To Want

I just want to go to the mountains and take pictures and feel,
the wind around me and stay until the moon touches the ground,
I want to sneeze from the new pollen swirling in the air,
Sleep under the sprouting leaves until they cant hold the sunlight back any longer,
I want to find the source of the wind and give her all the reasons I appreciate her,
Talk to her and listen to be reminded of all the times she has been in my life,
I want to chase the animals that I have feared far too long,
Running fast enough that she can share this new thrill with me,
I want to cross paths with a lake,
Touch him the way only the moon would,
I want to learn from him without saying a word,
Walk away with nothing to say,
I just need to feel.

Words

Words that give people the chills and
 sway their emotions with the only control 
to stop the emotion is to stop reading.

Words that open the synapse
 between the writer and the reader. 
Words echo in the ears within our heart. 

Words that twist and grip the mind hard 
enough to touch the far away soul. 
Words that add color to bland minds
 and gives images to those who cannot see.

Words that play with your memories. 
Words that eavesdrop on your darkest secrets. 
Words that stab throbbing weaknesses. 
Words that remedy a broken soul.

Words that humble the haughty. 
Words that loosen the stiff necked. 
Words that inspire the depressed. 
Words that bend the knees of kings. 

Words that tumble inside hollow veins, 
resurrecting crippled creativity. 
Words that twinkle in the carnivorous void of empty thought.

Words that tie a desperate tongue. 
Words like thorns quick to prick the gentle soul.
 
Words that turn men to god. 
Words that are memorized to be spoken later. 
Words that stay in our thoughts until they get the chance to be written.

By Feathers On Fish & Sira

What Am I To Be

I have always said to the people that asked me "What do you want to be when you grow up?" that "I didn't know." This is one of my lies I speak to people. I have known that I want to be something else. To be able to state that on the spot. I want it to be uncomfortable to be hiding behind a pen name not the other way around. I have known that I could change yet I never knew the cost or the pain. I thought that I could just slip in to a new hair cut and new clothes; thinking that I would have the confidence that came with them. I had never hear of identity crises. It is taking time for me to cripple the current me enough to not hear him cry. Its not that I was a bad person I was actually a pretty good person in my point of view. Its just I have known that I can be better then I was now.

When people ask me "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I don't want to tell them. I want to show them.

Are They My Own Thoughts?

The things I write always seems to be words I have heard before. 

I write poems with stanzas that could not have been my own.
Yet when I read them to people they tell me it is original.
I halfheartedly believe them.
I mean there are a bunch of people in this world and
what are the odds that another person has not already written it down?
 Sometimes I think I have taken someone else idea and just added or left out some words.

Isn't this called plagiarism?

This thought makes me feel not creative at all. I should 

have just stop thinking it yet it was a good detraction piece to have in my head.

I guess they are my thoughts. Its just I'm not original.

The Way Death Affects Me

A Death Wish Never Granted

When life has no meaning,
One feels in a drag, 
The need to get up and walk all tall goes away slowly, 
Quickly replaced with no want but to drag, 

With the knife of joy that has points going towards the hilt, 
Joy come quick and doesn't hurt as its there, 
Yet when it slowly leaves it tares your soul apart until there is not much there, 

So now I pray I die because of a promise I must keep that states, 
I will not kill my soul.

I wrote this May 8, 2012. I wrote this before I knew I could write so its not flowy. I could have change it yet I thought that I should keep it how it was. I was eight, I promised myself that I would never kill myself. I can count seven time that my eight year old self saved my ten year old, ten year old, eleven year old, thirteen year old, fifteen year old, sixteen year old, and sixteen year old self, and I thank that smart eight year old me but, I know that the ten year old me hates that it took the eighteen year old me six times to realize life is worth it.

I dont cry for the dead.

When I was four I had a dog named Hardy. I was put in time out for a reason that I dont remember. I was crying. Hardy came and sat next to me and let me hold him. Three week latter Hardy ran from the town house and got ran over. I was in the room when we put down Hardy. My parents and my two siblings were crying. I was not. I remember thinking why am I not crying? I also remember my brother accusing me of not loving Hardy. I Love You Hardy.

Christmas this year Sophie died. I have cried beside her too. Sophie froze to death outside because she couldnt get back up. We found her in the afternoon with her eyes open. I stared at Sophie; thought of all the times that I had shared with her and smiled while my four siblings and two parents cried. I saw how it was affecting my mom. I was so empathetic that I cried for her not Sophie.

I work at an assisted living house. For three years I have worked with death. I have gotten close to a lot of the residents and never cried when they have passed. Now there is a resident that talks about how the Lord should take her but He wont. This makes me cry. Will I come to the point in life were it isnt worth living? 

I hope I do not get there.

With Help I Can Be Creative

I kept getting the notion that we lose are creativity as we grow up. So I went to the source of creativity; my nine year old brothers brain. Everything that is italicized is what he wrote.   

