Author’s note: So as a society I think we have a problem. We find all these things that help us escape reality, escape the truth: alcohol, food, drugs. In Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde a potion is used. Eventually this “escape” takes over completely. Why do we think running away from everything that’s hard in life is going to help us? I personally believe God doesn’t give us anything we can’t handle. Anyways, this is a poem about our tendency to run away from everything. We created our reality so why run away from it? Maybe it’s because we become consumed by the chase. Dr. Jekyll was consumed by his alter ego, the simple obsession with what was wrong and had once been out of reach. I think that come pretty close in relation with OUR true desires.
Cool air burns the raw of my throat
Heart pounding
Time slows
Nature silences
And the light seduced to a glimmer
My palms wet with fear
Whispers stir the qualm of my mind
Such hopelessness
Once so absent
I mustered an escape
My breath weakens
My knees shake
And the ground becomes my resting place
There is nothing left
I’ve used it all
The sudden fatal blow
This reality I’ve spent so long creating
Now crashes to the floor
My only wish
To forget
Leave it all dwindling behind me
Weakness driving the mind
I run instead
Send away my fears
Brushing the past from my shoulders
Only a temporary high
And it returns once more.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Just a little bit of power....
Author's note: This is just a bunch of random thoughts on the idea of what we put ourselves through in order to meet the world's standards. I went off of the idea of the door; the outer appearance can reflect something completely different than what's on the inside. It is so easy to control our appearance so our heart's reflection doesn't show through. When did it get this why? Why is it so easy for us to change ourselves if we don't appear the way someone else does? Sure there are confident people who share their ideas (I completely respect them) but they've struggled with this same thing, that longing to belong and be accepted.
Everyone has this ability, “gift” if you prefer it that way; we have power, power to control our own appearance, power to inhabit space elsewhere, secret and alone. Our souls are guarded by a façade, blocking out all the views and judgment of the morbidly honest world outside. We can control what they see because we’re given the tools to hide our own emotions. The door from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is just an obstacle seen by the outside. They don’t know the activity that happens inside or the steady flow of emotion that travels along the inner walls. Just think about how much we hide from everyone. What would it be like if we were just honest and raw?
Our eyes, and ears, and hands, and the entirety of our face are the only windows into our hearts. These behaviors give a glimpse of the complicated process that rings about in our minds. The fact is it’s so much easier to hide and just blend with the crowd than it is to stand out. Somewhere along the line we became convinced that different is outdated and the standards have been set. Why are there standards anyway? Only one side of our being can meet the so-called “standards”: our appearance. This is the façade, the barrier, which stands between our authentic nature and the outside world.
The curious characters of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde only see one view of the door; a blank, mysteriously quiet, windowless barricade. The inaccessible space inside remains unknown long enough that the door is left alone. This happens to us. We hold up a mask long enough that people begin to accept it and eventually we become lost in this lie that we ARE the person we portray day after day. You can gain acceptance from everyone around you but lose yourself in the process. When did acceptance become such a burden? Why do our souls reflect two different images? We swing personalities and eventually get caught up and confused. Our identity is blurred with our expectations, with our standards. And this all happens because we were given just a little bit of power.
Everyone has this ability, “gift” if you prefer it that way; we have power, power to control our own appearance, power to inhabit space elsewhere, secret and alone. Our souls are guarded by a façade, blocking out all the views and judgment of the morbidly honest world outside. We can control what they see because we’re given the tools to hide our own emotions. The door from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is just an obstacle seen by the outside. They don’t know the activity that happens inside or the steady flow of emotion that travels along the inner walls. Just think about how much we hide from everyone. What would it be like if we were just honest and raw?
Our eyes, and ears, and hands, and the entirety of our face are the only windows into our hearts. These behaviors give a glimpse of the complicated process that rings about in our minds. The fact is it’s so much easier to hide and just blend with the crowd than it is to stand out. Somewhere along the line we became convinced that different is outdated and the standards have been set. Why are there standards anyway? Only one side of our being can meet the so-called “standards”: our appearance. This is the façade, the barrier, which stands between our authentic nature and the outside world.
