Week 3, Part 2: The Missing Piece

I have a whole slew of things in store to continue my hipster journey--look out for Luis Bunuel, Henrik Ibsen, and do-it-yourself projects. But, this week has been vastly unsuccessful insomuch as I have done nothing hipster-y thanks to my classes. However, those are done (with the exception of an online exam) so my focus will be more poignant in the near future.
I have decided, though, to make an effort to be more emotionally transparent. Is that a quality of the hipster? I don't know, but I definitely think I could get more out of my relationships with others, and every hipster needs a good posse. I do know that writing poetry is beyond hipster; in that case, I've been hipster for years (but more likely just emo). Pen and paper have always been my one true friend, and it's the only place I feel completely and utterly natural. I've been thinking about it though, and I think it's time I stopped using my writing as a form of escapism. I need to make the language of my heart and the language of my mouth one; being bilingual in this way has become wearisome. So, I'll begin by revealing a sampling from my collection of little writings that I've been amassing for about three years now. Hopefully this unveiling, in the privacy of public domain, will aid me in baring myself to others. (Emotionally, not physically, sicko.) So, here is the lifting of my steely curtain. I wrote it in my junior year of high school.

A sky of crimson, a sun azure,
grass maroon and flowers black;
trumpets whistle, and flutes fanfare;
children yelling and dogs of yore.
A cliff where she reclined,
the meadow where I lay,
a subtle breeze, a gentle aroma:
sunbeams hot, hard, heavy.
A flower torn, a cloud approaching;
the wind gusts and knocks.
One raindrop.
Swamp lays still, a log overpass;
meteor shower, hurricane blasts.
Love, hope, future, excitement.
Confusion, bitter, tears, isolation.
Again, again, the world spins backwards.
As the tape plays again, where is the horizon?

It's so weird seeing something that I've written be posted for the world's eye, and I'm terrified to share myself. But I'm going to have to learn how to do so, and not be so greedy. My emotional vulnerability for your dining pleasure.
Next time I post, I'll be in Washington, D.C.! Until then, bon voyage.
Tucker