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Name: Lucca
Gender: Female
Interests: Putting 'life' into words and bringing words to life, that side of reality that's best seen through fiction, good writing and good writers, an audience that likes what I have to say [or at least listens anyway]...
Expertise: Character and dialogue, long words, angry poetry, misspellings, malapropisms, typos, obscure references, overuse of commas, writing [despite my own taste and judgment] like an insufferable sap, writers block, confusing my readers, losing my train of...what was I talking about? run-on sentences [like this one], intriguing fractions of things, a depressing outlook on life, talking like apparently no one else in the world talks, redundancy, introspection, procrastination, killing main characters [sorry], occasional anti-climaxes and other bad endings...
Message: message me
Member Since:
5/27/2005
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| No One Ever
No one ever asked if it hurt.
No one even asked if I cried
for how long and alone
but it was the hardest thing of my life
and no one ever asked. If it were you, would you be sad?
If it were you, would you be ashamed?
That you had called yourself my friend
and known nothing of my pain.
Or was I the one to blame? But what if it were you? I'm not a walking zombie,
I don't always speak my mind.
True, for you I will always be happy,
but I'm not always the same inside. I don't feel like I have to be honest
when you've always expected a lie.
I don't feel that to be real with you
I have to let you see me cry. I don't think it should make a difference
whether I'm always playing a part,
behind the lines there's a real person
bearing a real, if broken, heart. I don't think I can make you see me
if you will not open your eyes,
maybe if you'd stop once and listen
you could tell the laughter from the cries. So call me a filthy actor
fake as the smile on my lips,
but I wouldn't be me or know me
if I I changed myself from this.
8/8/06
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| "Brunette" is like the predicate of hair colors - it just means everything that's not blonde. For instance, my hair just got five shades darker, and I'm still just...brunette. No one's even noticed. [Jay said, "Would I offend you if I asked you...did you dye your hair or something?"] Whereas I swim for two weeks in the absurdly over-chlorinated pool at the local college and everyone and their mother are complimenting me on my "highlights." Gross, that's what I get for living in LA. [As if it were my choice.] I suppose I am rudely ignoring all the redheads in the world. But see? They have a category of their own. I guess I'm officially a blackhead. Hmm, how attractive.
You know what? For me, the perfect date would be a long drive, at night...it doesn't matter where...with good music and good conversation, and sometimes just quiet [I suppose there wouldn't even have to be music, but I always start humming absently and get laughed at]. It's things like that that make me think [Edit: let's call him Quincy, to protect the innocent] could have easily had me in love with him, if he'd tried. Wait. That isn't fair. He may have tried. I wouldn't know, I was blind and a liar.
I'm sure it's all for the better...that is, he certainly proved himself capable enough of shredding my heart as it was.
Christine said tonight that it's funny how easily things could have been different. How easily David could have been, oh, just some guy she was friends with and they once talked about getting married. They were young and silly and it never would have worked out. How easily [Quincy] could have been...something different than he was. If I'd told a different lie. What is the difference between lying and not telling the truth, anyhow?
Well, there you go, I'm humming now...the song that plays in the background of my nightmares.
Yes. I've been having terrible nightmares recently. The kind where you wake up hoarse from screaming and then sleep the rest of the night with your light on. I'll admit it, I'm afraid of the dark. It's been well over a decade since I saw who-knows-what in the darkness of my six-year-old room and I'm still terrified. Not of dark alleyways or things in the dark, of the dark itself. I know it's not rational, that's why they call it a phobia.
This was the first time I ever tried to pray in a dream...and I couldn't. I couldn't even breathe. I woke up nearly sobbing. I still remember the first time I called for my parents after I had a nightmare, and they didn't come. I never called again. God isn't like that. He always hears and he always comes.
Please forgive my self-indulgence,
my selfishness, my hard-head,
the things I couldn't see...
And even though I so often forget you,
Please, please, PLEASE don't take Your eyes off me.
