Nothing is Everywhere.

So I might as well say it.
Ben, I told you so.

Reader/s, do you understand? No. I had sex. Ben thinks I'll regret it. I don't. I care about my boyfriend. I'm happy and I trust him not to hurt me.

So I don't care what I'm going through. Yeah, I ache in unimaginable ways but I can cope. I always was the strong one, even when I broke down.

I can abandon my family. I won't but I can.
I can move out and be at home alone. I went from living with 12 people to just being by myself. I can handle it. I am strong.
I can walk to a cemetery in the dark and visit the mother I lost, staying out all night if I need to.
I can forgot how men have hurt me, how they have made me ashamed of myself, how I do not trust and am always cautious. I can give up and give in.

Naturally, I still have a gaping hole of nothing in my chest but that doesn't matter. It is nothing. Just nothing. I don't expect it to go away. I am accustomed to the presence. I am deliriously happy. I don't care.

Holes Like Swiss Cheese

With blind eyes I see you
As I prepare to ease you on your way
I wish that you would see me
Without the eyes of friends
For I know and I feel you
With an ache and a burning pain
Instead I console you
I am someone else
I am jealous and broken
Sitting by your side
I miss you

Shh Mahny!

17 year old girls sits in room watching movies on laptop. She is wearing her underwear and a miniskirt whilst eating cookies and drinking milk. It's a bit early for that.
Haven't we been here before?
14 year old girl sits in corner of room watching all 10 seasons of SG1. She is wearing her bikini and a jacket whilst eat cream cheese and drinking. It's a bit late for her.
Oh, hell yeah. It's year 8 all over again. Except this time I don't have to jump the fence to go out. I get to leave when I want. Oh wait, I did. HOW DO YOU FUCKING LIKE ME NOW?
Everything was better and simultaneously much worse in Yr 8.
Swirl...

Effort Lines

1. A red line appears
Red, politically correct otherwise
But still wrong
Welcomed but unwelcomed
By me and by you
Like a spell check
But this smarts
It stings like words
It hurts even
My little effort line
Upon no page
2. Now upon the arm

Tonight Will Be The Night

These are the days when you want out. The world is against you, making you feel useless. Unloved. Your mood crashes and rises until you prepare to give in and vomit your life into your hands. You hate how you feel, you hate everything. You want the medication, the magic pill that saves you from yourself. You can't explain this depression. You can't get rid of it and it won't go away on your own. FUCK YOU, WHY WON'T YOU DIE? The day is never ending and you can't do this any more. You can't live through. You want to curl up and forget everything. It is too hard. WHY WON'T YOU DIE? You are aching as though the pain could kill you. You love too much, too hard, too often. JUST DIE. WHY WON'T YOU. Die. Please. It hurts. You hurt so bad and there is no one there. You can't stand the pain. You can't make it go away. Please. WHY WON'T YOU DIE?

Why Would You Want To?

There are days where you stop caring about anything and then nothing can hurt you. You feel like life is just one massive bottle of Prozac. You get up at seven o’clock every morning from routine and got to bed at two in the afternoon because there is no point to being awake. What have you got to do? Who have you got to see?
Then there are days when you are crazy. You wake up to mundane conversations you’ve never heard from six other people. It’s all in your head. It always is. Nothing works for you any more so it is on these days that your schemes begin. You’re lucky for it.
On these days you go see your social worker and cry for three hours. You wind up on your stepsister’s couch. You can’t go back, you won’t go back. Now you don’t have to. Three nights you spend in a motel. Three nights in a place five towns over. They were some of the best nights in your life. You slept early for most people but late for you. It was not quiet, just empty.
That was all you needed. You needed to be somewhere as empty as you felt. You aren’t empty though. You had nothing for nine days and now you have everything. You will have to work for it but it is worth working for. It is yours. No one can take this away from you. This will always be here.
You no longer have to live with the constant and irrational fear of mistakes. This is your home. If you are patient, the fear will fade entirely. Now you know things. People can tell you what they hide from you and it no longer changes your opinion. They say things will be better if you give it time. Well, it’s better now so you’re going to hold on to what you have.
So as you walk through the grass feeling your feet go numb you think about yourself. You’ve left your parent’s house and live with a stranger you like. You have a job and friends. You are no longer dependent on the people who have destroyed your life. Today the rain poured down on you but you didn’t care. You woke up alright. On a day like today, the whole world can change and you know everything will be fine.
Today you don’t want to die. Today you don’t want to sleep through your life. Today you are enjoying the best years of suffering you will ever experience.

The Piper's Son

‎"And he remembered the water and how warm it felt and one of the guys doing a nudie run along the beach, and then they all stripped down to underwear and in the darkness he knew exactly where to find her, hadn't realised he was looking for her until his hand snaked out and grabbed her, their mouths connecting and tongues taking over while his brain was saying danger danger will robinson."

Sighs. I love this part of the novel. It highlights the failures of men to admit to others what they admit to themselves. Tom will not admit what Tara means and that pisses me off. Yes, they end up friends (or more? :0 ) but he never admits anything. Wish I could elbow a friend so he'd do differently. Poor Candis. Poor me.
Men (correction: manchilds) are impossible to deal with.

Below The Line.

This isn't just a normal youtube video. Using innovative technology it tells a story about you - Amy Miller - and how you ended extreme poverty.

No, Nick Allardice of the Oaktree Foundation. No. All I did was postpone the inevitable. I am not helping, no one is helping. We are headed for a lifetime of not caring and of nothing mattering. We are doing everything for nothing.

We are nothing, we change nothing.

Getting To Know You (Alice Writer)

UNTITLED – Concept Character

I had a twin sister once. Now I don’t. Because of one stupid, drunk driver I am alone. We didn’t look the same but we did have a twin bond. Spending nine months with someone’s leg wrapped around your arm that tends to happen to you.

Exams are important to me. It was so crucial for me to pass, to do really well. So I gave everyone a lecture.
“This is the Glen 20. Use it often, use lots. If you get me sick during Exam Week, I will kill you.

I hurt myself. I have cuts on my legs, scars on my arms. I’ve burnt myself and sliced through my own flesh. I can’t stand blood in movies but I can deal with my own pain and gore. I stabbed myself in the leg with a screwdriver one time.

The first time I was arrested was at a gay rights rally. Someone had attacked one of the gay marchers and it started a fight. Somehow it became my fault and I ended up in the back of a cop car. My parents weren’t impressed but they couldn’t do anything. I got away with everything after the accident.


My parents are good people but they are trying to fill the void. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and someone I’ve never met before is sleeping on the couch. I already live with nine strangers, four cats, seven koi fish, three lizards, a swearing cockatoo and two parents who always let me down.

I took a fourteen year old for an abortion. I’m anti-abortion but I look at it and ask myself “Which consequence could she live with? The baby or the abortion?” So I took her to the clinic and held her while she cried. I walked her from her hospital bed to the bathroom. I read her stories until she fell asleep. I rocked her in my arms like she would never be able to do with her child. I was there for her like no one else could be. I was there when I was needed, not when I felt like it.

I love my boyfriend but I know we have issues. We have a tough relationship but it works for us. We always scream at each other and I even tear his clothes but we are in love. He doesn’t like to talk about the accident and neither do I but he listens when I bring it up. Every time he kisses me I walk away. He’ll be holding me and I’ll look away before he tilts my face towards him and kisses me. I always let him but then I walk off and go somewhere else. I’ll lie on his bed typing letters to my sister and he’ll tell me how much he loves me. He’ll say I’m beautiful, that I mean everything to him. He even worked up the courage to say he loves me. I acted like I couldn’t hear him.

Got a good idea for the name of someone with a dead paternal twin named Alice?

My Ass Is Numb

Yeah, let's go nuts and have a rant. I hate you, Mrs Kaplan. Or Mrs Koplon. YOUR ACCENT SUCKS. I hate you, Mrs Tonizzo. Why do you think I went and did Math in the Senior Centre? Because I hate people. I hate my friends. I hate all of you. You're so young and you keep making mistakes I'm begging you to let me teach you about. Like THAT young teen who is crushing on THAT older person. I hate my stepmum because she won't accept her failings. I hate my stepsister because she is incredibly rude and was being awful when she took over MY room. I hate my other stepsister because she is a snob and always finds fault. I hate everybody. I hate everything. I hate school because I'm actually struggling. I hate my Outdoor Ed and Literature class because those three days put me behind in every class. I hate Yuendumu, the remote Aboriginal community because I CAN FIND A MISSION MAP. I hate being so angry but I'm having such fun. I hate how I hit that kid and then sat him down for a chat and some advice on how to treat women. I hate how I ask questions of people I've never met. I hate myself and I hate my poetry and I hate the whole. Boom de ya dah.

Heritage And Itchy Eyes

This is a blog several days in the making. There is so much more rage and sadness inside and I could go for days without dying but it is consuming to feel this way. I am grateful that Wayne and Rachel have offered me their couch, then Amber has offered her brother's room, then the ski camp and Ben's spare room. How much longer?


On days like today, there is a rage that builds up inside you when everything seems to be wrong. People are rewarded when they have digressed or done something that is right in basics but wrong when aligned to standard. The fire burns behind your eyes, making them itch and burn until you break. You turn on an innocent pen which would not write and suddenly there are two pieces of sharp blue plastic flying towards the dresser, all your vehemence and depression expressed in the violent arc. The motion ceases with a clear and crisp collision, all your anger suddenly gone and your eyes itching to cry.

So you do but you want to stop and you know that you can’t. All you want is to be somewhere else. In her arms being rocked to sleep like the last five years never happened. You said a prayer for her whilst you were out today but you couldn’t cry then. There were strangers watching. You waited until this moment, hidden away in your mind and under your blankets, when everything hit you and you wanted to scream from the pain. You can’t scream though. On the other side of those doors is your life and no matter how much you hurt, you cannot let them come in to console you. They do such a poor job of it.

What you want to do is stop crying and stop being angry. You want to go sit in another bedroom and ask your father if he’s here long and if he’ll change things for you. You want privacy and a room where you can hurt all day if you want. You want Sarah to leave. You want all those people who are not family to go away for the night because this is your mother’s birthday and they don’t belong here. Not now. They don’t belong in your grief. You want to go back into that bedroom and curl back up on the bed, wishing you’d done better at the competitions today so you’d feel like you were worthy of an opinion and feelings. You would not yell at your father but you would show him that you are crying and tell him that you want him to fix it.

