Thursday, October 25, 2012

Contradiction.

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I used to say, "it's strange how much can change in just a year," but in reality, it's strange how much can transpire over the course of a year and still very little about our situations change. As humans we walk into the same, or similar situations over and over again throughout different seasons in our lives. The only thing that really changes is the experiences we have behind us when we open the door. The great questions is how do we let those experiences shape, change, and influence our reactions and decisions when we find ourselves in similar situations.
It's strange to think about how much can transpire in a short 366 days (or 365 if it isn't a leap year). How two people can go from being complete strangers with no knowledge of one another's existence, to meeting, and becoming acquainted. Then to becoming friends, best friends; eventually more the friends and then strangers again. Who share nothing but memories, and maybe 

some mutual friends.

"It is not my business what others opinions of me are. It is my business to go to sleep each night confident that I a better person then yesterday." -anonymous 

I don't know just some "food for thought." Funny how life contradicts it self so often, isn't it?

~Adrianna

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Trying/ A.M.E.

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Today I have two poems, I wrote them both a while ago, but I thought I'd share... 



Trying:
I know you said "be patient," "trust me,"
and I do...
but I'm getting scared.

These trenches being dug by silence
reminiscent of the last siege
in which my heart came out far from
unscathed.
And sure, maybe I should have learned by now not to care so much!
but all I'm doing is searching
for someone who won't want to return me.
However merchandise cannot dictate what a consumer wants.
and in fearful silence that's what I've become
merchandise...
reverently silenced  
by the fear of what I could loose
and
the memory of that which I already have. 
 

 A.M.E
these pages I've filled with your name.
a heart tilled over by wrongful blame...
if only memory was phased,
by the extinguished flame.