Category: Junior Literary

“I’m in love. I’m all shook up.”

Warning:  This is a rant about my unconditional love for Elvis Presley.

“You touch my hand and I’m a king…That’s the wonder of you.”

Elvis Aaron Presley.  I swear to God, I am naming my child after him.  I have already named my horse after him when he was foaled.   He is my hero.

“Take my hand.  Take my whole life, too.  For, I can’t help falling in love with you.”

Elvis will always have a place in my heart.  He made memorable music for any occasion and inspired and captured the hearts of many others.  Elvis is ranked among other great singers/songwriters such as Salinas, Whitney, and Garth.

“While I can dream, let it come true right now.”

As many people suspect, his songs aren’t about just love.  They represent emotions and conditions of the human heart.  For example, “In the Ghetto”.  They are also healing and distraction of those same emotions.

“Is your heart filled with pain…Tell me dear are you lonesome tonight?”

Elvis had an energy that makes you want to dance no matter your mood or the mood of the song.  Maybe this is why so many of his songs are featured in movies.  They get you pumped, excited for whatever comes next.  Or, they get you prepped and ready for all that’s coming.

“Well, he plays something evil.
Then, he plays something sweet.
No matter what he plays,
You got to get up on your feet.”

As you can tell, my love for Elvis is an endless pit.  I can’t tell you many more artists that I know of that have captured me with every song they’ve ever produced.

“When I first saw you, with your smile so tender, my heart was captured.  My soul surrendered.”

Elvis not only created musica with versatile moods, but his songs contained a new sense of genre and started a revolution in the industry.  Songs such as, “Jailhouse Rock” strongly promoted this new genre.

“Let’s rock.  Everybody let’s rock.”

Elvis knew his roots and never quite forgot them.   This is such and admirable trait.  He also tributed a song, “An American Trilogy” to soldiers of America.

“Oh, I wish I was in Dixie, away away, in Dixieland. I’ll take my stand to live and die in dixie, for Dixieland was where I was born..look away, look away Dixieland.”

I hope you can find love in your heart for such a devoted man.

Watch me stand alone at night and listen to the voices in my head-hear me scream your name in my sleep and wonder if it’s because I love or hate you.

Tell me that you love me, and realize that my walls have been up this whole time. You don’t want them to come down- I would be a different person. You’re already in love with the sad me, I shouldn’t bother with anything else.

Let me know how you feel on bad days and good days and all the days in between- send the ‘I’m busy’ text when I get emotional.

Wrap your vine arms around me and feel me shake, hold me tighter. Tell yourself that I’m cold and it’s not the fact that your arms remind me of a cage I couldn’t escapef. You don’t even know the story. My teeth have shattered.

Listen to my silence and make it your melody. Count the beats until I crescendo into nothingness. Breathe through your nose. Keep your back straight.

Follow me into the dark, strike a match and watch me burn. Relish in my light- singe your eyebrows. Take a step back. Stare as my ashes are blown away in the wind. Leave.

Eat my heart. Feel my blood soak through your tongue, washing away your lies with my own. Devour my eyes- see what I keep hidden.

Don’t let me see your scars. Feel the ridges on my arms and squirm- I’ll start to hide mine too. Long sleeves and locked up words. Everyone is satisfied. My throat is burning.

Wait until I’m asleep, cast your shadows on top of my own. Choke the flame from my dreams-make it your own.

Want what we can’t have. Wish on a million stars, beg the gods, hold your breath. Our hands do not fit together.

Fear the future. Flee from the right now. Hold down your shaking hands. Drop your concerns on my doorstep- don’t leave a return address.

Smile at my middle name. Tell me it fits perfectly- beauty and callus bring the smells of spring and my exhaustion.

Wonder when I’ll come to my senses- try to run back. Daydream of untied shoelaces and slippery streets. Feel content with broken bones.

Imagine a day when our eyes will be able to meet without the world erupting. It’s impossible. You squint your eyes. The picture stays fuzzy.

 

I wish I was built with the extraordinary capability to save everyone, but somehow everyone keeps slipping through my fingers, right into the Eater’s mouth.

The Eater is a rather misunderstood creature.  He eats memories and feelings, but most importantly he eats away at people.  Whenever people are gone or whoever they used to be are gone or you forget something, it’s the Eater who has eaten the Gone People.

He’s this force that is constantly chasing behind you, begging at your feet like a large dog underneath the dinner table.  Eventually, he will eat something, even if he has to knock off a few plates.  Sometimes, he’ll even break the table.

I have seen him eat person after person, as they fall into his mouth like a stale french fry.  And then the person who I was grasping onto to keep from falling is gone, they’re a Gone Person, and there’s nothing underneath be to keep me from the falling, falling, and falling…

You can’t come back from the Eater.  You can become a different person and still be alive, but the person you were before is gone.  That’s a Gone Person.

