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Winter in the “South”
Thick humidity blown away by brisk wind
making up for its tardiness with force.
The Northernmost Southern city,
or the Southernmost Northern one?
We get the extremes of both.
A drop so sudden, you’re left blinking in your t-shirt,
and wonder if it’s worth it to change
because surely it will go back just as fast.
Half an effort:
winter coats and flip flops
The unavoidable coffee dance of whether to dress for the
Morning Weather or the Afternoon Weather
and the joy in being one of the few who experiences a full temperature gradient in one day.
Just wait until tornado season.
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When they argue of politics, They like to have beer. But he does nothing. When they fight of race, They like to have triple layer cake. But he does nothing. When they bicker of welfare, They like to have cigars. But he does nothing. When they whisper of women’s rights, They like to have Playboy. But he does nothing. Later, when they have nothing more to talk about They like to ask him what is his vice, as nothing here seems to qualify He smiles and says his only word, “Indifference” And he does nothing.
the vices we choose, K.N.
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Thoughts on the Martin Luther King Jr. Shootings
Why are people like this? I clicked on the google doodle celebrating Martin Luther King Jr. day and the first thing to pop up is a news article talking about eight people shot in Miami during a MLK event. What the hell? Why? Who thinks this is a solution to anything? I’m just so disgusted. This is a day of remembrance and celebration. A day to honor the life of a great man who made the lives of so many others much better.
The other day I took an Uber back to school and during the car ride talked to my driver. He was young, 24 I think? Young enough to still go out to parties and celebrate on college campuses. Yet, this man told me and my friends about the racism that he still sees at some of these events. He talked of trying to enter a party a couple years ago, like any other person, and being rejected because the fraternity didn’t accept his “kind.”
Um, excuse me? His “kind”??? That’s ridiculous and unnecessary. I just gasped and sat there. I’m not naive enough to believe all is perfect in the world. The Black Lives Matter movement is real, as well as racism among government officials and regular people. It’s something that we need to come together and fix. But this was a shock. College students are still kicking black people, and people of other races I’m sure, out of parties and events for the sole crime of their skin color or race.
This isn’t news to anybody and it shouldn’t surprise me so much. I’m just mad and upset. Before now, I’d never really had a face and name to put with the victimized group- which is another tragedy in itself. The communities that exist without diversity, without any strong concern either way about the issues, those are the ones that create the most problems. Places like my hometown and my high school can ignore the hidden war because we don’t see the fighting on our doorstep. I wonder how these people would react to see a friend of theirs the target of racial injustice? Would they react with surprise like me at seeing something that’s only been real on a screen? Would they find the drive to help? Or would it reinforce ideals they didn’t know they had buried in themselves? Would it cause them to say, attack a celebratory Martin Luther King Jr. rally?
I worry to think of what will happen because something must. It can’t be so easy to ignore forever. One day these people, the ones I grew up with, will have to make a decision.
As Dr. King said, “ History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people.”
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The monster in the labyrinth
Each day I wake in this maze
My eyes sting in the dark frost
Feeling the wall and there’s no hope
For the last bit of rope is raveled
and I’m lost
They say a monster lives here
Ready to eat the young children that come
In the shadows, voices are far then near
and shapes that almost feel like home
Frantic, racing trying to escape
but whispers on the wind attack my mind
Failure, Weakness, a black shape
that closes in- side, front, behind
Each day I wake in this maze
My eyes adjust as they have before
The room develops into mirrors, and in my gaze
I realize the identity of my Minotaur
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My issue with college right now
I. am. so. bored.
All throughout high school I did things. I played sports, acted in musicals, participated in clubs. Now I’m just...not. I stopped playing softball so that I would have more free time, but now I have too much. Today I got out of class at 12, which is any person’s DREAM, but I had no idea what to do with my time. Sure I’ll be able to “focus on my schoolwork” and get good grades. Honestly though, last semester my classes were the easiest I’ve taken in my life.
I just can’t seem to involve myself. The clubs I joined are very low commitment and none of the leadership positions I applied for worked out. There isn’t even a quality system of greek life to join on campus. Not being in clubs means I haven’t met and made as many close friends as I’m used to. I have two really great friends here, but it’s weird not having a group to rely on when we want to go out or something like that. To make up for all the extra time, we go to cool restaurants and explore the city, which is cool, but expensive.
