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swagless-talks-alot · 3 years

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Memories

Middle school.

Rusty benches, rotting lockers, and prepubescent children.

8th period is when I learned that he would be moving away. He would get to move out of this hell hole and move to a brand new country.

"Are you ever going to come back?" I had asked as I unpacked my History notebook from my bag. But before he could answer, his loud ass friends entered the room. Mark was the type of guy who wasn't immensely popular himself, but people knew him and he knew people. Most were either jealous of him, or loved him, no in between.

I would say I was more on the jealous side. Not only was he on the dance team, my friends wouldn't shut about how "nice he is" or "how adorable he is" or "how good he is at math".

"Have you read his poems? Apparently he has a poem book."

It's not just my friends either, it's my parents too. Unfortunately for me, Mark's parents and my parents are part of the same friend circle. Which means constant comparison. Ever since elementary school.

But it's not like they were wrong. And it didn't help that I liked him either. It may have been my 13 year old hormones, or the fact that his smile seemed to light up the world around him, but despite how sickly jealous I was, I was so entranced. I remember crying after hearing a rumour that he liked someone one day. A weird occurrence as I never cried over anything. The rumour turned out to be false because I asked him about it the next day and he said "No, who is that?".

We were what I would call acquaintances. One of my friends dated one of his friends in 6th grade for a week before breaking up in the most dramatic way possible.

"You know, I heard they kissed once," I remember telling Mark.

He replied with a grimace and said, "Eww that's gross, why would you kiss someone?"

I remember laughing and telling him that it wasn't a big deal.

After that, we talked once in a while. If we were in the same class, we would ask each other about homework or make basic small talk if none of his friends were around.

And so, as History class ended, the 13-year-old boy came up to me. "Sorry for ignoring your question earlier, uhh I don't know if I'm coming back or not actually. I think I'm going to be living in Korea for a while," he smiled. "Don't tell anyone about it okay?" He said playfully. "Shhh".

He giggled, put on his backpack, and ran up to catch up with his friends.

And that was the last time I ever saw him.

Honestly, I was glad. I thought that the source of my insecurities was gone and that my crush on him would disappear. I was a progressive child, so I got over him quickly, but unfortunately I still had my insecurities. I thought I would never cross paths with him again and as bittersweet as it sounds, I preferred it over the constant conflict in my heart whenever I saw him. I got over my insecurities slowly, throughout high school. My life without Mark Lee, was great, wonderful even. So then why, at the thought of seeing him again, run at the chance to intern at his company? My desperate ass didn't even search him up on google because I didn't want to know what he looked like now. My view of him is still of a 5'4 teenager boy, with a high pitched voice and braces. So when I was met with a guy who looked too handsome to be real, you could expect that I was taken aback.

Mark, who I wasn't sure was Mark, was wearing a plain black shirt and some khakis. He also had light blue hair that looked really soft but also looked slightly fried, perhaps from the dye.

"This is Mark Lee right, I heard you were the one who was supposed to show me to the intern manager or something."

"Uhh yeah! I'm Mark, nice to meet you. What's your name?" He said enthusiastically.

He didn't remember me. Or he just wasn't sure. I didn't want to seem insane by saying I went to his old school so I kept quiet.

"I'm Hannah Wang, I'm from Vancouver", I shifted my weight onto my other leg nervously.

"Wait, Hannah Wang? Did you ever go to Westwood Middle?" Mark asked, his eyes lighting up.

He remembered. Holy shit, Mark Lee remembered me. "Yeah, I was waiting for you to say something." I said as we walked into the recording room. "You uh, glew up a lot, I could barely recognize you."

"Ah really? You glew up a lot too- not that you weren't pretty back then- I mean not like that-" Mark panicked.

"So you didn't think I was pretty?" I chuckled.

We began walking inside the building, and the recording rooms became visible.

"No I mean you were, and still are- ahh" Mark's face was now 3x redder than it was before.

