Tuesday, December 31

New Years

Our souls-
are like paper.
Coated in lines of scrawling black ink.
Dark words.
Beautiful words.
Heartbreaking words.
The never ending scratches of ink,
against the parchment lining our bodies,
bleed together into shapes and pictures.
We find ourselves defined by them,
bound to them,

Until one day-
we decided to rip them off,
to melt away the persona which blossomed
into our beating hearts.
We tossed those words, 
into the thickening flames,
dressed all in white,
we watched them smoldered away.

When oozing gold,
began to gush
we turned ourselves
into something-
we fought
to become.

It wasn't a day that defined the blank parchment,
born from the ashes.
It was a choice,
A decision
to become something new.
Despite how deep the ink had stained us,
despite how old the scars had been
etched into our souls.
We chose,
to let it go,
and accept that-
who we were
is nothing more than who we used to be.

Because a decision,
can set you free.

Monday, December 30

Your a teen- WHAT?

One day, while escapadeing on a long pinterest spree, I ran across a quote that really struck me. It basically asked, "Why are teenagers treated like children, but expected to act like adults?"
  During an average child's first ten to twelve years of life, everything is like fairy land. No bills to pay, no job to work, no school to cram, no drama to maneuver through, the list is endless! The most pressing of your concerns is when you'll have to go to bed. Nothing ever goes wrong, nor ever feels terribly wrong either.
   Then you hit your teenage years, when your body begins to act like an unpredictable, explosive, casino machine. All the sudden your physical appearance goes from a solid five to a negative six, and shoots around down there every five minutes. Worst part about this, is that as soon as your body pulls out the braces, acne, growth spurts, glasses, and fields of sprouting hair, you emerge from childhood and suddenly find that you actually care about your appearance, just as all of the awkward gifts of puberty hit in unison. Not only is there basically nothing you can do about the obvious changes happening, (besides wait six years for when your body derails from the roller coaster it has just jumped onto), but you find your brain is holding its own assault against you in the same room.
   Being a female, I can go on for hours about the horrific chemical mountains I've had to climb up and then promptly hurl myself from. On an average day, I can jump from happy to angry to sad to ultra-depressed and then finish off as a malicious evil villain, who laughs insanely at everything within a ten mile radius. You might wonder if anything brings about these dramatic changes in emotion. Well,
 In the quick succession of a few minutes I can hit rock bottom, and shoot to the zenith of happiness, all while sitting alone in a bare room with only a chair for entertainment. Just to put things into perspective, picture yourself, (as a female) on an occasion when you find yourself in a room full of other teenage girls. While looking around you suddenly have this mini heart attack as you realize you've just landed yourself into a pool of fellow, half-crazed-demons, who could decide they love or hate you by just your appearance. Instead of doing the most rational thing and dialing 911, you find yourself sitting down and conversing with these ticking time bombs as though the situation made you feel at ease. You tread carefully, but as you glance around the room you see that others haven’t been so meticulous in their movements, and within a few minutes the room is vibrating with the sound of explosions and cracking timbers.
   So, in retrospect of the many alarming changes which have labeled teens as mentally disabled throughout mental studies, everyone above and below the adolescent years has paranoid notions about those who are. One of the funniest things I find about being a teen, is that everyone who doesn't want to try and change you, wants to hide you away somewhere where you can't plan terrorist attacks on their houses in the future. The image of teens blowing things up and setting things on fire seems to have obscured the view of many older people, to the point some will downright shoot you paranoid glances across the street.
   On the flip side of their caution however, it seems that older people can’t get enough of placing responsibility on teenagers shoulders. Everything ends up falling onto our laps at one point or another.
   Being older than the younger kids, we know how- and can do, a lot more; mirroring that, since we are younger than the adults we have less liberties to say no when we don't want to do something. We get to take care of the kids, make dinner, clean the house, get jobs, make HUGE life decisions about our future, keep perfect grades and social life, and then figure out who we are on the side lines.
   The injustice of the situation is astounding. How can someone who treats the very word ‘teenager’ like a rotten fruit, feel okay piling work onto their shoulders?
Why are teenagers treated differently than everyone else and yet expected to function as adults?
   The simple answer in my mind is perspective. All humans view things, the way they want to. Though not ready to address the growing age of adolescence, most recognize the ability to work when they see it, and therefore utilize this. Though I’m sure there are many other reasons at work in the odd placement teenagers have been set in, the most vital one is the one we use most often. What we see most often holds less value than what we’ve labeled in our minds.

