tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55282602008526544862024-03-05T09:20:19.843-08:00--- Come So Far ---Words should be an extension of our thoughts. So please, think with me. Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-12789525792859542632014-11-19T23:08:00.001-08:002014-11-19T23:09:59.188-08:00Without Sugar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hi. It's been about a billion years since I posted anything. I feel like my style and voice has developed significantly since my last post. So here's a thing I wrote entitled "Without Sugar". Let me know your thoughts. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I watch my people,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">stumbling in this corner of the sandbox</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">where the weeds grow. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A messy meeting of atoms</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">feeding on words and feelings,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">lapping each other up like cats do milk.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">No bodies for the brimstone</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">to bother, a smokey existence</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">with no blood to hold brandy. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Regret steeps this smoke,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">a black tea without sugar,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and I sip and muse,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">save us from our souls. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Melt this place.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Give us lungs to drown with.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Teach us how to swim,</span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-35bfd8b3-cc06-c770-3c9d-4399441cdfee"><span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and to die. </span></span></div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-28183468389150579872014-02-09T16:36:00.002-08:002014-02-09T16:39:43.295-08:00Lion Tamer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 17.25px; white-space: pre-wrap;">One day she batted her fake lashes and
told me that she
hated
writing.
And I just smiled that smile we make
when someone speaks on a subject
on which they understand very little.
How sad that she didn’t realize
that words aren’t just letters
and
sentences aren’t just words.
That words
are lions, and pens and tongues
the whips cracking in fluid succession.
That real readers hold their breath
because they can feel the steam
of the lions’ beating body boiling out
onto their tucked noses as their brains balance
between the beasts’ golden lips. And
that the ringleader, with the snap of a
single syllable
can lock the jaws on exposed gray matter,
can wake the apathetic, can remind us that
we’re human.
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 1.15;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-74522500308226826352013-10-08T18:30:00.001-07:002013-10-08T18:31:50.552-07:00You AloneSometimes you just have<div>To breathe. </div><div><br></div><div>I mean it. A big breath that you</div><div>hold in close to your chest and</div><div>let it out slowly enough that you</div><div>have time to THINK.</div><div><br></div><div>That there are people </div><div>who are going to </div><div>Put</div><div>you down. </div><div>Cut</div><div>you down.</div><div>And Kick</div><div>you while you're down. </div><div><br></div><div>Now take that breath and </div><div>HOLD IT.</div><div>Decide. Decide who you want </div><div>to be and who you want to help</div><div>who you want to become and</div><div>who is going to get in your way</div><div>and decide and </div><div>HOLD IT.</div><div><br></div><div>And don't let it go. </div><div>Don't even CONSIDER</div><div>Giving up.</div><div>Letting up. </div><div>Looking down to where you</div><div>MIGHT end up if you fall. </div><div><br></div><div>Never be afraid to fall,</div><div>because FALLING</div><div>and FLYING</div><div>are not that different. </div><div>Flying is just taking your fall and</div><div>CHOOSING whee you want to land. </div><div><br></div><div>You'll hear otherwise. </div><div>They'll tell you that you've </div><div>fallen and you're hurt and </div><div>broken and worthless. </div><div><br></div><div>THEY. They'll call you stupid.</div><div>And ugly. </div><div>and fat and lazy and disappointing and a waste of time and space and a lost cause </div><div>and that</div><div>you're nothing. </div><div><br></div><div>And Now. </div><div>now's the time. </div><div>For you to let out that BREATH. </div><div><br></div><div>The time for you to decide </div><div>if you're going to let them hurt you. </div><div>Let them destroy your ego. </div><div>Kill your dreams,</div><div>and and break your spirit. </div><div><br></div><div>Or</div><div>will you decide to fight?</div><div>Fight for what</div><div>you </div><div>deserve. Fight for </div><div>your </div><div>happiness--Fight for</div><div>your</div><div>Life.</div><div><br></div><div>YOUR life. </div><div><br></div><div>You </div><div>can choose what to let into your life. </div><div>You</div><div>can choose to stand just a little taller</div><div>whenever they pass by. </div><div><br></div><div>Will it be hard? Frightening? Overwhelming?</div><div>Of course it will be. </div><div>Because they are the wolves,</div><div>and you won't always be surrounded</div><div>by a shield of friends. </div><div><br></div><div>so</div><div><br></div><div>Every time WITHOUT FAIL,</div><div>when they look you in the eye</div><div>you meet theirs</div><div>and you stare right back. </div><div><br></div><div>When they tear you down</div><div>you pick up the pieces and you</div><div>build a new defense. </div><div>A STRONGER defense. </div><div><br></div><div>Because </div><div>you? </div><div>You're worth defending. </div><div>No matter what THEY may say,</div><div>you are worth defending. </div><div><br></div><div>You</div><div>are beautiful and unique</div><div>and bring something to this world</div><div>that NO ONE else can. </div><div><br></div><div>You are YOU</div><div>and that's all that matters. </div><div>And that's all that will ever matter. </div><div>And THEY can never change that. </div><div><br></div><div>Take another breath. </div><div>Again,</div><div>hold it. </div><div><br></div><div>Don't think about anything this time. </div><div>Let go of your fears. </div><div>Let go of your worries. </div><div><br></div><div>Now, just let it out. </div><div>And choose to smile. </div><div>Because everything is going to be okay. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-77199598516053580462013-09-25T13:13:00.002-07:002013-09-25T13:14:42.393-07:00Writing: C17H21NO4<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<style>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mom said some people get hooked after just one time. </div>
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Granted, it wasn’t just the gateway stuff done five minutes</div>
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before class that everyone was doing in high school.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The first time I experienced it was late one night after </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
an emotionally ravaging day, in room-provided solitude, </div>
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eye-contact with a hummingbird silence. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Deafening heartbeats, injecting the day’s events into my </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
bloodstream. Hypothalamus overload, delusional parasitosis—</div>
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words crawling<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>just
under the skin, pausing at my fingertips</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
expressed through a <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cracked</span>
shaky #2.</div>
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Ten minutes of ultimate inspiration, ultimate confidence;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
euphoria, sweet euphoria, meet the brain. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A god for a single moment. Fifty thousand words,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
fifty million thoughts, infinite possibilities. And yet</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
you? You granted life to a breathtaking new combination.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Addiction. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I get it now. Every night I crave to reintroduce myself to</div>
