The Walk of Shame

This morning at ten I woke with a fright

Shocked and confused at what I did last night

It started out great I felt more than coherent

And now I’m faced with calling my parents

I hopelessly grope around the dark room

Trying to find my socks and left shoe

Not bothering to change from last night’s clothes

In too much of a rush to walk on tip toes.

But I guess that’s the price of not being cool

Staying up late to study made me late for school.

            In my poem, “The Walk of Shame”, I include many details which strengthen the uncomfortable tone throughout. Firstly, the title of my poem indicates awkwardness as many people in today’s society associate that phrase with something many people feel hesitant to discuss. The morals of today have trained people to think of the walk of shame as something to regret which I use in the obvious diction of “shame” to further my poem’s discomfort. In addition, my phrasing of “I woke with a fright”, laced with a shocked tone, implies regret for the consequences of the previous night, leaving the audience to imagine the different scenarios (1). This vagueness of this phrase in addition to others such as “Not bothering to change” creates a sense of suspense as I leave the interpretation solely up to the reader’s imagination (7). I believe that my stylistic technique to leave out punctuation until the final two lines puts the reader into the poem as they feel the frantic tone and continue reading without a pause, similarly to how the speaker feels in the poem. Finally, I think that the ending of the poem spares the reader from complete discomfort as I ease their imaginations with the true actions of the night and the purpose of the frazzled feeling the next morning. No one can relate to the walk of shame coming into school late quite like I can.

 

A Letter to a Friendless, Gender Confused Eleven-Year-Old

Dear pre-teen Blythe,

            I will start off by asking you a simple question. What are you thinking?! Now, I hope that does not strike you as too harsh, but I feel that I must implement tough love and take drastic measures in handling this very awkward phase. Where do I even begin? Well, let us start at the top. Your hair. Eleven year-old Blythe, that has to go, you look like a boy. I promise that everything will turn out alright if you stray from the china doll, pin straight hair complete with bangs (Foreshadowed Warning: DO NOT go back to them in eighth grade, they will not look any better in three years, trust me). On the topic of looking like a male…please for the sake of your dignity stop shopping in the boy department of Gap and Old Navy, camouflage cargo pants do not look good on anyone. Please take my warnings to heart as I really do know best and spare yourself future ridicule from your classmates about “the boy years”, it will scar you. On a similar note, try and make some more friends to greatly reduce your chance of receiving harassment and allow for less awkward times trying to find someone to sit with at lunch. However, do not lose yourself in order to make new friends. Keep rocking that Lord of the Rings jean jacket (obsession never goes out of style), keep trying to touch Mr. Dole’s mustache and achieve the impossible with all of your fingers still intact, pursue your love to read as it could become your future, remember that Girl Scouts is not lame and never quit as it earns you some big money in the future, and never stop Being Blythe (hint: make that the title of your seventh grade scrapbook). In short, little me, you are a strange young girl. However you will grow into your quirky demeanor and learn to embrace it. So keep up the good work, keep the hair growing, and keep out of the boy’s department. See you in seven years.

Love,

Almost eighteen-year-old Blythe

The First Second Hand

Lights. Lights so bright that they rivaled the stars on a perfectly black night. They illuminated the sweat dripping down the young patient’s face, dripping onto his new white shirt that his mother bought just for this occasion. He sat stiffly on the table with the white paper that ripped whenever he shifted nervously. He glanced around the white room, and wondered when someone would explain to him why they chose such an ugly color; so bland and emotionless save for a jubilant painting of children laughing which only made him more upset and uncomfortable. Finally, after watching the clock tick and his mother’s twiddling thumbs for what felt like hours, a group of people dressed in white coats walked into the room. He could see the eagerness etched on their faces and watched their lips move as their hands slapped together in what he knew as applause. For as long as he could remember, the young patient had made inferences about the world around him. Only guessing at the marvels that surrounded him yet never fully grasping the true sense of how others lived. He had longed for the day when he could once feel normal, like he belonged to this strange world full of silence. A world where he could let the chaos in his brain escape and fill the quiet exterior around him. To finally know noise. As he left his mind swirling with the implications of today, he looked up to see a nurse and her white teeth smiling at him. He understood a smile even without words. He smiled back, reassuring her that he felt ready. She reached over, brushing away his sandy blonde hair to find a new and improved ear. Click. The doctors smiled at him as they waited eagerly for him to start exploring the new world around him and said “Let’s have a second hand for our brave patient”. The young boy, rid of his deafness, heard his first sound; encouragement. He knew that the white of his hearing aid meant a new beginning.

Never Fully There

Today, dismally similar to most others, I take my seat in a number of different classes for a whole seven hours. My brain, try as it may, does not stand a chance against this test of time. My habitual lack of sleep and hatred to fully wake up does not allow full cognition from my brain unless jolted by the force of a pop quiz or a dreaded in class writing.  However even my brain does not always find these worthy causes to come out from underneath the covers and tackle the day. The day dreamer in my brain chooses today to wander and find interest in everything except for my very important lesson on probability. I stand no chance. He has already decided that the probability of focus rounds out to an approximate zero as he laughs in the face of math. Instead day dreamer notices the intricate details on the concrete wall behind the white board. Has that block always had so many cracks in it? And why do they paint it white? White, white board, math, focus. Yet again my mind slips and I wonder why anyone would wear that to school and they must feel so cold because of the snow and oh, look at the weather. Focus. The problems on the board have now changed and my brain claws at the walls of my head begging me to remember the crime show I watched last night and how realistic it seemed and what if a robber comes to my house and I should map an escape route: out my window, on the roof, jump into the snow, run. Run. I should run after school but I know I will not and now I feel lazy and when did we move to this problem? My day dreamer finds humor in my struggle to keep up and notes that I should focus…on how these problems relate to problems that I will help my kids with some day and we will live in a big house and now I have to name them and the bell rings. I look up to find that day dreamer has effortlessly won control of my focus during yet another class and I challenge him to a rematch which reminds me that I should probably play ping pong in commons. It starts again.

