Journal of a want to be artist...

So I have often said the words, "I want to be an artist." The thing is that by writing and dancing I am, in fact, an artist. Yet I still have this longing to say I just want to be one... that I am not one yet. Perhaps in some ways I am not an artist... I can't paint then again if I wanted to paint I would just pick up a brush and do it... It might not look good or be done well but I would have painted something and there for have made art... good art? I doubt it but art yes. So for now I shall satisfy myself by writing the journal of my wanna be artist.

Limited

I have a very limited experience in life. I mean I'm young. There is so much of life I have yet to experience. Even with my limited knowledge of life I find joy in extremely simple things. Sitting on my bed taking a break from college homework to write this blog is a joyous thing, and not just because it distracts me from finals. I don't mind school not at... In fact you could say I'm a bit of a nerd. I enjoy homework. I like writing papers, going to class, taking tests, and gaining any and all knowledge that I can. I even enjoy being the girl who people think is dumb... It is sometimes easier to play the dumb blonde they all think I am, yet sometimes it is more entertaining to watch them flounder a bout once they realize I am not exactly what they thought I was. I get good grades. I work hard. I know what I want and how to get it. I have something to offer other then what people seen. I have been working on myself lately. I have been bad about taking care of myself and my room and the people I care about. I have to improve on this and so, because I am extremely stubborn when I set my mind to things, I have become a better person. At least that is what I hope I have become, I would be very disappointed should I have become worse despite my efforts. I am working on being my old self in a manner of speaking. I am working on being limitless in happiness. There was a time where I was nothing more the girl who always had a cheerful disposition and that over time has become my mask at hiding everything from the world. I'm working on making that not my mask but my life... to be simply happy where I am, how I am, and who I am with. I am happy! Which is a most amazing thing to feel!
To all you college students! Good Luck with Finals!
To Everyone else Cheer up!
Yours always,
Portland

War and friends....

Conflict.... It is hard to stay out of a war between separate groups, when they both try to shove you in the middle all the while apologizing and swearing they didn't mean to put you there. It is difficult to keep your composure against such things as this.  Raise your hands... back away... don't give in. Yet because you are forced to listen to both sides, you are forced to be on a side whether you chose to be on one... They push and force until they feel you have made a choice and of course to them... This imagined choice, is wrong. Try to hide the physical harm it does to be forced into their fight. The asthma attacks, sleepless nights, and heart pains. Care to much. End up bruised. They are mad at the world and you happen to be apart of their world... Time to face that stage of anger and war and wonder how to make it past the pain it causes... They can't see it.

My Secret...

I always run... Run from every guy no matter how honest, or sweet, or caring they are.... I am a runner. I didn't use to be. There was a time where I was confident. Where I didn't hide behind a fake smile and a sure I'm okay. It has only been a year but I still see your face... Every time I kiss someone it flashes through my mind. There are a very few days, where I think I might be okay... Might be able to forget what you did to me. What you forced on me... and then something triggers that memory all over again. I am left wanting to scream... but unable to force myself to... wanting to be held but afraid what the person holding me might do, that they might be like you. So I ruin every chance I ever had of being with someone.... and it isn't their fault it is yours or my minds. I never explain what happened what caused me to freak... I decided sharing with these people what happened might make myself more comfortable with them but then... like a switch suddenly I can't stand it anymore... can't hold back the images or the pain... Or the fear that it could happen again.. even if not by your hand.... and so I feel as though I am doomed to be alone. Maybe it is better that way then I wont hurt anyone around me anymore...

Sleepless

On sleepless night we all lay there staring at the empty space that is our ceiling and think of past decision and decision yet to be made. We think of all the possibilities and out comes and yet some how we think that we have missed some choice we could make or should have made. We settle on these things which makes our sleepless night restless. so we toss this way and that so that we are staring at the darkness which might be a wall, or maybe its the window... or a dresser... you toss and turn so much that you lose your sense of direction... you aren't sure if you are looking at the wall  or maybe it was the ceiling... perhaps your bed has moved and maybe, just maybe, you are staring at the floor. Your mind wanders to the in significant thing of what exactly that slightly darker blob is in the mist of the rest of the darkness... and you think that perhaps it is your old monster back to haunt you from childhood... that it has crept slowly out from under your bed or out of your closet to loom over you and your decisions whether made or yet to be made. You wish that you could run to the next room and cuddle up close to your parents and feel safe like you did when you were 5 or 6 but you aren't anymore and that would seem strange... so you lay in your bed sleepless and looking at the new monster. You lay there the whole night staring at the large eyes which are not the same size as each other. These eyes which see through every thing you have thought of, see the thing that you can see the path you know that you need and it chuckles and shakes. Just when you are about to run screaming into the next room, morning rays filter through the window and you are left staring at you ceiling with nothing but the light and the fire alarm staring back

Self Respect...