The curious characters of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde only see one view of the door; a blank, mysteriously quiet, windowless barricade. The inaccessible space inside remains unknown long enough that the door is left alone. This happens to us. We hold up a mask long enough that people begin to accept it and eventually we become lost in this lie that we ARE the person we portray day after day. You can gain acceptance from everyone around you but lose yourself in the process. When did acceptance become such a burden? Why do our souls reflect two different images? We swing personalities and eventually get caught up and confused. Our identity is blurred with our expectations, with our standards. And this all happens because we were given just a little bit of power.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Fog.
Author's note: This is my short story response to the second part of Dr. Jeckyll & Mr. Hyde. I tried to capture the repetition of face the author uses and the underlying mystery affect seen in "fog".
Moisture rolled silently down the panes of the window. The dense air crept through the cracks of the wood, making its way to my nostrils. The thick, suffocation only lasted seconds and passed on. The cycle repeated as I sat rocking. I stared blankly at the walls of the room, my seclusion hidden to the outer realms of the house. My arms lay motionless against the chipped wood of the chair. A light blinked unsteadily in the middle of the room, lighting up the corner and leaving it dark again—over and over. The lids of my eyes fluttered and my gaze switched to the window. Light poked through the deep mist. I stood up slowly, with quivering hands I grabbed hold of the cane leaning against the cold, cement wall.
I wandered to the window. My eyes squinted in an effort to see through the hazy screen that lay between me and the street. The fog corrupted my vision with a stirring emotion. I brushed the window with my fingertips and peered through the small sight I had created. A figure stood tall in the street. Lying beneath it: a dark, morbid shadow. The moon’s luminous glow deflected from a stream of red. The stream curled and bent through the valleys of the cobblestone street. I rose to the tips of my toes and stretched my neck to see the face of the hollow, gaunt victim. A face of innocence and purity shown through the night. The tall figure remained, staring down upon it with disgust. The scene lay clearer and clearer as the fog lifted and hung just below the tall man’s nose. A force beyond my control caused a smile to flood my face. The darkest depths of my soul screamed for more; my eyes glued to the deathly, oppressed silhouette. Curiosity drove my dark wander, and suddenly the fog returned and the haze flushed my nostrils once more. I ruminated in the vision I'd just seen, crawling deeper and deeper into it. I let my body fall to the chill of the floor, my knees curl to my chest and a sinister grin resided upon my face. And I shut my eyes.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Jekyll Hyde #1
Author’s note: Robert Louis Stevenson screams mystery in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Somehow we see the reality that our curiosity is so consuming and some powerful force draws us to circumstances without answers. There is a dark undertone to mystery, an evil, controlling energy that infests our thoughts. “A certain sinister block of building thrust forward its gable on the street” (39) turning heads, eyes gazing with wonder. The novel gives full credit to this mystery as an explanation for the character of the passer-byers.
Mystery.
This powerful demon
driving the attention of so many weak souls
souls scarred and stained by worldly expectations
standards swallowing society as a whole
Uncovering a curiosity
pulling and tearing at our judgment
A door; a simple, ordinary object.
Using this simple, ordinary object
To drive the human mind mad
Quiet and subtle
Attempting to go unnoticed
Instead stirring accusations
It is not only the door that shelves mystery
Eyes and ears that so desperately lay focus on the door
Conveying an even greater unknown
Mystery.
This powerful demon
driving the attention of so many weak souls
souls scarred and stained by worldly expectations
standards swallowing society as a whole
Uncovering a curiosity
pulling and tearing at our judgment
A door; a simple, ordinary object.
Using this simple, ordinary object
To drive the human mind mad
Quiet and subtle
Attempting to go unnoticed
Instead stirring accusations
It is not only the door that shelves mystery
Eyes and ears that so desperately lay focus on the door
Conveying an even greater unknown
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Short Story Final: North
Author's note: This story doesn't exactly reflect real events but there's a lot of emotion in it that I exaggerated. My fears are beneath the events of this story.
