Rumblings: A Poem

I have ideas for stories and whatnot, but I can't get them right. I'm trying though, promise! But for now I just write poetry :P This one I got the idea from something in Liar, by Justine Larbalestier. Then Going Bovine by Libba Bray... reading is good! :S :)

Rumblings
A poem
________________________________
A heart beats in your chest,
At least I think so- it’s rather sadistic if there one lies-
It’s restless, stubborn, writhing-
Turning so that it
Shimmies, sways, rocks, rolls,
Tumbles, crumbles, knocking clear off
Hope, that thing with feathers that perches on the human soul
(by the way, do you have one of those too?
If you do it’s been dangerously soulless lately)
It squawks and tumbles
Breaking its wings so Hope has no hope.
It would almost be comical had it not been
You and your trembles.
Your inconstant heart, ever changing in a manner indiscernible to even you,
Gray and dirty
Brings pain to my heart-
My constant heart,
This same one that somehow still holds
To its constant love of your inconstance.

Ack, sorry it's so mopy! See, I'm not even like that. It's just what comes to my brain or w/e. Wow I sound like a geek, bye :D

Aspirations: A Poem

Hey, another poem! With every one I do I feel less lame about it :)


You always talk about
Your hopeswishesdreams
A wistful look in your eye.

But that’s all you have, isn't it?-
These hopes and wishes and dreams.
They aren’t tanglible- they float
Around the skies, taunting you
And
Just when it seems you have them caught,
That the world is in your hands to be molded
Into your life,
They shimmy away without a backward glance.

But it isn’t your fault, you say.
It’s them, the ideas that float away.
But I don’t see you reaching
For that ladder by your side!
I don’t see you asking-
Is it only for lack of pride-
Or too much?

Shatter

Before I post this poem, while it is slightly based on some people of my past, I'm not crumbling. Promise. I got a phone call and my friend was all upset, and I got- jazzhands- inspired of whatever :P :)


You fall to pieces
Every time, over something simple
And every time,
I’m there with sense and sensibility,
Calming rationality,
Picking up the pieces
And making it all better.
The human Band-Aid you only think you need,
Stepping on eggshells everywhere she goes around you, turning her grimaces into grins.

But what will you do
When I
Fall apart someday?
It’s happening now,
I’m crumbling like the great city of Rome-
Once strong but crumbling and tumbling to ruins-
Falling apart.
Do you even see it?
If you do, do you care?

When we’re both nothing but dust,
Lying on the floor
What will you do then?

Because let me tell you-
Things will collapse,
Things will break.
Things will fall to the floor
And just…
They won’t survive.

So while you watch it all
Bear with me, thrive,
Watch as the things that fell apart
Gather themselves together
And survive.

I feel a smidge dorky, but this is fun.

The Pains of Being Pure At Heart

Heylo! I wrote a poem for English today... I wrote one first that was actually NOT an epic fail called We Will Become Silhouettes- after one of my favorite songs by The Postal Service (Death Cab for Cutie's Ben Gifford plus Jen from, er, another band I can't remember? Awesome!)- about music. Only to find that NOOOOO I had to write a "lemonade poem"- something showing the good and bad sides of something. My teacher gave me an outline for it. It's one of those ones that basically stifle creativity by telling you what to do on each line. BUT, I did what I could and am now presenting to you my poem! It's named after a band I found on a podcast, Indiefeed. Their song Come Saturday is great BTW.

The Pains of Being Pure At Heart: A Lemonade Poem

It was the best and worst of life- youth.

Condescension, Patronism, Saracasm, Sardoniscism, Deprecation-
All these tones that hurt you so, yet you don't know why-
Confusing.

Everything being new, magical, and amazing-
Exhilerating.

Laboring of a single letter of your name, rehearsing over and over, tongue poking out in concentration, bringing it to the kindergarten teacher so proudly, only to be chastised, "No tails!"-
Frustrating.

Feeling so grown up when you accomplish something on your own-
Liberating.

The pains and pleasures of being pure at heart are
the best and worst of youth.

(P.S. Sorry the top thingy was longer! xD)

Hey, Looky What I Found!

I was cleaning my room the other day, and I found a journal, all tattered and obvs. having seen better days, with a widdle pwecious puddy cat on it. I looked inside it and it's a writing journal I made when I was like 9! SO fun to see what I wrote as a kid, and mock it thusly.

