I am no longer standing...

Well, I am so used to updating this thing, but I forgot to do it this week, because the news isn't exciting this time. I got eliminated! Not gonna lie..there were some disgustingly bad poets still standing man, but they voted ME out. It's cool. It's sort of a popularity contest anyway. So, that's done. It was a fun ride though.

So what else is going on in my life? Not much, really. It is is a beautiful, sunny, Rexburg day that makes me sooo happy. I plan on burying myself in my covers and reading reading reading for the remainder of the evening. What a life I lead. :) I don't think I could be any more of a bookworm, really. And instead of getting better, it's getting worse as I grow up. Speaking of growing up, I am turning 24 in a couple weeks. Wow. This will be a big year for me. I will get a big girl job and start grad school...yikes! I don't know if I have a clue what I'm doing, but I suspect that I don't.

I wrote a poem today about mom. It's a bit sad, but I thought I share it with you guys anyway. :)

Motherless

I have forgotten the way you used to talk,

tenderly and excitedly,

as if you were utterly engrossed in my teenage babbling,

as I lay on your bed and watched you quilt,

with a Turner Classic movie playing in the background.

I can’t recall the feel of your skin,

soft and weathered,

against mine,

as we embraced,

and you whispered secrets in my ear.

I have forgotten the cackle in your laugh,

that always filled in the spaces at parties,

and was greeted with laughter in turn,

by everyone near.

I don’t remember how you spent your days,

while we were at school,

and you were alone in our big, empty house,

because I never asked you.

I have forgotten the way you used to defend us

like we were your dearest and most beautiful possessions,

when anyone ever tried to hurt us.

I don’t remember the way your silver hair

shimmered in the sunlight,

gently brushed and curled by your careful hands,

or the smell of your mauve lipstick on Sundays.

I wish I could remember what you loved so much

about the gospel you taught us,

or the way you prepared copious lessons for ten years

to teach to teenagers who weren’t even awake to hear them.

I have forgotten the way you used to love me,

as no one else could.

I have forgotten what you saw in me

when your eyes lit up as they pierced mine,

and I knew you saw who I really was.