I Can Only Write My Mind

I'm a slightly worrisome person, and because of that I kept all the work I did during my four years of college. I did it partially just in case something didn't get graded, but mostly because I draw on the notes that I don't take. I also found some pretty sweet writing hidden on these saved pages.

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Left side-
No ties to society.
Veil
the Face is a veil
The internet is a veil

We can't always
read what is in front
of us.

Then why try? Why not
take everything at
Face value...
Because that is dangerous


Right side-
Can I not create
What I want to create?
I feel like I can only write
my mind.

Where is my
    clean well
         lighted
           place?

Bottom-
I stick my hands into the viscous sky
I pull with all my might power
I yank and tug but no matter how I try
I gain no rewarding shower
I drop my hands in true defeat
And as if to answer the sky falls to my feet
and then the sky falls to my feet
and only then
And then and only then the sky is at my feet.

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Definitely looks like even College Justin wasn't too hot on being correct while scribbling thoughts to himself. That's fine, I doubt my notes are even really coherent now. I've just separated most of the crap (normal school stuff that isn't at all special) from the stuff that has potential to be something special.

I got around to separating my one towering pile of stuff, not just because I'm cleaning my room, but because my diploma came. It's pretty satisfying to look through 93% of all the stuff you were handed back in college. This pile gives me more pride than the (nice) piece of paper that says I graduated. This pile is the actual proof to myself.

I did get the diploma though. Here it is, in its unframed glory. Anyway, expect more from this pile of stuff. I've got a lot more cleaning to do, and wish I could write some more, but I'm getting this posted late as it is.

As for the stuff on the paper, I really like the bottom portion, and I'm also quite fond of what was written on the right of the page. Here's what I feel like the poem should be changed to look like:



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I stick my hands into the viscous sky
And pull with all my power
I yank and tug but no matter how I try
I gain no quenching shower
I drop my hands in true defeat
And only then is the sky at my feet

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