Poems from the (Knitting) Needles

Your eyes stay resolutely on that spot,
as your needles meet and exchange secrets.
Their language of clinking and clanging
is foreign to my naive ears.
I'm sure they are weaving truths
between the yarn in your fingers
and the air in mine

But I don't hear, or if I do,
I cannot comprehend.
The truth, in its form
of clinking and chinking
will never be mine.
Those needles don't teach their language
You know it or you don't.
I don't.

But maybe if I wait,
I will be the one to see
that truth is not a language,
but an afghan, knitted stitch by stitch.
Sometimes, there are errors,
dropped stitches, inconsistency
when needles
change hands.
Truth is slow work that is never finished.

The afghan long and full of mistakes,
It wraps around me,
A comforting blanket of unfinished reality.

fyi

I don't think I should be allowed to read about writing and publishing and such things until I actually start writing regularly. It's silly to read so much about how to write well when I don't actually put these things that I read about into action so I'm stopping that now.
My addiction to YA Highway now is put on the backburner and my addiction to my novel turned up full blast.

I needed to tell that to someone.

A Message To Trevor

I wanted to tell you. But the thing is, I don't want to be that girl anymore, Trevor. I'm tired of you asking "What's happening?", so passive you could be a suit of armour, and me telling you the colour of my breakfast cereal. Did you know I wrote a novel in a month? I can do better than this. I can do better than you.

What happened to make the only thing I write lately these inane updates and my Vampire Diaries fan fiction? Why do you make me feel like the only written word I have to offer the world is about whether I'm going to order a vanilla latte or a London fog? And what the hell is up with you and your obsession with following people? No longer will I pretend that I am not creeped out.

Once about a time, I was naive enough to think it was important to tell you these things, that you were listening. I've realized now that I've been talking to empty space. All this time, I've felt limited but really I've been limiting myself. My toleration is over. I won't accept another restriction on the amount of information I can express. Because I'm not confining my life to you anymore, Trevor. I'm through filling the blank white box between us, with you counting down to how much is too much. These empty characters will remain unspoken.

We're through.

BEDA recap

I didn't finish BEDA. More than a week into August, I came to terms with my inability to blog every day of the month, there being no internet at sea, and resolved to do my best.

But I didn't do that either.

I could have done the last three days of BEDA. I could have done it but I didn't. And, like I said in my last blog, I feel like August has slipped through my lazy fingers and, with it, BEDA.

I haven't read and commented on enough blogs. It's going to take me a little while to catch up on what I've missed. And I'm sad about that. But what can I do?

It was a good journey. Enjoyable, though short lived and not as great as last April. Oh, how I miss last April.

Thanks for joining me. Eyes are falling shut. Must leave computer.

Stolen August

I know it isn't exactly justified for me to feel robbed of my August, but I do, nonetheless. I know summer's not over for another three weeks and I don't have to go back to school, technically, but I love August. August is an amazing month of possibilities and adventures. I don't know what makes it so much better than July, but it is.

For some reason, I can't wrap my mind around the idea that it's over. I won't see it again for almost a year and I better move on quickly because if I don't awake from this nostalgic slumber, I'm going to miss September, too.

The goals of my summer are relatively untouched. This is not to say that it was a bad summer at all but I didn't read an overwhelming amount, I didn't write nearly enough and things are all but still on the boy front.

And yet there's something so incredibly satisfying about beginnings and September always seems like a whopper. I'm still sad that my season of short shorts is over (Alex wears short shorts?) and it's going to start raining more frequently (move on already, people, it's Vancouver) and that my friends are returning to prison school so I won't have full access to their company anymore. But I'm also happy. Undeniably excited and alive.

I still want a little August back, though.