. My last class. The one I had the most trouble finding. But has it ever been great! Being able to ask all of my questions, and get answers, has just been such a novel thing! 🙂 My teacher, Ms. Field, made even the confusing things at the cellular level comprehensible. I loved this class from day 1.

Well, I have to go take my geography final. Perhaps I shall continue down memory lane later.

College Incognito

If you would care to comment, do you remember one of your most fond “first-day-of-(any level of schooling, a new job, or heck, even being married 😉 )” memory? Talk about it! 🙂

WDCSD? What Do College Students Do?

Alright, this should be interesting. Here is the list of some of the behaviors anf actions I have seen other college students portray/do, and seem to me be a part, albeit a silly part, of college life. I would absolutely love to see any ideas anyone wants to add to this list. Please comment!

(Oh, and by the way, please keep the comments clean. I am not putting things on this list like getting drunk/stoned/pregnant/jailed/etc. I’m keeping this to limited to the funny quirks, not the idiotic decisions some make)

1. Fall asleep in a public place on campus.

No. No I do not mean some one passed out drunk somewhere on campus. Didn’t you read my little notice inside parenthesis? I’m talking about finding a chair in the corner of the commons area or the library, or simply laying down on a bench  somewhere on a quiet spot on campus, and being so exhausted from studying until 2a.m. that you can’t help but fall asleep.

2. Staring at a computer or a textbook, with posture akin to that of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

I have been there, and I feel those people’s pain. Literally, there is pain when that is how you sit for hours on end. And after a semester, sometimes only a good chiropractor alignment will do.

3. Sipping on some Starbucks drink, with a Monster/Red Bull/Heart-Attack-In-A-Can on the table beside them.

This usually accompanies point number 2, and is usually the precursor to point number one 🙂

4.  Talking in a public place extremely loud, about stuff that really should not be talked about so extremely loud. Especially in a public place. Or actually, at any decibel level, in any place at all, if I had my way.

Please, for the love of human decency, two guys should not talk in very explicit language about what they did with their past girlfriends, or what they would like to do with the girl who sits near them in class, or in girl at all. I nearly lost all hope in the male gender after hearing snatches of such a conversation at the table behind me while I was studying. I was torn between wanting to slap them, or ask them where the heck had they left the good sense their mama’s or at least God gave them. Such talk is rude, crass, and I don’t want to hear it. Ever. Ugh.

5. Text in class

Okay, now I’m not going to get all up on my soap box about it, but I have to mention it. Texting in class is just so disrespectful, and is one of my MAJOR pet peeves. Don’t these people know that a habit like that will not serve them well in their future careers? Think about it, how many business men & women do you know who text during meetings? I don’t know any. Oh, yeah, that’s because they are going to get their sorry selves fired for that sort of behavior once their boss catches them doing it a couple times.

6. The couple with magnetic fingers.

Scene: Outside a classroom door, a boyfriend and girlfriend must tear themselves away from each other for a one terrible class period. They kiss, and the one who is going to class starts to open the door. The other one takes a small step away. They continue holding hands. One takes a step through the door — one takes a step away. They still hold hands. This continues for several more small steps a few inches farther and farther away. Somehow, the couple has maintained hand contact the entire time. Until, at last, they are only joined by a few fingers intertwined. Then, with yet one last longing glance, they at last tear those magnetically bound finger tips from each other. It is either viewed as so sweet and romantic, or so very dumb, depending on how much of a cynic (or how smart) you are. (FYI, it’s dumb. Just dumb. And I am not a cynic… just smart.)

I will definitely add to this list further as I think or see or hear of more such quirks commonly portrayed on a college campus. Please do comment if you have ever beheld such behaviors, or have any further ones to add to this list!

The College Incognito.

Quo Vadimus?

WordPress spell check, you dare question that “quo vadimus” is spelled correctly, or are even real words? Sigh, you have no culture, automatic spell check. For your information, it means where are we going, in Latin.

