Month: August 2018

This past weekend, I was a guest at Golden Triangle Comic Con in Columbus, MS.

My day started at 6AM, When I got up to prepare my banner, prints, and cosplay. Of course, I was tired from the train ride home. Especially since it had been delayed due to severe weather. But that’s nothing a little convention adrenaline wouldn’t fix. Around 7, my cosplay partner Ciara picked me up, and we rode on over to Columbus for pre-con setup.

The doors opened shortly after we had finished setting up, and people were elated about our cosplays. The two of us dressed as Junko and Mukuro, the twins from the Danganronpa series.

 

Now, these two are known as the Despair Twins, meaning they cause chaos and darkness everywhere they go. This was especially true for us, as 20 minutes in, the power went out. For the whole street.

our first response was to laugh, because of the irony. However, we soon realized to major things. No power= No air conditioning, and no power= no game tournament.

It became burning hot in the entire convention center very quickly, and we feared the gamers’ convention experience would be ruined. However, we were quickly proven wrong as the original Smash Bros tournament contestants began playing rock paper scissors, and musical chairs in a near pitch-black room. Quite the surreal experience.

It took 2 hours for the power to come back on, and it was like a Christmas miracle. people began cheering, hugging one another, and celebrating as if we had just won a war. I had never seen anything like it.

The rest of the day went fairly smooth. I had 2 photo shoots with Cubster Cosplay Photography. The first one being in the courtyard of the convention center with a group of people. The second one was in an abandoned alleyway for my individual shots.

 

While I did not get to watch the cosplay contest, I know that my friend Jada won an award for her Te-Fiti inspired transforming dress. I believe DragonBlossom Cosplay won an award for their Toga and Dabi from My Hero Academia.

The staff was very courteous, and the security guards were incredibly kind and helpful. I love that they provided a room for the guests to relax. The room was well hidden, well lit, well cooled, and had many foods for us.

While this con is far from big, it is still fun. Just being there, i saw improvements from last year. I believe this con has a ton of potential to grow into more than just a local con.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m not very good at creating poetry, mostly because when I think of poetry, I think of this deep, emotional spew of words that have the power to move a person. Well in this case, I’m an immovable rock. I can’t find a way to put what I think or feel into words, because sometimes I don’t even understand why I feel certain ways. Poetry doesn’t faze me like others. It can be amazing and hold so much meaning, but it just doesn’t click for me. Maybe it’s because I don’t know the person in the poem. When I read books, I get a chance to meet the character, decide if I like them or not, and if I’ll get attached to them. Usually I get extremely attached to them, but I don’t get that experience with poems. The speaker doesn’t always introduce his/herself in their work or the poem isn’t about a specific person, but an event which makes it hard to connect with.

Now there was poem that I read last year that I did enjoy. It was called ‘Dulce et Decorum Est’ by Wilfred Owen, and was about a gas attack in a trench during World War I. I didn’t know that Owen was actually a soldier and experienced such an attack until just a few minutes ago while I was looking for the name of his poem. I guess that shows how much I pay attention to such things. I couldn’t remember much of the title besides ‘dulce’ because I was (in lack of better terms) shook by the ending of the poem, but I won’t spoil it too much for anyone. I can remember part of the poem though. Like when the speaker watches as a fellow soldier is killed by the poisonous gas. The description is what made me remember that particular part of the poem, just not the full scene described. But I think that’s the only poem that made any sort of mark on me. 

Honestly, I think that everyone should read it at some point. If you aren’t interested in that sort of thing, then fine. I can’t really force anyone to read it. Just give it a try for me though? But I have to thank my English 2 teacher for having us read that poem as part of our practice for the English state test, so thank you, Mrs. Thibodeaux! 

 

Time is a strange concept;

we breathe in and out, then three seconds have already passed.

Then we do it again,

then again.

Until we have been breathing for ninety years,

and we are dead in a bed we have been in for three days.

No one has found us;

we are rotting next to piles of medication we take for all of our weaknesses.

Our time is up, and what have we done with it?

For many, the answer is nothing;

nothing but lie and cheat and steal and harass the people we claim to love.

I want to do something with my breath;

to breathe life into the mouths of those who are suffocating,

those who crave something more than the normal air.

