brittneynicole; the journals of

     The more I think of how the years have passed and how people have passed in and out of my life, the more I find myself wondering where I’m going to find myself in the future.

     People come and go I find, but where to turn after they’ve gone? Is it family? Religion, perhaps? Or do we lock it inside. No two people are the same so thus everyone will deal with issues in different ways. Hot tempered individuals may fly of the handle, like an erupting volcano where as others may write down thoughts onto a paper.

     When people walk out of my life, sometimes to make later appearances and sometimes just to simply move on with their own lives, how close were we really? Were we ever good friends? Did we ever have a connection? Or is there something wrong in the way that I socialize which draws people back from me?  Where will this leave me in the future? Will everyone walk away from me? Once I’ve been used, am I discarded like trash?

     I’ve learned that all things happen for a reason, though most of the time I can’t seem to figure out the reasoning. Sometimes I later find out the reasoning and sometimes I never do. Though, I’m young I’m not so worried about it but the more it happens and the older I get, it really makes me wonder. It’s something I force myself to do; remember that everything happens for a reason. I find that believing in this makes people happier to know that the result still would’ve been the same and that it was truly inevitable.

Ice storm; the hill

pyramid of black crystal

down which the cars

slide like phosphorescent beetles

while I, walking backwards in obedience

to the wind, am possessed

of the fearful knowledge

my compatriots share

but almost never utter:

this is a country

where a man can die

                                    simply from being

caught outside.

-Alden Nowlan

This is a poem that I wanted to share with you, as we are in the cold wintery months. It is a poem that I have just recently read in my English course. It’s appeal really struck me. I hope that you all enjoy this poem like I have. Remember, it’s icy out there, so please drive safely and all come home for the holidays!

My little sister weeps alone, far from the other children.

Sitting over there in pain and not understanding

Why they won’t let her play.

Plowing their Tonka Trucks through the sand

They giggle the way little boys do,

Not realizing what they’ve done to her.

“What’s wrong, sis?” I ask her,

Surrounding her with the warmth of my arms.

She continues to sniffle, her words distorted by whimpers.

“The boys won’t let me play”

Tenurially she clinches onto me.

Boys will be boys? Is that what I tell her?

I am her big brother.

She deserves better than to have lies delay problems

That could occur again in the blink of an eye.

Lies won’t protect her.

The boys are still playing, making their vrooming sounds and

Pretending that their Tonka Trucks are real.

I ask them if I can play too and if I can share one of their toys with me.

With grins on their faces, they agree and hold out one of their toys to me.

“But only if my little sister can play too.” I add looking over my shoulder

And smiling at her.

They have a look of confusion across their faces as if they were saying:

“What?! You play with girls?”

Genially I mention to them with a wink, “They’re not as bad as you think.”

The little boys think that playing with girls isn’t so bad,

Now that a big kid told them so.

The boys run to my sister holding out their Tonka Trucks.

They smile. She smiles. I smile.

Together they all make vrooming sounds and push their trucks through

The track made of sand.