He’s always there, waiting to Eat you.  Sometimes, it can be a good thing.  If you don’t like who you are, you can fall back into him like a cocoon, except with teeth and stomach acid.

The truth is that he’s lonely, and he’s misunderstood.  The Gone People keep him company.  I have many versions of myself doing so.

You can save people from him, but sometimes you aren’t Enough.  And I wish I was Enough, I wish I was bursting with such Enoughness as others do.  Trying to save people hurts.  I am hurt.  I wonder why I am not Enough.

Why am I not brimmed with it so that it topples over when I walk?  I want people to come licking up behind me, thirsty for the taste.  They’ve never seen such Enoughness before!  Amazing!

Why am I so empty, so see-through and paper-thin without the Enoughness, that people slip right through my fingertips?

Sometimes I hate the Eater.  I hate him for hurting me like this, but it’s not him.  It’s them who led themselves down this path, all the while holding my hand just so I can watch them dangle.  It’s a slippery slope down the chair legs, right into the waiting dog’s mouth.

It doesn’t matter.  I am still hurt.  They are still Gone People.

Who is the Gone Person you speak of, Zoe?  People may ask.

Why, I say.  It’s me and you and it’s everyone.  The Gone is this virus that we breath and we spit and we kiss, it’s in the cracks of your lip and the juice of eye.

We’re all Gone People.

But I forgive you, Eater.

I’m sitting in bed, writing this, trying to think of something that will make people think. (3:44a.m). I have nothing to say and no words to use to tell you how little I have to say. I could write a poem or two or ten about things I would rather forget. I could make a bad decision and text the wrong person the wrong thing and regret it probably never. I could finish the workout that I didn’t really feel like doing this afternoon, or figure out what I’m going to wear tomorrow. But I wear the clothes that feel right for the day and the me right now will not be the same me that gets up in two hours and fifty-one minutes, therefore, the outfit will not work and my trials will have been for nothing. I could study the geometry lesson I’m sure I’m going to have a pop quiz on tomorrow, and possibly make my mom proud of my grades for the first time in a long time.

I would really like to get up and run- it’s cold outside and the world is ripe for the taking. Lemonade and I, who is also awake right now, wouldn’t split the world and its people and their things- we would march side by side, a team.

My stomach is churning and I’m not sure whether it’s because of something I’ve eaten or the fact that I haven’t eaten enough today to sustain a normal human body. My mom was worried about this when I moved away. I forget.

If I go to sleep in exactly one minute, I will be able to have two hours and thirty-three minutes of sleep. That’s plenty and not enough all at the same time, which is confusing.

I was having a conversation today about self-destruction- where it comes from and why people do it. I made the arguament that I, being hyper-aware of my own  self-care, would know how to control the urge to stay up all night or the small task of forgetting to eat. Obviously, I was incorrect. It happens more often than not.

I don’t know what I will title this piece or if I’ll have the gall to actually transfer it from my phone to Herbert.  I don’t know how many more words it needs. Lemonade is attempting to sleep.

I’ve been in the same position for over three hours, because I sleep on top bunk and when I move it makes enough noise to wake up my roommates. My hands are cold ,but if I tuck them under the covers I can’t type. My left leg is asleep; my back is aching. I’d rather let my roommates sleep.

(4:18a.m) Lemonade has given up on sleep and is now watching Vines. I wish I had mittens. My bad knee is starting to get onto me for my lack of movement. Maybe instead of a pop quiz tomorrow, we’ll get to take a nap. Maybe the world will end in the next two hours and seventeen minutes and I won’t have to worry about geometry or exercise or the fact that I’m not asleep when I should be. Lemonade has moved on to Netflix.

(This is a poem I’m debating to read at coffeehouse in December, and I’m not too sure I want to yet. But here it is anyways. Also, it’s pretty sappy and/or cheesy, and I am not sorry one bit.)

it’s 11 p.m.,

and i want to go to bed.

but like in every other sappy love poem, i cannot.

and it’s because of you, naturally –

it’s because you are running through my mind

like a marathon runner on the track.

your voice, especially.

how it cascades through my entire body

as you talk about the simplest things.

how i could sit next to you all day,

listening to you talk about absolutely nothing

and never want to leave.

 

it’s 12 a.m.,

and i’m still sitting here,

still trying to close my eyes –

the curtain that forever remains transfixed on your own orbs.

that ocean-gray color that drives me beyond mad.

when they look at me,

i get this feeling of paralysis;

i am afraid that if i move,

they will, too,

and they will never set upon mine again.

because my eyes are green,

and this shade of green

and your shade of blue

do not mix too prettily.

