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Okay question: Growing up, were you the girl who walked home on the other side of the street from all your classmates reading a book? Was it a book by jean little or madeleine l'engle by any chance?
I think it's a key element to any personality type- how much books replaced human contact as a way to learn about the world.
Anyways, it's valentines week which is a big deal judging by the number of hearts I have seen in my peripheral vision.
I decided to ring in the lovingest day of the year by doing the blogosphere equivalent of hiding in my bedroom writing bad poetry and drawing pictures of dragons in a black covered notebook..
Luckily I survived and am back to share with you all that I learned about bad poetry on the internet. Here's a linky list of heartfilled goodness for all y'all. Kisses.
In celebration of my erstwhile poetry habit and the season..
http://www.best-love-poems.com/
A repository of user contributed love poems. Such as;
Feeling all the love you have in your heart
Takes me higher than I could ever dream
A look, a kiss, a touch, just a start
Leading to passionate touches, a silent scream
That's pretty um, I don't want to sound critical but silent scream = love? Not so much in my books.
Why is the word hope synomymous with rope in so many of these? Can't you people try a little harder? Luckily, poetry is a *very* accessible medium (one might argue too accessible). So if you have the will but lack the skill you can use this Love poetry generator to fan the flames of passion and inspiration.
Here's mine...
My Love
Your skin glows like the breadfruit, blossoms wiley as the snapdragon in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your harpsichord voice and leaps like a giant sloth at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great albatross wing.
I am comforted by your control top pantyhose that I carry into the twilight of mountainbeams and hold next to my liver.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of liquid detergent.
As my kneecap falls from my overalls, it reminds me of your bus stop.
In the quiet, I listen for the last silent scream of the day.
My heated nostril leaps to my ankle socks. I wait in the moonlight for your secret hockeypuck so that we may run as one, nostril to nostril, in search of the magnificient periwinkle and mystical skipping rope of love.
Nostril to nostril, it just feels so real. I totally borrowed silent scream but I think it makes my ouevre a little postmodern.
Franken-girl wonders whether if isn't just a better idea to let all the heartache of yester-year burn merrily
Are certain periods of our lives best extinguished completely? Does that free us from an unhappy memory? Is Grandma right after all? I'm a Woman now. That Girl is gone. Should I let her rest in peace?
Or do burnt-diaries leave a hole in our life's bookcase? Or worse, a vulnerability that we might forget our history, and even recreate our own story to please ourselves (in lieu of honesty).
Good questions those, I know I found all my old diaries in the garage covered in raccoon crap about 4 years ago and sent them to the shredder save two. what am I going to do with some of my more emotional blog entries in 20 years?
I am going to sign off with this entry roses smell like boo-boo from "when creative minds get bored" a 17 year old high school student writing about the meaning of v-day in highschool. From the dead frog in the locker to the wrinkled up oldies kissing it's heartfelt, beautiful and adorably idiosyncratic. It's probably the nicest thing I've read all week.
It's beautiful when a my grandparents kiss and say how much they love eachother (after 51 years) this is amazingly cheesy and I can't believe thatI'm putting htis on the internet... but its like love makes seemingly stupid things and turns them into something rare and well ...beautiful. I think that I realy DO see things in perspective now because valentines day isn't about the dozens of red roses or stupid pink teddy bears or the lacy boxes of chocolate that you'll see girls carrying around school it's about an old wrinkled up couple or few moments of silence between newlyweds or appreciating quirks clumsiness. right now in this moment I realize how young and naieve I really am...a warm hollow
