The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes -
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands -
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.
***
I'm used to good days and bad days, even bad months and good months. Right now though, the days are good and bad. I took Emma and Emily to the grocery store and spent more than an hour walking up and down the isles, laughing at the most mundane, innocent things made ridiculous with our perversion and goofiness. Then when we piled ourselves back into the car, we were still laughing. By the time we got back to campus and I ate dinosaur chicken nuggets on their floor, the mood had passed. I walked back to my room and Christy, a girl on my floor who is a very avid hugger, wasn't particularly excited when I made plain my ache for human contact. From crying on Leah's shoulder, to counting how many M&M's she could catch in her mouth. Everyday feels like this weird mix of extreme goods and bads, which is exhausting. I'd like to say that it should be one or the other, but then, to be frank, all the shit could get fucked up, and I'm not really about that life. Other than that, as we approach next semester and registering for classes, there is the crippling fear that I will amount to absolutely nothing and that the salad days of long since passed. That the expectations will continue to rise and that I'm incapable of meeting them.
"I just wanna, I just wanna know
I just gotta, I just gotta know
I can't have it any other way"
“Poetry, in fact, is two quite distinct things,” H. L. Mencken wrote in a 1920 magazine column. “It may be either or both. One is a series of words that are intrinsically musical, in clang-tint and rhythm, as the single word cellar-door is musical. The other is a series of ideas, false in themselves, that offer a means of emotional and imaginative escape from the harsh realities of everyday.”
"I'll be sleeping on the left side of the bed
Open doors for me and you might get some... kisses"
Honestly, the song is isn't really worth much to me other than those two lines but I posted it here because I've been working on this post for like three days and have lost control of my life. The only person who reads most of the things I write is Lexi and, other than the fact that she's probably getting sick of that, I keep writing things for no one to read.
Update: I meant things that I do not post on my blog.
Update: I meant things that I do not post on my blog.
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