Art and Writing by Karianna Graves
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What to write.. I don’t know what to write about. I don’t know what to think about. I don’t know what to be about. And I don’t know how to feel about that. Sometimes I feel like I’m not good enough. For what? I don’t know. That’s just how I feel. Sometimes I feel like a man trapped in a woman’s body. Sometimes I feel like I should have been born black. Sometimes I wonder: WHY? Why live? Why die? Why read? Why write? Page Five
Why laugh? Why cry? But most of all.. Just why? Sometimes life seems undefined and pointless. It feels like we’re only given life to taste it and die. Well, you know what I say? FUCK IT! We were given our lives to live them, not sit back and watch them from the sidelines. And if someone has a problem with the way I live my life; Too bad! Because I live life my way, you don’t like my way? GO THE OTHER WAY! Page Six
Feelings
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Sadness. Anger. Pain. Misery. These are the lessons I learned from you. Hate. Bitterness. Jaded. Tears. These are the feelings I have towards the world. Because of you.
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Joy. Wonder. Happiness. Light. These are the things I try to put into the world. Because these are the things you took out of mine. Why? I ask myself that every day? Why did you hate me? Were you right? Will I really never become anyone? Fear. You drilled it into my head. Fear of death. Fear of life. Fear of pain, of hate, and hurt.
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But also fear of love, and light, and joy. Fear that my own happiness would turn on me, and begin to hate me. Like you did. Fear that life will never be anything more than a walk to death. Because of you I know fear. But I also know how to conquer it. Because of you. I still don’t know if you were a curse or a blessing. Did you tear me down to build me up? Or did you build me up to tear me down? I may never know.
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Glossary I told y’all I’d put it in here somewhere.. so here it is!
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Here are some translations for those of us who might not know them.. Dirty Kid: homeless youth left to sleep under bridges. Schwilly Kid: those kids you see on the street that never seem to not have a beer in their hand. Street Kid: most generic term for homeless youth. Y’all: you all. Wanna: want to. Kewl: cooler way of saying cool. Page Twenty
Venomous Thoughts Death— impending, always there writhing like snakes at your feet the possibility of a horrible ending slithering after you as you run through the trees. One bite. One bite from these messengers of death and doom, and you’ll be sent into oblivion. Death—Always following surrounding waiting where you can’t see it. Page twenty-Five
It is the boa constrictor wrapped around the branch above your head. It is the anaconda hiding in the grass at your feet, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It surrounds you, slowly, hesitantly at first unsure whether to accept its prize. Page TwentySix
Eventually it is everywhere your hair, your clothes it’s even in your boots, devouring every part of you like a hoard of hungry snakes.
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Anger Anger looks like balled fists and clenched teeth. Anger sounds like screaming, and yelling, and pots and pans being thrown across a room. Anger feels like fire, moving through your body with intent to kill. Anger smells like sweat, tears, and bitterness. Anger tastes like a granny smith apple, with an aftertaste of charcoal and fire.
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I Am.. I am like Asian food, sweet, sour, and sometimes spicy. Like the weather, I can even be a bit icy. I am cool and calm, like a midnight breeze. But sometimes, I am as strong and wild as the seas. I am like a well placed belch, proud and powerful, projected about. I am like the rainbow created by a broken water spout. Page Thirty-One
GOING INSANE Think I might be going insane, hearing echoes in my brain, I’m always fearing siunds, eeel lige simeine’s in my fiuse, but tfere’s never anybidy tfere. And I just can’t ignire, anymore, All these noises, and voices, tfey’re everywfere. But when I open the door, tfere ain’t ni ine ariund, and niw I din’t fear a siund. So I shut the door and sit back down, Staring back at it, I almost expect to see it shatter to the ground, But nitfing fajjens, I din’t even gniw why I thought that it would. Page Thirty-Two
What are these thoughts? Why are they here? Make them all end, Oh I wish that I could! I swear I can hear the sound of locks locking, And feet walking, I can’t tell ie I fear anybidy talging. I think I hear footsteps on the stairs, I’m telling mysele it ain’t ni ine tfere. I gind ie winder ie I’m dreaming, I swear to the stars I hear a little girl screaming. And now the sound of all the doors creaging, I wisf tfis fiuse wasn’t always so creepy, hi winder everybidy’s always leaving, I just din’t understand, tfe cfiice was put in my hands. I now know what I need to do, the question is whether I can follow through. Page Thirty-Three
MY LIFE My life is the ocean, flowing strong and bold. My life is a tree growing tall and old. My life is a tiger, majestic and graceful. My life is a broken leg, sometimes painful. My life is a river, snaking though the trees. My life is a hive, full of deadly bees. My life is nature. And nature is my life.
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