- Mother Courage and her Children
- Ecology of a Cracker Childhood
- David's Redhaired Death (again)
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Books Read In My 20's:
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Potential Things For My Performing Arts Resume
- Gloria- The Elevator Play
- Assistant Sound Designer- The Madwoman of Chaillot
- Stagehand/House Management- MCTC PRIDE Drag Show
- Stagehand/House Management- Let's Keep Dancing
- Youth Performer- Queertopia
- Marmee- Little Women
- Matron Mama Morton- Musical Theatre Showcase 2013
- Justice Hawthorne- The Devil and Daniel Webster
- Chastity Saint James- The Cacophony of Carnage
- The Nurse- Romeo and Juliet Scene Study
- Heaven Hop Soloist- Musical Theatre Showcase 2012
- Ruth- Pirates of Penzance
- Ophelia- Hamlet Scene Study
- Ensemble- Carousel
- A Night At The Improv
- Mother/Ensemble- Wonderland (The Musical Misadventures Of A Girl Named Alice)
- Susie- Hansel and Gretel
Saturday, September 20, 2014
'I’m That Dalmatian From The Photo' by Ravyn LaRue
for about a week I thought I might be a lesbian
or at least felt I ought to find a better word than Pansexual
and I’m back to feeling comfortable with the word
but nothing feels absolutely correct
so I may easily become one who identifies as queer
without narrowing the specifications any further
but at the moment I like the word Pansexual
possibly because the unofficial is a Pink/Yellow/Blue Panda
and I’m keeping my Bi Pride sticker on my phone
even though its nearly disintegrated into nothingness
no matter what I am calling/have called/will call myself
I am extremely extremely extremely queer and glad of it
or at least felt I ought to find a better word than Pansexual
and I’m back to feeling comfortable with the word
but nothing feels absolutely correct
so I may easily become one who identifies as queer
without narrowing the specifications any further
but at the moment I like the word Pansexual
possibly because the unofficial is a Pink/Yellow/Blue Panda
and I’m keeping my Bi Pride sticker on my phone
even though its nearly disintegrated into nothingness
no matter what I am calling/have called/will call myself
I am extremely extremely extremely queer and glad of it
'Hegemonic masculinity' by Ravyn LaRue
I’ve found myself very dismissive of straight boys recently
and I felt somehow simultaneously mean and empowered
but it seemed also that I was a hypocrite
I kept on grappling with myself with:
“How can I identify as pansexual,
if I’m ruling out someone due to factors related to gender”
and “how can I be a demigirl
if in my gender presentation
I want absolutely nothing to do with hyper masculinity”
but then I discovered a term that was my master key:
Hegemonic masculinity
That is the thing I want absolutely nothing with
since what seems to compel gross straight boys
(and probably some mislead closeted queer ones)
to be absolutely misogynistic
and add "No Homo" as an epilogue
to any human emotion they’re brave enough to show
that is the masculinity I want no part in
both in my own identity
and in the identity of anyone I might ever choose to share myself with
one of my teachers once eluded to me being a man-hating feminist
and I’d like to use #NotAllMen as a power for good for a second
and say that I most certainly don’t hate men, only Hegemonic masculinity
which, while I’m at it, is a way more wonderful phrase than “testosterone poisoned"
since it isn’t the hormone’s fault that people behave awfully
and I felt somehow simultaneously mean and empowered
but it seemed also that I was a hypocrite
I kept on grappling with myself with:
“How can I identify as pansexual,
if I’m ruling out someone due to factors related to gender”
and “how can I be a demigirl
if in my gender presentation
I want absolutely nothing to do with hyper masculinity”
but then I discovered a term that was my master key:
Hegemonic masculinity
That is the thing I want absolutely nothing with
since what seems to compel gross straight boys
(and probably some mislead closeted queer ones)
to be absolutely misogynistic
and add "No Homo" as an epilogue
to any human emotion they’re brave enough to show
that is the masculinity I want no part in
both in my own identity
and in the identity of anyone I might ever choose to share myself with
one of my teachers once eluded to me being a man-hating feminist
and I’d like to use #NotAllMen as a power for good for a second
and say that I most certainly don’t hate men, only Hegemonic masculinity
which, while I’m at it, is a way more wonderful phrase than “testosterone poisoned"
since it isn’t the hormone’s fault that people behave awfully
'Past Self' by Ravyn LaRue
I’m very nurturing of my past self
it’s super weird and I acknowledge that
but when paging through an old diary
when I read accounts of the bad things
that occurred to me- past me
it brings back all that emotion
but I feel it as if it were empathy for someone else
since I am not that same human that I was
and reading of my hopes and dreams of that time
seeing my now self achieve them
even if they’re as seemingly passive as seeing Hedwig
I feel fargin for that person I once was
like “hey, love, you made it far enough to see
the thing that seemed to help most
in person- in the flesh- in the soul
I’ll keep us going longer
because who knows what else might reveal itself as possible”
and I know my self a year from now
will likely look down upon this self that now types
like “hey, love, you made it far enough to ______________"
it’s super weird and I acknowledge that
but when paging through an old diary
when I read accounts of the bad things
that occurred to me- past me
it brings back all that emotion
but I feel it as if it were empathy for someone else
since I am not that same human that I was
and reading of my hopes and dreams of that time
seeing my now self achieve them
even if they’re as seemingly passive as seeing Hedwig
I feel fargin for that person I once was
like “hey, love, you made it far enough to see
the thing that seemed to help most
in person- in the flesh- in the soul
I’ll keep us going longer
because who knows what else might reveal itself as possible”
and I know my self a year from now
will likely look down upon this self that now types
like “hey, love, you made it far enough to ______________"
'Rootless' by Ravyn LaRue
Recently
something that has come up quite often
is the importance of having a physical home
we talk about it in Theatre and Ecofeminism
and in Native American Studies last semester
and I’m not sure what to think
since that isn’t all that important to me
for my sake
home means the ideals I hold sacred
so anywhere that embodies those
feels to me like home
I went back to my childhood neighborhood
and although it never felt like home
it seemed particularly unwelcoming
and now, as when I was eight,
in times of sadness I wish I were living in NYC
but I know even if I find a home there
I might not be able to stay in it
since the only reason Minnesota began feeling like home
was SPCPA
and since my hope is to find something similar to SPCPA
once that dries up and I graduate for real
I’ll have to start back over from square one
But everyone seems to keep telling me it’s important
that one without a home is nothing
but I get antsy with physical spaces unless my soul feels at home
Home is where the people I’m surrounded by
are fluent enough in my soul speak
enough to make me feel
like I am not alone
something that has come up quite often
is the importance of having a physical home
we talk about it in Theatre and Ecofeminism
and in Native American Studies last semester
and I’m not sure what to think
since that isn’t all that important to me
for my sake
home means the ideals I hold sacred
so anywhere that embodies those
feels to me like home
I went back to my childhood neighborhood
and although it never felt like home
it seemed particularly unwelcoming
and now, as when I was eight,
in times of sadness I wish I were living in NYC
but I know even if I find a home there
I might not be able to stay in it
since the only reason Minnesota began feeling like home
was SPCPA
and since my hope is to find something similar to SPCPA
once that dries up and I graduate for real
I’ll have to start back over from square one
But everyone seems to keep telling me it’s important
that one without a home is nothing
but I get antsy with physical spaces unless my soul feels at home
Home is where the people I’m surrounded by
are fluent enough in my soul speak
enough to make me feel
like I am not alone
'Proof I’d Make A Charming Yitzhak' by Ravyn LaRue
I was called “butch”
and I don’t mind
but it caught me off guard
since I wasn’t even trying
and believe me I have tried
yet today
in my glitter tights
and femme shoes
I was read as more masculine
than when I make a valiant attempt
I felt weirdly honored though
that I was considered in the same category
as those who have rebellious disregard for gender roles
when I am still so shy with my experimenting
but I want to try more stuff
since college is meant to be when one finds themselves
and does different things to see what fits
I’ve heard it said that gender experimentation
makes one become more whole
so I’m going to keep doing my thing
and perhaps I’ll be read as butch on a day I’m actually trying
and I don’t mind
but it caught me off guard
since I wasn’t even trying
and believe me I have tried
yet today
in my glitter tights
and femme shoes
I was read as more masculine
than when I make a valiant attempt
I felt weirdly honored though
that I was considered in the same category
as those who have rebellious disregard for gender roles
when I am still so shy with my experimenting
but I want to try more stuff
since college is meant to be when one finds themselves
and does different things to see what fits
I’ve heard it said that gender experimentation
makes one become more whole
so I’m going to keep doing my thing
and perhaps I’ll be read as butch on a day I’m actually trying
Monday, June 2, 2014
'Sing In The Elevators, Park, and Parking Lot' by Ravyn LaRue
I used to be so good
at singing without caring what others think
now I care so it no longer is art
it's merely ego
I need to sing for the sake of my voice
no longer hiding light
out of worry it may be snuffed out again
singing is important
singing is strength
and singing is far bigger than me
I have to remember that
next time my brain tells me
I ought to silence my soul's most prevalent strength
at singing without caring what others think
now I care so it no longer is art
it's merely ego
I need to sing for the sake of my voice
no longer hiding light
out of worry it may be snuffed out again
singing is important
singing is strength
and singing is far bigger than me
I have to remember that
next time my brain tells me
I ought to silence my soul's most prevalent strength
'May 25th' by Ravyn LaRue
I stayed up all night tweeting
#YesAllWomen
and I feel drained and dead
my vision is impaired
perhaps due to all the crying
so I'll take a nap
draw up Darius' birthday card
journal
write him a poem
and write more about the tragedy
but I stayed up all night tweeting
because it was
the most important thing
I've spent my time on in ages
#YesAllWomen
and I feel drained and dead
my vision is impaired
perhaps due to all the crying
so I'll take a nap
draw up Darius' birthday card
journal
write him a poem
and write more about the tragedy
but I stayed up all night tweeting
because it was
the most important thing
I've spent my time on in ages
'Ancient Again' by Ravyn LaRue
She was her usual
waddling up the stairs
strides as crooked as the rest of her
ambling with coffeecup in hand
swishing and swooshing the contents
though lightly enough so as it wouldn't spill
She sat down
as if she would reside there forever
took out a pen and ledger
and feigned such intensity
looking down at the paper
so as her face would not be noticed
every so often
she crinkled her papers
and stole a sip from her mug of ice
She is such a shy thing
and it's unfortunate considering
how much she seems to have to say
and how loudly she tends to talk
when she makes herself believe
no one is there to listen
but they are there to hear her
and that scares her
to the point where she has become ancient again
waddling up the stairs
strides as crooked as the rest of her
ambling with coffeecup in hand
swishing and swooshing the contents
though lightly enough so as it wouldn't spill
She sat down
as if she would reside there forever
took out a pen and ledger
and feigned such intensity
looking down at the paper
so as her face would not be noticed
every so often
she crinkled her papers
and stole a sip from her mug of ice
She is such a shy thing
and it's unfortunate considering
how much she seems to have to say
and how loudly she tends to talk
when she makes herself believe
no one is there to listen
but they are there to hear her
and that scares her
to the point where she has become ancient again
'fatgirl dancing' by Ravyn LaRue
I am fatgirl dancing
dancing for she knows
the world would rather she stay still
though that is not acceptable
I will dance in the fountains
of the hopeful home that betrayed me
and I will dance any and everywhere else
since defying laws of gravity
and flying through the atmosphere
are powerful things that scare the world
and on its own it makes me happy
I am fatgirl dancing
dancing for she knows
the world would rather she stay still
though that is not acceptable
I will dance in the fountains
of the hopeful home that betrayed me
and I will dance any and everywhere else
since defying laws of gravity
and flying through the atmosphere
are powerful things that scare the world
and on its own it makes me happy
I am fatgirl dancing
'Cristal 1.6 mm' by Ravyn LaRue
I wrote an amalgamated five page letter
to someone I was once close to giving my whole heart to
confiding in him about everything difficult
all occurrences of the last few months
but the last time I did that sort of thing
I burned a bridge I wanted nothing more than to repair
and so I shall not send this letter
though I penned it in pretty pink ink
on lovely skeletal stationary
and dotted it with childhood heart stickers
lest it seem so sad
I cannot afford losing anyone
but I'm pushing people away without actively intending to
but I'm sure there's some sort of poisonous aftertaste
which migrated to my heart, heaving
"If no one is beside you there'll be no one to break me again"
to someone I was once close to giving my whole heart to
confiding in him about everything difficult
all occurrences of the last few months
but the last time I did that sort of thing
I burned a bridge I wanted nothing more than to repair
and so I shall not send this letter
though I penned it in pretty pink ink
on lovely skeletal stationary
and dotted it with childhood heart stickers
lest it seem so sad
I cannot afford losing anyone
but I'm pushing people away without actively intending to
but I'm sure there's some sort of poisonous aftertaste
which migrated to my heart, heaving
"If no one is beside you there'll be no one to break me again"
'Monstrosity' by Ravyn LaRue
I've been very much into
allegories comparing myself to scary things
witches and corpses and dragons and wendigos
and anything that could rip apart those who try to harm her
but it's because I certainly am not that
I'd rather dance and sing and put flowers in my hair
and have absolutely nothing of the tearing apart
but things keep occurring that break me
and when I am broken I forget my rainbows
and only want blood
because I have never been more scared
and I still am so fearful
it is a coping mechanism, obviously
to wear an armor and pretend you are able to scare off evil
if only you choose to bear your teeth
life isn't like that
but when I panic and cry
and it's applicable to sing 'Masters of War'
I want to tear out the throats of whomever paints themselves as kind
while they terrorize and burn down their own villages
because don't want my future baby dragons
harmless and clawless
to be broken like be
moments after they learned to fly
just because some rich king's son
sees them as homely
I feel the need to preemptively protect them
even though I am de-clawed
and my voice is only barely growing back
and in the real world I cannot turn into some great monstrosity
I am merely me
yet they're armed to the teeth against me nevertheless
allegories comparing myself to scary things
witches and corpses and dragons and wendigos
and anything that could rip apart those who try to harm her
but it's because I certainly am not that
I'd rather dance and sing and put flowers in my hair
and have absolutely nothing of the tearing apart
but things keep occurring that break me
and when I am broken I forget my rainbows
and only want blood
because I have never been more scared
and I still am so fearful
it is a coping mechanism, obviously
to wear an armor and pretend you are able to scare off evil
if only you choose to bear your teeth
life isn't like that
but when I panic and cry
and it's applicable to sing 'Masters of War'
I want to tear out the throats of whomever paints themselves as kind
while they terrorize and burn down their own villages
because don't want my future baby dragons
harmless and clawless
to be broken like be
moments after they learned to fly
just because some rich king's son
sees them as homely
I feel the need to preemptively protect them
even though I am de-clawed
and my voice is only barely growing back
and in the real world I cannot turn into some great monstrosity
I am merely me
yet they're armed to the teeth against me nevertheless
'I don't often write about sex, but-' by Ravyn LaRue
he said she was mean
for not faking an orgasm
what's wrong with him?
for not faking an orgasm
what's wrong with him?
'And I Have Been Delivered From The Stuuuuuuuuff!' by Ravyn LaRue
Sometimes there's no better feeling
than hitting the high notes of your favorite broadway power ballads
while you're singing at 3:00 AM in the shower
than hitting the high notes of your favorite broadway power ballads
while you're singing at 3:00 AM in the shower
'Kids Can Be Cruel But You Never Were' by Ravyn LaRue
I cannot believe
how unkind I was as a child
in dance class I was jealous of a girl
with pretty red hair and freckles
and Simon I tried to control
and I tried to scare Jessica
(I still find myself doing so)
and I feel awful for being such an awful person
but here's the deal
adults would so often come up to me
and tell me I was the kindest child they knew
it makes no sense
I see my past self as awful
but as I age and have developed a voice of my own
adults reminisce saying
"Oh remember when you were a child-
you were so nice back then!"
how unkind I was as a child
in dance class I was jealous of a girl
with pretty red hair and freckles
and Simon I tried to control
and I tried to scare Jessica
(I still find myself doing so)
and I feel awful for being such an awful person
but here's the deal
adults would so often come up to me
and tell me I was the kindest child they knew
it makes no sense
I see my past self as awful
but as I age and have developed a voice of my own
adults reminisce saying
"Oh remember when you were a child-
you were so nice back then!"
