Seee, told you I was going to keep posting. :]] So today I had a speech that I was going to give, but i chickened out, but that why im all dressy. Not going to lie, i look hawt today. tehe. But anyway, im going to enter some of my poems in this contest here on campus, and hopefully they will be good enough for the judges.
Also, Im making super fun plans for my friends birthday this weekend, so itll be lots of fun. *sigh* Rehearsals for the play are more and more, and ohhh im sick of them already and tech week is next week, i will die, no doubt.
Outfit Of The Dayy:
What Im Weariing: Boots: Khols, Jumper: Really, im thinking Mervyn's, but maybe Khols, Zebra Shirt: Stein Mart, Earings: Made by my biffshake.
Tip Of The Day: Sometimes you dont need to button every button on your shirt, things can look good unbuttoned, and still not look super slutty.
Song Of The Day: Have to change the word to song, because my stupid dictionary.
Plastic Surgery Slumber Party by: Jeffree Star
I know, i know, Jeffree Star is creepy because he/she is a tranny, but really, even if you hate it...(sorry Jeffree) her music is amazing. Its got this techno beat that honestly, makes me want to dye my hair, get some arm candy and go to a rave. E anyone?
Poem Of The Day:
So, just prefacing this with, it is a little exhibition of an amazing poem by another author i read.
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your wish to be close me,iand
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility :whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
E.E. Cummings 1931
Life is a series of new beginnings.