   (Side excursion.) You might have noticed that I pointedly didn’t address the problems of teenage boys. Since I am not a male, I don’t feel I’m very qualified to sit here and describe their emotional state, other than the sad dislocation of the mental ability to understand what’s stupid, and okay to do. So, despite what you guessed. No, I didn't forget about them, just chose to glaze over that part).

Friday, December 13

Eaten By A Monster

The sound of whipping wings
and chiming screams
roar between the trees.

Top hat tilts
The air fills with fresh sprays of your gushing blood.
In between the flaring lights
You whisper,
"Is any of this really real?"

Golden hair
infused in delicate diamond
Your glazed eyes stare back into mine,
lips curved into a broken smile.

I've seen you die so many times
as the clock spins a sick whirl,
glitter falling from the trees
and the sound of breaking silence.

I've seen you die so many times.
The world has gone black and red against my eyes
from the never ending blood I spill across my skin
Different form,
different face.
Always the same ending.
With you whispering,
"Is any of this really real?"

Assembled under the summer sky
we said our last goodbyes,
Before the clock struck twelve
and your shimmering wings
went up in flames.
 An unforgettable summer sky,
blossoming in crimson
and curling tongues of smoke.

The boy I loved
was eaten by a monster.
And the dreaming illusions of my mind,
just laughed and hollered.
As the mirrors outlining my sunken eyes,
shattered across the room,
and rose petals piled high underneath my feet,
crumbled in waves.
The white rabbits,
tittered in fitted jackets.
Vibrating strings in the dead of night,
play to the sound of your dripping blood.

Standing again amongst a crowd,
I watch their shadowed faces twist in disgust,
at the sight of your disfigured form.
Faded imprints in the ground,
mark the places where your crown faltered.
 Eerie music pulses from the windless breeze,
and the clock continues tocking.

"Is any of this really real?"
Or is this whole world just a dream?

Clocks+Creepy Woods

Monday, December 9

Reasons Why I'd Make a Terrible Companion

   Let’s face it, the Doctor is spine-tinglingly, heart-stoppingly fantastic. He is smart, super adorable, kind, HOT (David *cough*), funny, sarcastic, eloquent and caring. He whisks your heart away with a mere flick of his sonic screwdriver and that mysterious twinkle in his eyes we've all come to adore. He makes you feel special and important. He makes you feel worth something. Why on earth wouldn't everyone want to be his companion?  You'd travel the galaxy, meet strange- exotic creatures, breathe in air from alien planets- good grief; you could even slip back in time and meet Queen Elizabeth and Christopher Columbus! (Just to make learning about them in history worth it.) Best part? You can do all that, more, and arrive home the same day you left! So who wouldn't want to travel with the doctor?


   Before you hurl my breathing carcass into a creator of liquid plasma, or set a heard of zombies to abduct me in the night, let me explain why!

   So we all know those moments where the doctor in a mad rush of jumbled, scientific, space-talk will shout something like, "PRESS THAT BLUE BUTTON THERE ON THE CONCOL, (which is the size of a pin needle and covered under a clutter of wires), OR WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE..."
Want to know what would happen?
We would all die.

  First of all, when I'm flustered I can barely string together a pair of coherent words. On top of that I suddenly become about as intelligent as a small fig leaf, and would likely end up getting the doctor in a whole lot of messes due to my brilliant way of messing up simple instructions. (As well as destroy the whole galaxy.) It just wouldn't be good for either of us, not to mention everyone else.
    Because of my empathy for the many difficult situations the Doctor's friends often get placed in, I have this huge respect for the doctor's companions, especially their way of narrowly escaping messing up his ambiguous instructions. (Moment of silent respect for companions.)