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that divine creator living deep, deep within myself, </div>
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but many of these nights end with restless, sweaty </div>
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palms, and ravenous appetite for syntax that isn’t being
fed.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The words again course through my veins, surge </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
through exhausted gray matter but I can’t. I can’t get </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
them out. They burn inside me and some days you have to</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
itch and scratch<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>at
them until you bleed them onto the paper. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It’s a dripping mess, kindergarten finger-painting on
cardstock.</div>
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Honesty in its purest form accompanied by increased body</div>
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temperature and pupils dilated twice their normal size,</div>
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courtesy of the dim desk lamp everyone buys for college.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And I admit it, I’m always looking for new ways to</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
reach the feeling of that first time. Speedballing syllables
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
with rhythm, I’m just a delinquent in downtown LA. </div>
</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-72945062279548624182013-08-18T13:17:00.001-07:002013-08-18T13:50:30.943-07:00A Breath Upon Mine EarO my soul<div>why hast thou departed hence,</div><div>leaving me alone to bear the burdens of this life </div><div>in quiet solitude? </div><div><br></div><div>Doth thou wander now</div><div>among the throngs of spirits lost? </div><div>Perhaps thou art seeking me even as I seek in</div><div>desperation for thee.</div><div><br></div><div>Not only for</div><div>the gentle strength of thy</div><div>supporting presence, but for the value which</div><div>comes with thee, to me. </div><div><br></div><div>Swallowing my </div><div>weakness, fears, and pain</div><div>I dare journey through dark places til we meet</div><div>again and I beg</div><div><br></div><div>for thee to stay.</div><div>Again to whisper in my ear that</div><div>I am so much more than the masses fault me</div><div>to believe.</div><div><br></div><div>Exhausted </div><div>after many days of unfruitful</div><div>seeking. I rear my head and cry out to thee.</div><div>Please! Why?</div><div><br></div><div>In earnest</div><div>I have sought for thee</div><div>and never hath my trials seemed so great</div><div>and I needed</div><div><br></div><div>Thee. </div><div><br></div><div>A voice, a</div><div>breath upon mine ear.</div><div>Here I still reside in thee, and hath witnessed</div><div>all thy trembling.</div><div><br></div><div>For I knew</div><div>that I alone could not</div><div>support thee through thy life. These trials I </div><div>did allow thee</div><div><br></div><div>to face alone,</div><div>though heavily it weighed upon</div><div>my heart to witness thy pain these days. 'twas</div><div>for thy good. </div><div><br></div><div>No more tears.</div><div>For I am here and thou </div><div>art stronger than if I had held thy hand or simply</div><div>carried thee.</div><div><br></div><div>Now let us</div><div>face the world together,</div><div>with eyes radiating strength and experience that</div><div>we may be</div><div><br></div><div>Teachers.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-71020567485221600182013-08-11T21:34:00.001-07:002013-08-11T22:10:33.299-07:00Letting Words Fall OutDrifting in and out of thought<div>up and down</div><div>a waterfall of words</div><div>Salmon swimming upstream.</div><div><br></div><div>Struggling to breathe because</div><div>the Thoughts are more important,</div><div>the Words are more important</div><div>than air is. </div><div><br></div><div>Calypso less word more sound</div><div>echoes through my veins</div><div>pulsing to my very brain</div><div>I hold tight to every moment.</div><div><br></div><div>As the tide rolls in I can't help</div><div>but wish that my thoughts</div><div>were more Appealing, more</div><div>Appetizing, perhaps. Something</div><div>of </div><div>Substance. </div><div><br></div><div>But is substance what I'm really</div><div>going for? What I want</div><div>in my life? There is a superficial</div><div>beauty in simple nonsense. </div><div><br></div><div>Nonsense. Nonsensical. </div><div>Completely underrated, yet</div><div>gives me complete motivation</div><div>To let my mind give birth. </div><div><br></div><div>A pregnancy of thought. </div><div>Conception, development,</div><div>pain, stress, suffering form</div><div>into something that becomes</div><div>Nothing</div><div><br></div><div>short of a miracle. </div>Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-27841419607502512212013-06-19T23:43:00.001-07:002013-06-21T12:45:07.079-07:00Float and to Fly<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's like standing on the edge of a pool, <br />
with the rubber of your sneakers hanging over the concrete edge.<br />
Moonlight reflecting in the solemn waves.<br />
<br />
Never before has the water seemed so appealing.<br />
To be engulfed in its chilling but somehow soothing grasp<br />
would be learning to float and to fly. <br />
<br />
<br />
--Disclaimer: I'm a terrible swimmer. I frequently find myself using my fear of swimming as a comparison to other fears I have. Unfortunately, when I write about it it can be easily misinterpreted to have suicidal tie-ins. This is not my intention, but for those who may themselves have suicidal thoughts, remember that it is always better to float and to fly.--</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-27009434080344898172013-05-06T23:10:00.000-07:002013-05-06T23:10:10.594-07:00Sewing the Mind Shut<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is a speech I wrote in loose poetic form back in high school, so picture me reading it in a grandiose voice. This really is how I feel about the education system in the United States sometimes, by the way. ;) <br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Sewing the Mind Shut </b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
In a world where creativity is loved, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
inspiration is dreamt of, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and creations are praised:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The young are taught facts.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Their opinions are shushed. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Their minds becoming singular. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The mind is too valuable to waste. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That's what they're told,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
yet their ambitions are razed.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Memorize this;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
this is what you must know. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I sit here and wonder,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
should it be so?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You are too young. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You'll understand soon.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But now you're<i> too</i> old.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Your mind is not yours,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
it has become theirs.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What's happened to the individual?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Does it even exist anymore?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Why must I be like them?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Must I?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Can I be no one? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Someone?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Anyone?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Can I be something new?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some minds are stronger,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but no minds are weak. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Imagination holds us together,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
makes us <i>human.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
