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MetaphorI'm an owl, seeing what the night withholds from the eyes of the untrained. Perched on my tree driven to see both the allure of the day's light and the atrocities born by night. I refuse to sleep during the darkest hours, to know only of trivial problems, to stoke my own fires of ignorance. I see all during the night. The adulterers and their unbound lust. The murderers and their senseless aggression. The liars and their words of thorn and honey. I see, and do nothing, because I feel nothing. Not for the aggressors nor their victims. I am simply there to watch. To observe and hypothesize. Not to intervene. Is it wrong to think nothing of the travesties I watch? No, it is my nature. Just as it is in the nature of others to plunge forth into that wretched maelstrom. When those brave souls either conquer or are consumed, they may look up and see the faint light of my eyes in the night and know that I saw it all.
Clueless DesiresThere they are frozen in their own universe entranced in each others mere existence. The girl smiles blushes but tilts her head away from her partner so as to save the embarrassment. The boy does a quirky little half smile and still looks gobsmacked by her presence. They stand off to the side of the dancing masses. Slowly undulating to the beat. Incorporating the music into thier hive mind. But the music falls on deaf ears, the rest of the auditorium doesn't exist.
"What're you staring at?" You're ripped from your observation of the blossoming of teenage love. "Huh?" You reply to your date. It takes your brain a fraction of a second to realize that you had indeed heard the question and didn't need to hear it again. You quickly tack on an earnest enough "Nothing." You date pokes you in the arm playfully "You want to go?" If only they knew. Yet you somehow find yourself mutter an absent minded " Nah, the night is still young." You think they say something but you don't hear it clearly. T
Fluid SanctumMy sanctuary isn't a single location that has meaning to me, no. My place of zen is fluid, because I'm soothed not by a place but by the search for knowledge. So long as I'm attaining new knowledge I feel right at home where I am. Libraries, in the classroom, in my own room, as long as I can scrounge up more information on a topic of interest, I will feel an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. It's this fluidity that is the genius of my sanctuary.
The search for knowledge is an endless quest. New questions will always be packaged with new knowledge, thus creating a perpetual cycle. My sanctuary extends beyond physical bounds, beyond water damage and rust, and fires. The only limitation is time, my time. Which is why I spend so much of my time inside my own bubble, collecting, cataloging, and stashing, this knowledge.
Often times the word knowledge connotes "book learning", formulas, facts, and things of the like. I believe that knowledge is not limited to facts about the outside world,
Teen angsty type bullshitDeep brown eyes
Light olive skin
That's how it draws you in
It follows me
Yet isn't there
It's all knowing glare
It knows me more
Than I know my self
From atop my shelf
It's tried once
To take my life
With venomous words
Not by the knife.
Don't trust it
But you already do
It breaks bonds
But that's nothing new
Your just it's marionette
So fall in line
Join the rest
It's my own fault
It can attest
HomeThe one bedroom apartment is in a state of disarray. Empty cans of cheap beer litter the floor, the peeling walls still reek of piss. The poor state of the environment is matched only by the poorer state of your parents attitude. You finished your bachelors in zoology and had plans that never really panned out. So here you are, back with your parents in the same poverty stricken apartment complex you spent 17 years living in. Maybe there's a job opening at Kroger's. You'll make enough money to find a place of your own, start paying off all the debt you racked up learning about nothing important. Maybe you'll deal a bit on the side to make some real money. Not too many of your mates every got out of this shit hole, why not talk to them, see who's running the game now. Have them put in a good word for you. For now though, you're tired and depressed. You brush off the cigarette butts from the ash stricken sofa and collapse. Welcome home.
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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