it feels like this comes on the caboose of a sporadic semi-melancholy train, but these somethings i wrote long before i considered myself anything of a writer, before blogging even existed. this is a series of vignettes written for an 8th grade assignment derived from the house on mango street, which i hated.  i remember doing the assignment and being livid at having to imitate something i found so displeasurable. vignettes are a very particular writing style, it's like describing every fifth tree in a forest as opposed to giving a description of what the experience of the forest at large is.  if you've read anything i've written you know it will be as the artist sketches, singular points that mean nothing unto themselves, but when strung together they create form and shape the curves of my minds landscapes, and it'll probably be wordy as opposed to the brevity valued in vignettes.  i found these recently cleaning out my room at my family's home in preparation for my next escapade, and was shocked at how relevant some of the feelings and perspective still are. other feelings and perspectives have been turned inside and out and every other possible way. it made me want to re-write the same vignettes an equal number of years later, and i'm sure i will, but not during this blog post.  at some level it made me sad to think that the 12 year old in me was still that alive, and apparently kicking,  but mostly it made me smile.  hopefully this snapshot of a period in space and time will do the same for you, take you back to times when... 


i remember when i was around five, my dad came home with a surprise for me.  my little white bike, complete with training wheels and a bell, was waiting for me in my driveway.  the look of joy that spread across my face must have been equivalent to one of someone who had just bought the perfect house.  happily i ran around in my footsies wanting to ride it right then at two o'clock in the morning.  the little bike with the basket.  the basket with snoopy on it.  those were all that mattered to me as i pleaded with my father, "please teach me how to ride daddy, please?" "tomorrow," he promises, "tomorrow."  


some people's eyes are clear so you can see all that goes on behind them.  some people's are dark so their true feelings never show.  like my eyes.  they are almost black.  so dark in fact that you can't see the center of them, the pupil.  the eyes as dark as the heart of the devil.  the eyes you could stare into all day and never figure out what they are saying, belong to me.  

some people's eyes, such as my brothers, you can read like a book.

eyes.  some people say they mean nothing.  they mean a lot to me.  mine have a mysterious air about them.  they can change like the seasons.  they can go from black to almost hazel to just regular brown.  when you shine light into them they actually do turn hazel.  my eyes, the ones that are silent like secrets blown to the wind, secrets no one will ever hear.  

My Name

my name is like an inside joke no one understands but me.  when most people say it, it doesn't sound like the music it's supposed to be.  j-i-h-a-n.  it sounds like a melody fading into the early morning dew.  

person of the world.  that's me, what my name means.  the secret meaning behind the obvious. the harmony the rest of the song has left behind.  when i say, it sounds beautiful, as if faeries are humming it while sailing through the sky in boats made of the wind.  

what the rest of the world hears is unimportant.  in my ears it's soft like a summer day before the storm.  

there is so much more to my name than anyone could see.  it's like a tree, simple on the outside, but on the inside rings that go deeper and deeper into a complex pattern that no one but me can see.  

 The Girl That Never Left

"that loud girl that lives across the street" who is she?  where did she go?  no one but me will know.  she is me.  she left because it wasn't where she belonged.  she was like a bird, too wild to be kept confined in her cage.  "she'll come back.  she'll never get away."  yeah, she'll return, because she never left.  she's always there.  "why is she there?" she can't leave.  she won't allow herself to.  even so, you can feel the sadness she left behind.  she's gone.  gone to never return to the cage she doesn't belong in.  

"that girl that lives across the street" who is she? where did she go?  no one but me will know.  she is me. i left because it wasn't where i belonged.  i was like a bird, too wild to be kept confined to my cage.  "she'll come back.  she'll never get away."  yeah, i'll return, because i never left.  i'm always there.  "why am i there?" i can't leave.  i won't allow myself to.  even so, you can feel the sadness i left behind.  i'm gone.  gone to never return to the cage i don't belong in.  

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