heavy-wanded

I missed a couple days of the challenge, with work and low energy and life in general I haven’t been capable of writing. but that’s okay.

I wrote today’s piece thinking about a lot of different things. my tarot pull, for one.

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I’m a little confused about how the first card applies, but the Page of Pentacles and Ace of Wands have similar messages for me: to believe in my creative abilities and ideas, and to keep fighting for the right to use them. even if fighting just means surviving one day at a time.

I’m also listening to the Romeo+Juliet soundtrack, which I’ve been vibing with a lot today. there’s a part of me that is ready to look for love. there’s a bigger part of me that’s afraid to seek it. my record of love is long and jagged and disappointing, and I’m trying to break out of those trauma patterns. trying to step away from my old vision of love and be ready for equity and communication and respect and care.

April Resistance
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give us this summer. body been shredded.
just a nut (enclosed). a note. barred.
i’d barf. be held. a constant ringing.
the service injury. dark sparkler. impinging.
watch the shadows. or watch their edges.
i will no longer be minor unless it’s Bm.
scrabbling spiders, fretting over squires.
now i’m the spider’s web. shredding.
let me be made again, heavy-wanded.
linger over fenders. 80mph fingers.
the bellying out. the baby’s breath bouquet.

(this poem doesn’t feel done. missing something. a final line. maybe. hmm. but that’s why i love this challenge. i’m not going to come out with 30 poems, but godamn am i going to come out with a shit load of drafts i can continue to finetune for journal submissions in the future)

for anyone who reads my blog, how do you feel about integrating my poem posts with ‘blogging’ about my life, including how my mental illness affects me? also, including my tarot pull is new. I want to use this blog to talk about tarot more in the future, this is sorta a test run!

if you follow and leave a comment I will probably follow back! especially if you blog about: poetry, nature, tarot, mental illness, queer life, and/or nb/trans issues.

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breathe

dear blogging world, today was a really hard really dark day. I’m back to work after a month and a half break, and though it’s only part time, I’m dealing with both a hand injury and battling depression and anxiety every day. it’s been a struggle. I didn’t write a poem today. but while browsing through old notes I found this piece… I have no idea when I wrote this, but I really needed to read it, tonight, right now.  thanks, past me. remember to thank your past selves for getting you to wherever you are today.

April Resistance
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Give me back to me
Unbind my sick brite eyes
Dampen the tip tap of typing fingertips
Feed my skin the sun it hungers for,
I am my only god/goddexx
Give me back to me
Froth like freed unicorns from a raging night sea
Under Haggard’s castle
Give me back to me
Quiet the din of men’s voices, men’s wants
Chop them down at point blank day one don’t flinch
Don’t give an inch
Give life back to me
Bend at the knees
Untuck chin
Extend musculature
Lift with the core
Breathe
Give me back to me
Give me my femininity
Give me my masculinity
Let it all be pink
Let it all be me

 

thanks for reading.

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December 30th, 2016

You know when you make promises because you mean to keep them but life throws a curveball or a crisis, requires attention, eats time like midnight snacks while midnight laughs and laughs? That’s me and this blog. I’ve started blog posts, taken notes for reviews I want to do, guilted myself for leaving this blog space unattended, but the influx of Words lately have been worse than earwax, blocking hearing bungling my brain. But I have been writing. I wrote thank you responses to nearly every birthday wish I received; I started a birthday blog post at 2AM after returning home from dancing, but hopefully that will end up as a poem. I wrote a series of tweets while manic concerning revelations and my love for Brand New. I wrote someone in so many words that I cared, that I’d care for them as long as they’ll let me. Last night I wrote half a song, left hand fingers barely tapping guitar strings from callous-pain, right thumb strumming at low volume, giddy to continue working on it til there’s a result. It’s all just words. Keep them coming. Right now I’m eating garlic hummus, fancy cheese and canned plums, and feeling grateful for the sunset I saw tonight from Glass Beach, the orange rip across the skyline hovering above the Sound, the clouds a patient sort of angry, a sort of crescendo. I’m grateful last night I asserted my space, that today was filled with stressful tasks but somehow stayed stress free. Here’s to no. Here’s to now. 