I just want that freedom and adventure of college. I want to do wild things with interesting people late at night. I’m in that annoying middle zone between introvert and extrovert where I really want to do all the fun, exciting things, but I’m too shy or get easily drained while doing them. Social media is a bitch too. I see all these people at my school, freshmen who should be in the same boat as me, having fun and going to parties or doing weird things all the time. I know it’s not realistic, but it still makes me frustrated.
I’m a person who usually fills life to the brim with activities faced for the first time with the thing I try to avoid: boredom. Idleness. Uselessness. That’s it. I feel useless. Like I could be doing things- making memories, researching new ideas, writing stories- but instead I’m moping about my lack of a life on that social media that I so harshly criticize. I’m a bored overachieving hypocrite forced to face herself clearly without any distractions. And it sucks.
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Sometimes the smallest changes make the biggest differences.
K.N.
(I don’t know if this is a completely original thought, or an original phrasing of a common idea. It just felt relevant.)
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Things that are different from the last time I was here
I returned for my second semester of college today. It’s weird to think how different a person can be, or how quickly one changes. Although I’m not a completely different human, there are some definite differences from the last time I was sitting on this dorm room bed.
1. I have four fewer teeth
2. I have one more tattoo
3. I have a comfier bed
4. I have kissed more people (making my total from 0 to 3)
5. I have more definite plans to see the world
6. I have seen more Star Wars movies than before
7. I have finished Avatar: The Last Airbender (something that changes anybody)
8. I know how to make sangria and omelets
9. I have been bouldering
10. I have broken out of an escape room two more times and boosted my overall confidence in covert missions
These are just a few silly things that come to mind. A few of these things are not major changes. Sometimes it’s the small differences that make the difference.
-K.N.
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When I was young, I would confuse 'dessert' and 'desert.' I knew the difference, of course. One was a luscious treat; the other, a barren land. It wasn't until I met you that I realized one person could embody both things at once. You came when I most needed you. You were delicious. The taste was milk and chocolate and strawberries. Then you left like a whisper in the wind. And I craved you. My mouth was dry as sand. I crawled on my hands and knees towards your oasis, never realizing it was only a mirage.
K.N.
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Rambles about tattoos
As of three hours ago, I am officially a tattooed woman. AND I AM SO EXCITED!
You know the feeling when you want something very, very badly? For food, it’s called a craving. For travel, it’s called wanderlust. Well, for the past few months I’ve had this kind of tattoo fever. Ever since my best friend got a tattoo, I’ve been intrigued with them. Their history, how they’re represented and perceived in culture, even the artistry behind them amazes me. So many of my recent story ideas have revolved around a tattooed protagonist and the unique ways the tattoo influences his or her life. Like, imagine if a shapeshifter decided to get a tattoo, but it didn’t change when they shifted? So like they could go from boy to girl, young to old, blonde to brunette, and whatever else. But they always have a little bird tattoo on their right shoulder. Imagine the psychological effect that could have on them. In the midst of a life where they’re always changing faces, one aspect of them can finally remain constant. Ugh, tattoos are so cool.
-K.N.
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I miss places I've never been, things I've never done, and people I've never met except in my sleep.
This is what it means to dream, K.N.
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To the dog who warms my toes and my heart,
I love you
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Sometimes I feel sad, then I remember that my dog isn't aware of societal expectations for beauty and thinks I am the most gorgeous creature ever. Then I don't feel so bad.
On a snowy night with my best friend warming my toes, K.N.
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Snow and Ivy
Today it snowed for the first time this winter. I woke up and saw the familiar white quilt covering my front yard. Everybody around me groaned at the inconvenience. It makes driving dangerous and slow. It’s cold and wet. It gets dirty and looks awful. I heard all these things, of course, and they are true. Yet, looking at it, fresh and white, it’s hard to imagine much other than beauty and hope. Snow is like a cherry blossom. Its beauty is short and violent, and all you can do is stop and stare. Take it in before it goes away.
I think this snow was so important to me because I know it’s my only snow this year. I go to school in the south where winters are short and mild. I don’t get to wake up and see the world cloaked in white like old furniture covered in sheets. Instead, I must make do with miles of ivy that covers everything in its path. It is serene, in its own way.
