Tuesday, July 24, 2012

confession, kind of

i read other people's blogs and they have these enormous long entries and then i reread mine and look at my pitifully small entries. i don't know why, but it makes me feel like i'm not a real writer. like, i should be able to write ridiculously long posts. i'm a writer, right? at this point, i don't feel like one. for some reason this is affecting me way too much but i can't seem to get it out of my head. all I want is to be a good writer but i've never felt less like one. i'm such a freak.

the hidden part

My right hand is clenched at my hip, palm facing up, thumb wrapped tightly around the first three fingers. She presents the board to me at arms length, stomach level. "Short punch." I nod. "Yes'm." My fist shoots forward. Rotates ninety degrees. It hits the board with a sickening crack. I wince internally. Outwardly, I do nothing but blink. "Again. All the way through." I nod. "Yes'm." I throw my shoulders into it this time, twisting slightly at the waist. My fist travels all of six inches and connects again. The crack is even louder than before. It snaps. We bow as the class claps and I walk to sit by the window with Alex. I look down. My knuckles are bleeding.

Thursday, July 19, 2012


the leaves shiver in the bright sunlight as i hold my right hand out, palm facing away from me. my nails are an electric blue and still wet. they shine up at me, hypnotic somehow.

the old, battered door creaks behind me, subtly announcing the fact that i am no longer alone on the front porch. my brother drops to the ground with an immense sigh, book in hand. my bottle of polish starts to tip, and i catch it with my foot. no one saw.

successful talent scout

OMG so I just discovered that Abby (who I already knew is a good writer) is a freakin beastly poetry spoken word writer. Thus she will be in slam club with us next year yay!

Anyways this is what she wrote at my house at 11 last night:

"Love is a wonderful thing, something to be written about and revered. Love is what happens to those willing to let life direct them into the paths of those who need them to continue on their journey and remember what they carry on for. Love is permanent, written on your soul to bleed through and color your heart the hue of happiness. Love is when the knowledge of who you want in your life is concrete, as is who you want to remember and assist you in your expedition of learning, and you are utterly wiling to look past the insignificant flaws and accept their quirks in order to preserve them in your life. Love is something to stumble upon or build, with stones of recognition of the efforts they apply to life, with mortar of emotion and rawness, and using tools of communication and forgiveness. Love is a home, in which to house the few that take the time to build it. "


Tuesday, July 17, 2012

This is a spoken word I wrote the first draft of awhile ago and this one is drastically different. But I like it.

Blind Snakes
Dear you, I have discovered the recipe for true friendship.
Three liters of laughs, a pound of powdered summers, a teaspoon of telling secrets. A pinch of jealousy and a teaspoon of trouble. A cup of fights. An ever-adjustable amount of smiles.
Mixing instructions; there are six subsections.
1.       You bake cookies with her – though only half the amount you meant to cause you ate all that batter
2.       There’s no such thing as bailing each other out hell, it’s every man for himself unless of course you broke that window together in which case you share the holding cell and tell each other “shit, we screwed up. But that was awesome.”
3.       You love her and hate her at the same time because the two of you are so similar it’s like being friends with yourself but without the flaws. She’s good at everything you’re bad at except for bowling. You both suck at that.
4.       She laughs when you tell her stupid trig jokes about how the guy in your history class is tangent because he chose the girl opposite him over the girl adjacent to him and you don’t feel like a geek cause it’s a good type of laughter.
5.       You tease each other about the guys you like; the tall the sweet and the nerdy or the girls if that’s how you roll
6.       She’s so perfect its infuriating so half the time you want to kill her, another quarter maim her and that last bit? You want to be with her every second because she brings out the best in you and you like the way you around her and how she makes you feel.
Bake for 4 years at 50 degrees.
So now I have to ask you why you don’t follow this recipe, why you’re not that perfect blend of light and dark. Because I never want to tell you anything, cause who knows what you’ll do? Or what you’ll say? I can feel the absence of every one of my closely guarded secrets when I watch them make their way from my mouth to your ears but you don’t even notice the extra weight.
Friends are supposed to accept and forget but obviously your mental dictionary is different than mine because last time I checked “accept” doesn’t mean “degrade” or “point out every flaw you see” and “forget” definitely doesn’t mean “regularly bring up the time I made you cry for the first time in years” especially because the only reason you cried was because I stood up for myself and you didn’t like it.
Nothing is safe around you, not my beliefs, my reservations, the way I view the world. Everything is subject to ridicule when you’re around. From what I’ve heard, friendship is supposed to make you happy but unless happiness is the sinking, hollow feeling I get in my stomach whenever I see you this is not friendship.
Cause there is a difference between being truthful and being honest even though the words mean the same thing. I know you mean the things you say about me even though you end each volley of insults with “I’m just kidding, you know,” Some of the things I don’t deny but you don’t need to say anything. In the end, there’s just no reason for you to talk.
People tell me I need to ignore the poisonous snakes that slither coolly from your mouth but it’s too late for that because they’ve bitten me, and the gaping holes in my heart are in plain view of everyone but the girl who put them there. Blind snakes are the worst and that’s what you are because you don’t see how anything you do could possibly be wrong. I don’t know how you managed to slide your way into my life nor do I know how to get rid of you because I sure as hell don’t want to sic you on somebody else.
 I don’t know what I did to deserve this, who I pissed off in a past life but I promise I’ll never do it again. I just want my own opinions back, along with my self-confidence, my good judgment and the sense of purpose that used to dominate my life. Because when you befriended me I lost all of those things to that locked box you call a heart.
Here. You might want to try this recipe.

