drummergirl's blog

Have you really, truly,
actually felt love?
I bet not.

I was thinking about this the other day and had an epiphany. It may not seem like much, but it means a lot to me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house is so peaceful at night. Everyone is in bed, I'm the only one awake. My bare feet quietly slap the concrete floor, seemingly loud in the not-quite silence. I take a soft, quilted blanket from the den and slide open the door. Cool air caresses my face as I step out into the night. Sitting on the stoop, I wrap the quilt closer around me and look up. The stars, crisp and sharp, litter the midnight sky. They wink at me as I stare, transfixed with them, though they are millions of miles away. I don't know the constellations very well, but as I scan the horizon, I search for clusters of stars that could be one. What might be Seven Sisters twinkles at me, but it's probably the wrong time of year for them to be out.

2 years ago, Detroit, Michigan

I’m sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check your number and try again or press 1 for more options.
Beep.

I know you’re there somewhere. Listening, analyzing every word I say. Why are you doing this to me?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cold. Bare feet. Hard slats of the bench. Wind whipping hair. Dark alley. Darting glance. The ghost of a presence. Pressing. Teasing me to turn and look.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A storm is brewing. The gray sky is moist, embracing the promise of rain and the wind is wild, whirling and screaming like an animal. My bare feet grip the smooth rock beneath me, slick with years of polishing. Suddenly, the sky opens. Torrents of water slash at the waves, whipping them into a frenzy. The wind gusts violently, sending salty and fresh water alike crashing into the rocks. My gray dress is soaked and I should be cold, but I’m not. Ecstasy builds up inside me like an overfilled water balloon, threatening to burst. As the ocean’s deadly fingers grasp at my legs, laughter explodes out of me, mingling with the cry of the storm. My chest expands as I breathe in the salt water and cold air, burning my nose and lungs. Hysterically, I laugh and scream as the storm reaches its peak. Around me, wind, rain, and sea tangle in a swirling, howling cyclone. Chaotic, and yet…

beautiful.

Frustration
pounding through
my brain.
The threat of
tears,
rising up
in my throat
like a swollen
river about
to flood.

10:56.
I'm completely and utterly alone.

Online Users:
Drummergirl
no one else.
just me.

And yet, I will be forced to log off in 4 minutes by Parental Controls.

How lovely.

The clock
that my mother
hates so much,
ticks soothingly from
its post on the wall;
the unbroken
rhythm
of seconds
moving
in symphony
with the
pounding
of my heart.

Vines,
twist and coil around
her fingers,
crushing like a python.
The amber swirls
churn like ocean waves,
over her ivory wrists.
On a whim,
she had it done,
her hands tattooed,
for no reason other
than variety.
It’s not permanent,
they assured her.
It will come off,
eventually.
She’s not so sure.
Her silly mistakes
and impulsive actions
will never,
truly,
be undone.

Am I a closed book,
or an open journal page?
Good question,
I have no idea.

Last night,
I turned my CD player on,
and let the songs run their course.
The meandering river of notes
swirled around me, relaxing my
thoughts and calming my
anxiety.
Last night,
I listened,
as the last fading note,
of the last ending song,
drifted
into quiet.
My eyes closed
and my breath slowed.
Then,
the roar of a fighter jet
pierced the cloth of stillness,
undoing the work
of the music.

Bad pop music filters in from my brother's room, clashing horribly with my jazz music. The cacophony of it is appalling, expressing perfectly our conflict of interests. He's so different from me, loud where I am quiet, friendly where I am taciturn , reckless where I am cautious. We are forever opposites, arguing over insignificant things, screaming at each other until our heads hurt. I hate it, but my temper sweeps me up and carries me until I'm on the other side, looking back with regret. He's my baby brother and I love him, but he still manages to drive me crazy. I suppose he's here to test my patience, to prepare me for other things in life, but I'm failing the exam. If I can't mend my relationship with my brother, what will happen when I'm older? "But life is full of these trials." (Jane Austen- Pride and Prejudice) What will come will come, I suppose, and all I can do is wait for it.

Ever since I joined Young Writers Project, I've noticed that I find a lot of the same stuff on almost everyone's blog. Love, broken hearts, and sadness occupy hundreds of blog entries, and frankly, I'm bored with it, however awful that sounds. I would love to see some variety and this blog post is purely to encourage that. I'm sorry if this sounds harsh, but please, write something different for once! Step outside the box and be creative! I'm not dissing anyone's work, there are so many amazing stories and poems on this site that it's unbelievable. I'm also not saying that venting through poetry or writing stories about heartbreak are bad, but pieces about simple things are scarce on this site and I would enjoy reading more of it.

