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I’m new to ‘self directed study,’ it’s a construction I’ve never known. It’s kind of a faustian bargain that resembles another self-paced activity—treading water. The program’s like an immersive plunge in deep, choppy, informational seas.

On the other hand, instead of dark, crowded auditorium classes, we’ve been studying, on sunny mornings, out by the pool, where there’s a summer-camp-like vibe.

When I say we, I mean Chella and I, we’re a two girl study group. I’ve only known her for 13 days but we have a lot in recent-common. She was in my Yale graduation class (last month) but our paths never really crossed at Yale.

She’s a tall, lithesome, black girl from Miami Florida. Not the sandy beach Miami, where palm trees sway, bikini clad models strut and flamingo-pink art-deco bars face the ocean. No, she’s from the Liberty City ghetto—and she has stories.

She say’s that getting her Yale acceptance was a sea change. People were incredulous, as if aliens had landed or everyone in her high school had won the lottery, There’s a sad but steely resignation in her voice when she says she’s never going back there, "Evah."

So, it’s 86°f here in Boston, MA, and we’re out studying by the pool. There isn’t a cloud or bird in the sky and the sun looks—well, honestly, we’re not looking at the sun—we’re college graduates—we’re in the shade. I was afraid the pool would be summer-time crowded but we’ve been the only one’s here all week. We plunge into the pool and then read.

As Blue Coupe by Twin Peaks finished playing on my Bose Soundbar, Chella professed, “I literally LOVE that song.”
“I’ve loved that song since 8th grade,” I agreed.
“I don’t think my musical taste will ever be better than it was in 8th grade.” Chella confided.
“8th grade’s when everyone’s up on trends,” I said, thinking back.

We read for a while. The only thing tainting our near resort-core experience, is the flood of material we must cover.

“I want to be jolly,”  I declared to the universe,“I’m holding that today.”
“You keep yourself so grounded,” Chella said, “like you refuse to delight in anything!”
“That’s not true!” I gasped.
“Yes, it is!,“ she updogged, if anything goes wrong, you’re just done.”
“NOoo!” I laughed. “Ok, two things, if two things go wrong,” she amended.
“That’s fair.” I admitted, “I’m a two chance girl.”  
“That’s fair,” she agreed, then she added, “I’m going to switch the vibe up.”
‘SIREN by Shygirl’ began banging as we went back to our reading.
‘Self directed study’ has it’s advantages.
.
.
Songs for this:
Count Contessa by Azealia Banks & Lone
Blue Coupe by Twin Peaks
SIREN by Shygirl
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 06/05/25:
Sea change =  a big and sudden change or transformation.
Dear Father
I’m alone in a very scary place
And I’m not certain how I got here.
I lost sight of the footprints I was following
And wandered off the pathway you laid out for me.

The wind is cold and the sky is dark.
I just heard screeches from the nearby woods
And this path ends in only brambles.
Kneeling on the rocky ground
I beseech the Lord to rescue me.
He either doesn’t hear my cry
Or this is where I need to be
To learn to never take my eyes
Away from the light that guides me.
ljm
Day 5 trying to post this.  Feeling lost.
You that never loved, let me show you how                                                              ­                  
You who never laughs, laugh out loud now                                                        
You have a smile that never is shown                                                            ­                
Let it all happen now, you are loved, you know                                                            
You with tears in your eyes, dry them up,                                                          
You with your pain, have suffered enough                                                           ­                   
You with the weight of loss & agony                                                            ­  
Let it all go you deserve to be happy
He tried his best to get past
it,                                                              ­                                                     
                                                                ­                                                    
He exhausted himself trying to go around
it,                                                             ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                           
  but he had to go through it to get it right                                                            ­                                                    
                                                                ­                                                        
  I couldn't act for him and stood by
helplessly                                                    ­                                                   
                                                                ­                                         
watching him struggle through the
emotions                                              
          ­                                                                 ­                                 
          knowing he wouldn't grow by just going through the motions
So many ways to avoid the lessons we need to learn from and watching a loved one struggle with growing pains.
The flames of the fire are
gone,                                                           ­                                                             slowly the embers grow
faint,                                                          ­                                                                ashes waltz in orange taffeta,                                                 
                                                                ­                                              
  carried up into the darkness and fade
Silence listens to the voices of the people
while on earth, a wisp of wind digresses  
In heaven God listens to each silent call  
at the footfalls of Silence...

Silence breathes quietly at the crack of dawn  
respiring softly at the ledge of twilight sunset  
Silence sits at the nucleus of our souls and lies
at the footfalls of Silence...

Silence is at the ear of the heart it does not speak
gently it leads us with a cupped hand to peace
It knows how to collect waterfalls and breezes
at the footfalls of Silence...

Silence is my linguistic heaven, my favorite speech
it is my mantra, my Yoga Master, my go to place
When things overwhelm I go to Silence and live,      
at the footfalls of Silence....
Because you cannot spot the difference
does not mean we're all the same
and sometimes what you're trying to spot
is yourself by a different name.

differently
describes you and me
those and them
and yet
we're still all flowers
from a single stem.
There are pieces of you everywhere,                                                      ­                                       
   for as far as the eye can see                                                     
        ­                                                                 ­                                                          I want to erase you, but I don't dare                                                        
                                                                ­                                                        
in case you're still in love with me                                                               ­                     
                                                                ­                                                      
So, now they've become chess pieces                                                           ­             
                                                   ­                                                               
that I move strategically                                                    ­                          
                                                                ­                                            
Praying that my love decreases,                                                       ­                               
                                 ­                                                                 ­                      
so, I can start healing                                                          ­                                      
                                                                ­                                            
Playing a game with my love,                                                            ­                    
                                                                ­                                                
don't know if I'll win or lose                                                             ­             
                                                                ­                                                        
I have been playing this long enough,                                                          ­        
                                                        ­                                                          
this game between me and you
there are so many of you
that i would love to sit down with;
maybe over a milkshake and a plate of fries;
and just talk.
i want to ask you about the boy that hurt you,
about the anger you feel deep inside
over a father who said he’d come back...
and then didn’t.
i want to run with you through pages of words and say
“oh that’s right, what a lovely metaphor.”
i want to see all your smiling faces and
thank each and every one of you for showing me kindness,
for saving my life.
i want to collaborate on novels of poetry
and laugh with you through the tears of our pasts.
so until we sip those milkshakes and eat those fries...
thank you, to
some of the most beautiful people i have never met.
to all my HePo followers/friends/ fellow poets! you have all given me a beautiful escape from Life <3
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