December 26, 2016

Every day can be New Years Eve if you believe hard enough. Every moment. I’m the sort of sickly sweet annoying that believes there’s always a possibility of real, drastic, lasting change that can happen at a moments notice. I also recognize that depression quashes both the arguably “human” urge for change, and the very ability to enact it. Recognizing depression is a single step in recovery. It’s a step that has to be made repeatedly, because even on days where the painted lines on the road match up correctly, and everyone says thank you when they order their complicated latte and the hemp or almond or nonfat cow’s milk steams perfectly, and the sun sets between smog and cloud in such a way that pink and purple dominate the horizon; even when those perfect or contented days happen, depression still lingers like black mold in the window of a Bellingham rental. And the thing about black mold is, you can’t and shouldn’t disturb the spores on your own. It takes a professional, or at least someone who understands the mold. There are a lot of molds that can be easily managed, but some are as deadly as congenital heart failure, all that fluid in the lungs. But really, I don’t know what I’m digressing about. Except that I have to remind myself every day that yes, I am still sick. Yes, I am still fighting for my life. No, it won’t get easier unless I do something about it. 

I’m writing to make blogging an aspect of my daily routine. Whatever words come out are worthy because they’re the cement I’m laying for this personal vendetta called ‘some kind of consistency.’ I didn’t blog for three months and before that for six months but I’m closing a gap. My words long for homes as much as I do. 

TRIP: POEMS

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during my last quarter at Western, I enrolled in a graduate level poetry class, which only cemented my fervor for poetry. my professor, Oliver de la Paz, has been pushing and supporting me since spring of 2015 to become a better poet and writer, and this course was no exception.

the final project for this course was either to complete a portfolio or a chapbook, and I decided to go the hard way ;). TRIP: POEMS is a collection of 16 poems written over the course of my last year at Western. their main concern is the natural world in general and the Pacific Northwest in particular, but I also wove my dealings with an abusive relationship into the threads of the story. it’s about road trips, acid trips, and trips through the strange paths of friendship.

I see myself extending this into a full length book of poetry in the future, or at least doing some extensive editing and submitting some of these poems to publications, but for now please enjoy my first poetry chapbook for free. the project itself is made up of poems pasted intentionally on pages from a road atlas, and the pages often correspond with the meaning of the poems. most of the poems are prose poetry, but not all. TRIP: POEMS is the product of many hours of writing, editing, cutting, pasting, laminating, and worrying. it’s one of the first tangible outcomes of my writing endeavors, and I definitely feel proud of the outcome.

Click to read TRIP: POEMS

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on my last day as a student

hello blogging world! my name is Leah, and I created this wordpress for all things writing; first and foremost, poetry, but fiction, literal blog posts, book reviews and music projects may pop up in the future as well. I want to use this blog for anything that has to do with words in any way.

a little about me: I’m 24 years old, have lived in the Skagit Valley for two years and will soon be returning to Bellingham for the summer. in March of this year I graduated from Western Washington University with a degree in English with a Creative Writing emphasis. but before that, I was a math major. and before that, I was a German major at Seattle Pacific University. my path to writing has been stilted, and it took four years of floundering through college, and before that many years of secret poems and late night urges, to finally come to writing.

after dropping out of SPU in 2011, I hopped a plane to Alaska to make some quick cash, and then moved to Bellingham. I worked full time and in spring of 2012 returned to school, taking core English and math classes at Whatcom Community College. during one of my final quarters at WCC I enrolled in a creative writing class, and everything changed.

being in that class, surrounded by fellow weirdos who loved to write, made me realize that maybe there was another kind of home waiting for me. a home I could make through writing. I submitted to WCC’s spring poetry contest, the Kumquat Challenge, and my poem “dream/memory” won first place in the current student category.

it took another year of struggling through offshoots of calculus and transferring to Western for me to realize that what I was doing wasn’t right. when it came time to declare my major, I made the decision to change, and officially began studying English. my final six quarters of college were made up almost entirely of English classes, which I will be forever grateful for.

I’ve been writing my whole life, but it took taking a chance on myself and realizing that my words do  have power to make writing into my priority and my lifeblood. I graduated from Western March 19th, 2016, cum laude, with a bachelor’s degree in English, and I don’t think I’ll ever regret making the choice to study and become better at the one thing I love in this life, the one thing I truly feel good at.