“Some Habits are Hard to Break”

Her face turned red and she shrunk down at her desk in U.S. History II. The teacher had just called her name out and asked her how she could possibly still be biting her nails, a habit which eight year olds would have already given up. The girl pulled her brown hair in front of her face and mumbled a response about being sorry and nervous about something. It was the third day of junior year and she had thought she would be able to give up the habit, a gross one that her friends were forever making fun of her for. They called her the machine gun. They said was an affectionate nickname but everyone around could tell that it was embarrassing. After all, no one would want to be called that themselves. It was a vicious cycle: the more people noticed she chewed her nails down the more embarrassed she got and the worse she would bite and bite.

Once she got home she immediately googled how to stop biting your nails. The first site that came up was a health site and it’s first suggestion said to wear fake nails. She looked down at the ten ragged stumps she had at the tip of each finger. She imagined them with long beautiful, brightly colored nails and immediately felt a twinge of longing. She was determined.

After returning home from a quick trip to CVS, she had brightened up considerably. There had been rows and rows of beautifully colored nails, all different lengths, colors and patterns. After looking through each different set, she had finally decided on pale pink, average length nails with one single sparkle on the right ring finger. She tediously matched each real nail up to the perfect sized fake and then opened the glue and got down to business.

She couldn’t believe how beautiful her hands look. Such a simple solution, she couldn’t believe she’d never tried it before! Imagining that her real nails could look like that made her smile--she would keep these on for a week or two and then would take them off and watch her nails grow so beautifully. All of her girl friends would apologize for spreading around such a heinous nickname and would ask her secrets, ask her how she had turned around such a terrible habit into beautiful tips at the ends of her fingers. As she looked down and smiled, she then looked up at herself right in the eye. She dug through the bathroom drawer and then, for the first time in years, she reached up and pulled her hair back away from her face.

Who's in Danger?

As I press end on my cell phone, I sigh and look around for a bra to put on. It’s the beginning of August, and since the end of summer is approaching it’s a no brainer that Mary and Deanna decided to do something stupid to kill the time. I’m sure it’s the same as always, some dumb prank that they build up in their heads, and by the time I get there to “fix” the problem, it’s already forgotten.

I finally find a hot pink bra in the middle of the pile of clothes I have on my floor. For some reason I thought it was a good idea to leave all my clothes from school on the floor, so they didn’t mix with the clothes I had in my closet that I never wore. As a result, all summer I’d lost any sense of fashion, and if I could even find a cute dress it would be as wrinkled as a ten-year old boy’s shirt.

As I head down the stairs, I try to imagine some sort of response in my head to the inevitable question that my mother is going to ask me. As I round the corner into the kitchen, I see her sitting there, and brace myself to evaluate the situation so I can go “save” my friends.

“Jenna, where are you possibly going at 12:30 at night?”

“Mary and Deanna called. They decided to have an impromptu sleepover and they asked if I wanted to come. Well, they demanded I come. Is it okay if I go?”

“That’s fine. Just drive safely. It’s late, you know there’s always crazy drivers on the road.”

“I always do. See you tomorrow.” As I breathe a sigh of relief that’s she’s letting me go, I realize I’m now going to actually have to spend the night at one of their houses. Instead of in my super comfortable bed, where I had been holed up skyping with my boyfriend....how many days until I go back to school? I love them, but wow I can’t wait to get that cherished break from cleaning up their messes, due to the same lack of boredom I’m suffering.

After I turn the keys in my ignition, the radio comes on blasting in the middle of Luke Bryan’s ‘Drunk on You,’ my current favorite song. It makes me smile and I start to sing along, hoping that by the time I get there they have solved their “serious” issue, and we can just go get a pint of Ben and Jerrys and fall asleep watching a ridiculous chick flick. I pull out of my driveway and take the three short turns that lead me to route 22, the main highway that goes through Bridgewater. The stupid ‘meeting place’ that they love so much is behind the Starbucks that’s next to the mall. However, I lucked out since it’s only three minutes from my house, while it’s fifteen from Marys. As I start to pick up speed since there’s no one around, I laugh. My next favorite song just came on--it must have been fate. I feel bad for dreading seeing my friends so much, and realize that we’ll get to go do something ridiculous instead.

Suddenly, I see headlights in my face. What? Cars tail lights aren’t that bright...and before I can think, I have to swerve out of the way as a car going over eighty miles zooms through the lane where I just was. The last thought I can remember is flying toward the ditch on the side of the road, in a panicked daze.

My Watch

The curved glass face is framed by shiny silver titanium.

When the light hits the edges, the shine is magnified and the time stands out.

The row of six white stitches stand at attention on the black leather band.

The worn leather near the clasp shows clear signs of wear, as tiny brown marks slowly appear with age.

The feel so comfortable, banded to my left wrist, only to leave when there is a fear of water.

The simple joy of being able to always tell the time brings a smile to my face.

A Christmas present that I didn’t ask for, but has become a daily part of life.

Knowing how happy it makes my mom every time she sees how well she knows my style.

The small black numbers, now an insurance that I never write the wrong date on my papers.

The comforting knowledge that I can now discretely count down the minutes in my classes without annoying my teachers.

