And now it's Sunday...

Looks like I'm on a writing jag! This is the second day in a row that I have written on this silly thing that nobody reads. It's basically a record, especially since I haven't written since like, August. Anyway, not much has changed since yesterday, and since I haven't written any new poems I suppose I'll just have to come up with something interesting. Oh! So I have recently become obsessed with certain famous youtube-ers, like charlieissocoollike and standardtristan. If you haven't seen either of those people, I recommend you do so. Like now. *Pause while you watch their videos and laugh* Ok now that you're back... my obsession with these wonderful characters has inspired me to start my own youtube channel, but it turns out it's harder than it may seem to be funny and... well, make people watch your videos. Thus far, I have zero (0) subscribers and about five people have watched my videos. Welcome to loser-ville, Harper! Yesss that's my name. Didn't know if you knew that... Whatever. In addition to my failure at youtube-ing (is that even a thing? I don't think it's a word), I apparently fail at this "blogging" idea. I wonder what one does to make people find them on the internet. Any suggestions? Nope, because nobody is reading this. If you are reading this, feel special (because I think you're the only one) and please, please help me out. I just want someone to know that I am here. Do you ever feel like you are the only person on the entire planet that has no friends? And spends their life inside watching random people on the internet and reading books, and ventures outside only to walk the dogs and to go to dance? And that you are the only person who does their homework on a Friday night and are disappointed because your class rank is among the top fifty out of seven hundred and you'd rather be in the top ten? Maybe I'm the only weirdo like that. Who knows? Either way, my life is extremely boring. The issue with my life is that it's extremely stressful for about three days and then it's ridiculously boring for a while. My life should get fairly interesting soon. Or slightly more interesting. I will be playing tennis at my high school (because I'm in high school now!) in March, and we begin rehearsals for Cinderella next weekend, provided I'm not going to the Kirov Academy summer program audition, which I might be but I'm not sure yet. Additionally, I am trying to go to a speech and debate meet on the 12th with my drama piece, based on the novel Shug, by Jenny Han. Basically, it's a ten-minute monologue made up of sentences and pieces cut from the book and it has to be a proper story and,  because it's supposed to be "dramatic", they are generally sad. Unfortunately, my piece is not extremely sad. I am hoping that I will be able to go to the meet and see what else is out there. But we shall see. I really should go read The Odyssey. I'm procrastinating horribly. Thankfully I have already finished the rest of my homework, although I cheated a bit on my math homework because it didn't make sense so me. My math teacher has mysteriously vanished... She was gone on Friday and hasn't put any grades in all weekend, which is surely unusual for her. Sometimes she has my test graded by the end of that. Granted, I have math first period (it's awful). I have gotten very off topic. I am going to go read that ancient book that is apparently one of the best of all time. To tell the truth, I don't really understand. I get that it's important because it's so insanely old, but it is still just a book. So yeah. There's my deal for today. I really am going now. Have a lovely Sunday.

p.s. read A Mango-Shaped Space! I got it at the book store because it looked interesting and it was quite good, although I nearly cried at the end...

Saturday Morning

Today is Saturday- It's a lovely Saturday morning and I'm sitting on my bed to write this. I haven't written in quite some time. In fact, my life has changed a great deal since I last wrote. Unfortunately, after reading my last posts, I feel that my ability to write well has decreased rather a lot since I wrote them. Ah, well. I think I am a rather odd teenager because I woke up at seven thirty this morning. No, slightly before then. Is that not slightly ridiculous? I feel rather sad, because I recently discovered that this blog has only ever had ten views. And I can be fairly certain that nine of them are mine, due to my desperate searches to regain access to this dusty old site that nobody every reads. Although I could prefer this to being famous or something of the like. I mean, internet-famous. That would be weird. The main reason I spent the last fifteen minutes trying to get back on this silly old thing was because I wanted to post a few poems I have written recently. They are not particularly interesting, and nor are they particularly good, but here they are anyway:

The Day of the Ribbon Tears

If she could, she’d run away.

She’d build herself a tree house and wait for him.

Her tears would be ribbons, slipping from her pain-filled eyes.

She would sew them into a blanket, a tent,

Something to hide her from everything that hurt.

She’d try to give them away, to sell them, because she hated them,

But they wouldn’t be worth anything to anyone else.

So she’d sit beneath the pale blue sky,

Crying her silver ribbon-tears, and wishing that they’d bring him back.

She would cry mountains of them.

They would spill from the windows of her tree house,

Cascading into a silvery mess that would slither through city streets

To find him.

And then he’d know;

He would know that she was broken

Shattered

Splintered.

Like the broken pieces of a mirror.

He would feel her pain and meet her among the shadowy trees.

His green eyes would laugh and he’d take her out into the world.

He would hold her hand and they would forget that they had been something before.

She would forget that she’d thought he had lied, told her that he’d loved her

When maybe he hadn’t.

And he’d forget that he’d moved on, forgotten the first girl he’d loved,

Held another girl’s hand.

They would lie in the tall grass, marveling at the love they shared.

They would run and dance and he’d tell her just how beautiful she was

As she ran her fingers through his golden hair.

And they’d burn her silver tears in the late afternoon, and watch the smoke disappear.

And then there's this one: 

 Coming back from the Bathroom

In this nighttime house,

Darkness seeps into the corners and doorways

Like water searching for a crack

My bare legs are long

And pale, but I can’t find the moonlight

To illuminate them.

So I stand in the dark, my eyes adjusting

From the stark and sterile bathroom brightness.

Slip up the creaking, narrow stairs

In this giant, silent house.

Yellow light pours from my open bedroom door,

A slithering, watery light

Like the light I forgot to turn out

Downstairs.

And there’s a box of crayons sitting on the floor

Next to my bed.

It smells like being young.

that I wrote last night. Coming back from the bathroom. Actually, it was nearly this morning. It was eleven twenty and I still managed to get up at seven twenty in the morning, which is ridiculous for a Saturday morning. I really ought to go shower now. So here I go. Arrivaderci, my invisible readers!