tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88744967438869163252023-12-12T05:56:59.638-08:00Musings of a Miss MAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-6787975126905157422015-07-22T23:32:00.001-07:002015-07-22T23:32:46.974-07:00What does it mean to love?<br />
<br />
This is the giant question that beats through my heart and mind and being on a regular basis.<br />
There was a time that I would have not liked to admit it, but I was a borderline obsessive romantic.<br />
I read and reread every Marriage and Love and Romance and Dating general conference talk I could get my sweaty palms on.<br />
I told my roommates on an almost daily basis, "You guys, this could be the day. This could be the day I meet my <i>soul mate." </i><br />
I perused my copy of Pride and Prejudice every few months. Watched the movie at least once a month, and fell asleep to "Hero" by Enrique Iglesias.<br />
I wrote letters to my Future Husband and cried in bed when I woke up alone, feeling that I could only be one half of a love story by myself, and that was all I could ever amount to until I found "the ONE."<br />
And then I discovered all of that was more or less bull shit.<br />
Ok, maybe it wasn't that dramatic or brutal and maybe I still do have a little leftover romantic in my heart.<br />
BUT. I have lived a little since then. I have loved a lot. And I have realized a few things.<br />
What I always imagined love to be was this giant hole you dropped down into a magical land of rainbows, unicorns, and happy little golden tandem bicycles where you ate lollipops and snuggled with puppies and your sweetheart all day long. HAHA. Good joke.<br />
So that's not exactly what I have experienced now. Not quite.<br />
I am glad it's not the way I pictured it all along because if it were that easy, it would not be as beautiful.<br />
I believe that part of the beauty of loving someone is the choice it is to love them.<br />
I don't think it is ever not a choice.<br />
What I thought love was before I had known it personally was possession, belonging, and companionship. Those are things that can be brought by a relationship, but those things are not love.<br />
Love is about letting go. It is letting go of your ideas and preconceived notions about what that person should or should not be. It is about letting the other person be who they are, and encouraging them to be more than they believe themselves to be. It is about supporting what is best for them, even if what is best for them is not you. It is allowing for change, for openness, for total sacrifice of self.<br />
<br />
<br />
ALWAYS THE QUESTION HUH?????????????????????????????????????Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-74580710698143191652015-07-22T23:32:00.000-07:002015-07-22T23:32:06.976-07:00my viscous blood<br />
pumps<br />
through my stone hardened heart<br />
for you.<br />
my body still cries at night<br />
from the absence of your touch.<br />
and my ears still ring<br />
with the words you never whispered.<br />
somehow I am alive<br />
though every portion of my existence<br />
was founded on your presence.<br />
sing,<br />
if I listen through the pipes<br />
it may reach me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-32806394665229343302015-07-22T23:31:00.001-07:002015-07-22T23:31:47.596-07:00hey world still hereAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-48475639610773177712013-04-30T15:26:00.000-07:002013-04-30T15:26:08.691-07:00Thank You, Miss Sugar. And all my other sources of wisdom too, of course.<br />
Like my mother, and a few close friends.<br />
They help me, stand by me, and choose to care enough to listen.<br />
So yes, thank you are the two words I have to offer to those who have held a place in my life.<br />
But for now, I just want to repeat a few snippets from Miss Sugar.<br />
<br />
Advice for your twenties:<br />
<br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: black;">"<i>Be about ten times more magnanimous than
you believe yourself capable of being. Your life will be a hundred times better
for it. This is good advice for anyone at any age, but particularly for those
in their twenties.</i></span><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: black;"><i>Because in your twenties you’re becoming who
you’re going to be and so you might as well not be an asshole. Also, because
it’s harder to be magnanimous when you’re in your twenties, I think, and so
that’s why I’d like to remind you of it. You’re generally less humble in that
decade than you’ll ever be and this lack of humility is oddly mixed with
insecurity and uncertainty and fear. You will learn a lot from yourself if you
stretch in the direction of goodness, of bigness, of kindness, of forgiveness,
of emotional bravery. <b>Be a warrior for love</b>." </i></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And on letting go sometimes:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>"You are not a terrible person for wanting to break up with someone you love. You don’t need a reason to leave. Wanting to leave is enough. Leaving doesn’t mean you’re incapable of real love or that you’ll never love anyone else again. It doesn’t mean you’re morally bankrupt or psychologically demented or a nymphomaniac. It means you wish to change the terms of one particular relationship. That’s all. <b>Be brave enough to break your own heart."</b></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">And on growing up: </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>"The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people’s diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. <b>These things are your becoming</b>."