Hidden

I hid my journal from prying eyes and now I can't find it :( I had so much in there I was saving for my blog and now it's lost. Gah. Now to start from scratch.

Nightmares of the living

I had a dream last night that I was dead.

I'm not sure how I died, but I remember watching my family at the dinner table, with one vacant spot.
Everyone was silent, the food was no longer hot.
Tears fell down my mothers face, my sisters expressions were lost
my father left, to cry in his room.
I followed him, to tell him to worry not; I am okay.

"Hey now, stop crying, it's not so bad, dying"
He didn't hear.
So I said it again, louder, closer to his ear.

I began to get frustrated, I tried to reach out to him but some kind of force stopped me everytime I tried.
I started crying, I wanted to speak to my father. I hated dying.
"IM HERE!" I screamed, over and over. "I'M HERE!"
It seemed he vaguely heard; maybe through some kind of manifestation of will, me trying to get through the barrier of the living and the dead.
But still, he didn't fully hear what his dead daughter said.
Eventually people moved on, and I was left, frozen, forgotten.
I woke up, and I cried and cried,
I realized; I do not want to die.

Illuminate

There is something about the irradescense of light against the endless ebony of the night sky that draws people in.
We are almost obsessed with it; we seek it out.
Fireworks, Christmas lights, light shows.
I wonder. Perhaps this pull has come from an inner human need for hope.
To see luminous light blast from the bottomless abyss of dark, forming beauty in the otherwise mundane black, taps into this, and offers the viewer some level of satisfaction on a subconscious level.

There is always hope in the darkness if only one remembers to turn on the light.

"Bubble gum angels swooped from top margins or scraped their wings between teeming paragraphs, maidens with golden hair dripped sea blue tears into the book's spine."

- Jeffery Eugenides

silk

Seeing it was malevolently satisfying
drip drip drip
It seemed perfect, the way it slid down my arm
It formed an intricate shape, an art form, a web
I gazed upon it; lost. I began to hear the waves.
But then the panic set in.
What if this is it?
What if I mundanely turn into "the depressed girl", "the dead girl"? Is that all I am destined for in this life?
I refused.
I lifted myself up, pressed the wound and declared;
"I am alive"

Puppy love

A love that is young is a love that is doomed.
A love formed so soon
Will end as inevitably as the thread in a loom.
Such pain is useless
Yet utterly addictive
In the end, the cure,
Is to become dismissive and elusive.
Such a waste it is.

School.

I wrote this when I was in high school, quite a while ago. I was going through my old school books when I found it on some lined paper in my maths book, surrounded by pen-drawn intertwining flowers. The writing style isn't amazing, but what can I say, once a dreamer always a dreamer.

I let my head tip back,

And I close my eyes in silence.

I breathe the thick air of the bustling class room.

I hear the drone of the teacher,

the chattering of students,

the clashing of church bells.

I let it fade.

Until I breathe the essence of the forest, it's wild flowers and dew drops.

Until I hear the song of birds,

the wind caressing the trees, the hum of indifferent life.

This is where I long to be,

but I cannot.

For the human race has a hunger and expectation for success.

Fast, greedy, ignorant.

This realisation terminates my escape and tears me back to reality.

- Georgia MacLeod