I am so tired of this oxygen, it is suffocating me.

Someone please show how to live my time differently,

teach me how to show all my love, feel my hurt, hear my own voice.

I don’t want to rot in a lonely bed like the others often do.

I need my minutes to count,

to mean something.

I want to live like I am dying.

 

What you are about to read is a dialogue between a Terrell and his therapist. The therapist decided to take a poetic approach to get Terrell to express himself.

Therapist: “Good Morning, Terrell. I have some questions that we would love for you to answer, but answer them by starting your statement with, It feels horrible when…. okay?”

Terrell: “Sure.”

Producer: “How does it feel to be in love? How does it feel for your heart to fly away like a dove?”

Terrell: “It feels horrible when I am alone, all the time. It feels horrible when my heart only beats for me!”

Producer: “How does it feel when someone else’s smile brightens your day? How does it feel when the thought of them leaving strips your sanity away?”

Terrell: “It feels horrible when I see my smile, but no one else notices it. It feels horrible when I am not in control of my sanity, so there is no one to strip it away.”

Producer: “How does it feel when the frown on someone else’s face puts tears in your eyes? How does it feel when you know the love they confess for you is not a lie?”

Terrell: “It feels horrible when the tears rolling down my face are from my deep, problematic thoughts that travel through my mind in the wee hours of the night. It feels horrible when my heart is constantly being tampered with, so I never trust anyone.”

Producer: “How does it feel when you are scared of messing up?”

Terrell: “It feels horrible when I feel like I am the one who is always messing up.”

Producer: “How does it feel when you are scared of letting go?”

Terrell: “It feels horrible when I have no choice but to let go.”

Producer: “How does it feel when you feel like you are not ready enough, but you care too much to leave them?”

Terrell: “It feels horrible when I know I am ready, but no one else is.”

Producer: “How does it feel when your heart soars freely among the stars of hope, stability, and love?”

Terrell: “It feels horrible when I hope for love, but it never seems to appear. I beg for stability, but the foundation just cannot seem to hold still. I plead for the love of someone else to fill my body, but everyone is stone cold.”

Therapist: “Thank you for your cooperation. That is all I needed.”

Terrell: “K, bye.”

 

 

 

 

My best friend, Cady, describes my music taste as, and I quote, “Someone who has just gone through a really bad break up.”

Sue me! I like sad, slow, 2008 bops. Is that so terrible?

I do agree with her though, my music taste is a very odd collection of songs. I would say it’s made up of three categories: 2008 bops/sad music, musicals, and a couple of popular pop songs from throughout the past couple of years.

Each of these categories though, have a different reason I have them on my playlist.

2008 bops/sad music: I look more into the lyrics with these type of songs. Even if I don’t relate to them ever, or in the moment, I find something insanely beautiful about them.

Any song by The Fray, The Script, and Paramore. They just have such amazing lyrics that I find easy to relate to. When I don’t wanna open up to people and just kind of want to mull in my own thoughts, these songs are the perfect solution. It’s almost like you’re talking to someone. That sounds crazy, but it’s true! It’s therapeutic, give it a try.

Musicals: Musicals give me so much emotion and feeling. Falling into the routine of daily life, tends to make me feel robotic. Listening to and watching musicals makes me feel again. Real emotion. The only way to describe the feeling I get, is that of how I feel at pep rallies. I’m sitting in the bleachers, watching whatever events are playing out on the court, and the band is playing. I can feel the music in my chest. It’s a completely unique feeling, and it’s one of the most wonderful moments in life. The same is with musicals. The entirety of the song gives me the similar feeling, but in the comfort of my own home.

Hamilton is a good example of this one. I don’t wanna sound basic because I know everyone and their mothers have seen or heard of Hamilton, but it’s an amazing example. Seeing those actors have so much passion on stage makes me so inspired to go out and do something.

Popular Pop Music: This one is simple. It’s nice to have an escape from everything, and just have a song that doesn’t need to be analyzed. I can just listen and distract myself.

Dua Lipa’s New Rules is my favorite pop distraction at the moment. I know it has been out for forever, but it’s still a jam. Acapella versions of this song are so satisfying. I would for sure give one a listen if you haven’t

Overall, I wouldn’t say my music taste is so bad.