-Drummergirl

Jelly watched in despair as he sidled up to that pathetically beautiful girl, Honey. She was so sweet and pretty that Jelly could understand why he preferred her. Clear and golden, and ever so much sweeter than the slightly tart Jelly, she was the perfect match for Peanut Butter. They just went so well together, and besides, Jelly was old-fashioned. Honey was just so modern and new… and different. She watched as Honey smiled sweetly at Peanut Butter and they began to dance. Jelly sighed and trudged back to her jar, knowing sadly that she had lost her soul mate.

A little while later, Jelly was out for a walk when she spied Peanut Butter talking with Marshmallow Fluff. Fluff batted her eyes as he talked, edging closer and closer to him. Peanut Butter returned the attention until they were in each other's arms. Jelly shook her head and walked away, glad, for the first time, that he had left her.

In his dream, the trees stampeded like wild elephants, galloping on thundering roots. The flowers came up from the cold, frozen ground and began to sing in sweet melodious voices, rising and falling with a song only they knew. Then the birds swooped down, adding their high peeping to the symphony. The grass rose in a cyclone, spinning wildly. It crashed down again and again, but dissapated into little blades of grass floating down harmlessly. Then the river began to leap, dancing along the banks, rushing and twisting as little swirls of water spun round and round, tinkling quietly. The hard, cold ground split and heat poured out of it, warming the air and perfuming it with the musky smell of sun-baked earth. A warm breeze whooshed by, trumpeting that winter had ended and the world had been reborn! The earth rejoiced and all the animals and people of the world joinds hands and danced. They spun and leaped, smiling and laughing with each other like the brothers and sisters they were.

Her hand, as it lies there,
is deeply shadowed and highlighted,
the valley of her palm a deep pitch,
the outside curve of her thumb
illuminated vividly.
Her fingernails shine and
the wrinkles of her skin
are more pronounced
in the soft, natural glow
of the lamplight.
On the unyielding wood
of her desk,
the inky shadows of her fingers
are cast gently upon the heap
of unfinished homework laid there.
The pencil she was using
is inches from her thumb,
as if it had rolled out of
her grasp moments before.
A wisp of auburn hair falls
across her porcelain face
and onto her delicate eyelids.
Her dreams for now
are carefree,
her thoughts resting quietly,
readying her body for tomorrow.

I really would like to post it. But I don't really want it on my conscience.
I really, really want to let my emotions out. But it's really, really not a good idea.
I really, really, really want to show the world what she really is. But that's really, really, really close to slander.
I desperately want to not be afraid to post things on this site. But I desperately think that this needs to be an exception.
Drat, now I've convinced myself.

The blue shadows of my ceiling are quickly loosing my interest. My eyes glance at the clock, it's 2:14. Sleep is a desired raincloud after a drought, the air is moist with it, humid, but it just won't come. I turn over again, hoping that I might be able to get some sleep before morning. No such luck. As my alarm goes off, my eyes are still open, staring intently at the wall as if trying to bore a hole in it. I drag myself out of bed and click into auto mode. I've lived so many days like this that I've had to develop a way to function when I'm asleep on my feet. 13 years of insomnia has made it pretty darn mandatory. As I head off for school, I hope desperately that I can remember everything for the Algebra test. Just to make sure, I pull out my paper and begin to study.

Neatly wound
skeins made by
my mother
sat,
ready for winding,
on the counter.
Walking by,
I carelessly
let them fall,
matting into knots
as they hit the ground.
Her hours
of hard work,
undone in a
single moment
of thoughtlessness.
Now, they sit in
my lap,
a snarled, tangled
mess for me
to unravel,
a depressing
metaphor
of my life.

Tame her wild, raging mind
her flowing hair,
her boyish stride,
prune and poke her
till she's perfect.
Shove her into
a corset,
till she's simply,
out of breath.
Pin her locks up,
upon her head,
painful enough,
to turn her red.
Powder and primp,
press and plump,
finally, your wild,
untamed child
is a lady.
Soft and pretty,
intelligent, but not
very witty.
Then, marry her off!
Find a rich old man,
pay him to wed
your dear girl, Anne.
Then your problems
are all done,
and you can go
have some fun!

