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Wednesday, June 27, 2012

How I Am Being Abused and I Love It

So I stopped by poetry’s house yesterday
He wasn’t home
I wanted to whine and groan
But as I arrived back at my writing lair
There he was, grinning
He’s now made it clear
That I do not visit him
He stands me up and then takes me out for dinner
I have a confession
I am in an abusive relationship
With poetry

He interrupts me during every situation
Has forbidden my interactions with anything but him
Declaring he owns me
That I would be nothing without him
He attacks me when I least expect it
Stings my form with his potent arms
Strangles me in his rhymes and similes
Slaps me with his concealed themes and purpose
He clenches my wrists and forces me to grip a pen and give him more and more
He makes me sate his desires to conquer me and my life
I’ve been attempting to escape him
I’ve had affairs with playwriting and prose
And poetry knows.
He smacks me with that disillusioned expression
Scolds me for being unfaithful to him
And I feel like the rotten lover
He then smothers me in his delicate arms
Kisses away my tears
And then effortlessly irons out my fears
Then suddenly demands me to dive out of our cozy bed
And wander through the frosted corridors that inject my veins with ice
To provide him with another serving of paper
Because he’s hungry
And it’s my job to satisfy him
I’ve been looking for battered poet shelters
None are listed.
He’s turned off the internet
Imprisoning me within the pages of a notebook
“I will liberate myself from your tendrils”,
I stammer
He laughs
I don’t blame him
He owns me—he is me
And I cannot halt my love for him
I am hypnotized by
His elegant fine lines
His defined voice
How he whisks me into a better existence
He makes me feel like a poet
And when he whips me with drama and agony
Punches me with passion and lust
It only makes me adore him more
So here I am again
Deeply kissing his alliteration
Tangled in his fiction and shattered promises
Drenched in him
Commanded by his stare
Yet happier than I ever was before he wandered into my life.

Monday, June 25, 2012


What is art? According to the Oxford English Dictionary, art is:

the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance

So, I guess art=beauty. I think that we as artists should always keep in mind that art's purpose is to showcase the utterly stunning aspects of our world. 

From interesting sights....
To spiritual moments...
To overcoming life's largest struggles...
Art appeals to our sense of admiration. So go ahead. Be an artist, but also be an underage voice. 

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Open Eyes Open Lens

Akshay Kumar, a rising senior from Syosset High School, looks through a special lens...a camera lens that is! Akshay is an aspiring photographer, and she has recently started a blog to share her art with all of you. Check her out at!
If you are the skeptical kind, here is a preview of some of her phenominal work.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Final Exam Diaries

Final Exam Diaries

the fluorescent lights burn
as i struggle to draw my eyes towards the endless vocabulary
i fail.
now i am here writing a poem
out of boredom and desperation
trying to find a sensation
superior than that of studying for a final exam
the pencil is beginning to indent my hands
and still 85% of this material i can't understand
so i sit typing
and wiping false statistics upon a poem
grasping onto a few rhymes
hoping i won't go ballistic and thrust my computer 
against the sterile library wall
and whisk myself away to the inner halls
of my mind where i can find
some salvation or at least a mirage of some chocolate
i need coffee
i love coffee
as long as it doesn't taste like itself
i need to sugarcoat things
drape my world in diamond rings
staple golden wings 
onto the ordinary
because the ordinary is going stale
just like the sandwich beside me
can someone hide me in a cavern
free of examinations and spanish?
because my current educational fuel has left me famished.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

I'm Trying to Write a Poem

I’m trying to write a poem
I’m trying to write a poem
That will change the world
That will immerse my readers in eloquent swirls
Of ideas and fears
Fire and tears
Of politics and drama
Buddha and the Dali llama
But yet the only that is gracing these pages
Has no poise at all
It’s a cliche waterfall
Of stories that have been told before
By past and better poets
Ones that can use syllables to drill you within the floor
You know, ‘em wordsmiths
The yielders of rhyme and alliteration
The ones who wield a celebration
Of deliberation
And creation
But I’m just another member of my generation
Trying to find my voice
Trying to find my choice
That will open all those doors for me
Can’t you see?
Here I go again
Last time I checked doors do not illustrate originality
And here I am breaking all the rules
Some obnoxious pseudo-intellectual arteest
Is probably noting my inability to define myself with strong craft
Well I’m sorry but every poem I write
Is the original draft
Because I can’t revise these feelings steaming through my hands
So yeah, editing this has never been a part of my plans
And that’s why I can only win a bunch of local meaningless poetry competitions
I hold no truly esteemed titles
Bestowed on me by literary idols
But I keep on pretending that I’m massively gifted
But over time these arrogant opinions have drifted
Across the corners of my mind
And I happened to find that I’m just average
And borderline insane
And if I keep going like this
Screaming out lines and raising my fist
Repeating old tragedies
That have worn their welcome
Drenching myself in self pity
I’ll never move to the great big city
Or achieve any other thing symbolic of achievement
I’ll just be that girl who used to write
But had too much fight
And lost her light along the way
These are the doubts I’m afraid to say
The ones that pulse through me
Cause my vision of fame and glory to fray
Because to me poetry is not play
It’s supposed to be my calling
People are supposed to have callings
Purpose and such
And if I’m not the best poet
I’m not very much
And I’m tired of losing to people that I’m supposed to be better than
The ones to whom words are just something to engrave on a college application
When I write because one day I think I can be a sensation
I can change the way we listen and hear
I can take the wheel
And boldly steer my world in a new direction
But now I look into my reflection and see the ordinary
I feel lack luster
Like I’ve lost the little extra in the extraordinary
And now I’m running out of rhymes
Just like I’m running out of time
To say what I need to say
Or at least find out what I want to explain
Because if I don’t become something
There is no one I can blame
And I need a goat to scape on
A broken puzzle to put tape on
In this marathon of endless nights
Tedious fights
And colored lights
Yet to find desire in my streetcar
And now I’m going too far
Making allusions only an English teacher could enjoy
Using recently read literature as a toy
To mold like old play-dough
Once again I’ve run out of words to sew
But this poem needs an ending they all do
So I’ll come full circle and begin again
I’m trying to write a poem
That will change the world
Or at least a girl
Or at least me
One that will set me free from these anxieties
One that can ripple over you like the breeze
I don’t know if it’s this one
It’s probably far too personal and discursive
Wild and non-immersive
But I’m glad I gave it a chance to live
On these pages
To let it drain these rages
I’m trying to write a poem
And I think I’m failing
Wandering and derailing
I’m trying to write a poem
That will mean something
That will be something
That will make me something
But all I find is nothing
I’m trying to write a poem
That’s vague and universal
Nothing I’ve memorized in rehearsal of this craft
I’m trying to write a poem
When I should be studying math
I’m trying to write a poem
Or let it find me
Reinvigorate and rewind me
And my memories
I’m trying to write a poem
Worth listening to
One that will finally be good enough for all of you
One that will change the world
Rattle the earth
Give me some goddamn worth
I’m trying to find a poem that will have voice
Or at least give me one
I’m trying to write a poem that will help me move on
I’m trying to write a poem
That will have an ending
So I can stop pretending
That I over emphasize things for artistic value
When all I do is carve out a piece of me
And seal it paper
I’m trying to write a poem
That will be greater than anyone you’ve ever heard or loved
One that will rattle the ones from above
One that will electrify the dove
And make her stop delivering a bunch of crummy messages
And sing her own tune
I’m trying to write a poem
For someone like you
I’m trying
A poem
Oh wait…what did I just do?


Ariel is available and interested in anything creative!
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