organ donor

someday

a group of scientists will
spill the contents
of my heart

out onto a white table

pick through them,
examine everything thoroughly
with
white-gloved
fingertips

and still find
only
you.

————————————————-
Creative writing class is about to start. I have to read my poems to the class.  Ugh. This needs to be over.

What Does the Fox Say?

I have to write a 4-6 page piece of nonfiction for my creative writing class.

Was thinking of doing a series of vignettes on my old people (working at a nursing home blah blah blah etc.) but she specified that there HAD TO BE A PLOT which kinda shoots that down.

Other option: write about my skeletons, write about going crazy.  (and have people know this about me.)  I made this mistake last year in poetry class, first poem had to be a personal poem.  She read mine in front of the whole class, and I understood  on a very deep level the word “mortification”.

I could write about Thailand but that just feels like bragging.

I could write about men.  But that is just too overdone.  And given current circumstances, also looks a lot like bragging.

meh.  Might just skip class Tuesday and stay home and hash it out.

speaking of being happy, speaking of men, speaking of beautiful moments that songs remind me about….

I know… you already know this one… but this blog is for me not for you.

I don’t know if you’ve heard of Ylvis, but you will have soon, so allow me to introduce you if you haven’t already met. One of the few songs that my roommate will dance to without being forced which marks it as a very worthy song indeed.