Ping

Ping
Twitch, twitch
Longing heaves my very soul through my mouth onto the screen
As I tip toe the tight rope between apathy and consummation,
devoutly to be wished by all and every one.
A bound chest must hide what what the aggravated heart doth know,
Or believe itself to know, when the brain is an iceberg which is melting
Trying to reap the remaining globules while still frozen stoic,
Because I cannot swim.

Ping.
Ping.
....
Ping
Pi-cking up the phone, I typed a garbled string of letters to throw out that desperate line, but it return more depleted than before.
One minute, no answer. My eyes skitted from the screen to phone, words to script to trembling extremities
Two minutes, I turned my phone back on and check again, on the off-chance it went on silent without my knowing.
Three minutes, I declared my social discovery mission a failure.
Fifteen minutes, the former conversation continued as if my input was followed by a pulsing line in my vision only.

Ping
Two hours later I rejoin the conversation, and all is well.
Ping
Ping
Two hours five minutes, life is optimal.
Two hours five minutes and forty two seconds, life is sub optimal
Three hours, dinner. I nodded and stared at gaps in speech, miles away from the foundations holding me upwards, miles into the wiring of my walkie talkie, straining for the electrons to converse and collide and sound that holy din so I may excuse myself and extrude my garish tendencies like tendrils winding into the crevices of life's experiences, tarnishing them like I always seem to.
It is a gift, I say.
You are a terrible person. They say,
You do not belong. They say.
In my head.
Ping.
Ping.

___
I created this because in the last few months I've started realizing how much of a struggle it is to know when to stop socially. I've never been the best at talking to people because it's so easy for you or them to get the scale of the situation wrong, while in poetry it is much easier to get across exactly how you're feeling.

My Future Daughter's Robotic Son Composition

From a mountain of evolution to me in my little molehill of frozen sendiment, she comes complete with a new territory of an indiscreet convex stomachal contents in the context of a vexing contest more complex than she had anticipated. Iron gears and steel bolts release electrical bolts covered in rust of a musky scent after nut on wire rummaged into an egg, perspiring on the alloys in a chain reaction of flustered passion between guileless companions. She claims this automatonic, embryonic, robotic beast of a child is due to a jarring withheld fact concerning the back story of her former lover Jack, who's actions were apparently just pre-installed mechanisms.  ''This is not the fifth nor the fourth occurrence - but the very first disturbance!'' she whines; as if borderlining on crying she considers keeping it, thus reaping what she sowed, while somehow managing to keep her head down low.

Tadaah! First of hopefully many pieces finished. I consider this a poem, but I don't really like the sound of the word, mostly likely because once I heard someone pronounce it ''poeyum'' which put me right off of it. I wrote the first draft for this about a month ago, so I  can't remember how I got the idea of it, but I know it's somehow related to the song Mecto Amore by the band Steam Powered Giraffe. Any hoo, welcome to my new blog debut! If you are reading this then I am a happy little birdie because this blog was a spur of the moment thing and the first posts rarely get much attention, especially if you're currently a fourteen year old girl who likes writing poetry. I like the idea of spoken prose, and the writing above is meant to be an example of it. Perhaps I'll record someone saying it with some atmospheric background music. I'm also dabbling with the idea of doing a daily urban haiku (5,7,5 words per line rather than syllables), which could serve as a form of diary so I can actually remember what goes on during my life.
Here's number one, I suppose.

Off ill, today I read
Discovered Harry Potter and Tina Fey's adventures
My future holds goat makeup

As it says, I was off ill from school today so I just sat around and read Har Har Potter and Bossypants (which you must read if you're a fan of the Bloggess or Sarah Silverman). Tomorrow the cast of our school show are off timetable and we're most likely doing our proper dress rehearsal with make up and the works because the performances start less than 2 days from now, and since my character is a goat I will be getting some hardcore face paint on.