When we try to be different,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to stray outside the box,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
we are slapped back</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
like we've done something wrong.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Schools hold the mind in stasis.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
As a student we've learned:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What is beauty,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
what to know,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
what is acceptable,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and what is not.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
If we try to be different</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
our grade suffers.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We won't go to college.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To the world we become expendable.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Even art has succumbed </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
in some places.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Suddenly projects have rules </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and measurements that we </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
must follow. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To get the grade.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Expectations</i>. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We're not learning to be our own self. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Is this some sort of game?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Every person looks different,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
so why should we all think the same?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They say we must learn,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and we'll grow,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
be like them.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But what if I want to be <i>me?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Not them.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Shall we just watch,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
as our minds,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and our children's minds are sewn shut?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
As imagination rusts from disuse?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Change is what's needed.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And it's <i>not </i>being taught. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
An endless paradox, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
unless <i>we </i>make it stop. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The mind is a sponge,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
capable of holding only so much. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
If we fill the mind with facts then what room is left</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
for creativity?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The system of learning</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
is broken and wrecked. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the rules are too strict,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
thoughts were meant to be bent.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To state your ideas</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
is dangerous at best.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And only a few</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
are brave enough to try.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To be part of that few,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
strong mind and <i>stronger</i> heart,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
they are the truly successful,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
though their grades might</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
not match the part. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Why are they punished?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Are their minds not functioning?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Instead of science,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
math,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and English,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
their minds are focused on the surreal,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the beautiful,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the unknown.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Today's learning is based on what's known.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Is that how we progress?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
By focusing on the <i>facts? </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Why not focus on what is <i>yet </i>to be understood?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Teach the mind to ponder,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to question everything,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to think past the "facts". </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> </i> Don't be afraid,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to take back your mind.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Oil your imagination.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Cut the bands that are holding you back.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Look past the facts, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
open your heart to the surreal. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What more can I say then to let your opinions be known?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Together, we can change the system.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Because the mind,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
truly,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
is too valuable to waste.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So that's that. Remember to subscribe on the right side of the screen if you want to make my day. Feedback is lovely as well. Thanks, pilgrims.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-4544401518732590632013-04-07T02:44:00.002-07:002013-04-07T02:44:22.042-07:00With Hands Outstretched<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
The light at the end of my tunnel sometimes seems so faint that I stop believing in it. It becomes a tiny speck so distant that it gets lost in the suffocating, blackening distractions of life.<br />
When this happens I stumble through my tunnel in fear. It seems like there's nothing but the cold air and damp walls to remind me that I should keep walking--Keep living. Sometimes I even fall. I catch myself, sacrificing my palms to whatever fate they may meet as they make contact with the unknown darkness beneath me.<br />
The hardest thing is pushing yourself back onto your feet once you're down with your face against the cool floor, rocks digging into your cheek. When your palms are bleeding it can feel easier to just give up and simply endure the constant pain you are currently experiencing, rather than risk a higher level of pain in the future should you continue. <br />
But, regardless, you manage to pick yourself up again eventually. I personally often find myself leaning against the unstable tunnel wall at this point, trying to build up the courage to face the unknown, often sharp, obstacles again. This is also usually the time when I remember about that little speck of light that I can barely make out far in the distance.<br />
If I focus intently enough on it I swear that I can almost feel its warmth. I find the strength to release myself from the cold companionship of the wall and take a shaky, careful step towards it. I can definitely feel it now, and as my steps towards it slowly grow more confident. I can make out silhouettes of the rocks and challenges that tripped me up so easily before, allowing me to start distinguishing a simpler path through them.<br />
I suddenly realize that all along I have been wrong. It's not MY tunnel at all. I take my eyes off of the obstacles in front of me and see others along the path. Some, like I had been, lay fallen in the distance, hopelessness showing in their eyes even from afar. Others were more near. One girl in particular clenched her fists and teeth as she struggled to push herself back onto her feet. She had fallen hard. The fight in her eyes was beginning to fade as she tried unsuccessfully to hold back the tears that mixed with the blood pooling beneath her torn palms.<br />