</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">I looked up magnanimous after I read this column, and it means to be expansively forgiving and generous. I decided I want to be that way, expanding outward in love and generosity to the world around me. And though it's scary and sometimes a little bit heartbreaking, there is something empowering about being brave enough to not just witness your own becoming, but to shape it. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Read more from the Dear Sugar column at <a href="http://therumpus.net/sections/blogs/dear-sugar/">http://therumpus.net/sections/blogs/dear-sugar/</a></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-21788424102250606782013-03-07T11:49:00.000-08:002013-03-07T11:49:22.689-08:00Author UnknownYou told me I was a great chapter.<br />
<br />
I wanted you to be the book.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-5104826237732639382012-12-13T19:54:00.000-08:002012-12-13T19:56:16.890-08:00On the Issue of Pants and Mormon Feminism<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1327034518l/13418573.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1327034518l/13418573.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
I have been moved. Deeply. In a way that I am not moved every day or every month but only on occasion. It is words that move me this time. Words spoken from an unorthodox Mormon feminist I do not know and probably never will. It is these words that cause me to cascade into tears, sitting here alone at my desk at BYU. I hide the cascade, shelter it from the boy who sits across me in his short haircut and plaid button up shirt. I am not sure why I feel this movement of sadness and ache in my heart. I think it stems from connection. Deeply, knowingly my very core is moved because I know this is my story too. I am far from orthodox. I am far from cookie cutter. My faith is not a blind faith, it is a faith that spans seas and hails God, Al-Fattah, the All Knowing, Father. It is a faith born from years of moments built upon prayer, song, and strong examples. I, who was raised with an unbelieving father and a deeply devout mother. I, who of mixed heritage, raised in an interfaith family, a liberal Mormon girl chose to come here to the Mormon Mecca, BYU. A place where I have found the best of people, not to say that in an elitist way, but in a loving deep-rooted way. The best of people because they are now my people. From the sweet, blonde boy from Wyoming to the dancing, giggly girl with pale green eyes from Utah. These are my people. I have found them, and know them to be cut from the same cloth. Because we are all cut from the same cloth.<br />
<br />
And this is why I cry my cascade of tears for Joanna Brooks, who I do not know. Because somehow I do know that we were cut from the same cloth. I realize this is what her book is trying to say, that we are all the same even among our sparkling differences. We are all the same because whether we drink coffee or tea or not or whether we are gay or lesbian or not, we stand the same under God. Under God, we are all children, children of a loving and great Father in Heaven who may fill our very souls with sweet forgiving and teach us charity and love.<br />
<br />
What strikes me inside is what her book does not say. She speaks of my culture, our culture, the same roots I have grown from. But she does not lay out what she believes, what she feels about the Gospel of Jesus Christ in plain English. Her testimony is not plainly stated. It is there, woven between the words and carried within her stories, and in the fact that she still clings to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Her testimony is there, and though unspoken it still sings out. So this is why I cry, because I feel of her spirit far away, struggling with deep rooted doctrinal questions that I set aside.<br />
<br />
Because it is not my struggle to ponder on these things. It is not my personal concern. Not to say that I prefer a blind obedience or to say that I would care to remain ignorant. No, because I know the things I know in the way that I know them. Because I am not overly concerned with matters that do not pertain to my own plan of happiness. Perhaps this is selfishness, to be unthinking of matters of female ordination or progression for women within the Church or even gay marriage. But I have not felt lacking for not having the Priesthood. I have not worried that I will never be able to bless or anoint my children. Because I have experienced that God will give me what I need. For every time that I have asked, I have received. I too, stand differently on many political issues that many members of the Church are conservative about. But, I have not been crucified for my differences. I have not felt a withdrawing of God's love for my viewpoints. No, it is not my struggle to attend to, not my battle to be fought.<br />
<br />
I will not join those who wear pants this Sunday. Though I have often referred to myself as a Mormon Feminist, I do not agree with all the implications of this movement. I do not feel of the gender inequality that these women feel of. I do not feel like a lesser citizen of my community. So no, I will not wear pants in solidarity. But I will say, I am interested. I am both interested and deeply respectful of these women who do dare to speak out in honesty.<br />
<br />