I don’t think I’m allowed to say what school I came to before I came to Mississippi School of the Arts, but I just wanted to talk about some of the things I felt about my old school. If you know me, you should be able to know where I’m talking about, and if you don’t, you may just have to guess.

In any case, I wanted to talk about the differences between the schools, and how I feel about where I was before.

I never really fit in at my old school. I was a bookworm throughout a lot of elementary school, and as I got older, my anxiety got worse, and that prevented me from fitting in even more. A lot of kids in my class were sports kids, and I, being a chubby, short girl,  never really found the appeal to them. Imagine why?

It felt like there were certain “groups” within our class. Last year, there were about four distinct groups.

The first group was “the cool kids,” or as I liked to call them, snobby girls and guys who only ever really cared about themselves and acted like they owned the class. They never really talked to those outside of their group, unless it was to tease them or they were forced to because the teacher put them in a group together. I was put with two “cool kids” during a biology assignment- we dissected frogs- and I remember being annoyed out of my mind by the way the other girl in the group would ignore the assignment and would talk to her friend in another group.

The second group was “the boys,” better known as all the boys who didn’t fit into the cool kid group. A lot of them were loud, obnoxious, and rude, and often they would get on my nerves to the point that I just wanted to scream, despite the consequences of doing just that. One in particular stuck out to me. It always amazed me how he managed to be just the right amount of annoying at the one time when I needed silence the most.

The third group was “the girls,” also known as the girls who didn’t fit in the cool kid group. For the most part, they were nice enough. A few of them were on the rude side, but amazingly enough, they didn’t act all that mean. There was one girl who seemed to flop back and forth between the “cool kid” group and “the girls.” Man, sometimes I wished I could have that ability.

And then there was the last group, the one I was a part of. I’ll coin us as “the misfits.” We were a small group, only about five or six people, but we made do. We didn’t really fit in anywhere else, and we never found a proper “place” to be. The group consisted of myself and a few friends, and we made do. We sat together at the lunch table, away from everyone else. We made jokes, some of them only we would understand because of past experiences. Most of all, we were there for each other. If one of us had a problem, we were a support group. We were there to comfort one another and lift each other up.

The other groups couldn’t really say that, I think.

Klunk

This month marks one year since my very close friend passed away in a texting and driving accident. I have been trying my absolute best to stay calm and positive, but as the fifteenth draws nearer, the memories become more and more painful to flashback to. I have been dreaming about him, crying about him in the shower or while I’m alone. It is getting more and more difficult to cope with.

Even worse, he was the main one I went to when I was in desperate need of a smile, a hug, a laugh, or just a distraction. I cannot distract myself from this. No, instead I keep spacing out and remembering the way he looked sitting on the dock of my pond with a fishing pole in hand and complaining about how the fish never bite at my house. I remember me always responding with a snarky response about how he was too loud, or how his face scared the fish away. I remember his exasperated gasps and hard chuckles. I am so confused as to how something could warm my being up so much but break my heart in a million pieces all at the same time.

The feeling doesn’t dissipate. It is so constant that I have zoned out of at least seventy percent of the conversations I have had thus far since the month began just to see his face in my mind, or maybe I couldn’t hear what was being said because his voice plays in my head like a song, a very loud and sad song. I feel like I’m letting this get to me to much because it is interfering with my ability to associate, which already is not very good. I am either rambling or spacing out, and I am scared that people are getting the wrong idea about me.

I have never been good at dealing with problems, and I have definitely never been “good” at grieving, if that is even something one can be good at. I want to simultaneously be alone and surrounded by people, to break down and be positive, and to be away from the memories and still remember. My mind is contradicting itself and controlling it is impossible, and it is running faster than my mouth ever could.

I just miss him. Honestly, I know that all of these emotions I am feeling are nothing more than misery. I am fully aware that eventually it won’t hurt so much, and I will be able to look back and smile at the memories, as I know he’d prefer, instead of cry. I have been through this process many times before. Still, I currently can not shake the ghost that is haunting my thoughts. That green eyed, big nosed all around country boy who loved everyone and anything no matter what they thought of him will never leave my head, and I do not want him to. I will forever smell his cologne, hear his laugh, see his smile, taste his name in my mouth, and feel his presence. He will become part of me and my every sense just as those who I have loved and lost before him. One day it will not be so painful. One day his engraved name on my heart will not sting, but he will be there. He will always be with me.