“You’re bold, calling me pretty and all” I laughed as I scanned the posters on the wall. “Who are they?” I pointed to a poster of 10 men who looked around my age. I noticed that Mark was on it. He was wearing a race car? jacket and had black hair with blonde highlights.

Mark, who was noticeably all flustered, took a moment to respond. “Ahh that’s the group I’m in… one of them at least.”

I looked at him. “You’re in another group?”

He nervously laughed, “Yeah it’s no big deal. I’m in this one, NCT 127, SuperM and NCT Dream.”

“Well wow…” After all of these years, he was still out here doing the most. “I expected nothing less haha” I joked. “It must be hard.”

“Yeah.. well I like being busy so it’s honestly very fun.” He said with a smile. “Wait, you’re interning at SM but you don’t know the groups?”

“Dude, I’ve been so busy I haven’t kept up with anything. My friend told me to apply for an internship here and I accepted it as a joke because I didn’t think I’d get in. I didn’t know you became a k-pop idol until like a month ago.”

“Oooh” Mark nodded understandingly. He started walking to some of the other rooms. “Uhh I think I’m supposed to show you to Mr. Kim? He told me to tell you that he was sorry he couldn’t meet with you in person. There’s a slight chance he might be infected..” Mark frowned. “I’ll escort you to a room where you can meet with him. You came kind of early so I need to get the other two interns as well.” He turned to look at me. “Does that sound good?”

I honestly didn’t hear half of what he said because I was staring at his face. “Yeah yeah sounds good!” I centered myself again.

We went to an auditorium which was quite huge but empty. I assumed press conferences were held here. There was also a huge projector screen at the front of it which had Zoom open.

“You can just sit at any of the tables,” Mark said. “Oh yeah Mr.Kim asked me if you were vaccinated yet?”

I nodded. “Yep all good and immune to the virus.” I smiled.

And then he left and I was all alone in an empty black room. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I exhaled. (Yes and the floor is made up of floor.) I also didn’t realize how fast my heart was beating. Honestly, he hadn’t changed at all. Looking at him unlocked so much nostalgia of my younger days and I blushed to myself at the thought of the journal entries I wrote about him as a child. I wanted to talk to him about so much and I wondered why I didn’t reach out to him sooner. It had been an insanely long time since I last thought about my old “rival”, and I only started pondering it when I realized I would be interning at his company. Him becoming an idol wasn’t actually too surprising, my journal entries told me that he was into dancing a lot and I do recall him performing a Shinee song at one of our “family meetups”. I don’t have a lot of memories from middle school but that’s one that I can recall pretty vividly. He was doing it with 2 of his other friends and the performance was really funny because one of the kids fell and hit his nose on the edge of the sofa. I wonder if he remembered all of this.

I was taken out of my thoughts when two other people, accompanied by Mark, walked into the room. They were a guy and a girl who both looked a little older than me and they didn’t look like they knew each other. They both took seats at separate tables. Mark on the other hand walked up to me.

“I think the meeting will start in a bit.” He smiled. “I have to go but good luck with everything! It’s insane how we met again after like… 7 years? Dude, I miss Vancouver so much I really hope we can talk later and catch up on everything y'know?”

I laughed a little, glad that he felt the same way as me. “Yeah definitely! So many things changed after you left, I swear to god it’s like a completely different place.”

“Yeah I visited once on tour-” his phone started ringing. “Shoot, they’re gonna kill me. I have to go, Hannah. Uhhh I’ll see you around?”

I smiled. “Yeah I’ll see you around.”

#marklee #mark lee #mark #nct #mark x reader #mark fanfic #mark oneshot #fluff #nct 127 #nct dream #nct u #super m #oneshot #lee minhyung #leeminhyung #lee mark #mark x y/n #mark lee x y/n

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poetryportal · 7 years

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At The Tumblr P.A. (Meet Pierianensorcell)

Hello, my name is Robert, and I’m a poetry addict.

