Poetry Friday: Sleep Reflection

Sleep Reflection

Waking to the chill of morning,
I open my eyes
close the window
turn off the blaring alarm
turn on my loud music
throw off my PJs
pull on a sweater and jeans
because it’s cool outside.

It’s warm in my bedroom so
I strip off my clothes
put on light PJs
turn off my quiet music
turn on my morning alarm
open the window
and close my eyes,
falling asleep to the warmth of night.

Poetry Friday: Average Grace

Average Grace

Fingers pinch at the tips
nerves scream
nails scrape across rough wires
voice strains on highs and lows
muscles stiffen and burn
neck aches

no one I can see can hear me
but my pain brings a circle of ghosts
drawn to the history I share
through song

I’m Giving Up This Whole Lie

Team, I am quite bamboozled. Indeed, I am not confused. I am not mixed up. I am not even flummoxed.

I am bamboozed.

(Prepare yourself for an immature rant.)

Question: Why does every boy I am even vaguely interested in seem to enjoy playing with my emotions? I think it is my own fault. I think maybe I am simply attracted to sociopathic creeps. This is deeply unfortunate for two main reasons:

1. I can never trust my own judgement in choosing mates.

2. What does this say about me?!

I’ve pretty much given up on my own good judgement. I’ve lost my faith in humanity. I’ve tossed the idea of happily ever after, as least for me.

(I know I’m just being dramatic and I’ll forget this feeling in just a few days (hours?), but allow me to relish in it a bit.)

The one positive thing about my habit of choosing manipulators as crushes is that it has held true for many years; therefore, I have been able to identify it and maybe move forward in a better direction. Or maybe I’ll just embrace celibacy for the rest of my life. It’s a tossup.

Anyway, folks, this is the moment I’ve been waiting for for about a year… I’m finally going to share my favorite song with you! (And yes, I do mean favorite.) It matters because this is what I listen to when I need to be me in the greatest sense of the word. You get a little piece of raw Maney this Monday morning.

So without further ado, this is the gorgeous, the inspirational, and the life-changing song “Resolution” by Matt Corby.

Here is just one lovely piece:

You said don’t lie so I made the truth
Seemed like a lie to even you
Control your fear, it’s clear
That you do not know where you’re going to

So, don’t you worry
You’ll be my resolution
Characters of no illusion
You’ll be my resolution

You are welcome. Stay gold, y’all.

The Run and Go

Sometimes life is beautiful and we capture a piece of it to share.

The girl in the video is my friend. I call her Phil. We made this together.

(“The Run and Go” by Twenty One Pilots)

Throwback Essay: Quiet

All right, I’m super lazy today. I wrote this essay for school about two years ago. I feel like back then I was a lot more sassy, angst-y, and care…y. It’s unedited except I added [brackets] to one word. I laughed when I read, “…I can find that secret place in my head where everything is okay…” Ha, not anymore, pal! Now you’re the crazy one and you have rely on others! Life is a hoot, eh?

Sorry that today (always) I’m so laxidazical. Laxedazicle. Lacksidazical. Laxidazicle. Lackadaisical! (Thank you, Google. I thought it had an x.)


Stop and reread the title again, if you will. Again. Think about what images and feelings this word brings to the forefront of your mind. I bet after thinking about the title, most people feel a decrease of excitement about reading this, as if the very word “quiet” drains them of something that we westerners have deemed crucial for existence. If I had titled this essay “Power,” “Social,” or “Energy,” I bet you would have settled back into your seat, excited for a positive reading experience. Instead, I’ve stuck you with what will surely be a dull read.

I hope I’ve put my point across. There is definite bias against the word “quiet;” especially, I dare say, in America, one of the most extroverted nations in the world. I could ramble for pages and pages about the social injustices that extroverts inflict on introverts—in fact, Princeton University and Harvard Law School graduate Susan Cain did just that in her non-fiction book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking. I read this book a few months ago, and it changed my whole perspective about being “quiet.” This book illustrates and illuminates the millions of introverts who suffer the pains of western culture. I mention it because I think it is a good read, and it will answer any questions you have about quietness. However, this essay is not to be a book review.

For me personally, being quiet means a lot of things. It means holding my tongue when I know that what I want to say will fall on ears that refuse to hear me or won’t understand. It means constantly running in a hamster wheel in my own mind, carrying thoughts and ideas and daydreams and being unable or unwilling to share them. It means hiding from the spotlight, especially when others demand that I offer my opinion or tell them “what’s wrong.” It means wanting to be invisible some days, and achieving that state on days I wish people would notice me.

