brusque teen

here in college
it's as if nobody knew i was a loser in highschool and everyone wants to be friends.

they're more shallow than the kitty pool and
i dont think they've ever gone skin deep.

personalities made of expectations and empty fridays.
lost in snapchat filters and instagram captions.
clawing away at their hearts.
trying to feel something.


this is for all of you.
just be yourself for only yourself.
dont try to change who you are.

instead.
fall in love with yourself.
fall in love with your uniqueness.
fall in love with your scars and the way they fill your empty spaces.
fall in love with your past and every aspect of the present.


look side to side and up and down.
accept that your backwards and inside out. 

disregard anyone that says you need to be something you're not,
because there is infinite beauty in who you really are.

and once you do this,
the people that truly matter will come into your life.
and you can laugh at the absurdity of it all.

i've been thinking.

i've been thinking about you.

i've been thinking about you all day.

i've been thinking about if you've been thinking about me.

i think we would be good together.
i think the smell of you is a drug.
i think I'm intoxicated.

i think i hate you.
i think i like you.
i think you're too perfect.

i think it would be okay if we held hands again.
i think i like the way your hands feel.
i think i like the way they feel on my skin.

i don't think you think about me.
i don't think you feel it.
i don't think you know how i feel.
i don't think you know what you're doing to me.
i think i'm an idiot.
i think i'm delusional.
i think i'm going insane.

i think i've been thinking too much.

she was the dark side of the moon.
just a whimper in the wind.
she was animal crackers and the number 4
she had flawless skin and a broken heart
but her face never showed it.

he was a face in the hall.
just a crumb of the cake.
he was a southern boy who would never see the northern lights.
he had shaky hands and a distant childhood
but never once did he cry.

they were just kids trying to capture the sun.
and wolfs crying to the moon.
but together they were everything.
long drives, loud music, and soft words.
they knew in another life their branches had grown intertwined.
and only the stars they gazed at foresaw how they would change each other.

i remember when i learned my first swear. it was at the butterfly park.

i remember when my orange tree was the tallest thing in the world.

i remember the first time i cracked my head open. my brother hit me with a bat.

i remember the time when i first realized that i liked being an artist.

i remember the first time i saw my dad cry. i was sitting on my grandmothers wool rug.

i remember when i thought i could never get sunburned.

i remember when i thought i had super powers.

i remember walking with my mother to pick up pine cones from my favorite climbing tree that was chopped down. that was the first loss i ever experienced.

i remember wearing matching outfits with my siblings to every theme park.

i remember when my house was alive. now it creaks, not from footsteps, but the absence of footsteps. it reminds me how empty it is here.

i remember the sweet smell of the sequoia trees at Yosemite. you could smell it from miles away, before you even entered the forest.

i remember when i pushed my dog down the swirly slide.

i remember my dad teaching me how to whistle.

i remember spending hours at the clubhouse in the attic. we found the coolest things up there.

i remember how i felt when i moved away from California.

i remember spending hours at the clubhouse in the attic. we found the coolest things up there.

i remember when i was happy.

i wish i could stop this and start living.

i've enjoyed writing this blog.
it's been a way for me to work though a lot of tough things.
its honestly changed me more than i can express.
i dont know where i'd be today if i hadn't taken this class.
yeah, it seems like i'm over emphasizing the effect it's had on my life but trust me. i'm under emphasizing.
and there are just two more things i'd like to say.
one is to you kyle nelson. you have made a huge impact in my life. the way you taught us to open our eyes. and see things. to create things.  its truly changed my life and has helped me figure out who i am and what i want to do. i hope you realize the way you help and change your students. thank you.

and lastly, i'd like to thank all of you for reading my blog, and for all the comments and encouragement. 

sincerely,
ashby orgill

death.
ive felt his shadow on my back too many times.
ive seen his dirty work too many times.
for a while i forgot myself.
all i saw was darkness and daisies
daffodils and despair.
i found comfort in weakness because it was always there for me.
i forgot there were other filters than black and white.
my sunday tie turned into a noose,
and my bath tub turned into a comfy looking coffin.
and i wanted nothing more than to disappear into the shadows.
to be the shadows.