 

it’s 1 a.m.,

and i see your gorgeous smile now.

and i know it isn’t there because of me,

but i can dream, right?

actually, no –

i cannot.

i cannot because you will not let me.

 

it’s 2 a.m.,

and i am replaying that song we both really like,

learning every last word so that

i have a reason to talk to you again today.

isn’t that pathetic?

 

it’s 3 a.m.;

i know all of the words to the song.

can you tell that i have not slept –

because of you?

 

it’s 4 a.m. now,

and this is making my head hurt.

see what you do to me?

you crush every thought that is not about you

into a place inside my mind –

you cram it all together in one small room

and make yourself grow,

so that you take up every inch of space available to you

and even that that is not yours to take.

 

it’s 5 a.m.,

and my eyelids feel a bit heavy,

so maybe i will get some sleep after all,

no thanks to you.

 

it’s 6 a.m.,

and you never did stop screaming at me.

of course you were not actually screaming;

you were simply whispering in my ear,

repeating the statement of a reality i do not desire to face.

maybe i should sleep –

i have geometry soon.

 

it’s 7 a.m.,

and i have not slept for even a second.

i have to go to class now,

but of course that will not stop you

from lingering in the back of my mind,

with your jaw-dropping eyes,

your beautiful smile

and that voice that makes me melt.

that voice that is also sending that message,

reminding me of facts i wish i could ignore.

Mary sits in the corner chipping pieces of paint off the drywall and placing it on her tongue before rubbing it against swollen gums and swallowing it dry. She picks up another piece bigger this time, chewing lightly, and grinding the flavor into her teeth. She does this again every once in a while getting bigger chunks as she goes. She eats them like chips and hums in appreciation as she does.

This goes on for a long time.

Mary had a fascination with the walls and I had a fascination with her. I would like to pretend that Mary would chew all the way out of her small cell. Stuffed and full of that toxic paint. She would live a normal life, I knew she would, but one day while having sex probably. Her man, not being the cautious kind would bump the wrong places and Mary would puke the paint chips into his mouth. But, he would enjoy that, he would love the acidic taste, claim it would mix well with the foreplay.

Then nine months later at an emergency room, Mary would be anticipating. Scared out of her mind probably.  Her husband so I assume from the ring gleaming brilliantly in the bright light of the emergency room would produce out his pocket a bag of paint chips. The look on Mary’s face would be priceless. She would let her tongue hang out like a dehydrated dog, but he would feed her like an Egyptian Goddess. Each chip that touches her mouth would be like grapes for only the finest ones would do.  Then at some late point of the night when the hospital is dead and shes half asleep, the baby would come unexpectedly.

Almost jumping out of her womb from fear of catching some of the crazy she hides in her stomach.  Her sleeping oaf would spring up from his worn down seat catching him mid-air. Screaming touch down in his mind as his wife lays down making grabby hands at the paint chips on the floor.  The baby wouldn’t cry just lay there in his hands asleep, not dead. No, Mary was a trooper. Her genetics would be just as strong. That child would live an interesting life of paint chip dinners and a paint chip life.

Disregarded by the world but a prize in Mary’s eyes. As she stroked his head of gray hair soothing him of story’s of the institution and of me. Always watching from behind that mirror. Looking out for her. The very thought sent chills up my spine, but the vibrations of my watch pulled me from my daydream and back into the chilled walls of the institution. It was time for me to make my rounds. I tore my eyes from my precious Mary, not before chipping a piece of paint off the wall, catching Mary’s eye and swallowing it down dry. The smile on her face was thrilling, and I hoped that one day I could see that smile from behind a locked door.

Three days later I found her hands bound and her walls stripped bare. Her tongue would peak out ever so slightly from her mouth its purplish hues contrasting sharply with her pale face, but even then she was still beautiful. My Mary. My sweet paint chip Mary.

half light i // arcade fire, half light ii (no celebration) // arcade fire

when i was nine years old, my parents told my brother and me that we were moving. they told us we’d be leaving our little right-side duplex house with our walls covered in crayon drawings and moving somewhere nicer.

i was more than ecstatic. my brother was less than thrilled.

i remember when we were driving around looking at houses that could potentially become our home. there were houses right next to highways where crickets chirped in broad daylight. there was one house that sat on top of a lake where all of the rooms could only be entered from the wooden walkway that wrapped around the exterior of the house.

but we ended up settling into a relatively new subdivision right next to the town square in hernando, mississippi. i could see the town track and field park from the driveway, and every house had a tree in its front yard.

in this new house in this new town, i used to be so excited for everything to be new. i was excited for my new school and my new friends and finally having the room to be a kid.

and everything did feel new. at first. but i never had the room to be a kid. my new friends were gone as soon as they’d been made, and my new school quickly became another creaky cog in the suburban machine.