Certainly, I applaud the kind of courage Joanna Brooks has in the telling of her story. And I will respect those who wear pants to church this Sunday. I will respect those that wave their signs for Yes or No on this or that. I will respect my gay brother or sister. Because I have promised to do so. I have promised to give the right to choose and to express as I embrace my own right to do so.<br />
<br />
So I turn back, away from her intense questions and inward to the battles that are mine to be had. To school, and work, and family. To the deep knowing that I carry within myself. To the strongest testimony I have which is this: <i>The Gospel works for me. </i>No one can challenge that statement, it is mine to hold, and each must find what works for them and how it works for them.<br />
<br />
And though I feel of the pain Joanna has struggled with, though I see in her brazen words flashing across the page the great struggle she has had as she ponders questions of feminism and equality. It is not mine. I must fight my own battle. I have my own things to face, my own questions to find answers to. I must find just how this Church, this Gospel, this entire religion works for me. It is an every day process. I will never weary. I will never stop. I can only say again: <i>The Gospel works for me.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Then turn to you, my Friend, with this question: <i>What works for you?</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-3751529242034963492012-11-19T11:12:00.003-08:002013-02-18T23:48:29.787-08:00Tunnelling<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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You bend me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am light filled and radiant</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
swimmingly soft</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
pooling at your feet.</div>
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Stare slowly</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
talk faster</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
time moves for us</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the minute blocks shift</div>
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crawling and squirming</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
wriggling towards</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
unknown</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
pitch black and tar filled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is this what it is?<br />
The thing they all talk about?<br />
It feels like digging through cement.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-8112596247283161072012-05-29T20:07:00.002-07:002012-05-29T20:08:26.294-07:00JournalsThere's the big red book for life events.<br />
<br />
The little handheld notebook cradled in real Italian leather.<br />
<br />
And the spiral bound notebook with a manila cover.<br />
<br />
Oh, and of course the olive green Moleskin.<br />
<br />
And now: here is this navy blue practical-looking blank journal.<br />
<br />
The greatest thing is it's blank. Just waiting.<br />
<br />
Waiting for all my thoughts, ideas, dreams, and secrets.<br />
<br />
It starts living today, as I breath new life with my pen.<br />
<br />
A little piece of me is rekindled, shed my melancholic apathy and rise with new blood pumping.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-48965323137574699442012-05-15T10:08:00.001-07:002012-05-15T10:09:09.723-07:00Dreamy IndulgencesDreamer in the city<br />
with my little dog<br />
the incessant voice<br />
screaming Run<br />
It's quieter here.<br />
nearly a whisper<br />
next to the sounds of the bus<br />
the bmw<br />
and the couple saying goodbye.<br />
If I could<br />
just live here<br />
in a small apartment<br />
above the corner liquor<br />
store,<br />
with my rockstar dog<br />
and faux fur rug,<br />
post it notes<br />
above the mirror<br />
blaring self-affirmations<br />
and to-do list items.<br />
If I could<br />
abandon<br />
my suburban mom<br />
destiny<br />
minivan and soccer balls<br />
It's the predictable life<br />
That I'm bound for.<br />
But if I were to shut the blinds<br />
on the window into<br />
my next life.<br />
This is where I would come.<br />
Here.<br />
the people live in color here.<br />
they don't let life get in the way<br />
of their living.<br />
There's big boots and tight pants,<br />
she's bound for her<br />
daily soy latte frappacino.<br />
And waiting for the light is<br />
Man in Toms wearing hipster glasses<br />
running to his Save America meeting.<br />
There's the pixie who hands over my soft serve<br />
smoothing her purple hair and smiling<br />
that impish grin.<br />
<i>People watching never gets boring here.</i><br />
And all the millions of lights<br />
and sounds<br />
they soak into my skin<br />
Let me breath in all of this before I starve the dream<br />
quickly gaining sustenance collected on the streets.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-79106102851776613542012-04-14T12:52:00.000-07:002012-05-15T10:09:34.787-07:00It was the sunset that saved me.The way the colors<br />
bled and ached<br />
across the sky<br />
matched my<br />
ever-whirling body.<br />
And on the left<br />
the steep<br />
snow-capped mountains<br />
golden with light<br />
and piercing<br />
the ever blue<br />
clear sky.<br />
It was the sunset<br />
that saved me.<br />
Not your arms<br />
or your insistent mouth.<br />
Not your big laugh,<br />
nor that earnest look<br />
you have when<br />
I babble on<br />
for far too long.<br />
This time--<br />
it wasn't you.<br />
It was this moment<br />
I have carved<br />
for myself<br />