Slip Away Like Air

It can slip away like air

as you find yourself alone

once a part of an inseparable pair

you’re abandoned, cold as stone

As you find yourself alone

Wonder where you’ll go to next

you’re abandoned, cold as stone

how you got here, too perplexed

Wonder where you’ll go next

the heartbreak is so unbearable

how you got here, too perplexed

after this pain will I be repairable

The heartbreak is so unbearable

It was there, you gave yourself away

After this pain will I be repairable

trusting anyone won’t return another day

It was there, you gave yourself away

So different, it seemed, the love we had

Trusting anyone won’t return another day

reminiscing on the love that went bad

So different it seemed, the love that we had

It simply slipped in and wrapped around me

Reminiscing on the love that went bad

here alone, an inadvertent escapee

It simply slipped in and wrapped around me

Now it’s gone and I’m left behind to rot

Here alone, an inadvertent escapee

Slipping into the world’s blind spot.

I chose to write my poem in the pantoum form, mainly because this form caught my attention the most. Usually, I feel like repetition and rhyme make my poems take on a childish feel, but I think that in the specific form it actually helped. I think the repetition enforced a lot of the points that I wanted to make, and I like the way it slips into a rhythm due to this repetition. I thought the rhyme scheme of ABAB for every line was at times difficult, because the meaning of the line didn't always end up matching what I originally meant in my head. However, after working with the rhyme sceme a little bit (and, admittedly, the use of a rhyming dictionary) I managed to make most of the lines have a similar meaning to what I originally meant. I think the pantoum form complements the dark feeling of the poem, since the point of the poem was to talk about how easy it is to lose someone's trust. The repetition helps to reiterate lines with specific meanings, and the rhyming actually helps it to flow. I think the Pantoum style is definitely good for serious poems.

Gessner Reflection

David Gessner’s speech did not really catch my interest. Although he made a lot of interesting points about where our environment is going, and how we should be treating the problem, I can’t really say I’d be interested in reading his books.

I liked that he seemed very down to earth, talking about the cognitive dissonance between the way we live and the way we know we should live, because it was a very relatable topic. I definitely agreed with him that its hard to be an environmentalist when people are saying that everything we are doing is “the end of the world.” I also liked the way that Gessner compared humans to Northern Gannet birds. I had never heard of the birds before, but the way that he talked about how they are glutinous, and eat as many fish as possible and compared them to humans it really rung true. When he was asking the question of whether or not it will be possible for us to be happy with less than we have now, I found myself really thinking about the issue.

However, I think that a lot of the points he made were not anything that I would really want expanded upon. They stimulated a lot of personal thought for myself, but I don’t think that I would be propelled to by a book and read more about what another person thinks we should do. I liked hearing his main points, but I think that reading a full book on environmental reflections similar to those he talked about would just bore me. I’m glad I went to the reading-- it gave me a lot of food for thought. Gessner is asking a lot of good, important questions, and I hope that someday soon we will find an answer for them.

Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath

I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it---- A sort of walking miracle, my skin Bright as a Nazi lampshade, My right foot A paperweight, My face a featureless, fine Jew linen. Peel off the napkin 0 my enemy. Do I terrify?---- The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth? The sour breath Will vanish in a day. Soon, soon the flesh The grave cave ate will be At home on me And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine times to die. This is Number Three. What a trash To annihilate each decade. What a million filaments. The peanut-crunching crowd Shoves in to see Them unwrap me hand and foot The big strip tease. Gentlemen, ladies These are my hands My knees. I may be skin and bone, Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman. The first time it happened I was ten. It was an accident. The second time I meant To last it out and not come back at all. I rocked shut As a seashell. They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls. Dying Is an art, like everything else, I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I've a call. It's easy enough to do it in a cell. It's easy enough to do it and stay put. It's the theatrical Comeback in broad day To the same place, the same face, the same brute Amused shout: 'A miracle!' That knocks me out. There is a charge For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge For the hearing of my heart---- It really goes. And there is a charge, a very large charge For a word or a touch Or a bit of blood Or a piece of my hair or my clothes. So, so, Herr Doktor. So, Herr Enemy. I am your opus, I am your valuable, The pure gold baby That melts to a shriek. I turn and burn. Do not think I underestimate your great concern. Ash, ash --- You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there---- A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air. A conversation And so it goes For every time a new challenge Every time a new vice. The scars are worthy You’d be surprised For they come and go Ankles and hips Wrists and consciousness, A determination of sorts. Dying, Is a challenge Could I have a call. Can it feel like hell Will you get there For when you want Are the 9 lives lucky Or could you end it all It’s easy enough To come back and try Again, To see the effects you have. Flesh, bone, A body collected A reserve of ideas Going to waste In the blood For a word or a touch. The grave can call A miracle may last, I may collapse shut.

December Lust

snow falling,

catch the flakes on your tongue,

and admire the beauty of the white.

turkeys, stuffing, mashed potatoes,

the most delicious of spreads you could imagine,

and family spilling all around.

the scent of evergreens touch your nose,

you smile at the christmas cheer in your cup,

everyone loves a little baileys and hot cocoa.

winter brings the cold,

some hate it, and some love it

but none can deny,

it’s a beautiful time.

such a beautiful time,

the time of the Sagittarius.