Some of it, I was pretty impressed with though- like, most of the notebook was devoted to a fictional city I created, "Kensington". I was seriously anal retenive about it, too- I made maps, laws, shops, and little flyers for the shops about sales and their inventory... pretty impressive for a little kid :P ;)

And then I found my very first literary "wor of art" (emphasis on the quotation marks!). It's this whole miniseries of short stories I made, called Candy and Bama. No paragraphs, awful sorting, but it was pretty fun to mock. Maybe I'll post it if I can remember where I put the notebook (I didn't clean so well, you see....)

And then another series called On Cloud Nine.

Ah, youth. To be so ignorant and fleeting, completely and blissfully ignorant of the laws of text again.

My Essay (Title Pending)

Hey everyone! I haven't had any time to write lately, but I've got some really good ideas for other stories. Fingers crossed :P ANYways, I figured I'd put my blog to good use and work on my essay. Remember how on my other blog, Serendip R's (erm, nickname. Don't worry I'm working on it!) the post about my english comp journal? I have to write an essay about the cover. How every single piccy on there relates to my life and whatnot.

This should be fun *devious smile*

I'm in a very dramatic mood (watching movies most of the day does that to me, and then I listened to the Casablanca music- love it!- a bit) so be prepared for... the UNEXPECTED. Not really since I'm tired :P

P.S. I need some help with the title. Any ideas? :D

Many people might say that books and movies aren't really something personal, something that tells about ME. That they're just some meaningless words and images jumbled up and put out the for the masses so they don't go blind from eyes glazed over in boredom, or die from said boredom, for example. But not me- personally, they're what make me me, and books are practically my job (and what do you know? I'm paid for it in books!)

I grew up with movies. Movies have shown me mistakes of others so I don't repeat them,...


Um, gotta go. My dad's saying I HAVE to :P *sigh* such is the life of a minor.

G'night! Meggin

No Witty Titles Come to Mind.

Hello everyone! No, I'm not dead, as you can see from my many posts on my main blog, Serendipity Book Reviews, I've just totally lost my will to write.

Well, I want to, and I have ideas, but I've been reading my stuff on here, and here, my dear readers, is what I have to say:

IT'S A BUNCH OF CRAPOLA.

It's just AWFUL, right? My characters are SO lame. Well, some parts I felt were acceptable, but then others were just... UGH. And the first line fo Black and White Rainbow was enough to make me seem certifiable.

Maybe I'm being too hard on my self, but I just feel the need to stop writing in this bad mood :P

I'll be back soon with something. And I promise one day, Claire's story will be told fully, no copouts. :)

The Other Angela

My adoptive sister, Angela, used to be beautiful, with eyes as blue as the ocean, adorable little ringlets of golden hair, and this big, mysterious Mona Lisa smile. To our parents, she was an absolute angel. Me, the other Angela? I was just there. Still am. I know they try to pretend they forgive me for what happened, try to hide all that hate you aren't even allowed to have for your child, even if they are adopted, but they can't help the dead-fish-eye look they give me. I'm essentially dead to them.

Every night, I still feel the details of that day. That day when that precious angel of an Angela was lost. I remember the leather of the truck we played in, sticky with from or hands and sticking to our thighs in the heat. I remember that last giggle Angela made, like glass tinkling around in a crystal glass. And most importantly, the one I remember as vividly as if it was one of my watercolor paintings, sitting in front of me, is the awful crunch of metal as the truck sped backwards, where I had stepped on the break, and the even more awful shriek, as glass shards jammed into Angela, whose Mona Lisa smile was lost forever. That part, I remember with excruciating clarity.

But I survived without a scratch. The worst part? I didn't even cry. Not one tear. My eyes didn't even get wet. I just sat, stunned, calm. Not even sad.

I was always compared to my sister Angela. She was a year older than me, and she always did things better. Even when I did something right, it wasn't acknowledged. I wonder why my parents even bothered to adopt when they couldn't have another child, if that was how they were to treat her. First off, there was the name confusion- two Angela's? That certainly couldn't work. Now- and I know this is such a completely morbid, awful thought- at least now there was only one Angela.

For the longest time, I thought I did it on purpose- like a self-fulfilled prophecy, because I hated her. Maybe I didn't know I hated her, and I really and truly did, and the whole crash was on purpose. I think that was another thing keeping me awake.

The only person who didn't blame me for what happened was our brother, Drake. We never talked about it, but I knew he still loved me. He never blamed me, either, or compared me to Angela- not even when he was alive, after which the comparisons only increased. I just never knew it until a long time after.

