Thoughts from ME

The Leash of Fear I see the day before me as I observe the sun. I can see the athlete in the small girl as she runs. A kitten becomes a lion, a bud to a flower, a pup to a wolf, and I...anything, less I cower. Like the balance of a tight rope walker, fear holds tight with practice, with patience, it lets in dark but shutters light Though we would be our own master, it is not always so for fear, anxiety, hesitation The foe. And the runner stalls, the kitten cries, the bud dies, the pup calls, and the walker falls. Melissa Snell 11.I.08 Who are you really, Wanderer? I see your easy smile as you pass by me on the street, sandals on your sore feet Have you walked far, Wanderer? Like your feet, your face is covered in dirt that no amount of water can wash Are those scars on your hands, Wanderer? I see and I wonder. On the mountain the sun sets Are you headed home friend? Will I see you soon? If I don't, remember me as I pray to remember you, Wanderer. Melissa Snell 27.I.09

I am not a writer, Nor be I a poet. I fake it and laugh, but my fingers itch to write. Poems are harder, in a sense, than novels of any length, it calls for precision gone lax. Characters, setting, clothing, accents, this to there to here in my mind. I see them run. I smell their fear, I touch their faces in my dreams. I am their creator and I am their lover. I am their destroyer and they are my guide. Melissa Snell 29.I.09 What do you want to be when you grow up, up, up! A sailor, an astronaut a doctor, a pilot who goes ups, ups, ups! What do you want to do when you're old? Bake, bake bake! A mom, a ride, a provider of allowance who bakes, bakes, bakes! I want to be all, a singer, writer, psychologist who bakes, bakes, bakes! A doctor to kids' knees, the woman who picks them up, up, up! What do you want to be when you grow, be when you're old A family A wife to him, a mother to them, a doctor to it a friend to all. Melissa Snell 29.I.09

The following is a poem I wrote about the novel I never promised you a rose garden , an autobiographical novel by Joanne Greenberg 1964. Here's the link to read up about it from wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Never_Promised_You_a_Rose_Garden_(novel) I never promised you a Rose Garden. My health is my own. When you aren't looking, the me you know, fades. I am in a place all mine. Mine follow me, take care of me, the way you don't, can't, wish for, hope they will. Sometimes I am good, I am here. Most times I'm bad, I'm there. The place you left me is lonely and mean. The attendees watch me. I am no criminal. I'm a criminal to my own. Alone I'm with company. With company I am alone. I never promised you a Rose Garden. Melissa Snell 29.I.09

Today has just been a weird, kind of... LOOONG day... I haven't been quite as busy as I usually am. My acting class got out early so I walked Rach to the shuttle spot, dropped in on the Major Fair (Don't worry, I didn't change my major!) Then I tutored, went home for an hour and I am now in Creative Writing. I just thought about how scary the final will be for this class... My professor is a cute old man who writes a ton of poetry I just don't get. I think I am starting to like his work better though. Rachel has gone to CA for the weekend for her grandma's funeral. I don't really know why I included this information since the only person who reads my blog, whenever she does, is Rachel! My cousin Rachel, not roommate, is finally starting college in like July I think.

Today is the second weekend I've been in cold Rexburg and I already want to be home - it's silly really but the cold seeps into me no matter what clothes I'm wearing, no matter where I am. Jay has gone to Saudi Arabia but we e-mail, which is much better than nothing. Today Rachel and I made chocolate chip cookies! And we are watching Gone With The Wind - it's an awful movie I think but it's good... which is interesting since there's like 1 actually nice person in it! The cookies are delicious though :) I like my classes. I am taking six classes. My English classes are wonderful and most of my professors are really funny. Both of my English teachers are old and both said, "This is my last semester teaching." One meant the class and the other meant teaching in general. The latter is a cute old gentleman by the name of Donnell Hunter. He's quite old and came out of fifteen years of retirement to teach two semesters of Creative Writing. Every week I