a lack of color.

You can have my heart on a string.

carissa kerpen — Sun, 11 Jan 2009 20:54:25 +0000

I haven’t written anything for days; my heart has been a little parched, and I feel like I have nothing to say, yet I know there are a million things that I should say.

carissa kerpen — Sun, 14 Dec 2008 02:11:32 +0000

I am beginning to realize that I may not be as okay as I thought I was.

Twisting my stomach into knots.

carissa kerpen — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 06:06:27 +0000

And when I dig my teeth into my knees, my weary spine bends and breaks; tanglements of fractured weathered glass that I pretend is a made up camera in my mind, turns out to be just a bunch of light on some negatives. Rainy nights are the hardest to stay dry, that weather man, he lied. I’m tired of these December nights, I’m not who I used to be. No august freckles, or wrinkles from smiles in the corners of our eyes. I used to sit in the passenger seat, feet up on the dash, as we drove down the clear interstate, trying to follow the sunrise; but didn’t have an address and we had no idea where to go, so we’d go to the railroad and listen to the train cars and there was comfort in the sound. It was always cold, and my teeth chattered morse code. I was thinking that I wanted the calendar to hang itself, I just wanted time to stop. And now I have my own conversations, sitting alone at the coffee shop, unfolding notes, and maps of places we have been; paper cuts quilt the past into my fingers, and I cry, deciding to wait out the weather that howls in my brain. We always had good intentions; taps on the window, and dialogues stitched together, each quarter note of your voice holding me together. Watching colors multiply in columns over the ocean as we sailed singing an old song. I was the book, and you were the binding. I still carry you around in the background. I still try to clear my head but it is full of thoughts that I have yet to think; that my insides were probably expensive, that I constantly long for the trees to undress their leaves on me, that I hate you for being red when I am blue, that one day you will be the chord to my parachute.

carissa kerpen — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 01:55:56 +0000

I miss my little Carolyn Bai. I can’t wait to see her.

lessons

carissa kerpen — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 02:52:18 +0000

I am learning:

that I am desperatley wide-eyed and terribly conscious, that one shouldn’t hold onto the past, that there are few people in this world that will love you for you, that when you find these people — hold onto them, that family should always come first, that the perfect place to watch the sun set in old saybrook is on the knollwood beach, that tea from paperback is always worth it, that I need more than I want, that some want more than they need, that one should appreciate every morning they wake up to.

9 days!

carissa kerpen — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 14:33:13 +0000

I will be home in 9 days, for 11 — and I cannot wait.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

- e.e. cummings

We just made history..

carissa kerpen — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 16:03:09 +0000

Last night, I sat cross-legged on my bed, biting my fingernails to the core, waiting for the moment to come when Barack Obama would be nationally acknowledged as the next President of the United States. When he was elected, I felt hope. We made history last night. We chose change: we elected the first African-American President of the US. We made a difference for ourselves, and for our children. Yesterday was probably one of the most significant days of my life. I put my future in the hands of a man that I truly believe will change the world, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Thank you for helping make history.

Thank you for the miles you walked, the doors you knocked, the phones you rang, the hard-earned dollars you gave, the spirit you committed to this campaign. Thank you for never wavering, even when the days were dark, the clouds grayed the skies, and the rain poured. Thank you for tuning out the static of the cynics and believing in your power to change this country.

Thank you for all the late nights and all the far too early mornings, for trudging through the bitter cold of winter and wading through the oppressive heat of summer to canvass in your communities. Thank you for the rain-soaked jeans, the mud-caked sneakers, the sweat-drenched t-shirts, and the snow-covered scarves and hats. Thank you for your patience; thank you for your perseverance.

See anything odd?

carissa kerpen — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 21:29:52 +0000

End the Genocide in Darfur

carissa kerpen — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 21:20:12 +0000

Learn about the Genocide in Darfur, and hear the presidential candidates’ stances on the occuring violence, and how we can help put an end to it. SaveDarfur.

Breathes truth.

carissa kerpen — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 21:00:03 +0000