Month: August 2018

I have always been fascinated with the Crayola crayon names. Ever since I was little, I loved how the names of the crayons fit their hues perfectly. Or at least they seem perfect to me.

According to Crayola’s website, the crayon’s have gotten their names from “a book called ‘Color: Universal Language and Dictionary of Names.’ and also would get names from special consumer promotions.

In 2017, Crayola’s newest consumer named crayon, was a blue color. Customers across North America could vote for this new crayon to be named. The name chosen was “Bluetiful.”

In 1992, there was another similar contest, but this time with a wider arrangement of colors. Kids and Adults alike could make up creative names for the Crayola crayons. This was the first time in Crayola history that anyone outside of Crayola named any of the colors.

I know  what you’re thinking, why does this matter? They’re just crayons. To be completely honest, I have no idea either. But it’s history! Crayola is a company that has almost set the standard for basic art supplies. They aren’t the highest quality, I will admit, but they’re a household name. Nobody was using Prismacolors at two years old.

Now let’s dive into my personal favorite shades and color names.

Macaroni and Cheese- This is one of those names that I just loved as a kid, and still love to this day. I remember not even being too crazy about the color, but I sure did love the name. It holds true to this day. I love Mac n’ Cheese with my whole heart, and would love to use a crayon named after it.

Periwinkle– Ahhh, a true classic. There isn’t too much to say other than it’s a color that stays throughout the years. I think this is the color that sparked my love for pastels.

Purple Mountains’ Majesty– I remember being an eight year old and reading this color name and thinking, ‘why?’ Who sat down to name this purple color. I can tell you who! The lady who named this oddity is Mildred Sampson. She was 89 at the time, and she got to name this crayon through the aforementioned, 1992 Crayola naming contest. Upon further inspection of the name, it refers to a lyric in the song, “America the Beautiful.” The song was originally a poem, but it has morphed into an American patriotic song. You learn something new everyday!

Cadet Blue– I’m gonna be honest here, 8 year old me had no clue what a Cadet was. I kind of just thought it was a pretty name. Despite me not knowing the meaning behind the color then, I appreciated the color a lot. It was a frequent crayon I used in my collection. 11/10 would recommend using this shade.  I realize now that Periwinkle and Cadet Blue are similar in shades, but they still have their own uniqueness!

I went a lot deeper into the history of these names and colors than I thought  I would. If anyone would like to take the same journey I did, then here are the links I used!

http://www.jennyscrayoncollection.com/2015/07/96-limited-edition-name-new-colors.html

http://www.crayoncollecting.com/ccolor21.htm

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/America_the_Beautiful

 

I like to feel nothing and everything all at once

I want to jump into the sun.

I want to feel the adrenaline

And the burn,

But never fear it.

I want to freefall from a cloud,

Feel the pressure of the wind,

And roll in the soft grass when I hit the ground.

I wish that gravity meant nothing,

nothing could pull me down to earth but myself.

That way I could float above the sinkholes

and hover over canyons.

I wouldn’t have to feel you anymore, either.

I wouldn’t have to feel the weight of your hand on my cheek,

my tears would drift away from my eyes,

and my heart would no longer be a brick in my chest.

Nothing would matter,

because I wouldn’t feel it.

I want to be suspended in space along with the moon

And if I fell with a shooting star,

At least I could make a wish.

 

 

 

 

 

There are circles running laps around my eyes.

They told me that the remedy was to close them and fall into myself for at least one more night but my eyes refuse to stay closed.

Night after night, they poke and prod my eyelids open, not wanting to miss a single moment.

Not a video not watched, a text unread, a poem unwritten.

And once the sun breaks dawn, while the circles run around my sockets, I run circles around Red Bull, coffee, and B12.

Just a little something to stop the shaking in my fingertips.

Filling for the emptiness in my head.

A rope to attach around my eyes to keep them from sinking into the holes in my face meant to keep them from falling too deep.

I have to tape the smiles to my face now, though. 

I’ve run into far too many walls and my face is a little puffy.

However, that does not stop my eyes from staying wide open, wanting to see every little thing that happens and analyze every single shadow that hides the bedroom corners at night. 

They frantically dart from side to side, curiously, taking everything in.

Taking in way too much at a time, deepening the circles that cling and stick to my skin like cement.

Soon, my eyes hurt and I try to shut them but enter another sleepless night, playing tag with the circles around my eyes.

 

 

 

I often feel inferior to the people I meet here. So many of them are extremely multi-talented, and I’m just not. I love writing. Writing is my passion, but it is also the only thing I am actually good at. I hate to use the word envy, but it stands bluntly honest in the way I feel. I can only dream of being agile enough to dance, having an angelic voice, knowing technology enough to create film, or even have the ability to keep a straight face while reciting lines from a script.

