Metaphors and Memories


My brain is okay but I still don’t really know what I’m doing in life. It is snowy where I am in Utah, the skies grayish and the ground too. I don’t know why I haven’t been blogging lately. I suppose it is because we move through life the way we do scattered rainstorms on the freeway, sometimes passing through battering sky water, or mist and puddles, or glittering sunshine and rainbows. Maybe I am that way with writing. It comes and goes.

School started again, my last semester. It feels good to be so close to finishing.

Who am I talking to? Hello, human. You are reading this. Or maybe you are a cat on a laptop with all abilities of reading but without the knowledge of personal language expression. Did I just make a cat reference? Meow.

Blah, I have nothing to say. Life is moving so fast, faster than is safe. I feel like I’m at the top of an icy hill and I’m just losing my footing. My feet blur, cartoon-like, as I try to regain balance, but the truth is that I hiked up this hill on my own so I must have wanted to try the rush of gliding down.

I am dating someone. He makes me happy. It’s all so confusing, but nice.

I sleep late on days I don’t have school. My dreams are strange and I have nightmares sometimes. I think about days back at BYU, staying with my extended family. I recently pulled out the bag of BYU shirts I hid in the closet last year and I returned them to my drawers. I’m wearing one right now, actually. The first time I put one on last week I could actually feel a burning on my chest where the logo fell, but it’s getting better. My mom wants me to go to the campus and yell that I’m taking back Provo. This seems silly but to be honest it is not above me.

I want to scream with frustration at myself that I am not more productive. (I considered actually screaming but then I decided that would stress me out, so I’ll do a tiny scream here: Scream! If nothing else I made myself smile.)

What is up with your life? We haven’t seen each other in forever. I don’t know who you are so I guess I haven’t necessarily missed you, but there’s an absence when we don’t chat.

I’m going to post a piece of writing I found in my email drafts from November 2014. I promise I’ve come a long way, even if my writing sounds just as dejected.

You are welcome for this blog post, and I sincerely thank you for your time and caring on my behalf.

Love, Maney


Poetry Friday: The Secret on My Lips

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
but empty
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
me you.

“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.

Poetry Friday: Real People

Real People

I can’t breathe the air in here.
When did I get better, huh?
Happened so slow I didn’t even notice.
Dunno if it really happened.

So much air,
so much air.
I can’t breathe it,
can’t breathe it or I’ll die more deaths than I’ll allow.

The in and out breath spins my mind;
promises more paralyzing moments like this.

I learned on TV what happens in beds,
and sleep is only half of it.
There’s waking up and moving,
accepting the dawn.

Real people sleep in darkness
and live in light.
I’ll never get another night’s rest
without you in my mind.

Poetry Friday: Phantoms


No phantoms speak black words tonight
within my ears and out of sight.
They often whisper chillingly
The awful truths that I can’t see
about the world and those that live
and barely breathe and never give.
I fear the phantoms but they come
because, they say, there must be one
to bear the truth of all the world.
They touch me with their claws uncurled
upon my chest, “This place,” they’ve said,
“is where the people have gone dead.”
This happens almost every night;
their voices echo as in flight
upon the still air of my room
as I lie huddled—Hark now! Soon!
I hear their wings and feel their touch
and breath—now I have said as much
as can be said. All that is heard
inside my room are phantom words.

* * *

P.S. Happy Halloween! 😀


I pray for trials because I know they bring me closer to God. This habit of mine has become something of a family joke; my family says I should leave them out of these prayers because they have enough trials. I think it’s true and I try hard to get the point across to my Creator that I want the trials to affect me and me alone.

Anyway, a trial I’ve been facing for the past few months is dreaming every night. I’ve already discussed this but whatever. I dream about offending people I love, making huge mistakes and feeling guilty, being in scary TV shows I watch, missing classes in school, seeing my dead or missionary friends, etc. I hate dreaming I hate it hate it hate it. Haha, I used to love dreaming because my dreams used to be funny or interesting. Nowadays I face my deepest fears when my eyes are closed and my breath is steady.

My Heavenly Father must know I need these nightmares because in the morning I am deeply grateful for reality. I see the beauty in dust motes, ticking clocks, dappled sunlight, chirping birds, socks, poetry, rustling papers. I know He wants me to be happy. So today I am grateful for my nightmares, because without them I wouldn’t know how special my life is, in all its quiet, lonely, and uneventful glory.