Sorry for the elaborate detour. I hope to let you know what happened to the princess by Monday evening. At least, I promised Jon I would.
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| the voice
Of a God who is missing in action, whether blind, complacent, or weak
They say, "He does not see. He does not know. He has not heard."
You can claim that heaven belongs to the least of these
and this earth will go to the meek
But our children live in fear, hiding, and abuse goes without a word.
Poverty and suffering I have seen and learned to turn away my eyes
I have numbed myself to oppression, racism and genocide
For I knew I had no defense
and no answer to their cries
I have suffered myself all alone, with no one in whom to confide
How long must I stifle a heart that screams "Justice! Justice for the dying!
Is not the God of heaven also the God of earth?"
Our streets run red with blood.
Can you not hear the voiceless crying?
For mothers who'll demand their child's death before their birth.
For them I will not keep silent! This voice will make a violent claim,
Before I make my peace, someone will have to pay!
I take my cause before the Holy.
Only He knows His name.
To Him alone belongs vengeance for their blood will be reckoned on His day.
Who is this who comes up from Edom? His garments are stained in blood.
With the power in His hands to heal the broken, in death He conquered the grave
Do you not know?
The Judge is the Bridegroom
and He is mighty to save.
On that day no one can bribe Him, no recompense can be made
For those who have touched His beloved and brought her to disgrace
Jealousy is a husband's fury
Justice will be paid!
And all those brought there to witness will see Love has another face.
But who? Who is able to bear this burden, a punishment so vast and so great?
For who can suffer the sins of the world? There is only One.
And when the same eyes of fire
that burned with love turn hot with hate
I will cry for His mercy. "Oh God, let it be Your Son!"
He has heard the cry...
Do not weep for the Lion of the tribe of Judah has prevailed.
"God of vengeance, Judge of the whole earth,
shine forth."
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| I keep finding scraps of bits of halves of conversations,
descriptions of things I never seen, people I just don't know, places
I've never been, in life. My waking life. Pieces of paper with writing
on them. My hand writing. I've started a collection. I might regale you
with the absurdity of them all, ones of these days if I ever get bored.
This is from a piece of paper that I suppose was part of one of the
journals I...at one time or another, by some fluke of nature or a brain
tumor...kept. Actually, I remember it
well. A friend of mine was going through a really rough time, and an
abusive situation. [In fact, it was the same friend who wrote the
paragraph I posted last time.] It hurt to see her hurt so badly. And I
was also
really angry. The main entry was a poem
entitled "You and I," already posted July 26th. The following was scribbled in the margins.
No more screaming into pillows, no
more crying on your own, no more pretending like it's over, no
more taking this alone. No more spending long nights and not calling,
no more causing yourself pain, no more hurting for no reason, I'm not
telling you again. No more making up excuses, no more lying to my face,
no more not believing what I tell you, no more not accepting grace. No
more smiling when you're not happy, no more holding back the tears, no
more calling yourself crazy, no more hiding from your your fears. No
more bleeding yourself for the pain that you feel, no more trying to
make amends, no more hating yourself for the things that you've done,
no more shutting out your friends.
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| Somewhere I have lost myself. In my ideals,
my twists, my selfish self, aspirations, your smile, smooth voices,
dark days, my very own Orion's belt, the gentle breeze, the strong
tide, worlds through lenses, my shame and dirt, all that is sacred,
most of what is profane, in the angels, the divine, all love, the
tender care. I have lost my mind in countless hours of worrying, in
trying to make sense of so many things. I have lost my body so many
times in so many rhythms, my consciousness in dull madness, my words in
almost every situation, my fingers in cords, hands, and hair, my sight
in tears, my voice from yelling, my breath in awe and from running (my
courage, therefore I run), my self-righteous bastard persona from
getting a glimpse of who I really am, my alternative worlds by finally
finding reality, my spirit in the greatness of God. I have lost myself
in everyone, God, myself, and in everything, hoping to understand at
least a fraction of it.
[This is something my friend posted today, her own words, it moved me so I thought I'd share it.]
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