Perhaps, being incredibly strange, I should introduce myself how I want to be perceived by those few who pass through and may or may not return:
I absolutely hate uncompounded sentences (unless used for emphasis, of course). I require commas and semicolons, dashes and ellipses. I require improper grammar when poetic and ironic--and most especially when I am accused of being an overly pompous and correct English major. I require abuse of sentence lengths that seem to never end, yet give pause for breath--they keep you guessing; will it ever be over?
It is too soon to be certain.
I have been told, as I gave brief entertainment to above, that I am strange. Most strange in fact. And with that I give you this:
Women have been taught that, for us, the earth is flat, and that if we venture out, we will fall off the edge. ~Author Unknown
Which must needs be followed by:
For most of history, Anonymous was a woman. ~Virginia Woolf
Oh Virginia. There is no Santa Clause.
Moving on. I have been pondering on the subject of Virginia for various reasons and as such have written a poem. For those who are linkaphobic enjoy in-blog text.
One Day, Onward
And perhaps one day I too
will see the ocean from all sides
unfettered and un-atlas'd
But for now I will wallow
and wait
And begin my sentences with conjunctions
Just to irritate the English Elite
Who notice such things
Perhaps I too will escape
the confines of lined paper
And textbooks and pencils
Perhaps I will sojourn
and learn the value of grass and
sky and
rain that cleanses more than dirt—
more than the soul
Perhaps,
I will learn the feel
of postcards and the taste
of stamps
Perhaps,
I am who I am
Or I am who I will become
Perhaps I am not so defined
like the parchment I write upon
or the lines I write between
Perhaps I will always end with
prepositions
Maybe I am freer than I think
And my cage is my own making
My key my own will
To fly. To escape. To run.
With wind twined around
my fingers
And sky filling the void in
my chest
A bedroom with no walls
A house wherever I call home
Be it lined paper or untamed sea
I will find my heart there
Waiting, as always, for me
My friend, who has recently graduated, promptly attempted to force me into a road trip upon reading the above poem. Unfortunately, I am still tethered to a University and must remain in a non-road-trip-state for the next year or twenty (oh life, how non-conducive to travel you are).
Perhaps this is the beginning of something fantastic.