Spoken word

Good poems don’t need titles to explain what they’re about. The message should be clear.
                Most kids need an invisibility cloak to disappear, but I’ve never had to bother. It seems I have to do nothing but walk down the halls or into a room and I’m instantly a jellyfish in a bunch of barnacles – see through and vulnerable.
                But no matter how opaque I evidently am, I’m not unknown and in my mind, that’s a bad thing. People don’t know me because of the things I do. Oh, no.
                I am “that girl that skipped eighth grade, oh yeah, that one chick. I hate her. You don’t wanna know her. Don’t talk to her, no one likes her.” People don’t talk to me because they want to hear what I have to say, but because they don’t have a choice.  A teacher told the class to split into partners and they didn’t find a friend fast enough. When a group project comes around, I’m in high demand. No, no. People don’t like me. I know all the answers.
                I have no real use – I’m simply the girl whose tests you cheat off, whose homework you ask to copy. I am the arrogant girl, the snobby girl, the girl who thinks she’s better than everyone else. All because my IQ is triple theirs.
                I told myself I didn’t care what they thought, that I didn’t need friends. That if they were stupid enough to be prejudiced against me, I didn’t need them. But it’s harder than you think, going it alone. Humans are meant to be social, to be loved.
                And then sophomore year I saw people I’d gone to middle school with and they didn’t recognize me. Looking in the mirror, I saw why. I’d been kicked one too many times in soccer and had discarded my glasses. My hair’d grown out and I’d begun to wear it down. I was in good shape. I thought I could start over.
                But I was too innocent. I’d never experienced open hostility. I didn’t know I was hated, that people who’d never spoken to me had already decided they never would. This year I saw it all and came to a realization: people, as a general rule, are ugly. Not physically. In here.
                Most teenagers don’t have filter and they hide it when they’re in front of adults. But I am not an adult, and when they have opinions about me they think it’s their right to make those opinions known. If I want to know why you don’t like me I’ll ask you myself. I don’t need to feel the slices your sharp words make on my back. I don’t want the scars.
                It’s not understood that in the real world, having an intelligence level above that of a brick is a good thing. That looks are not the deciding factor for college admission. Somehow, varsity soccer placement doesn’t even get through to these people, this generation of physical prowess and attractiveness. Of course, I’m a nerd and thus I’m weak. Computer obsessed. Unathletic. Ugly.
                But the real me, the one who sings alone to Wicked showtunes and the Lion King and Mulan, and every other freaking Disney song ever,  the one who makes cookies every Sunday and gets up at hours no teenager should be awake at on Saturdays to coach the soccer games of the sweetest girls in the world? That’s the me that will shine through if you’d halt the creation of the one that’s slowly going mute because she doesn’t want to talk anymore cause it’s just not worth it. It’s your loss, but I’m alone. And there’s nothing worse to be.