I can practically hear my mother’s voice in my head saying “You can do anything you set your mind to.” Don’t get me wrong, I do not doubt my ability to create art through words. I simply wish I could do more. I suppose I just wasn’t created to be an intense multi-talented right brain artist, but I look at the art created by the people around me, and the feeling of hopelessness cascades over my admiration. I hate it. I truly hate it. I wish I could just be happy with the gift I do have and not be so selfish as to crave more and more. Why do I feel the need to excel in everything? Why do I feel the need to bash myself when I do not succeed. I remember making my first B in third grade. I cried for days. I would not let go of the fact that I wasn’t the best anymore. I am fully aware I cannot have that mindset here. You do not have to tell me. It is just really hard to grow from my habits.

I turned ambition into something dark and evil, and it eats away at my every thought. I have this constant need to compare myself to everyone and everything, and the most ironic part is that my mind never allows me to come out on top. I suppose that is just the intelligent side of me saying “Accept that you will never be perfect.” But, that part of my head is too quiet. The ridiculous and unpleasable part likes to scream very loudly, so the gentle and logical is drowned out to a very dull murmur. It is torturous never being good enough for myself. I am so tired of never being able to fully enjoy other’s art because it is better that I can do. I honestly just want to be happy with myself. I guess that is to much to ask of myself.

I have always considered myself to be a fairly open person, with the abilty to be proud of who I am. Boy howdy though, I sure was not ready for what MSA was gonna throw at me.

There’s something about this school that’s entirely different from good ol’ Pontotoc City High School. This school is a safe place, filled with people similar to me in some way. We’re all artists , but never have the same art. while all having this artistic talent, the way we convey it is completely different from one another. Whether it be from writing style, dancing, singing, acting, drawing, filming, or anything really, we’re all talented in a unique way. truly, its incredible.

Nearly every student, I have noticed, is a part of the LGBT+ community. I myself am a member and supporter. when first coming to this school, I had a feeling there would be many of us, but I did not think it would be as prideful as it is. I love it. There is no hiding your preferences here, you have no reason to. This is not a  regular school where you’ll get bullied for being yourself. It’s a place of open-ness and community.

Now, i will say that I haven’t quite gotten used to the schedule yet. Of course, its always hard to get back into the swing of things after summer. It’s especially hard when you have 2 extra hours added on to that school schedule you’re used to. to be honest, though, time really flies in the classes I like. Film, literary, and English. Human Anatomy and Physiology is a different story.

Living-wise, I really enjoy living with multiple people. Sure, the room gets messier a lot quicker, but it also gets cleaned a lot faster too! My roomates, suite-mates, and i all seem to be getting along very well. Usually we hang out in the bathroom between our dorms, since it’s our commonplace. However, it gets a bit awkward when our floor mom walks in and sees us all watching anime on the bathroom floor.

Now, most people would want to make it less awkward after that reoccurring incident of the floor mom seeing all 5 of you watching anime in the bathroom, but we plan to do quite the opposite. We have conjured this horrible idea to implement a “Holiday Skeleton” in our room. When Halloween gets near, we plan to purchase a life size skeleton to dress up for various holidays. Christmas? throw some ornaments on the rib cage of the Holiday Skeleton. National Women’s day? put a wig on the Holiday Skeleton. Easter? put some bunny ears on the Holiday Skeleton. the Holiday Skeleton is perfect for all occasions. Truly, the day they do a random room check will be our downfall. I’m still not quite sure how were gonna explain the Holiday Skeleton. If there is a rule in the handbook next year that says “No Holiday Skeletons”, then this is why.

I guess this is my first blog post for this school year, but I’ve been going through the greatest bout of un-inspiration since the beginning of summer. Yeah, it’s not great, but I’m going to pull up my big girl pants, force myself to sit at my desk, and force myself to type. I can’t promise that it will a work of art or even something that I’ll be remotely proud of, but it will have to work for now until I can find my real inspiration.

In my bio, I said I was a dull girl. The same applies to my writing at times. Sometimes the work just never lives up to what I create in my head, or I get the feeling that it’s a huge crash and burn. But I guess I’ll have to let go of those inhibitions and just write. That’s why I’m here. I’m here to write, express myself through words, and to let go of my minor worries. In the end, my stories will be read by someone. My mom, my closest friend, a stranger, anyone who will give it a chance.

There’s a piece I’ve been working on for about two or three years now. I can never past one part of it, and that’s been daunting me. I never thought about how hard a car crash scene could be. Maybe because I’ve never been in one that I remember. Maybe when I was a baby? I’m not entirely sure really. There are parts to the story that I should probably get rid of, and that’s mostly because they aren’t really vital to the story. A bit of Mommy issues is just a bit of character development, I guess, but it’s not important to the essence of a story about a girl wanting to kill her sister over a man. So, maybe I will get rid of that part later today, and find a way to improve on that story. Develop the characters more, find a way to write the crash, and eventually finish it. The story is long overdue for an ending, so I’ll have to finish it. I’ll say it here: my goal for my junior year is to finish that story and to be content with how it turned out. Maybe one day I’ll share it in class while it’s in its infantile stage, just like I am.

