Sometimes Silence Says The Most

Back off and listen to what I have to say
I won't let you ignore me another empty day
Never was I invisible as I walked through these halls
Just because to look and see, you had not the gall
You can't shove me off into the grey to serve blind spite
All because you want your world in simple black and white
Sorry babe, you have no reign, no power over me
Don't be coy, I'm not your toy, that I'll never be
Take off the cool designer shades, and use god-given ears
My nose inhales, my mouth makes sound, my eyes do produce tears
O, the shock it must be for you, that I am human too
I need, I want, I feel, I think, as you claim to do
But of course you're so much better, your life has much more worth
I'm no competition for your silver spoon since birth
An inferior such as myself, though, still can make a choice
The one to say "I see through you all" with my little voice
What sets us apart, you and I, I'm not about to play your game
So why are you still unconcerned that you're pathetically all the same
My spoon can be a dirty bronze, but I won't perch on yours
Found in chaotic teen reality of common, silent wars
No longer have I a single care about falsities and pretty stuff
That ego doesn't impress me, it's just your little bluff
You put a cover on, blocking yourself from the truth
Just look in the mirror, hun, right there is enough proof
Think twice before looking down on me, I'm not your living puppet
Attend another mindless party, and pretend you're not sick of it
What's the matter, sweetie, did I disrupt your perfect world?
Without a punch, without a kick, but with some mere words hurled
How odd that it can be so easy to have a set life crumble
That verbal words can move the path, and in the dark, you'll stumble
Welcome to my everyday, my unsteady realm
Despite you, I survived, now babe it's your turn
How long do you think you'll last, with no one holding your hand?
Without a soul to pick you up, and follow each demand
Look back upon what you have done, and find your purpose now
Thyself is thine's worst enemy, what life can you allow?
Come tidal waves, of depression and despair
Since a slit wrist is forever beyond repair
Could it be so hard for you to think of others too?
Not just yourself, and status, and things to say on cue...
Drop the Barbie act, and look for something more
Down the road, it’ll loose it’s glamour, become such a bore
You’ll run out of souls to shove down, so you can rise above
Then alone you’ll have to stand, with no one left to love
I can’t wait for this day, when unto you comes torture
In my eyes it’s justified, a punishment, more-over
So keep up the bleached hair and peppy made-up cheers
For what I’ve seen still, ahead of you yet leers

Forgotten with Conscious Memory

It is sad to think of the things forgotten with age that are in no way related to actual memory loss. As people grow older, the issues that are focused on only serve to cause stress and anxiety, and the little things that used to mean so much are lost in the chaos. What ever happened to the innocent beauty of childhood, where instead of needing a reason to smile, there needed to be a reason to frown? It is possible they are simply overwhelmed by the trials that must be faced, and can eventually only be found in memories. However, if the opportunity were given to revisit this time in our lives, it would surely be taken. If I could be any age, I would be nine years old, a time in one’s life when academic, social, and personal aspects all meet in one small segment, marking the transition from childhood to young-adulthood.
Looking back, there was a time when school was considered fun. This is not to say that surprise snow days and holiday vacations weren’t still greatly appreciated and celebrated, but waking up to feel pride in the selection of one’s clothing was like nothing else, even though those ensembles rarely matched. School was a place to which one was sent to learn, and with each new fact and scrap of knowledge retained came a tiny thrill of which there is no equivalent. Somewhere along the road of textbooks and lectures that thrill began to shrink. In third grade, any incomplete homework did not bring dire consequences, and kids were taught in order to be educated, not just to pass solitary tests that may determine entire futures, or at the very least, hold too great an influence. Nobody sat and judged a hand that was raised with the wrong answer. School became the social capital of the world, inspiring entertainment, friendships, and life lessons to be learned.
At the age of nine, social pressures seemed nonexistent. Nowhere on the swing sets could be found huddles of cliques. Appearances were not a factor in granting access to the slides. Playing tag didn’t merit a debate on which child discriminated another. None of those problems existed to the nine-year-old mind, and all lived in a blissful state of equality where everybody was friends, because even if one managed to acquire a nemesis, there was a tendency for it to be forgotten by recess. This world, where not a single person was concerned with failing or looking incompetent, was a simple one. This world, where judgmental opinions extended only to which flavor of ice cream tasted the best, was a happy one.
Throughout childhood, it is accepted that one’s whole life lies ahead of them. Perhaps this disinclination to be preoccupied with the “what if’s?” of the past and future contributes to making childhood seem grand. Yet, at the time, growing up and achieving independence seems like the best thing ever. So, there one stands, at the bottom of the staircase to adolescence, clinging to youth, but striving to become older and wiser, oblivious to their possession of the best of both worlds. Too young to worry about the complications of adulthood, yet just old enough to grasp the pleasant side of maturing, life is then balanced in a blessed medium. The ability to make full use of playgrounds and Popsicles is not deterred by developing crushes and receiving one’s first makeup compact. There is a drive, an ambition, an innate sense of adventure within each young soul that affords so much potential.
It is a shame that this realm of simplicity and naiveté dissipates from those daily lives with coming age. Lost to adulthood is the care-free energy and simple joys, the bountiful smiles and general comradeship. I miss dancing in the rain, listening to boy-band music, giggling emphatically, and that zeal to conquer the world one Barbie at a time. At age nine, there existed a utopia of academic, social, and personal aspects that created a middle-ground between childhood and adolescence, thus this is the age I would want to be.

Quantum Leap

It would be nice to sit here and have brilliant thoughts and geniusly constructed sentences pour from my brain and out my fingertips to produce a masterpiece. Instead, I find myself gripped with fear at the thought of what this means...what pushing this little button may actually mean. It means a harsh reality of critiques who know their stuff and have every right to judge. It means being exposed, and vulnerable, and every other adjective I so very wish weren't as applicable as they are. It means my thoughts aren't only mine..Now they belong to millions of other people. The scariest thought of all may be "what if people don't want these thoughts?" The very essence of me that I am pathetically struggling to share may meet cold, hard rejection. In the world of lipgloss and boys and basketball games, this wouldn't be such a big deal. In the world of a sixteen-year-old girl, it could all be misconstrued as mundane. Sometimes, though, I doubt that I even belong to those worlds, and at others, it's all too clear. Life affords so many oppertunities, and just as many disappointments. I suppose it's a matter of faith. A faith that's not always clearly defined or strong as it ought to be. At times, this very same state of constant questioning is the only thing that remains definite. What do I want out of this blog? Quite possibly the same things I want out of life. Answers. Truth. Acceptance. Simplicity. An escape from the chaos that greets me when I walk out the door, from the pandemonium of a classroom full of ignorant peers, and from the secret, dire hope that I could join their masses and my resentment would dissipate.

All this time I stare out at a world of clones
Yet cannot but hate myself for not being one of them
Frivolous trenches of inadequate splendor suspend
The realm of these plastic people in silent mayhem

When I click "Publish Post", I will set into motion a story..The story of me. I can only initiate what I am sure has the potential to be a brutal process, because the rest is determined by its reception in the world of fellow writers. I begin the story, and somebody else will finish it. Let us hope my fear will be overcome, and I will be all the better for it. Let us hope.