Sunday, July 29, 2012


I wrote this poem on the 27th. Hopefully now that I started this blog, I can post my writing the day I write it. But until I have more recent work, I will continue posting old work. But anyway, I wrote this piece when I was just chilling in bed and the thought sprung up.:

What is life?
A compilation of moments.
Simple things, often forgotten.
I have had many thrills,
Exciting experiences most don't get.
But when I ponder my life,
That isn't what I see.
I close my eyes and watch my autobiography.
My most precious memories are so simple;
Playing with my pets, Playing in the bathtub as a child.
What happened to all the birthdays, Christmases, and other celebrations?
Do I have even the slightest recollection?
I can't remember milestones that I should.
Most of my memories are upsetting.
I don't regret them.
But, they are times of grief, abandonment, anger.
Fear. Attraction. Love.
I feel that I am not alone in this mindset,
But most don't take the time to discover it.
   I'm not sure how I can really explain this one, as it was more of an emotion I was describing than an idea. This is a completely rough draft; I didn't edit it at all. It came straight from a page of my journal. I don't know exactly what it means to me, so it would be great if people could post what it means to them. I'm incredibly curious.

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