Almost Over

Happy Halloween!

All Hallows Eve

HALLOWEEN

Here it is, finally. Halloween. All Hallows Eve. The Night of the Dead. To me, Samhain(Sow-an to you non-Pagan folk). 

I am so extremely excited!

So, this year has a little more meaning to me. It is my first Samhain as a Dedicant, or first level toward my, hopeful, witchery. Whoo!

I never really plan my rituals, but this year I'm doing a bit more planning than usual. I've decided to not do like I've done in past years: honour those innocents who were killed during witch trials. Now, I will say a few words, but, normally, I actually look up names and date. I think I am going to do a separate ritual for them the day of the end of the Salem Witch Trials, seeing as that was closest to me.

I'm debating on whether Samhain will be the mark of the new year for me, or Yule. I've used Samhain in the past, but I researched it and it goes by the Celtic year, which has only two seasons, while I have four. I don't know. I may stick with Samhain, just because it seems right.

YAY, HALLOWEEN!!!

Daughter of Superman

Don't follow me unless you're willling to run.
I'm not slowing down, not 'til I'm done.
Nothing can stop me or bring me down,
Not even you will make me frown.
So try if you want, but I doubt you can,
'Cause I'm the mother fuckin' daughter of Superman.

Not This Time

Why can't I stop this?

I have always run away.

I will not this time.

Signs

Nails are all down to nubs.

I pick and worry them down.

Stress is a monster.

Run Away!

My legs have grown strong.

Running is all I do now.

The voice is a lie.

Sonnet II "Hate"

Hate me.

Please do this.

Hate, I can handle.

Hate, I can trust. 

Hate is normal.

Hate is strong.

Hate is common.

It is safe.

Hate is just hate.

Hate breeds only itself.

Love breeds pain.

Love breeds torment.

Panic Attack

Invisible demons taunt me,
Laughing, dancing, screaming.
Their claws pull my hair.
Their teeth gnaw my flesh.
Is it me laughing the laugh of mad pain?
Is it me dancing the dance of a panicked child?
Is it me screaming a scream unheard?
My own hand pulls my hair
As I bury my face in mock of a praying Muslim.
My own nail claws my flesh,
Scaring purple then red with time.
The demons are all inside,
Pulling and playing:
Twist my stomach, stop my heart.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
Has the air always been so thick?
Do I usually breath or cry?
The very thing that gives me life chokes me.
Nothing stops it.
Nothing helps it.
The pitch black vortex never ends.
Should my scream make noise?
Time slows and speeds at once.
Confusion. Anger. Frustration.
Logic fails me
                                          as my demon attacks.

Sonnet III "Poetry"

Poetry comes from the heart
For this organ is apart.
In this day it seems to cope
With emotion like love, hate, and hope.
Poetry flows through the veins
For you to shape all your pains.
Up it goes to the head
To be morphed and to be read.
Then out in the form of ink
Where another decides its stink.
Many think it is easy to throw it,
But not everyone can be a poet.

Beauty

Wow, my poetry has turned to the dark side of recent. It's the damned cookies, I swear.

Anyway, so I was stumbling around and I found an interesting site. Here's the link: Click Me!
So, the title of this page is "Fantastically Beautiful Women..." And while I will agree that they are well done, the photography and editing is amazing, and the models are stunning, I have to disagree that anything is beautiful. Here's one picture. Look at this woman.


Very nice, right?
WRONG!
I look at this picture and wonder what happened to life. Not posing for the perfect shot, or having the perfect expression, or looking the perfect way, or having the perfect make up. I mean, I never randomly pause to look at someone wearing a fancy dress and holding a ferret as if I really don't like it but want to pretend I do.

You know what I think would be beautiful? Seeing this same woman the next day: a little left over make up smeared on her nose, her hair a mass of tangles, frizz, and a touch of volume, ferret bites on her arms and in her pjs, which consist of sweat pants and her boy/girlfriend's baggy shirt that has a hole in the back. That is beautiful. Not because it's perfect, but because it is natural.

I think true beauty is being able to be amazing, no matter what you're wearing or who you are. Beautiful is sitting all alone without worrying about who is watching you or how you are acting.