      Cat is on a Rainbow then the cat falls off then he farted out rainbows. Then all of the cats went hay wire and died. Then the rainbow farting cat was lonely.  So she went to the next town over.  Then the next town had dogs. Then the farting cat ran away. The dogs got mad at the cat and ran after her.  Then the cat stop farting then it started to poop out grenades.  The grenades exploded into rainbows everywhere they fell. Then all of the doggies died so the cat was bored so then the cat went to the next town. The next town was named Mouse Ville. The cat got hungry so she went there. He feasted upon thousands of bodies of mice and spit up their bones in the town full of obliterated dogs.

      The cat went to the dog town to rub it in there face, but it got bored because they were dead. So the cat went to a field to lay in the sun. Then she saw some rabbits that came hopping up a hill. The rabbits weren’t as friendly as they seemed, for they were black belts. Then the cat taught the rabbits how to poop out rainbows.

He ended up leaving after that sentence. I left it how it was. I learn some things from him. If I try and persuaded him in one direction he wont go there. He's a kid he does what he wants. Also I have fun writing with other people. If there is a way to be taught creativity it is by writing a story with a little kid.

The End Is Coming

I worry about the end of this class. I am scared of when my pen name will leave the list of Writers. 

I fear that the comments will flows like honey not water. I dread the day that I reveal my true name. I

have anxiety when I think of the day I stop using this blog. I stress over the fact that I cant tell you

who I am. I have panicked over not finishing a post in time. My pulse quickens when go and see

who has commented on my posts. I am trapped in a place that we all should get lost in. I feel like

 a coward when I dont go deep. It terrifies me to think that we are being taught by someone that cant

 tell people they suck at writing. I have been shocked by what bloggers have said. I recoil at

the possibility that I wasn't in this class. It frightens me to the brink, when I think these thoughts.

I am scared that we now share the same fears.

An Emotion I Rarely Feel

I am mad. It is spreading like little kids laughter.  No matter what I am doing I feel it. I feel the heavy weight of it on my body. I have been using my friends for support. I was the support beam that my friends used to lean on. I am not used to this. I was good at holding emotions in. The unchanging face was what I held on my neck. Now I have too many faces to hold in my hands, fighting for a place on my shoulders. My hands want to be over my mouth or my ears. For my mouth keeps speaking the things I hide in my mind. The ears hearing those words from other's mouths. My hands don't want to be part of a juggling act. This was the reason for my egg of rage to hatch a angry beast. This egg that had once been on ice. Those mouths stole what was mine. They took my ability to spread the words myself. Now there are ears that should not have captured my vocalized thoughts.

Something To Be Proud Of

  Today is the one year anniversary of the day I found out I could write. I can thank two people for me being in this class, Kirsten Cannon and Danae Devey. These two people are the ones that I accidentally sent a poem to. I had just getting home from choir tour and was texting Kirsten. Kirsten then asked me what my favorite thing was about tour. I told Kirsten that There were many things that I liked and on of them was wind. Kirsten asked why wind. And I responded with this...

                  The reason why the wind was one of my favorite things is because
               wind is what greeted me when I got out of the airport in New York. 
               Wind was there when I left the hotel and got my breakfast every morning. 
               When the subway comes it goes so fast that it makes its own wind. At one 
               point the wind made it harder to hear yet easier to think. Wind was the 
               reason the hotel swayed back and forth. The way the wind felt on my tired
               face each night I went back to the hotel. The way the (awesome) snow ,as 
               it was blown by the wind, felt on my face. And the way the wind reminded
               me that it was strong enough to push me from the sidewalk.

  I then started to texting Danae. Then our conversation stared going the same way as Kirsten and mine had gone. I then sent Danae that bunch of words. That's all they were to me. Danae then told me that it it was really good. I then contradicted everything that Danae was saying. For I was in denial and I was liking the compliments. She took me that I should post it online. It took me four months for get enough confident to do as Danae had asked me to do. 

   Kirsten then helped me make my schedule for this year. I told Kirsten that I wanted to be in this class but didn't think that I was good enough writer. Kirsten then took the mouse and click on the class. I am so grateful to have these two people in my life to have inspired me. Consider this a thank you.

    - Feathers On Fish

Patience

A lot of people have told me that I have a lot of patience. But I feel I have never had the patience for myself. I say that I only have patience for the things that are out of my reach.

    An examples of some things out of my reach;
        The amount of time it takes to make a sculpture.
        The amount of time that I spend on writing.
        The amount of time I lay awake in my bed.
        The amount of time cakes bake.
        The amount of time it takes for the clock to work.
        The amount of time the laundry spins.
        The amount of time it takes to travel to California.
        The amount of time my shift at work takes.
        The amount of time it takes to think up a post.   
        The amount of time the family wants to be awake.
        The amount of time it takes to get to school.
        The amount of time my body is sick.

For the things that I have my grip on is another list. I will recite them in paragraph form.

  I have never been able to be comfortable in my life. Well at least since the age of eight. Life has been complicated the ten years in between then and now. I have never kept up with any one thing. I mostly mean hobbies. In those years I started rebelling against my parents. I did it the nicest way. But I know they think they have no control over me. They told me I have no curfew just so I would stop breaking it. Yet I have not control over them. I feel like I have no control over myself too. But I know that is not true ether. One of my best friends told me I am living a lie. It took them saying this to finally admit it myself. If I want to believe that I have patience then it is in hiding. Because isn't hiding just waiting until you can come out?