and I will say it loudly and I will shout it

how can I ever say goodbye
to the man who liked his tea black
his coffee never
who preferred spice to salt
who would rub either in my wounds

how can I ever say goodbye
to the man whose poetry was sporadic
whose songs were scarce
who unfolded like a flower
who denied me my blossoming

how can I ever cry
for two years that were not mine
that clung only to my body and my eyes
and whose years were they
and who would carry me from them
but myself

--

Song for tomorrow.

Fantastic News!

Hi!!

First off, I apologize deeply for being so generally uncommunicative (I haven't even really been talking to my mother lately--I wished her a happy Mother's Day and that's it, and we usually talk once every couple of days); I've been moving into my new place via the subway here, which is hellish all on its own, but I'm also in the middle of finals. So...that's fun. I've had little to no stress-free down time recently.

But that's whatever; GUESS WHAT?

You are talking to (reading from) an official Bachelor of Fine Arts - Writing student! Yeah, that's right: I just got accepted into the school's (highly selective -brushes shoulders-) BFAW program! With all of the other various hells I've been facing lately, that was a wonderful little pocket of sunshine. That and, of course, the literal sunshine here today--80 degrees! Perfect! I wore a sundress and showed off my sexy peeling shoulders from the extensive sunburn I acquired from the last warm sunny day we had.

Also, got a nice (if not extensive) critique from my Creative Writing class this morning, and it's one of those classes I'll genuinely miss. I would take it again. Really, I would. The professor was top-notch and I got a ton of great feedback. It also turned me into a FAR better reader than I was before, which is really saying something.

Oh, and I have a job interview tomorrow morning.

Anyhow, I need to go finish up my finals (revising all of the poetry I wrote in my Lyric class this semester--oh god), so...here's a poem. This one's for Ashveen, who is your one-stop shop for everything unsavory you'll ever need to know about me.


She ran to flee her ground
She paced herself, she wandered around the
byways and faires of our surroundings.
(but) She would never walk
She picked a flower from the side
of the road and ran home.

Some time, later on,
After the hours when flowers on the road
gave her the world, she fell
And when she fell—
        (of course she fell)
       the ground cradled her
       a mother, its sounds
Her footing lost, she let herself down
She fled herself:
       it hurt her, she pushed
       her hands against it
       and her life pushed back
And the ground--
She’s gone--
The ground--
She--
She must have filled herself
       with its hands
              gathered its songs
                     and gone.

--
That's all from me today! I'll be adding this one to the sidebar, and probably a few others--I want to discuss a couple of them when I have some more time!
Ciao!