Coming Home Again

I just bought some books of poetry from the poet Nikita Gill. Whenever I see poetry online, they are mostly from Gill’s work. So I knew I had to buy a book or two of hers. I got them today and sat down to read them.

Guys, I already think reading a book is like making a friend. Learning their quirks, smiling with them, and sometimes crying on their pages. But reading poetry is like coming home again.

I used to write poetry in high school and college, and I thought it was what I wanted to do with my life. Now, I don’t think I could write a poem to save my life.

But I almost cried with joy when I realized that your passions as a kid and as a young adult never leave you. They just wait for you to remember and come home again. Poetry has been waiting for me. All I had to do was find it again.

So, go home again. Color. Draw. Write. Read. Sing. Do whatever that used to make it feel like you are home again. And feel like a curious child once more.

Love,

Bailey

Happy Birthday, Mom

When you have your own blog, it is only customary to highlight your mother on the day of her birth (because, you know, she sort of birthed you).

I could not think of a better way to honor you, mom, and thank you for the gift of life than to use my own gift. Most of the time, we act like two different people, and we don’t see eye to eye. But it is hard to see eye to eye with yourself sometimes, and I know we are very alike. (You may not understand the reference, but I am kind of your horcrux. Just trust me on this one.) We both remind each other to be the best that we can be time after time. And so without further ado…

Blank

The words do not come so quickly

this time

(and how could they?)

I’m condensing a lifetime in a few keystrokes

(you made a lifetime in a few brushstrokes)

and we were 

hoping that I would arrive into this world, swirling with so many stars

from captured constellations, made from galaxies you could pinch between your thumb and forefinger…

and then I arrived, all thumbs

and

blankness.

You suddenly realized you would have to 

impart   imbue   improvise

your knowledge 

upon    in    through  

me. So, you started to knead out your ideals

you started to flatten your flaws beneath your knuckles

hoping to disguise them under the rug

but

other mothers have done the same

with varying degrees of success

and by success, I mean

prayers and pleas to the gods and goddesses that you would not

could not

pass down the bad with the good.

But like I said,

it does not work that way,

and I soaked it all up

like your bread in the milk 

before you squish it in the bowl.

 

As your daughter, I am familiar to you,

and so strangely cold,

that you

take off your rings 

as to not lose them when you

mold me.

 

And now, that my shoulders have grown to their full wingspan

(I had to stretch my skin to fit my own dimensions)

I find the star stuff that you wanted for me, in the beginning.

Because it was in you

the entire

time.

 

I love you, Mom. Happy Birthday.

Every Idea is a Good Idea: Part 1

That's me with the bow. Yup, all these great ideas issue forth from that huge noggin of mine.
That’s me with the bow. Yup, all these great ideas issue forth from that huge noggin of mine.

Forgive me, dear readers. I have completely and utterly neglected you. I didn’t post last Thursday. I was happily celebrating my grandmother’s longevity, (she’s 80!) and I could not push myself away from the cake served fast enough to write a blog post. So, here is two in one day.

Every writer (and hoarder) is inclined to keep their old writings. Stacks upon stacks of failed start-ups or inspired scribbles that went nowhere fill and pad my room. Prompted by a conversation with my co-workers, I decided to go deep-sea junk diving and find my old stories. And promptly laugh at them. Unfortunately (or rather fortunately) much of my earlier writings have been lost. This happened when we updated our computer from an archaic model to a mediocre one. I didn’t think to save them from their fate.

And to build upon that, I was never really a novelist when I was younger. I read many, many books during my childhood, but I figured I would leave the beautiful story-telling to the professionals. So, I came up with a lot of ideas and a lot of poems. What follows are a few of those ideas (with snarky commentary) and even an attempt at a fuller novel? story? Er…let’s call it an excerpt in the next part. Let’s giggle together, shall we?

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING PASSAGES ARE TERRIBLE. AND REPRODUCED VERBATIM FROM MY OLD JOURNALS. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

STORY IDEA #784: A girl dies with her braces still on. Now she must find someone who will take them off and discover who killed her.

23-YEAR-OLD COMMENTARY: An orthodontic mystery! How clever, younger Bailey. The absolute horror that someone might die with their braces still on will give you insight into how much I hated my own. The best part of this little premise is that not only does this young heroine need to undergo another orthodontic appointment in death, but she has to avenge herself! I would say grab your popcorn because this ending is going to be a doozy, but my dentist says the kernels will get stuck in my teeth…

STORY IDEA #785: A normal girl lives with her parents. A mutant becomes a foreign exchange student, who is trying to find out more about the human race.

More details:
-Mutant girl.
-Lives on a star.
-Doesn’t know much English.
-Can’t control her power.
-What’s her power? Starbolts???

23-YEAR-OLD COMMENTARY: I wonder if I was watching a lot of the Disney channel at this time to come up with this plot? And, is she a regular mutant? Like X-Men? Such freshly baked ideas, frosted with originality!

And finally, an attempt at a poem:

The Apple of my Eye

You’re my favorite
You’re the one
You’re my happiness
My sweet honeybun

You are the one I run to
My flower in the snow
You’re different from the rest
Like a big sore toe

You’re my ray of sunshine
You light the way near and far
But one thing really troubles me
I want to know just who you are!

23-YEAR-OLD COMMENTARY: Wouldn’t you love to be my boyfriend? Just when you thought it was really sweet of me to write a poem for you, I call you a big sore toe. That is romance, gentlemen. Soak it up.

The point of this is to remind you to laugh at yourself, and to not take yourself too seriously! If you need something to laugh at, just scroll up. We all have to start somewhere, right? (write?)