I desert my path and backtrack haphazardly towards her. Somehow I manage to keep my footing on my way to her. She doesn't notice me until I kneel down to her level.<br />
"Hey. Everything is going to be okay."<br />
She looks up in surprise for a moment, relief floods through her and without a word she silently leans forward and sobs silently on my shoulder. Once her sobs settle to hoarse but steady breathing, I rise and lift her by her wrists, careful not to touch the tender lacerations on her hands. They'll need time to heal on their own, as mine are.<br />
I realize that the light has grown enough that now I can see her perfectly. She is held up by a frail frame, the frame of someone who has fallen again and again. But the fight has returned to her eyes, and I could walk away. I've done my part; she's back on her feet. Instead, I put my arm around her and we turn around back towards the light--together. <br />
The light rushes over us like a wave, enveloping us it in its reassuring heat like a coastal summer's breeze. Tears form in both of our eyes this time. Together we will never have to be afraid again. Neither of us can fall when the other is supporting them with their everything. And even if we fall together, we know the light will gently lend its hand, catching and lifting us even higher than before.<br />
We take our first step together towards the next nearest broken figure, with hands outstretched. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This post ended VERY differently than I had originally planned. I guess that that girl reached out and found ME in the dark. I hope that all of you have some sort of light at the end of the tunnel to reach for, regardless of what you believe in. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it, and just so you all know I LOVE when people follow this blog (see the followers app on the right of the blog). I also love feedback and shares. ;) Thanks everyone!</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-36731883450794782212013-03-19T01:56:00.001-07:002013-03-19T01:56:06.877-07:00Everything<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I can feel the warmth of your breath<br />
through the chink in my armor; <br />
your heart so close to mine that<br />
the beats fall in and out of sync. <br />
<br />
The comfortable heat incites both<br />
a thrill and a terror inside me. <br />
Now the moment of decision:<br />
Do I run or do I stay?<br />
<br />
There's a million things inside me<br />
you should fear. Demons with<br />
sunken eyes swallowed by shadows<br />
in dark corners.<br />
<br />
But. <br />
<br />
Would you just be afraid?<br />
Or could you be the one that takes<br />
me by the hand and whispers that<br />
we'll fight them together? <br />
<br />
And when I could finally burst<br />
from my cages and chains I would <br />
hold you tight and love you<br />
with everything that I am.<br />
<br />
For that chance I would tear<br />
open my chest and let you<br />
examine my heart. A single<br />
moment of infinite vulnerability.<br />
<br />Because maybe you<br />
are<br />
my everything.</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-17611789049415984362013-03-07T01:52:00.002-08:002013-03-07T01:59:22.160-08:00Hide and Seek<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />Some who hide<br />
do not desire to be found. <br />
<br />
--- <br />
<br />
I have always been partial<br />
to hiding.<br />
<br />
Hiding where it's dark,<br />
and sometimes cold,<br />
but it's worth it.<br />
<br />
They all whisper<br />
when they can see me.<br />
So I hide somewhere deep, <br />
<br />
because then they can't<br />
see the fear in my eyes.<br />
<br />
I run internally from <br />
the people, the trials<br />
and often forced smiles.<br />
<br />
The key to hiding is<br />
for no one to know you're hiding. <br />
<br />
Show them only the surface.<br />
Let them only see an inch of<br />
what I really am:<br />
<br />
Terrified of my potential,<br />
for darkness or for light.<br />
<br />
In that way even when they<br />
see me and speak to me<br />
I'm not truly there.<br />
<br />
I slowly mastered this game<br />
every time I felt threatened.<br />
<br />
Every time I was pushed down,<br />
put down, teased, bullied,<br />
laughed at or punished.<br />
<br />
But more, even, when I let down<br />
those who were around me.<br />
<br />
Eventually it consumed me.<br />
For when you hide from<br />
yourself, within yourself,<br />
<br />
You can lose yourself.<br />
And that's when it gets scary.<br />
<br />
To remember who you really<br />
are requires you to tear<br />
down the very walls you built<br />
<br />
to keep everyone out. <br />
The walls made of whispers<br />
<br />
and lies that cover up<br />
all of your flaws. All of your<br />
insecurities and doubts.<br />
<br />
To tear them down is to leave<br />
yourself completely vulnerable.<br />
<br />
I ask you this, is it better to be<br />
lonely,<br />
vulnerable,<br />
or invisible? <br />
<br />
I have always been partial<br />
to hiding.</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-18725918322655188012013-03-05T01:25:00.000-08:002013-03-05T01:25:00.281-08:00Leave it Behind<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Leave it Behind<br />
<br />
The breath of your last word fades away. You can see the pain in her eyes, and feel it in yours. You knew it would end this way some day, but she held on like a vine; the kind of vine that you never pulled away from because it seemed a shame to break its delicate, wandering stems. <br />
You tear your gaze from her glistening eyes, take a step back. You reach behind you and grab the brass knob to the back door. Your wrist turns to stone. Every memory you've shared courses through your vision, a waterfall of moments. She whispers, soft as silk, "Please don't go."<br />
Here is the moment. The awful moment when you choose to either turn your back on someone that once gave you happiness, or fall back into her now suffocating arms.<br />
<br />
You turn the knob. The door creaks open. The sunlight is freedom on your face. <br />
<br />
You turn back for one last look and she is no longer the gentle young lady you once held close. Her face contorts, disfigures. All beauty melts away. Her grace disappears, leaving only an unnatural frame behind, looking more like a beast than the woman you knew before. Yet it's still the same voice that whispers, "You won't go."<br />
It's not a plea this time. She rushes at you, startlingly quickly. You should never have turned back for one last look. It holds you by your hair, sickly sweet voice whispering of love in your ear. Fear courses through you as you struggle. Long, coarse fingers wrap around your neck, choking the life from your lungs.<br />
You can no longer just struggle. You must fight. With all of the strength you can muster you rip its fingers from your throat and throw it from you. Without a moment to spare you fly through the door, slamming it shut behind you.<br />
All you can think to do is to run. Run as far and as fast as you can.<br />
Once your legs can carry you no further, only then can you bring yourself to turn around. In the distance you can still clearly see the house. And in the window you can see the girl with the glistening eyes. Hoping patiently for your return.</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com2Hell, MI 48169, USA42.4347222 -83.98500000000001416.912687700000003 -125.29359400000001 67.9567567 -42.676406000000014tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-9485221278200599232013-02-12T17:34:00.000-08:002013-02-12T17:34:36.866-08:00Between You and I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There's another world in your eyes.<br />
I can see it when I stare:<br />
a heartbeat in time with the flicker of a candle's light.<br />
<br />
I can hear it in your voice,<br />
something familiar.<br />
A bridge between your world and mine.<br />
<br />
Can I leave, though, my own world<br />
which I have so carefully assembled?<br />
Can I hide forever?<br />
<br />
Meet me on the bridge.<br />
We'll sit with our legs dangling off the side.<br />
You can whisper in my ear.<br />
<br />
Words like silk.<br />
<br />
Still water or flash floods?<br />
Warm meadows or mountain ridges?<br />
Crisp autumns or perpetual spring?<br />
<br />
Your world or mine?</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com0Provo, UT, USA40.2338438 -111.6585337000000240.0399613 -111.98125720000002 40.4277263 -111.33581020000003tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-3990209571412194922013-01-24T02:31:00.000-08:002013-01-24T02:31:29.758-08:00Metal Bench<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
I lay here outside left-field, soaking in the starlight. My thoughts inevitably turn to you. It's not that you don't notice me, we laugh together every day, it's that I'm everything to you in the wrong way.<br />