You can’t even go to her grave tonight. He lost his licence so you have the burden of deciding whether he risks it. It is too much of a burden for you. You are already so far under. Those waves that everyone listens to as they sleep rise far higher than anyone would imagine. You are so sure of being crushed by the weight of the water before you drown. What will it be: death by punctured lung or death by asphyxiation?

You were going to see a play this night but you knew you would be tired from your morning. You regret it but it doesn’t matter. You can always go see a different one. You always do. What frustrates you is that there is so little to do now. All day, it was your mother’s birthday and that was no problem. It caused no drama. You were busy but you paused to take moments for her when you could. You even crossed yourself with the pentagram and prayed. You were not religious. There were no folded palms or fervently closed eyes. You were just praying. Maybe even just talking, having one of those one-sided conversations you are so good at. Now it looks to you like the night will be endless, dragging on and stealing your hopes of sleep. This isn’t just because you have awful room mates who ruin things for you. You are hurting tonight and it has been a long time since you could hurt like this. Eventually you might cry yourself to sleep but it will be a long night.

Some nights you curl up and would rather die before going to sleep but right now that ache in your heart is a nothing that ties you down. No one can die with such a hole in their heart. You cannot die in love. That is why there are failures to attest, a white and a red bracelet to tell you never to be so weak. Tonight you are that weakness that you swore never to be but the ache in your heart keeps you alive. No one who loves may die. Your mother died but there was no love in that death. It was metal and branches. You were angry and violent inside but you loved. It was love for what you used to have that caused it and love for your little family, the ones who have all abandoned you since, that brought you home.

You don’t know who to turn to. Who else has lost someone like you have? More importantly, who can you ask about it? There are bridges which still smoulder and you wish that you could raise them from their ashes but “It’s Complicated”. You are so confused and your head pounds all the time. The effort of seeing straight, of first thoughts and second sights nearly kills you. The throbbing of your skull cripples you. This is the life you have to look forward to. You are never satisfied but it cannot change.

So you become that person in the cemetery at night. You’re the one who opens the gates when it’s dark because you’re at a public cemetery. The public should feel comfortable coming in. I digress. The gates are open and the headlights are bright behind your back. You don’t recognise where you are but it is ok because you know what to look for. The dusty red pot stands out, stark-white under the moon. You talk to your dead mother under the ground because it is her birthday. You’re crying again and you still can’t stop but it is better now that your eyes no longer itch and burn.

All you took were daffodils. You couldn’t find carnations even though you knew they were her favourite flowers. So you took her Cancer Council Daffodils. Your mother was forever supporting the devastating and surely lost cases. She would rather die than refuse someone help. This taught you to value others but it also made you a young woman who does not want to spread her love thin. You are an extrovert by nature and you love people but you are no longer the social butterfly you once were. You love to avoid people but quickly adapt when you are forced into the presence of others. You could never be shy.

Every day you want to claim your home back but you know you can’t. Everyone is equal here but some people are more equal than others. Even you know that. You actually found the courage to speak up to your father but it was of no use. He didn’t see the point you were making and took something entirely different away. Even when he listens to you, he doesn’t hear what you tell him. It will always be one more thing you struggle to forgive him for.

Merry Meet

Merry may we meet
Merry may we part
Merry may we meet again

Merry Meet
Merry Part
Merry Meet Again

Merry Meet

That is all.

August 21

It's Mum's birthday soon. God, sometimes everything just starts rushing at me and I don't notice.
We went past the accident site on the way to Lake Mountain for Outdoor Ed (skiing) and Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) came on the radio. Then Bacon was talking about car accidents and how people have their necks crushed so I vomited outside my classroom. Oh, then there's a lack of sleep on top of that. Fuck, everything just keeps coming to beat me down.
They're waves with no break, just a massive trough that I can walk along before being crushed by the crest.

Dialogue With The Depression

Hell-o Amy. How have you
Been; Devastated. Perhaps
You should begin; It is not
Too hard to smile, I’m sure;
But you aren’t me so how
Would you know; I am your
Depression. Don’t forget
That; How could I? You follow
Me everywhere and I always
See you; Remember to be
Polite when we meet; I always
Am and greet you. Good
Evening, good afternoon; I
Know you don’t like me; Of
Course I don’t! My life is
HELL and I owe that to you;
At least I am thanked; It is
NOT a compliment; Say what
You mean; I want to cry; See
I understand you much more
Now I know what you want;
Are you sarcastic; Never
But I am sardonic; You know
They are the same, you
Infuriating imbecile; I love so
Much to hurt you; I can tell,
You watch me bleed out; Still
I am ever polite about it. It is
Why you must show the same
Courtesy; ‘Inside I am bleeding.
Sir, Good evening, good afternoon.’
; Always.

Damnation!

Today, the effort of blogging escaped me and so I have been scouring the hard drive of my laptop looking for a suitable work to display. Unfortunately, none could be found and so I was pushed into a tight little corner. From this position I either would be coerced into showing one piece of my mind and what I am currently thinking or a different piece of which the same could be said.
And so it came to be that 'To Define the New Selves' has found its way into our midst.
Here, this is it.

To Define The New Selves
-Amy Miller

Who are we but pacing discoverers of the new world?
Describe us as you will but see what is to see.
Who is any person in this world
But a MySpace page
A few unread emails and
An accident in the traffic jam
On the tedious commute to the tedious job?

Who are we but pacing discoverers of the new world?
The unseeing eye to poverty and homelessness
Hardened against the needs
Of other to protect the needs of self.
Were we not happy?
Barefoot and pregnant with society
Held and in order?

Who are we but pacing discoverers of the new world?
We are grossly malformed with surgical beauty
The beauty of ourselves.
Vices become our many loves
The land walked by the corrupt.
The place where children cry for working mothers
And the nightly men who provide their wages. Or their beatings.

Who are we but pacing discoverers of the new world?
Perhaps a blog and an addiction to shoes
Those who lay waste to the true beauties.
Pacing through the concrete corridors
To avarice and breeding contempt
With our two-toned blazers and Daddy’s credit card.
The thieves with no incentive, no hungry children at home.

Who are we but pacing discoverers of the new world?
With our chain smoking and lopping of trees
Men on sites calling to women from tradition
Serenades about bitches and booties.
I personally sigh and refuse to name others or label.
We refuse to disuse faggot.
We breed through violence and bleed for sport.

Educators Are Awful

My Geography teacher is a lemon! I do not even know his name and I am fully set against learning it. I do not like him. I feel slightly awful for also judging his appearances but only a little. Very few instructors of education have made my staying in their classes practically impossible to stand and much less pleasant than leaving. Two really.
This man and Mrs Healey. Of course, I have severely aggravated my own share of teachers. There is a favourite memory of mine that regards an incident with Mr Gardiner and a whiteboard marker. I still cannot forgive or excuse this man.
His grasp of the English language disgusts me. For one, it is a ‘cause and effect diagram’ and not “chunking”. “Chunking” is a vile word and I find its pronunciation to be awful. The sound of this word makes me wish to be sick and then to maim him. Another issue is that he seems incapable of saying ‘gentlemen’ or ‘boys’ or ‘guys’ if it is to follow a phrase along the lines of ‘be quiet’ or ‘shut up’. It would appear that he is only able to complete such a complaint in regards to “the ladies present”.
I do not like sexist persons and even less so do I like them if they are of the kind who demean the sexes.
He has pixie ears. They are creepy and they are made even worse by the haircut. I want to cry every time I look at him because I feel like he is planning to molest someone. He has an odd face. It is not ugly or pretty or big or small or hairy or unshaven. It is just a face and it makes me uncomfortable. Whenever he approaches Courtney (who must ALWAYS be beside me because one of us ALWAYS has to copy something; cheating, no but teamwork? Yes.) I pretty much turn into the Incredible Hulk on the inside. I see colours and I really want to hurt this guy.
There is just something about him that makes me want to cause significant amounts of pain to him on frequent occasions. For the most part I can explain what it is at the time that does ire me so but there are moments when I just rage at him without explanation.
One explanation is that he is simply not Fiona. Mrs Tonizzo has the power to be one of the most frighting and feared teachers for a student but we had an understanding. I was odd, she was pedantic. It worked well for us. She understood the way that my mind worked. No matter how she seemed to irritate me about Alex or how she refused to have disciples of Buddha in her class, she always had that and I am appreciative of it.
Another is that I like my personal space around new teachers, particularly males. I tend to have problems until they prove themselves worthy of my regard and education related attentions. Of course, there will always be a bare level of respect. There are standards to become a teacher as there are of most things and the successful achievement of these will induce me to be respectful but not more than is necessary.
Or maybe I just do not like him. He is not my teacher, just a man at the front of my room trying to control my class.

