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enlaithiel
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Name: Meegan Solomon
Birthday: 12/9/1986
Gender: Female
Interests: abort! abort!, alaska, anti-catsup, anything-anything-anything!, are you being served?, arrrrr, art supply store fun, badly drawn boy, bed flopping, ben folds, ben kweller, big scary dogs!, black rebel motorcycle club, blankets, blue monday, bob dylan wannabes, bowling in canada, british literature, cake, canoe!!1!, craig thompson, dancing-everywhere and anywhere, dead birds cause disease, death cab for cutie, devious muffins, dickon's white horse, dirt cake, drawing, dressing up like mad, fairy tales, fiesty on tuesday, frasier, guster, his dark materials, hoo-ray, hot hot heat, illustration, its keen!, jazz, jethro tull, jimi hendrix, jimmy eat world, jones soda, katana, kermit the frog, kill bill, langston hughes, lawn flamingos, lickable wallpaper, lovin' the gourd, lowtide, miles davis, mourning sirius, movies, musical theater, neutral milk hotel, new pornographers, new years eve, newsradio, ninjas, nonsense, not on, nova next exit, oasis, our lady peace, peachy o's, penguin cafe
Expertise: Owning all of you. Rocking like Scurvy on a Pirate Ship.
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  zombiescalling
Member Since:
1/27/2003
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| dear lady disdain, are you yet living? | | |
| -The teacher teaches
and the student listens, oh she listens
for syllables to turn about each other
as if dancing, losing all concept of reality
the skin, you said, is easily shed
and afterwards you find belonging
so naked I stepped from my shell, from my layers
and found that if I braced myself against the wind
lip bitten, bones bared
and found
what treasures
but those of confidence, brimming, bustling
the teacher teaches
and the student listens, always listens
for hearts fill at those wiser words
brims-cups overflowing
and little girls once silent become giddy with laughter
pain, you said, is the easiest of games
and the easiest way to experience such things
is to be isolated, alone
so with my wrists bound to this plane
amid railroads and humidity and grain
I drive my feet into the gravel
test my limits
walk quickly, eyes rolled back
and try for understanding such loneliness
for the student ever searches for knowledge
under rocks, within books, in chains
and the teacher ever teaches
with clever phrases
and wit prolonged
and stories he compiles
while intoxicated | | |
| I once wrote of that red dress to set me free. Fabric running down my torso and spilling over my knees like river weeds or salty ocean tears. And what did I say? Running over the city as if every howl from my lips created magic? Torn between two souls that only an imagine(d) fabric could solidify the meaning and bring into harmony? We were unit, motion, pair, symmetrical. And I finally felt the beauty slide forward, between nexus and rhythm. Because I wanted to dance.
But it seems that red fabric acts only as bandage, and is worn thin so quickly over sharp pit and stone. That I, in wearing it to make a better me, has left a fragile me. So I stop speaking of things. Hush, girl-thing, hush. And it seems safer to give up my voice than to give up myself.
Everyone talks about strength. About suffering through storms and valleys and the darker places some may never reach. And how it is internal brute and brawn that saves. That splinters away doubt and loneliness. (Though they had suggested, bones of a cage and mouth growling lowly, that she so seldom to cry 'once upon a time' had tripped on her shoelaces and (in sudden shock)starred at the gravel in her hands. Rain flowed from her pools of blue and began the flood that covered canyons and made for rivers where they do not belong. So saying this, it is safe to weep and bring water to the world over and over.)
That which designs and resides and though i stop to breathe everyonceandawhile-I shall not rest until I overcome!
I can howl still, for whomever resides nearest. It doesn't matter that they(them(he(you)))ANYONE-has left me here thinking I'll do fine. That pretending that in two souls you find safety melding and I waiting for merely once can not withstanding break this soulfog.
I'll cling to my ideals, if nothing else. I'll finish my painting, mend my dress, hang out the linens, and wait. Not run.
If I run I am not strong. And it has yet to be seen how strong I am. | | |
| Do you ever wonder
if the past
lends itself to the best
of time(s)
I miss...
but no. Carry on, carry on. I can find this half. | | |
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