I've always wondered why I can never seem so finish anything I start.
Though I guess "anything" is an exaggeration; I finish poems, schoolwork, most projects. Yet I as an avid writer cannot seem to keep up on a blog. I feel like a failure. cdub would be horrified.

My taekwondo instructor tells us to kiyup (emit a short, low yell while fighting to intimidate your opponent, call attention to yourself, initiate an adrenaline rush and force you to breathe correctly) when we are in a situation that necessitates it: a stressful situation, or a scary one. A point at which you need help.
But if I were to kiyup during school, when the queen bee shoots her poisonous looks across classrooms at me, or at home when tension threatens to smother the lot of us - what would happen then? The cry that I've been taught brings solace and calm would initiate even more problems.

It might seem inconsequential to you, this minute ongoing struggle I have with myself, but there seem to be two me's in my mind. One is quiet (kind of). A rule follower. The math geek (well actually, the everything geek). The girl who tries desperately to blend into the background, now that she has discovered the truth about people.
The other is the girl who's jump kicks are six feet in the air, who can break a board with a punch. Who isn't afraid to yell as loud as she possibly can, even though she's only sparring someone in class. Who almost wishes she could be in a situation where beating someone up is needed.
So I ask myself why the quiet girl is the one who wins out, since the other one is clearly stronger and much more enjoyable to be. And then I remember society, and that the ways of the fun girl equal social outcast. And everyone tells themselves that bull about how they don't care what people think of them, they put up that front of supposed indifference. I called it bull for a reason. No matter how many times I tell people I'm fine, that I don't care, I feel even worse. Because I've discovered two things: only a few people care enough to bug you until you spill (Abby) and that I've evidently become a very good liar. And the former makes me depressed for humanity.

Friday, June 1, 2012

Contrary to what you might think, I am alive

Hey dudes
So I haven't written anything in like a month because school caught up to me (yay finals) and I've had soccer and taekwondo and everything just built up so I haven't written anything. Sorry.
Anyway I had my birthday on the 6th and I turned 15 :) which was very exciting. I can now get my permit! Which I still have not done.......

Nothing much else is going on; I have my last soccer game and our end of the season party tomorrow so that will be exciting. I get to eat food and play with my lovely girls :) I'll miss them so much though....so not looking forward to the end. They're mah bestest friends :')
Oh yeah, we had our epic slam poetry contest at school, which a crapload of people went to. I did not expect that many people to go (though the promised extra credit brought in a ton of peeps, obviously) or that many people to read. I like the covers that people did but I think it would have been cooler if everyone had been required to write something. But whatever, the people who wrote their own stuff made up for the covers. I especially liked the O'Day's, Dylan's, Malachi's, Taylor-Ann's, Alli's and Tate's.

I liked being able to go up and just speak my mind without worrying about what anybody thought (and the lighting, you couldn't see out into the audience at all. Just dark shapes, so it was easy to yell to the masses ;) ) and even though I was nervous before I totally would do it again. I can't wait till we put on next years'.

I don't really think there's anything else to say except dear lord let the next two weeks go by fast and for me to do good on my finals!

Thursday, May 3, 2012

hehehe.......have fun finding them!!!

Long time no hear

Hey people;
So I haven't posted anything in about two weeks cause I got busy, bored and realized that no one actually reads this thing. Anyway, I shall continue talking and pretend this is being read.

Actually, there's nothing really to talk about. Tomorrow I'm going to go watch my brother promote to his next taekwondo level and my friend Dominique promote to his as well (first degree yellow and second degree brown, respectively). It's going to be pretty beast. At my last test I watched a girl I know who's my age promote from first degree black belt to second degree and it was one of the scariest things I've ever seen in my life. Black belts have to break boards before their test and they can't go on if the boards don't break. They're real wood. Anyway, then you do your three forms and then spar one other black belt for 3 minutes straight (which doesn't sound like a long time until you watch someone fight someone else for that long. You can hear them breathing from a room away.). After that you get a few minutes rest and then spar 3 people for 1 minute. If you pass, you get a black belt with gold writing on it. One side says whichever degree you are and I think the other side says the name of the studio or something. Then your instructor ties the belt on you (a big deal) and you walk out of the room victorious and exhausted. The girl I watched (Miss Todd - all black belts are referred to by their last names as a sign of respect. It's very, very, very odd to refer to someone 15 days older then you as 'Miss'.) was sick and has asthma so it was kind of amazing to watch her. I doubt I could do it in good condition.

