screaming until the world fractures
and comes apart
(every seam breaks)
the dark leaks drips forces through the cracks
filling in
the low places, and rising
(the dark is rising)
higher
and colder than the ring of
shrieks on ice
(muffled like snowfall)
the breaking of this lost world
ends trembling
rimmed in dawn.
I'm out of practice at this writing thing. Severely. Also, it is a terrible, terrible idea to drink Coke just before bedtime. No trouble getting to sleep, but I dreamed all night and woke up drenched in sweat from a particularly nasty little nightmare. I blame the Coke.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
Soccer
I'm studying by the window. A girl from my class is on her lawn, just down the street, and she's kicking a soccer ball around. Bouncing it on her knees, practicing shots. She's probably on a study break. I wish I could go and join her, but I can't.
The problem isn't that I have too much to study, although that's certainly true. The real problem is me.
I loved being homeschooled. I never discovered it was a handicap until I went to academy during my junior year. You see, all the way thought eighth grade I had never played any games that involved a football, baseball, racquetball. I grew past the age where most people begin to learn how to kick a soccer ball, and then suddenly everybody knew what they were doing, and I didn't have the first clue. And then I was old enough that the gap between what I didn't know how to do, and what everyone else did, was huge. I could have fixed it, but I was afraid. Everybody else that played soccer at the academy had been going to a summer camps to prep for intramurals, and I had never so much as kicked a ball in my life. And the last thing a shy, insecure teenager in a strange school wants to do is to draw attention to a flaw. I couldn't do it.
I had the chance again to play intramurals in college, but I passed because I didn't know how. I refused to learn on a team with girls I didn't know, and so I missed my chance, simply because I fear ridicule. I am incredibly afraid of looking foolish, and it drives a great many of my actions.
So I watched the girl down the street, and remembered all those moments I'd felt inferior and worthless, not only because I can't play, but because I couldn't overcome my fear and learn. And I cried, because I'm tired of living that way. I don't know how to stop, but somehow it's suddenly very important that I do.
I'll figure it out. Somehow.
The problem isn't that I have too much to study, although that's certainly true. The real problem is me.
I loved being homeschooled. I never discovered it was a handicap until I went to academy during my junior year. You see, all the way thought eighth grade I had never played any games that involved a football, baseball, racquetball. I grew past the age where most people begin to learn how to kick a soccer ball, and then suddenly everybody knew what they were doing, and I didn't have the first clue. And then I was old enough that the gap between what I didn't know how to do, and what everyone else did, was huge. I could have fixed it, but I was afraid. Everybody else that played soccer at the academy had been going to a summer camps to prep for intramurals, and I had never so much as kicked a ball in my life. And the last thing a shy, insecure teenager in a strange school wants to do is to draw attention to a flaw. I couldn't do it.
I had the chance again to play intramurals in college, but I passed because I didn't know how. I refused to learn on a team with girls I didn't know, and so I missed my chance, simply because I fear ridicule. I am incredibly afraid of looking foolish, and it drives a great many of my actions.
So I watched the girl down the street, and remembered all those moments I'd felt inferior and worthless, not only because I can't play, but because I couldn't overcome my fear and learn. And I cried, because I'm tired of living that way. I don't know how to stop, but somehow it's suddenly very important that I do.
I'll figure it out. Somehow.
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