I think, looking back, that this will have certainly proven to be my most difficult year, perhaps not in life overall, but certainly up to this point. I certainly intend on multiplying the number of years I’ve lived by three or four so, at this stage, it may not seem like much, but it most definitely felt like a lot at a time. […] I feel pretty unmoored right now, and the slightest thing often sends me reeling in ways it really shouldn’t and wouldn’t have a year or two back. At the very least, however, I am proud of myself.
that makes big places
hard for me
is that i feel
i could slip through the cracks
of the pavement and
no one would notice
I adapted Alton-Brown’s Buttermilk Pound Cake recipe for the purposes of this cake, replacing buttermilk with coconut milk, and then adding actual coconut flakes and mango to the cake. The cake is … Continue reading Coconut-Mango Cake
The year I fell in love
Was also the year home was shot at.
It was the year I got
People can also be close
And make the shots weaker
There is a pleasure to holding your breath under water as an exercise, to show you can. Not so when your head is held there as a mere suggestion, even … Continue reading Panic.
Legitimacy seems to be that thing
That self-awareness robs me of
[… It] Make[s] it hard to think
That maybe I could leap without support
Capacity to hold an act of life
That stands and plays
Two part process. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, feeling, largely, overwhelmed and choosing by and large to ignore it, for better or for worse.
Pushing my body to the limit is something I enjoy. I have a sick enthusiasm for pushing through pain, knowing that I can and have withstood more pain than a lot of people my age, pain that goes beyond just muscular burn. But I think i’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t row in the autumn, and maybe not next spring either.
Alice toute sa vie n’était pas superstitieuse. La superstition, c’était pour les gens qui ne savait pas penser de façon particulièrement claire et rationnelle. La superstition, c’était ce qu’on utilisait … Continue reading Superstition
I’m not good with communication. I’m aware of that and if you’re one of the rare people reading this who knows me, or follows this blog, you know this too. … Continue reading Oceans
I posted this yesterday, with a poem complete and yet not. Because I wrote more, but I fear posting it. But that’s what the point was, wasn’t it. So here’s my honest addendum to that post yesterday, this honest addition that keeps going and swelling those… fears. There is still hiding and there is also honesty, and it is a work in progress. This is Part 2, and while it stands alone, it doesn’t really, not for me, not as me. If you’re taking the time… read Part 1 – it matters.
How is my heart?
My heart is nervous and frayed that you won’t love me as much
as the person i was
as the person i should be
and wished i could be.
My heart wants to speak but so often feels judged
feels judged as i lay out these words and
Nervous of subsequent anger and
Fear of sha-king heads or
caused by mis-presumptions
My heart is hiding and sore
Halfway around and an ocean away
Where home moved and love was
and love might.
My heart wants to speak but refuses to say
Just quite what
for what if they read it
and what if they knew it
and what if my heart didn’t know what it wanted
or if it ran like it ran in the past
and what if it skipped and it tripped and it fell
and what if the tendrils of hope that i smushed
what if those tendrils no longer were there
or just weren’t… quite that.
Because maybe i’m scared
and maybe i freeze
and maybe that work or that boy or that friend wasn’t quite what i wished it would be
but that hope that just maybe
was what kept me alive
Because what if i actually can’t
and they actually don’t
And what if I’m left staring at scattered pieces of who I thought I was and’d be?
Tell me. Tell me your heart is joyous, tell me your heart is aching, tell me your hears is sad, tell me your heart is craving a human touch… Tell … Continue reading How is your heart?
Quelques nouvelles du bout de mon petit monde: voyage à Madrid toute seule avant de rejoindre Oxford pour ma troisième année. Partie 2 sur 2.