So yeah, there's nothing much else to say.... my birthday's on Sunday! That's about it.

Thursday, April 19, 2012


So I love the kind of demotivational pictures like this. I find them entertaining. If you don't, that's okay.
Hey dudes:
I ended up not posting anything yesterday, I didn't have time. I had soccer pictures with my lovely team (who, upon learning that I have this blog said, "YOU'RE FAMOUS??" Sadly, I had to explain to them that you do not have to be famous to have a blog. Felt pretty great about myself though. For future reference, if you're ever in a sucky mood go find a kid who's not related to you and just talk to them for awhile. They'll think you're fantastic and will continually compliment you. Epic.) which was great. Then when I got home I made a birthday card for Anya (she'll hate me for saying this, so I will) and HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANYA!!! I <3 u :)
Anyway, today I took a math test again and did some other lovely, lovely things in a school setting. AKA 6 hours of my life I shall never get back. Tomorrow's a B day though so it'll be fun cause I have English. Crap!! I have to do my homework for that class....
Anyway, then I went to slam poetry club with cdub which was really cool. I read the one I wrote and people liked it so that was neat. Then we had this assignment where we could go wherever we wanted in the school and had to write a poem composed of only phrases we found. It was epic and mine was really random.
So I don't think there's really anything else to say... I'm just going to look for pictures to post :) byeeeee

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Character Outline

So for those of you that don't know, I really like to write. (Duh. I have the longest blog in the history of blogs, or I will in a few years.) In my English class one of our long term projects is to write seventy pages. C-Dub (my teacher - full name Collins-Wilson) doesn't care what we write so long as if fills up seventy pages. So, naturally, people are being stupid and doing stuff like writing one word over and over again and stuff like that because they have no imagination or such boring lives they have literally nothing to write about. (And I only have a problem with the no imagination thing. I hate drab people with all of my non-existent soul. Boring people, however, don't bother me as much. I just try to avoid them.) Anyways, I, on the other hand, decided to actually do what c dub intended us to do, and I wrote short stories, poetry and a whole bunch of other fun things.
I'm also going to the Oregon Writing Festival this May (the day before my birthday - great present) and we are required to bring twelve copies of a piece of writing to share with our groups and peer edit. So below is what I think I am going to bring and you should tell me if you think its sounds okay or if I should go with my second option. So get ready for a REALLY LONG post. If you don't want to read it, just pretend you did and tell me it was fantastic. I'll be happy :)

He was a quiet kid, brought up by his mother. He didn't like to play with the other children; ever since his old golden retriever died he holed himself up in his room and constructed Lego monuments. People stopped asking about him and many even forgot he existed.
He went swimming every day without fail in the fish-filled lake behind his house. While most of the residents of his small town nursed a not-so-secret fear of the immense black body of water, he and his younger sister loved the obsidian waves and the way they lapped the pearly white shoreline.
He never went to school, yet could outthink and outsmart anyone he talked to. His mother never challenged his seclusion; indeed, she fueled it by supplying him with a steady flow of books that covered every topic you could think of. Why, he reasoned, would you want to go places and do things when time travel and teleportation is possible? He himself often traveled around the world in a single day, beginning in Greece (speaking with Homer) before breakfast and watching with a horrified look as Hiroshima was demolished just before dinner.
He participated in earnest philosophical discussions with his third grade sister. It was quite stunning to listen to them: the tiny eight year old girl and the quietly muscled would-be junior could both talk to the queen of England, should she ever invite them to tea.
He taught her everything he knew, and when she came home crying from school because kids had insulted him, her idol, he only laughed and reassured her that he didn't mind in the least. Unconvinced, when a boy in her class made the mistake of calling him a retard she decked the poor kid with a single punch, forever proving she'd earned the black belt that hung in her closet.
Her brother laughed for a full minute when she told him what happened, but disappeared into his room after dinner instead of reading Harry Potter aloud to her like they'd been doing for years. Later, when she crept past his closed door, she heard him sniff. Throwing the door open, she discovered him crying softly. When asked what was wrong, his simple reply was, "I don't deserve a sister as amazing as you."

