Sunday, August 30, 2009

So, I really, really should be asleep right now because I have to go running and then swimming at 6 a.m. tomorrow. I'm not a morning person. Joy.
But, I'm too awake. And I'm in an incredibly "I love life" mood. Gah. It's crazy.
Chad Sugg is my new hero. He's a musician and he writes poetry. Everything he creates just makes me insanely happy inside.
I just took a huge ass splinter out of my finger. Yay.
Ugh. School starts in one day... Fuck. I don't want it to. Whatever. I love life. (:
Wow. I just reread that. I have serious ADD.
Here's a sort-of poem I wrote last night at two a.m. when I got back from BWW with Zac and Gabby. It's kind about normalcy and what the world has come to. I don't know. Some of it is made up. Like, my home life isn't usually as bad as it sounds here. A lot of it is metaphorical. Well yeah. Enjoy, give me feed back. (:

Normal
By Alex VanDehey.


But suddenly life just seems so horrendous

And I'm twisting in my skin to get out
Oh please god, just let me out

I let myself sink

into the peach fuzz of the backseat

Breathe,
breathe,
breathe.

Normal people don't do this.
I un-trap my tissue paper skin
from my clenched fingernails
And lose myself in the music
of the front seat conversation


They speak of normal things in normal voices
Music opinions, high school gossip, funny stories.

We pass a bus stop and I imagine leaving.
This town has my scars scraped all over it.
I don't like my scars
and I don't like this town.


I wonder if the would miss me, the front seat people.
Maybe for a month or two.
But I'm nothing worth remembering
And I'm okay with that.


And now I feel like Piggy,
Golding's imagined misfit,
ostracized and unwanted
by the front seat people.


They stop and I look
up at my looming house
Dark, empty, emanating upset.
At least to me.


Now I remember why I stay
with the blabbering front seat people.


They are normal.


My home's hateful quiet sobers me,
tells me to straighten up, stay strong,
simply go into battle mode
and all will be fine.


The bottle is spilt on the rug,
My mother's body consumes the sofa,
Daddy isn't home, of course.

The sounds of sex intrude my ears,
Crawling and clawing from my brother's room.


And my baby sister lies
with wide open, ghostly eyes,
an innocent witness
to the horrors of home.


My lips brush her forehead,
urging an attempt at sleep.
She pushes me away.
My heart shatters.

I step into my bare room,
shedding my clothing.
Naked and vulnerable,
I swallow the moons mechanically.


I think back to the perfect, normal, front seat people,
with nice houses, together families,
a steady income, decent grades,
family portraits, sports teams,
church-involved, above the influence...


It makes me sad to realize,
as I peer out my dingy window
at one neighbor with a bong
and another throwing plates,
that the normal front seat people
aren't normal at all.


But they should be.

Posted by Alex at 7:31 PM