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shiny objects

Saturday, November 26, 2005


Villain-elle
or
Giving Thanks That It's Almost Over


Christ. So Thanksgiving break is nearly gone, and before I know it I'll be back in Saint Louis, kicking it in my private apartment where I can do whatever the hell I want, without worrying about stepping on my beloved parents' toes. Welcome back, 3am-hard-rock-on-the-livingroom-sterio. Nice to see you again, kitchen-counter-BDSM. I'll be able to sleep past 9am, too, without one of my snot-brained siblings having a Scream Party outside my bedroom door. (Note, when I say "snot-brained," I mean it in the sweetest of big-sister fashions.) Yeehaw.

When I'm in Missouri, I don't really miss Texas. Despite the reunion of my family, there just isn't that much going on here.

The one productive thing I did down south was write a villanelle - a poem with 19 lines (5 tercets and a quatrain) and the world's most neurotic rhyme structure (aba aba aba aba aba abaa). Did I mention also that two lines repeat throughout the poem? It was very difficult to execute.

For the record, it is my most despondant poem to date. Hell, if this doesn't secure my place as the gothiest kid in advanced poetry workshop, I am not sure what will.

The Said Can't Say

I wouldn't tell you, even if I could,
That day to day, I fear that I shall break.
The more I speak, the less I'm understood,

For any purpose openly alludes
To more excuses than I care to make.
I wouldn't tell you even if I could.

You asked me why the floor was streaked with blood,
But I withheld - for composure's sake.
The more I speak, the less I'm understood.

I've found that slings and arrows do most good
Against the grief that stalks me like a snake.
I wouldn't tell you, even if I could,

That neither rest, nor love, nor drug, nor food,
Relieves as much as any knife may take;
The more I speak, the less I'm understood.

So should my woe, despite the calm, intrude,
I'll slice it back and smile through the ache.
I wouldn't tell you, even if I could;
The more I speak, the less I'm understood.



Heartbreaking, I'm sure. Go cry in your coffee ice-cream. Toodles.


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