i wanted to be able to actually run around and be free and see my town when the only lights are streetlights, the way i never could in my old town. but i wasn’t even allowed to walk around my neighborhood after school by myself. this town that i’d thought would be the place i could finally branch out was rapidly become that town that would leave in in the same pot forever.

the novelty of newness had faded, and all i wanted was to make my home feel welcoming again.

this past summer was the first time in my life i could finally explore my town when it’s illuminated only by streetlights. i could actually drive around town with the windows down and swing in the park when it’s dark out.

everything felt so new, and it was the first time since we’d moved that i’d felt that same excitement for the new.

before summer, i thought i’d never want to leave brookhaven. i thought going back to my roots, even just for two days every two weeks, would be the torture of tearing my fresh growth from its new soil

now, i long for the weekends i can replant my feet in the old soil.

every time i see that welcome sign, the streets feel a little newer than they did before.

(Narrator)

In a world

Where most people

Are the average height

One kid stands out in the crowd

Meet Tim Tallington.

Standing at 8’2

Tim is a little bit taller than the other kids

(dramatic zoom out from Tim’s face to classroom)

in his kindergarten class.

Join Tim

On his BIGGEST adventure yet,

surviving elementary school.

It’s not always easy being tall.

(Tim is shown sitting on the top of slide.  He slides forward a few inches but then stops.  Zoom out to show that his feet are already hitting the ground despite his body being at the top of the slide.)

(Tim Tallington)

Aw fooey!

(Narrator)

There will be action!

(stereotypical school bully)

Tallington, huh?  Well y’know what they say: the bigger they are, the harder they TALL!

(Narrator)

Friendship!

(random classmate)

Tim Tallington, you’re my best friend!

(Narrator)

and maybe even!

(teacher)

Class, I want to introduce you to our new student!

(Narrator)

Romance!

(Door opens and giant girl walks in.)

(teacher)

Meet Tilly Tallsworth!

(Tim Tallington’s mouth drops open in astonishment at the sight of Tilly Tallsworth.)

(Narrator)

He may not make all A’s,

(Tim Tallington)

Ah fooey, I got another F!

(Narrator)

But his grades are always the highest!

(Tim Tallington)

(puts paper on his head and laughs)

(Narrator)

He’s an average boy

Of above average height

And a heart to match!

(Tim Tallington)

I love you, Tilly Tallsworth!

(Narrator)

This summer

Get to know Tim Tallington

in the major motion picture

already nominated for every Academy Award

Tall Boy

Coming to a theater near you!

Sometimes, we just need that one perfect song to help us through a situation, whether it be a hard math test you’re trying to ace, writing poetry at one a.m., or just if you are having a bad day. Below, I’ve listed a few of my favorite songs that I listen to on specified occasions.

For anxiety, I listen to slow songs, such as:

• Daydreamer, Adele -Best lyrics:  (making up the past and feeling up his girl like he’s never felt a figure before)
• Ain’t No Sunshine, Bill Withers- Best Lyrics:( it’s not warm when she’s away)
• What Makes A Man, Dallas Green- Best lyrics: (what makes a man pray, when he’s about to die/ I think I know/ I think I might know)

When I’m in a cheery mood, I’ll stick to happier, upbeat songs:

• Murder, Alana Davis– Best Lyrics:( there’s a bleeder in my kitchen, and he’s pouring on my floor/ there’s a killer in my hallway, and he’s scratching at my door)
• Sleep to Dream, Fiona Apple- Best Lyrics (you say love is a hell you cannot bare/ I say give me mine back and you can go there, for all I care)
• If it Hadn’t Been for Love, The Steeldrivers -Best Lyrics:( never would ‘a seen the trouble that I’m in if it hadn’t been for love)

Finally, when I am feeling down, I will listen to songs I know every word to:

• Fast Car, (acoustic version by Jusin Bieber)- Best Lyrics: (He says his body’s too old for workin’, I say his body too young to look like this)
• Antichrist, The 1975– Best Lyrics: (My wife inquired of understanding/But of course my dear, you can’t/She said ‘How can I relate to somebody who doesn’t Speak? I feel like I’m just treading water/Is it the same for you?/ Is it the same for you?/Well he comes and he goes, so capricious./And his work appears so rushed.)
• Palisades Park, Counting Crows– Best Lyrics:(you walked into the bar like some Saturday star, stud straight on spiked heels, and needles, and nerves/and you’re a downtown pride, fully amplified Clyde, gin-tight and aging, but well preserved)
• I’ll Be Good, James Young– Best Lyrics: (but the blood on my hands scares me to death/ maybe I’m waking up today)

These songs inspire me to be better with each day, they help me grow and learn and thrive.  Music is a good source of relaxation and inspiration. It can change worlds. I hope that me sharing these will help you in the future as well!