Finals Week

I want it to be over...for there not to be any more tests, no more studying, memorizing, none of that. I'm tired of it. I don't know why I had to choose the career I did...it's forever. And I'm making it take extra long, why? Because I don't do my work like I should. I know I CAN do it, I just DON'T. And then when the grades come back it seems like I can't. I don't think I was cut out for studying. I'm too flippant. I dream too much.

I should have been a writer.

I could sit in front of my desk whenever I wanted, and paint pictures with words all day long. (gosh, I hate how cliche that sounds). I could live in my own world.

Well. I already do, but at least my grades wouldn't suffer for it.

Sometimes I wish that I could take drastic measures....I'm so frustrated on the inside, but no one ever sees it. Hardly, anyway. It only comes out in my being snippy to my family.
Wouldn't it be easier to destroy myself?
But that would have the opposite effect. I'd ruin my family...all they've worked for. Their lives would be in vain.

Then what good would I be?

Instead, I take it out in other ways. But the relief is only temporary. No, I don't cut myself...so stop thinking that. Although I have thought about it. But it'd be useless. Pointless.

So I don't.

Can't I find some way to just do what I have to? Everyone else can. And it seems like those who can't, drop out of college.

Like Kanye West.

But look at him now...he's a millionaire.

And where am I?
In my bedroom, curled up on my couch with my books beside me, blogging away about how miserable I feel.

I haven't even worked on my novels in months.
Because of stupid school.

I haven't even done well in most of my classes this semester.
Because of stupid novels.

I seem to have reached an impasse.

See? Writing things out is good. I have no choice but to follow the logical conclusion at the end of it all.

I will study.

The Inked Heart

They do not understand
They cannot understand
The night sky falling beneath my fingers
Dark clouds illuminated by the light of a lone star
As I trace the pattern of a slumbering world

They will not understand
They would not understand
The shape of a sound breaking over water
Curved melodies snaking around my waist
As I eke out the rhythm of a beating heart

They shall not understand
They’ll never understand
The form of a vowel upon the point
Upon the sharp point of ink and graphite
Upon the sharp point of wit and tongue

It is mine
It is mine alone, and yet it is ours
It belongs to us

But I understand, you understand
Yes, we live to understand
The beauty of the unwritten, unspoken, uncreated
It is true, I live to understand
The pattern that is inked upon my living, beating heart.

The Cookie Cutter

its already over
when you open your eyes
and see what you wanted to see
only you didn't, really
so you pick up the silver metal thing
thats twisted into all sorts of ugly shapes
only you think they're beautiful
(I think they're beautiful.)
And you stand before the glass
and close your eyes
memorize the image that you see
the image that the ugly beautiful metal thing
will make you into
when you press it against your skin
because your own image is never good enough
says the manufacturers
the manufacturers of that beautifully ugly shaped
metal thing
that will make you beautiful (ugly)
when you press it into your skin.
(When I press it into my skin.)
So you stand before the glass
and bend.
You bend and twist and contort yourself
until you match the image
that you wanted to see
only you don't, really.
What's wrong with you? Try harder
press harder
until the blood runs
trickles down
and your vision is obscured
(until my vision is obscured)
and I can no longer see
until you can no longer see
the real image..
There is only the metal..the one bent
and cut by the metal into the perfect
into the perfect cookie cutter image
the beautiful (ugly) cookie cutter image
that you are convinced is you.
So you lie in bed..every night you lie in bed and pretend
and I lie in bed and pretend (I lie)
every night I lie in bed
and pretend to be me.

you write like dark poetry

I was browsing through a Norwegian architecture magazine and came across this quote; I instantly fell in love.

'We walked backwards into the future
and no one understood what we said
and we leapt through the centuries
but no one heard if we were approaching
or withdrawing...'
-by Tone Hødnebø

What does it mean to you?

Untitled.

Sometimes I don't enjoy my life.

The Poem of Enjambment

draw

a whistle

let there be color

or a blank slate.

tell the paper instead

admissions of your week

eked out in ink or pencil.

illness cannot last

still your heart will

illuminate the unobtainable

letting out the indomitable

letters of the spirit...

it was foretold that

at the end of us

usurped though we may be

because of the light in you

our hearts will still

illuminate our world.

