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Thursday, November 28, 2013

Legal

Hi, instead of another poem, I'm here to bring you an update.
Within the past few moments, I just turned eighteen years old. Woohooo!
I know what you must be wondering: What does this mean for underage voices? This project started as an experiment to encourage youth expression, something I was really excited about, but emerged as a completely different entity. This has become my public diary and the main way the world can access my writing (as well as other parts of me). But now that I'm "legal" am I still allowed to call my blog underage voices?
Hell yes.
I'm still underage. I can vote for who runs our country, but can't go out a buy myself a beer. Since I was fourteen I was allowed to be convicted as an adult for murder, but at eighteen I can't testify in open court for my own rights.
I might be no longer a minor, but there's no way I'm an adult. The world is still an enormous puzzle I'm only a small piece of. As a young person, I'm still underestimated or not even given a second glance at all. I talk and write loudly, but there are moments I know I haven't been heard at all.
So although the original purpose of the blog has transformed, the premise of it and my work hasn't.
My sloppy, wild, sentimental, underage voice, still needs a canvas. And it's going to be here until I enter a universe that doesn't give me something worth speaking out and about. Or the internet becomes obsolete.
Thanks for giving me both your eyes and ears. If people keep listening, I think one day I might finally be heard.
Stay Creative,
Ariel

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

How To Know

I googled "how to know if you love someone"
Because I don't want a face to give me the answers
No credibility to tear away like the edges of a styrofoam cup
And wikihow provided me with seven simple steps
To decipher the whispers


What does your gut tell you?
I don't know. 
I was told the only talking organs were the head and the heart
I don't speak gut
Just too much guts
Selling my secrets and life story since its start
Whenever I debate my feelings I sense my gut grow fists
Punches my ribs and chest
So I guess it's telling me that 
I'm in pain
being destroyed by my inner workings 
I've swallowed too many words 
each a match that my burning blood has set ablaze.
Shrieking
I need to quiet my heart, 
put my mind to sleep 
because the echoes of memories are piercing my skull.
Be objective.
Is this the point when I laugh?
Be objective
When talking about love
I thought the whole point was defying reason. 
Letting yourself carve off your ventricles is never the rational thing to do. 
The moment I opened the blinds from my eyes 
Let you glimpse into my soul 
I made myself vulnerable, 
let the sniper of rejection find the perfect target. 
The authorities are coming for me
I've been holding my emotions hostage for far too long
Once I become objective, 
once I shoot them all down

They'll have no reason to keep me alive. 

The negotiations will end

So will conversations 
and poetry 
and the listening to cheap love songs 
and feeling 
Something.
Consider how you think and feel when you are around him.
I don't think. 
I try not to feel. 
I've stapled on a poker face. 
Laughing at the jokes hoping that I'm not one of them.
Fighting not to debate why he's stopped touching me--
when we're with our friends, 
in a dog-pile, 
how he avoids my flesh now. 
Is he trying not to lead me on, 
or trying to lead himself off? 
I exile the questions disguised as thoughts, 
Senses and sentiments.
I wander into subtext 
trying with a reflex 
to reflect some of my inner-workings, 
jerking him back to the time we say is forbidden, 
hoping I can tell him I'm hurting by smirking.
Observe
I'm tired of watching love like it's an exhibit at an aquarium. 
I've bought scuba gear. 
I've written love poems
and had kisses 
and been told the sacred words 
but yet I've never gotten my feet wet. 
Observing and obsessing are integrated. 
It's my turn to touch, 
To touch and feel. 
I've had all the symptoms, 
infect me with the disease
I don't know if I'm projecting it all
Hoping if I throw enough punches I can transcend the glass.
You tell me not to bother
Once I break through it will just flood
I'll probably drown. 
But I think I know how to swim.
How do they feel?
That's a different problem entirely.
Tell the person how you feel.
First I have to figure that out.
Imagine how you would feel if you lost them.
I think I already did.
But I trying to find them
Amongst moments and mementos
Places and promises
And see if I'm there too.

Splenda Smile

When he kissed me
I remembered hands
but felt nothing
I was in my head
With you

Drifting through memory
I was a pillow in his fingers
a person in yours

We talked a little
Assembled facts
to justify what we were doing
But conversation evaporated
Like youth from faces
language wasn't why we were there

But that night
You held me in your words
Peeled off my skin for you
Rustled your hair to permeate it
Feel the flesh that shielded your thoughts
Not because I thought you'd like it
You rearranged my locks
Cared that every one was in place
Threading wisps like god connecting the stars
You didn't ask why I was pushing it back
with a splenda smile

He said
Let's dance
I asked you
Why haven't you kissed me yet

I think I did it to prove I wasn't in love with you
To myself but mostly to you
Because I've realized you're afraid of being loved

I open my rib cage like cupboards
Let the world reach in


I succeed
Pull away from a kiss
Whisper it was nice meeting you
I drift into crowd watching him search for me
Asking for someone he calls my girl
After I decided I wasn't
I want to be proud
I've worn power and control
Then remembered to hang them back up in my closet
Didn't leave another mess
But apparently I'd rather be alone
emotion boiling and burning my veins
Than wanted by someone who can't even start a pulse.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Like

This week
Sarah dyed her hair blue and yellow
And decided to stop saying extraneous likes.

She knew that 
the second change was infinitely more complex than the first.
She told me she couldn't do it cold turkey
That "like" had seeped into her
It was intrinsically linked to her speech
To the thoughts in her head
And even though my science major roommate and I
Are often too busy looking at the world through our own perspectives
That we rarely see eye to eye
 I understood.

Because 
"like"
is the best defense mechanism we've got
Like
Let's us think about what we are about to say
Without submitting to the awkward shame of consideration
Without admitting that we don't know something
Like
Is the ultimate dialogue filler
It gives us an excuse to elaborate on things
We want to
But don't need to
It's the window that feelings pop their heads through
Where opinions weave into the facts
And we don't become narrators
But people
Like
Is where you find your voice
And even though it sounds juvenile
Uneducated and unrefined
It makes sense
Because speaking is immature
Growing up is a form of surrendering
Realizing that you have opinions
But the world
Or at least some of it
Will hate you for them
And funny enough
Likable
Is agreeable
But like-able
Is powerful
It's expression at it's most subtle state
It's a speech sanctuary
Because it makes placing your heart within your mind
Seem natural
And I don't know about biology
The way Sarah does at least
But I do know that my body
My life
Has taught me
To bind my soul within my bones
Let it navigate through the narrow trails of marrow
Because we are not given the courage
To make ourselves vulnerable
But like is defiance
And rebellion
Is what the afraid call revolution
Which are now all concepts in Sarah's freshly multicolored hair
And I'm really happy that worked out for her
It probably would make her sound sharper
But like
I hope her second resolution doesn't.

Contact

Ariel is available and interested in anything creative!
For spoken word performances & workshops, web & graphic design, or other writing/film projects please contact via email at arielsob@usc.edu.
New York & Los Angeles work preferred!