Beautiful and poetic.


I’m long past the point where I should have slept. I’m staying up, and drinking, wine (naturally), and am fulfilling a promise. A promise to write something. Something, beautiful and poetic.

That’s a pretty tall order.

So, lets go:

Well, for starters, I’m pretty sure I understand what Poetic is. And I’m fairly certain I understand beautiful (hello, Ashley Tisdale).

That’s not what I want to do right now (That’s what Tumblr’s for). And, I certainly don’t want to be arguing women’s rights over Facebook.

Lets go somewhere else with this.

Beauty. I think I know what that is. I know what I’m told to believe it is. I know what I think is beautiful. Generally the things I find beautiful do not believe that they are beautiful. Or, perhaps, don’t want to believe. Or more specifically, don’t want to believe me. Or, as I always feel is the case, don’t want to believe it from me. I guess that’s right.

Poetic. I’m pretty sure I know what this is. And I’m pretty sure, it’s different than what you think it is. That’s because, it is. There might be things that we agree on, but no matter what we’re going to come down to something where we don’t. And that’s just the way it is. And it’s the way it is with everything.

I wish I could be more, allowing, to other people’s thoughts, or viewpoints, and for the majority, I am, but you always get caught up on that one.

Anyway, back to where we were. I think my poetic description also works for beautiful. I think they go hand in hand. But, something not beautiful, could also be poetic, and something not poetic, could also be beautiful. Depending on the way you look at it. And the way I look at it.

I recently had the honor, and the absolute horror, of being given the chance to read over writings by not one, but two, people of whom I respect their opinions I very very very much. And, to be honest, I was a complete failure at it. I was not constructive at all. I think it’s out of fear of losing respect, which leads into the fear of losing respect because it was obvious that I wasn’t completely true to myself? Which always goes back to the, do people really care about what I have to say argument. And I guess people really do.. Which is just so.. strange.

Anyway here’s a poem, or a part of it, or just some things that I wrote:

It’s really your eyes that I find so striking

and it always has been.

how they always, look,

which is a silly thing to say, really

when you think about it.

well, you’ll never think about it.

but I will. and do.

I would like to tell you about your eyes

and how uncomfortable i feel now.

or I feel, you feel now.

Because, all this time, i’ve spent, watching,


And, I know that,

i’d never

In a million years, say anything, to you.

Because, what would I say,

nothing of interest.

Not to you anyway.

And, maybe not even, to me.

So, anyway, That’s my thing, It’s still under process, so you might see it somewhere else, if you know where to look, or maybe you won’t.

Also: I am really proud that I used the word vagina in a sentence today.


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