Explaining Down the Rabbit Hole

I could discuss my other dream but it was fairly erratic. It was also like Down the Rabbit Hole in that it was not a nightmare but more a dream that made me sad. So I will not be discussing Film in Schools. I will give an explanation to Down the Rabbit Hole instead.
I am at the beginning of something (dawn, baby Jorba) and am at peace (the proverbial olive branch) with my life. I’m comfortable with starting things for the first time or beginning things all over again. I am distracted by something captivating (butterflies) and it has coerced me into leaving a part of myself (Jorba) behind in pursuit of that something.
The forked roads and trees with black leaves made me think of a Robert Frost poem. The poem was about choices, particularly the choice between what is right and what is easy. Again, I was distracted by the butterflies and ignored which choice I made. This is about me being uncertain as to my ability to discern the difference between my choices. I run with my choice but am quickly abandoned (butterflies fly away [...party in the U.S.A...]). I am the kind of person who will choose what appears important and there are many people who will stand by me for it. When it proves itself to be a choice of hard work, more people will leave than will stay and I am alone in my beliefs.
I face criticisms but never give in to them (not feeling the cold ground) because I will not forsake my identity. The sunlight does not gently light my way but illuminates large areas and hides others. I show no fear of this. My dream self knows as my real self does; I can’t know everything but I can know enough to make life easy. The mushrooms are a symbol of things that are not as they seem. The mushrooms are poison, the bread rolls are not. I have to be wary of something trying to deceive me.
I can be led to water (the growing river) but not forced to drink; my decisions are my own. I have been given an opportunity of some sort and it is my decision as to whether or not I take it. I do and it turns sour (the net). I am dragged under but I make the most of my unfortunate situation. I talk my way out of a problem. I was not (forgive me) surprised by that talent showing itself. Next I am thrown slowly over a waterfall. This part of the dream shows how I struggle when I am not in control.
The four items I stole intrigued me. The first symbolises (to me of course) that I am losing touch with my friends. I recognise these people who are so important to me but I don’t know who they are (yearbook with no names). The people who are important to me are falling away. I have lost time (broken watch); years have gone and have been wasted. I am unsure about the name. I don’t know anyone named Amelia Sullen. Amelia always makes me think of the female pilot. I have a mild fear of flying though. It is possibly why I have never flown anywhere. Sullen implies a bad temper. So, flying and a bad mood...Mood swings? I’m constantly irritated lately and it is beginning to annoy me. Something is now growing (seeds) from this anger. Whatever it is is becoming more corporeal and important. I tried to displace my anger (throwing the seeds) and they attached themselves elsewhere. I can’t get rid of the anger in my life. I don’t know what to make of the fruitcake unless I relate it directly to myself. I don’t see myself as crazy but I know I’m at least a little odd.
The pig is how I see (most) others. They are brutish animals trying to disguise themselves. They want to take something from me and break me down. They want my individuality. Under pressure (the Dalmatian) though, others will break where I will bend and I will (literally here) have to pick up where they leave off.
I find others to be ostentatious (castle) and this makes me feel as though they are deliberately trying to belittle me. The woman in white suggests purity but also that I have learned. I did not trust her appearance and instead took precautions (tipping out the wine) and it saved me. My connection to life (the flower) is not beautiful (colourless) but it is strong (elephant reference). Recognising it is startling and throws me off balance. My show of (forgive me again) surprise is annoying in some way to others (the pig) and causes pain. I am distracted once again by a shiny and/or colourful object (the ceiling) and once again go looking for something better (‘forever’).
My enemies or ill-behaving acquaintances (the woman in white) still help me no matter what I do. I tend to make enemies who turn out to be worthwhile friends. Due to my above average communication and social skills, I have infinite (every colour of flower) opportunities available to me. Infinite as in overwhelming (passing out). Too often I let people take advantage of my care and hospitality. At times, it leaves me drained (nauseous, bleeding) and incapable of looking after my own needs. My life has been reduced to nothing (the fires) and there is a gaping hole where something is missing. The dream suggests a fear of this destruction (the falling) but also shows that I am capable of handling it (the landing). I may have been bruised and in pain but I am still alive. I am naively curious (Jorba) of how I know I will always do something insanely stupid (like chasing butterflies) and be sure I will make it out just fine.
Apparently, I told me so.

Down The Rabbit Hole

Down The Rabbit Hole
I am curled around Jorba under an olive tree. We are in a meadow and dawn is breaking. I get up to chase butterflies, leaving my baby rabbit asleep and dreaming. I run after the captivating insects without tiring. They lead me to a sparse forest that I don’t take notice of along a forked road. Neither of the paths has been traversed and the trees have leaves that are black. The brightly coloured creatures split and stream down the paths and I continue to run, ignoring the world around me. The butterflies burst up and out of the trees, leaving me alone. The ground is cold but I am not and sunlight filters down through the trees in large chunks. I walk further down the path, watching mushrooms that look more like bread rolls grow behind me as I step. A river appears between two distant trees and stretches down to where I am. Diving in, I am pulled under by a net and recline along the river bottom. I sit and talk with shells about kleptomania. The current pulls me away and down the side of a waterfall. I fall ridiculously slowly but am unable to do anything about it. Behind the waterfall are shelves of the most random things. I reach out and pull some down with me. Crashing at the bottom of the pool, I clutch tightly onto them. On the river bank, I spread them out to dry and to look at what they are. There is a yearbook of people I don’t know but recognise. All the names have been cut out. There is a watch that doesn’t work. The name engraved on the inside is Amelia Sullen. A packet of lavender seeds has gotten wet and is growing before my eyes. I throw it away from me and the lavender attaches itself to the bottom of a tree, climbing and snaking its way up and around the trunk, becoming an oak/lavender hybrid. Last, there is a completely dry fruitcake. A piglet with a top hat beckons me to him and asks for the cake. He walks away with it and I follow him further into the forest. We encounter a small Dalmatian puppy and I carry the pig when he faints. Further in, I spot a castle. The highest tower is level with the tree tops and I feel very small. A woman in white walks me in and offers me a drink. The wine she holds out smells sickly sweet and is the colour but not the consistency of blood. I wait for her to turn and tip the flowing liquid onto a tulip as tall as an elephant and the same colour too. The flower leans down and congratulates me on my hindsight. Startled, I leap back and fall over the pig. He squeals in indignation and I crack my head against the floor. I lie on my back, stunned, and stare up at the ceiling of the foyer. The ceiling is silver and appears to be shimmering. I continue to stare and see that it is the word ‘forever’ written over and over again until there is no space left to write it again. The woman in white lifts me up. She screams in pain because I forgot to when I fell. She seats me on an enormous bed and discusses my university options with me. I lean onto the purple pillows, embroidered with every possible colour of flower and pass out. The woman in white takes the things I collected from the waterfall and sits on the floor looking at them. I regain consciousness but I begin to bleed profusely from a cut on my forehead that was not there before. I stand up and feel nauseous. The things on the floor burst into flames and burn a hole through the floor. I fall down and down and down. My descent ends when I fall painfully through the sky. I land with a sickening crunch against the ground in the meadow where I started. Jorba bounds over to me and stares inquisitively into my face before saying ‘I told you so.’
I woke up and wondered why I had an Alice dream.
It seems to me that I’m not learning. I didn’t fear going down the rabbit hole but the dream (or maybe dreams) that came after. It is when we dream that we are vulnerable and I consistently forget to keep my guard up. Disappointing.

Handbags (Are Awesome)

In my handbag I have several necessities that must not be removed save for the changing of bags.
There is my identity. First and foremost, I must have my Learner’s Permit. It reminds me of who I superficially am to myself and to the world. It is proof that I exist and am a part of the world. My birth date is provided to inform any who care that I have been here and have been here for some time. It has my name for no person can go unnamed. I have a name. I have an identity.
Then there is the bracelet. It is not pretty or particularly useful but for the memories. The bracelet was Little Sara’s bracelet. It reminds me that fire is destructive and that no life is sacred. It reminds me that I am a friend to children. It tells her story to me and I carry her with me always. The existence of a loved one proves that I have loved and been loved.
I have my epaulettes. They are blue and without stripes. These epaulettes exist to show that I am active. They show that I have earned rank and that I am doing something both useful and productive with my life. I am not wasting my time on unimportant matters but am forming a person from the shell that I am. These epaulettes show that I care. They show that I care enough about people that I’ve usually never met before and that I care so much that I will do anything to ensure they do not feel pain.
So far I have an identity, I am capable of love and I care.
My wireless internet USB. It now goes everywhere and so it should. It is how I connect and am related to others. There is no hope of ever reaching my mobile but I am always reachable via the internet. It is how I keep my others within reach and allow them to know that I am still here though that may not be where they are. It is how I share myself with the world and the inhabitants who care enough to discover me. It is my network.
The last is a recent addition. I found this again whilst moving my things and I am undecided about the merits of carrying it with me. It is my hospital bracelet. It could have been either from April or June last year but I remember the one from June was red because I was able to put a sentence together and tell them my allergy. I do not carry this with me to reprimand myself or to remind me that I must be careful. I carry my hospital bracelet as a reminder that never again will I be so weak. I will always have my bad days and worse nights but I will never fall so far as I did that year.
So I have an identity and am real. I am loved and I love. I care for others whilst making a someone of myself. There is a world that I am connected to.
I am strong.
However, there is one thing I wish I remember to keep in there more often. I swear I’m going to go postal on the wind. I should have brought a clip or something...
Terreur Nocturne.

The Replicants Are Coming.

In the industry of artificial creations, moral dilemmas are a daily occurrence. These issues range from the most mundane of ‘What if?’s to the question of human rights and whether or not artificial humans should receive them. ‘What if?’ What if we made artificial humans so human that they turned on us for it? The moral dilemmas include whether these artificial people should be awarded human rights, the acceptability of their lives as little more than slaves and if it is right to play, for want of a better word, ‘God’.

Artificial humans would be bio-organisms. They breathe, think and function like humans. The only difference is that the artificial humans would be genetically engineered. It does not matter to those who make them that they have emotions and feelings just like ‘real’ humans. As artificial humans, they would have no rights that any human would. The question of course is should they? Should artificial humans have human rights? Artificial humans will have the ability to think and feel. They could even develop their own emotional responses and collect memories of their time alive.

Androids are built for a purpose. They have a set task, a job to do. They have no choice in this process so it begs to be asked: Are they slaves and if so, is this ok? A person who was given a task, no matter if it was pleasing or not, and made to complete this task without choice would be considered a slave. As slavery was abolished many years ago, it would appear that slavery is wrong. Slavery is defined as any person owning another person. What this leads to is the debate over whether artificial humans are human enough to come under the term ‘slave’. This causes a moral issue for anyone who believes them to be so. To make an artificial human knowing that they are a slave and not perhaps a servant would be morally wrong.

Religion is a very important part of life for many people. In any corporation that designs and creates artificial humans, the workers run the risk of crossing the line and ‘playing God’. As such, the ethics behind styling one’s self as God become an issue. The debate on whether we, as humans, have the right to create life has raged for a long time. Many people believe ultimate power of creation, used to meddle and tamper with the forces of life, is immoral. All corporations which make artificial life regardless of this obviously do not agree or are likely not to even care. If there is such a person, it is simply not right to imitate God but only to venerate him.

