Still A Teenager 

University starts up again tomorrow. Hopefully after a few weeks in there, my syntax and vocabulary will undergo some much required resurgence and I’ll be able to produce any form of good writing. Anything. I do not really understand the reason I have decided to post about this — perhaps little retrospect was the point. I have been doing a lot of not that recently. It isn’t some lingering exhaustion of the mind that I feel, or perhaps it might be, but it is just the imminence of a novelty that is keeping me on my toes. 

There are concepts of war I had never been exposed to before a few weeks ago, and it is as if something poured some washed-out oil paint on a haggard canvas, not qaint or old, but vile on many standards. In that illiterate metaphor I am trying to figuratively “paint” the idea of how I feel about retrospection — I feel almost incapable of it sometimes, because there is little memory of how I used to think and feel. It is a chosen form of dementia that keeps many ogres and trolls at bay. I guess it doesn’t matter if any of this crap makes sense or not, the point is I am wherever I am now with a goal I never had before. 

I wake up in the mornings with the consciousness that I have been preserved by God, and that I am moving with the will of Him and breathing and speaking and eating and drinking. I have entered a realm of mind that swirls only faith in a pretty glass bottle of incredulously palatable sparkling water, inviting as many others as it can, and I am grappling to remain. This is what this is about.

It is about me attempting to value and devalue and revalue in appropriate accordance to a nascent comprehension of the universe. A new existence, so to speak. I want to live better, I think is what I am trying to say. And I don’t want to do it on my terms — I want to want the written terms, because I merely want to pass safely into the firmament. 

Ah

University starts tomorrow and in some auspicious literary word vomit concoction it will be another “start” — take a deep breath, blink a few times, turn on the mental gears and leap. 

Endnote: this feature photo is my own photography. That’s a heater, I suppose meant for representing the ‘fire’ a stupid teenager continues to carry even without speaking. Blah. 

Imprudent

They are like those jittery critters 

Creepy critters, but cute 

Cute creepy critters

Jumping in jovial joy

I suppose they’re usually called butterflies

Inside the stomach of an adolescent girl watching some impending event 

It’s probably some boy, some symbol of synchronized similarity 

That this is real 

That is a past that hurts —

It hurts to return by words, or to have him talk to me about it 

There seems to be a struggle with words as I attempt to put something down 

There is little eloquence that comes with that facile wave of a graceful wand painting letters of nothing 

And pretending there is meaning

Tonight I am staring at this screen — wondering whether this frilly type of worry is healthy 

I am not too certain what fits best as an expatiation of the beautiful ineffability, I merely continue to efface side after side until something sounds fine 

So there lies little assurance that the stupid teenage girl can be okay, that she can exist like a distant ghost hovers above a soul — as that has been spoken it rests as some haunting — I don’t want that certainly 

Certainly certainly 

I think I want the days to just pass 

So that he may meet my family and I may meet his 

So that some desicion of certainty may be made 

So that I can grow up and feel at ease that

If not escape here then there 

Patience isn’t from me, nothing is I must be certain 

Ah, I cannot formulate words 

I am so certainly stupidly excited. 
endnote: this feature photo is my art and photography 

This Is Tough

To the past few posts that were solely built on personal experience and clenching thoughts, I apologize. I know I said I was going to drench this thing with wincing humor, satirical teas and cool information to pretend as though I have some form of intelligence — but things are tough. 

I suppose when “things” are tough, optimally, all forms of patience and silence may be preferred. And I can’t really know why but it’s some secret purification that constructs a seal, shattered if divulged, maybe. I don’t know. I guess from far away, strong hearts always seem so capable. They look composed and wise, and their “things” are sure to be tougher than anyone. I think that picture is how I want to be when “things” are the way they are. But I don’t know anything about it. 

I do not swim in some squander or effort that evaporates — I am just afraid that time is dripping down from my fingertips the same way the last droplets of water do when I’m done washing them. There are so few of them left, I can’t exactly pinpoint how much or know when I’m to wash my hands again but right now they’re slipping away into the sink of charcoal. I think that’s how it is. 

I have become so much more ambivalent about my decisions — my mind shivers at ideas sometimes. There is so much left to learn. There is still so freaking much left to learn. And I haven’t even commenced a proper process — I have only been vascillating a convoluted confusion, weighing options and choices and not lucidly comprehending their consequences. I suppose I never used to comprehend much at all. It’s true, you know, how environment shapes almost everything — it shaped my charlatan facade, where I had assumed that I understood behavior because I read a few pages and listened to a few people. 

This is tough. The point is this is really tough. And it’s not because I don’t know what to do. God has blessed me with guides and I know what’s to be done. I just can’t understand why yet I guess. But it’s tough. 

I’m assuming objectively all these stupid words seem exactly that: stupid. I hope they are. I hope I can look back at this with that strong “wise” and quiet heart that I see glistening from far away. And I don’t want that balance for this life. I don’t think I can want things like that anymore — this is for what is after. I am blessed to have detanglerizers next to me. I am blessed to have the heart I do. This is tough but I am blessed. 

I think that was the purpose of this — a quiet imbued with thoughts that are translated inaccurately. And so it is only tough by perception — and if it is not then I still win prizes of patience. Be patient be patient be patient. The heaven you desire is to all who can be patient. This is tough — be patient.