An author's note in non-bold because the poem is in bold. That's the only way I could write it, though. it was so hard for me to focus today. It started with wanting thick letters but small type so therefore bold. and then changing the font to the least times new roman yet very newspapery—(and since windows 8 and word 13 are a combination of stupid, the only thing I call stupid tbh, bc im an all-loving person who hates yogurt,) after the whole thing was done I realized I had it in vani and not in miriam fixed. And I wanted it in miriam fixed. It would not convert to miriam fixed. So now its in andalas and I like it but I wish it was in miriam fixed. and my writing song went from phillip phillips to mumford & sons to phillip phillips to mumford & sons a few more times, I needed to change the background color of my doc to a parchment color but it's one solid color and with no texture so that took a bit of convincing and a bit of froyo and a horribly achey back and a hatred for handwriting thank you notes to student body members and an impending doom of I haven't seen tfios yet. By the time this is up, tho, I have.

even though none of these factors show in the final product but it made the freeverse itself a lot better.

lets face it! I have no passion, at this very moment, in this chair, to do a oneshot. I have several workable ideas, and the possibility of isw rewrites bc I need to see kitsi again in my edgy pov, but here is the thing with me—unless it is a multichap, time will not better the fic. And by want, I mean the eyes wide, sick, yearning feeling and desire and craving to do the oneshot. the abundant and overabounding elation in knowing the story. and the not sleeping at night because im planning it. and I am not sleeping at night but its because im planning another original (it's the only non-fanfic story idea that I have that has any worth, helllp) and my pillows are awful and quite frankly watching extreme cheapskates on tlc was scaring and upsetting me because you know me with my awfully sensitive mind.

and even if I did a oneshot, it would come out terribly. There is a curse. Whenever I drive to my cousins house (which I did last week and will do again today) the rest of the weekend I have horrible writing skills. Im not making excuses, its proven scientific fact, I would know bc I have a 100 average in chem even tho I don't really understand it

so as I wasted two good hours combing my fanfic idea docs and crying several times because of how horrifyingly horrible of a writer I was in sixth grade, I found some titles and I had always kinda wanted to do kk slam but didn't know how to make it good without making it solely about Disney and the Disney factor, I wanted to parallel it just life in general. I really am working on my slam skills, or what I call, sponsor skills (any nightvale fans here?) because seems like ill be making a living off of slams because seems like ill write one good book in my life. And after listening to the night vale podcast for four months and then stopping for six and then going back to it, my wish has been granted—I can write long and flowy and tumbly strings and somehow ive been managing to make them sound good? And I can just practice it with this.

I don't know how long this series of freeverses will go on, I want it to go on for another two more weeks or so, but I really kinda lumped all my thoughts into this poem so I don't know what else ill do. ill start doing particular characters soon

k plus bc you know usual stuff. poem lovers AND KNOWERS AND STUDIERS please beat me up and neon and dani give me all you got, remember im gonna be living off of slams soon and you want me to live nicely, right? This one I think is finn speaking or his mind or his voice—I don't know how to identify it, but it's finn, and my beautiful dark-skinned fairlie girl is in here a bit too

you know how people say writing in second person is the worse thing ever? Well they are missing a lot.

the title is inspired by p.291 from book one. one winter break I went through all of my notes in the first two kk books (didn't finish 2 tho) (and theres a lot more notes now) and wrote down the page and transferred them to another doc where they were even more organized and this is the first time Im grateful for that, because in a matter of two days picked out a plot hole, or at least a little empty spot that I could fill in, on almost every page. With that, I trained myself to find stories everywhere. Maybe one idea out of those couple hundred had some worth, but it was something.

im in les mis (several different ensemble parts but to sum it up, im a nun, a drunk person in the thenardier's inn, a poor person, a poor person, a singing poor person, an angry poor person, a dead poor person, and a ehmmmm…lovely lady.) and I appreciate that show's use of a "day". that helped slightly here.

ok. Sorry for that rant. Feel like I haven't talked to you guys in a while and I had a lot of good things to say. Kisses. Y'all dolls.