Artificial creation is a delicate subject. The possible complications which may arise are able to seriously jeopardise the morality of the human race. Creating artificial humans may lead to regression and the reformation of slavery. These artificial humans have no rights that humans do and no freedoms. Do they not deserve them? They think therefore they are and should that not be enough? The existence of artificial people throws the natural definition of ‘human’ out the window. It would seem that our imitations of God and His divine ability to create life are simply not good enough nor are they morally right. These are the issues we must face if we are to create artificial life.

O, Relative! (Letters IV)

To Sarah,
I don’t care if you’re family now. You weren’t then and it was the wrong thing to do. Seriously, even in year eight you were trying to hook up with every guy. We were supposed to be best friends and now I’m pretty sure we’re not.
Yeah, we had that whole issue about Bree (Again, friends? I guess not.) but we’d gotten over that. It was actually bearable to live with you again and we were even up to inside jokes. Special moments and all that jazz.
Now I know you’re just screwing me over AGAIN. I was happy. Depressed maybe, but I was definitely happy. Now I’m going to be the kind of person who judges her friends. Every word will have a second meaning and I won’t trust anybody. I won’t trust you. Why did you have to do that? And why did I have to find out now. You’ve only just screwed up years of memories for me.
Why? Why couldn’t you be happy and have left my life alone? What was it that you wanted? Did you want to hurt me? Make me angry? Well, I’m not. I’m so disappointed though. Impressions mean nothing. You were the one person that I always thought I could read and I always believed you would tell me the truth. You’re a liar and I’m sorry I didn’t learn it sooner. I would never have tried so hard to keep you in my life.
There were (and are) plenty of fish in the sea so why couldn’t you have stayed away from my Nemo?
Quit complaining about your pains. You know that you aren’t losing weight the right way. You’re hurting because you aren’t eating right. You are starving your body and it is responding in a negative way. Do the right thing by your body and it will show its appreciation. Don’t and it will keep sending you signals to tell you that there is something wrong.
If you won’t do that, go see a doctor. Get painkillers or advice and then SHUT UP. It doesn’t matter and you’re fine for now.
Don’t talk about yourself the way you do. Don’t talk about guys the way you do. You complain that you always end up in relationships with jerks. That’s because every guy either has had sex with you or knows how to convince you to. You’re turning into a broken person and I don’t like it.
Enjoy your childhood. You can claim to be a mature adult but I don’t think you are. Yes, you went back to school and I’m proud. That does not mean you are mature or an adult. It means you’re ensuring that you don’t miss opportunities because of an educational disadvantage. You are unlikely to get a place in your chosen workforce due to the influx of students in that area. You need to be realistic.
You will never be the same person in my mind ever again. I wish you hadn't stayed last night.
Your Sister,
Amy.

Once Upon A Time

Once Upon A Time, in a not so far town there lived a girl who was not extravagantly beautiful or a princess or the daughter of incredibly rich parents. She was just a girl.
At night, she would stay up late because she was cursed. A wicked shaman woman sent evil dreams to her every night so that the girl's slumber was fraught with fear.
The girl knew that neither prince nor his steed could help her. Just as with Lady Macbeth, her illness was of the mind and not of the body. Even so, she was still willing to try True Love's Kiss.
Unfortunately, no one else was and so the girl found herself between a rock and this really dingy pub called A Hard Place. The girl knew that she needed to sleep for one hundred years to make up for all her lost time but there were no options available to her.
The girl tried bleeding out as Sleeping Beauty had done but to no avail. She tried poisons like those in Snow White's apple. She still could not sleep a peaceful dream.
Like the princess with a pea below her mattress, the poor girl was forever doomed to turn in her slumber and wake unrested. It was most unfortunate for all the girl had ever wanted was a fairytale.
All she had wanted was the opportunity to wear a floaty dress and be taken off to a castle where the sun goes when it sets. The girl wanted someone to wake her on every morning with a kiss. She wanted to fill a castle with oddly named children. It was not to be so.
The girl continued to dream her awful dreams and gave up on her hopes. Instead, she learned to live with her problem. The girl ignored the dreams and how they made her feel. She ignored how lonely she was and she ignored the existence of the real people around her.
The girl focussed on her lessons and studied History at a facility for further education. She lived with a close friend with similar interests and life goals. They inhabited a townhouse together until she moved in with her greatest friend.
This friend helped her with her goal of children through magic, known to most people as IVF. The two had a son and he was named Aaron Lee because Choc Hazelnut Spread was considered inappropriate. The three lived a long, full and adequate life. The father was a pilot in the RAAF. His plane was shot down and he died. The girl coped.
The girl grew old and paid off her mortgage. She sent her son to the finest institutes of education available to him. The girl memorised poetry and sang songs to herself as she went about her aging business. Mostly it was baking and cleaning. Sometimes it was baby-sitting. She always loved children.
The girl lay down and died.
She was better off.

Lit project that I'm having some fun with so crit is welcome but only if it is nice and possibly useful. Otherwise you'll ruin my day.

The Shock (Letters III)

Ryan.
I nearly died four minutes ago. YOU ACTUALLY READ THIS. I was aware that you were aware of its existence but I am truly shocked to discover that you have a presence here.
The Parliament was just a joke. It was teenagers giving each other labels to mock the political system. Oddly enough, we learnt. And it was also a really good reason to say 'The Parliament' in a weird voice whilst using quotation marks. We were odd little ones those years ago.
I'm glad you kept both hands on the wheel. I'm notorious for taking mine off. I totally understand the panic and necessity of holding on for dear life. Manual sucks. As long as you don't crash, feel free to ignore me as much as you like. Nice car BTW. Red and shiny :)
I like you. You're awesome, so don't feel bad. When I get sad, do you know what happens? I get sad and then I get awesome. True story. You should try getting awesome more often. Or just out. My blog is now officially mobile! SQUEE!
I blame you for that.
She was my friend. Now she's my sister. It's pretty awkward. You may be the only person in Pakenham who doesn't 'know' her. Go you.
The past has not disintegrated but rather taken itself apart and set itself out in front of us. The order is occasionally wrong and sometimes parts are obscured but it is there. No piece is missing because there is always a friend who knows where we are and who we were. That's what we are for. We are for remembering all the secrets and embarrassing stories.
We are The Parliament.
On to your dream. Explain, analyse and then laugh because you're pretty sure that odd socks has nothing to do with the grapes. Or Tiffany. Be willing to share of yourself more instead of telling. We do not want to know more about you, we want to know who you are.
I'm sorry that you feel isolated. I understand. Your 'friends' don't need you but they will have you. It's hard when that is all you have. You may be better off finding a friend who needs you. Or you could always bitch and moan to your mum until she lets you come back. Maddi isn't Maddi without her punk look or you.
You need more life.
Terreur.

P.S I refuse to blog and so you abstain from doing the same. I return and so do you. Manchild, why?

My Most Sincere Apologies (Letters II)

Dear Ryan,
I’m sorry that I wasn’t very intelligent when we were younger. There’s being smart and then there’s intelligent. I caused a lot of pain and it was entirely unnecessary. I even had someone to talk to but I still did horrible things to myself. That wasn’t your fault and I didn’t do it because of you. I’m just sorry that I made it your problem.
I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about a lot of things that were going on in my head. I’m sorry I kept sending you other people’s texts. Here’s a tip: if your Samsung slide phone has predictive text in the contacts list, don’t use it. The amount of ‘Rya’ numbers in my phone was ridiculous. I’m kind of glad it ended up in the pool.
I’m sorry that I’ve stunted your ability to find someone else. I’m sorry that that has to be part of The Plan. I’m sorry there’s a plan in the first place. I feel like a bitch and like I’ll never have said sorry enough no matter how many times I say it. I’m sorry that part of The Plan is setting you up with someone I’ve never met.
I’m sorry that I wish you are ‘carefree and swirly’ because it gets stuck in my head at random times and I’d rather not think about it. It is not that I don’t care, just that I don’t need the distraction. It’s screwing with my head and my algebra is failing due to it.
I’m sorry that I’m insecure and would rather talk to you about than anyone else. Even worse, I’m sorry that I don’t. I’m sorry that I don’t feel like I’m a part of your life and that I shouldn’t be anyway. I think of myself as a burden and that is wrong. I am not a problem and I am certainly not a problem to someone. It hasn’t stopped me from preventing myself from talking to you though. I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you. I’m a flawed person and you haven’t asked to be a part of that. I am human and that is what makes me flawed but there is nothing wrong with that part of me.
I’m sorry you used to have to put up with some disturbingly wild mood swings. I was pretty much borderline bipolar a few years ago. Actually, I was probably not. It just felt like it. Anyway, I’m sorry. That was definitely no fun to put up with and yet you did. Thank you for putting up with me. I was and still am reasonably insane. You coped very well with that.
I’m sorry that I had a few awesome years when you were around. I’ve been left with inside jokes about ‘The Parliament’ and eyebrows that only Muffin (or Maddog as we knew her then) has ever understood. Although Cody does seem to enjoy mocking the eyebrow thing... I’m sorry that those years were so great because it means that I miss you heaps now so I can only imagine what your other friends are going through. Except Clinky and Mykaelah. If they cared, they’d make the effort. If the make the effort, feel loved.
I’m sorry for no reason. I’m just sorry. I’m so used to being sorry that I’m sorry anyway on top of my justified sorriness. I’m over it.
I’m sorry that I kept you up for hours so that we could chat on MSN. I’m sorry that I wasted your time because you should have been working or sleeping. Or showering. I just liked knowing that there was someone that I could reach at pretty much any time so I never felt alone. I never used to feel alone but I do now and I’m sorry that I used you to try and fix it.
You were a great friend and I love you. It’s like my whole ‘favourite toe’ speech but worse. I wish you were here and that we were friends like we used to be.
You know too much.
Terreur (coz she’s the only way I can face you now.)

