The-Post-That-Must-Not-Be-Named

"And as I stared I counted
Webs from all the spiders
Catching things and eating their insides
Like indecision to call you
And hear your voice of treason"
--  blink-182

Pages and pages of drafts of poems and other writing sit in a folder on my computer waiting for the day they're ready to take the stage. Unfortunately, that day has not yet come for 99% of them, and it may never come. In their stead, here lies the 1%.
This is one of the rougher things I've written in a while that I'm partially proud of. (Maybe it's just the crazy-dramatic way I read it in my head, because I'm excruciatingly confident this poem is horrible by the lowest of standards.) But, rough is honest, I've always thought. While I believe all writers hope for perfectly polished and finished work, sometimes earlier drafts of writing can hold more of the original emotion behind the piece. The only real issue is that it's said poorly and somewhat ineffectively.
I digress. Here's an unnamed piece of trash I dug out of a school notebook.


I saw you in my sleep last night.
I could not for all my might
find what gave me such a fright.
I wanted to tell you,
I wanted you,
I watched you.
But find me there you did not.
That next day, in all my hope,
against instinct and every thought
to expect from such repetitive force,
that one day became the time I look to
when hoping, hopelessly, that one of these
wishes I have in my heart
can come true, but that day turned into
more, and before I could know
how my dull life would go
you found me
in my despair
and you told me
I could hope
and you taught me by lead
that something lost can be found
once again.

Summer's on its deathbed.

"The world is like a mask, dancing. If you want to see it well you do not stand in one place."
- Chinua Achebe

Summer is over. I hate to say I didn't see it coming. Yesterday was the fourth round of goodbyes, and for some reason it was the easiest. Everything ended well. It was not until I began to unpack my car at home that I realized what had happened a few hours before. I don't know when I'll see some of these people next. But every single second of not knowing has been worthwhile.
This is a note I typed up during a slow afternoon a few weeks back. It encompasses everything I'm going to spend the rest of my life being thankful for.

8.18.13
I've never been more confident in myself. That's my takeaway from this summer. More than ever before I've felt like I knew what I was doing and that I was a part of something amazing. Not only was staffing this summer the perfect way to grow myself, but I truly believe that I made a small difference in someone's life this summer. Whether that was the little girl who got to steer her own horse for the first time, the two-year-old who wished all week to be old enough for pony rides and got the chance, the women who got back on after 30 years, the staff member or clipper who got a chance to ride, the people who overcame their fear, or the little girl who rode with us after swearing she never would again.
I was more stressed and tired the past 3 months than I ever could have imagined, but every second and every tear and every bruise was worth it. I can't help but look back on the friendships, the jokes, the songs, the fires, the hugs, being so thankful for those first hellos and hoping these aren't our last goodbyes.
Coming into this summer, I was mostly convinced I wouldn't ever get to come back for a second. I cannot explain the pull I feel now. I'm doing everything I can to make sure I come back.
Going to the fair, going to people's houses, making plans for the year, games in the basement or lobby, movies, dinners, nights off, off-roading, hikes, Sheetz runs, waterfront Saturdays, talking about the past, talking about the future, inside jokes, never wanting to be assigned an animal and motion ever again, getting over stage fright, dancing like maniacs, gifts, food, dealing with injuries, encouragement, sports, snack bar shifts, call-outs in the dining hall, meetings, late night talks, and being part of a family.
I have no regrets. Every little step, good or bad, has brought me to where and who I am. When we say goodbye, and tell each other sincerely, it's been a blast, I can't wait til next year, you did a great job, and have a good year, it just sums up every too-deep emotion spreading through my body. Joy. Pain. Love. Gratitude.

Who holds your thoughts?
Can you tell me why this is a beautiful thing?
Can you articulate
the feel of the wind
or the hope of a night
spent in the place you're meant to be?
Can you easily comprehend
a face you'll never forget
or a distance you'd die to cross
for once and forever?

Hey, I'm back from the abyss!

Welcome back, Allison!

Oh, thank you, Allison.

You are quite welcome, Allison.

Yes, I continue this tragic conversation with myself post-summer hiatus. Lots of things have changed in the past four months. Below you will find some music I'm spending huge chunks of time listening to now that I've been reintroduced to technology as well as some crap I spewed out this morning that may slightly resemble poetry. I hope to be posting here again somewhat regularly. Welcome back to insanity, anyone who still cares.

Music:

Panic! at the Disco's new stuff (especially the music videos, cause duuuude)

looooots of Silversun Pickups

A Fine Frenzy

Bastille (looove)

You Me At Six (especially When We Were Younger)

Clarity - Zedd & Foxes

Safe and Sound - Capital Cities

Selena Gomez's new album

(okay here's the camp person in me coming out. no judgment please??)

Don't Ya - Brett Eldredge

Surprise - Family of the Year

Crash My Party - Luke Bryan

See You Tonight - Scotty McCreery

The Weight - The Band

It Goes Like This - Thomas Rhett

Poetry:

Reflections on a Life Not Lived

(or how you know

when the time has come)

I’m stuck in a mode of wanting to be

where and when and who I am not.

My mind sifts through images

like a slideshow of moments

that piece that horrible puzzle together.

A mess of beautiful exceptions to rules

we will not succumb to.

Force and pressure

outweigh stress and fatigue on the scale of life

and whatever balance we lack.

Eternities spent lingering.

What do we know of patience?

We live for each next moment

regretting what has not come.

4 Counting days in a

3 mantra does nothing

2 for one’s

1 health.

0

I wear my clothes with scars of memories abandoned,

dirtied over or thrown away

or washed from the senses

and mindless of connections made by each

strained worn decoloring thread.

My friends, I commend you

for surviving this landing,

the comeback, the lostness,

the empty days, monotonous discoveries

of what has just begun.

Think of it all again and again

until you tire of your own lament.

But do not dare leave it behind,

the bad and the worse and the end.

Hold all of these things as you live in new moments

and do not ever forget.