Hey again! Sorry, my last post for today (unless I get bored, of course, in which case more stuff will come flooding in. Or if I procrastinate, cause I really should be doing my To Kill a Mockingbird hw... Atticus called Scout "baby"!)
So anyway, I follow my friend Obi-Wan Kenobi's blog (aka my buddy Chloe. For future reference, I am Yoda. She is Obi-Wan and I will frequently reference her as my faithful student.) and I realized that on her most recent post she referenced my blog and told people to read it because she is a person of epic proportions. Therefore I am returning the favor and telling you to go read hers. Cause its really good and she has pictures on it she actually took, not ones she found on the Internet like moi. Also I will try to post a picture of something epic every day if I don't bore the crap out of you with my long, obtuse paragraphs. The pictures will usually be under the heading "Words" so if you see that know that you are about to become more intellectually advanced. Or at least entertained.
ANYWAY, this is her blog: thepublicdollhouse.blogspot.com
So go look at it. Right now. Not kidding.


Hey y'all! So I just got back from school and it was an A Day, which means I had biology, pre calc, careers and american studies. All in all a depressing day for many reasons which will be explained right now.
1. Biology. First class of the morning, so while interesting is immediately quite taxing. We did watch a super cool movie on genomes and how you can access your entire genome now. This is a bit of a controversial subject as many people think it will just depress you to find out your "pre-destined" diseases (which is why I would only like to find out things I can help prevent. So not cancer, or Altzheimers, or anything like that.)
2. Math. The word itself explains all. I admit that I do enjoy math, but today we had to do a state work sample that we were assured we would be able to do (from a TEACHER perspective, so its a lie). I did it, but not after staring blankly at the paper for a whole 15 minutes and mentally swearing that entire time. Then we did some stuff with polar coordinates, I think, which was cool.
3. Careers. Sucks. End of story.
4. American Studies. I have a beastly teacher but we watched videos about the Holocaust and the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, which instantly depressed me. I told my friend Anya I am disgusted with the human race at times; this is one of those times. I'll have whole other posts dedicated to my rants on humanity, though, so for now I'll spare you. You're welcome!

But now I am getting ready to go to taekwondo, where I will learn a new form ( there are 9 belt levels: white, yellow, blue, purple, brown and black with two degrees for each level except for white and black. White there's one and black there are nine.) I started about 4 months ago and I am a first degree yellow belt and am on my third form. Before this I was a second degree yellow belt, and before that a white belt. When you get to black belt, however, you start at first degree and go up to ninth and instead of having one form per degree you have three. It gets crazy, but I love it so much. I'm learning to defend myself and kick the crap out of people at the same time. :)

So I'll shut up now and you can go back to your lives!

Monday, April 16, 2012

SO MUCH HOTNESS. Nuff said, but I'll continue anyway. I loved this movie soooooo much, and I was so afraid it would be ruined BUT IT WASN'T. Thank God. Also, I can't think of anyone better to play Peeta than Josh. Screw Taylor Lautner, Twihards - can he be as hot blonde as he is dark-haired, like the above persona? No, I didn't think so. What now.

First post!

Hey everybody who decides to check out my epicness:
This is my lovely first post, in which I shall describe the name of my blog. It is called the Serenity of Fireflies because I watch this amazing TV series called Firefly that, sadly, was canceled due to lack of funding because people were stupid and decided to watch crap like MTV and stuff instead of this amazing story. (No offense to any of you who ship MTV; I'm not a big fan.) Thankfully, after the show was canceled they made a movie that ended the many many storylines started in the series, and the movie is called Serenity. Thus, the Serenity of Fireflies.
So my goal for this blog is to post at least once a day, but as I am a busy high school sophomore that might not happen. Anyways, I just wanted to start off the happiness!