Monday, March 7, 2011

Ode to Molloy by Samuel Beckett

<dedicated to Molloy by Samuel Beckett - my english project>
I was told that you were challenging and that I wasn't ready,
but I didn't listen and when I was given an extension to change books
I stuck with you because the language was beautifully chaotic
and reminded me a little bit about myself.
I thought that maybe I would learn about myself
by reading this book that every teacher said I was too young for
and I wanted the challenge
that books stopped presenting to me when I turned 6
and read chapter books without pictures that were hundreds of pages long.
oh how wrong I was.
At first the going wasn't easy,
but not hard,
it was an experience and I loved the ways the words twisted around me
and made my mind swirl
unlike any other book that I have ever read.
And then deadlines began to draw near and I couldn't keep up
with the time that I had left,
I wanted to savor the words as I read them
and now I only have 4 days left and I'm not even half way through,
my mind can't keep up with the words that are being thrown at me
and I think that I might literally die
because of the effort that I am putting into this one book.
You have taught me so much,
more than any other book I have read,
but I really wish that I could go back and read a different book
because I have to admit that my teacher was right,
I'm not ready for this book,
at least under a deadline.
I know that I could read you if I had a year,
but a month wasn't nearly enough.
You have changed my way of thinking,
but I regret choosing to read you for this assignment.
The thoughts you present me make my mind swirl
and I don't know if I can function anymore.
I do have to say though;
if I do die reading you,
at least I tried and even a few pages were enough
to make me rethink everything I have ever thought.
Thanks for the learning and the torture,
you have taught me much,
but I wouldn't recommending reading you in only a month.
_______________________________________________
this is dedicated to Molloy a novel by the writer Samuel Beckett which I had to read for an english project. I regret that decision everyday :) but it was totally worth it in the end because it was a good book ♥

~AT

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Growth :)

Heyy,

So I know that I just posted some writing, but something really great has just happened for this blog and I had to share with you so you know what is going on. I recently decided to add in more writers to this blog so that there is constant writing instead of periods when I can't post forever and the blog gets boring for a bit. Starting soon, a friend of mine will begin posting on this site as threeguesses, welcome her and enjoy her writing (it is much better than mine and I am glad that she is able to join this blog) there should be some more writers joining soon, but very slowly and one at a time. (I don't want to bog down this blog) :)

Enjoy her writing and I hope that you enjoy the new direction that this blog is going in.


~AT

A Tale Of Self Discovery (Sad)

She hadn't written in months, too consumed by self discovery to take the time and release her emotions onto a blank page, or maybe four.  Too busy, she explained to the inner writer that was screaming to be released, too occupied with the world that she so much wanted to be admired by.
Once, long before, she didn't care about trivial things like make up and style, preferring to wear jeans and a baggy shirt instead of mini skirts and tight shirts that fell so low they didn't count as clothing, revealing too much of nothing. But now she wears the scanty clothing and just like she ditched her old clothes, she ditched her old friends too; trading them for girls who got drunk on weekends and had sex on weekdays.  What once sickened her now drew her into its clutches while her friends and family stood by, unaware and helpless.
She fell to society and hated every minute of it, wishing that she could just walk away, but never able to. 
She lost her virginity at 13; too young to understand, too young to comprehend, too young to be anything yet.  Years of scanty clothing and getting drunk on weekends changed her, made her unrecognizable from the 12-year-old nerd that she used to be.
And she became the girl who everyone worshipped to her face and called a slut behind her back.  The Queen of broken hearts and stolen innocence.  She became nothing but drugs, sex, and alcohol and nobody seemed to care.
I did.
I used to watch her in class while she passed notes and giggled under her breath, making jokes that only the victims like me could hear and the teacher couldn't.  I didn't care, I could see the broken girl inside and I wanted to fix her, mend her, bring back the girl that she once was, the girl that still was screaming inside to be let free. I was told that it was impossible, but I never gave up.
I tutored her in math and said "hello" in the halls and placed notes in her locker about her beauty and strength.  In the end she told me everything and I listened, determined to fix the broken girl that stood in front of me.
It was an obsession, a thought that consumed my mind every day and night until one day when I woke up to birds singing and a sun shining and a hole in my heart.

She had comitted suicide the night before.
I went to her funeral dressed all in black, but not shedding a single tear.  I stared at her smiling picture and wished that I could have fixed that broken girl who had only wanted to find herself. I paid my respects in silence and turned to leave, but someone stopped me.  I looked into the red, tear stained, and empty eyes of her mother who handed me an envelope addressed to me in her neat, curly handwriting that I had grown to love. 
I didn't read what she had written for weeks to come and when I finally opened that neatly addressed envelope I held the pages and pages of her last outpourings of her heart and read every word on every page until my eyes blurred with tears and I cried for the first time.  I unfolded the last page of her writing that held only a few lines and then I let myself sob and mourn the girl who I had tried so hard to fix. 

You tried to fix me when I was too broken,
the only one who ever tried,
and I thank you.

I still find myself, years later, opening that envelope and shuffling through the pages until that one, short poem and I read it over and over again, never failing to shed a few tears over my lost and broken friend. The girl who though she was nothing, but really was everything.
____________________________________________
sorry it's depressing and sorry that I haven't posted in FOREVER!!! i wasn't getting comments so i didn't take the time, but then i figured that no comments didn't matter to me, but writing did, so i'm BACK :)

~AT