Sunday, June 1, 2014
'And All You'll Have Are Bruised Knuckles' by Ravyn LaRue
My brother wants me to learn Martial Arts with him
he says I can do it-
"It's about what you're willing to do to someone
It's an art form, about honor and loyalty
It's about being centered
It's about having power over your mind
It's just like everything else Ms.Hart taught us
It's about knowing yourself-"
And although I should be hung up on questions of strength
I'm most worried about not knowing myself
because I do not feel one with my soul as I used to be
I don't know if I know myself anymore
She and I drifted apart
and that scares me more
than any potential enemy blackening my eyes
he says I can do it-
"It's about what you're willing to do to someone
It's an art form, about honor and loyalty
It's about being centered
It's about having power over your mind
It's just like everything else Ms.Hart taught us
It's about knowing yourself-"
And although I should be hung up on questions of strength
I'm most worried about not knowing myself
because I do not feel one with my soul as I used to be
I don't know if I know myself anymore
She and I drifted apart
and that scares me more
than any potential enemy blackening my eyes
'Rainy' by Ravyn LaRue
Today I saw my friend Renee
working at Doc Popcorn
and though it took a moment
for her to see me
when she did
she scaled the gate
distancing the cashiers from the customers
and ran up and hugged me
for at least five minutes
and it shocked me dearly
since it’s been ages
since someone so rejoiced
due to my mere existence
she asked me of my future
to which I just shrugged
though for hers I cheered
Filmmaking in Florida
and as I toddled off to buy flowers for my hair
I giddily squee-d
since she is such a darling friend
especially to think I alone am worth such doting
she’s the one who deserves the fanfare
working at Doc Popcorn
and though it took a moment
for her to see me
when she did
she scaled the gate
distancing the cashiers from the customers
and ran up and hugged me
for at least five minutes
and it shocked me dearly
since it’s been ages
since someone so rejoiced
due to my mere existence
she asked me of my future
to which I just shrugged
though for hers I cheered
Filmmaking in Florida
and as I toddled off to buy flowers for my hair
I giddily squee-d
since she is such a darling friend
especially to think I alone am worth such doting
she’s the one who deserves the fanfare
'You Have To Believe There Is Reason For Hope' by Ravyn LaRue
What I want out of life
is to be kind enough
to make up for all the unkindness
I’ve witnessed and felt
and I want to gather up all the children and say
“My dear ones,
you do not have to be like this
please don’t imitate awfulness
because as meek as kindness and softness may seem
it’s the strongest thing I could ever ask of you
and I love you
and I don’t want you to hurt one another
though as hard as we may try
humans always hurt each other
but please, my darlings,
just try your very best
because I believe in you
and I love you all so much”
Perhaps that means I should be a teacher
since as hard as I may try
I’m not as good as writing children’s books
but as Fredrick Douglass said,
"It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.”
And it means the world
to many others as well as I
that one should be the person they needed
when they weren’t strong and were struggling
and I’ve been lucky enough to have heroes
who’s belief in me kept me going
and I assure you
if you are reading these words
I believe in you
and I love you
I promise
is to be kind enough
to make up for all the unkindness
I’ve witnessed and felt
and I want to gather up all the children and say
“My dear ones,
you do not have to be like this
please don’t imitate awfulness
because as meek as kindness and softness may seem
it’s the strongest thing I could ever ask of you
and I love you
and I don’t want you to hurt one another
though as hard as we may try
humans always hurt each other
but please, my darlings,
just try your very best
because I believe in you
and I love you all so much”
Perhaps that means I should be a teacher
since as hard as I may try
I’m not as good as writing children’s books
but as Fredrick Douglass said,
"It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.”
And it means the world
to many others as well as I
that one should be the person they needed
when they weren’t strong and were struggling
and I’ve been lucky enough to have heroes
who’s belief in me kept me going
and I assure you
if you are reading these words
I believe in you
and I love you
I promise
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
'Sleepover Sessions' by Ravyn LaRue
Sometimes I feel like I’m being dumb
whenever I record myself crying
and put it on the internet
because it will prove to anyone
that I am an unstable and sensitive beast
who might cry on a dime
and they say people like that
cannot survive in the real world
so if you are one of them
hide your tears and fake it until you make it-
But I think there is something to be said
that I can record myself
speaking or singing
for no one else’s edification but my own
and I will cry
and do my best to make eye contact with a camera lens
because for me this is the truth
and I know it might be naive and unwise
but I think there is some bravery in raw emotion
and I would rather let my guard down
and prance into battle naked and die
than spend an eternity safe behind an armor
wherein no one can pierce my heart
though they cannot cradle nor hold onto it neither
I’m in the process of uploading another crying video
in which I know I sound sensitive and selfish
but I believe that being too soft
is better than the alternative
since I have been struck
and I now know what it feels like
so by letting the world see me cry and kvetch
my hope is that someone else
who cries whenever they speak of what hurts them
decides not to back down from battle
due to the fear of letting others see their tears
because rawness and truth
are stronger than all the bombastic bigotry in the world
and in two minutes
I will add my tears to the universal sea of humanity
whenever I record myself crying
and put it on the internet
because it will prove to anyone
that I am an unstable and sensitive beast
who might cry on a dime
and they say people like that
cannot survive in the real world
so if you are one of them
hide your tears and fake it until you make it-
But I think there is something to be said
that I can record myself
speaking or singing
for no one else’s edification but my own
and I will cry
and do my best to make eye contact with a camera lens
because for me this is the truth
and I know it might be naive and unwise
but I think there is some bravery in raw emotion
and I would rather let my guard down
and prance into battle naked and die
than spend an eternity safe behind an armor
wherein no one can pierce my heart
though they cannot cradle nor hold onto it neither
I’m in the process of uploading another crying video
in which I know I sound sensitive and selfish
but I believe that being too soft
is better than the alternative
since I have been struck
and I now know what it feels like
so by letting the world see me cry and kvetch
my hope is that someone else
who cries whenever they speak of what hurts them
decides not to back down from battle
due to the fear of letting others see their tears
because rawness and truth
are stronger than all the bombastic bigotry in the world
and in two minutes
I will add my tears to the universal sea of humanity
Friday, May 16, 2014
'I still have a tattoo to get that says: I'm Living In The Moment' by Ravyn LaRue
I've found myself
living more in the present moment
in a simplistic way
since when people ask me
what my favorite song is
what my favorite word is
what my favorite poem is
what my favorite food is
what my favorite show is
and all that
instead of fretting
scared that someone will etch my answers in stone
I just talk about right now
so my favorite song is 'Midnight Radio'
so my favorite word is Catharsis
so my favorite poem is 'Dear Ursula'
so my favorite food is Mizithra Cheese and Browned Butter
so my favorite show is 'Demo Reel'
and this may seem small
and it is
yet it's progress
in living in the now
and considering how much I longed for the past
for a while
and a little bit still
this is helpful
because I cannot live forever with old answers to current questions
living more in the present moment
in a simplistic way
since when people ask me
what my favorite song is
what my favorite word is
what my favorite poem is
what my favorite food is
what my favorite show is
and all that
instead of fretting
scared that someone will etch my answers in stone
I just talk about right now
so my favorite song is 'Midnight Radio'
so my favorite word is Catharsis
so my favorite poem is 'Dear Ursula'
so my favorite food is Mizithra Cheese and Browned Butter
so my favorite show is 'Demo Reel'
and this may seem small
and it is
yet it's progress
in living in the now
and considering how much I longed for the past
for a while
and a little bit still
this is helpful
because I cannot live forever with old answers to current questions
'Worst Sound In The World' by Ravyn LaRue
there's a post
on tumblr (of course)
that says something to the effect of
"The Worst Sound In The World
Is The Crack In Someone's Voice
Before They Begin To Cry"
and i don't get that
to me it's beautiful
and i don't mean it in an edgy teenage
lets romanticize sadness
sort of way
but i feel like that moment
holds so much truth and humanity
when someone lets go
and allows themselves to feel
that there's no way i could ever proclaim it bad
on tumblr (of course)
that says something to the effect of
"The Worst Sound In The World
Is The Crack In Someone's Voice
Before They Begin To Cry"
and i don't get that
to me it's beautiful
and i don't mean it in an edgy teenage
lets romanticize sadness
sort of way
but i feel like that moment
holds so much truth and humanity
when someone lets go
and allows themselves to feel
that there's no way i could ever proclaim it bad
'Green Dot Day at MCTC' by Ravyn LaRue
I was going to write a poem about this
but I forgot
because one guy doing bad things
sometimes sadly erases fleets of good guys
making things better
but this is what I had hoped Columbia would be
it claimed diversity but it didn't hold up its end of the bargain
you, on the other hand,
claimed nothing yet gave the world
when I can call people my friends
and they speak aloud in front of vast audiences
opening up about personal tragedies
with the conclusion of
"So I know what it's like, so if you need me I'm here-"
that means more to me than any dumb-ass brochure slogans
as much as I may yearn for summer
I promise I'll miss you
since you have a heart
and this proved it
my signs said
"No One Deserves To Live In Fear"
and
"Love Is Stronger"
and it means the world
to attend college
with people who believe the same
but I forgot
because one guy doing bad things
sometimes sadly erases fleets of good guys
making things better
but this is what I had hoped Columbia would be
it claimed diversity but it didn't hold up its end of the bargain
you, on the other hand,
claimed nothing yet gave the world
when I can call people my friends
and they speak aloud in front of vast audiences
opening up about personal tragedies
with the conclusion of
"So I know what it's like, so if you need me I'm here-"
that means more to me than any dumb-ass brochure slogans
as much as I may yearn for summer
I promise I'll miss you
since you have a heart
and this proved it
my signs said
"No One Deserves To Live In Fear"
and
"Love Is Stronger"
and it means the world
to attend college
with people who believe the same
'YouTube Comments Found Poetry 1' by Ravyn LaRue
She's married to an Author,
I'm jealous i would fuck up so bad lol
I'm glad I'm not the only one who opens the curtains wide when I'm shirtless
She is just so beautiful.
I could listen to her sing all night.
I'm going to sleep happy
fuck your lack of eyebrows, fucking gross.
I didn't even noticed. Maybe because it isn't at all important.
Part of the thing with her overall appearance is as a challenge to Western ideas about what's "beautiful".
Lovely, so lovely *smiles bright*
I am in love! She is something to aspire to.
I'm jealous i would fuck up so bad lol
I'm glad I'm not the only one who opens the curtains wide when I'm shirtless
She is just so beautiful.
I could listen to her sing all night.
I'm going to sleep happy
fuck your lack of eyebrows, fucking gross.
I didn't even noticed. Maybe because it isn't at all important.
Part of the thing with her overall appearance is as a challenge to Western ideas about what's "beautiful".
Lovely, so lovely *smiles bright*
I am in love! She is something to aspire to.
'That’s Just How Daddies Are' by Ravyn LaRue
I never used to think about this
but it really worries me
that out of the two guys I’ve properly dated
I didn’t really like either of them
and I’m scared that one day
I’ll end up a mother
apologetic for my child’s father’s actions
just as my mother was and is
“Oh, honey,
That’s just how Daddies are
they never think you’re smart enough
and want you to settle down with a nice guy by sixteen
and then you’ll date bad people
who make you feel like nothing
that’s just the what makes the world go round, dear"
but it really worries me
that out of the two guys I’ve properly dated
I didn’t really like either of them
and I’m scared that one day
I’ll end up a mother
apologetic for my child’s father’s actions
just as my mother was and is
“Oh, honey,
That’s just how Daddies are
they never think you’re smart enough
and want you to settle down with a nice guy by sixteen
and then you’ll date bad people
who make you feel like nothing
that’s just the what makes the world go round, dear"
Thursday, May 15, 2014
'Singing Badly Is Better Than Not Singing At All' by Ravyn LaRue
I was writing midnight poems in my head
thinking about how an artist I admire
had been ranting on twitter about how
his work isn’t good enough
and that he isn’t as proud of himself as others are of him
and I wondered if this was due
to his dealings with depression
since I haven’t felt truly proud of anything I’ve made
since about November, hence about seven months
likely due to my own depression
yet I keep on with my art, not because I think it’s good
but because I feel there isn’t any alternative
if I were to quit doing what I do, I would feel less human
so then I began thinking
about how I want to be an Ed Wood
I want to press on regardless of what I or anyone else thinks of my art
not because I’m caught up on quality
since, believe me, I don’t currently care for my own stuff
but because that is how I need to exist
and the art I need to make
is what I need to put my energy into
since if I were to channel my energy elsewhere
who knows what would happen
and I, at least, cannot afford to find out
thinking about how an artist I admire
had been ranting on twitter about how
his work isn’t good enough
and that he isn’t as proud of himself as others are of him
and I wondered if this was due
to his dealings with depression
since I haven’t felt truly proud of anything I’ve made
since about November, hence about seven months
likely due to my own depression
yet I keep on with my art, not because I think it’s good
but because I feel there isn’t any alternative
if I were to quit doing what I do, I would feel less human
so then I began thinking
about how I want to be an Ed Wood
I want to press on regardless of what I or anyone else thinks of my art
not because I’m caught up on quality
since, believe me, I don’t currently care for my own stuff
but because that is how I need to exist
and the art I need to make
is what I need to put my energy into
since if I were to channel my energy elsewhere
who knows what would happen
and I, at least, cannot afford to find out
Consciousness Raising and Invoking Role Models
(I'm uploading my Women's Studies homework, which is, of course addressed to the professor who'll be grading it, because of personal reasons...)
Consciousness Raising: A Radical Weapon by Kathie Sarachild:
Summary: In this article a group of women gathered together in order to simply talk about their stories and see whether these things happened to women in general or just themselves. What they discovered is that, sadly the negative things including being insecure about their bodies, feeling compelled to play dumb around boys, were universal for women. They went on to begin asking questions, such as who benefits from women feeling insecure and playing dumb. They decided to use their own personal life as research to become intellectually armed against the oppression of patriarchy, since knowing and recognizing our own, and each other’s struggles and fighting against that oppression, is the sort of activism that helps change the world for the better little by little.
Response: I began writing about this article, on Tuesday with my response focussing on the mere validation that the idea of personal storytelling as activism brought me in regards to combatting the selfishness I feel when I kvetch about difficulties in my life, but since then something unexpected yet related to this happened to me. I write poetry as a way to have emotional catharsis and in hopes of understanding things that plague my mind with uneasy questions, and subsequently I’ve written a multitude of poetry about my experiences last semester. Last semester I went to Columbia College Chicago for writing with a minor in acting, yet things changed entirely when I wound up having a bigoted acting teacher. She said and did a multitude of things I found tremendously homophobic, misogynistic, transphobic, racist, slut-shaming and body negative, though I was in the minority in terms of taking issue. I was the one of two openly queer kids in the class, and since the other individual said he wasn’t offended since he was used to it (which made me incredibly sad) everyone in authority I told about her bigotry towards queer people brushed me off as being overly sensitive, and likely just making things up. I began to doubt my own feelings, since I had major depression at the time and figured perhaps I was as crazy as those I told were making me out to be. Since this was, and still is, a really confusing thing to me, that I can be made to feel so broken by someone who held the same role as the person who made me feel the best (see next response) and to have my emotions pegged as invalid by people I once trusted, I wound up writing lots of poetry about the situation. Recently, since I posted my poems on my blog, someone who’s currently an acting student as Columbia sent me a message asking if my poetry about the bigoted teacher was referring to [jerk Teacher's name], which it was, and if so, I’m not the only one who feels/felt oppressed by her, since a multitude of her friends all feel the same. She said they were so hurt that they’ve banded together to inform authorities and hopefully get her fired, or at least told off for her remarks and actions. At first I was relieved that I wasn’t alone in feeling hurt, but immediately after that honeymoon stage, I realized how awful it is that it isn’t just me- that other people feel as degraded as I once did. I commended them for being braver than I and asked the person who messaged me to let them know that I support them entirely, and if there’s anything I can do to help their effort, I’ll do it. What this proves to me is that storytelling as activism isn’t just a bunch of pretty words and rose-tinted goggle beliefs. If I hadn’t written about my struggles then they wouldn’t have been read by like-minded individuals, and I wouldn’t have realized that I truly am not alone in these feelings.
style no. 1 by Sonia Sanchez:
Summary: This poem is about a woman who invokes the strength of a family friend named Mama Dixon in order to call out a sexual harasser who flashed her. She cusses at him and yells at him in a way Mama Dixon would. Subsequently she used one of her heroes as inspiration to take action and not be silent when someone harasses her.