Years later, when I was 14 and Drake was 18, I was helping- meaning watching, of course- him pack his stuff up to go to college. He was going all the way across the country to California, just to escape our sadist parents. Or that's what I thought. I chose to believe that.

All those years later, I was still as sick over what happened as ever, and my paretns were still as... I can't say angry. They were never angry. The emotion they always showed me in their eyes and behavior was even worse than anger. Anger I could have dealt with. Anger, you return, even if you have no reason to return it other than the fact that they are handing it out to you. But this, this indescribable glimmer in their eyes? You can't return it, it's too strong.

"Drake?"I said. "I need to ask you something."

"Yeah? What?"

"Was Angela... was Angela really as perfect as they say?"

He thought about it for a minute. "Angela, I know we aren't supposed to 'speak ill of the dead' or whatever-" He did that Catholic cross thing across his chest-" but Angela wasn't as perfect as you think."

I really and truly think that was the best possible thing I ever heard in my life. "Really!? What do you mean?"

"She had such a mean streak in her, that Angela," He got this nostalgic look in his eyes. "A thief, too! I can't tell you how many iPods I've had to buy after she broke every one. You really don't remember how much of a bully she was?"

I really didn't. We were so little when it happened. Your memory tends to get distorted after that long, I guess. "Um. No."

"Angela? You know she forgives you, right?" All the laughter he had in his voice earlier was gone when he said this.

"I do now." I didn't have to say anything else. He knew how much it meant to me.

Not my best work, but I'm hoping it's plausible :)

Black and White Rainbow, Chapter 3

***3***
Gym is made of suckitude.
I mean, it’s a proven fact. Have you ever met someone who enjoyed it? Did you personally enjoy it? Say it with me girls, NO.
So how had I possibly been assigned double periods- and one with BOYS, and only 6 other girls. Most girls, they’d probably be happy about this situation- the sexiest boys in school would see them in their short shorts and tanks, waving their “ta-tas” (As Cass called them). But, seeing as I had that rule about love, even flings (you always get hurt in flings, always always always, even though they say flings are just fun that you forget after they happen. You don’t, in my opinion. Both parties are damaged. Okay, moral monitor freakout over.) Anyways, I think it’s simple why the above statement is true.
And that day, Coach Shiner only proved my point further. Her brilliant idea? Dancing. SQUARE dancing, in mixed partners. Say it with me again, everyone: GYM SUCKS. GYM SUCKS. PLUS I had to do it for two periods in a row. Fairness percentage: 0.0000001%.
And another thing: My partner was the jerk that was Nate.
Nate Burlington was the new guy. He was an exchange student, but just from New York. Um, we thought. No one really heard him talk. No, he only did that when it was to make a dig at me.
Nate was what some more swoony girls (which it’s painfully obvious I’m not) would consider cute. I however, considered him an absolute scumbag. I think, now that I look back on it, that I hated him so much because he reminded me of Jess. I just couldn’t handle that, that deprived starving feeling he always gave me, so I automatically wrote him off. That and he was a total pig- did I mention that? I thought so.
“So fate’s thrown us together again, huh, beautiful?” He said to me in a voice that suggested I was anything but.
“I guess so. Now go away.” I tried to walk away to the bleachers (gray, like the rest of that
school- why did the academic committee see it fitting to not only stick us in some building for the longest time with people we despise, but they have to make it color-coordinated with our moods- gray and BLAH), but of course he followed me.
“Oh, c’mon Claire, I know you love me. We both know it,” He did this weird eyebrow thing. Grrrrrrrrr.
“Yes, I confess- I’m madly in love with you. I write about you in my diary all the time: “Dearest diary, Nate was a jerk for the 176th day in the row. Plus he ate a banana, and I took the peel- score, bite marks!- He’s soooooo dreamy.”
He grinned. “See? I knew it,” The grin fell when he saw some of his jock buddies (he wasn’t a jock, but he hang out with them anyways), and turned around, pretending he had never spoken to me.
Ladies and gentlemen, the mess that was my Italian roommate, as I would find out soon enough. Ain't life just lovely?