There is one very good thing about being quiet, something I don’t know that loud people have: no matter what happens; no matter what anyone says to me, or does to me, or thinks about me; no matter where I am or who I’m with; I am safe inside my own head. I will not tell my secrets, and I will not betray myself. I will never leave myself alone. I can count on me, even if I can count on no one else. And should the world collapse around me, I can find that secret place in my head where everything is okay and I can make it through.

This school year has held many quiet days for me. I can usually tell the night before if the next day will be quiet. If I get that feeling, I pack a home lunch and pick out my school outfit that night. I ride the bus to school, attend my first three periods, and eat lunch as I do homework in the science room. After lunch I go to my last period and then ride home on the bus with my iPod in, listening to a song to keep my heart up, depending on how I feel by then. Some days I can go without speaking to anyone, if you don’t count the halfhearted greetings in the hallways. I don’t know very many people who can do that—on the other hand, they wouldn’t tell me if they did. Do you see the injustice here? I can handle not being asked on dates, not having close friends, not being popular, not being cool—but for people to assume I don’t have feelings? That’s just wrong.

I feel like “normal” people think that since quiet people don’t always have much to say, we don’t think a lot, and therefore don’t feel as deeply. Maybe this is only an issue at [school] (Cain would disagree vehemently), but it seems that people assume “social” or “talkative”—may I say loud and obnoxious?—people are awfully thoughtful because their ideas are always bouncing off everyone else’s eardrums. Not to be intentionally hypocritical, but doesn’t it make more sense that the people who spend more time in their own heads are more thoughtful? I really think people assume I don’t have opinions or interests or problems, just because I don’t feel a desire to gab about them at all hours. And I’m not even the quietest person I know!

Just last week I was in the back of the science room, having finished my lunch, brainstorming story ideas for my novel. The teacher left the room, and upon finding myself alone, I started pacing and muttering to myself since I feel like I focus better that way. A girl walked in to work on an assignment, and I ignored her, hoping she would return the favor. She asked where the teacher was, and I told her. And then, ladies and gentlemen, she asked that timeless, insensitive question:

“Are you okay?”

I had so many things I felt like telling her; I felt so frustrated inside. But I also didn’t want to be rude, or waste my time thinking negative thoughts. Besides, when you only say so many words a day, you have to make them count. So I just stared at her and shrugged, saying,

“Yeah, I’m okay,”

To that girl, I probably seemed certifiable. But she had no idea how I felt inside, what I was doing, what I was thinking. And of course she didn’t bother to ask. Had I not been the quiet person I am, I might have explained that I was trying to figure out the ending of my book, and she would have understood perfectly, would have been interested in me; perhaps would have felt admiration and loyalty to my cause.

The truth that we cannot ignore in this situation, however, is that had I not been the quiet person I am, I wouldn’t be writing my book in the first place, and I wouldn’t have been in that classroom to answer her question.

Am I okay?

Yes, I can say this honestly, and not even in that offhand, dull, if-you-only-knew sort of voice everyone employs occasionally. I am a quiet person, and I am, indeed, okay.

* * *

And as if I haven’t already provided y’all with enough information this Tuesday, here is “From Where I’m Standing” by Schuyler Fisk (which apparently was recorded live in Park City, Utah!). P.S. I really really love this song.

Poetry Friday: Not Anymore

I paired this poem with a YouTube video because I feel like they juxtapose wishing to not exist with wanting to be everything at once. Lenka’s song is just creepy enough.

Not Anymore

I am taking off my clothes
and stepping on the scale
and thinking how I’ve lost weight
because I don’t eat anymore.

I am turning on the water
and shampooing my hair
and crying and gasping
because I don’t feel anymore.

I am listening carefully
and doubting anyone will check
and realizing it’s fine
because I don’t care anymore.

I am stopping the water
and drying my hair and sobbing
and hitting my head with my palms
because I don’t want

Blog Posts That Lead to More Blog Posts

I don’t know if this counts as a post. I’ve had a lot of topics on my mind lately and I’m trying to pull my brain together enough to write on them, because when topics really matter, they deserve to read like art. Anyway, hopefully I’ll get around to them, though it’s been crazy lately, what with the whole wanting to die thing.

So I want to share with you a song by Damien Jurado called “Working Titles.” My sweet sister introduced me to it. Just so beautiful, especially these lyrics:

“You could mess up my life in a poem
Have me divorced by the time of the chorus”

“You’re no him, but he’s you, only better”

“I wasn’t lying when I said this was over
I have questions that lead to more questions”

I want you and the skyline, these are my demands”

Here are two covers of the same song, the first by The Tallest Man on Earth and Idiot Wind, and the second by Ian Lindsay.

Anyway, team, I hope you do good things. And I hope you know Jesus loves you. And I hope you know I say that with total sincerity.

Also–finally–Thanksgiving break! Whoot.