Response: When I first read this poem, I thought it was an interesting poem, but I didn’t think much of it, aside from the fact that the speaker was definitely far braver than I would’ve been, but then, with the combination of re-reading it and having our discussion in class, I realized the core of what I should get out of this. I almost teared up in class since I realized all at once who my Mama Dixon had to be: my former teacher, Ms.Hart. Ms.Hart was my acting/singing teacher and my hero who taught me to value myself and gain the confidence I needed to thrive as a Musical Theatre major in high school. Sadly, over the last year, I’ve reverted to the self I was before I knew her- the sort of demure, un-assuming, catholic girl who barely said ten words per day, and when she did, those words were all, “sorry”. I can’t help but be perturbed with myself for allowing the difficulties I faced to scare me back into my shell. Subsequently, especially since Ms.Hart isn’t in my day-to-day life any more, I think I have to conjure her as my Mama Dixon so I can become the self I want to be, and stop being as fearful as the sorry self I’ve reverted to.
Combined Response: I know this is unorthodox, but I wanted to do a combined response with the first and second articles since my reactions to both are linked to one another: I think I need to conjure Ms.Hart’s strength in my mind as I continue to push back against my bigoted former teacher. I may have to return to Chicago to testify, and I cannot allow my fear to overcome me, especially since I doubt her actions would have hurt me as much if I hadn’t realized how striking the contrast is of an acting teacher who truly wants you to thrive exactly as you are, as opposed to only wanting the pretty, white, straight, gender-conforming individuals to achieve great things. Ms.Hart would be as heartbroken as I if she knew someone with the same authority as her was causing people who simply want to make art as best as they can, to feel like art no longer accepts them. There’s a lyric from an Amanda Palmer song that I clung to at the time that said, “And I am tired of explaining / And of seeing so much hating / In the very same safe havens / Where I used to just see helping.” I can use the fact that my hero would be so appalled and wouldn’t stand for what she and I both find as our safe-space turned into something that’s furthest thing from safe to help give me courage to keep fighting, even though I was scared enough to run away. I can fight from afar from continuing on with storytelling as my way of activism. I’ve been wanting to write a feminist memoir (for lack of a better word) about the entirety of last semester since even having attended stereotypically bigoted catholic school, I’ve never known anywhere where bigotry was so thick in the atmosphere as Columbia. Know with recent developments, I think my first goal should be writing about my bigoted teacher, since in that way, I am not the only one, subsequently I’m not stifled by perceived selfishness in my kvetching.
This class also gave me courage, and I am truly thankful! I may venerate Ms.Hart, but I have an arsenal of feminist role models who give me strength, and you (Sharon) are among them, and I’m grateful for this class. I really love Women’s Studies and I hope to take your Women and Empowerment class in the Spring, but at the very least, I want to join the Feminists Organizing for Change club on campus. My friends have been joking lately that I’ve turned into a roaring whining Feminist, and as strange as that may seem, I wear that alleged insult as a badge of honor. If I had been a roaring whining feminist last semester, I may have help make positive changes happen, but my opportunity hasn’t ended, and this class motivates me to never stop fighting for feminism, even if that simply means posting my silly little poems online. Thank you very much, Sharon, you’ve helped me greatly!
Consciousness Raising: A Radical Weapon by Kathie Sarachild:
Summary: In this article a group of women gathered together in order to simply talk about their stories and see whether these things happened to women in general or just themselves. What they discovered is that, sadly the negative things including being insecure about their bodies, feeling compelled to play dumb around boys, were universal for women. They went on to begin asking questions, such as who benefits from women feeling insecure and playing dumb. They decided to use their own personal life as research to become intellectually armed against the oppression of patriarchy, since knowing and recognizing our own, and each other’s struggles and fighting against that oppression, is the sort of activism that helps change the world for the better little by little.
Response: I began writing about this article, on Tuesday with my response focussing on the mere validation that the idea of personal storytelling as activism brought me in regards to combatting the selfishness I feel when I kvetch about difficulties in my life, but since then something unexpected yet related to this happened to me. I write poetry as a way to have emotional catharsis and in hopes of understanding things that plague my mind with uneasy questions, and subsequently I’ve written a multitude of poetry about my experiences last semester. Last semester I went to Columbia College Chicago for writing with a minor in acting, yet things changed entirely when I wound up having a bigoted acting teacher. She said and did a multitude of things I found tremendously homophobic, misogynistic, transphobic, racist, slut-shaming and body negative, though I was in the minority in terms of taking issue. I was the one of two openly queer kids in the class, and since the other individual said he wasn’t offended since he was used to it (which made me incredibly sad) everyone in authority I told about her bigotry towards queer people brushed me off as being overly sensitive, and likely just making things up. I began to doubt my own feelings, since I had major depression at the time and figured perhaps I was as crazy as those I told were making me out to be. Since this was, and still is, a really confusing thing to me, that I can be made to feel so broken by someone who held the same role as the person who made me feel the best (see next response) and to have my emotions pegged as invalid by people I once trusted, I wound up writing lots of poetry about the situation. Recently, since I posted my poems on my blog, someone who’s currently an acting student as Columbia sent me a message asking if my poetry about the bigoted teacher was referring to [jerk Teacher's name], which it was, and if so, I’m not the only one who feels/felt oppressed by her, since a multitude of her friends all feel the same. She said they were so hurt that they’ve banded together to inform authorities and hopefully get her fired, or at least told off for her remarks and actions. At first I was relieved that I wasn’t alone in feeling hurt, but immediately after that honeymoon stage, I realized how awful it is that it isn’t just me- that other people feel as degraded as I once did. I commended them for being braver than I and asked the person who messaged me to let them know that I support them entirely, and if there’s anything I can do to help their effort, I’ll do it. What this proves to me is that storytelling as activism isn’t just a bunch of pretty words and rose-tinted goggle beliefs. If I hadn’t written about my struggles then they wouldn’t have been read by like-minded individuals, and I wouldn’t have realized that I truly am not alone in these feelings.
style no. 1 by Sonia Sanchez:
Summary: This poem is about a woman who invokes the strength of a family friend named Mama Dixon in order to call out a sexual harasser who flashed her. She cusses at him and yells at him in a way Mama Dixon would. Subsequently she used one of her heroes as inspiration to take action and not be silent when someone harasses her.
Response: When I first read this poem, I thought it was an interesting poem, but I didn’t think much of it, aside from the fact that the speaker was definitely far braver than I would’ve been, but then, with the combination of re-reading it and having our discussion in class, I realized the core of what I should get out of this. I almost teared up in class since I realized all at once who my Mama Dixon had to be: my former teacher, Ms.Hart. Ms.Hart was my acting/singing teacher and my hero who taught me to value myself and gain the confidence I needed to thrive as a Musical Theatre major in high school. Sadly, over the last year, I’ve reverted to the self I was before I knew her- the sort of demure, un-assuming, catholic girl who barely said ten words per day, and when she did, those words were all, “sorry”. I can’t help but be perturbed with myself for allowing the difficulties I faced to scare me back into my shell. Subsequently, especially since Ms.Hart isn’t in my day-to-day life any more, I think I have to conjure her as my Mama Dixon so I can become the self I want to be, and stop being as fearful as the sorry self I’ve reverted to.
Combined Response: I know this is unorthodox, but I wanted to do a combined response with the first and second articles since my reactions to both are linked to one another: I think I need to conjure Ms.Hart’s strength in my mind as I continue to push back against my bigoted former teacher. I may have to return to Chicago to testify, and I cannot allow my fear to overcome me, especially since I doubt her actions would have hurt me as much if I hadn’t realized how striking the contrast is of an acting teacher who truly wants you to thrive exactly as you are, as opposed to only wanting the pretty, white, straight, gender-conforming individuals to achieve great things. Ms.Hart would be as heartbroken as I if she knew someone with the same authority as her was causing people who simply want to make art as best as they can, to feel like art no longer accepts them. There’s a lyric from an Amanda Palmer song that I clung to at the time that said, “And I am tired of explaining / And of seeing so much hating / In the very same safe havens / Where I used to just see helping.” I can use the fact that my hero would be so appalled and wouldn’t stand for what she and I both find as our safe-space turned into something that’s furthest thing from safe to help give me courage to keep fighting, even though I was scared enough to run away. I can fight from afar from continuing on with storytelling as my way of activism. I’ve been wanting to write a feminist memoir (for lack of a better word) about the entirety of last semester since even having attended stereotypically bigoted catholic school, I’ve never known anywhere where bigotry was so thick in the atmosphere as Columbia. Know with recent developments, I think my first goal should be writing about my bigoted teacher, since in that way, I am not the only one, subsequently I’m not stifled by perceived selfishness in my kvetching.
This class also gave me courage, and I am truly thankful! I may venerate Ms.Hart, but I have an arsenal of feminist role models who give me strength, and you (Sharon) are among them, and I’m grateful for this class. I really love Women’s Studies and I hope to take your Women and Empowerment class in the Spring, but at the very least, I want to join the Feminists Organizing for Change club on campus. My friends have been joking lately that I’ve turned into a roaring whining Feminist, and as strange as that may seem, I wear that alleged insult as a badge of honor. If I had been a roaring whining feminist last semester, I may have help make positive changes happen, but my opportunity hasn’t ended, and this class motivates me to never stop fighting for feminism, even if that simply means posting my silly little poems online. Thank you very much, Sharon, you’ve helped me greatly!
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Storytelling Is Activism
Today in my women's studies class we talked about the importance of consciousness building, which is done by making each other aware of our experiences through our stories in order to keep from hiding our difficulties and human-ness. The point of this is to know for ourselves and to make sure others realize that we are not alone in our plights and journeys, particularly in regards to marginalized groups. My professor mentioned how our culture has sadly veered away from personal storytelling in favor of allowing the power of storytelling to be controlled by the higher-ups in media, subsequently believing hollywood portrayals of difficulties over our own experiences and stories, and over the stories of our friends. That's really problematic since, regardless of how hard the creative people involved may try, big media companies always have at least a tiny sliver of an agenda, even if that agenda is simply, "it'd be nice if we could make some money off of this thing, lest we starve" subsequently there is more of a push to be appealing than telling the truth.
Not only that, but due to the people in power who do want to actively subdue people whose voices have historically been more stifled, there is often a pushback when personal stories of marginalized peoples are told. The oppressors often say things to the effect of, "Why are you whining? There are children in third world countries starving to death and you're crying about microaggressions and misrepresentation like a big baby..." This isn't the right approach, this is simply a way to further silence the stories of people who aren't at the top of the media pyramid.
This struck me so strongly, since I've been struggling for ages with going back and forth between wanting to tell my own story of my survival semester difficulties, and feeling like I'm some big whiner who doesn't have the right to complain about my struggles since I wasn't left for dead in an abandoned ditch (or whatever). What this specific class today did was make me feel empowered, so that whenever I get those feelings, remember, no matter how minute the stories may seem, storytelling is activism!
Going off of that, it seemed strange to me that, upon being asked if I consider myself an activist, I was the only person in my class to raise my hand. I've always felt like one to some degree- Lisa Simpson was one of my fictional childhood heroes, before I even knew what the words meant, I was belting along with 'HAIR', I remember holding Peace signs on street-corners on election night in 2004. It didn't seem like a groundbreaking, soul-searching question. My professor mentioned that everyone in the class should consider themselves such, or at least had good reason to, considering they were actively taking a class meant to help us better understand other people's struggles.
My professor mentioned how much she appreciates our written responses to such wide-reaching issues as sexual harassment, ablism, domestic violence, body image, religion as enrichment or interference, etc... She said many of the stories we tell, she never would've heard from anyone but us, since many stories we write are so unlike what's portrayed in widespread media. I think that's why I need to keep on with my feminist memoir project- I haven't the slightest idea as to what will become of it, but it's worth being put into the public sphere, since it might be of use to someone else knowing they are not alone in this.
While I'm on the subject, I am really happy and thankful for the people who have put their stories out into the world. They help me on a daily basis to know I'm not alone in my difficulties. Sometimes that solidarity comes in the form of a song, and sometimes in the form of a poem on a friend's blog. Other times it's fictionalized, yet no less personal, for instance two of the things that helped me through my most difficult times were stories of trying to find love in a world full of cruelty, and using art to help you until then, even if everyone else thinks your art sucks ('Demo Reel' and 'Hedwig and the Angry Inch').
Storytelling saves lives- I recently came upon the song 'Ukulele Anthem', which has the lyric, "You may think my approach is simple-minded and naïve- like if you want to change the world then why not quit and feed the hungry, but people for millennia have needed music to survive, and that is why I promised John that I will not feel guilty".
That's why I need to tell my story- it will help someone somehow, even if that someone is simply me!
Not only that, but due to the people in power who do want to actively subdue people whose voices have historically been more stifled, there is often a pushback when personal stories of marginalized peoples are told. The oppressors often say things to the effect of, "Why are you whining? There are children in third world countries starving to death and you're crying about microaggressions and misrepresentation like a big baby..." This isn't the right approach, this is simply a way to further silence the stories of people who aren't at the top of the media pyramid.
This struck me so strongly, since I've been struggling for ages with going back and forth between wanting to tell my own story of my survival semester difficulties, and feeling like I'm some big whiner who doesn't have the right to complain about my struggles since I wasn't left for dead in an abandoned ditch (or whatever). What this specific class today did was make me feel empowered, so that whenever I get those feelings, remember, no matter how minute the stories may seem, storytelling is activism!
Going off of that, it seemed strange to me that, upon being asked if I consider myself an activist, I was the only person in my class to raise my hand. I've always felt like one to some degree- Lisa Simpson was one of my fictional childhood heroes, before I even knew what the words meant, I was belting along with 'HAIR', I remember holding Peace signs on street-corners on election night in 2004. It didn't seem like a groundbreaking, soul-searching question. My professor mentioned that everyone in the class should consider themselves such, or at least had good reason to, considering they were actively taking a class meant to help us better understand other people's struggles.
My professor mentioned how much she appreciates our written responses to such wide-reaching issues as sexual harassment, ablism, domestic violence, body image, religion as enrichment or interference, etc... She said many of the stories we tell, she never would've heard from anyone but us, since many stories we write are so unlike what's portrayed in widespread media. I think that's why I need to keep on with my feminist memoir project- I haven't the slightest idea as to what will become of it, but it's worth being put into the public sphere, since it might be of use to someone else knowing they are not alone in this.
While I'm on the subject, I am really happy and thankful for the people who have put their stories out into the world. They help me on a daily basis to know I'm not alone in my difficulties. Sometimes that solidarity comes in the form of a song, and sometimes in the form of a poem on a friend's blog. Other times it's fictionalized, yet no less personal, for instance two of the things that helped me through my most difficult times were stories of trying to find love in a world full of cruelty, and using art to help you until then, even if everyone else thinks your art sucks ('Demo Reel' and 'Hedwig and the Angry Inch').
Storytelling saves lives- I recently came upon the song 'Ukulele Anthem', which has the lyric, "You may think my approach is simple-minded and naïve- like if you want to change the world then why not quit and feed the hungry, but people for millennia have needed music to survive, and that is why I promised John that I will not feel guilty".
That's why I need to tell my story- it will help someone somehow, even if that someone is simply me!