When you smile at me, run to me and give me a hug, I never--ever--want to let you go. When you're crying on my shoulder after a long day I want to whisper though your tears that I love you.<br />
I know you don't understand how much it hurts when you talk about him the way you do with that glitter in your eye that carries into your smile. But it's that same smile that I dream about on nights like this.<br />
<br />
I'm here every night because this is where you once told me you loved me. You didn't mean it in the way I longed for you to mean it. Like this bench, it was cold. Warm to you maybe, but the curt sentence cut straight through my chest. So I sit here still, wishing you were here, knowing that you need me more as just a friend.<br />
<br />
And what wouldn't I do for the girl worth a thousand of me?<br />
<br /></div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-56994376816615459362013-01-20T15:26:00.002-08:002013-01-20T15:26:23.131-08:00Catalyst<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
It has been<br />
distant as Orion for a while now.<br />
So nearly out of sight that I dreamt upon it, instead of<br />
reaching for it.<br />
<br />
I wouldn't recall<br />
its enveloping warmth--<br />
the life it gave to even the most somber of nights.<br />
On purpose.<br />
<br />
To remember<br />
hurt. To think of all that<br />
had once been got to me every time. Feeling alone<br />
among all<br />
<br />
who still possessed it.<br />
And even more so among those who didn't.<br />
<br />
I am<br />
the master of the fickle<br />
fine. Clench your teeth through the pain and<br />
it's a smile.<br />
<br />
Nobody could<br />
possibly be able to understand<br />
what it's like to feel like everything is holding on<br />
by a thread.<br />
<br />
Patience,<br />
it turns out, truly is a<br />
virtue. All good things come to those who<br />
wait.<br />
<br />
You came along.<br />
Just in time.<br />
<br />
You.<br />
Someone who knew<br />
who knew what it was like to live in a cage.<br />
Alone.<br />
<br />
Someone<br />
who escaped and flew<br />
and lived. Living now with a true smile and a truer<br />
laugh.<br />
<br />
All that's left<br />
is to thank you for what you've<br />
given me, in the only way I know how-- through<br />
words.<br />
<br />
You've given me the greatest gift:<br />
Hope.</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-63333890428155520092012-12-24T00:42:00.002-08:002012-12-24T00:42:36.468-08:00Come So Far<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I can honestly say that I never thought that this would happen.<br />
<br />
When I started this blog just a few months ago I never thought that I would see the day that I would have over 1600 views, and a pocket full of subscribers.<br />
<br />
In all truth I was skeptical that anyone would be interested in hearing what I have to say. I was just an eighteen-year-old kid with an overactive imagination and a mind that loved to wander.<br />
<br />
So thank you.<br />
Thank you so much.<br />
<br />
It was my birthday yesterday. So I'm not "Just Eighteen" anymore. I considered changing the name of this blog to "Just Nineteen", but that just didn't feel right. The more I thought about it, the more I kept coming back to how far I've come since I started this, and from that I drew the new name of this blog:<br />
<br />
Come So Far.<br />
<br />
I dedicate this post to everyone who has read--and hopefully enjoyed--my ramblings so far.<br />
<br />
------<br />
<br />
I used to use words to talk.<br />
I would sit and speak through type.<br />
I wanted everyone to listen.<br />
And nod their heads.<br />
<br />
I added some rhythm to those words,<br />
though they weren't exactly a song.<br />
As I spoke the words I could feel myself dancing<br />
and I hoped others danced as well. <br />
<br />
Now I use words to think.<br />
To think out loud, and I hope--<br />
Hope that others think with me.<br />
Because we've come so far.<br />
<br />
------<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-71258187047597505682012-12-11T02:05:00.002-08:002012-12-11T02:06:00.395-08:00Little Lexi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I will never stop. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Never stop climbing walls. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Never stop the late calls.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And you know why.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even if you fight me,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will never stop fighting<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
for you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From you,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would take every painful moment</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
upon myself if I could.</div>
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In a heartbeat.</div>
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<br /></div>
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When your knees shake, <o:p></o:p></div>
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I will relieve you of any burden<o:p></o:p></div>
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I can steal away.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because you never have to be alone.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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shoulder to lean on, <o:p></o:p></div>
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cry on, to hold on.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our hands will always be<o:p></o:p></div>
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outstretched. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<i>I</i> know that <i>you</i> know</div>
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that I'll be right here. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Waiting on the front steps—<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even in the snow. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And you know how much I hate snow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Never stop laughing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because your smile is worth<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
so much more than you know.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Look around you, <o:p></o:p></div>
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because I will surround you <o:p></o:p></div>
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with everything beautiful. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All you have to do</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
is take a deep breath—</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And hold it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cling to it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because sometimes beauty<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
is all you have to remind you<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
of who you really are. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And who you are, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
is twice as breathtaking.</div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com2Mapleton, UT, USA40.1302338 -111.578528140.0816718 -111.6574921 40.178795799999996 -111.4995641tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-9488161020410879732012-12-09T21:36:00.001-08:002012-12-09T21:36:54.999-08:00Front<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Independent. Immune.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She is fearless.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She is strong. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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All those around her<o:p></o:p></div>
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“know” it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And they all think<i> </i>they
<i>see</i> it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Look. Look deep inside. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Past the walls—past the pride. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And see the girl. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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She is afraid. Trembling.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She has fallen, and <o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s dark. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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So dark that even her own eyes<o:p></o:p></div>