so it would seem

...

you refer to it as one day-
this phase refers to one collection of twenty four hours
that somehow span years.
unsleeping.
and always blurring.
it's a day because in the beginning you were unknowing and you were green and guileless and gullible
it was a green time because you could see the plants that line the suggested walkways,
you could see the way but yet couldn't absorb the reason…
surroundings were bright and distinct,
for sure, and for certain,
and the questions that came in throngs
didn't require an answer
(more Importantly—a word you would learn later—answers
were useless and harmless wonderings).
there was limited control.
because Limits were non-Existent,
right, guys? let's go play kings. i'm the king.
and we're going on a journey.
Limits refer to what you can do.
could.
which is everything.
Limits, you learn, in actuality,
indicate the boundaries and rational, calculated answers to t.h.e.i.r injurious, poison advances,
and the actions you take with y.o.u.r.s,
the combat that advocates in very existence
for magic's life.
any action can be taken, any strike from bruised arms could injure,
and the Existence is very much real.
but the
probability of acting is what Determines the strength of the Limit,
at a glance.

because, now, in this afternoon, every action needs to have the safety of the world in mind.

this afternoon is terse and tense and
tight,
it's terse because you don't what relief is,
you haven't felt it years
and you base acknowledgement off of recognition
and therefore relief is just a thing that comes with mornings.
you want it to be morning. you want it to be morning.
h:o:w:e:v:e:r
in that morning you didn't have y.o.u.r.s.
and y.o.u.r.s. have become the motivation, the fuel,
title and reason and
why
recently they are the only reason and so if by some unfair circumstance
they are disappeared,
then there will be no cause.
do all people lead lives of this?
thrust into something
|M|O|N|U|M|E|N|T|A|L|
with
absolutely no choice, you didn't choose this,
that's actually a good word .

unfair,
the very reverberation of the two leaden syllables
passes through your lips as it escapes into the world,
passes through her lips and into this world and this world is fortunate to have a place that she's Existent,
(moods change very quickly during this afternoon, only to be lost completely in the night by a stream of futility
and a quake of self-surrender)
but the only submission you know now is Determining the fact that
the only good thing about this iniquitous struggle
is the brushing against her shoulder
or her coming t-h-t-h-TH-i-s close to your situation-announcing mouth
you're disarmed briefly and
light
light
light . . .

you've found light
this is the feeling that saturates the setting
when Solutions—such a great, hopeful thing—
are exposed
and as if the Resolution had arms and grabbing fingers and walking legs
it's completely offered
in remembrance of those (minutes) (hours) (days) lost during this war
and good has prevailed—
=again; not for the last time=
this is the delivery when there is no knowable answer,
so it would seem,
would,
because that
was a time when
this wasn't solved.

!in this night
you are as bright as
-D-A-Y-!

and

it's a tiring ordeal and you see imminent, completely likely
loss
and you see ransom
(you become that ransom for a short amount of the evening,
more like the sunrise)
and once you come back,
because good comes back, somehow, that has become a fact of life and living and this universe,
and because you have taken a role in defending good,
you are allowed to Determine a few things:
-there's a certain beauty in good,
-there are a lot of things people scribe in bold print into stone with their chisels or even into machines with magical memory, but the only permanent thing in this world, through your eyes, if every seems to share eyes like yours, is that beauty
-and that's truth because you've lived a long life in a matter of a day
-y.o.u.r.s. are invaluable,
-t.h.e.i.r. powers are really powerless,
-things are fair
or so it seems,
because all you really know is what you've seen that day.

following the dark
and afore the dawn
and through the shadow
and winning despite every ostensibly unmanageable game
played by the evil and t.h.e.i.r. sneers
and S/O/A/R/I/N/G/ over the steely times of the rocky walkway
to real life
and becoming a part of the universe's unspoken list of
w
orld-changers
all the while

growing.
learning.

and the starlight illuminates the story of your life much better than a single sphere of daylight.