Saturday, May 10, 2014
'Woven Roots' by Ravyn LaRue
I feel like I'm living to unintentionally piss off beloveds
I see them and I know I did something wrong
though I cannot reconcile what that something must be
but I feel like a burden
I feel like there's no way I'm worth their love
since lately I don't even feel worthy of my own
but I have to press on since that's what must be done
but I feel myself writhing around in awful
balking at everything while my heart tries to stop me
but right now I'm just pretending and coasting
since I cannot dig deep enough
to find the goodness
which is likely why I push away the ones I love the most
I see them and I know I did something wrong
though I cannot reconcile what that something must be
but I feel like a burden
I feel like there's no way I'm worth their love
since lately I don't even feel worthy of my own
but I have to press on since that's what must be done
but I feel myself writhing around in awful
balking at everything while my heart tries to stop me
but right now I'm just pretending and coasting
since I cannot dig deep enough
to find the goodness
which is likely why I push away the ones I love the most
Friday, May 9, 2014
'Sunday at the Mall with Tutu' by Ravyn LaRue
Today was lovely
I spent it at the mall with my grandma
just like sweet hapless third grade summers
when tragedies seemed risque and exciting
instead of as sad as they are
since I didn't have to be an adult then
she'd buy me books and smoothies
as she did again today
and she'd let me vent
and abstain from her chatterbox ways
since she knew (and knows) I need her
she told me stories I've heard before
and corrected my grammar meticulously
and made tiny hidden comments about my weight
yet I miss the days when this was always
now everything is so heavy grim and brooding
it was nice pretending to be a kid again
and hearing her brag about me as her granddaughter
and call me Katie
a stranger told me to cherish these times
and believe me
I do
I spent it at the mall with my grandma
just like sweet hapless third grade summers
when tragedies seemed risque and exciting
instead of as sad as they are
since I didn't have to be an adult then
she'd buy me books and smoothies
as she did again today
and she'd let me vent
and abstain from her chatterbox ways
since she knew (and knows) I need her
she told me stories I've heard before
and corrected my grammar meticulously
and made tiny hidden comments about my weight
yet I miss the days when this was always
now everything is so heavy grim and brooding
it was nice pretending to be a kid again
and hearing her brag about me as her granddaughter
and call me Katie
a stranger told me to cherish these times
and believe me
I do
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Feminist Memoir Tidbit- May 8th 2014 12:56 PM
It really shouldn’t hurt to heal from something the world refuses to see as anything but my own selfish teenage angst. I hear people talk about the most horrendous things like rape and violence in the same words I use to describe my survival semester, and I cannot help but feel guilty. I reassure myself with flowery quotes about how feeling is brave and my heart’s aching is legitimate, yet I always find myself writing this same spiel of prose about how so many have it worse off than me, yet I must complain to prompt my own healing. Yet all of this does me no good. I was walking through Minneapolis this morning behind a group of cackling dancer girls who reminded me of characters I saw last semester on campus. I felt an urge to shove my ribcage in, pluck out my heart, throw it on the sidewalk beneath my feet and punt the wretched thing into an adjacent ally, since tiny things like strangers’ similarity shouldn’t be enough to get me to feel such a painful longing. I need to write this book, but I don’t feel smart enough to be an intellectual about this, and I don’t feel strong enough to turn this into anything worthy of being called art. I keep feeling like an improvement until the smallest things reduce me to a sobbing pile of mush. And the things I sought comfort in seem to be disintegrating in my mind. I am in a purgatory for pathetic souls who cannot move on. It’s nearly summer, and I’m still scared to give myself over to this project, especially since instances that others with worse backgrounds can merely shrug off still propel me back to the times when I felt my very weakest. It’s an educated guess that I probably won’t be able to do this, yet I cannot let that stop me. I’m scared, and because I’m scared, I’m resorting to the idea that I ought to scare away those who may hurt me. I cannot live like this- I still feel the same thing as I did in Chicago, where my soul sees all the wrong I do and tries to stop me, yet my autopilot for survival simply will not listen. That’s why I need to write this, even if it only makes sense to me.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
'Four' by Ravyn LaRue
Unfathomable summer sweetness
I sat like a giant child
On an enormous swing
As a beloved boy pushed
And jumped on beside me
He cuddled close in his affectionate way
And I felt secure in my soul beside him
As we glided through the air
Like overgrown children
Without any worries
As we looked upon the sun that set above us
I sat like a giant child
On an enormous swing
As a beloved boy pushed
And jumped on beside me
He cuddled close in his affectionate way
And I felt secure in my soul beside him
As we glided through the air
Like overgrown children
Without any worries
As we looked upon the sun that set above us
'Three' by Ravyn LaRue
Isolated near the edge of the park
I swung facing towards him
As he stayed in place
Dragging his shoes in the pea-rocks
I tried comforting him
Yet I knew his place in my heart kept shrinking
He said
You wouldn’t understand
Since you’re successful
I asked why
To which he said
Because you’re happy
I chose not to keep on faking a frown like his
Since after all he was right
I swung facing towards him
As he stayed in place
Dragging his shoes in the pea-rocks
I tried comforting him
Yet I knew his place in my heart kept shrinking
He said
You wouldn’t understand
Since you’re successful
I asked why
To which he said
Because you’re happy
I chose not to keep on faking a frown like his
Since after all he was right
'Hibiscus’ Message' by Ravyn LaRue
He held the carnations tight
between his index finger and thumb
And he rooted it safely
within the barrel of the gun
He returned its stem
to mineral-made gunpowder from which it once grew
In hopes of preserving
the spirit of what is true
The sergeant uprooted a flower from his gun
But the message had been sent
All our good had been done
The gunman’s soul had already been saved
Since it’s better planting flowers there
than on our own children’s graves
Hibiscus’ message
had already been preached
And their ironclad hearts
had already been reached
between his index finger and thumb
And he rooted it safely
within the barrel of the gun
He returned its stem
to mineral-made gunpowder from which it once grew
In hopes of preserving
the spirit of what is true
The sergeant uprooted a flower from his gun
But the message had been sent
All our good had been done
The gunman’s soul had already been saved
Since it’s better planting flowers there
than on our own children’s graves
Hibiscus’ message
had already been preached
And their ironclad hearts
had already been reached
'Come Hear The Music Play II' by Ravyn LaRue
I want my final days
to be a finale
I can see no other way
since no matter how sad
and how hard it may be
to get up from one’s seat and applaud
when the beauty life has
overcomes and drowns you in its aura
I will have no other choice
The music will swell
and slither it’s place into my heart
and I’ll feel compelled
to rise up all at once
and join those I love
who once were far from me onstage
and now are weaving their way
through the audience
to find me
They’ll take my hand and say
“I’m so glad you could make it”
and I’d say
“Yeah, me too”
And we’ll hug and kiss
and reminisce
and speak of all the wonderful things that happened
while the show lasted
to be a finale
I can see no other way
since no matter how sad
and how hard it may be
to get up from one’s seat and applaud
when the beauty life has
overcomes and drowns you in its aura
I will have no other choice
The music will swell
and slither it’s place into my heart
and I’ll feel compelled
to rise up all at once
and join those I love
who once were far from me onstage
and now are weaving their way
through the audience
to find me
They’ll take my hand and say
“I’m so glad you could make it”
and I’d say
“Yeah, me too”
And we’ll hug and kiss
and reminisce
and speak of all the wonderful things that happened
while the show lasted
'Came Back Wrong' by Ravyn LaRue
I feel like
for a while
I was a ‘Came Back Wrong’ plot
but I have a character arch
so I think I’m thankfully getting better
UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE I KNOW
for a while
I was a ‘Came Back Wrong’ plot
but I have a character arch
so I think I’m thankfully getting better
UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE I KNOW
'The One Who Loves You' by Ravyn LaRue
You feel like home to me
and I don’t know how to explain it
but you do
there’s a piece of my heart
that evidently got left with you
(regardless of whether or not you noticed)
I left almost all the pieces here when I left
I just didn’t realize until halfway through
but I realized
and when that happened
it hurt hard
and for some reason
(the home-ness probably)
I got this notion that you could heal me
but I need to heal myself
I know this
I’m a grown up and I cannot rely on others for my agency
yet connection is what I’m about
and connection is what you’re about
and I love you for many reasons
but the compatibility
of you and I’s soul-speak is certainly something
even if you don’t understand my poems always
and even when I’m ten steps behind you
you somehow feel like home to me
and believe me
that means the more than the entire cosmos
and I don’t know how to explain it
but you do
there’s a piece of my heart
that evidently got left with you
(regardless of whether or not you noticed)
I left almost all the pieces here when I left
I just didn’t realize until halfway through
but I realized
and when that happened
it hurt hard
and for some reason
(the home-ness probably)
I got this notion that you could heal me
but I need to heal myself
I know this
I’m a grown up and I cannot rely on others for my agency
yet connection is what I’m about
and connection is what you’re about
and I love you for many reasons
but the compatibility
of you and I’s soul-speak is certainly something
even if you don’t understand my poems always
and even when I’m ten steps behind you
you somehow feel like home to me
and believe me
that means the more than the entire cosmos
Sunday, May 4, 2014
'Dream Big' by Ravyn LaRue
I’m scared
that my only big ambitions
are venturing away
from actually being art
they say activism is art
but it seems just like
crying politics
when I do it
and whining
yes
lots of whining
and I don’t want to
forever be
a whining machine
I want to be the gliding thing I was
I want to be the cuddles into fat rolls mother
I want to be the devilish smile
I want to be the purple prose
I want to be the voice striking through
I want to be whatever it was that I was before
and I feel like I need to rip myself to shreds
in order to find the seed that got buried by hurt
because I am not growing into
someone I am proud of
and that is terrifying
that my only big ambitions
are venturing away
from actually being art
they say activism is art
but it seems just like
crying politics
when I do it
and whining
yes
lots of whining
and I don’t want to
forever be
a whining machine
I want to be the gliding thing I was
I want to be the cuddles into fat rolls mother
I want to be the devilish smile
I want to be the purple prose
I want to be the voice striking through
I want to be whatever it was that I was before
and I feel like I need to rip myself to shreds
in order to find the seed that got buried by hurt
because I am not growing into
someone I am proud of
and that is terrifying
'Oh Minnesota, You Card' by Ravyn LaRue
April 29th
and there’s a snowstorm outside
…thanks Minnesota
and there’s a snowstorm outside
…thanks Minnesota
Friday, May 2, 2014
'I Will Sing This Someday' by Ravyn LaRue
I have never written a song
I thought of as good
But I’m not a believer
Of form in Art
Art is about emotion
Art is about healing
Art is something that has saved my life
I hope it’s also saved yours
I’m making a melody up on the spot
Since I wrote these lyrics in a coffee shop
Where pop-songs play
And fingers type
Pressed to plastic keys
As the rain falls down outside
But I wanted to write a song
Or at least try it again
Because singing means lots to me
As does poetry
And it seems a really awful shame
That I find it so difficult to combine them
Yet nevertheless that’s what I’m doing
Or trying to at least
And even if I find this failure
It’s better than to have gone without
Trying again
I wish I could walk the walk
In terms of truly not worrying
About what others think
I worry still
But only on account of certain opinions
Those who I hold dear
But maybe dearness
Shouldn’t be enough even
To let someone grab hold
Of the helm thats my life
Maybe I should go on like this
Recording myself
Aimlessly
Since those who complain
May not be brave enough to try themselves
And if my musicality sucks
And if you think me an awful person
For trying again
Something like this
Well I have no answer
You’re not bad
It only means
You didn’t like it
And no art is wrong
Even if I
The artist
Determine
This is the worst piece of music ever recorded in human history
It was an attempt
And it is Art
And I’m not a believer
Of form in Art
Art is about emotion
Art is about healing
Art is something that has saved my life
I hope it’s also saved yours
I love you all
I thought of as good
But I’m not a believer
Of form in Art
Art is about emotion
Art is about healing
Art is something that has saved my life
I hope it’s also saved yours
I’m making a melody up on the spot
Since I wrote these lyrics in a coffee shop
Where pop-songs play
And fingers type
Pressed to plastic keys
As the rain falls down outside
But I wanted to write a song
Or at least try it again
Because singing means lots to me
As does poetry
And it seems a really awful shame
That I find it so difficult to combine them
Yet nevertheless that’s what I’m doing
Or trying to at least
And even if I find this failure
It’s better than to have gone without
Trying again
I wish I could walk the walk
In terms of truly not worrying
About what others think
I worry still
But only on account of certain opinions
Those who I hold dear
But maybe dearness
Shouldn’t be enough even
To let someone grab hold
Of the helm thats my life
Maybe I should go on like this
Recording myself
Aimlessly
Since those who complain
May not be brave enough to try themselves
And if my musicality sucks
And if you think me an awful person
For trying again
Something like this
Well I have no answer
You’re not bad
It only means
You didn’t like it
And no art is wrong
Even if I
The artist
Determine
This is the worst piece of music ever recorded in human history
It was an attempt
And it is Art
And I’m not a believer
Of form in Art
Art is about emotion
Art is about healing
Art is something that has saved my life
I hope it’s also saved yours
I love you all
'Don’t Be Sad Haiku' by Ravyn LaRue
I’m not letting you
be so sad still, please stop it
Please don’t be so sad
be so sad still, please stop it
Please don’t be so sad
'My Flesh Already' by Ravyn LaRue
Don’t worry about the small stuff
life is made up of small stuff
and you cannot live when you’re worried
you shouldn’t have to distract yourself
from waiting for results
by unintentionally breaking your water bottle
ringing fingers through holes in your sleeves
and actively pursuing places where wifi eludes you
this is not good
just go on home
and do your assignments
but I know
you will use the pain
to plunge yourself deeper
denying the world around you
until that time comes
and then you’ll probably be disappointed
and trying
to hurl yourself away from consciousness
so you won’t have to worry
about why you weren’t chosen
life is made up of small stuff
and you cannot live when you’re worried
you shouldn’t have to distract yourself
from waiting for results
by unintentionally breaking your water bottle
ringing fingers through holes in your sleeves
and actively pursuing places where wifi eludes you
this is not good
just go on home
and do your assignments
but I know
you will use the pain
to plunge yourself deeper
denying the world around you
until that time comes
and then you’ll probably be disappointed
and trying
to hurl yourself away from consciousness
so you won’t have to worry
about why you weren’t chosen
'Chipotle Cups' by Ravyn LaRue
He had me hold our cups
teeming with sugary soda
since his hands held the handlebars of his bike
so I waddled along beside him
as he peddled and I trudged
up the enormous hills
dotting the landscape of highland
he told me of his fears
that he would end up like her
locked in an infirmary
and scaring off his dear ones
since insanity, they say, is genetic
and as the cups fell apart in my palms
I sprinted in front of the bike
as we pulled over to the side
as cars approached
He said
all his friends are fair-weather
and when they succeed
he’ll be left in their dust
with all the rubble they made
and I looked into his eyes
as he’d done lots for me
and attempted to be reassuring
I told him I’d always stay
that he’s my beloved
and that he means more than all of them
and if they abandon him
my fat arms are what he can run to
and he said
Fuck it- I’m not going to their party
I’m going to stay with you
…That is, if that’s okay
And I said
Love-
there’s no way I’d rather spend my last night at home
teeming with sugary soda
since his hands held the handlebars of his bike
so I waddled along beside him
as he peddled and I trudged
up the enormous hills
dotting the landscape of highland
he told me of his fears
that he would end up like her
locked in an infirmary
and scaring off his dear ones
since insanity, they say, is genetic
and as the cups fell apart in my palms
I sprinted in front of the bike
as we pulled over to the side
as cars approached
He said
all his friends are fair-weather
and when they succeed
he’ll be left in their dust
with all the rubble they made
and I looked into his eyes
as he’d done lots for me
and attempted to be reassuring
I told him I’d always stay
that he’s my beloved
and that he means more than all of them
and if they abandon him
my fat arms are what he can run to
and he said
Fuck it- I’m not going to their party
I’m going to stay with you
…That is, if that’s okay
And I said
Love-
there’s no way I’d rather spend my last night at home
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Street Harassment Response
Street harassment, in my experiences, occurs differently than it’s most often portrayed; it begins with simple friendly conversation, and because my belief is in kindness and openness in spite of all the vitriol that exists, I usually go along with it. Next, the guy says something to the effect of “Don’t feel insecure- I think you’re beautiful” which isn’t at all provoked by anything said or done by me, and although everyone I tell about these instances thinks that it’s charming that strangers are preaching body positivity at me, what they realize is that these strangers assume I’m insecure about my appearance, which I’m not, and furthermore, that assumption that I’m insecure perpetuates the belief that even if they call me beautiful or whatever, they still think there’s something I ought to be insecure about. That upsets me the most because they think it’s somehow a favor to a fat girl that some stranger called her beautiful, because of course she mustn’t believe she is, and so of course she’ll be forever in debt to whoever is charitable enough to call her what she doesn’t believe she’s worthy of being. The most obnoxious instance was that someone had the audacity to say, “I bet you’ve never been called beautiful by a man before, and I’m glad to be the first” Then, in the cycle of harassment I’ve experienced, it usually mutates into questions of whether I have a boyfriend or not- they don’t even think to ask whether I have a girlfriend, or use gender neutral phrasing. A few times I’ve lied and said I’m a lesbian. Since I am queer, I used to think that would be a better claim than the fake boyfriend, since a good portion of music is about “stealing your girl” and so having a boyfriend (real or fake) doesn’t seem be a sure fire way to stop their pursuit. But in those instances of calling myself a lesbian, I’ve gotten either a slew of homophobia or propositions for three-ways with him and another girl. Also I’m sure that’s problematic since it perpetuates the thought process, “She refused my attraction- she must be a lesbian” which it seems a multitude of guys have. From there, I usually flee as soon as I can, or ignore him if fleeing isn’t an option. I’ve gotten better in terms of blatantly telling people to go away, but the issue with that is the obvious fact that they don’t listen, and worse yet, I’ve gotten a multitude of harassers tell me “I love when girls have an attitude”. Something that is more offensive to me than the street harassment I’ve experienced is the reactions of people I trust if/when I tell them. The most often comments I get are things to the effect of, “You don’t understand since you’re not conventionally attractive, if you were, though, that sort of thing would happen all the time” and the worst of the worst, on the school bus in eighth grade: “You’d be lucky to be raped, since that’s the only way you’d ever find a guy willing to have sex with you”. Because of comments like that I figure there’s no wonder why bus-stop creeps think they can pray on my perceived insecurity.
