So, This is My Life Right Now

Sigh. I want to write, but I can't seem to find any inspiration. None of my stories are speaking to me. They're just chilling in the corner, eating cheese puffs and expecting me to come up with some brilliant idea to get them excited again. As if.

So, instead, I'm going to write a blog post! Yay!

Life is going kind of wonderfully. I'm taking five classes this semester, and even though I switched my major literally last week, I still get my associate's degree on time. What classes am I taking, you ask? Let me tell you.

I'm in creative writing, creative thinking, psychology, some computer class, and U.S. history. So far, they're all rather boring. Yes, even creative writing. The computer class and my history class are both online, and I did NOT expect there to be as much work as there is. I'm not too fond of it. We all know that I much prefer classes where I do nothing and get rewarded.

Oh, and I'm applying to CNU. It's going to be awesome if I can go there; I already know a few people there, as Kyle goes there and I've met his friends and they like me. Plus, the campus is kind of awesome. And it's only like half an hour away from my house, which is nice because I can come home for family dinners and such if I want.

And, you know, I've got a boyfriend. This is the first one I've had in two years, and I'm not entirely sure that I remember how to be a girlfriend. Thus far, I figure that I'm just going to stick with being the same way as before, just with kissing and holding hands and such. Which I'm thoroughly enjoying.

In other news, I've entered the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest again this year. They started accepting submissions on the fourteenth, and we'll find out if we made it through the second round on the thirteenth of February. As before, I'm wildly nervous about it. Nothing's more frightening than shoving your baby out for others to judge.

Even though I've got even less time than before, I shall try to keep y'all updated on things. My poor YouTube channel has fallen to the wayside, because I haven't read any books to do reviews on. Maybe, while I'm waiting for my stories to figure out what they want, I can read instead...

I Have a Boyfriend.

Kthxbai

You're Going to Get Tired of This

So, I went to my first official class of the semester. In case you were wondering, which I'm sure you were, it was creative writing. It's going to be so ridiculously easy, based on the syllabus. The teacher means well, and I hope I learn something new, but I'm keeping my expectations low.

Our first assignments are:

1) Bring in a book on writing, of your choice. DONE. I have Stephen King's On Writing so I don't have to go searching like my classmates.

2) Write a poem using the word you presented to the class. DONE. I picked "fantasmorical", a word I made up my senior year of high school. We could either pick a made-up word, a new word we recently learned, or a word we've always disliked. And I just finished the poem for mine, so... I WIN.

3) Write a poem inspired by something from the book on writing of your choice. IN PROGRESS. And by that I mean that I'm too lazy to go flipping through my book yet, so I'm going to wait until either tomorrow or Sunday and do it then.

Apparently we're going to be writing four poems total, two short memoirs, one short story, and some other stuff that I don't care about and will probably procrastinate on. For the short story, when the time comes, if I can't seem to figure it out, I'll just use the one I have on here. Yay, laziness!

So, would you like to read my new poem? OF COURSE YOU WOULD. Now you see why I said you're going to get tired of this. I've put up more poems recently than you can shake a stick at (that phrase makes no sense, but that's why I like it), and I'm sure some of you are getting quite annoyed. Oh well. That isn't my problem.

Eden's Downfall

The first kiss -
..........A punch to the brain -
...................A lightning strike on an empty field -

............Catching shooting stars
............On our lips
............Until they plump, delirious.

With practice, it settles.
The heartbeat slows -
..........Punch turns to caress -
...................Lightning turns to rain -

............And we now catch butterflies,
............Let them dance on our tongues,
............Until we swallow them, orgasmic.

.....................................................................................Bruises form, the product
.....................................................................................Of sharp canines on soft flesh -
.........................................................................................................The feeling one of
..........................................................................................................Pain -
..........................................................................................................Pleasure -
................................................................................................. A rush so -
..................................................................................................Fantasmorical -
..................................................................................................The pupils dilate,
..................................................................................................And a gasp springs free
..................................................................................................To tickle the lips.

One breathes fire,
The other water,
In a constant struggle
To destroy each other.
..........One seeks to turn the other
..........Into curling steam.
..........One seeks to turn the other
..........Into drenched ash.
Neither wins.
Neither loses.
......................................Forever entwined,

.........................................................................Sealed by a kiss.

More Poems, Because I'm Lazy

The first poem was a cool thing Mike told me about. You pick six words, and create six regular stanzas, where each line ends with one of those words. The last word of the final line becomes the last word of the first line of the next stanza, until you go through all of them. The final stanza has two of the words per line, one in the middle and one at the end.

The second poem is perhaps the most complex of any poem I've ever written. It can be read left to right, as usual, and you can also read it from top to bottom of each row. Snazzy, isn't it? It's also the poem that took me the longest to write, taking an entire class period in high school (which is about an hour and a half long).

Death, Love, Pain, Hope: To Burn

All we have for all eternity is love,

At least until we have seen death,

But even then we yearn and hope

For something to end this pain;

For something to make the memories burn

Into something we can cling to.

Somehow we end up going back and forth, to

And fro, trying to start or end our love.

We try to keep the flame or stop the burn

For the accomplishment of either deters death

And brings a way to extinguish pain.

This, it seems, is the foundation of hope.

Yet to have anything resembling hope

Makes it that much more likely to

Have this feeling we call pain.

It is caused by, and ended by, love.

The lure of emotion makes us feel invisible to death

When all it achieves is bringing us to Hell to burn.

Many argue that we do not burn

Because they see their feelings as a hope

For something beyond life and death.

They yearn for Heaven and here on earth seem to

Have and receive this thing called love

And do not see that from it springs pain.

Is it worth it, this pain?

It scratches, it stings, it stabs, it creates a burn

That makes me feel that love

Is not something for which to hope.

And yet, without it, there would be nothing to

Treasure and value at the time of death.

So, in conclusion, this death,

Both a way to end and create pain,

Serves as the only thing to

Prove that there is a reason to burn,

A reason to hope,

A reason to bear this horrible thing called love.

And so we learn to see that with death

There is love for something despite the pain

And we adore the burn that means we hope.

St. Croix

Gone-

All that's left behind

Is nothing that really

Matters.

To another place that

Goes beyond him and me

At least that's how it seems,

Will drive him farther until he is

Truly gone?

Forgotten, forgiven, forgetting, forgiving

Or maybe not at all.

For the truth of feelings is not true.

Perhaps it never really mattered

Perhaps this end is for the best

Because he never cared;

Though if an end it be

This truth of heart cannot be denied, yet

What an end to such bliss.

If such a lie as feelings

To believe is perfidy and

Kill the soul

Of this heart inside my chest,

Then there is nothing.

It is dead.