Katherine Dislikes Titling Things

Oh, hello. Remember me? My name is Katherine, and I have graced you with my words each day for the past month. And while the month is now over and I am no longer obligated under Magic Code to scrounge for interesting pieces of information to put forth each day, many of my thoughts today have been blog related. I've grown to enjoy blogging quite a lot, even to the point where I feel somewhat comfortable with it... which is quite nice considering I have always strongly disliked it before this experience.

This is the point where I run out of things to say. Obviously.

I just have to laugh at myself sometimes. Let's take a look at today's pages of silly awesome poetry and doodles for guidance. Because this is what I continue to find myself doing as we continue "social contracts" in all of my classes.

Poetry and I are becoming bffs. Even if it's terrible.

There is a hope that

hangs in the air

coating every surface

in fine powder

we inhale

honey sweet

bitter aftertaste

hope

hanging

in the air

ignore it and it leans

over your shoulder,

breathes sugar lies

in your ear.

Then:

Answers

maybe

they

do

not

al wa ys

exist.

maybe they slink into corners and watch you, laughing as you stumble and beg. Shadows. Blur past you, disconcert, trip. Lost in the throbbing want for them.

Shining cloak promising answered prayers and serene dreams, that elusive fulfillment - however spelled - glittered, glittering, glossed with hope.

Lies.

Trembling bold unkempt for always never to deteriorate never never cowardly defiance slime hurtful wince wincing.

Finally:

They are talking about rules and

I am remembering

minute bells

and hand holding

and waiting in the empty hall

for him

Remembering hurts.

Lost in the hallways of memory

drifting

bumping against dusty

memories, coughing as it

rises, plopping down

on the floor

criss cross apple sauce

Breathing in dust

unpacking boxes shoddily

assembled to reveal

what was

or felt like it might be

something

Fog memories,

wondering if what was

ever existed

Because it is now all

so over

and the lines are so blurred,

chalk smudged over time

frame and breath

crumbling, confused, broken.

Without answers or solutions

aching, choking against the dust

over.

I am not particularly depressed, but these are the sorts of things that appear when I doodle. It's interesting considering various forms of writing. Journal writing, blog writing, doodle induced writing. They all draw different things from me. I write a lot more here than in my journal, though my journal has generally been for very emotional immediate thought and brief attempted updates (and other stuff, too, yes). While I try not to withhold or over-think things in that venue when I write, as over-thinking and withholding true feeling are things I struggle with, in some ways doodling is even freer. Lots of things have merit, I guess.

I am a teenager. This amuses me sometimes.

Today I took a scary test in English. It was less scary than anticipated, but it's being graded on the bell curve... so who knows how I'll do?! I wore a dark blue skirt with an orange top and kept thinking "surely this doesn't match. Surely." Orange and blue go together, right? RIGHT? Yes. Work was only two hours! Tomorrow I work six hours again! Sparkles all around!

Lots of rules have been switched around at school. They are confusing and stuff. Oh, and as for another topic of which I am not at all knowledgeable, let's talk about teenage pregnancy. For kicks. I am surprised by the number of students who have children or, in the case of this year, are now pregnant. The majority of students at my school are Hispanic, so while most of those I know to be pregnant are Hispanic, I suppose this could be mere statistics or some such. I'm trying not to stereotype. Maybe I am. I apologize in advance if this is the case. I will tell you that the most confusing case I've seen is that of a pregnant (Caucasian) peer of mine who I always see with her boyfriend. Why this confuses me I don't know; maybe because the other five or so pregnant teens I see around are never with such counterparts.

Here I am attempting a case study. Why.

First poetry, then teenage pregnancy. Whatever could be next?