How do I know this? It is the phrase Mr. Incredible Irishman used to finish this semester. Yes, today is the beginning of my final exams, and my Public Speaking class (which, in case any one has forgotten, is my all-time-favorite class) had its final exam today. We had group presentations, and I think all of the groups did quite well. I personally didn’t do as well as I would have liked; in fact I am ashamed I wasn’t better prepared considering this was my very last chance to do well for my teacher. But it is done, I did what I could, and this morning I walked out of my Public Speaking class for the last time. 😥

Also, I think, I hope, I might have finally done it: I might have succeeded in conveying to Mr. Incredible Irishman how much I appreciated being his student. Though I’m kicking myself for how I flubbed doing it in person. When it came time to finally say goodbye, I tried to tell him but I just couldn’t make it cohesive, so I don’t think I really pulled it off (how could I have finished my public SPEAKING class and still be unable to tell someone how much I appreciate them? My youth pastor, family members, friends… I seriously need to learn to say an eloquent thank you). However, as soon as I got to a computer, I wrote out a long message in which I do think I said everything a bit  clearer. I hope I did anyway.

And, here is the slightly scary part for me… I gave him this blog URL, so if he wants to he now could get on and read in these blog posts how much his class meant to me. This is kind of scary because that means there is now one person out there who reads this blog and knows who I am. So far, only a random classmate and a 11yr cousin even know I have a blog, but I have never told them the website address, so they don’t really count. I prefer the anonymity I have, thankyouverymuch. Heck, that’s how I feel bold enough to share what I share on this blog. But anonymity be darned if Mr. Incredible Irishman will know through my blog posts that his job as a teacher really does impact his students, and he as a person has really impacted me, then I’ll be fine. 🙂

I am going to really miss that class. And of course, I’m really going to miss my teacher of that class. But maybe, just maybe, I’ll have this to look forward to: I can take him for Interpersonal class. 😀 I don’t need the course credit, but I would like to take one more class from him, and that is the only other class he teaches. It all depends on how well I can budget my financial aid, though.  The way it works, I can only get financial aid for Spring and Fall semesters, not any classes in the summer or winter semesters. So if I want to take Mr. Incredible Irishman’s course in the summer (I already have my Spring semester filled with classes I actually need) I can only afford to do so if I have enough financial aid left over at the end of  spring. I think I can do it, if I am willing to be frugal. And with the chance of being in one of his classes again, I would say that is well worth making my own lunches, and only buying the books I absolutely need. Well worth it.

So, Quo Vadimus? (Translation: where are we going?) Well, I don’t know where  everyone else is going, but I’m budgeting for Mr. Incredible Irishman’s class in the summer! 🙂

GranBee

It has been so very long since my last post, it seems. Not that I haven’t had anything to post about. While there are times when I can’t think of anything to blog about, this sure as anything has NOT been the case. However, our internet connection has been unreliable at best and just plumb dang absent all together at worst. Think I’ve been a happy camper, this being the week of finals and I in need of writing papers, studying of online resources and such? Mm-hmm, none to please about that. So the only internet I can use is the college’s wi-fi… which, of cours, I only get on campus! Since I live about 20miles away from campus… I have simply been doing without internet as of late. Anyways, all this to say, there are several events I would have liked to blog about, some for your entertainments sake, a few just to get things off my chest, but at this point most of the topics and events are obsolete, and don’t really effect much.

Except for one event.

Last Thanksgiving, the rest of my family and myself went over to my GranBee’s house to help her decorate for Christmas. She once beat her breast cancer, but recently it has come back with a vengeance, and had come back in her liver, bones, and brain. We didn’t know how much longer she had left. Then Saturday morning, we received word she went to sleep that afternoon, and now my aunt couldn’t wake her up to take her medication.

Long story shortened: the following few days were spent trying to keep GranBee comfortable, all the while going through stages of praying for her to wake up and look me in the eyes one more time, then, to know what to do to make sure she wasn’t hurting, then, for God to just take her home.

The only thing that was keeping GranBee here at that point was because of how young her heart was. At 56, her heart was still pumping strong. Yet at 56, the rest of my grandmother’s body was almost completely destroyed by cancer.