To Blogging and Beyond

When presented the task of choosing my best written blog, I will admit that I struggled with it. None of them seemed to exemplify my best work because they all had errors and flaws. However, after sifting through my blogs, cringing at the sight of a forgotten passive verb or a wrong tense, I finally chose one. M blog “What’s After High School?” best exemplifies my writing abilities for a number of reasons. Primarily, my many uses of Lord of the Rings analogies foreshadows a gleaming blog in the making (who could shy away from orks and adventure?). My use of similes in that way made my blog flow smoothly while remaining true to my obsessive personality. With this mindset I think that I truly set in the theme of the future as I discussed that Mr. Tolkien thought that we all could accomplish greatness even if we do tend to wander. My wandering for a great blog did not prove in vein! My all time favorite quote truly inspired me to attack this blog with zeal and do my best writing. In addition, I felt that my writing elevated at this point as I used more mature phrasing and word choice adding to my credibility as an up and coming blog super star. My new found enthusiasm for the blogger lifestyle left me in ceaseless analysis of everything around me and its potential for utilization in next week’s blog. I found my most interesting blog “Love Lessons Even Gatsby Can Understand” in a young girl and young love, imagine that. Quite a switch from the looming future. A former tireless tomboy, I could not help but show wonder at the dedication of this girl’s admirer nor her infatuation with every letter she received. I became intrigued and lived my romantic life vicariously through a ten-year-old. Yes, pathetic is indeed my middle name. However, after overcoming my awe with their “relationship” I noticed how much game this little boy has and how much our great hero Mr. Gatsby could learn from him. After awkward moments in the book magnified into immensely more awkward moments in the movie, I came to realize that the grandeur of Jay Gatsby proves only skin deep. He does not obtain the suavity of a fourth grade Romeo, which I find interesting. In addition to finding this blog my funniest, I think that it shows a lot about the naivety that youth possess. I made the assertion that the purest form of love comes from young people as they hold no reservations or secrets. I believe that this challenged my fellow bloggers while also making them laugh at the ridiculousness of this romance (and also at the shame of our lack of one).  I also found my favorite comment in a challenging statement. Megan Judge's comment on my blog “Popping the Bubble” made me rethink my opinion. She countered my view of the Chagrin “bubble” by stating that in order to gain other experiences one does not need to completely leave Chagrin behind but just expand their horizons. Her comment made me rethink my opinion and realize that I do not need to totally leave home behind in order to experience new things. All together, blogging this semester has strengthened my writing skills and my ability to look at the world through a different perspective.

Silent Victory

This past week, amidst everyone’s negativity, I achieved a personal goal. The boy I babysit, a twelve year old who prefers to play by himself rather than talk to me and his sister about her latest love note, actually conversed with me! To the average person, this might seem a small feat I have tackled as most twelve year old boys prefer video games to love stories. However, this twelve year old has autism and he rarely says more than “I don’t know” and giggles to me. After getting him to divulge into his Christmas list and how thrilled he feels, I saw his eyes light up. I could feel his pure bliss radiating all around him and felt the most excitement in watching his reservations and insecurities melt away.  In life, we tend to overlook the details, glance over the small moments that seem like a mere blip on our radar of the far more important and pressing activities in our lives. We sweep the everyday occurrences under the rug and wait for something great to happen. This occurs numerous times throughout The Great Gatsby as all of the characters become absorbed in themselves and their love of glamour and wealth. They become obsessed with other people and possessions that they overlook what lies right in front of them as the glance towards the horizon of their greedy desires. That aspect of the book made me seriously reconsider my life’s motives and goals and I decided to conduct a self evaluation of what I consider a priority. The results truly shocked me. Of course, as all humans try to appear, I know that perfection will always elude my grasp as it does to those in The Great Gatsby; however I used this knowledge to better myself rather than murder random strangers. After experiencing the boy’s openness towards me, I truly felt like I gained more than anything money could buy. He opened my eyes to how excitement should feel.

Angst

As the weeks have become five days long and now slowly drag from break to break, people have become quite hostile. Everyone feels ready for school to end yet it feels like it began yesterday. Seniors anxiously await the arrival of college letters and stress out about what we will do with the rest of our lives. All around the school one can feel the sluggishness of everyone as people drag their feet and keep their heads down going from class to class as to avoid all unnecessary human interaction. This tension has grown into an full on battle as students have turned on one another over something as petty as limited fans at a sporting event, something that would have seemed so trivial in simpler times. This inner school angst reminds me of Tom’s lashing out at Gatsby. Although under very different circumstances, both feel an uneasiness and exhaustion that eventually needs to escape one way or another. I sometimes find myself feeling like Nick; caught in the middle, wanting to lash out about finals or how ready I feel for break, yet also wanting to keep calm and push through until break. An anonymous tweeter put it best by stating that “collectively as a school, we are all slowly losing it right now”. I think that everyone needs to take a step back and breathe. If we all continue to go through the motions with the weight of the world on our shoulders then we will always feel bitter towards one another when we should enjoy our time in high school. If we do not loosen up and realize our good fortune of having the ability to go to school, then we all might actually lose it. If we do not reevaluate our hatred of the world and all things that have to do with school, we may all turn into “mad men” and shoot people we hardly know.