Klunk, if your spirit remains, I hope you see this, and I hope you’re free. This is for you. I love you my dear friend. Rest Easy.

In my intermediate poetry class, we were given the task to observe different art pieces and write poetry about a specific piece that spoke to us the most. This exercise is also known as, “Ekphrastic Poetry.” The piece I went with was a painting created by Kelly Varner called, “That’s Not a Worm, Bird, That’s My Brain.” I believe I interpreted the work of art in a different way than Varner did, but I guess that’s the beauty of art. Am I right? I took in the painting in a way that described how woman have been struggling to be equal for their entire existence. In the painting, it shows a woman having three faces, and I took it as her having three different sides to herself: who she shows, who she hides, and who she really is. She also had a bird picking at her brain. I saw that as people constantly trying to figure us out. There were also flowers all over the woman’s body, and I saw that as being hair blooming all over. My favorite part of the piece was that there were stepping stones or stairs that led to a door on her neck. To me, that closed door shows how people don’t want us to voice our opinions. They want us to keep quiet or “sit still and look pretty.” But that “norm” has vanished. Women are standing up for what they believe in, and it’s empowering and beautiful. I wrote this poem to voice my views on being a woman. Take it how you want. Leave it how it is.

 

“I Am a Woman”

Victoria Jerde

 

I am a woman.

My teeth aren’t naturally straight.

People are constantly picking at my brain.

My personality is forced to stay inside a bubble.

There are three sides to me:

Who I show,

Who I hide,

And who I really am.

They tell me to hide my true self.

Push her away to the deepest parts of your heart.

They only want closed doors at the end,

Of the stepping stones that lead to my voice,

And expect my skin to be smooth and bare,

Without any trace of flowers growing,

Only allowing those within.

I am a woman.

Who was forced to be the formation,

That fell into the lines,

Of their perfect fairy tale.

But my flowers won’t stop blooming.

The hinges on the door are breaking.

My true self is waking.

My heart is shaking.

Behind my perfect teeth,

I’m screaming,

“Let her out!”

“Let her out!”

But I’m shoved back in.

Before even getting a glimpse of the light.

Yet, I keep trying.

Day after day,

Because I am a woman,

And as a woman, I fight,

Despite how many times I’m stomped on.

Welcome to my first blog! Whenever you see “P~O~V”, it is going to be my alter-egos sharing their opinions and/or experiences on a topic. This week, I chose love. You can sort of get a feel of who they are from what they say. ENJOY! 

Michael’s POV

Good Morning! My name is Michael Coleman. I am a 16-year old literary student at Mississippi School of the Arts. I have been summoned to speak about my “love life”. Well, let me just start by saying it is non-existent. I am the type of student who focuses solely on my education. I honestly can live without having someone to love me, because I am in love with learning. Additionally, I refuse to set myself up for heartbreak. As I sit back and observe the way people carelessly lie and cheat, I would rather not.

MJ’s POV

Hey, my name is MJ. I’m a literary at MSA. Man, I love this school. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. That’s where my heart is as of right now. I would love to have someone in my life, you know? But, I live in reality. I know if someone wanted me, they’d tell me. I’m not going to look for anyone though. At this point in my life, I really only care about what I like to do. I like to sing, write, dance, exercise, and get dressed up. I really don’t care about what people have to say about me. I sort of do my own thing. I know if I find someone to date, they might try to hinder me from doing the things that I love the most. Then, it’s a problem. So, I’m good luv, enjoy!

Terrell’s POV

Wassup, it’s Terrell. I don’t go to school because I live my life in a box now. All I think about day in and day out is my love life. But, I’m really tired of being tired of love.  I try so hard to overcome the substantial abnormalities of what a companion should be, but I can’t seem to do so.  What else is there to do? I’ll never find the answer, especially if I have no one. People see me as an easy target because they always catch me when I’m vulnerable. But, what about that is amusing or cool? I think people that do things like this are evil and inconsiderate of people’s feelings. Breaking someone’s heart does more than make them depressed. There are so many different effects of a real heartbreak. I wish people could understand that.