notagoodspeller - Tumblr blog

[notagoodspeller]

does poetry have to be beautiful?

do i have to make the words

fit into perfect lines?

or can it be messy and flawed and weird and nonsensical and silly and ridiculous and random?

will it be looked down upon if it isn’t the way it’s supposed to be?

will it be looked down upon if it isn’t the way it was taught to me?

i try my hardest to write beautifully and

to be intentional with my words but

ultimately i just want to get words out of my head

i want to let my words breathe and flow and dance and move.

i want to let my words evolve with me too

my evolution hasn’t been all positive, shouldn’t my writing reflect that?

[notagoodspeller]

this album is self produced btw!

[notagoodspeller]

no matter what happens to me i will always exude love

no matter what happens to me i will always choose kindness

that is my choice

it is the hill i will die on

[notagoodspeller]

i love “often” and i love “sometimes”

to be able to express yourself in words!

to be able to express yourself in any way!

i wonder if people who get their joy from dance feel the same way as people who get their joy from writing?

when a dancer feels their muscles twist underneath their skin

is it the same as when a writer creates a world from words?

when an artist bends color to their will

is it the same as when a teacher finally reaches their student?

all relationships are important of course,

but the one between humans and their passions!

even during war, there will be art

at funerals, people will still sing

[notagoodspeller]

i’ve noticed that my skin has become much more sensitive

even when a touch is faint, my skin still turns red

my skin is no longer soft

even though ive worked hard to keep it that way

i used to rub myself in oils and lotions and creams

because i thought

having soft skin “fit me.”

to have soft, sweet, delicate skin

sounded right to me.

i hope someone mentions it

but

my skin has become more sensitive,

and any little thing causes an abrasion.

so when i look down at my legs

and i see the bruises and the drawings and the hair and the pores

and when i hug my shoulders at night, desperate for warmth

and i start to feel how bumpy and textured and gross and weird i am,

i am filled with love

because

having skin that feels rough

is ok too

[notagoodspeller]

No, we're not soulmates. This is not divine intervention. And this is most certainly not chance. I willed this. I knit the threads of fate myself until they spelled your name.

I love you intentionally. I love you with every bit of conscience I was born with.

— marsadist (via twitter)

[notagoodspeller]

[notagoodspeller]

[notagoodspeller]

“You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again.”

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

[notagoodspeller]

11

sometimes i find it hard to be in my room.

i think that feeling comes from the fact that it isnt my room.

we have only been in this home for less then 2 years

and out of those 2 years,

ive only had "my room" for 8 months.

im away at college so i cant really be upset that there is no room for me in my own home any more, right?

but still

it hurts me when i am displaced from the room i sleep in, in favor of guests

they stay for one weekend and i am banished to another spare room.

a room that has no decorations

the room that has broken lights

the room that is mostly used for storage.

sometimes i feel like one of these loose items.

i feel like a rock in someones shoe

or a penny you step over in the parking lot.

i often wonder if my family would understand if i told them these things.

probably not.

i know they mean no harm. they want to do whats best for the people around them.

but sometimes it hurts.

you know what i mean?

[notagoodspeller]

[notagoodspeller]

We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.

Anais Nin

[notagoodspeller]

10

and recently as my hands began to swell

i found it harder and harder to write

the pen in my hand burns as i squeeze it

i look down at my palms,

but they werent mine as id once remembered them

they were big and ugly

and red and blotchy

and itchy.

my nails were cracked.

i had always remembered them being a pretty pink color

but now they were nothing more then a pale nude

but it only made me feel more grateful

when i found out i could type.

sometimes we find change to be jarring

most times we do.

but when i have trouble writing, i start to type.

after all, my joy never came from writing.

my joy comes from getting words out of my mind and into my soul.

does that make sense?

[notagoodspeller]

9

another good thing happened today.

one of the most complex relationships in my life

is the one i have with my sister. (second only to the one i have with my mother)

im sure all girls with sisters feel this way.

one day you fuss and scream at each other

the next day

she is picking up your medicine and asking what you want for breakfast.

I feel grateful to have a sister who treats me with such grace and patience

i feel grateful that even when i am so mean to her, she is so kind to me

because she doesnt have to be. it is her choice not to throw me away.

so i am happy to have seen her and to have talked to her and to have listened to her.

even tho we dont have that much in common any more

we still are the same two girls that used to play on our wii

we are still the same two girls who used to watch cartoons together

we are still the same two girl who used to play with our dolls.

even though it aggarvates me when she enters my room without knocking

or when she talks over me

or when she doesnt listen to my side of the story

I know she cares for me. and when she cares for me, she cares for herself.

which is just as important

[notagoodspeller]

“Everything I know, I know because of love.”

— Leo Tolstoy

[notagoodspeller]

8

for the past few days

ive woken up with a new ailment

my skin has been itchy

my eyes have been swollen

my lips have been bloated.

i think its from the new medications i take.

it feels weird that often when we try to fix a problem

we create seven new problems instead.

my sister suggested that maybe

it is my puppy that is breaking me out.

But how could that be true?

hes been in my life for a year

he lays next to me as i read

he lays next to me as i write

he lays next to me as i sleep.

how dare i be allergic to him?

when i cry he licks my tears

when i bleed he licks my blood.

how dare i be allergic to him?

[notagoodspeller]

7

Man, how i wish that i was a fly on the wall

it has always felt more comfortable for me to observe

what was going on around me

more then it has ever felt to be an active participant.

ive already told you that i was (am) an awkward, weird, offputting, too-deep-feeling, crybaby black girl that has always used humor as a crutch

I have a deep southern accent, and a louisianian slur, and i spit when i talk.

i talk too loud and i talk too much.

and sometimes when i am talking too much, when i talked to the point i couldn't anymore,

id cry

it was stressful because i knew what i wanted to say. i could hear myself clearly in my own head. but no one around me understood where i was coming from. Why?

ive yet to find my crowd, and i might never find them. but it is ok.

i realize that the more i learn to enjoy myself and enjoy the things i do, and enjoy the things around me. I start to find my crowd

I find my crowd in the music i listen too, in the movies i watch.

i find my crowd in the grass i smell, in the brids that chirp

even though i love people and being around people and talking to people and listening to people and learning about people

i thnk at this point in my life, i should just be a fly on the wall.

i refuse to force things to happen to me

ive learned better

theres nothing better than the warmth of the sun on my skin