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December 31, 1969
Author: sirius23
Subject: Intro to a story
Posted: Fri Jun 27, 2008 12:23 am (GMT 0)
Topic Replies: 0

I'm trying to write a "young adult" novel from a different point of view. I read alot of them, and they all seem to follow the same lines. So this is my intro, it's a mix of personal stuff and those of others. Enjoy, and I hope to get some feedback >.<

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I wanna say that I have tears. That I have cuts and that I wear black. I want to say that I fit in and listen to the same things. I want to say that I hate life.

There is a difference, between feeling helpless and feeling hopeless. Helpless implies that there is something that needs helping. That there is a slight possibility that I can be fixed. Hopeless is not necessarily saying that im broke. I don think I am. I just don't feel any particular joy in everday things.

I wake up after my alarm clock has been ringing for about five minutes. Ive been dreaming of vampires again, and notice the clock says 6. Shit. Late again.

Seventeen hours later I find myself in my bathroom. The lights are on. The fan is on. My headphones are on. Loud music is on. I am sitting on the floor.

I wish I could say that I feel helpless. So that I could be fixed. I remember sad things. I know I should be crying. I think maybe somewhere DEEP DEEP down inside im bawling. Things resurfce, things that are tear-worthy. I push it away. As an automatic instinct. After a while those barries become so normal you don't question whether or not its healthy. Whether or not im wasting my time on denial.

Does that imply helplessness. Have I ignored that as well?

Well, I decide my emo side is a lost cause, and go back to my room. I hear muffled Tvs and see schedules. Littered, are exclamation marks to faraway destinations, claiming, we want YOU to come HERE. I doubt it. Take a look at my transcript, lol.

It is hopeless.

It is shit.

Not helpless. You cant help a permenant transcript. Not now. Its too late. So its hopeless. But I keep working. I go through all the moves and put on a high pitched voice for the councelors. They look at me and wonder what the hell is wrong with someone who is "smart" yet as lazy.

Ive given up. What can I say, im a realist.

So I opt for sleep. Ima fail anyway.

So I lay on my bed. Very aware of the clock ticking. How much time have I wasted? Doing nothing, stressing unnecessarily? Most of all ignoring things.

Can things really be fixed.

It may be denial. It occurs to me, that maybe I do need to be fixed. I need to regain a sense of non- hopelessness.

Unfortunately my hopelessness wins, and this realization of denial too gets discarded.

I opt for headphones, and drifting slumber of frogs and waterways.

December 31, 1969
Author: Windlass
Subject: New and old
Posted: Thu Jun 19, 2008 12:00 pm (GMT 0)
Topic Replies: 0

Hi people. I'm new here, but I'm 43 years old, so I'm past the first flush of wildly expressing myself in verbal ejaculations into the face of a world that feels totally new and excruciatingly personal.

IOW, I'm a mature poet, damn me. I'm so old I even have a thing about spelling, grammar and syntax. What can I say? My mother was an English teacher and I love language passionately. Yes, I know languages change. No, that doesn't mean we can devolve into primitive solipsistic gibberings. Yes, I invent my own words and bend existing ones till they're FUBAR. I believe in change, but not in checking my brain at the door to it. Yes, I'm a bitch.

While I love to read original poetry from talented people of any age and background, I am particularly interested in swapping poems and feedback with seasoned poets. "Seasoned": I love that. I think of spice, also of the four seasons, and also of frying pans.

Anyone?

December 31, 1969
Author: sunflowerstar
Subject: A Good Egg --- (please check out my poetry book)
Posted: Sat May 24, 2008 12:08 pm (GMT 0)
Topic Replies: 0

http://poetryandstories.com/blogs.php?action=show_member_post&ownerID=109&po st_id=244