Waiting

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I definitely want to continue the story I started last Wednesday. I’ve had bits and pieces rolling around in my consciousness for years, so it might come out piecemeal and in spurts, but I do intend to play with it more. I often find myself dreaming up elaborate scenes and story lines in my head or actually composing paragraphs while I’m out on longer runs, but then when I sit down later to write it all down, it’s gone, or not nearly as interesting as I remember it being before I tried to capture it on paper.  But I’m going to try to get it all out anyway.

 

BUT, that being said, this week is light on the running and heavy on the intense and difficult summer class so I’m going to give you a piece of writing that’s a hilarious blast from the past. Well, hilarious to me, to see how angst-y and unsettled I was in high school. I stumbled across this in kind of a roundabout way earlier this week as I was cleaning up my Gmail inbox and organizing all my old, personal mail. I came across something that referenced my old LiveJournal (did any of you have these back in the day?! What’s up early Facebook/blog hybrid!) and so I, of course, had to go through it and read some of junk I posted my last two years of high school and first two and a half years of college. What I mostly gleaned from it was that I was obsessed with the idea of being in love, was generally depressed and/or angry, and really loved to write poetry. So, without further ado, I present you this gem, that neatly sums up pretty much my entire LiveJournal minus the annoying quizzes and surveys I posted:

This dark place where we dwell, waiting,
is just a mirror image of my dream
poised precariously at the edge.
Euphoric catastrophe living, seething,
moving along the cracks scarring my reflection.

this one – my life line—petite.
thin curves hard to follow,
turning sharply and indistinctly
piercing my existence imperceptibly.
I can trace the elusive path quickly
but only to a point
and then it breaks again; blurs, fades…

Ah, my love line.
I refuse to see it all,
frightened by its fickle contours
and deceptively delicate linear track
that I hope extends eternally
defying life’s limits
disproving gallant gravity
doubting all scientific logic
because “love knows no boundaries”

no boundaries but those binding me,
chaining me in my personal hell
as I watch my own reflection loving
learning, dancing, playing, talking, growing.
while my body sits on the sidelines
my destiny played out by an image,
the disturbing imposter eating my body
and forever deconstructing me

I write my name in smoke
and watch each letter disappear.
I smash my reflection to the floor,
showering myself in a sprinkle of iridescent shards,

Reintegrating my body and my image.
And only seven years bad luck for the effort,
in a lifetime of sadness,
in a lovetime of uncertainty.
Waiting.

 

Do you have any angst-ridden,  high school writings or journals that you’ve held onto?

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