Dresses (Letters I)

Dear Mum,
My release is writing and I suppose that I have chosen you as my recipient to try and ease the pain I am in.
I’m a girl still. I think like an adult and I have some very adult problems to deal with but I’m still your little Monkey and I’m still a daddy’s girl. No matter how much he hurts me and makes me hate myself, he is the only person who has never made me feel useless. I painted a room today. He told me I’d have to stop if I stuffed it up but I didn’t and I knew I wouldn’t.
It’s because I run around in girl’s clothes. I own an amount of simple dresses that I would have thought ridiculous as a child. I even like them. There’s something about the movement that makes me feel carefree and swirly. Dresses make everything uncomplicated. They make me exactly who I am supposed to be.
I never thought I’d be the kind of girl who liked ‘teacake’ dresses. Do you remember that? All those fluffy and floaty dresses that have a never ending train of tulle and are doused in lace? I’m actually wearing one of those now. I appreciate the way it makes me look. I feel beautiful so I am. I feel like the woman you will never see me grow into.
Whenever I think about all the dresses you’ll never see me wear, it physically hurts. You never saw me at Graduation or in my high school uniform and you never will. You missed out on the dress that I never wore to your husband’s second wedding. You won’t see my formal dress or my Debutante dress, even though I’m leaving that for next year so Ben can take me.
God, you’ll never meet Ben. He is the most gorgeous and pain-numbing person I have ever been fortunate enough to meet. He is odd and persecuted but we have the real love of the two halves of a soul, each finding themselves in the eyes of the other. I love him so much and I will never forget how he has been my greatest friend.
My wedding dress will be yours but you will never see me wear it. You’ll never watch as I walk towards the person I will promise my life to. When I wear a hospital gown for the first time to bring your grandchild into the world, you will never see it. Every dress that I have worn since you left, you have never seen and never will.
I would give almost anything for you to be here, to see how gorgeous I am right now so I can stop trying to make up for what you miss. I would give you everything that I am to see me in this dress. It means so much to me that you will never know that I have become a woman-child waiting for a Prince Charming or someone to take me away to your home so that you will no longer miss out on who I am and the dresses I will be wearing.

It hurts to love you
Amy.

O, Hark! For Before I Knew Your Name!

I am supposed to be in bed. I am supposed to be sleeping. I intend to get up for a run in the morning. But where am I.
I'm at the table in my room, in front of my laptop. I am on the profile of several old friends and I am crying. Some of you are gone, others for good and I am sad because you all have lives.
I'm sort of stalking you I guess. It's upsetting me when I see photos of your other lives. You're out partying, taking piano classes, playing with babies and (I thought this an odd shot for a public album) buying underwear. You're doing it with new people.
That came out wrong but I've not got the effort to rephrase it. I'll just it leave it as is.
I don't even know why I'm bothering. We don't talk any more and if we do, I feel as though I'm the burden of who you used to be, dragging you down.
And that's ok. You never had to or have to like me. I just wish we were still friends and that everything was not the same but very similar.
I wish I could write you an email about how my day went. Maybe comment on your status. I won't though. I'd be intruding and then I'd have to re-introduce myself to you. I'll just watch here from the sidelines. Don't worry, I won't break into your house and cut off some of your hair to keep or something creepy like that.
I'll just keep an eye on you, see if you're doing ok and whether or not you're happy. We're kinda past the point where we can just pick up and be friends I think. I'd ask you if you agree but you'd never answer.
That's ok too. It's like you know the rules too. Well, there aren't really any rules. Not officially. They're more like guidelines that everyone agrees to without knowing that they exist.
So, it's like you know them. I won't act like there is any hope of us being friends like we used to be and you won't get my hopes up. We're working together to not be. It was inevitable, I suppose.
For Clinky, Ryan, Mikaelah, Ryante, Susan, Bridgette, Sam (and Sam) and all my other lost loves. But mostly the ones from Year 8. You understood why we worked.
I wish you'd never left. Or maybe that I'd never let you go.

Had Enough? You're Not Alone

Before I begin, thanks are in order to BeyondBlue, the national depression initiative.
In my family, depression and anxiety disorders have only ever reared their ugly heads in the lives of our women. This lends an impression that because women are the most common sufferers of depression they are the worst off. This is not true. It may be the case that approximately one in every six Australian men suffer from depression at any given time whilst one in every three women suffer from the same illness but there is more to the emotions of men than they are given credit. I want to take some time out to share a bit of knowledge rather than rant about petty things such as how 'bad' my life is or how frustrating I find life.
Suicide rates in men are significantly higher than those for women. In fact, young men are four times more likely to commit suicide than a woman of the same age. Statistical evidence shows this is because men are more likely to turn to substance abuse rather than seek medical treatment. Men feel weakened by depression and it causes them withdraw further into themselves.
The general contention is that men should be men and depression is a women's illness or not even an illness at all. No person should be depressed and they definitely should not have to face it alone. We all have the right to speak up if something feels wrong or if we need help. Depression is no light matter and if it isn't taken care of properly, you become another statistic.
I'd like it if no one became a statistic any more. I understand that isn't possible but it is nice to dream...

Terreur Nocturne

I'm Sorry.

I know. I'm annoying. I frustrate people. I get distracted so easily.
I get it. It's hard not to want to slap me or tell me to shut up.
I'm working on it. I'm getting frustrated myself because it's taking too long but I am trying. I'm trying to impose less and I'm trying to cut myself out of the lives of others. I can tell that I'm not wanted. It's just proving harder than I thought to remove myself.
Don't worry. I'll get there. Soon I'll be able to ignore everyone who doesn't need me to remind them that I exist.
It's ok. You won't have to put up with me much longer. I'll get used to it.

How Can I Believe?

I do not believe in storing irrelevant newspapers in my mother's chest. She can not go to the Bahamas. Do not leave the Travel section of Sunday's newspaper in there. She can not go see any movie currently out or any play or anything. She can not SEE. So do not leave the Entertainment section of Sunday's newspaper in there.
I do not believe in storing the montage of photos of my mother anywhere but on top of my mother's chest. Do not leave the frame on a set of speakers. That is insensitive and of poor judgement. My mother will not be remembered by a set of speakers but rather the few things of hers that we keep in that chest. You insult not only my mother but also myself by leaving her image elsewhere.
The possessions in that chest were in perfect disarray. Every time I removed an item, I returned it to the exact same place in the exact same way. Every item had a place that was no place to anyone but myself and my mother. We knew where everything went and how. You had no right to organise the last true piece of her, the one thing I had left that was so Carolynne that it astounded me. Now it is you. It is clean and tidy Catrina. You folded and organised everything. My mother is no longer in the chest.
You have no idea how much that hurts. No person can understand how much this is hurting me. You just killed my mother all over again and it was an accident. I can't even blame you.

Toast Your Good Days

I have had the best day today and nothing anyone says can take that away from me. I have a Zebra named Tobey and Joey never met a bike that he didn't wanna ride and now I have a Tobey to prove I never met one I didn't like.
One of my girlies did my make up for me too so I felt pretty. I didn't even hate it. I just felt gorgeous and left it at that. I've had more chocolate than my arteries can stand and you know what? No fat comments. Not feeling it and there's no FatDay conscience. I can look in the mirror and there's no diving under the covers from it.
I have gorgeous crystal earrings and ONE pierced ear. Thank you Sarah. I just wish that maybe we'd iced it first so I didn't pass out when I heard my skin 'pop'. That was creepy and now I'm not letting anyone but Ben touch me.
I stayed at Ben's on Friday. WE DRANK! It's been ages since I've had enough courage to let myself drink. Left it at one bottle of wine though. 14% alcohol and I'm getting accustomed to drinking again. I WILL NOT EVER DRINK AS MUCH AS I USED TO and I WILL NEVER SNEAK OUT TO DRINK. If I have to sneak out, it's definitely too much for me.
Courtney made me cupcakes. She got an M and M cake, I got cupcakes. Muffin will get buttered muffins in September. This is how birthdays work in our circle now. We love and be loved. I am loved. It makes me smile and it gets me through all my days.
Tonight I will sleep and it will be painless. Beautiful even. And there will be volcanoes behind the lemon trees shading girls who do yoga. Bliss.

Oh, If It Were Real

I have recently been happy with one side effect of my exams. This side effect was the over-tired side effect. I was able to spend many an hour in deep and undisturbed slumber. Then it all came crashing down. I awoke today from my sleep to the realisation that the nightmares had begun again. It has been some time since my last.
In movies you can always tell when a characters has a nightmare. Their body twists and turns as they moan in their sleep. Then they suddenly jerk upright and pant heavily, their face covered in cool sweat.
I don't believe myself to have done the first two and I know I didn't do the third.
I'm also not entirely sure I was dreaming.
I do know that I was suddenly awake and aware of being awake. I was on my side (my left) and looking at Kiinnii without seeing her. Soon after I became aware of the heater in my room. It appears my mobile went off at the exact same time that I was aware of the possible dream existing.
The dream itself: All I was surely aware of was a feeling and it was so distinctly real. I know there was more but I don't know if I saw what happened or not. I don't know if I heard anything or not. I don't know if it even happened. I could just be going crazy. It feels like I've been working up to insanity for all these years but it has just been biding its time.
The problem with the dream: What I was aware of was the feeling that my stepmother was screaming and that my father had hit her. I was awake and in bed wondering if anything had happened. I wanted so badly to go upstairs and see if the world was safe. I couldn't and this is so disappointing. I was afraid and I lacked courage. I didn't want to believe that my father's rage had returned.
If it had...That was terrifying to me. I'm no longer protected by the immunity granted to children and that shows that I'm not as strong as I used to be.
I never used to care if my father would attack me. I would wait for it so I could stand there and prove to him that no physical beating could ever tear me down. Now I tremble at the thought of what his words and mind games can do to me.
I am a coward. Trina could have been hurt and I would just have stayed in my bed, safe and hidden to the world.

Bunny...?

