A Meaning You Wont Find in The Dictionary

“Empty pockets.” Who knew that these two words would change my life forever? I was only eight years old and I had been going to GA’s Theater Camp for only one summer. The play was Annie and I wanted a part very badly. All the girls my age were trying out for the star Annie Warbucks or the cutest orphan Molly, but me, I wanted the part with the most laughs and the best songs. I wanted the role of cranky, drunk Mrs. Hanigan who really got the laughs in the show. Every night, I practiced what her voice and character would be like, going as far as wearing a white wig and strutting around the house in my ruby red slippers (courtesy of my previous Halloween costume) to get in character.
When it came my time to audition, I quickly stepped up onto the stage and shouted (no, I am not understating, I literally shouted) “Hi! My name is Carolina Millard and I will be trying out for Mrs. Hanigan.” Sadly enough, my seven-year-old self did not get the part; I was cast as a “Hooverville-ite.”
But this, what some might call a disappointment, did not deter me because the rest of the camp’s four weeks was a blur of laughing, singing, and acting from scripts. Yes, scripts. I had gotten a line, two words: “Empty pockets.” But to me, these were not just two words, but a monologue of conflict and character. I distinctly remember sitting outside of the theater with the counselor. The counselor would say the cue line, and each time I would attempt to say “Empty pockets” as well as I could. To me the whole show depended on this one line, and if I were to mess it up it would ruin the whole show. But don’t think that everything I did within this camp was done in complete intensity. I had more fun than ever singing, dancing, and learning how to put on a production.
After that brilliant summer of theater, I decided to pursue the performing arts as a career. Yes, this seven year old, raggedy T-shirted, and sloppy-haired tom boy of a girl had decided what she was going to pursue the arts. Hey, if you know what you love, stick with it. I then persisted to nag my mom, asking her to enroll me in dance classes, theater workshops and anything musical we could find. Little did I know that the acting world would help out even more than I thought.
When I was in the seventh grade my dad got cancer. Now I know what you’re thinking. “Oh no, not another sob story.” But I’m not here to make you cry, I’m here to tell you about acting and what it means to me. It was around my dad’s sickness that I got more intense with my art only for one fact: I needed to escape. I needed to escape the pressures of the family, the stress, and the tears of every week. I would go to the middle school drama program and be able to forget all the things that were going on at home. I was able to step into someone else and live their life for awhile, forget mine.
After the horrendous middle school years, it was those feelings of escape that got me involved with the theater in high school. And it was there that I felt something completely different when I was on stage. Not only was I transitioning from frivolous musicals to mature drama, but there was something else there, a different feeling.
There are some things in life that you can’t put into words. This feeling is definitely one of them. There is something about developing a character not only on lines but on instinct and gut feeling. There is something about working up to a huge performance, building bond sand making a family. There is something about putting yourself out there on a stage, not knowing if the audience will accept you or not. It’s a feeling of inexplicable intensity and emotion. It is something that is rarely tapped in life, but once it is, the flowing of this feeling never stops. And when the curtain falls on whatever you just presented to the audience, you feel content, whole, and complete.
So here I am in my senior year, looking for colleges, and the best programs all because of two measly words. Two words that gave me a taste of something that I could consume everyday of my life. Something that I have almost grown dependent on, something I’m addicted to. The feeling of completeness, the feeling of intensity, and the feeling of the theater.

A rebellion towards the loved...

Fuck metaphores

House of Mirrors

Tops of whirling dervishes
and tents of yellow and gold
in the corner I smile contently
for I know what you know.

I juggle your feelings on wire
and tip toe on stilts to and fro
but you’re perplexed by what I’m smiling
for only you know what I know.

Bearded figures
and toppling men scream
as painted faces laugh
and you begin to question why you had dreamed
to walk through the woods on that summer night.

As we laugh at your mothers and daughters
your tensions bottle up inside
for the mosquitoes are bighting the truth
those black facts that no one can hide.

So into the dark you leave us
our music still haunting
our rhymes all of crime
but there you’ll be broke in the clearing
on that dark and most humid
summer night.

My Tapestry

Clichés and marching bands and all my rants
make a word tapestry that shines on counts of three.
It lies on a train somewhere in Spain
waiting to be displayed
to wide-eyed children and their step parents.
Some people will clap and some people will cry
but as time flies by
I'll watch the crowd grow in size.
You look at me funny
a suspect of right
two years have I waited for
this mysterious, anxious, and mournful night.

Chorus:
Though my rhymes do chafe and slave
for you they are nothing but folly
Though my rhymes do chafe and slave
for you they are nothing but folly
A babble not worth reading though each lines pulls your pulley.

You're in it now.
In the tapestry so divine
In the song too long to sing for they say it will only waste your time.
So on that mysterious night
a child's eyes did widen and a step parent did gasp
but don't forget the obvious
they need money for gas.

Chorus

So I sit and sit
Sit and laugh- dark and deep
at what fools they all are.
For I know what I am
and I know what I know.
For I am the one with the coins in the pocket
Yes, I am the one with the coins in the pocket.

Chorus

Don't look so confused.
I got here first.
It’s you who is mistaken and have heard it all wrong
Don't look at me lost like a answer with no question
cause you're in it right now
You’re in it right now
My tapestry
you're in it right now.

Though you lie and chafe and slave
For me you are nothing but folly
Though you lie and chafe and slave
For me you are nothing but folly
A babble not worth reading though each line pulls my pulley

Don't Bother Getting You're Map Out

Do you ever have a moment where you stop whatever you're doing and step outside of yourself? Whether it's a good or bad moment, I am sure that you've done it. Within the past few weeks I have done this repeatedly. I would suddenly stop listening to the story that was being told or the game that was being played; and just take in the moment. What it felt to be with my friends, happy.
I guess since I have become a senior, I have made it my job to absorb every feeling I come upon. Whether it's the rush of adrenalin before you tackle someone, or the warmth you feel when your given a true hug, or even a wet kiss or two. I have been so busy absorbing every moment lately, slowly documenting life, I have lost sight of the negatives. I have reached a state of unexplainable happiness that I have only felt once in my life and it was with four people in a crowded field of worshipers. And I know that this feeling only brings two phrases to your lips. You try to say these phrases every second. You stress them as much as you can with "No, I really mean it" or "I'm completely serious" but some how the people don't realize your sincerity until it comes to the end. So it's here where I say what I've been trying to tell all of you, and hope that you take in the next moment you feel these small words running to you're lips, begging to be screamed.

Thank you so much for all you have done. I love you.

A Drive Back From The Manor

As droplets fall from the dark sky,
neon signs flash and blur.
And the puddles ripple as the kings drive past.

A peasant sings a lulling tune
only heard by those who stop.
A tune of the once forgotten,
a tune whose lyrics we fail to remember.

As the light dances in fogged beams,
I think of you, a legend
from a painting worn away.
And as questions reminisce in my head,
I step backwards, tipping time.

Eventually, these beams shatter,
hitting our concrete and pavement.
So, I gather what little I can
attempting to replace the popular tyrant
which brings us our prepackaged lives.

I hide them away,
the misted memories,
as I come from the demolished past.
I plan to save my knowledge and myths
for my dark and most dreary,
rainy nights.