Nothing Important

I haven't done a very good job at running this blog.
But nothing important has happened lately and I really don't have much to talk about. I'm just doing the same-old same-old, day in and day out.

I need something new but I just don't have the time or energy.

Here's a picture of me in the wig i ordered online, because I got sick of my short hair.

I made a ridiculous face because I mean why not, right?


Also: I've been eating far too much lately. It's like my appetite just doesn't go away. Ever. It's a little ridiculous. 

Today was a snowday. It's 6:50 pm but it feels like 10am because i wasted the day away doing absolutely nothing at all. I can't even remember anything I did before 4 pm. My whole day is lost in a void somewhere. I wonder how many other irreplaceable minutes are lost there as well? 

Bold

Today's the day: I'm going to compile all of my best poems into an anthology. Some might be from like 2 years ago, some might be from this morning. I'm just picking the ones that I like. My goal is to create multiple copies and start selling self-published poetry anthologies for some extra money, but I'm not sure if that's going to happen yet. I'm thinking of repurposing composition notebooks, because the aesthetic I'm trying to go for is kind of like.. Classic 90s teen movie,  angsty poetry scrawled out on scraps of paper and back-sides of worksheets. Not to say that's what my poetry is, but that's the kind of look I want the anthologies to have. So might just literally paste them into composition books. It kind of also makes them unique, and it's cheaper so the profits would be higher. But I don't really want to talk business.

It's kind of nerve-wracking, doing this. Because, if I do, I'll be officially putting myself out there to have my work read and criticized. And,a s exciting as that is, it's also fucking terrifying. But I really feel like this is something I need to do.

What's that phrase? go boldly in the direction of your dreams? I think I've seen it on posters in middle school classrooms or something. But, I guess that's what I'm trying to do.

Fake Plants & Book Collections

Last night I went out after school just to see what was at the thrift store and if there were any good bargains at target and managed to get a few things for my room. I found two little fake succulents, a "feel beautiful" candle which smells absolutely gorgeous (the scent is moonflower & neroli, with essential oils of orange and lavender), and some little LED tea lights. The lamp pictured here was something I already owned (I believe it came from a garage sale) and it has pretty elephants on it, and then the other candle is a cute little "thank you" candle my boyfriend's mom gave me at Christmas. Here are some photos (I apologize for the intensely shitty picture quality, I really need a new phone with a better camera)

Then here are the  books I picked up at the thrift store:

And here's another photo of the succulents:

These little cuties were 3 dollars each! I wish they were real plants, but fake ones will do for now. When I have my own house, I really want to get a lot of cute plants. 

I set everything up on a table in front of the window in my room, and I call it my "aesthetic table." I also bought a package of three brown moleskines with lined pages and they're sitting on the table as well. I really have a problem with buying journals - perhaps one of these days I'll make a post showing off my collection. 

I Wish I Had a Title for This

More poetry, what a surprise. It seems like that's all I do these days. Like it says, I don't really have a title for this one but I wish that I did. Anyway, here's the poem:

Your voice is a pen scratch,
messy writing scrawled on
crumpled paper,
all rasps and teeth and creaking jaw bones,
choking out inky words
and tender thoughts
like messy poems on late-night
diner napkins.
I'd linger
in your red ink blood for hours,
breathing in your harsh uppercases
and scattered cursive writing
and whispered lowercase letters.
I'd bathe in your freeverse, ever-messy language.
Let my body be your notebook,
make my hands your moleskine journal
grace my parchment paper hair with your
ink-stained fingertips.
Whisper your shaking pen-words into my ears,
let yourself scratch delicate, harsh calligraphy
into my curves.

Digital Killed the Disposable

I used to love taking pictures with disposable cameras. Unfortunately, the only disposable I can find anywhere is like 7.99... I've checked all the dollar stores millions of times, I think most places have stopped carrying them, and to be honest I'm not sure if I want to dish out almost 10 dollars for one camera. I try to tell myself the results will be worth it, but I think I'm just too cheap. 

Identity Crisis?

I doubt I'm having one, but I think my blog is.

English nerds, behold

My greatest creation!

Inspired by the wise words of Kendrick Lamar ("ya bish..!") and the wild musings of an AP English Lit class, this is likely my greatest masterpiece.

Every time anybody says Percy Bysshe Shelley's name, someone yells "YA BISH" and then we all got talking about how the class (of six people) needs t-shirts to show off just how bookwormy we all are, and I was basically like, "guys, I got this" and I whipped this up in paint as soon as I got home from work.

You're welcome, planet earth. You're so welcome.