life.
for a while i forgot what it was,
it left my eyes.
it had no meaning to me.
no purpose.
but one day i realized.
i realized why i was alive.
i realized all the things i had.
all the things i could have.
i realized that life is beautiful.
i found the glacier lilies blooming.
i found the wind in the trees.
i found the sky.
i found my purpose.
and i found myself.

my fears... my afraids:

recently my fridays have become quite boring.
i have nothing to do,
or rather nobody to do nothing with.
i've resorted to solving rubix cubes and boondoggling,
and collecting plants cuz why not,
and climbing mountains,
and starting up my rock collection again,
reading ahah
slow motion dancing in the mirror to my favorite song songs,
hoarding food in my room,
finding funny pictures in the ceiling,
making paper models.
using candle light cuz electricity doesn't exist yet.
looking for gifs of black people eating fried chicken.
idk.
i do weird crap when i'm bored.

i guess robots don't get bored.
so there, i'm not a robot.

im a fool for the hum of your lips

im a fool for the cracks in your hands

im a fool for your shoulders

im a fool for your love


i found your eyes

i found your scars

i found myself

i found you


i wanna hold your hips

i wanna steal your collar bone

i wanna hear your songs

i wanna kiss your cheek


you took my hand

you took me under

you took me places ill never forget

you took my heart.

i lost my crayons.
it was when i was playing pretend in the backyard
or on the first day of school in 3rd grade.
i only cried once when god didn't help me find them.

soon, my mom bought me a new set of colored pencils
i knew she just wanted me to draw her more pictures.
she cherished my work.
but the new ones didn't look quite right.
the people were skinnier
and my lines were too short.
the long sticks of wood felt strange in my hand.
i kept dropping them.
they started to crack and i got splinters.
i was sick of the stupid pencils.

i looked back at my coloring book.
and the pages filled with colorful wax.
it smelled familiar and i wanted my crayons back more than anything.
but once you lose that box there's no going back.
with small splintered hands laced together and wet eyes staring up at the stars,
i wished for my crayons back.
but the stars only twinkled in response.
and the rocks i threw never reached them.
and i yelled at them for not hearing my little wish.

now,
so many years later,
i miss my colored pencils.
i never thought i would but i do.
i was always taking them for granted.
never realizing what i had when i had them.
now all i have is a black pen.
i only use it to trace the outlines of words already said.
right now i know i don't like this pen but i have a feeling in a couple months i'm gunna miss it.
i'll regret never using it as a brush.
cuz soon i'll only have the keys on this computer.
so i need to stop missing my colored pencils and my crayons and start loving this pen of mine.

hopes of writing something decent long gone

lights on

clothes on

mind off.

i miss being a kid.
i feel old and desperate.
i'm dying.
but aren't we all?
dying a little bit every day.
each night draws us closer to our last.

doomed to end as ashes falling pathetically off the edge of a cliff.
into the wind that blows us apart,
never to be put back together again.
or buried in the ground in some creepy cemetery with a granite name tag on top of our chests.
tears feeding the roots that wrap around our oak wood coffins.
either way,
there's no escaping our binding fates.
from the dust of the earth we are put together,
to the dust we inevitably return.

down in a valley i wandered into a forest.
i lost my shoes up a tree.
i walked barefoot
wet moss and bits of dirt hugged my feet,
little pebbles found a home between my toes.

i stumbled upon a pile of bricks,
messily stacked in rows of three.
i hopped over and it was fun.
i looked down,
i had scraped my heal.
angrily i grabbed the top brick and chucked it at a bush.
it disappeared inside.

soon all the bricks were gone but one.
i lifted it up and found a worm.
it squirmed in my finger tips.
i named him steve.
i put steve in my shirt pocket.
the pocket closest to my heart.

i decided he was my best friend.
i told the trees,
and that night i told the moon.
the stars always eavesdrop so i guess they heard too.
but steve missed his home under the bricks,
so i let him go and watched him wriggle into the ground.