the smell of bacon<br />
this grandma bench<br />
and just the clear air<br />
going<br />
in. out.<br />
breathe.<br />
in. out.<br />
just this for now.<br />
solid below<br />
and liquid above.<br />
one day<br />
there will be peace&sweet<br />
stillness<br />
for hours upon hours<br />
For now all I have is the<br />
precious few moments.<br />
And yes,<br />
the sunset that saved me.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-69503433539315533012012-04-05T11:53:00.001-07:002012-05-15T10:10:02.070-07:00All For Your GoodAnd when I have<br />
arrived,<br />
on this small plateau<br />
the colors strike me<br />
all at once<br />
pierce my very<br />
center<br />
cause me to crumble<br />
some might call<br />
this pause<br />
as hallowed as it is<br />
for me,<br />
infantile or distracted.<br />
I choose<br />
childlike awe<br />
and<br />
dumbstruck wonder.<br />
It seems to all align,<br />
for once.<br />
the reflection of light<br />
and the daily noisings<br />
into one simple<br />
beautiful Aria<br />
sent from the heavens<br />
the whole span of greatness<br />
all works in harmony<br />
in this single moment.<br />
To top it off:<br />
It's springtime.<br />
And--<br />
I have no urge to run.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-46393069605124741752012-03-15T12:59:00.000-07:002012-03-15T12:59:10.246-07:00MantrasIt's been a hard month. A growing month you might call it. And it's been just another opportunity to learn for me. I thought I would share some bits of wisdom I have collected from others:<br />
<br />
<i>You are not what ails you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Health is whatever works and for as long.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Happiness is a choice.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Expect nothing. Live frugally on surprise.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>If anything is standing in the way of your education, cast it aside.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>To get what you want, you must know what you want.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>You get what you get and you don't throw a fit.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>If you want to know where your heart is, look where your mind goes when it wanders.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>If you want to be wise, choose wise friends. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>And finally:</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><b>If you are truly not afraid of doing something, you will do it today. </b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i><br />
I have been repeating all of these things over and over to myself. But I must give credit where credit is due by saying that none of these are my own words.<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><br /></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-44514585779847461452012-02-17T11:59:00.000-08:002015-07-22T23:33:04.186-07:00A Letter to the Futuresquishy mud<br />
and melting mountains<br />
wet black streets<br />
and my own cold fingers<br />
pressed to each other.<br />
Please stop by for groceries while you're out.<br />
And there's a list I have for you on the kitchen table:<br />
<i>1. Change light bulbs</i><br />
<i>2. Unclog the drain</i><br />
<i>3. Fix the step</i><br />
I promise once<br />
you hurry home<br />
dinner will be ready<br />
and your collar starched<br />
for tomorrow.<br />
If you could just drive a little faster.<br />
I'm not terribly patient,<br />
and the slow ticking of the clock,<br />
solitary mug,<br />
and unkissed lips,<br />
they all sing for you.<br />
Hurry home.<br />
<br />
<br />
To the few readers out there:<br />
<i>It's been awhile. Months, now. But I am back. Full force and sharing again, I am back.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Yours truly,<br />
<br />
Miss MAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-40064780297158494722011-11-14T18:58:00.000-08:002011-11-15T19:20:15.566-08:00OverdueIt's been awhile. I feel the urge to share, to wear my heart on my sleeve and let the whole world see what I am going through. During times like these, I would not hesitate to cry on a bus, or sing in the grocery store, or burst into my apartment screaming but there are also those times I cling to my privacy. I enjoy the personal bubble I live in, and I let others exist in their own bubbles. Occasionally I write something worth reading, and feel prompted to share it. But to simply post it on this blog is not enough. The print is to small to contain the voice I harbor. My secret wish is for a small poetry cafe packed with people like me, who write to cope and read to feel. I have not found a place here like this. I think for now I will stick to my personal bubble.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-85300051802478607562011-10-20T11:08:00.000-07:002011-10-20T11:08:25.582-07:00Finish LineThe internal motivation, the driving force within all of us is the view of the finish line. Somehow, even with how sometimes I hate school, and how much I ache to run, and boys that are dumb, and the simple fact that life is hard I remember there is a goal in sight. There is this dream I have, one that has flashed across my mind as an idea, and unbreakable idea, over and over again, like lightning hitting the same place in the sand, it has now become a solid and real object, fixated in my mind as the finish line.<br />