It was a very, very long week. Finally, at 4:56a.m., one week after falling into her deep sleep, my GranBee went home to be with Jesus. Now she can dance, sing, and smile like she used to — completely cancer free.

 

Sitting at my laptop, supposed to be working on homewor, but unable to really focus on it, given the circumstances, I ended up just writing this quick little poem in honor of my dear, sweet, beautiful GranBee.

A beautiful miracle happened today
My GranBee was healed from all of her pain
The pain from the cancer
Inside of her bones
Has left her
Forever
She is safe
She is home

A beautiful miracle happened today
Please pardon my tears while I try to explain
Explain how she never
Will hunger or thirst
Or hurt or
be lonely
Because God
Took her home

A Beautiful miracle happened today
GranBee is free from her strife and her stain
Jesus washed her clean
So she could be with him
Now she’s dancing
She’s laughing
With God,
And Nena, again

♥ ♥ ♥

I love you, GranBee. I’m looking forward to seeing you again one day in heaven, but in the meantime, I will miss you.

Dying to Self

I’m tired.

I’m broken.

I’m hurt.

 

I’m so tired of watching my dad “die to self,” because that’s what God has told him to do. What God has told him to do, according to him. And all I see dying here, is any chance of whole, loving relationship. With me for certain; I can only pray that his “dying to self” won’t take too long before he ends up killing the relationship he has with the other kids. For their sake, of course, not his. They are the ones who need the relationship. He gets enough feel-goods out of the new girlfriend he has every other week, and over the past 7yrs he has shown that he can get along pretty fine with minimal relationship with his kids. But they still need their daddy.

We have a great step-dad. He has been a blessing in our life; he has been what our dad should. But even he can’t fill the chunk of our heart that dad tore out. That can only be replaced by him — our real dad. The way I see it, he has stolen a piece of our heart, and while we can protect the rest of our heart from further burglary, and we can build up a security system by filtering out the lies he tells us, we can’t replace the piece of heart he stole. Only he can return it. But that doesn’t look like that will happen. Because after 7yrs of nothing ever changing, because over a 22minutes conversation of him, again, explaining his “dying to self” and defending everything he ever has done, I know my real dad biologically isn’t going to  be our protector.

So I have had enough of his popping in and out of our lives, getting his quick fix of feeling good about being a dad. I can’t handle that right now! I have other areas of fresh pain to deal with. I have other stresses of life that I need to cope with. So I have told my dad to stop contacting me, stop hurting me. By doing this, I’ve removed the problem for the time being that I know is going to be exactly the same when/if I go try to solve it. In however many years (or weeks, in this case,) from now, my grandmother will have gone home to Heaven. In however many years from now, I will have worked and scrambled to get my degree and excel in school. And in however many years, dad will still be dying to self, trying to figure out what random rabbit hole God leading him to next — right where I’ve left him.

Also, in however many years, I will have had the chance to staunch the bleeding of my gaping heart, take the ragged pieces to God, and have him heal me. Because even though wonderful people can’t replace what a thief has stolen, since only the thief can return the original, there is still hope. Because I can go to the one who made my heart, and because he knows me best, and he knows exactly what is missing, he can craft a new piece of heart that perfectly fills the hole. He can mold a new piece with gentleness in his hands, he can give life to it with his breath, he can take that new bit of heart and fit it into the hole, can bind it all together in one, stronger, healthy whole heart. Then,  I can take my stronger, repaired, whole, tested and refined heart, and go forgive my dad for the hurt and the hole he gave me.

In however many years, while dad is still trying to die to self, my self will have come to true life. Because he can steal a piece of my heart, but he cannot steal my strength. He cannot steal my faith in God. And with my strength and faith in God, I will be remade and will be walking a path of life, and truth, and peace. Then I can walk down the path to where I left him, and with my new heart I can forgive him. I don’t know how long that will take, but I know it will happen. How do I know?

Because the journey has already begun.

 

I am tired.

I am broken.

I am hurt.

But that won’t last.

Soon, I will be refreshed.

Soon, I will be restored.

Soon, I will be healed.

Always safe, the hands of my God.