Wordy Wednesday (“Poetry, Take Two”)

So, yesterday was basically one of the most exciting days of college so far, because not only was the 2014 Hopwood Underclassmen Award Ceremony in the afternoon, but we had a snow day.

You heard that right: The University of Michigan. Cancelled classes due to weather. FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 1978.

With wind chill, it was -30 degrees Fahrenheit. My hall spent the day snuggled up in one of our hall lounges, where we dragged a TV and lots of junk food and pillows, and watched the first five Harry Potter movies in a row (due to the Hopwoods, though, I missed the end of Sorcerer’s Stone and all of Chamber of Secrets and Prisoner of Azkaban–which, you know, was sad, but also totally worth it since it was THE HOPWOOD UNDERCLASSMEN AWARD CEREMONY).

My parents and grandparents came into town for the ceremony, which was awesome (love you, guys!), then afterward we got dinner with my sister and I gave them all a tour of the dorm and then I studied for an exam I had this morning (which I ended up arriving a half hour early for, thanks to the dorm fire alarm playing us the song of its people).

I’ll try to get a couple pictures from the Hopwoods up this weekend, but in the meantime, here’s a shot of the lounge you wish you spent yesterday in.

we got dat loungePaintings by Hannah.

This week’s Wordy Wednesday is another clump of random short poems and bits and pieces I’ve got lying around.


I can feel the distance in my bones

how far away I am from home

and I need Ann Arbor like I need veins

for my blood to run in


There is something sad in that silence,

the weight of waiting.

And knowing that the waiting is still better than what is to come,

but the future holds a different kind of pain

that maybe is ultimately worse, but shorter, easier to swallow–

a gunshot versus a hangnail that drags on and on.

I don’t know if I want the silence or what comes next.


You turn the volume all the way up

to drown out the silence

But it keeps creeping in

in the loudest parts of riots

And you don’t know how to be

the person you’re becoming

And you don’t know if sound is better

or if you’re only running.


All you ever heard were the words I never said

the things you didn’t want, the things I don’t regret

The lines upon my palm, a map from long ago

you let it define me, so you could let me go

And I’m sorry I never said sorry

but I’m not sorry for the things I did

I never tried to erase them, I couldn’t if I hid

I never pointed them out, and you shouldn’t have searched so hard

But I understand this is my fault, for carrying my battle scars


I can’t take this feeling in my head

the weight of words left unsaid


You go back and you paint everything grey

Don’t understand those memories anyway

A wall made of thickest glass separates you

from everything that happens and everything you do

’Cause you don’t feel skin anymore,

just empty air and an open door,

that’s locked—somehow

And you can’t feel them on your tongue

the words you say as you come undone

just one by one, they slip free

As you sacrifice yourself,

as you sacrifice me


The truth about life

is that you will always be

terrified or stressed or angry

about something.

The key is to find the one thing

that is still worth it

despite it all.


There’s that moment

when you stand beside something

truly great

and it makes you believe that


you could be great too

just by being in its presence.





Wordy Wednesday (“Poetry”)

Hey there! This week’s Wordy Wednesday is going to be a collection of shorter “poems” (really just a bunch of random little stanzas I’ve got saved places) about a collection of random things. Most of these are from my phone, typed haphazardly during vacation trips or at two in the morning when I can’t sleep.

Sorry for not writing more of an intro–I’ve got like a bazillion hours of homework to do today, already, so, yeah. Yay for college.


It sounds like summer

and smells like graduation,

So many moments you were

afraid to live because they were already

memories you were afraid to lose


My life is


less than


right now.


New York City

is a beautiful cliche.


The plight of the writer

is that the air, the trees, the birds

are full of stories, heavy

on your chest, pressing

your fingers into the Earth

as roots, and you

may only choose one to breathe in–


against the screaming in your ears.

Only one against the


Only one against

the weight, to lift



to fly.


The more we preserve

of the past,

the less we have

for the future.


Life encourages life.


Every minute I spend in New York City

wakes me up, fills my lungs with

air purer than feeling, a gas that somehow

makes oxygen heavy, that forces

my eyes open, wider, wider, with

every inhale–and the corners of

my mouth lift higher, freer, fuller,

go, go, go but now


with every exhale.

Stay here

in the magic, in the moment;

don’t leave and be ordinary.

Please don’t be






Things feel slow

while they’re happening.

It’s only when you look back

that they sped by






My life is not a love story.

It’s not a Nicholas Sparks novel.

I don’t want it to be.

I like where I am

without that part.