What's going on here?

What's going on here?
Well Amanda and Emily both have goals to write more. Amanda wants to write a poem and a half a day for the next year, while Emily wants to write for National Write a Novel Month (NaNoWriMo), which is usually in November, but she is going to do it from now until her mission on May 18th. Here is were you can follow us in our goals! Leave comments, encouragement, and what ever else you feel like.

Monday, May 2, 2011

Originality

I don’t want to be a puppet.

I don’t want to be empty and hollow and filled up with all of the things that affect me.

Full of things like unrequited loves and friendships and smiles and summers and funerals and handshakes and hugs and whispers.

I don’t want to be a sum of my parts.

I don’t want to be a person acting a certain way because of a certain event affected them in a certain manner.

No I want to be my own.

I want to clip these puppet strings and rise up.

Float beyond this human experience beyond all of the things that have held me down for so long.

All of the things that supposedly made me.

I want to strip that all away.

I want to empty it out and see if there is anything left.

See if in the corner of my left pinky toe there is something that’s been there all along.

I want to stand under a waterfall of scrub brushes

Have them remove every tattoo from this heart and soul.

And see if there is any color under all those words.

I want to hold my heart up to the sun and peer in.

See if inside these four chambers there is anything that beats of originality.

Anything that says my name.

Not yours or hers or his or theirs.

My name.

Something that says Amanda.

Because lately I’ve been feeling like every word I write

Has a name written under it.

A name that describes where and when and how I came to use that word.

Why I use that word.

Some of them make me smile a bit

Remembering the summer where I discovered ensconced and indubitably on the same night.

But others of them like fear and longing and pain

All have little tails too long to sum up.

And though some words make me smile they all make me cringe.

Cringe because I’m crushed by the unoriginality of it all.

That I’m just vomiting words onto a page, that someone fed me awhile back.

Like these fingers aren’t my own

This tongue is not my own

Even this brain of mine is not my own.

Instead I’m full of all these things people left behind for me to use.

Like discount clothes at a thrift store.

And not the good kind.

The kind that screams this was a steal.

No I’m talking washed out mom jeans and a shirt from a school I never went to.

I feel like I am stuck in this class jar

Pantomiming words that I don’t mean.

I wonder if there is anything that I can say.

Anything that when you use your little microscope

You’ll see my name hanging off the end.

I wonder if I can be completely myself

Because I’m tired of being a puppet.

I’m tired of filling up and letting go.

I’m tired of closing my eyes and seeing other peoples dreams.

I want to know if there is any ME left in me.

No comments:

Post a Comment