Black and White Rainbow CHapter 2

Halfway through the school year, Christmas Break (it’s supposed to be called “winter solstice break,” because Alabaster Prep is obsessed with making sure they are totally, completely, 100% PC. Just to prove they are mainly the only kids who get scholarships are exchange students or whatever. They’re extreme PC-ness was the reason I even got into this whole mess in the first place, since they wanted an exchange program to prove it even more so) was just over and no one was all that jazzed about being back. No one but me, because it was at least a chance to escape the mother that constantly reminded me I’m the reason Dad left- I don’t know how she figured that, but she said it enough that I believed it.
Well, Cassie was pretty happy to be back, too. Since she came from a family of 6, all of whom but her and her mother are boys, who could blame her for being happy to b anywhere but there, even if it was just school?
“Hey, Claire!” She hopped out of nowhere, like she always does. And in her too-peppy mood, like she always is in, scaring the books right out of my hands. “How was your break? Did your mom bug you?” And a billion other questions. She’s my best friend, so I love her to pieces, but GOD, the girl could be annoying sometimes!
“Hi, Cassie,” I replied, and grinned. Her smile was infectious. “How was break?”
“ I spent it in the country with my redneck brothers and uncle. Just lovely. Whaddaya think?” She deadpanned. Even though she was seriously cheery, the girl had some serious sarcasm skills. “Umm, I’m guessing… you came to love your brothers and have adopted their chauvenist ways?” Riiiiiiight. That was gonna happen- Cass here was about as sophisticated as teens come, despite her utter.... PEPPINESS.
“Funny.” She rolled her extremely made-up eyes at me, and then does this weird little dance. Like a bunny hopping when it finds a carrot, or whatever. I know it's her nervous dance. “So, didja hear about the exchange program going on?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And are you gonna do it?”
“Cassie, have you ever known me to be the type to go to Italy with random preps and jocks that’re just going so they have an excuse to leave school and hook up in a foreign country? I don’t think so.” Discussion over, Cassie, I tried to say with my look. But has Cassie ever been one to take a hint and shut up? About as much as I am the kind to take risks, I would say.
“Um, maybe you could start being one now? For me?” She had this look in her eye, a guilty one, like when you walk in the house and a tiny puppy is eating your socks, and he just gives you this look, like “I wuv you,” so you’ll forgive it? That was her look. Crap. What’d she do now?
I sighed. “Okay, Cass, what’d you do this time?” She was like a little kid that I was having to constantly get out of trouble.
“I signed you up for the exchange trip.” She blurted it out, and it was in a sigh kind of, but I heard her enough.
“YOU DID WHAT?”
“Duh, Claire, I signed you up. God,” She rolled her eyes. Um, wasn’t I the one supposed to be doing that? Along with some shouting?
“I heard you. I mean WHY!?!”
“Because you need to go there, and find love, and I know you’re going to. My psychic said so!” I don’t know why me and her were best friends- we were so different. While she believed in anything and everything, I stuck to facts. I was the most reasonable person I knew. Or, at least I thought so. I don’t so much anymore.
I rolled my eyes so dramatically and heavily it hurt. “Please. Don’t give me that crap about Rosa again! And you know I’ve decided I’m never going to fall in love again. I did that once- remember what happened?” After that thing with Jess was when we became friends. She knew what it was like to have guys abuse her like that. Did I mention that part? Along with his bad-boy image came a serious set of emotional baggage, so much that he probably needed a forklift to carry it with him from place to place. He took it all out on me- verbally and… otherwise. I had always tried to leave the relationship, but I kept coming back. It was the pain of that combined with the pain of it being my best friend since kindergarten and my dad leaving that made me leave for good. Plus it probably helped that he moved. To the other side of America.
She got this look in her eyes. I didn’t know what it was- fed-up-ness, concern, disgust, affection? A mix of all of those and more probably. My friend was a very complicated person, which I know, it’s hard to tell through her craziness. “Look, Claire, I know you’re scared. I know that your first love was something that damaged you, but you need to work to get better. You need to learn to love and trust. I think this’ll help you. Besides, it’s too late to back out, Ms. Wells already approved it.” She shrugged. “Guess you have to go and fall in love with a sexy Paulo or whatever. Poor you.” She smiled mischievously.
“Cass, are you at least coming?”
“Yes, so you’ll have the treat of my presence, right?” She gave me that cute grin of hers again.
“Fine, I guess we’re going to Italy then.” I groaned inwardly. WHY was I agreeing to this? I hate stuff like this. Maybe I could just fake sick on that day and stay home.
But… I hated to admit it, but maybe Cassie was right. Maybe I wouldn’t get hurt if I just took this one tiny risk.
She was wrong about one thing, though: I was not going to fall in love. Or, so I planned not to. But when you’re in one of the most romantic cities in the world, something’s bound to happen, right?