   Alright, I'm not sure if it's just me, but the episode to this very day that still creeps me out is... the waters of mars. Just picture yourself happily bouncing along at the Doctor's side, trying out french-fried flavored beverages and purple mushrooms, and then suddenly one of those water pumping, dead guys jumps out at you.
My heart would literally stop pumping blood to my brain.
   I would be so overcome with terror my bodily functions would just screech to a halt and send me plunging face first into the asphalt to make a nice easy lunch for any hungry monsters passing by. As a result, the Doctor would probably be so shocked by my abrupt abandonment from consciousness that he might just leave me there... the only other alternative would be to roll me back on a stretcher as I murmured deliriously and spewed crazed foam from my lips. (Because that sounds FUN.) On my short arrival back to earth I would spent the rest of my life in abject paranoia, and tormented insomnia, of everything.

   So, aside from my failure at life and dead fainting at creepy things, what else could there possibly be to make me a worse companion? Brace yourself.

   You know how most companions come up with these witty remarks to the doctor's tangents about his brilliance. Me? I'd be like: "What did you just say?", or something along the lines of, "I like rocks... rocks are nice." and nod like I had some idea of what was going on. My compatibility with the Doctor would be about as charming as a deaf turtle.

   I'm not saying I'm not funny, quite the contrary, I think I'm hilarious. (I know what you’re thinking... don't you dare say it.) It's just that the Doctor often seems to get kicks out of other people getting kicks out of his jokes, and sadly at times, I feel I would just be so far beyond comprehending what the heck he was talking about that I would end up receiving an awkward doctor face.

Remember that episode where Amy ends up falling into the digestive fluids of a whale? Do you remember how disgusting that was?
    I'm sure she does.
   Being a girl, (which really has nothing to do with it), I detest getting muck all over my body. If it’s below my shoulders, I can handle it. If it’s on my face, or in my hair, FIND ME A SHOWER. I've had friends rub sheep heart across my jeans; I've had friends stick slugs on my arms. However, get anywhere near my face and your life is over I don't care how close we are.
   I like how in doctor who, at one point every companion has this ghastly experience with some alien atrocity and ends up getting covered in the stuff. I especially like how the first thing out of their mouth when they see the Doctor isn't, "SOAP PLEASE." and more along the lines of, "so where are we going next?"
   This is a very large reason I would utterly fail at being a companion. My desire for adventure is not as strong as my desire to be clean.


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   I wonder if one of the secret requirements for being a companion is that you must have been on the track team all four years of high school. I swear, every episode that man is charging down some other three mile corridor just to get to a button, then back to grab a fez. His companions, without complaint, just run right after him as agile as muscular horses. Half the time I wait with baited breath for one of them to collapse, or else frantically clutch their side and shriek about a bad stitch or inflamed muscle. I wait for the moment when just one of them will stagger against the wall, panting like a wheezing giraffe; but does it come? NOPE. Those companions just keep on sprinting Gimli style, nearly invincible to the small ailments of mere out-of-shape humans.
   Then there's me. I'd likely trip right off a mountain side without knowing it was there, and then collapse in a fit of hyperventilating frantics because I've never run all day like my life depended on it. (I'm glad to say that's because it hasn't.)

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   On arrival to some distant, exotic planet, the first words out of my mouth would be something like: "Why can't I get wifi connection on my laptop?"
"You have the power to shape galaxies, change time itself, and you can't get a simple WIFI CONNECTION?"

"If you can't get my wifi going..."
"Then what's the point of you?"
  I mean, clearly Rory being erased from all time and space is a LITTLE LESS important than my ability to search cool words on the thesaurus and stalk my X-boyfriend. 

   Altogether these reasons pretty much make up why I would be such a terrible companion. I may love the Doctor, but I would find myself fully inadequate to be by his side.