For a while I held the idea that only “pretty” people get harassed until I was harassed for the first time alone. I’d been cat-called in the past with adults present and their reaction was to find it cute in a “my little girl is becoming a young lady” right of passage sort of way, which has terrifying implications. As for my first time being harassed/cat-called alone, I was shocked and traumatized for weeks after since I was insecure and thought my “ugliness” made me immune to stuff like this. Just the weekend before, a group of other girls and I were harassed at the state fair, and my dad said not to worry since they weren’t talking to me, just my more conventionally attractive friends, I figured, since I was alone this time, he’d help me, and he did, by taking me to the police station, but insisted I tell them what dress I was wearing and how I was walking alone as the sun went down. He also felt like I was exaggerating since the behavior I reported was extremely similar to the previous incident in which he claimed was not aimed at me. Subsequently, since my own father was skeptical of the incident, the police just shrugged it off and said, “You’re bound to find people like that downtown- this is nothing new, don’t worry.” Of course that solved nothing in terms of my own difficulty with coping with this man’s actions that seemed so entirely incomprehensible for someone who held the belief that guys would never go after girls like me. I wound up writing a strongly worded rebuttal to a song called ‘Thank God I’m Pretty’ that sarcastically portrays a girl’s gratitude for being pursued by predators, since I felt “pretty” in the context of the song must mean conventionally attractive, which I was/am not, whereas I realize now that pretty can be replaced with “female” in the song, and the message of feeling unsafe for simply existing stays the same. I worry that other women who don’t feel attractive, though, might gather from that song and other representation of harassment that only the prettiest women are cat-called and harassed, hence women who don’t see themselves as pretty might not be thought of as a target, even though, sadly, often times existing is all it takes for someone to see you as their prey.
For a while I held the idea that only “pretty” people get harassed until I was harassed for the first time alone. I’d been cat-called in the past with adults present and their reaction was to find it cute in a “my little girl is becoming a young lady” right of passage sort of way, which has terrifying implications. As for my first time being harassed/cat-called alone, I was shocked and traumatized for weeks after since I was insecure and thought my “ugliness” made me immune to stuff like this. Just the weekend before, a group of other girls and I were harassed at the state fair, and my dad said not to worry since they weren’t talking to me, just my more conventionally attractive friends, I figured, since I was alone this time, he’d help me, and he did, by taking me to the police station, but insisted I tell them what dress I was wearing and how I was walking alone as the sun went down. He also felt like I was exaggerating since the behavior I reported was extremely similar to the previous incident in which he claimed was not aimed at me. Subsequently, since my own father was skeptical of the incident, the police just shrugged it off and said, “You’re bound to find people like that downtown- this is nothing new, don’t worry.” Of course that solved nothing in terms of my own difficulty with coping with this man’s actions that seemed so entirely incomprehensible for someone who held the belief that guys would never go after girls like me. I wound up writing a strongly worded rebuttal to a song called ‘Thank God I’m Pretty’ that sarcastically portrays a girl’s gratitude for being pursued by predators, since I felt “pretty” in the context of the song must mean conventionally attractive, which I was/am not, whereas I realize now that pretty can be replaced with “female” in the song, and the message of feeling unsafe for simply existing stays the same. I worry that other women who don’t feel attractive, though, might gather from that song and other representation of harassment that only the prettiest women are cat-called and harassed, hence women who don’t see themselves as pretty might not be thought of as a target, even though, sadly, often times existing is all it takes for someone to see you as their prey.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
'Twelve Days Left of Freshmen Year' by Ravyn LaRue
I only have twelve days left
of my freshmen year of college
and it doesn’t seem
like the end of school years during high school
or before
I feel simultaneously excited for summer
and melancholy, as if I should mourn the school year
not because it was beloved
or deserves a funeral with flowers like graduation last year
I feel like I should cry paper tears
over the fact that it left me feeling so empty
not even saint marks could do that to me
but they say
“Party because you won”
and I suppose I ought to try
I only have twelve days left
of my freshmen year of college
and while all my friends are posting
“see you next September”
and
“Wow, what a year!”
I’m here shrugging
as snow shakes the lampposts
and Spanish music sings
I should be disturbed
that I have the capacity for such apathy
but real adults praise me for it
saying it’s a sign of maturity
and I want to fly to Neverland
because that is pretty terrifying
of my freshmen year of college
and it doesn’t seem
like the end of school years during high school
or before
I feel simultaneously excited for summer
and melancholy, as if I should mourn the school year
not because it was beloved
or deserves a funeral with flowers like graduation last year
I feel like I should cry paper tears
over the fact that it left me feeling so empty
not even saint marks could do that to me
but they say
“Party because you won”
and I suppose I ought to try
I only have twelve days left
of my freshmen year of college
and while all my friends are posting
“see you next September”
and
“Wow, what a year!”
I’m here shrugging
as snow shakes the lampposts
and Spanish music sings
I should be disturbed
that I have the capacity for such apathy
but real adults praise me for it
saying it’s a sign of maturity
and I want to fly to Neverland
because that is pretty terrifying
'4/28/14' by Ravyn LaRue
Dear Self,
remember
things are good
Today it’s raining
and that’s beautiful
You’re listening to concerts
with people whose music
narrates your soul
and that means the world
And that longing in your chest
that’s the light
that’s the beauty
that’s what being alive feels like
Remember you wouldn’t feel that
had you decided
giving up was an okay thing to do
You’re having a second hot chocolate
and you’re burning your blisters on your hands
against the white paper kiddie maze that lines the cup
and that’s wonderful
You read writings from friends
that make you feel less alone
because in times unlike today
you can know for sure
you are not the only one
howling into the void
And it isn’t empty, remember
there is so much beauty in this world
like the illuminated bricks outside
and the man making tea at the counter
and the peace signs and pink triangles on the other patrons’ laptops
And there are people in life who love you
look to your desktop
do you see those beautiful souls?
Six people saw you off
before you embarked
on what became a great struggle
but they believed in you
and you survived
and they love you-
they must do
Remember this,
Dear Self,
there will be days
frequent and inescapable
when the good things seem like merely memories
but you have to believe there is reason for hope
which is why I’m counting present positivities
whenever I remember to
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
'Free Raspberry Lemonade' by Ravyn LaRue
A girl in my theatre class
who I’d only met once before
bought me raspberry lemonade
it was her last college class ever
and is a genuinely kind person
but wow
it always baffles me
when strangers buy me drinks
I feel like informing them
that I’m really not that charming
but I know it’s due to pure kindness
and in a world like this
things like that mean the world
I owe my karma a multitude of drinks for others
because I just got free raspberry lemonade
wow
'Barking “Art! Art! Art"' by Ravyn LaRue
I want to have some vast huge expectations of myself again
something concrete I want to achieve in this world
because right now I have:
Spend lots of time with beloveds
(which I haven’t actually been doing much of…)
Make good art
(which is debatable, for me in particular, whether anything I do is good anymore)
Make a positive impact on the world
(which will hopefully occur on account of my two former things, but since I’m not doing well with those, I feel like this one is entirely impossible right now)
Others have such high and specific hopes
and I’m just floating crying
“Art! Art! Art!”
but that achieves nothing
But right now
although I’m not content with it
I’m only holding myself to bare minimum expectations
thinking if I’m happy
all will be well
but I think I have to get past that
since who knows if I’ll ever be consistently happy ever again
I have to go on
and achieve great things
regardless of whether I feel my life is in ruins or not
something concrete I want to achieve in this world
because right now I have:
Spend lots of time with beloveds
(which I haven’t actually been doing much of…)
Make good art
(which is debatable, for me in particular, whether anything I do is good anymore)
Make a positive impact on the world
(which will hopefully occur on account of my two former things, but since I’m not doing well with those, I feel like this one is entirely impossible right now)
Others have such high and specific hopes
and I’m just floating crying
“Art! Art! Art!”
but that achieves nothing
But right now
although I’m not content with it
I’m only holding myself to bare minimum expectations
thinking if I’m happy
all will be well
but I think I have to get past that
since who knows if I’ll ever be consistently happy ever again
I have to go on
and achieve great things
regardless of whether I feel my life is in ruins or not
'Apparently 100 People Read My Poems Sometimes' by Ravyn LaRue
Thank you all so much
I adore you all dearly
You all mean so much
I adore you all dearly
You all mean so much
Monday, April 28, 2014
'Party Because You Won' by Ravyn LaRue
Rain falls hard
I feel like a drownededed rat
since I just ran through the downpour
to get to a class
I didn’t realize
didn’t start for two hours
I was running
hot chocolate spilling out
of the cheap paper mug
disintegrating in my hand
as I said hi to strangers
and tried to keep positive
as God’s tears permeated my raincoat
I thought of a party
I was going to have a party, I decided
since I dreamt it last night
A party built around a tumblr post that said:
PARTY LIKE THE PAST TWELVE MONTHS WEREN’T EMOTIONALLY CRIPPLING
Nah, fuck that. Party like they WERE. Party with the hope in your heart that the next twelve months will make up for it. Party because it’s behind you and you fucking survived. Party because you’re alive and still awesome despite the last twelve months trying to destroy you.
Party because you won.
In my dream
we belted karaoke
I sang Hedwig and Apres Moi
due to emotional reasons
(emotional reasons govern my life)
And the point of the party
was to wash away
all the hurt we felt
from college
and adulthood
and the psychological distress that’s tacked onto both
And my heart
was pulled by Art’s apparitional hands
pulling my heart from my chest
and bringing me towards the light
of all the pureness that exists in our universe
And my co-host friend was fussing
since I let our friends have beer
but screaming from my heart
into the vastness of drunken, hurling, brawling beloveds
just like Hedwig herself
And I walked in the rain
imagining this happy place
this party
in which singing was salvation
and Art was a beautiful ghost who possessed the willing
And as cars went splashing
I imagined all the cool punk rock covers
of classic MT songs I could do
and how this party is a thing
that should definitely happen in real life
I wrote on the board
of the coffee shop downtown
where I got the hot chocolate
who’s mug got mangled from the rain
Their prompt was
“Why is today a good day?”
and I wrote
with pastel purple chalk
“Because the semester/school year is nearly finished"
And on a friend’s status
which said we only have three weeks left
I nearly commented
“Fuckity-hell, thank GOD!”
but I didn’t since she’s classy
and she’s the same friend
who’d be pissed at me
for letting our beloveds have beer
But anyways
even if it’s only me
on the night of May 15th
in the compact mess I call a living room
I will be up there
in my own euphoria
belting along with Amanda Palmer and John Cameron Mitchell
on tinny tiny youtube clips
singing
singing
singing
And you're spinning
Your new 45's
All the misfits and the losers
Yeah, you know you're rock and rollers
Spinning to your rock and roll
Come on, darling, sing with me-
we made it!
Lift up your hands
I feel like a drownededed rat
since I just ran through the downpour
to get to a class
I didn’t realize
didn’t start for two hours
I was running
hot chocolate spilling out
of the cheap paper mug
disintegrating in my hand
as I said hi to strangers
and tried to keep positive
as God’s tears permeated my raincoat
I thought of a party
I was going to have a party, I decided
since I dreamt it last night
A party built around a tumblr post that said:
PARTY LIKE THE PAST TWELVE MONTHS WEREN’T EMOTIONALLY CRIPPLING
Nah, fuck that. Party like they WERE. Party with the hope in your heart that the next twelve months will make up for it. Party because it’s behind you and you fucking survived. Party because you’re alive and still awesome despite the last twelve months trying to destroy you.
Party because you won.
In my dream
we belted karaoke
I sang Hedwig and Apres Moi
due to emotional reasons
(emotional reasons govern my life)
And the point of the party
was to wash away
all the hurt we felt
from college
and adulthood
and the psychological distress that’s tacked onto both
And my heart
was pulled by Art’s apparitional hands
pulling my heart from my chest
and bringing me towards the light
of all the pureness that exists in our universe
And my co-host friend was fussing
since I let our friends have beer
but screaming from my heart
into the vastness of drunken, hurling, brawling beloveds
just like Hedwig herself
And I walked in the rain
imagining this happy place
this party
in which singing was salvation
and Art was a beautiful ghost who possessed the willing
And as cars went splashing
I imagined all the cool punk rock covers
of classic MT songs I could do
and how this party is a thing
that should definitely happen in real life
I wrote on the board
of the coffee shop downtown
where I got the hot chocolate
who’s mug got mangled from the rain
Their prompt was
“Why is today a good day?”
and I wrote
with pastel purple chalk
“Because the semester/school year is nearly finished"
And on a friend’s status
which said we only have three weeks left
I nearly commented
“Fuckity-hell, thank GOD!”
but I didn’t since she’s classy
and she’s the same friend
who’d be pissed at me
for letting our beloveds have beer
But anyways
even if it’s only me
on the night of May 15th
in the compact mess I call a living room
I will be up there
in my own euphoria
belting along with Amanda Palmer and John Cameron Mitchell
on tinny tiny youtube clips
singing
singing
singing
And you're spinning
Your new 45's
All the misfits and the losers
Yeah, you know you're rock and rollers
Spinning to your rock and roll
Come on, darling, sing with me-
we made it!
Lift up your hands
Sunday, April 27, 2014
'Why Are You Trying To Find Yourself You Should Be Trying To Find A Job' by Ravyn LaRue
Anytime I'm on deadline
for something society deems important
my psyche says
"Nope- we're having an existential crisis
so now's the time to shut down
we should go to europe
we should get a job
we should write songs
or make movies
or re-try other such past failures
after all
some of your idols
are songwriters and movie makers
we should do like them
some of your idols
live in london
we should live in London too
some of your idols
live in california
we should live in California
some of your idols
live in chicago
we should live in Chica-
oh wait, we tried that
we failed
remember
REMEMBER
REMEMBER?!?!?!?!"
but I digress
now
while we're on deadline
and have less than an two hours
to write three papers
indeed now is the time
to go running into your mothers room sobbing
"I would've traded all the good of last semester
for some artistic fulfillment
but I still don't have it"
and she says
"oh don't worry
I still don't have artistic fulfillment"
and I don't know how to respond
since she doesn't even identify as an artist
she doesn't make art anymore
and she doesn't see that as a big deal
whereas if I were her age
unable to make art
I'd feel worse than dead
she says
"be a teacher instead"
and that seems so unfathomable right now
helping children pursue their passions
and shepherding them into their destinies
when I'm stumbling over my bloody own
and I sprawl out
and cry to whatever star guides me
"why can't I know where to go"
but I know
going anywhere wouldn't help
until the tempest in my heart
at least calms to it's usual preternatural ebb and flow
and gifs of Janis Joplin
on tumblr tell
"Come to California"
and Broadway belts lovingly
"Come to New York"
while my cousin
refuses jobs
that'd fly her all over the world
for free vacations
just to wine and dine some philanthropists
and I see beloveds
thriving
and rooting themselves to new families
all the while
it's two in the morning
and I'm writing my usual bad poetry
for something society deems important
my psyche says
"Nope- we're having an existential crisis
so now's the time to shut down
we should go to europe
we should get a job
we should write songs
or make movies
or re-try other such past failures
after all
some of your idols
are songwriters and movie makers
we should do like them
some of your idols
live in london
we should live in London too
some of your idols
live in california
we should live in California
some of your idols
live in chicago
we should live in Chica-
oh wait, we tried that
we failed
remember
REMEMBER
REMEMBER?!?!?!?!"