** Enjambment means letting one line flow over into the next; not ending a sentence on just one line of a poem. I've taken this and tweaked it so that the last two letters of each line are the first two letters of the first word on the next line! Enjoy!

ranting and raining

this is getting to be too much. Im not going to use proper punctuation and stuff because im writing from my phone and cant be bothered to tap the screen each time...but now. This is truly getting frustrating. Im getting so tired of people..its like they think that just because for a few days im not with them, that this means i have had plenty of time for myself. Or that because im their friend my days off must needs revolve around them; like i dont have family i need to spend time with, too. There are a few other things eating away at me too, but this blog isnt 100 percent private anymore so i wont mention that. Im so fed up, though. Its been a while since ive been this upset. Im ready to do something drastic...i mean, im taking a summer class, and this is my third time taking the course. So who in the heck do you think you are so special that i should jeopardize my future for a few hours with you? To those who are considerate of what im trying to do, thanks so much. To all the rest, bug off! Seriously, i wouldnt mind breaking off a whole lot of relationships..i dont need them. Im really annoyed. And im gonna be a whole lot more annoyed when i read back over this and see all my grammatical errors, but im livid right now and i need to vent. Sigh. Im going to pay attention in class now. Bye.

Bucket List ^_^

And it looks like I'm finally back to regular blogging...but don't worry, the poems will keep coming =).

I can't explain why just yet, but I'm giving myself one year to do these things. Only one.

*Inspired by "If Today Was Your Last Day" by Nickelback*

1. Visit Gettysburg
2. Visit Washington, D.C.
3. Visit Seattle, Washington and Forks, Washington
4. Road trip to Cincinatti, Ohio (Or wherever Cody lives)
5. Finally go to Six Flags
6. Get an A in Chemistry

*smiles*
That last one is a stretch, I know. But hey. Anything's possible.

~Cahryn K.

Winter Rain

The skies are grey, and so is
my soul...
the drops that fall are icy
and cold
and void of feeling or pain
But not so the drops that fall from
my soul.
These bear the heat of a brand,
scorching my countenance as
they fall
Leaving tracks of burnt flesh and wounded
spirit.
And so I stand at my window and turn my face
to the sky
so that the drops that fall thereof
may cool the burn
and I watch the steam as it rises
from my pain and curls
drifting out and down under
the winter rain.

The Longing

Dry the Sahara -
soak up every
particle of sweat that dares trespass
on the perpetual sanded dunes

Scorch the center
of that inextinguishable ball called Sun -
implode every atom, burn every molecule
of the abundant Element that persists

Freeze the Tundra -
that cold, barren place
where no life grows but the lichen
and even that is devoured by those who yearn for the heat
that burns true

Melt my heart
that darkened Spector of a once-was-flesh
the hardened culprit in many a crime
that beats in the solemnity and solitude of millions like it...
alone

Pour in the blood
wash out the ichor - the stain of the wrong of her years
cleanse with the red, swath with the white
and yield this moment a softly pulsing,
truly living,
honest red in my breast.

A Winter's Morn

Long blue shadows split
by crystal daggers,
sharp lines pressed against a pale blue sky -
laid bare for the grace
of nature to clothe in veils of white
that glitter like the diamonds
of the newly betrothed.
For nature is itself betrothed
to a promise -
a promise of longer days and new beginnings
second chances that masquerade as firsts,
and the beauty that always comes
with the promise of new life.

Who Am I?

I am a splash of purple
a shock of auburn against the dark
blazing as an ember lighted by the very
elements
that defy each other
fire
and water
I am a flower
turning to open her
petals to the sun
a radiant red
never satisfied
I am the one
who is not afraid
to fly.

Alice Danced

Tiny prints
marks of a faerie foot
flirting with the wind

Untamed and ethereal
on an eddy of air
when she took you captive

bound your heart in whispers
of precious gems
that fell from your melody
and such

caught you by the hair and the heartstrings
and pulled you in without
a protest

your jasper to her onyx
your lion to her lynx
and such was the way

like so...
And so was the way
Alice danced.

Dark Red Words

dark red words
not spoken by me
a fire lit by circumstance
fueled and fanned by fury

To tame it within
I press play and listen
to the dark red words
not spoken by me

Alice would have danced.

A Snowy Winter Day

a slanted light
a silver kiss
a frozen smile...the touch
of winter lips
upon my skin

A scent, a whisper
a long-forgotten moment
washed up on the shores of memory
and psyche...torturous
and calling.
Do I answer?