Perhaps I shan't be sharing any of my story. (Wise, perhaps, as I've only just finished the first chapter and I have a disgusting habit of not finishing my stories. . .) Sans Sarah, of course, as I sent her the first scene of it in the hopes of unrelenting, harsh, I'll-gut-you-now-and-feel-guilty-about-it-later criticism. (Although, she's always nice to me, so I may have gone to the wrong person. Oops? Too late now.) Anyhow, instead, since I need to do something that might be misconstrued as productive with my time, is anyone in the mood for some poems?

I'm not quite sure the story behind this one. Some cross between people often not hearing me, or else not understanding me. Which, of course, leads to my happy regurgitation of words even my English teachers can't decipher (tilly-vally, avatrol, scevity. . .) or, even better, actual gibberish.

He speaks in whispers
Well I speak in tongues
You wish for a translation
But I can offer none
It's in the inflection
Can't you hear?
The wavering?
The rise? The fall?
The fear?
The funny little giggles?
The creeping gasps?
It lurks in the eyes
It dances in hand gestures
But what's in a translation?
Those petty, simple things
What is so complex that could not be seen?
He likes English
That I can tell
But could you not grasp exasperation?
Italian, German, or Gibberish.

This one is simply because people yelling freaks me out.

Oh, so sudden, her demeanor changes
From laughter to anger
All that has been long suppressed blurted,
A spiel uncomfortable for all to hear.
Tension crawls into the air
Unwanted but unsuppressable
Some stand about awkwardly
Unsure of what to do,
Where to go.
Others cannot take it.
It is dark, it is gloomy
They walk away.

Ah, but look, they are together again.