Black and White Rainbow, Chapter 1

***1***
In life, I’ve learned one thing, and that is this: Cocoa Puffs don’t make you fly to the moon.
I realize that sounds mental, but if I explain, maybe it will be about 50% more reasonable.
When I was little, I was so unbelievably gullible. I took everything literally… I trusted things. I believed everyone, and that’s obviously only caused me hurt, pain and confusion. Take for example, this: You know that crazy annoying bird, whose obsessed with Cocoa Puffs (that always made me wonder, why didn’t he just EAT the flippin’ things? It’s not like he was on Weight Watchers, making sure his feathers don’t get too poofy.), and whenever he ate a bowl, he went shooting up to the moon in joy? I had always loved the moon. I planned to live there someday (I know, I know, but I was eight. You can’t blame a girl for dreaming.), actually, so why not go buy a box, eat it, shoot to the moon and visit my future home?
This is why: I ate the whole thing, thinking I just hadn’t eaten enough yet, and the it was gone. Next thing I knew, there I was, covered in second-hand choco-spew, my clothes and hair, as well as the floor, completely “redecorated.” Lovely.
I just use this as an illustration for why you can never believe anything. Call me cynical, but at least I have a reason to be. And no, it’s not the Cocoa Puffs, but- what else is there to worry about?- it’s love. Platonic and otherwise.
My first and only boyfriend had that dangerous, bad-boy thing going for him. All the girls, including me (even though I tried hard to resist), were falling over their too-high Manolo’s at the prep school I attended for him. But he never took any interest in any of them- but me.
I don’t know why he chose me. I was just this girl, another one, the only one not making an effort for him, the one with the reading glasses, the black and white argyle set (black and white was all I wore- another rule of mine, because it kept me safe. What if someone came up to me and didn‘t like my outfit? I was against being noticed), not even the sexy preppy kind. But Jess Amerati? He liked a challenge.
So I said yes, and every time we walked in the quad together, I could feel people’s eyes on me. Even my (ex, now) best friend, Brooke, was throwing daggers of jealousy at me. I felt it, but just barely since Jess’ face was permanently stuck to mine. I seriously don’t know how we got away with it- the teachers were painstakingly picked by their level of hatred towards love, which I though we had, and just in case they weren’t crabby enough had a stick surgically stuck up their butt. But Jess was that kind of guy, who never got in trouble.
Like I said, I truly thought we were in love- he said so, and we both know how gullible I can be. At least I was until I saw Brooke and Jess sucking each other’s faces on a bench in the quad. I got smart then.
And it was a good thing I did, too, because right after that, Dad left. Out of the blue. I never once heard him fight, they had always seemed like they loved each other and ad perfect happy lives, all that usual crap- but you know how parents are the best actors out there. They could give Emmy winners a run for their money.
So this, I was ready for. This, I knew how to handle, having been betray by two of the people I loved most in my life. What difference did a third betrayal make?
Most kids, if this happened to them, would make them do some bad things. Drinking, smoking, smoking harder things, sniffing harder things, staying out all night, and eventually they’d have a Greta Garbo moment: Nice men in the white coats coming for them, you know. That or a Sylvia Plath ending. But the point is, their lives would end badly. Not me, I had a plan, and I even wrote a manifesto of it so I‘d never forget (that was another thing I was big on, lists. I liked to know I had everything under control, and lists help me know that and never forget anything):
Graduate at top of class from Alabaster Prep.
Get a scholarship to anything Ivy League.
Get a glamorous job at a nonfiction publishing house.
And above all, this:
NEVER FALL IN LOVE. EVER. I MEAN IT, CLAIRE. DON’T YOU DO IT AGAIN. YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED THE LAST AND FIRST TIME.
And so far, I’d been sticking to that plan perfectly, blending in everywhere, never becoming too attached to anyone. My mother was about the only one I trusted, and even then not much. Like I said, they’re good actors.
That was until my sophomore year, when Cassie just had to put my name on that sign up sheet.

How does it sound? I'm hoping OK. Ch. 2 is better, I hope. Mmkay, until tommorrow!

Heya and Welcome!

Hi, welcome to my new writing blog! This is just where I write random short stories, etc. And if the storie's are longer than I'll do little installments at a time. Thanks for visiting!

If you like reading, I have a blog for YA book reviewing, with links to other really awesome blogs. I'd love it if you checked that out :)

Okay, so let the writing begin!

-Peace out, Meggin