In an instant I woke, I had to keep going, keep driving. Once again I turned the key; I drove fast down the winding road. It was lined with huge, old trees I had seen so many times before. On impulse I was going to the only place I knew could feel like home. So many times before I had stayed in these woods and swam in this water. It had an effect on me, somehow, like magic, I could come here and forget the fast pace of life and the struggles that lingered so heavily on my heart. The sudden peace ringing in the air, the abrasion of my hands on the wheel, consumed me and I wept. The pines had once waved my worries away with their branches; the water once washed away the grief and pain.
I pulled into a gravel driveway and eventually came to a lodge. The engine shut off, I got out of the car and walked slowly to the door. Tears reappeared on my face, I paused, my shaking hand suddenly steady on the doorknob. Thinking rationally for a moment, my hand dipped into my back pocket and pulled out a large wad of cash I’d stolen from the counter at home. I clung to at least 200 dollars. Regret crept quietly into my conscience. What was I thinking? Looking for some relief, I placed the money back into my pocket. My hand pressed hard on the door and entered into a foyer. Tourist brochures hung on the wall and a dusty old moose head hung next to them. Suddenly I could remember walking through those very same doors every summer as a little girl. All the smells and people and boats and fish had stayed the same, it was me that had changed. I stood quiet and still, staring into the face of the moose. Memories continued to flash through my head, memories of my childhood, memories of the cabin, but most prevalent were memories of my father. It had only been 5 years since I’d been here last but it felt like a lifetime. Things had changed so much since then. At that time, this place could’ve made it all disappear; the struggles, the hurt, the fears.
The reality was I’d grown, grown so far from this place. However, I had no wish to escape this place, to leave; I was content to remain in that enchanting spot until it was my time to depart. As I stood, calmer than I’d been for hours, everything began to spin. I’d been informed hours before that my father was dead, in a search for comfort I ended up here. Tears flooded over my eyelashes, down my cheeks and onto the floor. Waves of sobs hit me with jolts; I sat shakily on the ground still staring at the moose. My arms wrapped tightly around my knees. I shut my eyes, forcing tears out the corners of my eyes, swallowing the next jolt of sobs. In seconds I had lost the most important man in my life. It felt almost as if someone was tearing away all the good I knew in life, piece by piece. My heart ached, it ached for memories, it ached for death, it ached for loss.
My father hadn’t been around much in the last few years but whenever he was, he somehow made everything okay again, he brought peace. Naturally this feeling escaped as soon as he did. I lived in an unstable home, and the only hope I knew lye within my father. He reminded me that I had a future; that something brighter lay beyond the front door. Maybe he recognized the hardship I endured at home, maybe he saw potential in me, or maybe he saw a reflection of himself within me. If I knew love, it came from my father and now that was all I could salvage from the dust.
My hands quivered gently in my lap. My heart beat loudly within my chest. I shut my eyes and listened; laughter carried from the bar, an old rock song played softly on the jukebox. The sun, granting rays of a luminous glow, the subtle shadows dancing across the wooden walls, the sounds, the quiet scenery, the worn moose—all had distracted me. The warm air of the lodge caressed my delicate body. The world had suddenly slowed. The immense grief lay heavy on my heart and settled in my mind. With my eyes still shut I slowly pulled a handgun from the depths of my pocket. My back straightened slightly opening my lungs to the northern air. I inhaled slowly, filling the space of my chest one last time and then I did it.
In an instant I woke, I had to keep going, keep driving. Once again I turned the key; I drove fast down the winding road. It was lined with huge, old trees I had seen so many times before. On impulse I was going to the only place I knew could feel like home. So many times before I had stayed in these woods and swam in this water. It had an effect on me, somehow, like magic, I could come here and forget the fast pace of life and the struggles that lingered so heavily on my heart. The sudden peace ringing in the air, the abrasion of my hands on the wheel, consumed me and I wept. The pines had once waved my worries away with their branches; the water once washed away the grief and pain.
