Presence

For You a poem,



Compose a playlist,
Choose such songs from a list,
 penciled down,
or laying quietly behind piled stress,
play lifts a frown,
sit while melody conceals a mess.

But truth is noticeable
heart thumping each second,
cadence revealing words unimaginable,
being there to sing along,
because you love the word
discovering forgotten friendship all along,
sitting in a moment long gone.



That poem, dear readers, is not a secret I'm trying to reveal. Poetic genius, nope. I'm no Emily Dickinson, or even Charlotte Bronte. I can never be these great women. Because they were themselves. But I try to find a style that is true to me, its not so easy.

Many times, its hard to convey what you have in your mind. Not only the confusing and unusual things, but even the most simplest things can be complex. Poetry is composed words that have magic in them somehow to make a simple thought, elegant and enriching than it actually is. Now that's an art, and what is art? What the artists makes of it, how the artist sees the world, their interpretation through their eyes.

My former professor gave us a piece of genius one day, he said "Art is not predictable." Even if the moment is as normal as spreading butter on toast. No one sees it the same. Poetry is a solitary art, like going on a Ramble (not the ranting; experiencing nature alone). But, I am not here to give a lesson on Poetics or Prose. Its just crazy how much it takes to produce something. All it takes is starting.

Doing, and look at that, its done.

In looking down memory-lane, I remember, a friend sent me a message on Facebook one day, this was after I found out I was officially graduating. Right before I thanked her and told her I could not have done it without her. She told me "Girl, it was all you. I was just here to cheer you on. You did it."

I do not know why, but it was hard to believe when I read it. Sometimes when you are thanking everyone else, you forget to thank yourself. For all you've done, all you had to endure to get who you are to this point. I must say, it takes someone saying something so simple to knock the profound and amazement into you. That life is truly what you make of it, the truth is noticeable, we just need to be reminded.

All that was just mentioned may have not flowed as I wanted it, but, this is a reality. Reflection is a constant, and its very prevalent as I am in this transition. Wherever you are, keep working, don't give up. Start.


Let life in :)

CC

Now You Know

Hey...

You know I've been thinking. This blog is about honesty, that's the goal, entirely.

Many times I try and think til I come up with silly topics just to write about it.
I always try to make sure it is relate able and important, but I feel at times that
repetition is kind of a thing that I have managed to do.

That's the process..the way a person who writes works, balancing an idea, deciding whether to say it or not. Its all personal. Its you and the computer, its you and the blank piece of paper, its the darn pen that just wont budge from where you are holding it.

Writing is a cosmic essence that descends when pressure of a deadline is marked. I've mentioned writers block in a blog just last year, and it was just my crazy stuck part of getting through it. Its so darn tough.

Its so mental. Honestly, I understand if you are just puzzled about how many times I mention "writing" or being a writer, doing the thing I said I am doing, writing.

It just enveloped my being since I was in 7th grade I guess. At that time, I wanted to write a book. Attending my close-knit middle school, I wondered what am I to do. I detest math, science is important, but not important enough for me to be blown away. I had a journal. I forget now, a book brought me to think. Think about scenarios, concepts, and people.

I declared to myself, and I believe my best friend at the time, that I am writing a story. I titled it Lake of Emotions. I came up with a character, a girl of course (girl power was so in), and a situation. Centered around emotions, my teenage mind was full of whirlpools dealing with self-acceptance and questions of purpose. I'd wanted a character that was just like me.

It was a goal. Then, it evolved, I wanted to write about her as a super hero, at the time Kim Possible was making the impossible happen all the while she was going to school. That was epic.

Everyday, I wrote, as much as I could, especially on a good day. By the end of middle school, I felt that in this short time, that I was leaving something behind. It was time to evolve, get into high school, possibly change. Where would my writing spirit fit?

So to make my evolution less of a downer, in highschool Literature, particularly British Literature,  opened the flood gates to my imagination and changed my reality. I breathed, and the dawn of my previous ambition was walking back to me.

Now, I've talked to many people, done some crazy things that have made me laugh, experienced happenings that have shattered me into a million pieces, and have ignited the fireworks to live this life. To move...move forward.

Ever since I returned to this place, my inner dreamer, has considered many possibilities on where this will lead. Not really sure. I try and plan, but amazingly its never what I expect, and I appreciate that.
Like this blog post for instance. Completely unplanned. Just thought of right now.

I love and honor that. Not really sure if what I've just regaled will impact, make waves. But I sure hope that in one way or another it helps assure you that writing is not a crock-pot of arrogance.

Its about unveiling a curtain that will never take form as you see it, but rather surprise you.

Simply that.




Love and Respect to You always Dear Reader,

CC