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betray her, and <o:p></o:p></div>
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She can’t even see herself anymore.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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She searches for light<o:p></o:p></div>
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for anything to remind her that she’s<o:p></o:p></div>
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still <i>real</i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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She lights a candle.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And another.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And another.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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They are dim, <o:p></o:p></div>
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but warm.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And warm means that<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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She’s still living.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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So many candles are lit, though, <o:p></o:p></div>
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that as she lights each one,<o:p></o:p></div>
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another runs out of wax. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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No time for tears.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p>----- </o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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Turn around. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Flip the switch,<o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s been there all along.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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There is a light that <o:p></o:p></div>
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never flickers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Never dims. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Just say a prayer,<o:p></o:p></div>
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He’ll meet you there.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wherever “there” may be. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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She makes a decision. <o:p></o:p></div>
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An empty space at a table.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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As the room floods<o:p></o:p></div>
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with white,<o:p></o:p></div>
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she rises to its heat.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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It fills her body and<o:p></o:p></div>
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she remembers<o:p></o:p></div>
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who she is.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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A daughter of god.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A princess.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A belle. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her vigor renews, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
she blinks her eyes at<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the blinding big world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And changes it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com2Provo, UT, USA40.2338438 -111.658533740.136867800000005 -111.8164622 40.3308198 -111.50060520000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-36602409117321835972012-10-28T01:01:00.001-07:002012-10-28T01:01:16.780-07:00Sleep<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is a monologue that I wrote, just for fun. I was planning on performing it for a competition, but it just never happened. It's just a rough draft that I wrote a while ago, so don't judge it too harshly, eh? It's also a lot better when it is being performed, since the wording is based on how I personally would express things.<br />
<br />
Here's the scene: A psychiatrist's office. Javon, an annoyed looking 18-year-old, enters the office from a door across from a wooden desk. The psychiatrist, Doctor Kent, is a stubborn, blunt, middle-aged man. All of the following is said by Javon.<br />
<br />
I'm doing well, thanks. I'm Javon Skye. [Sarcastically] New patient.<br />
<br />
Actually, I'd prefer <i>not </i>to sit, Doctor... Kent was it? You see, I've already gone through three counselors, two doctors, and four other psychiatrists besides yourself, and, quite frankly, I know that there's nothing that you can do to help me.<br />
<br />
My mind set?! My mind set isn't the problem. The problem is that trying to <i>fix </i>me by sending me to see psycho-analyzers is like trying to cure cancer with an ice-pack.<br />
<br />
You're right. I've never actually discussed it with anyone, and I never will. There's no point. I have trouble sleeping--That's all. <i>You </i>can't help me. I'm gonna go ahead and leave now. [Tries door, it has been locked from the outside. Turns to Kent, anger rising]<br />
<br />
Did my parents put you up to this? They think that if I'm locked in here then I'll just give and tell you? [Pauses] Look, I'm not telling you for your own... protection.<br />
<br />
Oh, you think that's funny, do you? I mean, what could I possibly say that could be <i>that </i>bad? If I tell you, <i>lives will be lost</i>. Are you really willing to make that happen?<br />
<br />
Well. That's... different. How much are they paying you if you get me to indulge my little... Secret?<br />
<br />
As there is clearly no alternative in your eyes, I <i>will </i>tell you. I admit, it will be great to <i>finally </i>get it off of my chest.<br />
<br />
[Looks Kent straight in the eyes, as he speaks he slowly returns to the desk, eventually sitting back down] As I'm sure my parents have told you, I don't <i>just </i>have trouble sleeping. Every so often, in the middle of the night, they hear me screaming. [Then as a sidenote:] They don't even bother to check in on me anymore.<br />
<br />
The wording "every so often" doesn't exactly describe the pattern that actually exists. My parents just haven't noticed it. I scream, in fact, every <i>sixth </i>time that I fall asleep, though I have reason to scream much more often than that.<br />
<br />
You see, there's a brief moment between being awake and being asleep. It is that instance when you feel weightless, when you're only half-conscious. I no longer experience that sensation, such is the nature of my curse. It has been <i>replaced</i> with... [struggles to come up with a word to describe it for a moment] with <i>death</i>.<br />
<br />
Let me start from the beginning. On the night of my tenth birthday, my grandfather took me aside and revealed to me that I had been born with the family curse. That it afflicted every other generation. He told me that it would take effect that very night. Even though he told me exactly what was going to begin to happen to me, nothing could've prepared me for the first night.<br />
<br />
My parents tucked me in as usual, it had been a great birthday, and I had already pushed what my grandfather had told me out of my mind. It seemed impossible. Right before sleep overtook my young body, though the curse proved itself to be real.<br />
<br />
I screamed for the first time as I felt my throat be roughly slit. I saw no assailant, I only saw the blood on my hands that had flown to my neck, and felt the warm liquid streaming onto my chest. My parents rushed into the room as I continued to shriek. They came to my side and began shaking me, insisting that it was "just a nightmare."<br />
<br />
And then I died.<br />
<br />
And then... I woke up.<br />
<br />
I had experienced the first death in a cycle of six. During breakfast my parents mentioned my "nightmare", and my grandfather's words creeped back into my memory: If I told anyone about the curse, I wouldn't wake up the next morning. So I told my parents that I didn't remember anything. [Painfully] To this day I still tell them the same thing.<br />
<br />
Of course, I mentioned that it is a cycle of six. The second time I give in to sleep, I drown. Water suddenly fills my lungs and spills out of my mouth. I can see the water, hear it, feel it, <i>taste </i>it. But no one else can. [Bitterly] I'm the only one who can't breathe. I'm the only one that gets to perceive myself fighting desperately for air, and losing that fight for my life.<br />
