Personally, I always get the most inspiration in the morning. Whether it's writing or poems or having intellectual debates (while I was writing, Alec and my mom were talking about debating religious beliefs... what's the point?). I always ramble the most, in the mornings, as well. Maybe it's because it opens up my imagination, and lets it ALL out. It throws away the filters, allowing myself to go and go and go! ...which means that later, I need my mom and/or Alec to edit it out, and find the grammar errors in the sentences. :P
Anyway. I felt the need to write more, this morning. All night, Dev has been making me these AMAZING photoshopped pictures! They were all gorgeous (and you can find my photoshopped eyes on the right)!! But I could not do any of them. Maybe it was making me feel less special, and incapable. Maybe I was just jealous! Whatever it was, I wanted someone to ask me to do something for them, and make them proud of whatever I ended up doing. Thus, I asked my mom and Dev for a subject to write a poem about. My mom suggested "friends." I would like to have written about friends, but I don't have THAT many friends that I hang out with all the time, so I felt no inspiration with that idea (sorry mom!).
...Dev, on the other hand, suggested I write about her World of Warcraft character; Celiia the Werewolf. She wanted me to write about what it'd be like to be a werewolf, and have to endure turning into a beast every week/month, and being excluded by everyone around. Next thing you know, I have a six paragraph poem! Whoo!
ONE more thing I must add before I post the poem itself! The "herbal pill" that I will be referring to in the poem is one that Celiia had been taking for a long time, and eventually developed an allergic reaction to (another debate going on between my mom and Alec AND Dad now... can you grow immune to a formula that helpful to your body? Yes and no. The "pill" in this poem is not helpful, as far as Celiia's body knows.)
Okay, and here it is!
Dark Eyes
- I did not ask for this, I would not have tried,
To have fangs, claws; to grow a hide
A curse, a spell, a hex, if you will,
I've grown immune to my old herbal pill
"It was gone," I said, "why did it return?!"
This power and thirst and blood that I yearn
"Make it go away, make it disappear!"
Must I continue to endure your jeer?!
While you all laugh and drink and have fun with your games,
I sit over here, being shouted and called names
Frustration and rage runs through my dark veins,
It's becoming worse... egging on my pains
Feral growls escape my lips,
My body jerking through my hips
Pulling my hair and clutching my head,
I clumsily load my gun with lead
Hurry, now! I must do it quick!
Time goes by with every "tick... tick... tick..."
Then... my eyes darken a shade, and I lose control,
Dropping the gun, I begin my patrol
My breaths grow low; forced and unsteady,
My lusts have renewed! Restored, and ready!
Continue to make jests, they all will?
Thus whose blood shall I spill?...
Morbid? Sad? What would it really be like to live as a werewolf, and be forced to live with such a curse? Blah. Personally, if you ask me, I think it would quite literally suck. Unfortunately, Dev fell asleep by the time I was finally done with the poem, so she'll have to wait until tomorrow to read it.
I hope you enjoyed reading as I did writing!
