Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Word Count Wednesday #9

My goal is for me to spend at least an hour on my poetry and/or revisit a story I have been wanting to work on for a while but haven't pushed myself to do. I really think this exercise will help me get back into writing.

What am I working on? :

Nothing! I'm finished with the year!


How do I feel about the process? :
Creative Writing was a fun experience. I loved talking to everyone in my class; they all are very inspirational and creative in so many ways. I have learned more about myself and my writing technique than anything else in this class. Before, writing was just a hobby I had picked up to write little stories to my sisters, but now I feel much more confident sharing my work with friends. Also, I got to write a lot of poetry, which even though I'm not the best at, I still love immensely. It allowed me to clear my head throughout one of my most stressful years, and I think it also helped me identify what kind of poet I am.

What am I reading now? :

I am reading a biography on Malcolm X and "A Fine Balance" again.


Word Count: 300

Saturday, April 29, 2017

Poem Experiment: Villanelle

When your eyes had died

I saw the colors that held your eyes that way
And the way that the dyes died within your chest
When it dried up and left your heart to decay
And you lied and simply said you are okay
But when the hues are long gone you won’t rest
Because you see the colors hold your eyes that way
And through the stained glass windows you will pray
For the blacks and grays inflamed will just confess
The charcoal you blame for leading you astray
You beg those maimed cruel shades not to stay
That flail and cause you so much distress
I saw the colors that held your eyes that way
You pushed all the old photographs far away
That contorted your veins and let themselves manifest
You soaked the rest with the soft tunes of someday
And then your wounds were outside in display
But at least you were red and purply dressed
And least you now had some hues to portray
I see the colors that hold your eyes that way

Narrative 2: The Enneagram

She had thought she needed the ocean
To pull her away from that tied
Knot inside of her heart


She stands at the corner, her hair strung around her neck from the dampness of the rain. Her eyelashes are beaded with small droplets; they shudder at the sight of the empty streets. The only sense of time she has is the drops of rain that patter on the sidewalk beneath her feet, a carpet of stone she can’t sweep her secrets under. The concrete is a vulnerable place for her to stand, yet she forces herself to stay bounded to that corner. Here she cannot hide from the silence, or the emptiness in her head.
If time was written in front of her, she would see the exact moment the tide rushed in and tumbled the rocks in her chest. She would be able to see that exact moment, when the horizon hit the earth and shattered the small goods of all the goods in her world. She could see what right turn made a wrong, and what path coaxed her with beaten sand she knew she wouldn’t be able to cross. But she had taken that path anyway, she knew now, standing at that corner.
Her fingers fumble with her name tag, etched with a name that represents so many things she missed. “Rebecca” is reads, but that name does not own her anymore. She misses that, out of most things..
She works at the coffee shop, wiping away stains off marble counters and dirting white mugs she knows she’ll have to clean later. Rebecca smiles at the thought; the coffee house is one place she has anchored herself to. Different faces with different stories keep her imagination wild as she pours them more coffee or grabs them another scone. Watching them read the paper and chat with their friends. . . she wonders which one is more stained with newspaper ink: their brains or their fingers. For Rebecca, it is her thumbs. She carries the news with everything she touches, leaving little smudges here and there.
But after leaving so much of herself everywhere, she realizes it isn’t rock bottom she has hit. No, that she had tumbled down a while ago. She had looked up, from the pit, squinted in the sun, climbed to the top. Bottom had a place to go. But when she reached the top, pulled herself from the rubble that weighed her down deep in her gut, she had seen a flat plain. She was surrounded by a desert. Before, at least she had the choice to fall down the wrong path; now there weren’t any paths to fall down in.
A desert with no tears to soften the sand. Not like here, where it rains so often from the places that call out for help, like they’re drowning.
If time was written in front of her, she would think over all the years she had spent in that desert, all those years without a river running through her veins to flood the hollowness in her chest. At least it would be full of something.
The vultures surrounding her spin in a circle, mesmerizing to her eyes, like airplanes whirling out of control. Or maybe they are airplanes above her head, but she can’t tell the difference between the trees and the skyscrapers anymore. She’ll stumble along the slippery sand, her eyes closed tight from the blistering wind. Her eyes closed, closed tight.
“Rebecca,” a hand touches her shoulder, “Rebecca Holden.”
It’s her coworker, a smile with firecracker eyes that gets her weekly boyfriends into trouble.
“You’re going to get sick if you stand in this weather. Break’s over, come inside,” she pulls at her shoulder, pulling away the sand and leaving Rebecca standing in the middle of a puddle, in the middle of that vulnerable sidewalk. Those are airplanes, those are buildings . How long had she been gone?
Her coworker speaks vacant words, strung together with a string of silence. She’s laughing, smiling, her hands gesture images Rebecca cannot conjure. She does all of this, but she cannot be heard. Rebecca squints her eyes, hoping somehow this will open her ears and the words will flow in like that river her throat is starving for. Yearning, for that sound, or any sound. She’s all dried out of that now.
“You’re soaked!” her coworker hands her a towel. “My god, Rebecca Holden, you are one crazy entrepreneur.”
“I didn’t realize I was out there for so long.” she replies, her lips pulling into a small smile. Her coworker’s eyes flash a look beaded with worry, or maybe Rebecca imagines it. But for a flash she is frightened the young woman sees the pain in her teeth. Maybe the way she bites down is wrong, maybe the way she smiles is colorless, flavorless, invisible.

