Independent Writing 3

Going through my Grandfather's house, I felt pretty damn lucky to be a good grand-kid. I mean, to love a man and hold onto that love was one thing, but to be able to inherit a home? My fiance was ecstatic. I knew very little about the man. He use to take me fishing, and to the Friday night drive-in, but other than spending anytime a normal grandson would, I didn't really know the man. Moving day had arrived. After lugging all the boxes in, my fiance and I had time tsit and admire the house. The phone rang. "Hon, it's my mom, I'm going to go have lunch with them, okay?" I told her to go, she'd done enough. I was so happy to be with her, and to have a home with her just completed our dreams. So, here I was in my grandfather's home. What to do? I decided to unpack the boxes and bring them up to the attic. To my surprise, the attic was already full. I decided to sift through the old-timer's stuff. Then, in my line of view, a large, black chest embossed with brass. Just a buckle-lock. I unhooked the buckle and started to maneuver my hands through the chest. Oh my God, old articles? Flyers, from dance halls and opening band nights. . .my-Grandfather danced? It's true! old envelopes dyed yellow in age revealed photos and folded certificates of first places and beautiful dance partners. Grandpa! At the bottom of the chest was a photo album. As I cracked it open, other flyers flew out the bottom, and photos of trophies and big bands formd a nostalgic girth round my knealing body. Finally, some pictures of my Grandma. She was so pretty, I couldn't believe Grandpa partied! As I flipped further through the album, I found baby pictures. Oh, wow, Mom? Even some newspaper cut-outs. "Legend becomes a Dad and retires." No wonder I never knew! As I flipped to the final pages of the album, I saw pictures of me. Birthday parties and camping trips. Grandpa, I had no idea Old Man. God, it meant so much too. Overwhelmed with what I found, I picked the giant chest up and hauled it down the attic stairs. Something this special belonged in me and my fiance's bedroom, close to me. I can't wait to tell her when she gets home, or mom, or dad. God, I lov you Grandpa. Thank you so much.

Piece: Independent Writing #2

Love
I’m not that old yet, and I know that. But, I can’t help but feel I’ve learned a lot about the meaning of that word. For one, it’s nothing that can be proven; In fact, you could barely provide evidence for it. You just have to show it. You need to set it out on the table, and you either have it or you don’t. A very important person taught me this. He won’t be revealed, and neither will I, for reason needless of explanation to the reader, and after a night like mine, I plan on meaning what I say for as long as I pay attention, maybe not forever, but, hopefully long enough.This guy gave me the absolute world. He wanted me, I wanted him, on a far more intimate level than lust. I was in love with the idea of him and everything he had to give me. Perfection, as close as a screwed up kid like myself could get. I wanted that love so bad, I believed it. To this day, contrary to tonight’s belief, I still believe in that love. I fear, that in time, our relationship unraveled in the on-going war a teenage soldier would face. Upon the untimely realization, that some one else still existed in my heart, and his disbelief in his feelings for me, we both remained seemingly unfaithful; A stain we could never remove. I feel strongly enough to say though, that my realization did not tempt me away from my relationship, but I still felt like I was holding on to a love, because I believed in it once before. Unfortunately, I could not save the edifice from crumbling to my feet.. I tried, I really did, but I knew it wasn’t what he wanted.Months later, I’m with the boy of my untimely realization, entirely, because he has truly become the one I could see myself being with for the rest of my life without any sort of doubt. When my feelings are revealed to my late relationship, a new relationship, one that, I guess, unwritten, but existed was unraveled. I yelled, He yelled. I cursed, he cursed. He cried over the idea of my infidelity, I defended my place as the ex- girlfriend who would no longer take his bull shit. . .no matter how wrong I seemed to be. I told him terrible things, impulsive and adrenaline- induced things that would rip my heart open if they were given back at me. All to defend myself, which I still don’t regret. After the way I felt he treated me, after the pain I hid, even to this day when he referred to old days, and old ways, I couldn’t handle another session of his voice talking down to me, when all I wanted was to reach up to him, as a friend, a confidant, as the boy I wanted him to be, like the lover I tried to hold onto. My regret though, as I sit here, remembering the hot tears once before streaming down my face, and ten times before for him, is the word I took back from him, Love.I’m not writing this because I haven’t moved on from him. I know full well I have, and I feel full well he has as well. I’m writing this to keep my sanity, and, more importantly, to apologize to myself. For, in fact, I really did love him, with all my heart. Love is a changeling though, deceitful to belief false. I guess that’s what I saw. But, to stand here and deny that I loved him, whilst I can barely stop thinking about how much I hurt him is just too stupid, even for a screwed up kid like me. I disbelieved something I truly meant, and I need to apologize to myself for that. One day, I kind of hope I can apologize to you too. I will always be your love, for that little while at least, and whatever that can mean now. Love, it’s definition will change for me again, but for now, show it, believe it, it was for you.