but I digress
now
while we're on deadline
and have less than an two hours
to write three papers
indeed now is the time
to go running into your mothers room sobbing
"I would've traded all the good of last semester
for some artistic fulfillment
but I still don't have it"
and she says
"oh don't worry
I still don't have artistic fulfillment"
and I don't know how to respond
since she doesn't even identify as an artist
she doesn't make art anymore
and she doesn't see that as a big deal
whereas if I were her age
unable to make art
I'd feel worse than dead
she says
"be a teacher instead"
and that seems so unfathomable right now
helping children pursue their passions
and shepherding them into their destinies
when I'm stumbling over my bloody own
and I sprawl out
and cry to whatever star guides me
"why can't I know where to go"
but I know
going anywhere wouldn't help
until the tempest in my heart
at least calms to it's usual preternatural ebb and flow
and gifs of Janis Joplin
on tumblr tell
"Come to California"
and Broadway belts lovingly
"Come to New York"
while my cousin
refuses jobs
that'd fly her all over the world
for free vacations
just to wine and dine some philanthropists
and I see beloveds
thriving
and rooting themselves to new families
all the while
it's two in the morning
and I'm writing my usual bad poetry
Saturday, April 26, 2014
'ABABCCBABAB' by Ravyn LaRue
This never used to be difficult for me
But it’s late and I don’t want to write
All things seem harder now than they ever used to be
And all I bring myself to do seems like an aimless fight
Ever since last semester I’ve felt like no more than dirt
While I struggle to make sense of why I somehow still hurt
I mean, try as I may but nothing seems right
As I attempt to sew up my veins and collect my debris
I feel myself breaking as I stay up all night
I thought coming home was the answer, yet still I can’t see
Whether I’m overreacting or if this was really a plight
But it’s late and I don’t want to write
All things seem harder now than they ever used to be
And all I bring myself to do seems like an aimless fight
Ever since last semester I’ve felt like no more than dirt
While I struggle to make sense of why I somehow still hurt
I mean, try as I may but nothing seems right
As I attempt to sew up my veins and collect my debris
I feel myself breaking as I stay up all night
I thought coming home was the answer, yet still I can’t see
Whether I’m overreacting or if this was really a plight
'Are You Satisfied With An Average Life?' by Ravyn LaRue
Art triumphs over suffering
so then why am I only venting the latter
and not praising the former
perhaps because I’m cowardly
since there’s nothing transcendent about just complaining
there’s nothing divine about kvetching
nothing revolutionary about spelling out hurt
without adding something beautiful to the blood
so then why am I only venting the latter
and not praising the former
perhaps because I’m cowardly
since there’s nothing transcendent about just complaining
there’s nothing divine about kvetching
nothing revolutionary about spelling out hurt
without adding something beautiful to the blood
'Writing Poems To Characters I Should Be Writing To Friends' by Ravyn LaRue
I'm starting to realize
I never just see myself
in characters I love
there's always at least a small fragment of some beloved
but I don't like to say it
since I often fall for characters
who are varying levels
of insane and pathetic
so I'll tell you this much
in those fictional darlings
who have my heart
due to you also
having my heart
more often than not
I see myself as their weaknesses
and you as their charms
so I hope you see this
as the odd fractured compliment it is
I never just see myself
in characters I love
there's always at least a small fragment of some beloved
but I don't like to say it
since I often fall for characters
who are varying levels
of insane and pathetic
so I'll tell you this much
in those fictional darlings
who have my heart
due to you also
having my heart
more often than not
I see myself as their weaknesses
and you as their charms
so I hope you see this
as the odd fractured compliment it is
'An Actor Has No Gender' by Ravyn LaRue
Hero once said that
“An actor has no gender”
choke on that, Klinka
“An actor has no gender”
choke on that, Klinka
'Thursday 1:45' by Ravyn LaRue
I should be home now
two hours ago, in fact
but I love writing
Okay, fine, I’ll leave
I have to sleep anyways
and watch ‘Demo Reel’
two hours ago, in fact
but I love writing
Okay, fine, I’ll leave
I have to sleep anyways
and watch ‘Demo Reel’
'Nala and Ursula' by Ravyn LaRue
It's getting better now
but girls my age
shouldn't have had to settle
for Nala and Ursula
as their only
"black" and fat representation
in terms of female Disney principal roles
they aren't even human
but I hear poets
only a tidbit older than I
screaming how they clung to them
since they felt that was all they had
but girls my age
shouldn't have had to settle
for Nala and Ursula
as their only
"black" and fat representation
in terms of female Disney principal roles
they aren't even human
but I hear poets
only a tidbit older than I
screaming how they clung to them
since they felt that was all they had
'Is This Progress Or Apathy' by Ravyn LaRue
I haven’t written about him in over a month
which is very strange
since it was so hard not to write about him
for quite some time then
which is very strange
since it was so hard not to write about him
for quite some time then
'Pathetic and Unwell' by Ravyn LaRue
My neutral has been
feeling pathetic and unwell
ever since Christmas-ish
I’ve had my highs and lows
but pathetic and unwell is me
feeling pathetic and unwell
ever since Christmas-ish
I’ve had my highs and lows
but pathetic and unwell is me
'The Devil and Donnie DuPre' by Ravyn LaRue
Is it bad
That I got a sudden jolt of happiness
By the fact that
One of my favorite characters
(Whom I also relate to)
When God wouldn't give him what he asked
Went straight down the faustian pact route
No apprehension
I mean
Ask God first
But have a contingency plan
After all
There's no shame in self preservation
That I got a sudden jolt of happiness
By the fact that
One of my favorite characters
(Whom I also relate to)
When God wouldn't give him what he asked
Went straight down the faustian pact route
No apprehension
I mean
Ask God first
But have a contingency plan
After all
There's no shame in self preservation
'but i know he feels like a boy should feel' by Ravyn LaRue
I like when boys sing Amanda Palmer covers
and I can sing along with voices lower than mine
And I really like when they don't change the pronouns
and don't find it shameful to belt loudly
"No such details would spoil my plan-
That is the kind of girl I am"
and I can sing along with voices lower than mine
And I really like when they don't change the pronouns
and don't find it shameful to belt loudly
"No such details would spoil my plan-
That is the kind of girl I am"
'light of creation washed over and baptized me' by Ravyn LaRue
I should go to church
by “church” I mean theater
they’re the same, you know
by “church” I mean theater
they’re the same, you know
'Hostile Work Environment' by Ravyn LaRue
In my women’s studies class today
we delved into the idea
of a hostile work environment
which I figure counts for schools too
and it made me feel far less alone
and that I wasn’t just dumb and paranoid
because when you hear
horrible things directed towards
those who are the things you are
no matter how many times people may say
she wasn’t referring to you
or
oh, but you’re different than all the other “those people”s
no matter what
and how much you try to make yourself feel safe
if they’d do that to them
and believe that about them
and speak that way about them
there is no membrane of decency stopping them
from acting that exact same way
towards you
and people file lawsuits against this sort of thing
so even though it may feel like an overreaction
my leaving
though cowardly
was a reasonable human response
but I suppose I’m only trying to justify things
to myself
and this wide vast universe
that I feel as though I’ve run away from
we delved into the idea
of a hostile work environment
which I figure counts for schools too
and it made me feel far less alone
and that I wasn’t just dumb and paranoid
because when you hear
horrible things directed towards
those who are the things you are
no matter how many times people may say
she wasn’t referring to you
or
oh, but you’re different than all the other “those people”s
no matter what
and how much you try to make yourself feel safe
if they’d do that to them
and believe that about them
and speak that way about them
there is no membrane of decency stopping them
from acting that exact same way
towards you
and people file lawsuits against this sort of thing
so even though it may feel like an overreaction
my leaving
though cowardly
was a reasonable human response
but I suppose I’m only trying to justify things
to myself
and this wide vast universe
that I feel as though I’ve run away from
'Turbulence' by Ravyn LaRue
I like tumultuous
and so being in a rut
even a comfy one
is entirely unfun
for me
and so being in a rut
even a comfy one
is entirely unfun
for me
'There’s A Distinction Between Columbia and Chicago' by Ravyn LaRue
I’m starting to re-like Chicago
What with Demo Reel and Jen and Giordano’s
Kind, loving people have emerged from there
And I oughtn’t fault the city even though I found so few
What with Demo Reel and Jen and Giordano’s
Kind, loving people have emerged from there
And I oughtn’t fault the city even though I found so few
'Grenade' by Ravyn LaRue
Forgiveness hurts yet
as I try, people yell
WHY ARE YOU SO SLOW
IN FACT, YOU SHOULD'VE
FORGIVEN EVERYONE, BUT
YOU'RE JUST TOO BITTER
I promise you that
I'm trying for my own sake
yet forgiveness hurts
as I try, people yell
WHY ARE YOU SO SLOW
IN FACT, YOU SHOULD'VE
FORGIVEN EVERYONE, BUT
YOU'RE JUST TOO BITTER
I promise you that
I'm trying for my own sake
yet forgiveness hurts
'Sleep Deprivation' by Ravyn LaRue
I pulled my first all-nighter in ages
and it made me feel worse than dead
but now that I’ve slept since
I realized I wasted a perfectly good opportunity
to push myself to the brink in art
I like doing that even though it’s unhealthy
I’ve heard that’s what Salvador Dali did
he’d keep himself awake
by holding onto keys so when they dropped he’d awaken
and then he’d paint the things he saw
and although my perspective is less dramatic
the thing I intend on doing
is getting past the point where I care if I seem crazy
and that’s ableist and awful
I know that
but I can’t help but feel that’s when I get my best junk out
and it made me feel worse than dead
but now that I’ve slept since
I realized I wasted a perfectly good opportunity
to push myself to the brink in art
I like doing that even though it’s unhealthy
I’ve heard that’s what Salvador Dali did
he’d keep himself awake
by holding onto keys so when they dropped he’d awaken
and then he’d paint the things he saw
and although my perspective is less dramatic
the thing I intend on doing
is getting past the point where I care if I seem crazy
and that’s ableist and awful
I know that
but I can’t help but feel that’s when I get my best junk out
'Seventeen' by Ravyn LaRue
I haven’t stopped feeling 17 yet
It used to be 15 that I was stuck on
No bloody wonder I can’t move forward
It used to be 15 that I was stuck on
No bloody wonder I can’t move forward
'Nebulous' by Ravyn LaRue
I love ethereality
but embracing it means
I no longer really know
what it is in life I want
but embracing it means
I no longer really know
what it is in life I want
Friday, April 25, 2014
Story Within A Story- Home
The foam-tiled gymnasium floor beneath them smelled of perspiration and Windex. Their Thanksgiving feast of dollar rolls of donuts, energy drinks and Pringles was spread across the floor. They sat cross-legged facing each other.
“You said you’d tell me what happened,” began Jeremy, “yet all you’ve done all night is ignore the subject entirely. Are you sure you’re alright, love.”
“Hah, I’m fine!” Donna answered, aiming to seem less fragile than she felt at the moment. “You want me to tell, I’ll tell. All you had to do was ask, dear.”
Terms of endearment always sounded disjointed when they sprung from her overly chapped lips, whereas when Jeremy let them slide, they flowed like melted butter.
Donna shifted position again, pulled her shirt back down, her pants back up, and began the story.
“So here I was, being uncharacteristically good by going to bed before midnight. I had just trudged all the way from McDonalds, feeling good about myself that I had forced myself to both do math homework (I hate math) and give my leftovers to an old homeless guy. I felt all warm and fuzzy inside, so I curled myself into a blanket that matched my feeling. That’s when I heard the cacophonous cry from outside my door. “That bitch! That fucking cunt!” it cried. Though disembodied, I could recognize that shrill shrewish soprano anywhere. It belonged to my roommate; any humanity she may have possessed had been washed away by the copious amount of alcohol she had consumed. “
“Worse than Emma?” Jeremy asked wide-eyed.
“Oh God yes!” Donna replied, her voice dropping to her worldly contralto tone; a tone that always kept the boy listening.
“She kept on with it, “I fucking hate Donna, that bitch blogged about me!”-“
“Well did you?” asked Jeremy, attempting to be fair. He knew how easy it was for Donna to win him over, and wanted attempt to not be as much of a pushover as he usually was.
“Of course!” Donna chuckled. “She yelled at me for singing!”
“No, you’re a lovely singer!” Jeremy whined.
“Thank you.” Donna replied flatly, opening her disintegrating canvas backpack and grasping her computer out. “Want to see the poem I wrote about her that pissed her off that much?” She asked superfluously, knowing she had him hooked. Anything that persuades a person to call the author a cunt is worth reading, even if only to chuckle at how awful it is.
“Of course!” Jeremy shrieked, grabbing the laptop right out of Donna’s hands. The page was already up. The watercolor background she painted herself lined the blog like wallpaper, and the words stood out in the bold typewriter font as always. Jeremy read aloud. He preferred reading aloud. His crooner voice reverberated off the mirrored gym walls as he read a poem Donna feared hearing read.
“ DONNA, STOP SINGING! By Donna McClendon
I was washing the red out of my hair when I got the notion to sing.
So I sang.
I decided to triumph in spite of the hideous atmosphere that surrounds me daily and stifles my singing.
So I sang in a muffled voice.
Subdued still, but steady.
My tone was softer than that of a church mouse when I began to hear some rumbling.
I briefly recoiled, imagining a wanna-be Norman Bates prowling about the dorm.
I decided to sing anyways since it made me less scared.
And, if I were to choose, I would like to go out singing.
And as I sang about being stifled
The bathroom door swung open
And a voice imbued with more vitriol than had ever before been directed at me screamed,
"STOP SINGING, DONNA!"
And that same meek soul from my former freshmen year answered without a second thought,
"Okay."
And as my roommate slammed the door, I whispered in defeat, “Goddamn.”
I tightened my lips, though I then could think of endless songs that felt the way I now felt.
And my internal monologue started screaming,
"I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it more than the hoarding house!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it more than Saint Marks!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
At least there I could sing without being screamed at!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!”
And then my inner monologue cried
"I want Ms.Hart."
After that I shattered
Millions of pieces of me lied along with the stray hair and stubble on the shower floor.
I wanted to scream catharsis to spite my roommate, but then I remembered I’m a nice person.
So I merely cried.
It’s a Thursday, and I had done so well this week going this long without crying.
But I needed to.
I also needed to sing and scream
But because of niceness, which shrouded meekness, I just went about with my tears.
Her hateful voice rang inside my head and got me angrier.
And the imp of the perverse made me think of all the clever things I could do with the razor.
For her and I both.
But I’m still strong.
And she’s a mean soul, and I’d rather not be killed at such a young age.
She’s quite content with killing herself, and I doubt I could appeal to her humanity.
If she ever had any to begin with.
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I want home, where I don’t get hurt when I sing.
I need it.
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!”
Jeremy finished reading and looked back up at his friend who was avoiding eye contact at all costs. She instead was staring into her own squinted eyes in the far mirror.
“Aww, love-“ He began, meaning to comfort the girl.
“So anyways.” Donna blurted. “She kept on with that god-awful ranting of hers until it got to the point of death threats. She said, “I’m going to kill her! I’ll murder that bitch! I’ll shoot that cunt!” and kept on like that. I, of course, saw it as an overreaction. I wrote the truth and didn’t use her name; if that’s not ethical, I don’t know what is! Besides, many fine authors have received death threats. Hunter S. Thompson could’ve probably insolated his cabin with all he got from the Hell’s Angels! I know it’s morbid, but I couldn’t help but pride myself in having yet another thing in common with Hunter, but I digress… Anyways, she’s twenty-four for God’s sake! She should know better, but of course she’s a charming New Yorker, so… well, you know how they are…”
“What did you do?” Jeremy demanded like a kindergartener. He gravitated to every word Donna uttered in spite of her ineloquence. He had barely touched his junk-food dinner since Donna began her tale. She continued.
“She then began throwing all her god-awful belongings at me: crayons, lighters, her triceratops statue with horns that dug into my hip, all as I pretended to be asleep like an angel. Then it got stupider. She turned to her friend who was beside her all the way and said, “You know she’s a fucking pervert. She watches me undress- and she’s a lesbian; it’s fucking sexual assault!” I got annoyed and thought of how, one, I had never even seen her naked and two, the fact that I never even remotely wanted to. They left and I tried to get comfortable enough to actually fall asleep. I tried to memorize my lines for acting and recite my favorite movies and songs in my head, but I couldn’t distract myself. I was trembling like an idiot. When she returned she just restarted her idiocy. It was awful.”
“I’m so sorry, love…” Jeremy began, taking Donna’s hand. She couldn’t help but meet his gaze.
“Thanks, dear.” She said. “The next morning I went to math, and had a god-awful test, as if things weren’t bad enough. After that I snuck back into my dorm, gathered my most cherished belongings into a garbage bag and left. It was a fight or flight thing, and you know I’m not a fighter. I just walked. I had no plan. I just walked. I called my Dad back home, and though well meaning, he was no help. He just said, “Get a hotel or tough it out with the bitch. You can do it. That’s my girl.” And that was it. So I kept on walking aimlessly until I had no other option but surrender my dignity and ask to couch surf. I like the term couch surfing, though I slept on the floor. Couch surfing makes it seem like less of a mooching sort of thing. So I couch surfed.”
“Who did you stay with? I thought you said you didn’t have any friends.” Jeremy asked, tripped up by her continuity regarding the stories she’s told.
“Well I suppose that was a bit of a hyperbole. I had one friend, and she’s who I stayed with.”
