MBT #9: Really Angsty 13 Year-Old Poetry

Lost
February 5, 2003

I never saw it coming,
I thought it would never end.
For the past few months you have been my life.
My past, my present, my future.
I depended on you for everything.
How can you not remember
all those memories shared together?
I loved you, you loved me.
You now leave me with tears not cried,
and words not said.
But now everything's different.
I'm independent and feel beautiful.
I feel perfect.
When I lost you, I found myself.
All I have to say is,
"Thanks."

It's heartbreaking hilarious and embarrassing to read my old poetry. I think I managed to hit almost every cliche (no mention of withering rose. yet.)It vexes me to think that this is really what I was about 5 years ago, that my existence revolved around a fellow fickle middle schooler in self-induced deceit, delusion, and superficiality.

And this really makes me wonder what I will think of myself 5 years from now. Will I be able to laugh at myself? Will I be proud of the person I am now? Will I be still remain unable to resist making fun of 13 year-olds?

Because it doesn't seem like that much has changed since I wrote this poem. I rush to any glimmer of instant gratification. My immaturity stunts my failed attempts to love others without expecting anything in return. I live for the temporal because the thought of life beyond myself terrifies me. And this is what gives me hope because 5 years ago, I would not have made that confession.
Even if it was online.

MBT #8: Ultimate Cabbage

Hey do you guys wanna come play ultimate cabbage?
What?
It's ultimate frisbee...but with a cabbage.

I love the looks on people's faces when you invite them to play, and the wry smiles that inevitably follow as soon as they realize that they not only get the opportunity to throw vegetables at other people, but that it becomes a critical indicator of one's marksmanship and athleticism.
I love how one of my teammates was decked out in Under Armor. And I'm still unsure of whether him holding the cabbage made him look less or more intense.
I guess I generally love seeing athletes leave it all on the field for a cabbage.
I love the bruise the cabbage left on my elbow when Pat chucked it at me because I get to hold it against him until it heals and it makes for a great story.
I love how the field soon becomes peppered with cabbage leaves, crumpled and withering casualties of an epic struggle unlike most others.
I love how easy it was to clean up afterwards with everyone's help.

I love watching the reactions of people watching us play. They tried to maintain their conversations as they walked by us, but they ended up standing there, unable to satisfy their curiosity even with perpetual double takes. I'm fairly confident we either became the subject of their conversations, or they soon became part of ours as they joined in on the game.

I love how something so simple can be so whimsical and inviting and hilarious.
I love how afterwards, we all realized we need more of this in our lives.

I love how the guys next to us offered us their frisbee.