Soapy suds cover up her hands, elbow-deep in lukewarm water and yet she still has a dry mouth. Rebecca washes each cup individually, scrubbing off the grime until they are pearly white again. It’s comforting to know she can fix something here, even the small little things. Something that brushed against the mouths of the laughing, the smiling, yet tainted by this jubilation. She washes it all off, until they are unsullied and shaded with the shadows of her hands.

Catch-Up on Word-Count Wednesday!!! Number 8

My goal is for me to spend at least an hour on my poetry and/or revisit a story I have been wanting to work on for a while but haven't pushed myself to do. I really think this exercise will help me get back into writing.

What am I working on? :

I am still working on my Narrative, but also on small poems. I like taking a break and writing a few poems because it refreshes my memory on old ideas and it sparks new ideas! Also, reading old poems helps me overlap ideas in my story.


How do I feel about the process? :

I would hate to be an author with a deadline, but at the same time it is really helpful for me. I have never ONCE completed a story, and my first Narrative was the first time I actually did. I think having this class with deadlines helps me motivate myself to get a story done, which makes me feel really good about myself when I actually finish something. 


What am I reading now? :

Nothing at the moment. I've basically just watched Netflix (does that count?)


Word Count: 400 per day

Catch-Up On Word-Count Wednesday!! Number 7

My goal is for me to spend at least an hour on my poetry and/or revisit a story I have been wanting to work on for a while but haven't pushed myself to do. I really think this exercise will help me get back into writing.

What am I working on? :

To be honest, I haven't really been working on that much. I should be working on my Narrative I am working on finishing my Narrative Project. It took wayy longer than I thought to type, and I wasn't able to finish the whole thing in time.


How do I feel about the process? :

It's a fun process to think of the story- line, but if I'm going to be honest it's extremely difficult to get done! The writing it very poetic and slow to type.


What am I reading now? :

Nothing at the time.


Word Count: 500 per day

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Word Count Wednesday 6

My goal is for me to spend at least an hour on my poetry and/or revisit a story I have been wanting to work on for a while but haven't pushed myself to do. I really think this exercise will help me get back into writing.

What am I working on? :

To be honest, I haven't really been working on that much. I should be working on my Narrative but I haven't found the time. Hopefully with the long weekend I will be able to get started on it.


How do I feel about the process? :

So far I have the story mapped out, I just need to write it down and flesh out the middle events. Not sure how I am going to go with the general tone of it...


What am I reading now? :

I am still (sorta) reading "Animal Farm", but I haven't actually sat down and read in a while.

Word Count: 100

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Scars and Stars

A Poem


April 2017


when I was younger I didn’t know
that freckles could be traced
into brilliant constellations