*HI ROBERT!*

I guess it all started back in the 8th grade in Arizona. My mom found my notebook hidden under my bed. Curiosity getting the better of her, she opened and read it. I’m not sure what she was expecting to find, but I don’t think it was a bunch of poems I’d written. I can’t say I was completely happy when she handed it to me, but then she said, “These are really, really good, Robby. Your dad used to write when he was your age too.” Then she asked, “why are you hiding them?” “Well, because it seems kinda gay.” “No Robby, actually, there’s no better way for a guy to get the girl. Keep writing, who cares what people think.” Not long after that, I watched the movie, “Dead Poet’s Society” and a quote from Robin William’s character, John Keating, changed my life forever. He said, “We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?“ I’ve been searching for that verse ever since. Flash forward 25 years, and I’m still writing. Not every day, month, or even year, but I’m still writing. I’ve been in Missouri the last few months, but plan on moving back to north Texas soon. I’m about as bipolar as they come, and it’s affected my life in every way imaginable. Four psych hospitals for bipolar depression in the last 8 years, and have been on every drug they have. The drugs kill my writing though. I’ll live with the depression. It’s better than feeling nothing. I don’t have a particular style or theme, but although it sometimes seems cliche or juvenile to the poetry community at large, I love to ryhme. To me, it’s more challenging and draws in readers that aren’t necessarily poetry lovers. And I write because I must. Helps calm my mind. I’m sure I’m not alone in not having a favorite poem, so I will share a song and the lyrics to “Epitaph” by King Crimson. Enjoy! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FW-N50UgA4

#portal biography series #submission

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limejuicer1862 · 5 years

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Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Rachael Ikins

Rachael Ikins has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize & CNY Book Award multiple times and won the 2018 Independent Book Award for Just Two Girls. She featured at the Tyler Gallery 2016, Rivers End Bookstore 2017, ArtRage gallery 2018, Caffe Lena, Saratoga Springs, Aaduna fundraiser 2017 Auburn, NY, Syracuse Poster Project 2015, and Palace Poetry, Syracuse. Her work is included in the 2019 anthologies Gone Dogs and We Will Not Be Silenced the latter Book Authority’s #2 pick for the top 100 Best New Poetry Books for 2019. She has 7 chapbooks, a full length poetry collection and a novel. She is a graduate of Syracuse University and Associate Editor of Clare Songbirds Publishing House. She lives in a small house with her animal family surrounded by nature and is never without a book in hand.

Associate Editor Clare Songbirds Publishing House, Auburn NY

https://www.claresongbirdspub.com/shop/featured-authors/rachael-ikins/

2018 Independent Book Award winner (poetry)

2013, 2018, 2019 CNY Book Award nominee

2016, 2018 Pushcart nominee

Www.writerraebeth.wordpress.com

https://m.facebook.com/RachaelIkinsPoetryandBooks/

@poetreeinmoshun on Instagram

@writerraebeth on Tumblr

@nestl493 on Twitter

Above all, practice kindness

The Interview

1. What inspired you to write poetry?

I started writing poetry in second grade when I was 7. I still know that silly poem by heart that I’d written for Halloween. And it was about cats. Some things never change, although I write about more than cats now. As far as inspiration I suppose it was hearing it—I speak several languages— poetry is its own language. My first grade teacher had us copy poems to learn penmanship from the chalk board. My father used to have me read psalms from the Bible at bed time as I learned to read more. I think I was just born a poet. Only one period of my life was I unable to write and that was caused by serious adverse reaction to medications. It was a bleak time.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

I have already mentioned my dad and my first grade teacher. The most significant person was my 8th grade English teacher. A poet and author herself, she presented the unit on poetry ( met with groans esp. from the boys) by having us go out into the community to find poems in magazines and periodicals and cut them out. To create a notebook of poems. She had us each get a copy of two seminal poetry books, Poetry USA and Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle and we were assigned poems and practiced. We performed for a small crowd one afternoon in the school library. It made a huge difference to be taught by someone who was passionate about poetry. No English teacher for the rest of my school years ever came close. We are still friends. She is in her 80s now and still writing in multiple genres, attending workshops and publishing.

