 JClassyC
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Name: :Joyce:
Birthday: 7/23/1987
Interests: sarcasm, stuffed animals, fat pillows, silliness, hot cocoa, inside jokes, rainbows, overweight animals, writing music, making noise, ice cream and chocolate, sentimental value, eyeliner and lace
Expertise: artsy stuff
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
1/31/2003
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| .paper hearts and paper dollsPaper
Tears so easily
You don't even notice it
Until the pen slips in the invisible cut
Crinkling the whole thing
And you think, I can't use this
And throw it away
But that's okay
Because you buy it in bulk
In packs of 500
Disposable
But every time, I think
What a waste
And I consider myself foolish
As I pull another thin heart
From inside my desk
Her face is sweet
And everything is flat
And her smile is very pretty
And flat
When I bend her arms
They quiver for a moment before stopping
Creased upwards into a perpetual
"Pick me up, please!"
From the coffee table
I take pity on her
And make her dress extra pretty
With a lovely bow at the waist
And lovely pearls hugging her slim neck
A lovely hat for her beribboned hair
And little black shoes
For her little flat feet
And afterwards
I put my coffee cup on her
And watch TV | | |
| .brothers bondingI told Jon Lau I would put this on my xanga, so here I am. On Tuesday night, we schemed to sneak into a mirrored space of sorts so we could dance and caper. As we wandered about aimlessly, I asked him what he'd been up to the past several days. Apparently on Monday, him and Chih had gotten together in Jon's loft to assemble some furniture, as men do. Men seem to have innate sensibilities regarding the assemblage of wooden parts and the manipulation of vehicular devices and the location of food.
But I digress. So it was a hot day for the two boys, and it was only about to get hotter, if you know what I mean. Chih declared that he would take his shirt off. And so he did. And Jon quickly followed suit. And so there they were.
When Jon shared this bit of information with me, I couldn't help but laugh. It was like... every bad cliche. Two men getting together to build furniture. And taking off their shirts so as not to hinder the process of building, or bonding. | | |
| .saturday morningThat light upon the hills
As the morning rises something softlike
And pale yellow warms the car
And I roll the windows down
I don't dare to touch the radio
This silence is beautiful
There is nothing Lord
That is more pure and lovely
Nothing Lord on this green sweet earth more right
Than this morning on the scarce roads
That seem to unspool like ribbons running downhill
With cars floating by like leaves on a stream
I don't dare breathe
This stillness is too beautiful
You are the lightness in my wings
You are the breeze that lifts me up
You are the soaring sweeping arc of flight
Pouring out happiness full in my heart
Till it brims in my eyes
Perhaps as a testimony of how much I've changed, this is a poem (and a relatively harmless one) I wrote sometime during senior year of highschool:
The Little Voice
There is a voice I cannot silence
From the darkest corner whispering
Gently calling my name
Combing through my memories like sand
Filled with glass and broken shells
It brushes my heart and crooks its finger
Beckoning me close
And I lean in towards the mystery
Pleased with the sound of that voice
Which alone asks for my presence
A beautiful voice
Telling me beautiful lies
And I cry my eyes and clasp it close
Thrilled with hope that one should love me
As this voice does
“Come my love and share with me
These things I speak not of
With anyone but you”
And I nod because what else is one to do
When No has been forgotten
And this voice I cannot silence
From the darkest corner whispering
Seeing with a smile my every folded secret
And ripping the folds open as I smile back
At this little voice within | | |
| .a street called FlandersWhile walking the length of a street called Regents,
A folder of notes in one hand and the
Lighthearted weight of drinks and a plaid purse
In the other,
I realized how brightly
The sun buttered the leaves
And glad red bursts of flowers in the bushes,
And how the sidewalk curved like a warm
Gentle hand.
And how the purr and growl of a leafblower
And the trailing whisper of a passing car
Brought to mind a childhood sort of spring
On a street called Flanders.
I closed my eyes and felt so happy
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