<br />
[Begins to sound slightly hysterical] The third death, in sadistic contrast to the last, is thirst. Imagine, Doctor, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. You're struck by sudden helplessness. You feel your organs shriveling within you, and you die along with them.<br />
<br />
The fourth "rest" is to be crushed. You can't imagine the <i>pain. </i>Every bone in my body strains and shatters just for sleep, a necessity. The fifth is to freeze. Strangely, it is my favorite way to die. The cold itself numbs the initial pain it causes, and I quickly lose the ability to comprehend that my body is shutting down.<br />
<br />
I remind you that I only scream every sixth night. After eight years with this curse, I have learned to anticipate and mentally prepare myself for the first five. [Leans forward, finally looking Kent in the eyes for the first time] But I tell you, there is <i>no </i>way to prepare yourself to watch and <i>feel</i> your own flesh being consumed by flames.<br />
<br />
<i>That </i>is why I still scream.<br />
<br />
And that's only half of the curse. [Hysteria growing] You see, I'm not a fool, Doctor. My mother once made a comment when I was sixteen years old which doubled my curse. I learned that I could get rid of my curse at any time by passing it on to anyone else. But how could I bring myself to do that to someone? How could I <i>knowingly </i>cause another person to go through so much pain?<br />
<br />
The comment that my mother made was one she said to my father, I just overheard. She said, "I was thinking about Javon and I remembered that my mom mentioned that his grandfather<br />
(may he rest in peace) also used to scream in his sleep. So I called her up to see what made him stop. She said that he screamed almost every night for six years, but suddenly stopped another six years ago. I can only hope that Javon will grow out of it as well."<br />
<br />
[Suddenly deathly serious] I realized something that day. A series of six deaths, the sixth being the worst, and he stopped after six years. Six... six... six. My grandfather, he didn't just <i>tell </i>me about the curse that I "already had" when I was ten; he <i>gave </i>me the curse. You see, Doctor Kent, six years completes the curse. After that time frame, the curse can be passed on simply by telling someone about the <i>existence</i> of the curse.<br />
<br />
I kept the curse for <i>eight </i>years<i>.</i> When I said that lives would be lost if I told you, you probably didn't even consider that they would all be your own.<br />
<br />
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But I'm tired, and now I can <i>sleep. </i><br />
<br /></div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-10125665584152995312012-10-04T01:06:00.000-07:002012-10-05T20:02:36.347-07:00Escape<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Escape</div>
<br />
It was a first for me. Memories of three young girls' lives being ended by a midnight locomotive flit in front of my eyes for a pale instant. My breath pulls inside me in a single sharp gasp before I manage to regain my composure and release the stranglehold on the air inside me.<br />
Relax.<br />
I take a step. A small, careful step from one dank wood tie to the next. My breath now comes in long, ever-steadying sighs, inhaling the autumn air that glides through the rays of the full moon to reach my cold-burning lungs. The ties of the railway, which disappear around a silent bend, suddenly have a certain serenity to them.<br />
With each progressing stride I lose myself a little more in the mix of the navy-tinted palette that blends the reflection of the sky on the river to my left. Each subtle wave seems to beckon me to enter the shallows, to forget my cares and drift into the pseudo sky it wears as a gurgling, imperfect mask.<br />
"Almost there."<br />
I jump, though only barely enough to be perceived. I stumble backwards slightly, tearing my gaze from the hypnotic rhythm that carpets the impostor moon. Having nearly forgotten that I was not alone, I stare at my companion's figure which moves with practiced steps, smoothly travailing the knobby, weatherworn planks which serve as our path. I steal a final lingering glance at the raw motion of the damp stolen sky and hurry to catch up to my friend who now blends with the shadows up ahead.<br />
I wonder what my friend is thinking right now--such a hard life, so many reasons to be unhappy, but always moving on. I am surprised to finally be on my way to "the place" I have heard so much about.<br />
I scan the ground ahead of me as I proceed, carefully measuring each step to land on the slightly-giving tracks in front of me. I come to a clearing: my destination. I look up from my restricted view of gravel and pine. I see a silhouette sinking slowly into the river.<br />
"What are you doing?" I cry, running towards the shape which now consists only of a still-clothed torso, and a head above the surface. Peace radiates from the pair of familiar golden eyes as they sink beneath the swell.<br />
My mind doesn't stop to rationalize before I have leapt off of the boulder which shoulders the stream; time lags as my body splinters the lunar mosaic resting on the surface. I remember how much I hate being wet just as I feel the weight of soaked jeans resisting my attempts to stay afloat.<br />
I find myself alone in the now rough waters, only deep blue surrounds me as I cling to a crevice in a rock that braces itself in the center of the river. I stay there only momentarily, knowing that no person can physically stay under a choking current for so long. I push off of my stronghold and plunge back into the liquid struggle.<br />
I fight to swim to where I last saw those eyes, I get there and instantly stop thrashing against the current. Because suddenly there is no current. The water is warm here--and eerily still. I can feel myself being drawn downward, just as I witnessed before, and even as my mind threatens to split its seams with panic, I can feel my lower body relaxing. As the water reaches my throat fear consumes me as I anticipate the claustrophobia I associate with being separated from cherished air.<br />
But it never comes.<br />
I hold my breath as long as I can, and then discover that it isn't necessary. I keep expecting to drown, to feel the water filling my lungs, but my breathing comes easy.<br />
I settle in a sitting position on the river's floor. Focusing through the water is like staring through layers of antique windows. As my eyes adjust I can make out the body of my friend, eyes closed, sitting across from me on the sandy bottom in perfect tranquility.<br />
Surreal. It is the only word that describes the experience.<br />
Every time I had been told about this place, it had been described to me as an escape, but only now do I realize the literal sense of the word. After an indeterminable amount of time, the eyes across from mine open for a moment, a quick blue smile accompanying them. We both stand and with little effort rise towards the surface.<br />
We reenter reality and ride the flow to shore. I drag myself onto the boulder that I had used as a diving board and blink in surprise at a red and gold sunrise. Serenity, apparently, is no respecter of time. I stand and look back into the river, which now shows a smiling mask of the dimly sunlit sky. I resist the urge to plunge back into the impossible escape.<br />
I think of the life that has been given to my friend. The hardships that I can't even begin to understand, the times that I've been surprised by a lack of tears as experiences were described to me. "How can you know about this, and <i>stand</i> not to just escape forever?"<br />
After a long pause, my answer was spoken to the ground at a near whisper.<br />
"Life... is far from perfect. It seems like every person I've looked up to for acceptance has turned their back on me, has given up on me already. Some nights I sit up wondering why I shouldn't just give up on me, too. I don't even really have a family; all I've grown up with is people fighting around me. But I have to rise up. I have to rise above my parents' practically nonexistent expectations for me. Yes, I come here to escape every once in a while, but I can't turn my back on life, because if I turn my back on myself--then I truly do have no one."</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-5003676550602231572012-09-14T02:50:00.000-07:002012-09-14T02:50:03.054-07:00I Will Make Today The Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
I Will Make Today The Day</div>
<br />
I am a dreamer and a dream. Blue and gold sunlit skies urge me on through days of droopy-eyed paths. I tell myself that I can be something that the world has never seen before; the desert earth is parched and I am its quench.<br />