I pulled into a gravel driveway and eventually came to a lodge. The engine shut off, I got out of the car and walked slowly to the door. Tears reappeared on my face, I paused, my shaking hand suddenly steady on the doorknob. Thinking rationally for a moment, my hand dipped into my back pocket and pulled out a large wad of cash I’d stolen from the counter at home. I clung to at least 200 dollars. Regret crept quietly into my conscience. What was I thinking? Looking for some relief, I placed the money back into my pocket. My hand pressed hard on the door and entered into a foyer. Tourist brochures hung on the wall and a dusty old moose head hung next to them. Suddenly I could remember walking through those very same doors every summer as a little girl. All the smells and people and boats and fish had stayed the same, it was me that had changed. I stood quiet and still, staring into the face of the moose. Memories continued to flash through my head, memories of my childhood, memories of the cabin, but most prevalent were memories of my father. It had only been 5 years since I’d been here last but it felt like a lifetime. Things had changed so much since then. At that time, this place could’ve made it all disappear; the struggles, the hurt, the fears.
The reality was I’d grown, grown so far from this place. However, I had no wish to escape this place, to leave; I was content to remain in that enchanting spot until it was my time to depart. As I stood, calmer than I’d been for hours, everything began to spin. I’d been informed hours before that my father was dead, in a search for comfort I ended up here. Tears flooded over my eyelashes, down my cheeks and onto the floor. Waves of sobs hit me with jolts; I sat shakily on the ground still staring at the moose. My arms wrapped tightly around my knees. I shut my eyes, forcing tears out the corners of my eyes, swallowing the next jolt of sobs. In seconds I had lost the most important man in my life. It felt almost as if someone was tearing away all the good I knew in life, piece by piece. My heart ached, it ached for memories, it ached for death, it ached for loss.
My father hadn’t been around much in the last few years but whenever he was, he somehow made everything okay again, he brought peace. Naturally this feeling escaped as soon as he did. I lived in an unstable home, and the only hope I knew lye within my father. He reminded me that I had a future; that something brighter lay beyond the front door. Maybe he recognized the hardship I endured at home, maybe he saw potential in me, or maybe he saw a reflection of himself within me. If I knew love, it came from my father and now that was all I could salvage from the dust.
My hands quivered gently in my lap. My heart beat loudly within my chest. I shut my eyes and listened; laughter carried from the bar, an old rock song played softly on the jukebox. The sun, granting rays of a luminous glow, the subtle shadows dancing across the wooden walls, the sounds, the quiet scenery, the worn moose—all had distracted me. The warm air of the lodge caressed my delicate body. The world had suddenly slowed. The immense grief lay heavy on my heart and settled in my mind. With my eyes still shut I slowly pulled a handgun from the depths of my pocket. My back straightened slightly opening my lungs to the northern air. I inhaled slowly, filling the space of my chest one last time and then I did it.
Friday, June 4, 2010
A Time To Treasure
When you think of summer what comes to mind?
Summer
laughing
dreaming
smiling
playing
It ends too quickly
over before it's really began
the memories
the moments
I will never forget
Every year
after 9 long monthes
it arrives once again
the memories return
the moments approach
the laughing begins
the dreaming draws near
the smiling and playing
the dancing and singing
Summer
a time to enjoy
a time to treasure
the times we'll remember
all our lives
Thursday, May 27, 2010
I stare
Author's note: This is a poem regarding theend of the year.
I stare
The hall seeming to go on forever
Emptiness
Children's voices, gone
Teacher's books, packed away
I stare
Clocks ticking
Scenes of classrooms
Libraries
Gym classes
Flash through my mind
No one present to fill the scenes
I stare
I'm leaving these halls
No longer will I read those books
No longer will I open this locker
No longer will I sing in this choir room
I stare
I wonder
I wish
There was a little more time
I stare
The hall seeming to go on forever
Emptiness
Children's voices, gone
Teacher's books, packed away
I stare
Clocks ticking
Scenes of classrooms
Libraries
Gym classes
Flash through my mind
No one present to fill the scenes
I stare
I'm leaving these halls
No longer will I read those books
No longer will I open this locker
No longer will I sing in this choir room
I stare
I wonder
I wish
There was a little more time
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