“Well alright then.” Jeremy shrugged, still thinking Donna was selling herself short in amount of friends she had obtained in college. “Then what happened?”
“Well I stayed there a night only to have to get up ridiculously early since she had a morning class. I followed her to the door only to see my roommate lurking around smoking her signature Salem’s, so I ran once again. I circled the block in an entirely counterproductive circle of sorts only to get the run-around from security for two days straight until I was bestowed the generous gift of getting to live with someone who doesn’t want to murder me.” Given the opportunity, Donna could be just as sarcastic as Jeremy if not more so.
“Then what?” Jeremy demanded.
“I camped out at a café and spent my final few dollars on a bowl of soup to keep body and soul together. I then found out that my friend Marji was minutes away from taking a plane back to India.
Jeremy stopped her once again. “I thought you said your only friend was the girl who took you in and let you stay on her floor. Who’s Marji, then?” He was beginning to become skeptical of her sob story. After all, the poem wasn’t the nicest thing in the world. Could it be that she was just being neurotic about the alleged threat?
“Well, I told you I was being hyperbolic earlier, besides it makes a better story if I’m utterly alone in the world, don’t you think?” Donna behaved as if his questioning was an affront to the integrity of her recollection of what happened. Jeremy didn’t answer.
“Anyways, due to having to move my stuff, I didn’t get to say goodbye to Marji- it was super sad. I nearly cried over the phone.”
“I thought you said you were at the café while she was heading off for the plane…” Jeremy longed for clarification.
“I was.” Said Donna, matter-of-factly.
Jeremy left her be. “It was her story after all,” he figured, “she can mangle it all she wants, since she did seem traumatized by the predicament, and all was well now, so what’s the harm in a little fabrication?”
“I was super sad that weekend.” Donna concluded, “But it makes it all worth it to be reunited with you, dear.” With that, Jeremy returned to being the same pushover he always was. He uncrossed his stork legs, inched closer and hugged Donna. They hunkered down among flattened pillows on the cold foam-like floor and slept, just as they had done last year and the year before that. As odd as it was, it was tradition, and neither of them would trade it for the world.
“You said you’d tell me what happened,” began Jeremy, “yet all you’ve done all night is ignore the subject entirely. Are you sure you’re alright, love.”
“Hah, I’m fine!” Donna answered, aiming to seem less fragile than she felt at the moment. “You want me to tell, I’ll tell. All you had to do was ask, dear.”
Terms of endearment always sounded disjointed when they sprung from her overly chapped lips, whereas when Jeremy let them slide, they flowed like melted butter.
Donna shifted position again, pulled her shirt back down, her pants back up, and began the story.
“So here I was, being uncharacteristically good by going to bed before midnight. I had just trudged all the way from McDonalds, feeling good about myself that I had forced myself to both do math homework (I hate math) and give my leftovers to an old homeless guy. I felt all warm and fuzzy inside, so I curled myself into a blanket that matched my feeling. That’s when I heard the cacophonous cry from outside my door. “That bitch! That fucking cunt!” it cried. Though disembodied, I could recognize that shrill shrewish soprano anywhere. It belonged to my roommate; any humanity she may have possessed had been washed away by the copious amount of alcohol she had consumed. “
“Worse than Emma?” Jeremy asked wide-eyed.
“Oh God yes!” Donna replied, her voice dropping to her worldly contralto tone; a tone that always kept the boy listening.
“She kept on with it, “I fucking hate Donna, that bitch blogged about me!”-“
“Well did you?” asked Jeremy, attempting to be fair. He knew how easy it was for Donna to win him over, and wanted attempt to not be as much of a pushover as he usually was.
“Of course!” Donna chuckled. “She yelled at me for singing!”
“No, you’re a lovely singer!” Jeremy whined.
“Thank you.” Donna replied flatly, opening her disintegrating canvas backpack and grasping her computer out. “Want to see the poem I wrote about her that pissed her off that much?” She asked superfluously, knowing she had him hooked. Anything that persuades a person to call the author a cunt is worth reading, even if only to chuckle at how awful it is.
“Of course!” Jeremy shrieked, grabbing the laptop right out of Donna’s hands. The page was already up. The watercolor background she painted herself lined the blog like wallpaper, and the words stood out in the bold typewriter font as always. Jeremy read aloud. He preferred reading aloud. His crooner voice reverberated off the mirrored gym walls as he read a poem Donna feared hearing read.
“ DONNA, STOP SINGING! By Donna McClendon
I was washing the red out of my hair when I got the notion to sing.
So I sang.
I decided to triumph in spite of the hideous atmosphere that surrounds me daily and stifles my singing.
So I sang in a muffled voice.
Subdued still, but steady.
My tone was softer than that of a church mouse when I began to hear some rumbling.
I briefly recoiled, imagining a wanna-be Norman Bates prowling about the dorm.
I decided to sing anyways since it made me less scared.
And, if I were to choose, I would like to go out singing.
And as I sang about being stifled
The bathroom door swung open
And a voice imbued with more vitriol than had ever before been directed at me screamed,
"STOP SINGING, DONNA!"
And that same meek soul from my former freshmen year answered without a second thought,
"Okay."
And as my roommate slammed the door, I whispered in defeat, “Goddamn.”
I tightened my lips, though I then could think of endless songs that felt the way I now felt.
And my internal monologue started screaming,
"I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it more than the hoarding house!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it more than Saint Marks!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
At least there I could sing without being screamed at!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!”
And then my inner monologue cried
"I want Ms.Hart."
After that I shattered
Millions of pieces of me lied along with the stray hair and stubble on the shower floor.
I wanted to scream catharsis to spite my roommate, but then I remembered I’m a nice person.
So I merely cried.
It’s a Thursday, and I had done so well this week going this long without crying.
But I needed to.
I also needed to sing and scream
But because of niceness, which shrouded meekness, I just went about with my tears.
Her hateful voice rang inside my head and got me angrier.
And the imp of the perverse made me think of all the clever things I could do with the razor.
For her and I both.
But I’m still strong.
And she’s a mean soul, and I’d rather not be killed at such a young age.
She’s quite content with killing herself, and I doubt I could appeal to her humanity.
If she ever had any to begin with.
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I want home, where I don’t get hurt when I sing.
I need it.
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!
I hate it here!”
Jeremy finished reading and looked back up at his friend who was avoiding eye contact at all costs. She instead was staring into her own squinted eyes in the far mirror.
“Aww, love-“ He began, meaning to comfort the girl.
“So anyways.” Donna blurted. “She kept on with that god-awful ranting of hers until it got to the point of death threats. She said, “I’m going to kill her! I’ll murder that bitch! I’ll shoot that cunt!” and kept on like that. I, of course, saw it as an overreaction. I wrote the truth and didn’t use her name; if that’s not ethical, I don’t know what is! Besides, many fine authors have received death threats. Hunter S. Thompson could’ve probably insolated his cabin with all he got from the Hell’s Angels! I know it’s morbid, but I couldn’t help but pride myself in having yet another thing in common with Hunter, but I digress… Anyways, she’s twenty-four for God’s sake! She should know better, but of course she’s a charming New Yorker, so… well, you know how they are…”
“What did you do?” Jeremy demanded like a kindergartener. He gravitated to every word Donna uttered in spite of her ineloquence. He had barely touched his junk-food dinner since Donna began her tale. She continued.
“She then began throwing all her god-awful belongings at me: crayons, lighters, her triceratops statue with horns that dug into my hip, all as I pretended to be asleep like an angel. Then it got stupider. She turned to her friend who was beside her all the way and said, “You know she’s a fucking pervert. She watches me undress- and she’s a lesbian; it’s fucking sexual assault!” I got annoyed and thought of how, one, I had never even seen her naked and two, the fact that I never even remotely wanted to. They left and I tried to get comfortable enough to actually fall asleep. I tried to memorize my lines for acting and recite my favorite movies and songs in my head, but I couldn’t distract myself. I was trembling like an idiot. When she returned she just restarted her idiocy. It was awful.”
“I’m so sorry, love…” Jeremy began, taking Donna’s hand. She couldn’t help but meet his gaze.
“Thanks, dear.” She said. “The next morning I went to math, and had a god-awful test, as if things weren’t bad enough. After that I snuck back into my dorm, gathered my most cherished belongings into a garbage bag and left. It was a fight or flight thing, and you know I’m not a fighter. I just walked. I had no plan. I just walked. I called my Dad back home, and though well meaning, he was no help. He just said, “Get a hotel or tough it out with the bitch. You can do it. That’s my girl.” And that was it. So I kept on walking aimlessly until I had no other option but surrender my dignity and ask to couch surf. I like the term couch surfing, though I slept on the floor. Couch surfing makes it seem like less of a mooching sort of thing. So I couch surfed.”
“Who did you stay with? I thought you said you didn’t have any friends.” Jeremy asked, tripped up by her continuity regarding the stories she’s told.
“Well I suppose that was a bit of a hyperbole. I had one friend, and she’s who I stayed with.”
“Well alright then.” Jeremy shrugged, still thinking Donna was selling herself short in amount of friends she had obtained in college. “Then what happened?”
“Well I stayed there a night only to have to get up ridiculously early since she had a morning class. I followed her to the door only to see my roommate lurking around smoking her signature Salem’s, so I ran once again. I circled the block in an entirely counterproductive circle of sorts only to get the run-around from security for two days straight until I was bestowed the generous gift of getting to live with someone who doesn’t want to murder me.” Given the opportunity, Donna could be just as sarcastic as Jeremy if not more so.
“Then what?” Jeremy demanded.
“I camped out at a café and spent my final few dollars on a bowl of soup to keep body and soul together. I then found out that my friend Marji was minutes away from taking a plane back to India.
Jeremy stopped her once again. “I thought you said your only friend was the girl who took you in and let you stay on her floor. Who’s Marji, then?” He was beginning to become skeptical of her sob story. After all, the poem wasn’t the nicest thing in the world. Could it be that she was just being neurotic about the alleged threat?
“Well, I told you I was being hyperbolic earlier, besides it makes a better story if I’m utterly alone in the world, don’t you think?” Donna behaved as if his questioning was an affront to the integrity of her recollection of what happened. Jeremy didn’t answer.
“Anyways, due to having to move my stuff, I didn’t get to say goodbye to Marji- it was super sad. I nearly cried over the phone.”
“I thought you said you were at the café while she was heading off for the plane…” Jeremy longed for clarification.
“I was.” Said Donna, matter-of-factly.
Jeremy left her be. “It was her story after all,” he figured, “she can mangle it all she wants, since she did seem traumatized by the predicament, and all was well now, so what’s the harm in a little fabrication?”
“I was super sad that weekend.” Donna concluded, “But it makes it all worth it to be reunited with you, dear.” With that, Jeremy returned to being the same pushover he always was. He uncrossed his stork legs, inched closer and hugged Donna. They hunkered down among flattened pillows on the cold foam-like floor and slept, just as they had done last year and the year before that. As odd as it was, it was tradition, and neither of them would trade it for the world.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
'You Might Say It’s Self Destructive But You See It’s More Productive Than If I Were To Be Happy' by Ravyn LaRue
I really want a change in my life
and I want to do something
stupid and drastic
like packing up everything
taking all the money I can
and traveling across oceans
or perhaps
I’ll fling myself into someone’s arms
and I’ll claim it to be love
regardless of
whether or not
I’ll know otherwise
a girl asked me on a date the other day
and I said yes
but she asked with the condition
that we’ll do it when it’s hot and sunny out
and it’s Minnesota so that’s eternities away
she asked me to go to a bar with her
which leads to another thing
I could take up drinking
and be among the presence
of all the other blackout artists
but at the end of the day
I am rooted to things
that keep me from being
entirely
self destructive
so I just want to sleep until things are drastically different
and I want to do something
stupid and drastic
like packing up everything
taking all the money I can
and traveling across oceans
or perhaps
I’ll fling myself into someone’s arms
and I’ll claim it to be love
regardless of
whether or not
I’ll know otherwise
a girl asked me on a date the other day
and I said yes
but she asked with the condition
that we’ll do it when it’s hot and sunny out
and it’s Minnesota so that’s eternities away
she asked me to go to a bar with her
which leads to another thing
I could take up drinking
and be among the presence
of all the other blackout artists
but at the end of the day
I am rooted to things
that keep me from being
entirely
self destructive
so I just want to sleep until things are drastically different
'False Friend' by Ravyn LaRue
I sit next to
the girl who hurt my friend
and I growl internally
beneath that bitter smile of mine
and I know I cannot crack
because when that happens
I cause trouble
and I hate myself
but these are the instances
where I feel the need
to become the mother wolf
who'd tear to shreds
anything that wronged her dearest ones
but I can barely stick up for myself
in instances where I am outnumbered
so who am I to think
anything would've changed
the girl who hurt my friend
and I growl internally
beneath that bitter smile of mine
and I know I cannot crack
because when that happens
I cause trouble
and I hate myself
but these are the instances
where I feel the need
to become the mother wolf
who'd tear to shreds
anything that wronged her dearest ones
but I can barely stick up for myself
in instances where I am outnumbered
so who am I to think
anything would've changed
'Gave Up On Lent Halfway Through' by Ravyn LaRue
I'm sorry to those
who expected me to be
a decent catholic
who expected me to be
a decent catholic
'Honey or Blood' by Ravyn LaRue
I’m constantly switching between
be kind
and take the higher road by forgiving them
and
burn all the bridges
and let them rot in their own filth and vitriol
be kind
and take the higher road by forgiving them
and
burn all the bridges
and let them rot in their own filth and vitriol
'If I Go On My Own Again' by Ravyn LaRue
I keep seeing the mega-buses
and the ads where kids come home from college
just for a weekend and/or holidays
and my friends sending things back and forth
with their beloveds back home
and I find myself longing for that
which is idiotic in a way
since when I had that I was miserable
but I really don’t like being settle-down-ish
when everyone else I adore and admire
have the lives I wanted to have
before my situation took its turn for the worst
I feel like I’m getting past the point
where I feel like Columbia spoiled college
and I’m moving on to the point
when I’ll be able to embark again
because I’m feeling more and more so
that it isn’t in my purpose to stay here
even though I was drawn back
so in such a forceful bout of longing
the problem is that now
I haven’t the slightest
what and where life is trying to propel me towards
and the ads where kids come home from college
just for a weekend and/or holidays
and my friends sending things back and forth
with their beloveds back home
and I find myself longing for that
which is idiotic in a way
since when I had that I was miserable
but I really don’t like being settle-down-ish
when everyone else I adore and admire
have the lives I wanted to have
before my situation took its turn for the worst
I feel like I’m getting past the point
where I feel like Columbia spoiled college
and I’m moving on to the point
when I’ll be able to embark again
because I’m feeling more and more so
that it isn’t in my purpose to stay here
even though I was drawn back
so in such a forceful bout of longing
the problem is that now
I haven’t the slightest
what and where life is trying to propel me towards
'She No Longer Drinks Or Smokes' by Ravyn LaRue
Your past inspires me a lot, right now.
Usually it's your present self that I see for all its admirable traits.
But now your past and my future seem to have some things in common.
We both have something in us, that compels us to seek out a big city.
You had it in you to devote yourself entirely to writing what you wanted.
I can only hope to do that.
But with your past came difficulties and trauma.
Everyone has hardships, of course, only they materialize differently for each person.
Yet you are more courageous than most, and you got to being your present self.
Which, although I find my life kindred to your past, to some degree, this present self of yours is even more inspiring.
You're one of the relatives I actually like telling my friends about.
I tell them about how devoted you are to your beliefs, and the obvious undeniable passion you have.
When you do things you do things, you aren't fair weather,
Usually it's your present self that I see for all its admirable traits.
But now your past and my future seem to have some things in common.
We both have something in us, that compels us to seek out a big city.
You had it in you to devote yourself entirely to writing what you wanted.
I can only hope to do that.
But with your past came difficulties and trauma.
Everyone has hardships, of course, only they materialize differently for each person.
Yet you are more courageous than most, and you got to being your present self.
Which, although I find my life kindred to your past, to some degree, this present self of yours is even more inspiring.
You're one of the relatives I actually like telling my friends about.
I tell them about how devoted you are to your beliefs, and the obvious undeniable passion you have.