Independent Writing 1

Once I had an island
Where all your dreams walked the earth
Things you could only imagine
Alive and watching you

Where all your dreams walked the earth
But a nightmare’s only a dream you don’t want
Alive and watching you
Nobody said the island was all bad

But a nightmare’s only a dream you don’t want
Don’t worry, you can still visit the island
Nobody said the island was all bad
But, nobody said the island was all fun.

How do I write? EXTENDED METAPHOR

A child
who will sprint with
creative energy
running
after anything she finds adventurous
Innocent
to the flaws o the older kids
Individual
because there is no reason to act like
somebody else
Still running
laughing
with no intent of stopping
no need to rest
a child
burning with energy
a writer merely mocks the child

It's a metaphor fool

A face
Painted to amuse
To emit a desire
To the eye,

A body, tall
Meant to bend in the contorted direction
Small, in all the right places of course

A home
With unforgiving walls
Remind me of where I can’t be

People passing through
Approval, or rejection
Smeared across their faces,
No one asked for it

A thought
Not meant to be mine,
We can’t think where I come from

Batted eyes
Even less mine

A mouth, slightly pouted
was no accident

A girl
ready to cry,
Unable to tear?

Tears can’t fall if painted eyes won’t close,

Besides,
Dolls can’t cry.

From the short story "Buzz, Buzz"
By Me!

“Buzz, Buzzzzz.”
“I don’t need to read it.” She said out loud in the solitude of the back room. She prepared the dye in her little bowl, held her brushes and walked confidently back to the lady.
I already know what it says, Charlie was thinking as she prepared the lady’s hair.
IT will say something about how she’s cheating on him, and it will read caps lock ANSWER ME. Or it will tell her she’s a piece of trash and he would rather be with the girls at his lacrosse parties. Then, there will be a voicemail apologizing for how wrong he was. Eleven months, and twenty four days. Six more days will be a year. A year Charlie spent watching him change and dismantle her comfort; his manner had constricted Charlie’s happiness and the go-lucky little sophomore who had now grown into a tattered fearful junior. The scars ripened with her memory, and she knew she wasn’t going to be the same. Her eyes filled with tears, form the harsh fumes of the hair dye and her own self disappointment. She couldn’t touch her face with her dye ridden hands, so the tears continuously rolled down her cheeks. As her makeup ran, the bearing of he bruised cheek began to appear, as well as her insecurity. She stopped. “I will be right back.” She left the lady, almost finished with her hair and fled to the back room.
She ripped the gloves off and threw them into the sink, took a deep breath and slowly sobbed. Vinny ran to the back of the room.
“What’s wrong?” He said exasperated from running into the back room. The little junior took her cell phone out of her pocket. Vinny held her shaking hand as it still clutched the vibrating cell phone.


Look for it in the Art Against Abuse Section of this year's Impressions 2009 Edition

Self Reliance

A goal
A feeling we work toawrds
A goal
We fall from, and compromise with, with age
A gial
A fire that burns in our soul
A goal
A genius belief in ourselves
A goal
A trust in our hearts, and for the good of others
A goal
Of self reliance
I'll reach it one day. . .