-K.N.
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Types of blogs
Blog- blog
Vlog- video blog
Wrog- writing blog
Trog- travel blog
Boolog- book blog
Flog- fitness blog
Log- log blog
Wog- water blog
Sog(gy)- a damp blog
Shia Lablog- Shia Labeouf blog
Clog- a blog dedicated to cats or German shoes
Bog- a wetland blog
Fog- fog blog
Snog- snail blog
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Six Word Stories
Fresh bed, wilting flowers thrown away
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And then the front door opened
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Rubble, all that remains is memories
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Endless waves rock, but land sighted
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Country dirt comes loose on sidewalk
-K.N.
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A Description of My Room
I’m working on writing more. This past semester has been an adjustment in many ways and I’ve come to learn that writing isn’t a natural reaction for me at the moment, but I want it to be. College applications and scholarship essays placed a lot of stress on me. Fake words, put together with the intent of painting myself to appeal to somebody else. Well, I always did feel uncomfortable striving to fit others’ expectations. Regardless, I have a bitter taste of forced words in my mouth. I need to cleanse that and start fresh. Because I do so love words.
That is better said than done, I’m afraid. Writing is a habit, like any else, and must be maintained. One piece of advice my English teacher gave me regarding writer’s block was to go to a coffee shop and describe what I see. It’s too late for a coffee shop tonight, so my room will have to do.
It is both intimately familiar and strange. Living away from home for four months makes me more aware of the small things in my room. The things that I can’t imagine when I’m lying in my dorm room bed.
The dream catcher over my bed has a small bell dangling from one corner. It is a blurred olive green and doesn’t match at all with the light blue palette. On it’s surface is a soft glow, reflecting the fairy lights entwined around the headboard of my bed.
To my right two large, wooden bats lean against a pile of overflow books that didn’t fit onto my bookshelf. Dozens of homerun balls balance on the top of the piece of furniture, like soldiers protecting the contents on the shelves. Each book is unique and worth protection. There are families placed next to each other, their similar spines hugging. The great elderly stories mix with the young, silly, and influential. Lone strangers are welcomed without any regards to their cover or contents. Each bookshelf is a world unlike any other.
Water color pictures of global landmarks are taped to my ceiling. Some are clearly of the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, or the St. Louis Arch. Others I still don’t recognize. However, they’re all beautiful and eerie in that watercolor way that makes you wonder if it’s a dream or reality.
Oh, I yearn to visit those paintings. Is that a church or a house? Does the beach really curve against the water like that? And what do the people there think of their little treasure of a home? A stack of fresh luggage winks at me from the corner of the room. The crisp navy duffel bags whisper of promise. One day, one day. One day I will rush them onto an airplane, or boat, or car. One day they will become dusty with dirt from another country. One day I will open them to find a mixture of old clothes and new memories.
The half hidden wine bottle draws me back to the present. I realize that I’m dumb and should make good decisions. Then I realize that I’m young and should make better memories. I have a lifetime ahead of me to travel and explore and be reasonable. Today, I can be irrational and break the rules a little. Today, I can sip wine and pretend my parents are completely ignorant. Today, I can sit on my comfortable bed and look at my past while thinking of my future.
Today, I can imagine that my writing is not some god-awful fake-deep flowery shit. Tomorrow I’ll look at this and cringe. Oh well, I need to start somewhere and what’s better than a public blogging platform where millions of strangers could read my every mistake? Assuming anybody cares to read my slightly idle thoughts.
-K.N.
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One name: friend or stranger
It’s a sad feeling to see a single name in your contact list and not know to whom it refers. Who is “Adam” or “Katie”? Why does the name Taylor have a heart next to it? Out of the six Sarahs I know, why was this one significant enough to not need a last name?These people were important to me at one point, important enough to know them by only their first names. There was a day when I would see a message from them and maybe smile or sigh or frown, but at least I would recognize them. Now they are forgotten. I’m left with faceless names on a flat screen. How easily a person you were once close with becomes a stranger. It’s a silent kind of loss, one you don’t realize is gone until you come across its remainders.
-K.N.
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