3. How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

I’m not sure what this question refers to. Older in history poets or older people I knew who liked or wrote poetry. My father was given, as were all soldiers, The Pocket Book of Poetry. Soldiers would carry it under their helmets. My dad still had his copy, and we used to read from that little book. So I was aware of the masters as a kid, but had not known an actual adult poet until I was 14.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

I tend to work in the mornings. I browse markets using social media a lot, too. If I find something interesting I will match up the pieces I want to submit and then revise and polish. As far as new work, again, it tends to be written mornings. I was riding my bike yesterday morning, and a poem started up in my head. This has always been a way I write. Other days something will happen, something that has been subconsciously simmering will say “It’s time!” Whatever else I had planned that day will take back seat to the need to write, and I may write for 5 hours straight.

Walking or riding and letting my mind roam. Once the body is craving relief, all extraneous clutter- thought goes away and clears space for something new to appear. I just listen for it.

5. What motivates you to write?

A feeling of not having achieved some mysterious rubicon yet. I have won a lot of prizes and as well published quite a lot of books with three publishers in multiple genres, and yet I am just driven. I also have to say, I think I can’t help it. Writing is like breathing to me. “Write or die.” I would also like to make a significant amount of money at my craft/passion to make a dent in my monthly budget. Would I like to support myself at it? For sure, but I don’t know if that will ever happen. I have intense focus and ability to pursue something no matter who detracts from it. That has done well for me, too. Because in spite of teacher support, my family never took my writing seriously until the past decade.

6. What is your work ethic?

My work ethic has always been work hard and help one another. We are all in this together. Contests aside, we are not competitors though some act that way. Help someone else. Don’t trample someone with your ambition. Pay it forward. Honesty. Write honestly.

7. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

Oh, that is an easy one. I first tried to read Tolkien to myself as an 8 year old. Was a tad daunting. Instead I read all of Milne’s Winnie the Pooh books. The classics. Read Tolkien again in my 20s and was hooked. Both these authors made a mark on me somehow, scarred my heart and brain because decades later after writing nothing but poetry since age 14, in my 40s I wrote a series of children’s stories and the initial chapters of what became the first book in the Tales from the Edge of the Woods series, Totems. My understanding of fantasy and my choice of magical characters and so on was sparked by those great authors. My children’s stories stayed in a box until about a year ago, through 7 moves. I showed them to a publisher last year and we worked on edits. A Piglet for David will be coming from Clare Songbirds Publishing House later this year, the first in a series of young reader chapter books.

8. Who of today’s writers do you admire and why?

I admire J. K. Rowling though I am not a Harry Potter fan. Like her, I have known horrible poverty. You just do the work, period. And if you become successful, you do good with it. I also have always admired poet Marge Piercy. Since her book The Moon is Always Female in the ‘80s with its erotic poems connected to the natural world and also cat poetry Marge has seemed to appear along the journey just when I needed an example to follow. I have also been at work on straight fiction, a lesbian adventure/ romance for awhile. I have never been fond of reading explicit sexual descriptions. It bores me. Do it, don’t discuss it lol.

I had to write a love scene and had no idea how to do so. One thing about love scenes is it is easy for them to be unimaginative.

I was in a bookstore and found an anthology Best Lesbian Erotica, not sure of the year. Looking through the table of contents I saw Marge Piercy had a short story in it. So I bought it, read her story and the rest of them, then faced off one night, sweating, in front of my computer and wrote the scene. A few years later my story “The Horse Rescuer” was accepted for publication, and I was paid probably the most for one piece I’ve been so far.

In 2014 I noticed Marge on FaceBook so I private-messaged her, one of those “You don’t know me but…” expressions of gratitude for her presence in my literary life. She responded and suggested I submit to her June Poetry Intensive. She chooses 12 students for a week long workshop every year. I finally got to meet my hero.

I like Mary Oliver’s poetry, too, but Marge is the one who has always been there in some sort of magical way. There are really too many authors for me to list.

