Mediocre poetry on a Sunday night- Steph the Salad Star

So, I started at my new job. It's been going pretty well, but a lot harder than I expected. There is an incredible amount of detail in this job and all my new co-workers probably think I'm shy and of very somber character. Anyone who knows me just smiled, I'm sure. It's not that I don't want to make any new friends, it's more that I'm just constantly so focused on the job at hand and getting it done perfect in a very short amount of time, that I'm too afraid to get sidetracked. In other news, I want to get my own apartment and a cat. I know this makes me sound like someone who will be eternally single and become that craaazy cat lady of the neighborhood, but I have no intentions of that. I want to move out because, well, I'm 20 and it just feels right, as much as I really, really, love my family. I want a cat because I like having pets, especially because I'll be living alone. Cats aren't extremely high maintenance since I plan on adopting one that's already grown and litterbox trained. I figure it's better off with me than Mr. Death-needle, right?

New Year's eve was a blast. I love my friends. Seriously. And may I just say that the city of Logan sure knows how to throw one heck of a new years eve party for an empty gymnasium. Keep on rockin', you party animals, you.

I've also been going through a lot of my old papers and stuff as of late and came across some of my poetry that I wrote in high school, and ya know what, for a high schooler it really wasn't all that bad. I even had one win 2nd place in a school wide poetry contest (very much to my surprise.) So, just for the fun of it, I decided to put some poetry that I found from back then on here. Disclaimer: Yes, I know, I am no Frost or Hemingway. These are just my "feelings" on paper, they haven't really had any re-writes or whatever. Take them for what they are, nothing more, nothing less.

Free

This world is dark,

this world is cold.

I don't want to live here

when I grow old.

I want this world

to let me go

back to the arms

whence I came low.

The world may not care

how I feel,

but I have friends

that are real.

They are not to this world

the worlds they are to me.

When the time comes

for my spirit to fly free,

I know my friends will be waiting,

in where I long to be-

A place not like this world,

no death and no pain,

a place where love rules

and is not just a game.

So, when I get old

and my spirit longs to be

painless, happy, and every bit free,

I will leave this black world

and fall into white,

where friends and family wait

with smiles to bright

they clear the darkness this world put on me,

and yes, then I will truly be

Free.

My Skin

This is my skin that you see.

It is dark and rough as cork,

and light and soft as porceline.

It is oily and zit ridden,

and dry and cracked.

It is scarred in places

where the world has cut in.

It is perfect in spots

I have saved from harm.

My skin is what you see,

but don't be distracted by

all that is on view.

Under all this skin

there is a heart, a mind,

a soul. Within is love,

hate, jealousy, and and sympathy.

There is a core that is strong,

solid, immovable, and walled.

My skin is what you can see,

but don't be distracted

by the poor wrapping job,

or you will never really see me.

So, since we're taking this trip down memory lane, how about a few random pictures from way back from when I was a wee lassie.