I am so excited that autumn is finally starting to show itself in the valley! It comes with the start of school, cooling temperatures, leaves on the ground and the slow approach of the holidays. Autumn is the mother hen season, tucking us all under her wings of warm gold and brilliant auburn and rich, silky red. It’s a time for hugs and gloves and mugs and new love. Autumn means that there will be time for raking leaf piles with the neighbor kids; inhaling deeply the crisp air and smell of fallen leaves; and making new relationships that have the potential to last longer than life.
I love the turning of the seasons anytime, but autumn is hands down my favorite.
P.S. Have fun at school today, my fellow students! We can do this.
Believe me that I care for equality.
My life testifies to me again and again of its importance.
Believe me that I have words, more words than you know.
My tears testify to God and me and everyone
that I’m one part broken and one part healing,
the pieces fusing together into a makeshift heart.
I can’t lose what I’ve worked so hard to achieve.
I can’t say words I feel, for they’ll condemn me.
I pray for understanding, for release from my burdens.
I pray for mercy from my brothers and sisters.
I pray for strength to keep going, to hold onto hope.
I’m sorry I cannot light these pages of confusion in me,
wield them as a flag for your cause;
a flame that reaches the clouds and unites the masses.
My testimony douses my flames, my fiery passions.
I let heaven rain down on me, hiding my tears,
washing away the blackened novels I’ve written in my heart
about my sins, my variances, my questions.
I can’t be your spokesperson.
I won’t die a messenger of your—our—cause.
Guys. Team. Readers.
My stomach’s in my throat right now.
So. I got accepted to write for this really cool blog called Young Mormon Feminists. And I’m freaking out but no big deal.
Hopefully I will be able to eventually get over my anxiety/excitement about this opportunity. But in case I am killed by hordes of angry YMF readers, just know that you guys are awesome and it’s been a real pleasure sharing my thoughts with you.
P.S. This is how I feel: (The whole video applies, but especially from 1:40 on.)
P.P.S. I’m making a big deal out of this but it’s pretty much not even a cool thing.
P.P.P.S. I’m going to be excited anyway.
So, is the new Gravatar a little too intimidating? I’m almost embarrassed when my family walks in on me scrutinizing my blog design (while avoiding my own salacious gaze). Really, people, if it’s too much, send up a flare. I’d hate to have you avoid this site because you’re ashamed to see me cyber flirting with the readers.
Writing has been hard lately. Dunno why. I think when school starts in the next few weeks I’ll get my writing gears in motion again. Maybe I’ll post some of my essays or something—bring this blog back from the subpar poetry limbo it has inhabited for too too long.
La la la!
Concentrating is hard today.
I have a cold right now, BTDubs. Coughing, sniffling, moaning, etc. Sleeping is no fun because it takes so long to happen, so I avoid it when possible. As a result, I’m just constantly tired.
Stuff is happening. I’m reconnecting a little with old friends. School is starting soon. I’m decluttering the papers I’ve been holding onto for years. It’s quite a project. Certificates, doodles, writing, report cards, school notes, art, letters, receipts—it seems to go on forever.
Anyway, y’all. Don’t postpone your life waiting for this blog to become especially amazing. I am doing well, really. I hope your lives are rocking. And I hope to see you more often in the near future.
P.S. I really like this song. My cute baby sister recommended it to me. Watch the video. Listen to the music. Smile. Breathe. Dance.
Slave to the keyboard,
neck arched, wrists aching.
Eyes closed, clickety-clack,
a new story in the making.
Take my heart and soul,
twist my words into fire;
burn black font up the page,
my voracious literary sire.
A violent mental tug of war frees
the drip-drop patterned thoughts.
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words will be my chosen lot.
The Secret on My Lips
I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine
and weeks and months dissolve,
and when the town’s asleep I tuck myself in bed
but the secret on my lips is
I can’t sleep
It’s morning and I’m tired
so I write it out and soon
I’ll curl in bed and imagine
that you love me, you miss me,
you’re thinking of me, too,
and sleep won’t bring
me nightmares, it will bring
“The Writing’s on the Wall” by OK Go: This song was stuck in my head the whole time I was editing this poem, so here ya go.