Sometimes I wish I was a kid again. Sometimes I reckon it would be worth being back in all that hurt to be out of the hurt I'm in now. Years and years of seeing things has built up and I want to burn out my eyes. I would rather be living in things that hurt me so badly but I don't understand than things I do so they don't hurt as much.
I remember those morbid nights when I would watch my parents fight because they didn't know I was there. I'd be enthralled by my father's anger and my mother's submission. I don't remember ever seeing him hit her but he did. I know how he hurt her. She was my mother; it was my job to know.
Does forced sex count as rape if you're married? Because I know that happened too. And the worst part is I don't know how long ago I remember that from. I know I was at least ten or younger. How vile is that? How absolutely disgusting is it to think that any child, let alone your own heard the fight that led to that? The crying and the begging for help? Because I heard it. I didn't understand much but I wasn't stupid and I knew it was wrong.
I'll never forget all those mornings I woke up and spent hours scrubbing my skin before everyone else got up. It was so hard not to wake Tiffany up. We still shared a room then and I could never explain to her why I was so desperate to be clean. I never used to think about staying with Meredith and Steph when mum had really early shifts at work. It never happened again after that night. I know that piece of scum looked twice in Tiffany's direction. I try to feel something for her but I can't. I was less than nine years old and the sick bastard tried something. I guess I'll never be prouder of myself than I was then. I think I broke his nose when I elbowed him in the face.
That was the one time I should have thought to scream and I didn't. I knew 'stranger danger'. I knew I was supposed to scream and try to get an adult to hear me. I just didn't know this was why. It's so weird. Sometimes I'll be sitting somewhere or relaxing and I'll be telling myself to scream. I'm so scared now that I won't be able to if I need to because I can't do it now. I can't make myself scream. I get embarrassed or I keep telling myself it is stupid.
But now I'm older. Now I know things and I understand what happens to me and around me. A few years ago, I was with my friend Sam and we were somewhere. I don't remember where it was, I think it was a guy's house. I'm not sure why we were there but I started remembering things I shouldn't have, not at that time. I remember hiding in a bedroom and then someone came in. I don't know why, I don't remember any more and that worries me. I think I got angry with this person who came in or I just got really scared. I remember less about that day than I do about the actual day that I was thinking about. I felt so insane sitting on the floor freaking out about something I wasn't sure was real and all I could think of was how it was so dark that night, how everything was black and then I was fighting something I couldn't see.
Now I'd rather go back to that night, back to when I was fighting an invisible monster. I'd rather be waking up at four o'clock for a cold shower than to scream. I'd rather relive every school day after my dad hit me for the first time for the rest of my life because I didn't understand it. I'd rather wonder know nothing about the kitten I accidentally stepped on than know now that I killed him. I would give anything to go back to those times because I didn't know what they meant.
Now I'm becoming a grown up. I have plans and classes and expectations. People want me to grow up and be a doctor, a lawyer, a teacher. They want me to hold down a boring job, have a boring relationship, a boring wedding, boring children and a boring married life. I want that too. But my way.
I want to spend my days sifting through the debris of ended lives and cultures. I want to love and be loved, a white dress and a thousand cameras. I want a son named Aaron Lee and a daughter named ChocHazelnut Spread. I want to go on like that for years and years. I really do but I think I'm lying if I say I don't want to just be a kid for the rest of my life. I want to be seven and never get any older.
Being a person and not a child is such an effort.

Life Should Be Simpler

How can it be five o'clock and all I've eaten is handful of M and Ms? All I've had to drink is a glass of Pepsi? The only time I exited my room for more than three minutes was to hang out laundry?
I assumed I was having an alright day until now. I've spent the entire day in bed, barely eating, sleeping or even functioning. The only reason I'm considering leaving my room now is because I know I need the exercise. Seriously, even Hilary thinks I look overweight and I have to wear full uniform at the next meeting. Bruce Kidney's coming too so I have to look decent.
Why can't I be thin and pretty like everybody else? Instead, I'm a pale freak who is hidden away in her own personal dungeon and refusing to leave. The only time I ever leave is when I have school or St John. I'm a loser with no life.
Really the only thing I have going for me is, as Ben puts them, my Cleaveye of Death. And they're hopeless. You don't get people to really like you by being a trashy whore. My hair is easily dealt with but it's too short to do anything pretty with. My legs are strong but they're too muscular from my days in footy. I have too much flesh around my abdomen. I'm not lean. My hips stick out too far. My shoulders are to broad. I can't wear a boob tube because of my cleaveye. They make the material sit too far away from my stomach and then I look pregnant.

Sleeping Naked

I don't know if I had a good day today. I'm so glad Courtney and I got stuck into that Anastasia song. There's something about Disney that makes me feel so good about myself.
I think the day did go really well for me but I was just so hung over from the effects of yesterday that the balance has not been met.
I was so proud of my cadets tonight. Their drill was impeccable. I've never seen it so good and what with the surprise bombshell dropped- Bruce Kidney is stopping by our meeting next week -I couldn't help but be impressed and like tonight's meeting. We have another new cadet and her name is Karly. I'm happy, I like new cadets.
Michael is still just as frustrating as before. He insists on taking far too long to perform basic tasks. Matt seems to suffer from some kind of learning difficulty and that is painful for me to work through. My time is more appreciated and better spelt elsewhere.
I feel like I have no where and no one to talk to my day about except here. How strange is it that an unread blog is my therapy? I suppose being ignored here just makes it like a diary. Hmmm...Perhaps I can just talk about whatever I like here?
Tonight I plan on sleeping naked. I like sleeping naked. There's something relaxed and 'carefree and swirly' about it. It's good to be 'carefree and swirly'.
I've decided my school shoes are ok and another accord will be entered into. Monday they just felt wrong. Today they did not.
I may or may not wear a bra tomorrow. I cut myself twice on the leg this afternoon. I like drinking proper cocoa when I have a headache. This week will turn out for the better and I won't mutilate myself again but I need another day or two to shake the awful feeling of impending doom.

To Be A Teenage Girl

Who would willingly be one? Who could ever possibly WANT to be a teenager? Or me, for that matter?
High school can sometimes suck, usually a lot. Once one tiny little thing goes wrong, the whole world crumbles. Especially with boys.
This is the part where well meaning friends will tell you that to the world, you may be one person but to one person you may be the world. That just makes you feel worse.
Where does it all begin? Outside the A Block with a him, a her and a Winnie-the-Pooh anthology. Foot in mouth strikes but it is ok. She walks home happy, barefoot. The embarrassment does not matter. Right? But wrong.
Revision keeps her up far too late. She wakes up on the only side of the bed. It is cold, she can't find her Pjs. It may have helped to wear them but it was warm last night. She is behind schedule preparing for the school day. The brother refuses to get up so she sends him in to the parental units. There is confusion. A substitute is had in OutEd and Geo. Geo was bludged and that redeemed the morning some. History was far too brief and was blank; there was nothing to do, another substitute. The library provided a more quiet but by no means silent refuge. The hell hole of the afternoon proceeded with a period of GenMath. The claims of making a scene, being a tool, the adolescent behaviours of a pictorial and lowly vocalised kind were overdone.
Naturally, an exit was necessary. After mild violence, the removal of self was enacted. Quite reservedly and with minimal drama, she completed her exit. Private study in the centre did not work and having him watch her was distracting. Shortly after he left, her bag was packed and she headed home, passing him once and not stopping. Pyjamas were entered and the covers were pulled high above the head.
How could she not have seen? They only let you be this happy when they are preparing to take something from you. Today it was your dignity, another portion of your sanity. Sleep it off?

Is It Just Me Or Are The Stars All Really Exploding?

It would seem that the entire world is speaking Greek to me. Take Lachlan as an example. The only guy who happens be in my Literature class talks to no one until he deems me fit to converse with. We share a common loathing: Marnee's constant name dropping- her own, of course. And I am refusing to wear my school shoes. They don't FEEL right to me. And Lachlan is reading the children's books I bring to Literature. And I am purposefully shut in a room to miss my classes. It's my own choice too. And my parents are actually home this week. And it is almost Winter but it is always warm when I wake up. And Roxy is gone. And everything is shiny and different and new all at the same time. I am so confused by it. I DON'T UNDERSTAND. I dreamed of the butterfly house at the Zoo. everywhere, everything. It's all Greek.

How Did It Get So Late So Soon?

I don't know, Theodore. Why don't you tell me? I would answer if it were not so late that I could no longer remember the question. Well, for your sake, I shall attempt to proceed.
First there was Dawn and then Morning. Following that there was Noon which was closely shadowed by Afternoon. Dusk was next but quickly moved on for Twilight and then Evening. Lastly, we stumbled into Midnight. That is how it got so late so soon.
Then there is my way of becoming late.
Beloved died. I learnt some bad habits which led to bad actions (for myself and others). This was after starting high school of course- how that ages one! There were several house changes and then VCE set in reasonably fast. What with Revision dashing to my side and then the throes of exams upon me, I was barely able to keep up. That is how it got so late so soon.
There was a lengthy spell of revising (in comparison) followed by a mad rush shower. After that, some toast and then settling into bed. It didn't last long with forgotten laundry becoming unforgotten. There was a brief conversation with someone who wasn't there then an insane need to change the bedding. Once again settled into bed, there was to be no sleeping. Words began to flow. That is how it got so late so soon.
We were born. We learned, we loved. We made mistakes. We had babies, we dreamed secret dreams. We got old and memorised poetry. We lay down. We died. That is how it got so late so soon.

Taemus, You Appear To Be Angry With Me

It would appear we are no longer speaking, that we no longer have an accord. I wonder why that is, Taemus.
As a god, do you believe that you are allowed to abandon me? You should know better. You are the god of dreams and I am the insomniac. Who could possibly worship you more? I must have displeased you to have been abandoned so. No warning, no heads-up, not even a hint that you were bored of your job.
I hope you aren't on vacation. That would truly piss me off. I would probably murder you if you were off in the Bahamas or up in the Swedish Alps. That would be annoying. I wouldn't like it.
Perhaps I made you angry. Perhaps you were annoyed that I continuously brought my problems to you. I thought you would be the right person to turn to. Apparently I may have been slightly off the mark.
Would you like a bedtime story, Taemus? I've been reading something you may be interested in. They call it 'The Island'. I nearly cried. It makes me think of people who I should not have long forgotten but did. I fell alseep reading it last night. Shows just how mature I am.
That was sincere, Taemus. Not many teenagers can say that they truly fell asleep reading a children's book before bed. I dreamt in the book. How strange is that? I dreamt of you, Taemus, but you looked like everyone did on those pages.
I was afraid, Taemus. I was scared that you had built high walls to make sure no one would bother you again. I was scared that you had turned me over to these people and would have them look after me in your stead.
It wasn't nice, Taemus. I was scared and I never wanted to live in this fear. Where is the bliss that you promised?