We wrap ourselves up,
in our own little worlds,
trying to shut out reality.
We would rather not look,
close our eyes tightly,
so as not to see.
Oh, another murder.
Just let it go by.
It's not someone I know,
it can't affect me.
If we actually look,
what is going on
in our world,
civilization
is crumbling into debris.
We think we're safe here,
that it can't touch us.
But chaos will spread,
from sea to shining sea.
No governments, no laws,
death and fighting
far as the eye can see.
If we cannot nip in the bud,
the discord growing now,
later, it will reign
in an unmanageable degree.
So open your eyes,
wake up and see,
what we are starting now,
could become
a worldwide
catastrophe.

The fly,
trapped
inside
my room.
Uselessly
slamming
itself
into
the glass
of the window.
After a while,
it slowly
descends
through
the air,
until it
resignedly
lies upon
the pure
white
of the windowsill.
Death
creeps up
behind it,
stealing its
breath away.
The body,
goes limp,
never to move
again.

With that one fatal step from solid ground into the marsh, her death is imminent. Ankle deep in the mud, she fights panic desperately. Her heart beats faster and faster as she continues to sink. She smells the fog around her, a vile, choking odor, making her cough. Her knees are now covered by the sludge, and gaining, rising farther and farther with each passing second. She struggles to get out, the clammy silence around her thickening, suffocating and binding her for eternity. Thoughts race through her head, all determined to be heard, screaming and crying out. Her waist is now engulfed in the swamp mud, she continues to struggle, though she knows it is useless. She will die. She is continually sucked into the mire until she is up to her shoulders in it. A muffled scream rips out of her throat, heard by none. As she finally is swallowed by the bog, her mind goes blank and all that was, becomes nothing.

In the dark,
the familiar streets
look strange,
different.
My head nods
against the
cool glass of
the window.
Eyes,
heavy,
seemingly covered
with a blanket
of snow,
close slowly.
Home is a
welcome
destination,
warm and safe.

With your high powered gun
a killing machine,
and camouflaged clothes,
black, brown, and green,
you sit and you wait,
up in a tree,
watching and listening,
silent as a flea.
You think you're
so macho, so tough
and so cool, after
you've taken a life,
bloody and cruel.
So how does it feel,
knowing full well,
that a mother or
father has said farewell.
Their children are home,
awaiting their return,
curled up sweetly
in downy fern.
They do not know
that their lives have changed.
That their future has been
mangled and rearranged.
You can bluster and scoff,
roll your eyes, and
tell me to lay off,
but deep inside,
I think you know,
that killing for
fun is pretty low.
A stuffed head
on your wall,
glassy eyes
not seeing at all.
Your trophy is this,
empty of life,
just a shell, an abyss.
Why kill for fun,
when it's all
said and done,
is it worth having
the blood
on your hands?

His words,
powerful and strong
sent shivers rippling
down my spine.
Goosebumps spread over
my arms and tears welled
up in my eyes.
As his voice resounded
in the ears of 25,000
people standing in
the shadow
of Abraham Lincoln,
the protesters fighting
against segregation
were given hope.
In those 18 short minutes,
America changed forever.
The opportunities for
African Americans to
hold prominent roles
in our country, even President,
were made possible.
It may have taken
over 145 long, cruel years,
but Dr. King's dream is finally
beginning to coming true.
They say one person cannot
change the world,
but Martin Luther King Jr.
sure made one hell of a
difference.

"Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!"
-Dr. King, "I Have a Dream" speech

Vegetarianism vs Veganism- a running commentary on my thoughts, (don't expect good paragraphs...)

When I go shopping, it's so frustrating that whenever I buy something, I'm either guilt- ridden because it's not vegan, or I'm sacrificing quality for peace of mind. I have to make this choice every day, and convenience is so tempting.
I'm vegetarian, and would LOVE to be a vegan, but my mom won't let me. I don't blame her, cooking for a vegan is hard and neither of us have time for it. Eating vegan is also probably not a great option for me because of my age. Protein, calcium, and other nutrients would be a problem because I'm still growing and need a lot of these things. A vegan diet just doesn't supply all of that.

Ring around the rosy,

translation:
Let's tease the sick and weak.
we are
so
innocent,
pockets full of posy.
Then watch, as they die, like the
embers of a fire,
ashes, ashes, they all fall down.

ER waiting room,
everything is beige.
Doctor's office smells,
patients, sit stiff-backed
and worried. Deep frowns
pucker their foreheads.
A slight buzzing sound
fills the air around
them. Praying, hoping,
that everything will
be all right.