brick after brick i rebuilt his house.
a little sky scraper that only scrapes my heals.
but i kept one brick and carried it along with me.
i named it larry.
larrys quite boring.

it's a hazy day.
i'm 4 years old,
sister by my side.
we make silly faces and laugh in the mirror,
our small fingers smudge the glass,
dirty from trying to reach china in the backyard,
or that treasure buried in between.
i fall on the floor,
dizzy with a head full of dreams.

it's a busy day.
i'm 9 years old,
it's the first day of school in a new town,
i pass the bathroom mirror on my way out the door.
it's freshly cleaned and i see a small me.
i'm wearing new clothes and i'm nervous,
but excited.
i walk with my sister to the bus stop.

it's a cold winter day.
i'm 14 years old.
i see my reflection.
i wish i was older.
and taller.
i don't like my freckles.
or my haircut.
and i'm sick of my old shoes.
i start to think that maybe the kids at school are right,
that i don't have any friends for a reason.
but i forget about it and start on my homework,
bored and ready for summer to come once again.

it's been a long day.
i'm 17 years old.
the mirror in my basement shows me a stranger.
he looks pathetic.
and empty.
i'm afraid to look into his hallowed eyes,
instead i watch his cracked lips as they form the words
"i hate you" over and over.
i look away and pass out on the bed.

it's today.
i'm 18 years old.
i can finally breathe in deep.
the air smells like my past.
i feel like my bones have finally settled in the right places.
i finish getting dressed and i catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
i see my shoulders and the weight they carry.
i see my hands,
rough and callused,
but they don't hide in my pockets anymore.
i see my face,
and the creases that meet my eyes.
i see me.
but i still dream of a day that i don't see my inner faults.

it was ink.
black and smeared across the pages of  love letters i sent to you.
written and wasted.
left in the shoe box under your bed.
and i never got a letter back.

i started writing a new letter
but nothing came out.
i scribbled in the margins
desperately hoping to smear a little bit more,
somewhere,
anywhere,
but ink runs out,
and so did my love for you.
all that's left is pain.

 love.
i can't feel it anymore cuz my heart's not working.
i think it broke when you dropped it,
or maybe that time you threw it at the wall.

it definitely doesn't beat the same anymore.
especially when your around.
maybe it's afraid you'll rip it out again,
and keep it locked in your vault.
my heart has told me terrible things about that vault of yours.
that it's dusty,
and that the air is full of whimpers and howls from the dead souls that you refuse to release.
and that they've been trapped since the day they set eyes on you.

i'm lucky i got out alive,
maybe alive is too generous of a word.
not dead is better.

but did i get out?
cuz i still feel like i'm drowning when i see you.
and i see you everywhere.
i see you in the hall,
in the store,
in the pictures on my wall,
in the lines on my ceiling.

your a disease.
and i'm a survivor. 

our love is car drives in the backseat.
it's fingers laced with mine,
small hands,
and gift baskets.
tissues for cold noses,
and kissing in the rain.
it's all i think about.

it's animal crackers and orange spoons,
and its you and me falling over sea shells and getting our toes wet.
it's making mistakes and saying sorry,
and its saying i forgive you and then forgetting.

our love is sitting in my car at 2 am,
not wanting to leave.
our love was everything to me.

and then our love left my lips cold.

once in a while i miss you.
like those nights when i hear our song and i see your blue eyes.
or those days i drive past that place i held those small hands.

i thought i was over you but thoughts are imaginary.
i don't miss you.
i've moved on.
i'm glad your gone.
good riddance
those are just a few of the things i tell myself.

hats are just hats.
i could go into the symbolism of what a hat is.
or talk about how they hide my mistake of a haircut,
or how they hide my face,
but i wont.
cuz hats are just hats.

like how i'm just human
and how humans are just beating hearts.
and hearts are just metronomes,
but my heart is broken,
and that's why this post is off beat.

and that's why you wont understand it.
just like how i don't understand math,
or science,
or girls,
or why i try so hard,
or the purpose of life.

i don't understand a lot of things.
and i don't want to continue writing cuz nobody cares what i'm saying,
just like how nobody is going to listen to my playlist.
or how nobody understands me... including myself.
or how nobody see's me
cuz i actually have a superpower.
invisibility.