And from now on, whenever I feel discouraged or disheartened, whenever the testing center gets the best of me(which is bound to happen within the next week), I will reflect on this unbreakable idea and instead of weeping....I will leap!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-31686175185015273242011-10-17T19:16:00.000-07:002011-10-17T19:16:17.147-07:00Quote of the Day<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>When you're young the story is who am I? Who will I love? Or more importantly, more incessantly, who will love me? But as you grow older the story becomes witness, watching. Seeing each other for who you really are, can be, and will be.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>--</i>Brian Doyle, editor of Portland Magazine</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-51723626643774021752011-09-13T00:58:00.000-07:002011-09-13T00:58:27.756-07:00Fear of EmptinessSometimes I worry that I will wake up one day, and all the inspiration I have will be dried up. That somehow, all of it will disappear into thin air. My thoughts, my dreams, my reality.<br />
Much of my poetry is based upon experiences I have, and without those experiences the poetry never would have come to be. I am afraid that I will stop having experiences that compel me to write. Honestly, and this is more frank than I usually am on this blog, I write more during times of pain or suffering in my life. Being compelled to write because of a need for a coping mechanism is much easier than just sitting down and writing when my life is great. I am not sure that the pieces I produce are better when I am emotionally distraught, but the volume of work produced is much greater when I am having a tough time. I guess it could be that it is just easier to be reminded to write when it is an absolute need rather than a pastime. Luckily, I know by now, even though I have not lived for very long(relatively speaking) that life is always hard. Always. That doesn't mean there isn't happiness or sunshine, it just means there are constantly battles to be won and fights to be fought. Which means my silly concern that I will lack inspiration is really just that: silly.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-5783301571288173672011-09-13T00:48:00.000-07:002011-09-13T00:48:58.093-07:00Inspiredscour the world<br />
for metaphor<br />
The greatest inspiration<br />
is a life well lived.<br />
If your home is where your heart is, go to it.<br />
The place you love most will surely inspire.<br />
Perhaps, you carry it with you<br />
the singular beating<br />
source of your every emotion.<br />
Cast outward to the world<br />
She will show you the well loved<br />
colors of painters gone before.<br />
Whatever you are<br />
searching for, continue:<br />
the blank page is waiting.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-70767482312471245252011-09-06T21:09:00.000-07:002015-07-22T23:32:31.326-07:00Forcing Wordsleaping out<br />
of mouth<br />
before they even form,<br />
these words I extract<br />
from some crevice of my brain<br />
that creaks from misuse.<br />
creativity manufactured<br />
is particularly uninspired.<br />
put away the pen,<br />
shred the evidence<br />
You cannot force my words.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-46685435533993200862011-08-01T18:07:00.000-07:002011-08-01T18:07:09.598-07:00Stay AwayOne thing, simple request.<br />
Easy enough, if you actually put your mind to it.<br />
We boxed it up, and left it.<br />
I actually ran, pushing off just to get further.<br />
There it remained, forbidden and dark.<br />
Until today, I thought it was completely out of my path.<br />
And then I tripped, and looking down, there it was:<br />
the very thing I ran from.<br />
I have a sneaky suspicion you brought it there.<br />
Is that an accusation?<br />
Perhaps.<br />
All I asked for was no interference.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-59854415244622081382011-07-18T12:15:00.001-07:002011-07-18T12:33:52.748-07:00Metaphorically Speaking<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">My dad has a saying that sounds kinda simple, but is actually a really great life policy if you think about it:<br />
He always says, "It doesn't hurt to submit an application."<br />
Especially during the time when I was looking for a job, or when I was applying for college this made literal sense, though it works metaphorically speaking as well. Now, I think about it in a figurative sense, and to put it even simpler, it relays the old adage that it never hurt to try. <br />
So lately, I have been applying for a couple jobs. It was difficult for me to fill out that first application and submit it. I didn't think there was any chance I would be the chosen applicant, never mind getting an interview. There was even a possibility that the position had already been filled. But then I realized, I don't want to have any regrets, I don't want to miss out on something great just because it was also difficult. So I have been putting myself out there, so to speak. And maybe its true that it doesn't hurt to try, it does get tiring, but the amount of harm done outweighs the possibility for reward. I still don't regret submitting those applications even though I didn't even get a call back after the interview.<br />
I put my best foot forward, and I am proud of that. When you submit a job application you don't leave out the fact that you have a college degree or hide your best skill. You have to flaunt your strengths and downplay your weaknesses so that you always appear to the best advantage. So I put it all out there, and if that makes it so its just a little more difficult to choose between me and the competition, I am perfectly satisfied with that.<br />