I’m here to grow my skills as a writer. My end goal in life is to have at least one book published, but I don’t expect it to become a bestseller just because of how my brain works. I can be pretty pessimistic about anything I produce, but there are some stories that I will occasionally be proud of and willing to share. We will just have to see how the year turns out and see what I will produce. So with that being said, I’ll end this post with this: good luck to all the literaries here and I hope we all will meet our own goals.

i told myself I wanted to learn how to fly.

i know that sounds stupid and sure it was impossible but it was a dream.

an escape. 

a way to feel at peace, even though it was not a lick of anything but false hope.

but I told myself over and over that this was an alternative – a way out.

eventually, what started out as an innocent get away turned into an addiction.

it became something I lived and craved for, painting an entire galaxy in the back of my mind, hidden behind a dull door. 

i could do more than just fly – I was powerful.

i was loved and feared.

i stood on top of my Earth with a crown sitting crooked upon my head, a toothy grin spreading across my face.

i wasn’t me. 

however, the impossible was still the impossible regardless of what was being produced in that door at the back of my brain.

my childhood began to falter and reality began to coil around me, ripping me from what was my home.

it was the angry dragon in every fairy tale … except the dragon won this time.

there was no prince charming, no fairy god mothers, no transforming animals. 

just a child too afraid to face the outside world because there was no type of safety for her there. 

only here, where her loneliness and frustration blossomed into a sea of sunflowers, could she find safety.

only here, where no one could point out her flaws and crack open her walls, could she find comfort.

only here, where there were no IQ tests or surveys to make her brain swell and burst, could she find peace.

only here, could she find a home. 

but time after time the dragon opened it’s mouth only to heave out the tears and fear that tainted what was the only escape – the only thing that could be trusted with life.

The three of you have taken and re-attached pieces of me.

You three have been my own personal surgeons, sewing and sewing my body back together.

You three are so different and your roles in my life are too, but you’re similar in the fact that you’re important.

You aren’t just passing by, you’ve stayed. You physically, will most likely leave me one day. And that’s okay. Never feel guilty for finding new paths and new people. That’s life. I haven’t told any of you in depth about your meaning, because of that reason. I will not crumble in your absence, because you have already repaired me.

You taught me that being myself is okay. That I should apologetically be me and only me. That I’m imperfect as I come, but that’s what people should love. You have stood up for me, because I could never do that for myself. You tell me when I need to stop giving myself out to people because I can only run myself so thin. I think coffee will forever run in my veins because of you.

You have given me stability. I can be my pure self around you because you’re the same way. We can laugh until our stomachs hurt, but you still turn around and give the advice and truth no one else is willing to give. The truth can hurt, but you make sure I know that you’ll be there to back me up. I don’t thank you enough for that.

When I tell you this, I know you think I’m joking. I try to refrain from saying it because I don’t want you to feel bad about leaving. Leaving is inevitable and I get that. I understand that. People and life change so often, and I know that I won’t forever be apart of that. For now though, you’re a comfort. A reminder that someone saw me for the mess that I was, and still am, and liked it. Decided to stay with it. Again, don’t let me scare you off with this! It’s okay! I have come to terms with that I won’t forever have this. And that’s perfectly okay. I’ll have to cross that bridge when I get there. Just know that you’ve really helped me no matter if you think you have or not. When you question me about why I choose to “put up with you” it’s because you have done the same for me.

I like the idea that three is a magic number. You three have created a little magic to keep with me.

There’s a thing that the old people say,

“I’d lose my head if it weren’t attached to me.”

But my head’s not even attached to me and I’ve seemed to have lost it.

I’m continuously attempting to screw and nail it back into place with calming words and gentle lyrics.

However, my brain begins to form into iron and my calming words turn into letters with teeth that gnaw viciously at the seams of my neck which desperately want to hold my head in place.

The letters win, though.

The seams didn’t seem to fight back too hard, huh?

Wait. Maybe that was just me who eventually cut the seams from my neck and released everything.

… Now it’s too heavy and I’ve waited too late.

It tries to attach itself back onto my neck and I cry out because it was never this heavy.

Never before.

I’m fighting and I’m pushing but the skin begins to become a noose, tightening itself around my throat.

icannotbreathe icannotscream icannotspeak

I. Can’t. Brea-

…

I’m now held prisoner to my own head.

This thing I used to use to escape in order to obtain comfort.

Yes, yes! This thing right here that is now filled to the brim with danger and anger and fear.

It reaches out and snatches me back, screaming in my ears, yelling,

“Run, you stupid girl, run!”

and then it laughs.

It cackles disgustingly when I sob because we both know that I cannot.

It’s been years yet it is still. heavy. and I am still. struggling.

Forced. Forced to drag it behind me as it follows heavily along the cracked ground.

Oh, and when it feels like I want to escape?

It pulls back the skin around my throat and pulls too hard. just a little too hard. hard enough to strangle me just enough though.

afterwards, there’s nothing except I’m back where I started with my heavy head attached to my shoulders, only for me to lose it once again.