skeleton

icy fingers chill and withered
reach forth with glee from distant past
hands thought dead begin to quiver
I stare unmoving, shocked, aghast

through that door ‘neath lock and key
they seize my frantic beating heart
memories lost surge forth set free
can I live on, so torn apart?

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Attempt

July 28, 2014

She traced her finger along the base of my scalp, right above the nape of my neck. I flinched. She said nothing, but the wordless condemnation blared out loud and clear in my head. 

I should have known I couldn’t part my hair in a straight line. What was I thinking, putting my hair in pigtails? 

My mother’s icy finger, still pointing and jeering at my pounding head, underlined the truth I already knew. 

My pigtail attempt, like so many other efforts in my life, was a failure.

Mini-Me Monday: The King of Cheese

This one was written ten years ago, way back in middle school! I think Mini Maria was a little cheesy… 😉

The King of Cheese by Maria Ferguson

This is a story about the King of Cheese. That’s why it is entitled “The King of Cheese.”  If it wasn’t about the King of Cheese, I might have called it “Unicorn Pastures” or “A Day at School.”  However, this story is about a king, a mouse, who rules over cheese (quite literally, in fact).

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Aching for you

For a headache, aspirin

For a muscle ache, ibuprofen 

For an ear ache, antibiotic

For a stomach ache, Tums

For a heartache…what?

I know one thing for sure:

I feel the pain like a cut.

And I can’t get the cure:

It’s miles away. 

When push comes to shove,

The ache’s here to stay.

Oh, my dear love,

The cure’s simple to find,

Just not to do. 

It’s clear in my mind:

I just need you. 

Anniversary

Happy anniversary to meeeee!

I just noticed today is my one-year WordPress anniversary! I feel a little silly acknowledging it since I haven’t posted in forever, but my best (and pretty much only) blogging happened last summer, so I’m hoping to pick up where I left off starting ASAP.

So, yes, I’m still alive, still an engineering student (one year left for undergrad, woooo!), still a writer, still not sure what I want to do with my life. I wrote a great paper on wingsuit flying for my technical writing class that I should post on here. Designing wingsuits would maybe potentially be my dream job…but I digress.

On my one year blogoversary, I do hereby vow to revive my writing and thereby Behold the Infinite this summer, and take advantage of the time while I have it! I’ll be taking an intensive Russian course just for funsies for most of it, but that should inspire more writing, not replace it, right? Да!

So с днём рождения to my blog, hello again, world, and I hope to be seeing more of you very soon!

Poet

“You are a poet,”
She told me,
And maybe words can make it so.
My pen blazes its trail
Heedless
Regardless
Careless
And yet
So
Very
Careful.
I’d like to be a poet
But I am an adolescent:
Ungainly, gawky, disjointed
Growing, perhaps,
Maturing, maybe,
But still covered in those awful pimples
And sweating through my makeup.
I feel a longing
Discontent
Baffling in a way that makes perfect sense.
An “if only” added to a “but actually”
Sandwiched between two slices of denial
With a side of greasy fries.
I pause to self-edit
But make myself press on.
Maybe if I don’t acknowledge the failures,
They’ll simply
Disappear.

Written March 13, 2014