<div align="right" style="font-size: xx-small;">posted from Bloggeroid</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-87031866322529660942011-07-18T02:55:00.000-07:002011-09-13T00:49:45.458-07:00Interferencewake up late<br />
rise slowly<br />
and step to<br />
solid ground<br />
grey carpets, piles of clothes.<br />
no more--luxury linens or peeled grapes.<br />
you, with your soft gaze<br />
and earnest touch,<br />
only permitted<br />
in Neverland.<br />
Presently, a slim chance,<br />
all a very unlikely probability,<br />
defying every risk assessment--<br />
exists, just barely.<br />
Possibility.<br />
The ultimate hopeful word,<br />
and the seizing of it leads<br />
to a much worse outcome:<br />
Disappointment.<br />
You tell me which it will be.<br />
Truth is: you never left my<br />
unconscious thought.<br />
Sneaking into dreams<br />
and drifting mind days.<br />
I want to say--<br />
so much.<br />
But I swallow the words,<br />
pushing you back to illusion<br />
and clinging to the inevitability<br />
of disappointment.<br />
All I ask is that you let it sink in.<br />
No more interference.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-63633320999092248512011-07-07T15:35:00.000-07:002011-07-07T15:35:17.613-07:00The Resource of Creativity<div><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>A</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>l</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>l</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i> </i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>g</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>r</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>e</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>a</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>t</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i> </i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>a</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>r</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>t</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>i</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>s</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>t</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>s</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i> </i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>d</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>r</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>a</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>w</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i> 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</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>r</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>e</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>s</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>o</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>u</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>r</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>c</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>e</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>:</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i> 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</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>u</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>n</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>a</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>l</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>i</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>k</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>e</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>.</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><br />
<i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>-</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>M</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>a</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>y</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>a</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i> </i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>A</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>n</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>g</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>e</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>l</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>o</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i><i>u</i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i></i><br />
I have certainly noticed for myself that as my heart becomes more involved in the way that I am living, I become more inspired to write. Write and write, and pour everything about my experience onto the page. And if I have no experiences, than I have nothing to write about.<br />
The best teacher is experience. I have certainly had plenty of experiences in the last year. Sometimes people talk about how thankful they are for their struggles, and how they have learned so much, and how the suffering they have experienced is really for the better, and honestly, I kinda get annoyed by those people. With that said, I promise I am not becoming one of those people. But it is true that a lot can be learned through experience. It's the primary reason my grandmother is wiser than me.<br />