Dreams of Ink

I am awake now and I have to get this out of my head.
I am lying in a massive field of clover grass next to a forgotten friend. We are talking about plans. Plans to have babies, to go to university, to love each other and be happy. Sometimes I think I am lying with Ben, other times with Paige or Tiffany or even you. We are just lying there, laying out the rest of our lives. They are promising never to leave me behind and I am promising not to leave at all. I am content just to lie in the field, dreaming up the rest of my life. We are still and warm, watching the sun slowly cross above us, lengthening the shadows but keeping our bodies warm. I look up and my mother is standing a few steps away from us. I don’t recognise her but I do. It is all about her dress.
She waits while I walk over to her. She puts her arm around my shoulders and reminds me of what I already knew. We are only allowed to be so happy when we are being prepared to have something taken away.
I am taken to the garden. My Carolynne walks me into the secret garden and into Tina’s dream. This time we walk through it together, over to the willow tree and the grey wall. We lay down together and she points out the new roses growing between the leaves. I am leaning into her shoulder and listening to the beating of her heart as she dies beside me. I die with her.
I guess this should be described more as a bad dream than as a nightmare but what is terrifying for some is bloodcurdling for another. It is different to lay with someone as they die than to make it happen. It is a different kind of horror. For now I just hope to be forgiven.

Damned Teenage Depressions And States Of Mind

I do not understand why I have a gaping hole which will not be filled. I understand that it will not be filled because I do not know what is missing. What I do not understand is why this gaping, fleshy wound has appeared. I am deeply unnerved and I miss the part of me that is gone. I would like to find and reclaim what I have lost but I cannot. I do not know what I have lost. I believe that to be what is worst. Something has abandoned me but I do not know what it is so the talents of Google are of no use. A search engine is limited by what we already know.
Perhaps it is the knowledge of who I am. I do not remember how I used to think about myself or others. Maybe I just let the world amble by whilst I was busy and now I am unsure of how to catch up to what I do not recognise.
I have been drowning myself in words to escape the loneliness. Not knowing what I do not have, what I do not know is missing has made me lonely. I am not alone but it feels like it. I have tried to save myself by destroying my metaphysical being and turning to the texts which want me, love me, need me to continue existing.

Come back to me, missing and shattered pieces. I miss you.
Terreur.

Mrs. Hilary Warrington

My name is Amy Miller. I am the Cadet Corporal at the Cardinia Combined St John Ambulance. You know me because I have been a part of your division for several years and have for some time considered myself to be your friend.
Today, I would like to take this opportunity to raise some objections and complaints I have come across whilst working alongside you as a part of Cardinia Combined.

It has recently been brought to my attention that you had made some remarks about my appearance at the ceremony where I received my promotion from Senior Cadet to Senior Cadet Corporal. The comments were made to another cadet (whose name will remain unmentioned for privacy) whilst I was not present. This cadet has also discussed their displeasure at the comments made.
The comments in question were as follows and they are naturally paraphrased as I was unable to hear them first hand:
You questioned whether myself and the other cadet ever checked our appearance before leaving to attend meetings in uniform.
You then went on to say that we were not to wear our black skirts as part of the uniform or we would have to wear jumpers.
What came next appalled me and hurt my feelings. Your next comment was that you believed our appearance in uniform to be unflattering and that was why we must not wear skirts.
Specifically you said that the skirt was far too tight on my hips and stomach.
I do not appreciate these comments as I have previously worn this very same uniform yet I have lost weight since I wore it last so it does not sit as tight as it previously did. Also on this issue, I do not wear the St John uniform because it is flattering to my figure. I do not come to St John Ambulance to be stared at. I do it because I like the opportunity I am given. I do it because I am proud to be a cadet.

My second complaint regards your treatment of Angelique Zacaris. I understand that you have differing views to Angelique and she becomes the topic of discussion and minor jokes. I have also taken part in lightly mocking her. I do not say it is particularly right but I do believe this to be harmless and all in fun. What upsets me is the harsh way in which you tore down her dreams of becoming a doctor.
You may be quite right in saying that Angelique will not be able to become a doctor through her current course of schooling or attitude to learning. It is the way you went about it that upsets me so.
Angelique is far from emotionally mature and your tone in addition to the things you were saying about the poor girls dreams hurt her. The pain caused was visible from how she looked. Although she regained her composure quite quickly, the damage was done.

I must speak up about your husband, Mr Herbert Mueller. It seems to me that although you are no longer living with him as though married, you will not deter him from interfering in your St John life. For the sake of professionalism, something must be done. You put the image and reputation of St John Ambulance in jeopardy by allowing him to loiter around our vehicle whilst on duty.
Mr Mueller is not only a hazard to the oxygen tank due to his habit of smoking beside our vehicle, there are hygiene issues. Mr Mueller does not care much for his appearance or personal hygiene and these standards are absolutely foul. Such poor hygiene within the vicinity of our vehicle used for the treatment of the injured public is not acceptable.
Mr Mueller is also far from self aware and problematic when it is necessary to treat casualties. I have had to remove Mr Mueller from where I was treating once as he was trying to tell a casualty with an injured leg to move as the casualty was in his chair. I was made to waste my time and the incident did not look good for St John Ambulance's reputation.

I regret to inform you, Mrs Warrington, that I am severely displeased with the current goings on of this division and I am questioning my role in its participation. I feel that perhaps a short reprieve from the division is necessary so that the division will be able to make reparations and so that I may also remove myself from that which displeases me.

Miss Amy Miller
Senior Cadet Corporal
Cardinia Combined Division
St John Ambulance Australia

Fuck This Shit. I'm Going To Hogwarts!

Do you ever wish that an imaginary place was real? Wouldn't the whole world be better off if it was?
I have discovered yet another of my idiosyncrasies: If I don't like it, I'm not there. I even shout it at appropriate moments to make my point. Just last week my parents were fighting when I did indeed shout the following statement at them: "Fuck this shit, I'm going to Hogwarts!"
It is to protect me from something I don't want to face.
Be wary of Hogwarts and don't question me if I leave to go there.

For Funsies

Ok, so we all know I'm weird. At least, you SHOULD even if you don't.
So, I have come up with three challenges and it is your task to complete one if you can. Or two or all of them if you're super awesome.
"Why?" you whine to me. Because I am awesome and you will be rewarded. Nothing like the idea of a mystery prize to get people to do things for you.
"What?" you ask. I'm getting there, I'm getting there. Naturally these tasks are a tad odd and you may not like any of them so you'll just be lame and do none. The last should be fun. The first definitely is.
Proof is needed for all tasks. This is photos, signed notes, etc. I can help you but only once and once only (not once for any task)

Task Uno:
Obtain a complete outfit of other peoples clothing and then wear it.
RULES: You may only get one piece of clothing from any person. Socks don't count as one but you get extra marks for odd socks or socks from different people. Even if you're a guy, this means getting a bra. You don't have to wear the person underwear.

Task Two:
Wear only an outfit of post-it notes for no less than 3 hours.
Rules: Gladwrap may be used to help keep the post-it notes on. You have to have at least one landmark in your proof photos. A landmark is a school, pizza shop, post office, laundromat etc.

Task Three:
May 72 peoples days in the city - Give free hugs!
Rules: You have to have a free hugs sign. You need a photo for EVERY person you hug. Multiple people in a photo count.


Have fun...First to complete wins the ultimate prize :D
Pick a task and let me know or help me with mine: Task UNO

I need:
Hat
Tie
2x socks
Top
Pants/skirt/shorts
Bra
Underwear
Jacket/jumper

Little Sara

Let's tell a story. Seven and a half years ago when my friend Mark found out his mum was in labour, he came over to my house. All he wanted was for me to help him make a bracelet for his little sister currently fighting her way into the world. So I helped him. It was a bright bracelet that he made, with deep reds and blues. There was even a tiny bit of pink.
The red spheres are for Oma, Opa, Darcy, Mark, Sara and the bunnies, Flops, Breakfast and Huff.
I used to look after Sara after school when she was really little because her mum had to work. When she was about three, they moved away and I didn't see her as much.
Last year, Mark was with his mum packing up their stuff and getting ready to leave. By the time the smoke was close enough to inhale, his mum was sprinting across the back of their property trying to get down to the gum trees where Sara was playing with their sheepdog.
Then Mark forced her to leave.
Mark walked all the way from the end of Army Road to my house at 4am in the morning. He sat there and talked to me for a couple hours. He told me he'd had to pick his mum up and carry her to the car because she wouldn't leave. We fell asleep at about five. Mark woke me up at seven. He'd walked all that way just to talk to me. Then he just gave me her bracelet and left. I didn't understand for a while because he stopped where I did. And then started again.
For Mark,whose sister I have known all her life. All six years.

Fire burning through my nights
The fretful dreaming in my mind
Children caught who now roam free
Outlived their days with none to see
I hold a bracelet with bloody flowers
Reminding me of how you spent your hours
Crying, hurting and caught in flames
To never speak or smile again
You keep me turning and I scream
As I feel the pain you must have been
In; While my flesh burns from the heat
I cling to a bracelet of garish beads
With a dog curled by my side
I relive each night how you died
And every breath holds hate and spite
For one inferno sparked from one light
I cannot breath now, my chest is tight
Flames remind me of you tonight
You hold my hand until I believe
There will be sleep and you leave
I am awake and dazed - My throat is dry
Your bracelet rests before my eyes
I miss you Sara so I cry.

Real Mature Kids.

You're fifteen. She's sixteen (just). You do NOT get to plan to get married or have kids. Get a life and be mature!
You want to crack the shits with me? Go ahead: Prove my point.
You may not ask a lot but you ask it often and it adds up to one big heap of "I can't be fucked any more". I honestly don't give a shit if he calls you or if you call him. It's not my business nor is it my job to care. So keep me out of it.
I never boss you around over your relationship. I only ever tell you what displeases me about it. I don't have to be happy with your stupid "I wuvv yous" or pet names. Again, it's none of my business.
I don't hate you for being with my brother. I hate that you are both being ridiculously immature about your relationship. You were told NOT to have sex for a reason. The reason is that you could end up with consequences that need to be carried around for nearly ten months. You are not mature enough for that. Neither of you are.
You want to get married. You're even engaged. You're also very, very stupid and naive. Go ahead and be in love but don't expect much support. You two need to grow up a great deal before you are in any way ready to be partnered FOR LIFE.
Do you know what that scare cost this family?
If you can't even follow correct English conventions, how the hell are you supposed to prove you can make MATURE decisions in your life? You want to be a big girl and man up to what you did? Do your parents know what happened? Or don't they need to, right?
Your family IS my family if you want to be mature about your relationship. I'm not putting this on you. I'm putting it on you AND Scott. It takes two to have sex.
Try screwing up your life on your own time when we no longer count.

