Twenty minute Simple Skirt Tutorial AND GIVEAWAY!!!!

Twenty minute Simple Skirt Tutorial AND GIVEAWAY!!!!

Blueberry Pie Refashioned Frock GIVEAWAY!!!!

Blueberry Pie Refashioned Frock GIVEAWAY!!!!

Changed the background of the blog. And even thought it's almost impossible to read anything further down in my blog, I don't care. I edited the image myself and I LOVE it. :)

Summer has started, and now that Italy is done with, I can finally breathe. I feel like I was being suffocated there, not free to be myself without getting backlash for it. At least here I can exist. I can watch Discovery Channel programs about the center of the earth, eat all the popcorn I want, see my amazing family and beautiful friends every day and wake up knowing that God put me here for an amazing purpose, that he made me to change the world. 

Home is really a beautiful term. :)

Off to Italia! :)

D.N.A. (for lack of a better title)

I wonder if it's fate that

make my knuckles fit together

like puzzle pieces, or maybe if

some divine piece of machinery

made these eyes the same shades of blue

as my mother's. Most likely it was

the small stuff, the double helix, but I'd

like to think there's a carpenter

somewhere up there, putting

people pieces together like wood.

4-24-09

Ahh, Coolidge

Black Sea by Mark Strand

One clear night while the others slept, I climbed 

the stairs to the roof of the house and under a sky 

strewn with stars I gazed at the sea, at the spread of it, 

the rolling crests of it raked by the wind, becoming 

like bits of lace tossed in the air. I stood in the long 

whispering night, waiting for something, a sign, the approach 

of a distant light, and I imagined you coming closer, 

the dark waves of your hair mingling with the sea, 

and the dark became desire, and desire the arriving light. 

The nearness, the momentary warmth of you as I stood 

on that lonely height watching the slow swells of the sea 

break on the shore and turn briefly into glass and disappear ... 

Why did I believe you would come out of nowhere? Why with all 

that the world offers would you come only because I was here?

I am pretty much in love with Mark Strand right now. The dashing, debonair smile of Clint Eastwood complete with the vocabulary and finesse of poet? Yes. Yes yes yes.

I take apart clocks...

I am so burnt. Burnt to a crisp. A crispy pancake, perhaps.

I had a pancake breakfast about an hour ago, and it was good. This day's actually been pretty good— a sunny day in the park at Coolidge playing with a special "BudLight" kite (actually a Buzz Lightyear kite... :) ), movies and games and packing with friends, then pancakes. But it's been kind of rough this past week. I don't do goodbyes very well, and it's inspired a lot of poetry. One in which I used my first written f-word (still haven't said it— I'm saving that one). I would edit it out, but I feel like it's such an integral part of the poem that I can't. 

I call it "Clock Ripping"

Today I sound like a crow

I call my best friend voice raspy

but she doesn't call back.

I offer up a lily

a flower of redemption

but I only do it 

in my mind.

I don't know when

the clock started rewinding

but I wish I could

tear it apart

break down the cogs

I could just kill

the cogs and rip

the hands off

of it.

I hate the passing of time.

I hate reading history books

because they repeat themselves.

I hate excuses and I hate

I hate I hate I hate

I wish I could stop all of the clocks in

my head. Wish I could

say what I mean without the 

numbers that I took from the clock. 

Fuck yeah I'm mad. 

See what I mean? It would be too untrue to take it out. 

My birthday is in a month.

Originally uploaded by Olivia Bee

Absolutely stunning.
Photo by Olivia Bee, a 15 year old. FIFTEEN.

It's Been a While

I'm not dead.

Last time I checked my pulse, I was still breathing. 

I do have a problem, though. My poetry is turning prose and all of my prose sounds like poetry. Hmmmmm....

An example:

"heavy breathers make the worst companions. you can hear them coming and they sleep before they are dead."

It's in sentence form, but I have it in my poetry notebook. I didn't bother to capitalize anything, though. I have no idea. Is it flash fiction or a flash poem?

Goobers. 

So I've been a bit neglectful...

I wrote some poems. Took some pictures. And I'm still adrift. I miss my anchor. 

I feel.

 

I feel as though I am not content to dream.

 

As though I am a thousand paper cranes

And I will kick these stones off the ground

On my way to flight

 

I will move the earth

 

I will dig my talons into each crevice, dive through every hoop, look through the bottom of every glass.

 

I will conquer it all.

 

And when I am dead, I will still be rising.

 

I will drink the blood from the ground and dye my feathers the color of the breeze when it snows soft and silent.

 

I will slip every ring on my finger.

 

I will have given life, I will have killed you all.

And I will have all your rings on my finger.

 

And when I die, I will still be rising.

 

My soul will take it’s wings much like a moth and hog the light, encompass it all in the mighty span of myself.

 

I will encompass the world.

 

The bones, all your bones will belong to me now. Every word you’ve breathed, every inching sound you’ve made, every wish you’ve kissed on both cheeks.

 

I will encircle the ocean, because I am a pelican, and I will steal all your fish, all your water. It will be mine, and it will have me as I have it. The water. The fire. The burning fish.

 

And my wings will burn, too, as I am dying of the world. In my time I will see every star, every planet and every black tornado and swirling pool devoid of all things spare the relativity of time. All matter, all this will be mine. The universe will be mine. Every single atom is possessed in my wing span.

 

Here I sit on a lonely stack of wood. I’ll catch a fish. One at a time. I am lonely on this stack of wood.

 

I will posses it all. 

"Sometimes I'm a Vulture, or Maybe a Dove"