New Beginning, New Blog

I'm going to continue my blogging adventures. May double up some of my poetry, but I'm doing more than that. Even more than writing. Its still starting up. Hope you follow my new blog!

My first post gave a short explanation on one of my poems in Anything Else?*

Quoi d'autre

This isn't our last chapter.
There's always something else.

Always a B after an A.
Always a child after a ball.
Always an old after a new.
Always a parting after a kiss.
Always a shoe after a sock.
Always a happy after a sad.
Always.
Always a story to tell.
I'm going to tell this one.

The one about my trip to Paris.
When I learned and I loved
And I had hopes and dreams.
I dreamt the wildest dreams.
I hoped, I loved, I laughed, I cried.
I heard my heart cry.
It said, "Let me be heard!"
So I listened.
I didn't learn about Paris.
I didn't nessissary fall in love.
Instead, I found myself.
And that's the part of this story that matters.

Au Revoir.

I'm Not Who I Once Was

Video: http://youtu.be/aRDxYkXabvw

Knives

When I was small, I was always the X

And everyone else chose the O.

They were always whole & I was always broken.

I played tic tac toe on the tree,

Played tic tac toe on the tree,

Played tic tac toe on the tree,

Played tic tac toe on...

Me.

Slice, slice. Oh that feels nice

To remind me I don't belong in heaven.

'Cause all this life gave me is...

Nothing but what tore my heart to pieces.

And we all know that hurts worse than a razor.

A chord wraps around my slit wrists to bind me down

When all I ever wanted to do is fly.

But fallen angels don't have wings

And I,

All I do is ask, "Why?"

Why? Why? Why?

And I'm still not sure if I'm a criminal or a martyr,

But no one innocent sleeps in my bed.

-Bethany

So, I recited this a while back and decided to post it. Here's the story:

I was in my bed, not falling asleep. I thought of how, though I have never cut, I knew someone who had. Probably know someone now that does. And I have in previous years harmed myself in other ways, not badly, thankfully. So there I was, with my morbid thoughts and the dark. When I feel truly poetic and/or deep, I risk not falling asleep for another hour so I can write down my thoughts on a tiny glowing screen. I know writing doesn't just come, so I'm gonna show you those thoughts that I wrote down originally, then put it together as a poem in my journal that I put all my random thoughts, ideas, a couple sketches, and notes when I don't want to pull out my binder. These thoughts weren't supposed to be entirely connected, so read them as if each stanza, shall I say, is one string of thought.

Notes (in the original order):

I feel like I'm more likely to be murdered. Because no one hears me scream.

The cord wraps around her slit wrists to bind her to the ground, when all she wanted to do is fly.

Slice, slice. Ooh that feels nice to 

remind me I don't belong in heaven. 'Cause all this life gave me is

Nothing but what tore my heart to pieces.

And we all know that hurts worse than a razor.

I played tic tax toe on the tree,

Played tic tac toe on the tree,

Played tic tac toe on the tree,

Played tic tac toe on....me.

Adjustments

I'm almost the perfect person,

All I need is a few adjustments.

I will cut of my toes for being too graceful.

Then I'll drain out my brain for being ungrateful.

Plug up my ears because they heard too much,

Take off my fingers because they always want to touch.

I can't have either ears to wear rings.

I won't have any nerves to feel things.

I can sew up my lips for speaking,

And gouge out my eyes for leaking.

I will be a perfect person,

Right after these few adjustments.

Falling & Love

My white elephant was for Jane Ray. I took one of her posts (Book of Love) and drew a picture for it.

The post talked about falling in love and falling out of love. I decided to take the idea of falling for the picture. I used a chick like chicken little and, "The sky is falling!" The crack is in a heart shape and it has pieces of the sky. Sometimes falling in love is skydiving. And falling out is wondering if you forgot your parachute.

(It didn't post earlier. I know this was for last semester, but...)

Being in Elementary School

I miss those days. Mostly recess. I played mash for you while texting my friend. He is S, I am B...

B: *strange, unattractive face*

S: Are you describing me?

B: No. I made a face. But yes...

S: Haha, alright. Just seemed to fit.

B: Come on, I'm kidding. You have an attractive face. That's the least I can say to someone I tricked into calling me hot.

S: Hm. Well, how 'bout we stop awkwardly complimenting each other like this. It's weirding me out.

Earlier:

I proceed to ask him for a number between 3 and 10. He says nine, I play MASH with something I previously set up.

Drive an old beat-up car, live in a shack, have four kids with.... Awkward...the guy I'm texting right now.... Heh.

B: That was a bad number... We were supposed to play MASH.

(Keep in mind he doesn't know the outcome.)

S: ??

B: The game for elementary schoolers. What you live in, what you drive, how many kids, who you marry. You are a cursed man.

(This cursed man is also oblivious.)

(Garrett, if you see this, THE GLOVE.)

Go childhood.

Needless to say, he still doesn't know the outcome of my game of MASH. Comment whether or not I should tell him.