Here it goes!

So, here's the thing . . .

I don't let people read my poetry. Ever. Like not ever. I have been friends--really close friends--with Meg for a year and I finally just showed her some of my actual real poetry. . . and I did that because she shows me hers like a lot and I respect her literary opinion. I have posted one poem on here which was vague and generic and really not my best work, so I figured it was safe. Well, I'm going to post some now seeing as not many people really read this anyway and I really just use my blog for selfish "Let me release to the world" purposes. But, for those of you that do read it, please don't judge too hard, but feedback is appreciated--positive and negative. So here it goes:


Woe me! the savor of bitterness.
Is it but the knowledge of that which could be sour?
Tasting what thou tasteth, knowing what thou must see.
Wealth within itself is not a sin,
But what of the Gluttony which purgeth such a sin?
To purge is but to see,
To see is but to know,
And to know is but to understand.
A tender chuckle was once heard in the vast halls of my mind
But no longer will such a shine glimmer.
The muse of misery knows itself too well.
Knowing I will always return to it, wishing
For no more but unable to abstain.
The organization of the mind means nothing but to laugh.
And yet, where does laughter go but into the sour bitterness we all conceal?


To embark
Upon the world in its midst
Of Misunderstanding.
Who is to clear the clouds which crowd our view from what is most real?
My fingertips reach for warmth but find nothing in the fog.
Smog it now has become as man once again makes his footprint.
Oh how much there is to the green which should surround us.
The green which has been dissolved to such a sad gray.
When will we cease to blind ourselves?
Oedipus knew what we continue to deny.
Blindness comes not only in injury or birth,
But in Smog.
How I love to fly as the birds do rejoice—
Clear the clouds!
The rocks and mountains we care so much for
Beyond the green misunderstanding.
I will soon journey my way through the ashes.
When will be decided by the Smog
. . . And when it chooses to clear its ugly head of green blindness.


The sweetness of a word.
The need for that great juice to reach our fingers and glide its way through our blood.
Even the toes yearn for such nectar.
Wanting what we can not have and receiving what we do not want.
What wilst be most important will not reach us now, but in time.
Oh the joys of love—
Music be the food of love,
Yet where are all the musicians?
It seems strings grow quiet as words come to be still.
From the tips of my hairs to the pit of my gut
I know things are not as they believe themselves to be.
Yet what of that?
The existentialist will tell me to wait for the juice of life,
But the realist sitting upon my shoulder knows it will not be so.
Come back to me, sweet music.
Come back.

So, there you go . . . please don't judge too fiercely.

Am I "THAT" girl?

Okay yes, automatic mental reference everyone makes to "I'm not that girl . . . " WICKED moment right? Well, not the topic of today's blog post. I had a very serious 'aha' moment this evening when I was presenting for TAG at Company Call and used the phrase, "Yeah; I'm THAT girl." (Moment: for those in my audience who aren't UVU Theatre Majors, company call is a meeting which happens once a month in which everyone in the theatre department discusses EVERYTHING going on. TAG stands for Theatre Arts Guild which is glorified drama club [Don't tell Kyle Hess I said that] and I'm on the council as "Activities Chair," whatev . . . cool? So at company call, TAG gets to put in their two cents for what's happening with us.) So I'm telling the group about the TAG Opening Social on September 20th which is, yes ashamedly enough, at my parent's house in Orem. When I mentioned it was at my parent's house, I gave it a beat and tossed in, "Yes, I'm THAT girl." Well I thought I was funny and it got a laugh so I was feeling good. Totally tore myself apart, but who cares? Hours after this event, I began to ponder what it REALLY means to be THAT girl. First the thought crossed my mind, "Damn it, AM I THAT girl?!" But then I thought, wait . . . who ISN'T THAT girl at some time or another? "THAT girl" could refer to any number of things which people call the "THAT girl" thing. In all the many forms which "THAT girl" could come in, everyone is "THAT girl." I have composed a basic list here (Note-These are all drawn from real-life inspiration, some quite recently.):
The "THAT girl" which-
1. has her college drama club party at her parent's frilly, over-the-top home. *Connotation-"oh, snobby rich girl who goes to mommy and daddy for things . . . got it."
2. wears her high school drama sweater at her first college theatre meeting. *Connotation-"can't get over high school, making herself look young."
3. does an acting performance which can be defined by no other word but "sweet." *Connotation-"a horrible actress, but a really nice person and kind of a nerd so you give her points for trying hard . . . sweet points."
4. talks too loud and makes a spectacle of herself EVERYWHERE. *Connotation-"usually unattractive, can't get a man, but entertains everyone while making herself look even less attractive and more over-the-top."
5. wears too much make-up. *Connotation-"ho."
So, just with the few examples here we can all ready see the many levels of being THAT girl. Please note that while these probably seem horribly mean, please take note that most of them I drew from experiences from my own life, as in . . . I did them. This is not to be self-deprecating but to hopefully avoid hurting someone else. And I have no problem with it because it IS entertaining and hopefully with the idea of adult, growth, maturity, self-improvement, fladdy-floo, it's irrelevant to me anymore. Many of these stages I feel I have moved beyond.
Another level of the "THAT girl"ness which should be analyzed in all the ways the phrase can be said "THAT girl." Said with a sweet voice-a compliment. With a sarcastic tone on sweetness-a nerd or a "sweet spirit." In a tone of spite-sincere hating of that person's "THAT"ness, etc.
So we are lead to the eternal question . . . ARE we all "THAT girl" in our way? Does my theory prove to be true? And if so, can we ever break free of the "THAT girl" syndrome or is that once we stop being THAT girl, we become another?