9. Why do you write as opposed to doing anything else?

I can’t not write. And when a poem in particular or a scene if we’re talking prose, starts coming together in my mind, I have to stop whatever else I’m doing. It’s like going into labor I guess. You can’t tell the baby you’ve changed your mind, stay in there.

10. What would you say to someone who asks “How do you become a writer.”

You write. The best way to become a writer is to read everything you can get your hands on. Then you write. Maybe you start out emulating a style of someone you like to read. Keep writing and eventually your own voice will be heard. Writing is the most labor-intensive, long-term gamble of a profession going. You can theoretically spend, for example, 5 years writing a novel, another several seeking an agent and publisher if you want to go the path of the big 5 publishers, and yet you can spend a whole decade of your life on that one project and it may never be accepted. Or sell. Know that up front. Study. Go to workshops. Find a writing group. Read at open mics. And if/ when you reach a point where you have something to submit, read the specs the publisher lists as to how to submit to their publication. It shows respect. Many a writer has been summarily rejected for not submitting the way the publisher requested. Be tough. Opinions are completely subjective. Being rejected by a publication is meaningless. Editors are human beings. We all have different tastes. Don’t take it to heart. If you are lucky enough to get a note of feedback along with the rejection, learn from that. Read books about writing.

It’s hard. Be aware. Being a writer is not for the faint of heart. If you are serious about it you will pursue it no matter what. We only pass this way one time. So if you really want to do this, do it.

11. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

Right now I am in the midst of launching my mixed-genre memoir, Eating the Sun. It is the love story of my husband and me. Organized by seasons of the year, the garden is the vehicle that takes the reader on the journey. Each section starts with narrative and then has poetry related to it, and finally recipes created by us from garden ingredients we grew. I use my artwork often in my books when publishers allow it.

This book has pen and inks, photography and cover art by me. I have a second manuscript submitted to a publisher. It is all poetry titled Confessions of a Poetry Whore. Another poetry manuscript to be sent this fall is titled Riding in Cars with Dogs. It will be the companion book to my previously published For Kate: a Love Story in Four Parts written after the death of my beloved cat, Katie. Since grief is a universal experience and so is love, no matter what shape the beloveds, this book is accessible to anyone who has lost someone. The second fantasy book of the Tales of the Woodland series, Beach Wrack has been written and edited professionally and is in the queue with a mid-level publisher. Book 3, Through the Hedgerow is half written.

All four or five of the young reader chapter books are written as well. A Piglet for David will be Book 1. These also have my artwork as illustrations. My work is contained in 5 upcoming anthologies, and I am eagerly awaiting copies. All releasing this summer and fall. Both writing and artwork.

Last but not least, I am at work on a thriller/horror genre novel. Haven.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Rachael Ikins Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

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thepitofemotions · 7 years

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Depression, Music, and Self-Loathing

It’s incredible to think that something so harmful, so heartbreaking, something that has caused over ten-million deaths could be so beneficial to a writer. It starts quite simply, this pit forms in your stomach, your eyes glaze over with darkness, this immense feeling of loneliness kicks in, and the first thing you do is scurry over to a pen and paper and just pour every ounce of emotion you have on to it. Many have felt this way, King, Twain, William, even J.K. Rowling who specialized in writing books for children has suffered from depression.They have their novels and autobiographies to tell you about their story, but this one is mine.

This all starts in the year 2015, I was just finishing my sophomore year in high school, and failing my English class. Now, english was never something I was especially wonderful at, but I had never once gotten any grade below a B. On March 17, I’ll never forget the day, Mr.Orr ( the English teacher) pulled me aside after class and said to me, ‘I’m extremely concerned about your grade, is everything alright?’ During this time I had never experienced anything like this before, I stopped eating, I didn’t want to leave my room or hang out with friends, I didn’t even want to go to show choir rehearsal anymore which is the one thing I cherished most in this world. I said to Mr. Orr, ‘I don’t know what’s going on, I just feel so sad all the time and it feels like nothing can change it.’ Mr. Orr had also experienced depression in his early twenties so he knew exactly what was going on. He told me, ‘For the rest of the quarter, if you can write me exactly what you feel in class I will give you a B.’ Just that alone took this huge stress off my shoulders. After the first week of doing this, I began to notice a shift in my mood. I started to enjoy choir again, which was the class that directly followed English, and for a brief two hour block in my day I felt like things were back to normal.