I am needed, required even, to fill the shared-conscious of humanity with silver quartz: crystal faith and sterling hope. Required to fill until the people can again feel the warmth that radiates from every windswept soul.<br />
I raise my eyes to the spotty scarlet sunrise, determined to move both my own and my peers' minds from the security of quilt-covered mattresses. My eyes linger on the the glass of my window for a moment before readjusting to focus on the white purity of what lies beyond the pane. The pain melts away and I rise with a navy blue boldness that shows in my skin and my smile.<br />
I will make today the day. The day I will quench the world.<br />
<br />
Each day begins this way. It is not because I have great influence, strength, or power. It is not that I truly believe that I am more important than anyone else in this populous world. It is because otherwise I will be afraid. Afraid that I am nothing.<br />
And I cannot start a day that way.<br />
<br />
I must live on in the lungs of history, be remembered with every exhale. Huddled behind piercing words and peeling paint I will live forever. <i>Must</i> live forever. I fear being forgotten, flee from the possibility. Yet I wallow in procrastination, watching my hours die on clocks in countless places.<br />
And here, with motivation lost, I end my thoughts.</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com5Provo, UT, USA40.2338438 -111.658533740.136867800000005 -111.8164622 40.3308198 -111.50060520000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-53904724853207676122012-08-22T01:24:00.001-07:002012-08-22T01:24:12.775-07:00A Day of Introspection<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>A Day of Introspection</b><br />
<br />
I take a day of introspection,<br />
and peel back all the paint<br />
that dictates bright eyes<br />
and forms charcoal sighs--<br />
To see what I will see.<br />
<br />
Layer upon layer falls away,<br />
past whispers on the floor<br />
ostracized and lost,<br />
weak and double-crossed--<br />
Masks without a host.<br />
<br />
Even more strips are cast asunder.<br />
I fear what I will find,<br />
when I reach truth's eyes,<br />
when I cannot hide--<br />
I take a deep breath,<br />
<br />
and remove the final blinding crust.<br />
<br />
Feeling like a child in the big world<br />
I blink at fresh sunlight.<br />
Unfiltered and pure,<br />
it reaches and cures--<br />
I see with new eyes.<br />
<br />
My first instinct is to cringe and hide<br />
from myself and others.<br />
There is so much fear<br />
behind smiling mirrors--<br />
And then it hits me.<br />
<br />
Everyone is the same deep inside,<br />
Craving the acceptance of<br />
their friends and peers,<br />
all dreading a sneer--<br />
They layer on masks<br />
<br />
to protect themselves.<br />
<br />
And even as this realization comes<br />
I reach<br />
for paint.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com1Provo, UT, USA40.2338438 -111.658533740.136867800000005 -111.8164622 40.3308198 -111.50060520000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-73802637265116590942012-07-23T15:23:00.000-07:002012-10-05T15:41:36.688-07:00Thank You Distant Moon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Life is sitting in soft sand--<br />
Warm, enveloping.<br />
Sometimes the East coast,<br />
Sometimes the West.<br />
<br />
When the tide comes in--<br />
Thank you distant moon,<br />
the rushing water gives us comfort<br />
or burns us with cold.<br />
<br />
When you choose the shores of California--<br />
You have no excuse for tears.<br />
For running away.<br />
Or giving up.<br />
<br />
When you bask in the heat of Georgia--<br />
You have no excuse for tears.<br />
For running away.<br />
Or giving up.<br />
<br />
So choose where you sit--<br />
or stand or lie.<br />
Put on a strong face,<br />
and learn to fly.</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-10743049875824397472012-07-17T01:19:00.000-07:002012-10-04T01:19:03.321-07:00And Then Came Rain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Rain and I never really played well together.<br />
<div>
Whenever we saw each other I always ended up getting frustrated.</div>
<div>
He had always just been a whimpering wet blanket to my day.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I saw the gray sky moping this morning and breathed an anticipatory sigh.</div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white;"> But today was different. </span></div>
<div>
Maybe since we are older he decided to behave himself.</div>
<div>
Or maybe we are both just a little more mature now.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He allowed me to walk to class without disturbance.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He even waited until a roof was between me and him before he made his presence official.</div>
<div>
The first step I took outside after class, though, immediately caused me to scowl.</div>
<div>
He was here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was wrong.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He had come in quick whispers, and had left the same way.</div>
<div>
I saw the signs of him everywhere.</div>
<div>
I was again skeptical of his seemingly good intentions when I saw puddles.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I braced myself for the chafing of wet socks.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And again I was put to ease. </div>
<div>
The standing water was just shallow enough to not reach over the rubber of my soles.</div>
<div>
Just deep enough to gently splash my ankles with warm water at each step.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
Rain allowed me to have some space today. </div>
<div>
I admit I was pleasantly surprised.</div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white;"> I might even admit to him some day that I enjoyed it.</span></div>
</div>
</div>
Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com0BYU Broadcasting, 701 E University Pkwy, Provo, UT 84602, USA40.2565865 -111.64641940.2444645 -111.66615999999999 40.268708499999995 -111.626678tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5528260200852654486.post-47747486939848556332012-07-12T21:54:00.000-07:002012-07-17T01:24:14.543-07:00Perhaps They are Necessary<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Most days are laughing days.<br />
Sometimes singing days.<br />
And occasionally a dancing day.<br />
<br />
Every once in a while, though, I have a "What If" day.<br />
<br />
"What If" days are the days when everything you see has a tint of gray in it.<br />
They are serious.<br />
Everything is serious.<br />
<br />
They are the days when you look back and think,<br />
"Have I wasted my life away?"<br />
"<i>Am I</i> wasting my life away?"<br />
<br />
You listen to others talking about their victories.<br />
Their struggles and their pains and think,<br />
"Why don't I have any triumphs to share?"<br />
<br />
It's on those days that you wish that you could be someone else.<br />
<br />
You'd be your best friend.<br />
Your role model.<br />
Even your worst enemy.<br />
<br />
Their lives seem so flawless,<br />
with their blue love and tears.<br />
But even as you think that, you try to remind yourself that it isn't true.<br />
<br />
But you still like to think that their lives are perfect.<br />
It's easier to let that thought simmer.<br />
Stir it until it gets thick.<br />
<br />
Thick and it gets stuck in your head.<br />
<br />
You spend the whole night wondering.<br />
Wondering if there's a way to go back in time.<br />
To change who you are.<br />
<br />
You wonder if you can change who you are <i>now.</i><br />
But it seems unlikely.<br />
Impossible, even.<br />
<br />
Your heart beats slower.<br />
You can't help but hate yourself in that moment.<br />
Tears seem imminent, but even they seem to have abandoned you.<br />
<br />
Your eyes close.<br />
Just for a moment, and suddenly you find yourself waking up to a ray of the sunrise.<br />
<br />
Its warmth meanders through the curtains just to find you.<br />
Only you.<br />
No one else.<br />
<br />
You wake up and everything is in full color again.<br />
The gray?<br />
Just a nightmare of the day before.<br />
<br />
Perhaps those days are necessary.<br />
Necessary to remind us that our life isn't always going to be perfect,<br />
that sometimes you are going to feel left behind.<br />
<br />
The next morning though, inexplicably, you always feel okay again.<br />
<br />
Not necessarily good,<br />
but okay.<br />
Ready to live some more.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>Spencer Ballardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01430820142552061680noreply@blogger.com3Provo, UT, USA40.2338438 -111.658533740.136867800000005 -111.8164622 40.3308198 -111.50060520000001