Reviews Requested- Contains upsetting material - Free-Writes

[Rynn]

I WANT TO DANCE. Dance in the open with my scars on display in shorts and short sleeves like everyone else my age. I want to twirl in the sunlight and have bare feet in the grass. I want to smile in a tank top and collapse - dry summer grass on bare legs with breeze cooling hot air on skin – skin skin bare skin in the sun tanning in warm heat and smile with sunscreen sticky on my fingers. I want to laugh in the grass fields with blackberry stained lips and not worry about dog walkers and friends appearing, about being seen about facebook and future and children and school not jobs and requirements, role-modeling, and propriety. I want unrestrained unrestricted unworried loved pure-felt joy. I want to wear my old shirts – closet bound and longing I look at them hanging short sleeved – go shopping short sleeves tank tops three quarter sleeves too-loose sleeves too short, buttons make too big a hole, too risky sleeves I want to wear them damn it! I want I want I want so badly I never thought – winter snows killed this dream I thought summer, I though no problem, thought it’d be fine and easy and just a mere discomfort - just a sweat stain, a lie, a secret it’ll be okay. It’ll be – it’ll be – it’ll be livable and warm road alone in the summers discomfort okay at a distance from car windows wondering what strangers think of this summer-day Eskimo going for a walk with ipod distraction fast car temptation -- jump in front? What would it feel like to hit – the impact, craving the impact but knowing it’s just wild fantasy because I’ve no will to die, no want of the pain or the consequences of hitting asphalt and rolling beneath tires but Eskimo on side of the road has a head full of printed words flowing without speech-bubble restraints and I’m hot in long sleeves trying to convince myself that short sleeves really are no lighter and I’m preventing sun burns and sun cancer- runs in the family you know grandpa ear and hand and body no sunscreen back then – wear a hat complete the lie – but really hot really sweaty really nervous anxious worried paranoid – it’s weird, I know, it’s crazy, isn’t it do you see the lie? Suspicious? Worry worry worry and I just want to be free. Bare my arms and dance to the music of live players in the park but the children – oh the children they stop me. They should not see such things. And my employers will not tolerate such.

[butterfly525]

I like this! You're really good at creating a picture in the reader's mind.

[Rynn]

I wish loneliness was graceful like the Native American flute over empty mountains through the calm forest of silent animals blanketed beneath deep winter snow. Loneliness should be beautiful like gravestone angels weeping eternal solemn stranding frozen, tears like raindrops dripping from the eyes of a statue, hunched shoulders of bent metal forever bowing under the universe’s weight. Loneliness should be a singe star in the night sky or a blade of grass in concrete. A solitary tree on a rocky ledge – brave, undefeatable. Alone, strong, outstanding, noticeable but unreached – regarded with awe. That is not loneliness.

Loneliness is invisible. It is a library table – one of many individual students seeming to work but eyes unfocused and pages unturned, books opened to the same place with hand scribbling ‘notes’ in a journal not a spiral. Loneliness is doing homework at a table meant for two days before the deadline during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Getting up early for the silence of the lounge to match the silence of your voice what does it sound like anyways? The happy words that slip your lips “how are you I’m doing great beautiful day what class are you back from” are so shallow and surprising. Did you say that?

It’s a person in a crowd, going in the same direction in silence amongst pairs and trios and groups. It’s a book and headphones and a Velcro-shut mouth and a body that has not been touched for days – two more weeks until family: Mom and Momma and sister’s hug, grandma’s hug, great grandma’s embrace, pat her leg rub her back gently touch her hand – made human again but here crowds pass with American personal space bubble – mom says in Europe people just sit down at your table when its crowded and you have a seat to spare, in Europe the space is smaller when you talk. Before leaving for France they learned to kiss on the cheek and I wished I was in the group but the cuts were fresh and the fine print said no mind problems in the past year and it was just weeks so I told mom I didn’t want to go and I lied.

Lonely is long sleeves “no I don’t want to go swimming I don’t like it don’t want to go just don’t like it, okay?” It’s thinking “can I do crafts with her?” long sleeves and clay – “can I do it will it show is it suspicious? “ It is a conversation of a party that they don’t invite you to but talk about, forgetting you are there or weren’t there or might want to go.

It’s so mundane you don’t deserve to complain because it must be everywhere – and it’s not like you don’t talk to anyone – just not many folk and never deep and the lack of intimacy is strangling you so you stuff your journal with your heart but it squeezes shut so painfully and the edges never fit so it hurts and you know you’ll never be close to anyone because no one’s ever been close like that and there’s never been a date or a best friend forever with the sleepovers and the phone calls or at least consistent emails and you’ve always been the second friend even to your first friends – maybe you were born too late. Should’ve been earlier – been quicker to jump and act and reach so you could touch a heart before it was taken I don’t know. But I’m lonely and it’s not pretty it’s unseen and it’s grey and slow suffocating heavy sluggish and uncombed. It’s without make up and no energy for that shower it’s why bother dressing up and I’ll just wear glasses today – it’s I don’t know my phone number and lots of spare stationary sending a second letter before the reply because it’s been five weeks by now.

It’s a doll held and comforted like a child, like yourself, when the mind wont do homework and the urge to call home is too much and you’ll end up crying and you can’t worry mom so you hold the doll and hug her and don’t let go all night and it's perfect and she fits in your backpack without some books and you hold her behind a locked stall doors instead of blades because the long sleeves make you lonelier and your too grey for even the metal and you hold her and hold her and clutch her to your chest as if she might somehow hold together the heart the loneliness is ripping apart but you’ve no reason to cry no ability to complain you talk to people every day – “hi how’re you I’m doing great you? Back from a test how’d it go that’s good me too lets go got to go going see you later have a good day see ya” – every day. But some how you feel alone. Alone in an ugly way. Substance is necessary for beauty.

[Abintra]

i like your work you have a way of painting a picture in the readers mind, i personally would change the format of your writing (more so for the first one) how ever it was well written

[blue_kk]

i really like the First one :)

[Rynn]

Thanks. I might post more if any of my stuff ends up appropriate. I have a bad tendency of writing or drawing things a bit too graphically about injuries to be shared. :/