So I guess the bottom line is: Don't ever stop living life to the fullest. Because when you do live life with your whole heart, you will be inspired, and you will have a greater potential to connect with others, since our struggles are what connect us.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-91135430752392832752011-06-05T11:06:00.000-07:002011-06-05T11:07:09.259-07:00Onward and Upward<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">dove flutters in my chest,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">shed the deep slumber</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and wake to joy</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">every moment</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">a renewed chance</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">for gratitude,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the priorities of my heart</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">shining through</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">as steps onward,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">upward</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">are taken, at last.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At last:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">peace.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There are no rest stops</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">on the road of life,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">but this I carry with me:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Peace be unto you.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And also with you.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This morning, I woke up happy. It's almost silly that I would be grateful for such a simple thing. For most of my life, I have been pretty happy when I wake up. When I was little, I loved to set my alarm and wake up right at 7:15 so I would have time to get completely ready before school. I have lost some of that excitement to wake up in the mornings, and perhaps that has something to do with the fact that I no longer have anyone to enforce my bedtime. Sunday is quickly becoming my favorite day of the week partly due to the fact that it is the only day I don't have to wake up before 9. Sometimes in life, it is a difficult choice to be happy, and other times it is an easy one. Today, it is easy.</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8874496743886916325.post-10108052253164031202011-05-30T14:24:00.000-07:002011-05-30T14:25:49.321-07:00Cause Today I Don't Feel Like Doin Anything<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ummm, so maybe I feel like that everyday...It's a rainy grey day, the water pitter pats on the roof outside my window, and Jack Johnson singing about mango trees and banana pancakes plays in the background. I have had a very successful laid back day, with about 2 hours of shopping at Savers. Best store ever.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">4 shirts, 1 sweater, 1 pair of jeans, a watch, and a gift for someone. All for just over 20 bucks.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Seriously? Seriously.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That's the way to shop on a college student budget on Memorial Day. Yay for being Mormon and Filipino, or in other words doubly cheap.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Plus I woke up to about 20 doormats outside our door, love notes, TP, and an invitation to brunch. The prank war begins!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And now for planning out the rest of my chillax day....I think I will build a fort with my best friend Leisie, make some mexican hot cocoa, and watch a movie in our new fort.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Maybe I will do some laundry so I feel somewhat productive.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But sometimes it is perfectly productive to take a break and be unproductive. Does that even make sense?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Playing Pretend</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Step into the snow globe</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">perfect world of warmth and happiness,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">float to the top and--</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Drink the pink water.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Snuggle up and listen,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">rain hitting the window outside.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Forget--</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">leave behind regret.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Set aside this day</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">to remember the home inside the soul.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Warmth, content,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">no more contention</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Let's shed convention!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">wear our big shirts</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and sing softly as we play.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To grow up is impossible</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">every day, we just get older,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">but our hearts: they stay the same.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hold my hand,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">let's play pretend.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03086717581300627830noreply@blogger.com0