hats.
that's what i'm supposed to be writing about...
i nearly forgot.
yeah
hats are cool i guess.

my childhood was my favorite. it was good times man. but it sucked sometimes... it made me this adventurous, adrenaline junky, thrill seeking guy but also a brusque and bitter kid that gets too quiet sometimes and i get quite rebellious at other times.  just read below.

i just got a text no more than 30 seconds ago.
i guess my brother just had a civil war break out inside of him and he's on his way to the hospital.
it seems like every day there's a new crisis with someone in my family.
my mother has asked me to include him in my prayers.
what prayers
i look down at my battered tennis shoes
they make me wonder if i'm worthy to step up and pray at all.
the dirt and stains on every fiber reminds me that ive walked down too many wrong roads in my time.
god wouldn't let me in.
i'd track mud on the floor.

DID YOU KNOW that it's extremely difficult for someone with ADHD to write when there's screaming vibrating the walls?
i mean i've read the last line i just typed 4x now,
OUTLOUD to comprehend it so i could think of what to write next.
but all i've heard are the words of agitation and hate  from the other room, ringing in my ears.
i've started up the music now.
it brings back memories of long nights in my car
listening to all these sad songs,
not realizing i'd been driving for an hour, in which direction??
it didn't really matter cuz any direction was better than the hell hole that had been breaking out at home.
whether towards downtown Salt Lake, Minnesota, kohlers, 
or that old playground where i learned my first swear
and where i had my first kiss.
i could go there....
it wouldn't take that long. 10.5 hours approximately.

i'd sit at the top of that rusted slide
run my hands on the chipping orange paint as i rush down, warming my finger tips because of the sun rays that fall through the trees high above.
feeling  the Santa Anna winds rush past my face
then landing hard in the gritty sand below, my toes disappear.
engulfed in the familiar feeling.

but what if i go back to that place and its not the same.
what if the playground is torn out
replaced by capitalistic housing,
and what if the ditch nearby was dried up where my sister made a fort for us under the bridge...
our solitude.
where we'd go to escape the yells and the shouts
and where we found a new pet turtle
and where i started my "rock" collection with a piece of glass i found in the flowing water.

but what if i did go to that town, today, 
and the ditch was dried up,
and the bridge was collapsed...
the place where those good memories live would officially not exist.
and those good memories would fade and break into small pieces,
and the only ones that would be left are the bad.

NO.
i cant go back.
the past is better left behind i suppose.
only to exist in those times of remembrance.
but the past is written on our faces.
on each bump and in the wrinkles on our noses.

so... on those long nights in my car listening to all those sad songs,
ill find out how to get back home. only an hour away. one hour from the silhouette house.
where the walls constantly vibrate the screams and yells,
and also sometimes, from the music blasting from my speakers to drown it out.

most nights, like tonight, i don't hide away in my car.
instead i stare down at my worn out tennis shoes that are stained and battered and i start to wish that my ears would stop ringing.
and that i wasn't alone in this cold basement.

: br/us/k

abrupt or offhand in speech or manner.

in this blog i can be myself, entirely. no matter what that implies. i have lots of opinions but depending who you are, i don't always express them well. while i was growing up i was taught to keep my mouth shut and be a peace maker, and not to get mad, and if you did something wrong it had to be fixed instantly. this has made it hard for me to get my mind out, and for people to understand what i'm feeling in my head. if we're good friends, i always make sure you get a piece of my mind.

IM A TEEN. and i act like one. most the time i'm respectful and kind but if you get on my nerves i get brusque. i do stupid things and i regret them later. reckless, wild, and free am i right? i don't really even know myself that well so don't go expecting to figure me out through this blog. cuz you won't. and then you'll be all disappointed probably. and nobody wants that.

family is a big part of my life. not always positive and not always negative. we all hate each other, and we would all die for each other.

i contradict myself a lot.
in general i'm an off person. but i seem the same as all.
                              doesn't everyone though?
                                               
                                               we're all just kids playing pretend with each other.