Something Unpredictable. But In The End It's Right

Holy SHIT! I had the time of my life tonight. I was supposed to be on duty but hey, firies are volunteers too and Hils was cool with it. I even managed to leave the venue with a guys shirt and a tie o.O. I am a Hopper!
For my awesomely awesomeness, I have hereby been inducted into the Hoppers Crossing Firie community. I also got to learn the motto: The hotter you are the faster we come. And of course: If you call us hot and heavy, we'll leave you wet. Gotta love firies. And Matt, who smells good even if it's mostly wood smoke.
It was good to talk to him. He was ridiculous but in a fun way that made me forgive his stoopidity.
I was made for wearing other peoples clothes.
From the comfort of Matt's top, I hereby xxxoo you
Sweet Dreams
St John Girl

I Can't Hear It. Repeat. Say It Again! What Is It? Listen To Perdita.

You can tell me as often as you like that I am...unique. You can say it with the same inflection. Tell everyone that will listen that I am just different. I know your lie, I know what it means.
I spent the whole day with these people, being attacked and having my opinions violated. I know what they mean. I stood there and I looked at what they were doing. I ran down the beach to get away from them. You just saw the smiles, the fake, fake smiles to warn you.
I snapped. Something is broken inside and I am not prepared to deal with any more. I am no longer working inside. There is something that doesn't fit any more and it has changed things.
All day, I have heard it. It was a quiet mumbling throughout the day, becoming louder and louder until it has reached the point where I am crying in bed with my laptop's heat scorching my legs. And I am hiding, no longer safe under the covers, with Damien trying to settle me. And it is not working.
It is coming back, that word. No! I don't want it. It is becoming louder and louder and I am scared. Your lips are forming that cruel word and I am sick. It is coming. It is coming. It is coming. freak. Freak. FREAK. FREAK!

The Girl Next Door Doing Yoga

You have perfect lines on your front lawn
So does the girl next door
But you were too busy planning spontaneity
To find out what she was looking for
And she lives alone with an orange tree
That drops seeds over your fence
That you want to plant into an orange tree
But just to look alike is your defence

Oh, you caught her once doing yoga
The girl who still lives next door
She saw you watching and she pulled you over
Told you what she was looking for
Made you help her wash her dog
And then you painted on her car
And it was already a rainbow
But to please her you painted stars
Now you’re back inside working nine to five
Coz you’re human with bills to pay
While she’s busy giving piano lessons
Making money her own way

Now in the mornings you’re doing yoga
With the girl who still lives next door
Across the road kids watch until she pulls them over
And they join in until they can’t do any more
Then you get her a coffee and go inside
To watch her dancing with her class
From your kitchen windows
On the wrong side of the glass

Next weekend you’re going hiking
Because she asked to go
And you know that you really don’t want to
But you’ll go when she says so
You’re learning guitar and growing your hair
You got yourself a pet goat
His name you can’t pronounce
But she takes him out in her boat

And you go swimming before you do yoga
But there’s no girl next door
When you saw the kids you pulled them over
They gave you a letter and you cried till you were sore
She’s alone somewhere on a mountain
Telling a guy she found what she was looking for
While doing yoga with the guy next door.

Response To Elegies

Beloved! Be Loved.

Beloved! Be Loved. Days are done;
You have faced all weathers, your experiences won
Home is near, angels hear, your heart is exulting
But beating stillness without feeling, my face grim and baring
Still Heart! heart. Heart!

No more beating blood red
For in the casket lays you
Face of cold and dead.

Beloved! Be Loved. You are praised so all is well
But return to us - You so are loved - Can you not tell?
We bring our flowers. There are wreaths the black hole crowding
we sway on our feet, mascara a mess and away our faces turning.
Beloved! So Loved!
My warm hand to your face
It forces tears to eyes
To know you feel no embrace.

Beloved has no answer, pale of face, cold. So still.
Does not feel my childish fingers pulsating while I will
beloved is home now, her resting face sound
While I fear and smile away. return her to her ground
Smile friends to remember
As I mourn with every tread
For soon I must leave this place
Where Beloved lies cold. Lies dead.

This was written as part of my Literature- Creating workbook. after many weeks of diligent poetry study and analysis, it was time to begin my responses. Already written were "The Babe", "Response to Poem", "Ode to My Mid-Morning Snack", Response to: Sonnet 130 and Tarantella. There was also an unnamed poem by 'Lemony Snickett' himself.
"Beloved! Be Loved." was written in response to the topic of elegies and based on the form of "O Captain! My Captain!" by Walt Whitman. Whitman writes his elegy upon reflection of the loss of Abraham Lincoln. My elegy is for the death of my mother.
Any analysis, critiques, comments or odd observations are welcome.
For now, I'll just wait in the orange tree and do yoga.

Just Cranky Is All

In the last three days, I have not had enough sleep. I don't need to be forgiven for it, I just need you to be aware.
I do not like to judge people. I think it's rude and it makes people look like idiots. The world has plenty of those without adding me to its list.

So when I tell you that you reek of cigarette smoke and I feel quite ill, it's because I feel sick. I don't care that you're underage and have smoked on school property. I care that you are making me think I might be about to vomit in front of my entire year level. I'm not judging you. I'm telling you that you may do as you please but I won't be around for it or afterward. I like feeling well.

It's not that I don't like you. I'm just cranky is all.

Trust - How Far We've Come

Paige. I am so very disappointed. For every talk I have ever given to you that you've been too embarrassed to have with your mum, every warning I've given you when I see you leave on Saturday nights, every single MumMoment I have ever had with you and will ever have again there will now be a deep green stain across the highlight. It seems to me that you never listened. I am deeply moved and not in a good way.
Yeah, I'm older than you. That's why you are my Year Nines and you, Paige, are special because you are my baby girl now I've lost Shonna. You don't know her. Don't worry about it. Being older than you also means I have a special responsibility. I run the 'Don't have sex. You'll get klamidia. And die.' rants.
You know that! You've had to sit through endless amounts of them. It would be hypocritical of me to rip into Sam if I was the same kind of person as her. I wouldn't even have been able to say half the things I've said to C or M (even N but that is NEVER going to go anywhere. I will break ALL of his fingers if he touches her, then his toes. Pull out all his eyelashes with a pair of tweezers. The usual) if I'd passed my Vees. No way. I wouldn't even be able to threaten G with mass amounts of duct tape and oak trees.
I'm proud of being a virgin. I know so few girls my age who still are. It's not right and it's even worse that you don't trust my judgment, let alone my sincerity in trying to help you make good life choices.
This is my body and I only trust myself with it. I wouldn't risk that on something I would not be proud of in the morning. So I'll hold on to my virginity for a while longer thank you and I'll trust you not to make the mistake of not trusting me again. How could you not in the first place?

Courage

I suppose I wish this were real because then I would be able to tell myself that it's all over now and I will never have to go back. Unfortunately it was a daydream, a moment of woken terror and I will be seeing it again and again until I can no longer bear the weight of it.
What is courage? We have been discussing it in literature, referencing the actions of Bertrande Guerre (formerly de Rols). I was fortunate enough to also have referenced Robert Frost for courage yet it is his poetry that brought me to me knees (figuratively speaking) this very morning.
As a class, our definition was bravery. So what was our definition of bravery? Courage. So we went on in our circles, tightening and winding until we were dazed, lost and thoroughly confused.
The Oxford Australian Integrated School File Dictionary and Thesaurus (compiled by Anne Knight) tells me that bravery is "having or showing courage". This gets me no where. The compilation of Anne Knight goes on to tell me that courage is "the ability to face danger or difficulty or pain even when you are afraid; bravery." That shows where we lost ourselves that little (okay, significantly large) bit. Even the dictionary that is supposed to educate us, although we may not use it in any SAC, test or particularly difficult class, has turned on itself.
Courage is bravery, bravery is courage. What is each if it is not the other?
I took the liberty of spending an hour or so with Mr Frost to discover the answer. I like to have answers. I like answers much more than questions. I would love to spend all my days being asked any question at all as long as I was able to provide the answer to it. Even if it were a sad answer, it would still be an answer and there is its beauty: My ability.
I was simply sitting and waiting in my own world of peace, quiet and insane injustice when I came upon him. It struck me as odd. I was the one to stumble upon Robert yet I never moved before then. It was just how it went in my mind. We held a pleasant conversation for some time, amicably arguing about words and the like. I often hold such arguments within myself and was quite pleased to have a companion on this day.
It was strange that we turned to the topic of courage. We were aware of ANZAC Day having just passed but I'm quite sure we were talking about something simple like the weather or how my hair looked in the light.
As was to be expected, we were traversing through a wood I had no recollection of but for my imagination. I recollect pausing at some point without realising until I noticed the two paths we were standing before and had been standing before for a good twenty minutes. I'm not which of us it was but one of our exclusive group of two asked with path it was to be.
I am embarrassed to to admit I must have run from the paths even knowing they were not real. Every step back was another year until I was aching and withered from my efforts to return to Robert. He was gentlemanly enough to offer his arm. How wonderful of him not to have turned from the sight of a choice to be made. How strong and tall and proud he looked!
I chose the latter path. I will not tell you were we went as that is something to be kept between Robert and I. I am glad I showed courage and bravery. I am glad I caught myself up in the confusing behaviours of the forest and went to where I am supposed to be. I am pained by what it cost.
Now I am fortunate enough to know that courage is not bravery, nor is it the ability to face danger, difficulty, pain when one is afraid. It is the choice we make; At the end of the day we can either do what is easy or what is right.

I still think I did what was right.
Amy.