All my lovers are immortal
The words I write about them will live on
While their bodies rust away
And their thoughts will fade
But the words will remain
And even when our world melts into oblivion
The sentiment of those poems will exist among the stars
And the words will live on
And the words will live on
There’s a hummingbird in my chest
That takes flight
Each time you kiss me
And holy shit
Your comments make me blush
But I can’t help it
You’re just soft and warm
And feel like home
Who’s to blame
For my sensitivity to touch?
Neurons fire and souls collide and
I wish I could be with you tonight
Keep your broken parts warm for me
I’ll see you
There’s a quote by Emily Dickinson that says ”Forever is composed of nows.”
That sentence haunts me,
It’s mind-boggling to think
That adding up inconsequential nanoseconds
Can construct an immeasurable expanse of time and space
That perhaps these previously thought inconsequential nanoseconds
Have some value after all
In AP Lit we’re reading Salinger’s Franny and Zooey. Today we were talking about how “knowledge for knowledge’s sake” isn’t really a thing people pursue anymore, an issue the character of Franny struggles with. She craves authenticity, sincerity in people’s studies — the pursual of knowledge for knowledge’s sake, rather than for the sake of a job or a career. (I really resonate with her.) These days, the few people who say “I’m going to University to expand my soul and gain higher knowledge” are scoffed at, made fun of, but it’s a pretty good synopsis of how I feel about college. Call it romantic, but that’s what I want out of my education: knowledge based in passion, with the goal of soul enrichment, not a job.
My Lit teacher (love him) was saying how English majors today are sort of seen as the “losers” of the college crowd because of the “impracticality” of what they’re studying. But it’s okay cuz I told him I kinda want to major in English and he said “we’re losers together” and we fist-bumped. It was cute.
But my ambitions aren’t as well embraced by my mom. Every time I talk about wanting to major in English, she ignores it and talks about how I should do something in the sciences. Evidently she can’t realize that if I’m being vocal about what I want to do in college, I’d have mentioned an interest in science if I had one. Brushing off my aspirations like that and trying to direct me elsewhere feels pretty shitty. It’s an indirect way of showing her disapproval, and it pisses me off. “Well there are more jobs in the science field.” I know. I’m not naive. I know that English is a pretty impractical major in economic terms. There aren’t a whole lot of job options with an English degree. It’s no news to me. But you know what else is impractical? Spending tens of thousands of dollars on an education in a field you’re not passionate about. What sense does it make to spend years being miserable just to make a larger salary and possibly obtain a more secure job? The way things are going in the U.S., no one’s going to have a very secure job in the coming decade anyway. So if you ask me, it’s absolutely worth it to do what you love, to pursue what makes you glad to be alive, regardless of future income. Screw “careers.” Screw “practicality.” And screw you, Mom, for not supporting me in what I want to do with my life.
Cheers to my AP Lit teacher.
I feel my most honest words are those
uninhibited by time’s plaguing doubt
spewn straight from my mind like
raw and meaty overanalysis
of every little thing
you’ve ever done for me
People mix up missing something and yearning for it a lot
Because they feel the same way,
Engender the same knotting in your stomach
And flutter in your chest
Although there’s probably a lot more hope in yearning
Than in missing
And you don’t miss places you haven’t been to,
You don’t miss people you haven’t met—
You yearn for them,
Long for them,
Yearn to be in them,
Whom I do not miss,
But rather yearn for
I’d say I got lost in your eyes
But I know what lost feels like
And this is more like being found
(After a long time out in the woods)
the war in my mind pursues too many outside conquests
leaving me alone with nothing of what’s given
since what’s lovely and put in
is donned false and put out
how’m i s’posed to leave these things inside my mouth?
Make your heartbeat your metronome and set out to compose the greatest symphony ever written.
As any passionate musician knows, it is that which evokes emotion sans words that is truly fascinating. In fact, a symphony need not be conventionally fascinating, with twists and turns and changes of key, to be great—it need only be honest and cared for by the one(s) it is about.
Perhaps journeying on is a little easier for me since I am in love with the sensation my lungs feel as they fill with new air.
Perhaps I’ve simply met the right people, read the right words, and luck really is of the draw.
Perhaps it is not what we do that matters, but what we meant to.
Perhaps the power of twenty-six letters is greater than that of 13 billion cosmic years.
I’m rather doubtful.
Hold enough potential
To make me shiver at the power of words