I. MUST. WRITE!!!!!!

Only problem is, my brain's like this ---> _________________  See?  A big, fat blank.  There's this blank Word document, staring at me... and I've tried typing randomly.  But I didn't like what I wrote.  So I'm just staring at it back.
It's a staring contest, and Word is winning.  Unless I fill it with words.  Why won't my brain work?!  I'm being driven crazy by this want, this need to write!
So I'm ranting about it to anyone who wants to saunter on down to my blog.  Well, back to the staring contest between me and the Word document...

EDIT: Oh my gosh, inspiration!!!!  Soon you'll see a short story about a tree's shadow (don't worry, it's more interesting then it sounds)

The Door (A Poem)

There's a door in my mind that's opened many times,
And it sits in my front room too.
There's a door in my heart that's slammed so many times,
And it sits in my front room too.
Wherever I go I carry it inside,
With oppurtunities and pain.
It tells a story so dear because I've always had it,
But it's broken and painful and I've about had it.

See this door has a problem that it can never shake,
Always pushing and pulling trying to break,
But I know if it breaks I'll break too,
And if I break others will break too.
So I patch up the cracks with mortar and paint,
Trying to hide all my shame,
But instead I am covered in pain.
That door knows that one day it will get me,
So it waits always opening and closing.

Every time that door opens I am uncertain,
And when it closes it gets worse.
Inside and outside, people always moving,
Will they come back?
It's unknown.
And in my heart and my mind it shows two things
How slowly I'm breaking and how much I cling.
Shattered in fragments, all but that door.

I hate that old door because it's always moving
Opening, closing, cracked and slamming,
Never stays the same.
But it's like a river and that's like life,
You can't expect it and that's the way.
Oh but I love that old door because no matter what it is doing
It's always uncertain.

GASP! ANOTHER one, Kuna, really?!

Another character, that is.  And yes really.
Irita is her name.  I know she sings pretty well (I'm so cliche`).  She has dark red hair, and blue eyes with a liiiittle bit of green in them.  And that's about it.
Since I had nothing better to type about that's my post.  Cuz I want her to be really, really in-depth.  I am determined to make Irita the best character, like, ever.  I'm going to draw her and her room and everything (says the talentless artist).
Pleh, that's it.
Oh, yeah, I finished my Aveyond game for the first time and got to the second part of the visual novel I'm making.  Yaaayyy.

To Let Go

Morning whispers with clarity,
Written on the air.
Dawn comes with gentle grace,
The absence of its charity.
Music says that we will go
Calmly through the window.
And as we go we slowly fade,
Forgotten, at last alone.
But as surely as the evening comes,
So will come the day.
Letting go is the hardest part,
For we always want to save.
As the sun goes down we see the dark,
Fearful as we are.
Yet we feel the charming edges
Smoothed by many tears.
Our tears are just to follow them,
Through the darkness, through the light,
For we are nothing but a trick,
An illusion in the night.
They tell us that it's the hardest part,
But the right thing to do.
To let go of all our fears,
Hope to take us through.
We do not always live by love nor hate,
But there is something we all need.
Such is the whispered age.
Letting go, indeed.

The Rescue

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n7TLTjqUyog&NR=1
Listen.  Then watch while listening.
There it is.  All there.  Everything.
Summed up, just like that.
We're... us, and we suffer, but in the end... the smallest miracles... they'll save us.  And we'll be stronger.  Better.
That's how it is.

Sometimes We WON'T Get off the Damn Floor

(Excuse my language, up there.)

Our world.  Our time.  Our place.  We’re here, nowhere else.  And here is being fraught with struggles.  Some are easy.  Some of them… we give up.  Just like that.  And there are times when it’s not giving up.  When it’s learning… learning that there’s people out there who are willing to hurt others, make them suffer.  Because everyone suffers, in the end.  Everyone.

Capital punishment – that’s the topic we’ve been discussing in language arts.  And I’ve been thinking.  It’s such a hard and tricky topic.  Do they have a mental disorder?  In a way, was it unplanned even though we saw it was?  Did they do it?  Are they going to die in innocence?  How much does race play?  What about social class?

Who are we? That is the question.  Who are we?  Indecent people with no care of anyone but ourselves, or people who wonder ‘till they die and feel their hearts bursting – either with hatred or, as in my case, love.  Maybe sadness, pain.  Or joy.  Because they’re lucky.  Is there someone out there who really understands us?

In the end we are alone.  We are OURSELVES; nobody on this Earth before us has gone through what we’ve gone through, suffered what we’ve suffered, felt what we’ve felt the way we’ve felt it.  And anyone after won’t, either.  We are unique and we are individual.  In the end, we are alone.

Our problems… can be small.  They can be good.  But they hurt.  It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or living in poverty; they hurt until they swell and consume every little bit of you sometimes, and you can only pray that you’re stronger then your pain and your darkness and your want, your need for relief from the cruelty.  But then you don’t.  And it happens.

Suicide isn’t selfish.  It certainly isn’t selfless, but it’s not selfish.  It’s your permanent solution… to a temporary problem.  There’s enough death and pain without people purposefully inflicting it.  But isn’t that what we do, hurt and hurt and hurt ‘till the world all comes crumbling down?  We loose our lights, slowly, day by day, and then we decide to put them out completely.  Good-bye our opportunities, our addition, our families, our broken-ended dreams.  And those we leave behind suffer, even if you don’t think it at the time.  Even if you don’t realize it.

But then sometimes we stuff ourselves full of love and hope, and we only get punished for it.  But the punishment is a hint of what will come.  Things that we suffer for… one day we will be blessed tenfold for our pain.  To show charity, to show kindness, respect, love… In the end we will be blessed.

In the end we won’t be alone.

In the end… we may just inspire… create… change, and others will change with us.  This is why we live.  This is why we love.  This is why we suffer and cry and fall and fade… fade from life.

Change… change, for the better.

Reflection

I KNOW I switched over without much warning, but I promise I'll make up for it!  I has a poem.  Yeah, you don't feel so angry now do you? ;)P

http://i1090.photobucket.com/albums/i379/Kunabee/Reflection.png

Ta-da!

Oh, yeah, and I have all my old posts saved on Word, so if you want any posts I had on my original blog over here just ask <3