A Sister Poem to a Sister Poem. We make a family.

The Moth of Memories Best Forgotten


You moth, you appear as the wall you are on.
Sitting so very still begging to keep yourself,
The secret you're so proud of.

I turn off the lights, so you won't even have to try.
You can fly and flit around,
Like you own the night.

You're gone by the sunrise.
I wake up afraid that you'll come back.
That I'll shut the door, but I can see your shadow coming through the cracks.

Come in again.
I've found the difference.
The difference between my wall and what it isn't.

Come in again, be at home in your disguise,
Now the difference is, that I can see where you hide.
Look into your beady little eyes.
And tell you, "Goodbye."

Splat.

The Right Reasons

But my sincerity is merely an accident, born of the things I feel so strongly. Meet any person who feels compassion beyond her capacity, and you shall see the same exact honesty.
Sincerity is not my virtue. It is the endless result of compassion. It is driven, but is not the driver.
I work not on developing her, but on a wonderful day when I fall more deeply for the human race, she will be seen.
My virtue is feeling.
So I strive to feel more.
So I strive to understand.
So I deal gently.
Or so I try.

Twilight contest (ie: why I will never be cool)

So I'm sitting in a service auction, minding my own business, when my friend Paul, whom I've known for a week at this point, flips his head around to randomly tell me there's a Twilight lookalike contest coming up in Provo. That's all he says.
"Oh? Really? And you think I should go?"
"Yes."

I didn't admit this then, but holy cow. I was excited. Finally a chance to cash in on my non-talent of having the same hair and head shape as Kristen Stewart. Woot. I went home and looked it up right away. It was the Very. Next. Day.

So lame am I, that I was the first person to show up to this gig. Alone, no less. My friend dropped me off at a contest... by myself. Even the people hosting the thing weren't there yet. Oh yeah: Serious. So I walked around the shops around looking as conspicuously Bella-esque as I ever have in my entire life.

Finally people showed up. The Barnes and Noble people, the 14 year-old super fans, and one twenty-something girl who made me feel like an even bigger dork than I already did. What's worse is that, in spite of my acknowledgment of said dorkiness, I was PROUD. I talked to the 14 year-olds. They thought I looked awesome. So I'm chatting with them, in a room full of lonely women, when I see a group come in from the corner of my eye.

It's 20 year old guys. Like a whole band of them, and the one girl who seems to have drug every one of them along. And then... Edward... Bahaha. They come in and sit down behind me. I get up to use the restroom. As I walk by, one of Edward's friends whispers Bella after me and tells me I look perfect.

When I came back from the restroom, some girls had come in and taken my seat. I left no sign I had been sitting there. So I sat next to the Edward clan. I look to my right and the best-looking Jane and Victoria I have ever seen are sitting two seats from me. Victoria even had that big white fury thing on.
And what?
"Woah, you even have red eyes! You look great."-says me.
Victoria turns to me and gives me the look of death.
Oh.
What?
Is she in character?
Or just a huge creep?

The judges called up the Edward lookalikes. I knew who my Edward was going to be. They asked if any of them wanted to give an Edward-speech. They were all dumb boys, and just said, "I'm Edward Cullen. Blah." I wanted more than anything in the world to storm up and do a scene with Edward. I was feeling theatrical. But I didn't. I didn't know what Edward would think of it. Haha. He won, easily. And when he came to sit back down, he sat right next to me. Like we were together. I liked that. Lol.

Then the Bellas went up. I went first, and stormed on stage to do what I had wanted to do with Edward: the I-know-what-you-are scene. I should have been nervous. I had never acted; I was in a room full of people I didn't know; I was dressed up as a teenie-bop movie character... But I wasn't nervous. I won.

Then the Victoria-girl won the female costume contest. She freaked me out a little. But after she won, she got really friendly with me, asked to take pictures with me and stuff. I think she was in character before.

That's about it.

Until! My roommate when to the midnight showing with me, since she helped me win the tickets. And she met Edward, blah blah, movie, blah blah. The end of my beautiful cast.

Then two days later she ran into the apartment after her guitar class. Apparently Edward is in her same guitar section. And is horrified that some girl who actually knows him in real life can testify of his lapse in general coolness by showing up to such an event.

Trying,

My enchantment with life come from within, not without.
And I love you with all the energy of a dying star,
Yet you are, even my dearest friend,
Utterly without.



Or are we both within ourselves now?

My walk: line by line.

Nature writes its own poem today.

There is literally cotton snowing sideways in the field.

I can begin to feel the upsetting art in me.

A question: What do you think about in your greatest moments?

Here is clean. I want the messy woods. I want a chaos of trees.

An answer: There doesn’t need to be something wrong for a person to seek solitude.

There is no better moment than when I am alone in my own voice, listening only to my own thoughts.

They read me poems.

They see the world in its exquisite disorder.

They remind me of how richly, how heavily, how excruciatingly human I can feel.

There, the words stop. Can you feel me yet?

Because if you don’t feel it by now, if you haven’t felt it yourself, no one can explain it to you. Not me.

You are a stranger to your own romance, then.

A thought: I don’t want to see another human right now.

But one…

Because I don’t want to speak or hear.

At all.

And we just cannot stop it.

Save for these walks.

Just leave me alone to my art.

My maddening love.

My leaf and this pen—and I will write my heart onto it.

A turn: I cannot help but take the more beautiful one, even if it will get me lost in a place wanting desires.

It had them once, this turn.

Now a conspicuous void.

A memory: The problem is that we own this place.

A break: Do you ever have an indescribable feelings that drive you again and again to this spot, to your attempts to frame it? Ones that overwhelm you and keep you from moving. Ones that paralyze you in the grass while you watch the clouds. Ones that you ever recognize but can never identify?

A question: What are you doing?

An answer: I appear to be lying down, but I am actually writing a poem, collecting myself, doing exactly what I must, thinking, feeling, listening to classical music, monitoring the clouds, honoring the yearning inside me, watching ballet…

A wave: Everything is falling behind me the same way as I pass it all.

A correction: Ah! Alas, I had to see a someone, but she was barefoot and picking at a tree. A kindred spirit.