When you do things you do things, you aren't fair weather,
'niepewność' by Ravyn LaRue
I’ve always been insecure
not always in terms of body issues
or worries of whether I’m pretty enough
or all the usual concerns that most girls seem to have
I’ve shed all those, for the most part
And I no longer worry that there’s better singers than I
I sing anyways
But now the issues I’ve always had
before I cared how I looked or how my voice sounded
are returning
Telling me to grow a thicker skin
and reminding me how much intelligence I lack
I’m somehow still brought to ruin
by D’s on tests
and people telling me I’m far too sensitive
and I scare myself with the things I think and feel
I had a dream last night
in which girls told me I was ugly
to which I responded by singing Sondheim harmonies
and I felt flawless then
But if girls those girls had surrounded me and said
I was maladjusted and the emotions I felt were just hormones raging
and threw numbers at me, causing me to be baffled and feel useless
I’d probably crumble
because I’m dumb and unstable like that
I now feel the need to preface everything I do with
“Now I know I’m not the smartest, but-“
and
“I might be emotionally volatile, but-“
I just wish I could be as strong
and unapologetic
and tameless in my openness
with issues of intellect and psyche
as I am with my voice and body
I recently remembered
a lyrics I wrote when I was eleven
to the tune of ‘God Save The Queen’
right after I was placed in the B class
forever proving to my malleable mind
that I’d forever be one of the dumb kids:
“We the B class pledge to thee
that we will always be
much dumber than the A’s
until the end of days”
And I remember how
the times I heard “get a thicker skin”
grew to the hundreds
by the end of each week
And I usually just joke
of crying in Starbucks’
and relating to ‘Bart Gets An F’
but as I become unhinged myself
the jokes begin to lose their humor
not always in terms of body issues
or worries of whether I’m pretty enough
or all the usual concerns that most girls seem to have
I’ve shed all those, for the most part
And I no longer worry that there’s better singers than I
I sing anyways
But now the issues I’ve always had
before I cared how I looked or how my voice sounded
are returning
Telling me to grow a thicker skin
and reminding me how much intelligence I lack
I’m somehow still brought to ruin
by D’s on tests
and people telling me I’m far too sensitive
and I scare myself with the things I think and feel
I had a dream last night
in which girls told me I was ugly
to which I responded by singing Sondheim harmonies
and I felt flawless then
But if girls those girls had surrounded me and said
I was maladjusted and the emotions I felt were just hormones raging
and threw numbers at me, causing me to be baffled and feel useless
I’d probably crumble
because I’m dumb and unstable like that
I now feel the need to preface everything I do with
“Now I know I’m not the smartest, but-“
and
“I might be emotionally volatile, but-“
I just wish I could be as strong
and unapologetic
and tameless in my openness
with issues of intellect and psyche
as I am with my voice and body
I recently remembered
a lyrics I wrote when I was eleven
to the tune of ‘God Save The Queen’
right after I was placed in the B class
forever proving to my malleable mind
that I’d forever be one of the dumb kids:
“We the B class pledge to thee
that we will always be
much dumber than the A’s
until the end of days”
And I remember how
the times I heard “get a thicker skin”
grew to the hundreds
by the end of each week
And I usually just joke
of crying in Starbucks’
and relating to ‘Bart Gets An F’
but as I become unhinged myself
the jokes begin to lose their humor
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
'i miei occhi' by Ravyn LaRue
I had a dream where I got famous enough to have a TV Tropes page written about me
And on that page there was a conspiracy theory that I, in actuality, didn't have eyes
The reason being that when I smile in pictures my eyes, more often than not, disappear
So people kept on with this theory, claiming I wore glass ones when I expected to be photographed
I just went with it, neither confirming nor denying it, since no press is bad press, as the saying goes
So people kept on with the theory saying that's why I'm so scared of eye-stuff and that I had PTSD
And as a whole their theories were more interesting than anything I could come up with so I shrugged it off
But then one day I was approached by a fleet of fans who of course, being in person, saw my real eyes
But they didn't believe me when I told them they were real, since if they were, I would've corrected the theory
Then they demanded I take my eyes out since they were obviously glass, so that they could see my soul
Then my dream went black, so I can only assume that I followed their commands
And on that page there was a conspiracy theory that I, in actuality, didn't have eyes
The reason being that when I smile in pictures my eyes, more often than not, disappear
So people kept on with this theory, claiming I wore glass ones when I expected to be photographed
I just went with it, neither confirming nor denying it, since no press is bad press, as the saying goes
So people kept on with the theory saying that's why I'm so scared of eye-stuff and that I had PTSD
And as a whole their theories were more interesting than anything I could come up with so I shrugged it off
But then one day I was approached by a fleet of fans who of course, being in person, saw my real eyes
But they didn't believe me when I told them they were real, since if they were, I would've corrected the theory
Then they demanded I take my eyes out since they were obviously glass, so that they could see my soul
Then my dream went black, so I can only assume that I followed their commands
'Howling' by Ravyn LaRue
People tell me
to avoid Feminism
because it will turn me soft
that I'll be broken by the smallest bumps
aching from the tiniest of wounds
They say I'll be reduced to crying all day
crying wolf so that
when allegedly real bigotry happens
no one will believe me
or stand by my side
or rush over to rescue me
People tell me
to avoid Feminism
because it will turn me hard
that I'll be aloof and removed
from caring about the feelings of men
thinking only minorities have souls
They say I'll be reduced to biting all day
biting the hand that feeds me
because I'm allegedly ungrateful
for all that allies have given me
then no one will stand by my side
or rush over to rescue me
But if I am to be reduced
to a sobbing pile of mush
or a writhing snarling beast
at least it is of my own accord
I let myself become this
because I let myself be seen
being my usual
sobbing pile of mush
and writhing snarling beast
which I've always hidden
beneath thick skin
and an even thicker skull
to avoid Feminism
because it will turn me soft
that I'll be broken by the smallest bumps
aching from the tiniest of wounds
They say I'll be reduced to crying all day
crying wolf so that
when allegedly real bigotry happens
no one will believe me
or stand by my side
or rush over to rescue me
People tell me
to avoid Feminism
because it will turn me hard
that I'll be aloof and removed
from caring about the feelings of men
thinking only minorities have souls
They say I'll be reduced to biting all day
biting the hand that feeds me
because I'm allegedly ungrateful
for all that allies have given me
then no one will stand by my side
or rush over to rescue me
But if I am to be reduced
to a sobbing pile of mush
or a writhing snarling beast
at least it is of my own accord
I let myself become this
because I let myself be seen
being my usual
sobbing pile of mush
and writhing snarling beast
which I've always hidden
beneath thick skin
and an even thicker skull
'Women's Studies Homework' by Ravyn LaRue
I have to bite bottle caps
to gag myself
from loudly sobbing
when I work
on my Women's Studies homework
and on my feminist project
and I see flashes of statistics
of two year old girls
molested in sea-world bathroom stalls
and women who broke
when they saw their size 24 heroes
depicted as size double zero
because there'd be no way they'd be pretty otherwise
and I have so many doubts
swirling around my brain
that my complaints
are just complaints
and I shouldn't give them a voice
as loud as I now want to scream
but I need to
dear self remember this
I need to
I need to do this
I need to follow through
to gag myself
from loudly sobbing
when I work
on my Women's Studies homework
and on my feminist project
and I see flashes of statistics
of two year old girls
molested in sea-world bathroom stalls
and women who broke
when they saw their size 24 heroes
depicted as size double zero
because there'd be no way they'd be pretty otherwise
and I have so many doubts
swirling around my brain
that my complaints
are just complaints
and I shouldn't give them a voice
as loud as I now want to scream
but I need to
dear self remember this
I need to
I need to do this
I need to follow through
'Yelling On The Car Ride Home' by Ravyn LaRue
My mum is still of
the mindset that depression
stems from being dumb
I hate how she still
shies away from calling it
itself- depression
She thinks that if I
made good decisions I would
be rid of it all
She says it's my fault
I'm choosing stupidity
over functioning
Because she has it
in her mind that depression
is fancy failure
She's a bloody nurse
I can't believe she said that
while I'm relapsing
the mindset that depression
stems from being dumb
I hate how she still
shies away from calling it
itself- depression
She thinks that if I
made good decisions I would
be rid of it all
She says it's my fault
I'm choosing stupidity
over functioning
Because she has it
in her mind that depression
is fancy failure
She's a bloody nurse
I can't believe she said that
while I'm relapsing
'is angry at the merest trifles' by Ravyn LaRue
I got something in the mail today
saying I’m in an academic honor’s society
saying
if I were to return to Columbia
they’d give me a colossal scholarship
and my mother said
“I would support you if you decided to go back”
and I panicked and convulsed and yelled
“NO NO NO, I’ll NEVER go back”
and then I fell apart completely
And as I write this
I still haven’t mended myself back together
saying I’m in an academic honor’s society
saying
if I were to return to Columbia
they’d give me a colossal scholarship
and my mother said
“I would support you if you decided to go back”
and I panicked and convulsed and yelled
“NO NO NO, I’ll NEVER go back”
and then I fell apart completely
And as I write this
I still haven’t mended myself back together
Monday, April 21, 2014
'Endless Flocks Of Broken Birds' by Ravyn LaRue
As life goes on
I've come to believe
That everyone I love
Everyone I've met
And everyone I ever will meet
Is a broken bird
TV Tropes defines a broken bird
"These characters (often female) are coping with a Cynicism Catalyst, a Despair Event Horizon, or a Dark and Troubled Past by becoming as cynical, stoic, and/or badass as possible"
So to the friend who knows little
Souls seem happy and unharmed
But there's always a backstory
Something dark and hidden
2:59 AM I'm talking with a friend
About a beloved person
Whose soul struggles
And she told me all the things I didn't know
All hidden behind a demeanor so resilient
That it worries us
And all this
And all the stories I've come to know
Make all my bitching
Kvetching
Complaining
Crying
Convulsing
Aching
Retching
Catharsising
Three AM Poetry Writing
Seem positively selfish and dumb
Because all the world
Is made up of
Is broken birds
Whose stories we don't yet know
So who am I
To publicize my weakling hurt
I've come to believe
That everyone I love
Everyone I've met
And everyone I ever will meet
Is a broken bird
TV Tropes defines a broken bird
"These characters (often female) are coping with a Cynicism Catalyst, a Despair Event Horizon, or a Dark and Troubled Past by becoming as cynical, stoic, and/or badass as possible"
So to the friend who knows little
Souls seem happy and unharmed
But there's always a backstory
Something dark and hidden
2:59 AM I'm talking with a friend
About a beloved person
Whose soul struggles
And she told me all the things I didn't know
All hidden behind a demeanor so resilient
That it worries us
And all this
And all the stories I've come to know
Make all my bitching
Kvetching
Complaining
Crying
Convulsing
Aching
Retching
Catharsising
Three AM Poetry Writing
Seem positively selfish and dumb
Because all the world
Is made up of
Is broken birds
Whose stories we don't yet know
So who am I
To publicize my weakling hurt
'Morbid Passion' by Ravyn LaRue
I’m morbidly fascinated
with the absolute brink of human emotion
I say
“Oh wow, this guy intrigues me
he shows more emotion while stifled
than most show full force”
and my friend says
“It’s dangerous
he’s mentioned homicidal thoughts”
and I say,
“Yeah, but I admire his passion”
Yesterday in class
I got attached to a machine
in order to measure my level of stress
my teacher said
think of something that upsets you
and I chose to think of obvious things
and my stress level jolted immediately to 100%
she said,
“Oh wow, this is really bad”
I laughed but I don’t know why
she said,
“If you don’t let up it’ll kill you”
and she engulfed me in her arms
and my mind forgoed my impending death
and sunk easily into her arms instead
with the absolute brink of human emotion
I say
“Oh wow, this guy intrigues me
he shows more emotion while stifled
than most show full force”
and my friend says
“It’s dangerous
he’s mentioned homicidal thoughts”
and I say,
“Yeah, but I admire his passion”
Yesterday in class
I got attached to a machine
in order to measure my level of stress
my teacher said
think of something that upsets you
and I chose to think of obvious things
and my stress level jolted immediately to 100%
she said,
“Oh wow, this is really bad”
I laughed but I don’t know why
she said,
“If you don’t let up it’ll kill you”
and she engulfed me in her arms
and my mind forgoed my impending death
and sunk easily into her arms instead
'Why Not Try Fighting Back For Once In Your Life' by Ravyn LaRue
Twice in the last twenty-four hours
Someone’s told me
“Hey, you know all your problems would’ve been solved
if you’d just punched them in the face…”
Just because you’re physically strong
doesn’t mean I am
If I would’ve tried that
I know I’d be dead by now
Someone’s told me
“Hey, you know all your problems would’ve been solved
if you’d just punched them in the face…”
Just because you’re physically strong
doesn’t mean I am
If I would’ve tried that
I know I’d be dead by now
'Don’t Forget To Remember' by Ravyn LaRue
I feel like I have to trigger myself
(for lack of a better word)
By looking at photos of places
where the scariest things
that ever happened to me
happened
And hear the voices that made me cringe
I need to bring myself back to that misery now that I’m safe
I need my blood to boil
I need to shake within my skin
I need to be brought to tears that suffocate my soul
In order to write of when that misery was the norm
I’ll shake and wretch and kill myself writing this
And that’s foolish
I’m aware
But I don’t think I could make good art if I keep myself safe
(for lack of a better word)
By looking at photos of places
where the scariest things
that ever happened to me
happened
And hear the voices that made me cringe
I need to bring myself back to that misery now that I’m safe
I need my blood to boil
I need to shake within my skin
I need to be brought to tears that suffocate my soul
In order to write of when that misery was the norm
I’ll shake and wretch and kill myself writing this
And that’s foolish
I’m aware
But I don’t think I could make good art if I keep myself safe
'Alcoholics' by Ravyn LaRue
Those eyes
far bluer than mine
peer through everything that feels good in me
just like the night I pretended to sleep
because I didn't know what you'd do
if you saw my eyes weren't painfully closed
Those eyes
far bluer than mine
make me feel like I'm not alone
just like those nights I pretended you were beside me
because I didn't know what I'd do
if I couldn't conjure up something good to see
She made me feel
as though I shouldn't even try to survive
because at the end of the day
I'll always be worthless
no matter how hard I try
I'm better off dead
He made me feel
as though I must keep trying to survive
because at the end of the day
I'm really not worthless
no matter what happens
I'm worthwhile
I cannot even cope
to stare at her image
lest I succumb to that state of fear
I could not even cope
unless I stared at her image
to keep from succumbing to that state of fear
far bluer than mine
peer through everything that feels good in me
just like the night I pretended to sleep
because I didn't know what you'd do
if you saw my eyes weren't painfully closed
Those eyes
far bluer than mine
make me feel like I'm not alone
just like those nights I pretended you were beside me
because I didn't know what I'd do
if I couldn't conjure up something good to see
She made me feel
as though I shouldn't even try to survive
because at the end of the day
I'll always be worthless
no matter how hard I try
I'm better off dead
He made me feel
as though I must keep trying to survive
because at the end of the day
I'm really not worthless
no matter what happens
I'm worthwhile
I cannot even cope
to stare at her image
lest I succumb to that state of fear
I could not even cope
unless I stared at her image
to keep from succumbing to that state of fear
Saturday, April 19, 2014
'Seven Hundred and Fifty Words' by Ravyn LaRue
I so hate word counts
Seven Hundred and Fifty Words
that's so restrictive
Seven Hundred and Fifty Words
that's so restrictive
'Followup To My Last Poem' by Ravyn LaRue
I've wished before for
A girl or boyfriend solely
as inspiration
A girl or boyfriend solely
as inspiration
'Crushes and Enemies' by Ravyn LaRue
I've heard people say
Having a crush is healthy
I've heard the same for enemies
And when I don't have a crush
I feel a tiny twinge of discomfort
So there have been times
When I've actively sought out
Love poem recipients for myself
I remember a time
When I was in a coffee shop
And two chosen individuals of mine
Stood talking
And I thought about how strange
My method of doing things was
Since it has nothing to do with love
And more to do with
Shooing away boredom
Now I just got thinking
I have an enemy now
Not by choice
And less of an enemy than
An antagonist in my story
Whom I'd like to avoid at all costs
So maybe that'll keep me
From partaking in my weird crush habits
But probably not
Having a crush is healthy
I've heard the same for enemies
And when I don't have a crush
I feel a tiny twinge of discomfort
So there have been times
When I've actively sought out
Love poem recipients for myself
I remember a time
When I was in a coffee shop
And two chosen individuals of mine
Stood talking
And I thought about how strange
My method of doing things was
Since it has nothing to do with love
And more to do with
Shooing away boredom
Now I just got thinking
I have an enemy now
Not by choice
And less of an enemy than
An antagonist in my story
Whom I'd like to avoid at all costs
So maybe that'll keep me
From partaking in my weird crush habits
But probably not
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