It has been a long time since I was a teenaged individual but I remember those days more so than my years in the twenties. Although the twenties is when there were actual songs I could relate to (thankyou, Avril Lavigne and Michelle Branch). Of course like today there are films aimed at teens, it was the same for me in the late nineties. She’s All That, Ten Things I hate About You, Clueless, etc. But of course since Hollywood glosses most things over, none of those teen movies reflected my life. There was no cute, dimpled faced boy who would smile and hold the hand of a girl with glasses too big for her face, skin populated with pimples and more timid than a rabbit. As a matter fact I would have had to been made over with a full make-up kit, silken locks, short shirt and ditched the glasses (like in She’s All That). Then dimple boy and all boys would fall sneakers over head for me, according to Hollywood. Because you couldn’t be uniquely yourself and have people like you. I know foreign concept.

But I didn’t buy into what Hollywood was selling. I knew some boy wasn’t my knight in shining armor (I’m talking to you fairytale) when teenaged boys and girls are barely kids but not yet adults, so why should we put pressure on ourselves to be mating and dating by the time we’re sixteen. And then you’re made to feel some like some bizarre creature because you don’t do those things. I was the teenaged girl without the boyfriend. Heck that weren’t even my friend (boys). But I didn’t feel like my world was collapsing because my crushes chose other girls. In a Hollywood film I would have been. But I never was boy crazy. I went to the mall, I never got or gave my digits. I would hear about all the girls taking about the fine boys that talk to all night on the phone. Half of me cared and the other half didn’t.

By the time my senior year came around I still wasn’t one half of a boy/girl duo, but it didn’t bother me. I wrote poetry, love the French language, and had an after school job for two years. Prom came around, I didn’t scramble for a date or wanted to lose my virginity (a staple in Hollywood teen films).  I went to prom stag. I was decked out in gold satin (the only time I have ever worn heels). I’m a flat and tennis shoe girl. So my teen years were like anything you would see on film, maybe Freaks and Geeks was truer to my life than anything else. I was awkward (still am). A book worm (still am). Didn’t grow up too fast. (No fake ids to get into clubs). My world isn’t collapsing because a guy hasn’t chosen me. I am able to decipher reel life from real life. And Hollywood doesn’t come close. (Don’t get me started on the whole need a date for a wedding thing).

Advertisements

This is an into about me. “Who an I?” you ask. I’m spider….oh wait movie quote came into my head. I don’t even know if that from the movie. Anyways. My given name is Rosandra. I have an unspeakable nickname. I will not reveal it. I’m in my third decade of life. (more like the doldrums of watching drying paint). I am not nor have I’ve ever been the gregarious sort. I’m more of a loner. One-woman wolf pack.

I’m idiosyncratic and proud of it. A dreamer basking in her quietude. An aficionado of the written word. I find stupidity off-putting. I’m often underestimated but not deflated. I care, I’m filled with apathy, I smile, I scowl, I shed tears, I have fears. I need a rope to tug me out of my lackadaisical state.

I’m a story spinner, story teller, verse writer, I’m a bundle of creative energy. I am Rosandra.

Casting lines into rivers

I reeled my heart in a long time ago

Gazing at an esoteric moon

Thoughts tumble down the corridor

Maybe I think too much

And say too little

I would consult the tea leaves

But I threw them out

No cogs or gears

I wasn’t built for this

A sensitive soul

Tucked inside of a shell

No chasing trivial pursuits

The sun lost interest

The lines become taut with vicissitudes

The mask slips away

The stars watch

As I walk a straight line

In this crooked world

I have been writing poetry for awhile now, ever since I was seventeen. So I decided to create an e-book of my poems entitled A Rook Among Sparrows: poems of the lonely dreamer, which can be found on Amazon. My poems are mostly about dreams, having them, trying to achieve them, never giving up on them. I am still trying to achieve my literary dream. It’s the same one I’ve been having since 2004.

cover2Here’s an excerpt from my e-book of poems.

Saturday Night Poetry Club

Oddity.

Like a rook among sparrows.

A glimpse into the looking glass

Doesn’t capture

Isolation.

An island of woman sinking into the sea of fears.

Tenacity.

The last leaf

Clinging in the autumn breeze.

I dare to dream.

SEAT OF MY SOUL

 

 

Let nothing hold you back from
exploring your wildest fantasies,
wishes, and aspirations.
Don’t be afraid to dream big
and to follow your dreams
wherever they may lead you.
Open your eyes to their beauty;
open your mind to their magic;
open your heart to their possibilities. 

Dare to dream.
Whether they are in color
or in black and white,
whether they are big or small,
easily attainable or almost impossible,
look to your dreams,
and make them become reality.
Wishes and hopes are nothing
until you take the first step
towards making them something! 

Dare to dream,
Because only by dreaming,
will you ever discover
who you are, what you want,
and what you can do.
Don’t be afraid to take risks,
to become involved,
to make commitment.
Do whatever it takes to make
your dreams come true.
Always believe in miracles 

and always believe in you! 

View original post 8 more words

curiosity list

Most surveys studying single people are about dating, sex, romantic love, and the desire to get married.

As Bella DePaulo says, “If we really do want to know about single life more broadly, what should we ask about (other than dating and dating and more dating)?”  She asked “others interested in singles research, or research on people who live alone, how they would answer that question”.  The following are their questions and hers.  I loved her article, ‘How to Talk to a Single Person: Life beyond dating‘ so much that I wanted to answer the questions myself:

Do you see yourself as a single person? Is it part of your identity?

Yes, being single is part of my identity.  However, it has taken me a long time to realize that it was an option.

How do you feel about being single?

I love being single!

How do you generally…

View original post 1,956 more words

The pre-goddess years-21

The Teenaged Version of Myself

she is unsure of her steps

held back by a reluctant tongue

her words are quiet

she stares shyly across rooms

her feelings are written

instead of spoken

she wades through mutinous days

and tear soaked nights

she tries to fit in

but she doesn’t belong

staring through mirrors

she wishes she was someone else

the teenaged version of myself

drew herself into a corner

home wasn’t the best

school was much worst

she was often laugh at like a running joke in sneakers

she was a tight ball of isolation

watching the world through plastic lenses

her heart had the longest longing

the teenaged version of myself

didn’t know the power of dreams and dreaming

being true the thyself

but the adult version of myself

ignores the laughter and whispers

and marches to her own off beat drum

blog image

Still. Silent. Planted firm between a rock and dreams. Patience of a pebble. No surrender of dreams.

Standing on the edge of hope and disappointment. So easily torn between keep trying and stop trying. The winds of doubt blow dreams like scraps of paper.

No matter how long it takes, never cut loose that passion that burns like fire. A fire inside your very soul. Snip. Snip the naysayers. And believe in your decade long dream coming to fruition.

She was born with a spark. Catching fire. Her torch could be seen from the hilltop.

She was born with a spark. Losing fire. The winds of doubt sent her torch teetering.

She was born with a spark. Reigniting fire. Too many tears doused her torch.

She was born with a spark.

Featured image

There once was a girl called Spark. She burned bright. But that fire in her eyes became a dying ember. You could find her on cloudy days dressed in weary blue jeans. Rain falling from brown eyes.
There once was a girl called Spark. She felt bright as the sun. But so many things threatened to smoldered her spark. Clouds of doubt clotted her mind.  You could find her wrapped in a dream.
There once was a girl called spark. Fire coarse through her veins. But the tears burned more. She felt the spark winking out like a collapsed star. No more dreams to carry. There once was a girl called Spark.