Poem

My soul is at my own discretion,
wether it be tarnished or clean
the thoughts with which I ramble,
have no necessity for purity or stain,
only that they be true,
and truth can be either.
Darkness and light engulf me
shadow is but the darkside of flame,
I am more than I seem,
More than even I know,
and the darkness in me seeks the light,
just as much as the light in me shuns darkness,
while craving it to quench it's thurst.

Brutality is like fragilness,
and in it's own is fragile,
and either way I'm breaking,
while trying to seal my own cracks.
My soul is at my own discreation,
but wether that discreation be wise,
wether it be knowldegable and seeking in safety,
I know not,
and am not certain I care.

So I changed it

My old blog layout for this one, which I loved dearly since Jennifer helped me straighten out the code for it, was just that. Old. It hadn't changed since I got it, and it needed to. I needed it to, to reflect the changing way I want to use this, which is as more of an artistic forum for my thoughts as well as a dumping ground for my angst. Blame it on the AiW quiz on my other blog, but really, I needed the other side of the coin, and the old way wasn't it. I'm hoping this is. I feel the blue offers a dynamic contrast to the pink and black on my other blog, and I have every intention of editing this some so it more adequately represents its purpose. However, it might take me a while, as I hate the way this code is done (Oh, for the days of straigh out HTML.) I managed to cut and paste the code for the tagboard and links from the old lay out, and took a wild guess on where to dump it, and happened to guess correctly. Huzzah for me.

The Looking Glass is for the things that aren't as acceptable, but aren't necessarily totally banned from being seen, just shouldn't be upfront (the nearly or totally banned stuff goes on my LJ, lol.) Anyhow, enough for now.

Me.

Songs to deal with Troubles

Saw one of my ex's today. I need this to deal with it

Artist: Idina Menzel Lyrics
Song: I'm Not That Girl Lyrics
from the musical "Wicked"

ELPHABA
Hands touch, eyes meet
Sudden silence, sudden heat
Hearts leap in a giddy whirl
He could be that boy
But I'm not that girl:

Don't dream too far
Don't lose sight of who you are
Don't remember that rush of joy
He could be that boy
I'm not that girl

Ev'ry so often we long to steal
To the land of what-might-have-been
But that doesn't soften the ache we feel
When reality sets back in

Blithe smile, lithe limb
She who's winsome, she wins him
Gold hair with a gentle curl
That's the girl he chose
And Heaven knows
I'm not that girl:

Don't wish, don't start
Wishing only wounds the heart
I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl
There's a girl I know
He loves her so
I'm not that girl:


Janis Ian
"At Seventeen"
I leaned the truth at seventeen
that love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear-skinned smiles
who married young and then retired.

The valentines I never knew,
the Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful.
At seventeen
I learned the truth.

And those of us with ravaged faces,
lacking in the social graces,
Desperatly remained at home,
inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say, "Come dance with me,"
and murmured vague obscenities.
It isn't all it seems at seventeen.

A brown-eyed girl in hand-me-downs
whose name I never could pronounce
Said, "Pity, please, the ones who serve;
they only get what they deserve.
The rich relationed hometown queen
marries into what she needs.
A guarantee of company and haven for the elderly."

Remember those who win the game
lose the love they sought to gain.
In debentures of quality and dubious integrity.
Their small-town eyes will gape at you
in dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received
at seventeen.


To those of us who know the pain
of valentines that never came,
And those whose names were never called
when choosing sides for basketball.
It was long ago and far away;
the world was much younger than today
And dreams were all they gave away for free
to ugly duckling girls like me.

We all play the game and when we dare
to cheat ourselves at solitaire.
Inventing lovers on the phone,
repenting other lives unknown
That call and say, "Come dance with me,"
and murmur vague obscenities
At ugly duckling girls like me
at seventeen.