Ode to the Poet
(For SouthernLovinBabe and anyone who takes the time to read my writing.) I learned haiku and limerick and rhyme. And I learned of beats and rhythm and time. I learned how to make a sonnet sing. And how to give a ballad wings. I learned the grammar don’ts and do’s. I dreamt in Blake and Angelou. Hughes made me shake. Poe made me shriek. Shakespeare made my knees feel weak. Silverstein and...
It Gets Better.
I sat alone in my bedroom. Not under the covers, but on top of them. No lights. Only darkness. And I let the music surround me. A frail, breathy accapella voice singing a lonely song. I turned it all the way up, as loud as it would go. Too loud. I sat perfectly still. And shut my eyes. Her sweet, gentle voice. So vulnerable and strong at the same time. It glided around me as I breathed it in....
What a shame.
This is me. I’m middle class and white. I’m normal and curious. I’m smart, but mostly ordinary. I’m artistic, but not artsy. I have a voice, but not a megaphone. I am found, but not quite free. I want only uniqueness. I want only to stand out. What a shame it is to blend in. When you could shine just as you are. What a shame it is to blend in. What a shame it...
I’m a roller coaster that only goes up.– Augustus Waters via John Green
Anonymous asked: When the perpetrators admit to hating America, Americans and Western culture yet still moved to America to receive education that they couldn't get in their Muslim home, YES you can.
The actions of two young men are not reflective of...
The Good, the Bad and the Beautiful
We’re not all bad, right? We’re not all condemned. We shoot up classrooms of children. Bomb spectators at marathons. Open fire on movie theaters. Snipe government figures. Use the mall for target practice. We’re not all bad, right? Some of us are the good. And on days like today, days heavy with the weight of evil, of grief, of burdens much too heavy to bear, on days like today I have to focus on...
Powder your nose, paint your toes. Line your lips and keep ‘em closed....– Miranda Lambert, “Mama’s Broken Heart”
the paper dahls →
Showing some love for one of my favorite Atlanta girls and fellow blogger. Follow thepaperdahls for fashion, hilarity and brilliance.
On Epic Love She looked out her window and said “Speak from the heart.” So I...– write amuck
Was blind, but now I'm free.
Growing up, on the Saturday before Easter, I’d sleep with sponge rollers in my soft, blonde hair. It was awful. Like having rocks for pillows. My mom would let me pick out a new dress from Penney’s or Uptons to wear on Easter Sunday. Sometimes a matching bonnet. Other times an oversized bow. My favorite Easter dress was a white fluffy number with a full skirt decorated with purple ribbons. There...
Some days I’m a writer. Some days I’m a dreamer. But on the rare...– writeamuck
The house that love built.
Weren’t we supposed to love each other? Weren’t we supposed to rub noses and dance in our underwear? What happened to us? To forever and ever? To first and always? To brighter skies and better days? We took turns tearing it down. Ripping apart the house that love built nail by nail. Shingle by shingle. Maybe we were angry. Or lost. Maybe we were scared. Maybe we were even brave. But before we knew...
There are more than a few things I’ll miss about Neil. And I never want to forget a single one of them. I’ll miss the way he snuggled. Right up next to my face. He’d put his head on my pillow if he could and crawl down beneath the blanket if he got cold. When I was sad, he knew. He’d just calm down and sit beside me. Just sit there for as long as it took to make me...
Sometimes I can’t decide whether to read or write. And it really...– writeamuck
I’m sorry, but you don’t get to blow up my dash with Sailor Moon...– writeamuck
Love. It takes all kinds.
There are people who marry for money. And I think they’re in love. They love security. They love a lifestyle. They love comfort. And there are people who marry for looks. They’re in love too. They love beauty. They love watching others stare. They love showing off. There are people who love for stability. Because it’s easy. Some for simplicity. Others for complication. Love is...
As people, we make two primary mistakes. One is assuming everyone is like us....– writeamuck
My Mema. She taught me how to set the table. Forks on the left. Knives and spoons on the right. Every meal was served with a fruit tray and a vegetable platter. A pitcher of sweet tea and hot butter rolls. My Mema. She left us last Friday. She showed me the difference between camellias and jonquils and magnolias and azaleas. She pointed our hummingbirds and mourning doves and finches and...
DAVID: They're having a violent video game burning in some city near Sandy Hook.
DAVID: Why don't they burn violent books?!?!
ME: They would, but children don't read anymore.
DAVID: Why don't they burn violent movies?!?!
ME: Most parents don't let their children watch violent movies.
DAVID: It's the parents' fault then!!!
ME: That's the common argument.
DAVID: BURN THE PARENTS!!!
I am the clay.
Be young and be foolish. Be frank. Be reckless. Be selfish and relentless and resilient. Be scared, but not cowardly. Be kind, but not simple. Be knowledgeable, but not closed-minded. Be spiritual, but not rigid. But most of all, above all these things, be loose and malleable. Be forever like fresh clay, that can be molded and shaped. That has more to learn and much to do. More to absorb. More...
It’s ten years in the future. 2023. I’m 36. A stunning 36, actually. I’m lean and athletic. My face has grown older, but I look mature, striking, sophisticated. My hair is long and dark. I’m wearing something chic. Trendy, yet classic. Modern and flattering. I’m at a local coffee shop waiting for an iced coffee with whole milk at the bar when you walk in. I see you before you see me and recognize...
Nudity always wins.
My thoughtful, artistic, emotional, deep, relevant, original blog: 9 followers.
Blogger who posts pictures of herself topless then proceeds to act disgusted when followers tell her they're masturbating to her: 9,000 million followers.
Let us roll all our strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one ball; And...– Andrew Marvell, To His Coy Mistress
In my house, as a small child, this was a special time of year. We had a tradition surrounding everything - from looking at Christmas lights on the way home from Christmas Eve service to saving all the cards and opening them at once around the dinner table. We destroyed the house with an unsightly amount of decorations and stayed up late the night before Christmas, wrapping each other’s...
Something you don't know about me.
I may seem innocent enough. But I’m far, far, far from that. I’m the strongest girl you’ve ever met. And I might just be the smartest girl you’ll ever meet too. I haven’t fallen prey to society herding me to be simple and pretty. To be a homemaker. To stand by my man. To not think for myself. To not become all I am meant to be. I am powerful. I am relentless. I am...
Let them in, Peter.
My heart, it weeps for each little one. Each lost child. Each parent who stood outside that school waiting for their little babies to come out unscathed. For innocent eyes that witnessed a massacre. For lives cut far too short. And my heart it aches for that quiet little town. For the teachers and neighbors and friends. For the ones standing outside at vigils on this chilly December night. For...
The things she taught me.
My mother, brave and wild and fierce and free, every day she taught me. Every moment with her was a lesson. Like don’t be afraid to figure out who you are. And vegetables are important. Religion isn’t about rules; it’s about a belief in your heart. Sometimes, it’s okay to cry. The joy of giving the perfect gift. The greater joy of giving a handmade gift. How to calm...
Just don't breathe and we'll stop time, she said.
Life was passing by much too fast. She was not making enough of each day. And their collective sums were lackluster and insignificant. The sheer force of how fast each minute and day and week and month was sweeping by left her feeling shocked and choked. Like the wind had been knocked out of her. Like she couldn’t breathe. But wanted to, more than anything else in the world.