Once junior year started I started writing on my own more, but sadly, I began to feel sadder and sadder as time passed by. You see, writing alone was not enough to appease my conscious. I would spell out exactly what I was feeling in the form of a poem but the feelings wouldn’t go away, in fact, sometimes it made them worse. That was when I talked to my choir director about it. He was like the father I never had, I asked him what I should do, and he, as all choir directors should, told me to sing. ‘Whenever you feel like you have nowhere else to go, go to my practice room and just sing till your heart's content.’ I’ll never forget those words Mr. Manley told me. So I did, In my break from periods three to five I sat in the practice room, in front of the piano, and sang a song about whatever I was feeling in the moment. And amazingly enough, it did the same thing writing did for me just a few months prior. I started feeling like myself all the time and for the first time in the longest time I could say I was actually happy. But all of that changed on August 8, 2016. As all heroes have a tragic flaw, mine was a girl. Her name was Haylie, and the moment I saw her I was swept away by her beauty. On August 8th we began dating. What was supposed to be the person who made me the happiest, inadvertently made me the most unhappy I have ever been in my entire life. The big break I had in my schedule, I was in the practice room, in front of the piano, on the phone with her. I would go over to her house everyday, and be with her, instead of playing music. This went on for seven months. I started sinking further and further into a depression, until I felt like I was at the point of no return.

This is the part of the story that is so sad that I recommend you skip this paragraph and go straight to the conclusion. I warm you, if you continue reading, you will go into my innermost thoughts. And even though this story will have a happy ending, it was a very rough and tortuous path to get there. My entire life I want to be a recording artist, I wanted to write music even though I didn’t understand how to. On December 28, 2016 I had given up, I couldn’t take it anymore. Haylie left me, I felt like my parents wanted no part with me, my friends ignored me. I looked in the mirror and I couldn’t recognize the person staring back at me. It was almost like some distant memory that you could hardly remember. It was like if you took all the love and happiness out of what I used to be and just looked what was left. The pain, and torment that I had been through the past year and a half. I was ready to leave, all I had wanted was to get rid of the pain by any means necessary, I would do anything not to suffer anymore. I looked back to my desk and found the notebook of poems I wrote and wish for that to be enough again, or maybe the piano that was to my right. I sat on my bed and began to weep. All I wanted to know was why; why did this eighteen year old kid have to suffer through all of this? Why did the person who tried his best his entire life to care about everyone he talked to have to be cursed with this horrible disease? I couldn’t take it anymore, so I went outside with my book of poems, dosed it in lighter fluid, lit a match, and watched as every emotion I had felt for almost two years went away. I watched myself turn into nothing more than a pile of ash.

It was then when I heard it, this faint ringing in my head, almost like a whisper. This sound was melancholy, yet, to me it sounded peaceful. I felt this urge inside of me to write again, and to sing, I thought I could never feel it again, but there it was playing in my head in a constant loop. This sound was unlike anything I had ever heard before, and I couldn’t quite make out what it was. Then, all of a sudden, it hit me. This was a song, no, this was my song. I rushed inside, stole one of my mother’s notebooks, and began doing the thing that started it all, writing. This turned into the most precious piece of literature I will every write. Once I finished the song it hit me, depression isn’t a curse, depression is a gift that few know what to do with. Without it I couldn’t of been able to write the things I value most in this world. And it is because of depression, that I am the person here today. As much as it sucked, with all the pain and suffering, the humiliation, the crying, the self-loathing, the self-harm, I wouldn’t, I couldn’t dream of ever going back. It is because of depression that I am the writer I am today.

#depression #wtiting #peace

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