Self respect is something I find girls need to learn. One must also keep in mind that self respect and well conceitedness are not the same thing. You have to have the self respect to keep who you are a live and to not bend to the wills of those who don't understand you. I say this because recently while discussing plans for today with a young man, he asks me what I would like to do and me being me said well I don't know. So his first response was "Well anything sexually?"... now this is the point where me being me yet again said, "I don't think you are the kind of guy I want to spend time with." Yes I had the self respect to say no and mean it. He wanted to know why I "suddenly" felt that way. Here is the thing about suddenly feeling a certain way... it really isn't sudden... if he had known me even a little bit he wouldn't even considered asking me that. He assumed I was like many other girls in the world today who will do anything with anyone they are even slightly interested in, and few girls will do it whether they are interested in you or not. I am very sure of myself. I don't have a problem shaking a guys hand and looking people straight in the eyes and holding it there. I am in fact good with people, but I will not stand stupidity when it comes to things like asking me out. You must have a plan and it better be a good one.
Sincerely,
Every girl who deserves respect.

Identity

I use many different names and titles to describe who and what I am. Dancer, writer, sister, daughter, friend, my given name, my middle names, Portland (which is my pen name), at times girlfriend, and often times friend. There are many times I refer to myself simply as "lonely". Sometimes I wonder if I am trying to explain my identity, not only to others but also to my self.  That maybe I am not quite sure of who I am yet, and maybe I don't, I am only 18 after all. Yet I feel as though I know who I am. I definitely know what I want. I want to be a dancer, and after 11 years of the art I think I am finally, rightfully, calling myself one. It took 11 years for me to begin to feel like this title truly belonged, yet I have been calling myself this since my first dance class in a small town studio at the age of 7. The title of writer came much later in life. I loved storytelling as my mother would gladly point out, but me and writing were not always the good friends we tend to be of recent years. I think that title might have come about during my high school years, though I have slowly been growing into it from the time I told my first child-like tale. Some titles you are born into like that of sister and daughter, others are given to you shortly after like first and middle names, and soon after these come nicknames. Then titles are given to define relationships with other people like that of friend and sometimes enemy. Rarely there are special titles like girlfriend and some I have yet to experience that of fiance and wife even maybe mother. Yet these titles sometimes feel more like they blur the line of what really is. Yes I am my mother's daughter, yet I am also her friend, she might just be the best friend I have ever had.

I have the title at my job that of cashier and the nickname of "Smiles". Yet I am a friend to many a person at my job where they know me not only because of the name tag on my shirt but because they took the time to know me. They asked questions and look past the bright blond hair the make up I only put on when I'm at work or doing a show... they look past the pasted on smile and the cheerful persona of my job and see me, but these people are few in my life. I am "friend" to many but few are "friend" to me. Even fewer have been given the title of boyfriend and the right to title me girlfriend, and none have had the privilege of calling me lover. I don't know what I'm missing or so I have been told.

I am okay with who I am, yet I have the hardest time finding the right title for me. Should I go with hippie? Dancer? Writer? Beautiful? Maybe with Blondie, which seems to be a consistency in all thinks nickname. None of these seem to explain ME exactly write not a single word to explain simply what I  am. Even if I should say all these things to a person I could not quite get the full picture of who and what I am... and I am not such a complex person.

I am who I am, and proud of it.
This is MY Identity I am MYSELF.

What Rayne Wrote

Rayne wrote in indiscernible words
they scrawled dipping below the lines, looping back
words crossed out, some even scribbled out
she knows the limitation of ink and page
The ink dripped... and the ink blots wrote of sorrow

Rain wrote on the leaves of ancient sentinals
dripping, looping down wrinkles to the earth
feeding roots that know the fall of empires
and the limitations of soil and time
The ink dripped... and the ink blots wrote of ruin.
~Portland Rayne