This next poem goes with the Lessons Set. It's called Lessons in the Truth and I was trying desperately to explain the pain that rumors bring. Sounds like a silly, basic idea. But people just don't get it until they've had a nasty rumor spread about them...and even then, sometimes they just keep on spreading lies! Or truths, depending. But either way. Here it is:

when They see her, They grow quiet
while slicing her with stares
Their heavy silence traps her
handing her despair

when finally she turns away
They open their mouths to speak
not to console her or to heal her heart
but to quietly critique

Their harsh words seek to find her
and wrap around her throat
the inky tendrils touch her skin
causing her to choke

as she fights to free herself
the lies control her more
snaking up to fill her mouth
while ink continues to pour

it slithers up to seal her eyes
and she cannot see to run
so she falls to her knees and tries to pray
but Their work is done

all Their words have killed her
the dark ink stains her skin
They had Their fun but didn't know
all the pain she held within

Thoughts?

I've been going through a gloomy period recently. Gloomy mood = gloomy poems. I've written two over the last two days that I love. I think they're starting a series. I'll either call the set "Lessons" or "They." I haven't decided yet.

Here's the first one:

Lessons in Perfection

bolted down, tied in place
bound and gagged for silence
brain washed clean, then taught anew
trapped without a chance

her tongue is frozen, it cannot move
hatred burns her eyes
if They see, They do not care
feeding her endless lies

as she fights, ropes cut her skin
and They push her back in place
shoved in a mold she cannot fill
while They cover up her face

no strength left, she's waning thin
her fire is sputtering out
They tie her up and beat her down
conform to us,” They shout

she's bolted down, and tied in place
bound and gagged for silence
her brain is clean of Their lessons and lies
but she's trapped without a chance

I don't usually do weird things with capitalization, but in this set I wanted to prove that They is a real entity. I wanted a contrast in how important this group is. Here's the second poem:

Lessons in Silence

They rip her heart wide open
and all her words spill out
all those words she was trying to hide
of her anger, pain, and doubt

like puddles they form, deepen and grow
until she begins to drown
struggling to live, she tries to scream
but They push her head back down

words like water fill her lungs
and tie her tongue to the floor
she cannot breathe and cannot move
but still They call for more

tears join her words to kill her
though they're her pleas for aid
They can see, but They don't care
They love that she's afraid

This poem comes from the fact that I have a deep problem "rocking the boat." I refuse to tell people what I'm thinking until it pours out and I am drowned.

Those are the two poems I have so far. What do you think?

I am drowning in peanut butter.

Peanut butter and jelly sandwich every day for lunch, peanut butter on one piece of bread for snack.

Peanuts = protein = energy.

Doublefiberwholewheat bread = fiber = filling.

Jelly = taste.

Two sandwiches a day [times] six days = twelve peanut butter sandwiches = drowning in peanut butter.

I think I might be going crazy. The peanuts are addling my brain.

I tried to watch a poem in my geography class, but the words got stuck in my throat so I couldn't. I watched the boy Teacher calls The Cardinal post Twitter messages instead.

Then I came home and napped.

It was a good day.

Today was an excellent day. I have been eighteen for three days now and I'm already loving it. Granted, I realized I have an incredibly tiny group of personal friends who I want to share my adulthood with, and that my mother didn't get me a birthday present, but I also feel different.

Somehow--and I know this doesn't make sense--I just feel a little bit more free. I woke up that morning more willing to stick up for myself with my mother, more willing to speak for myself, less afraid to get a new piercing. It's starting to feel a little freeing.

I'm willing to bet that it's all in my head. I'm no more free than I was four days ago, yet I feel so much better. Obviously I still have a long way to go until I'm "free" of my parents (so to speak) but I really feel like I'm making a lot of headway.

One of my friends bought a book for me for my birthday. It's the new Laurie Halse Anderson book--Wintergirls. She wrote one of my Favorite Books Of All Time Speak. I'm really looking forward to reading it; I'm excited.

Every time someone asks me what I'm going to do after college, I tell them I want to write. "I love writing," I tell them. "I want to write novels or poetry."

"Oh!" they say, surprised. They always think that with an English degree I'll be a teacher. No, I don't have the patience for it. After they pause for a moment to consider my revelation, they inevitably say: "Do you have a blog?"

I usually laugh and reply, "Well, I have a myspace!" They think this is funny, but they accept it and say something else about me. I typically ignore their insistence on having some sort of an outlet for my little writing habit, but I am growing bored with trying to seek out the few of my friends who will actually read something of mine. I have had a blog before, but I didn't do much with it. So this will be a fresh start, I suppose.

Now when people ask if I have a blog, I can tell them yes. And then they will ignore my writing too.

The name of this blog, "Follow Love," is from one of my favorite songs. Surprisingly enough, the song is called "Follow Love" and it's by a band called FFH. This song really rather reminds me of myself, but one verse stands out:

I've got a heart thats full of dreams
and a little bit of crazy
I can feel it pulling me to somewhere I have never been
I'm packing up and leaving home
To travel into the great unknown
Its time, I have to go.

I will be posting mostly poems of mine in this blog. I will do my best to update it regularly, but I make no promises.

Ciao.