Criteria

⬤ Curve Related
⬤ Spacing Related
⬤ Space Management
⬤ Mistake

Grading

✓ Good
— Okay
⨯ Poor

! Notable
— Deducted

200a sleet of wings ran down my back
and a corsage of red broke down my nape
when i realized who i was.i am the blank, my forever empty.i am the space between
the blood and the asphaltthe being, the center of the shattered intersectionin wonder, an angel, a watcher, in halos.i am the ever echo in the blinding stasis of death
and the whispers of comfort in the minds of tears.fingers interlocked, halo ever glowing,i choked its ring around your neck,
i bring you into my domain.and so, in everything i say,i am the blank, my forever empty.and everything else,
forever be damned.

when i was a child, i was a perfectionist. in 6th grade toiling and stressing way too much over essays, in 8th grade powering through the worst of thoughts to finish one assignment, straight A's often lined my report cards. but of course, you know where this is going. people say that i'm something else, a glimmer of hope in this box of boredom, gifted and smart and special... you know the drill.sometimes i like to think that. that i'm unique. that i'm special, i'm someone else, and not like the others. maybe you are too, and in that case i feel you. i get you.but when you're faced with reality, that isn't the case.to thousands of people, you and i were just anonymous people that were passersby, strangers on a bus, the sidewalk, students you'll never meet that rush by you that liminal space between classes. you may feel like the main character among supporting cast, but so does everyone else.even than, that feeling isn't special. that simile isn't unique either.it's sonder.if that's the case, then what if, of what?but maybe that just means.. we're not so different, you and i. both of us think that we're the main character... maybe then there's a connection.maybe in that way, we are human.frank ocean was right. we all want to be "seen, touched, heard, paid attention to." we all want someone to be there for us, and surprisingly, we all want to be there for someone else too. that's what sympathy and empathy are.look at the person next to you, on the street, at a bus, in a hallway. they have a story to tell you. their life is full of happiness, sadness, loves, deaths, feelings and emotions and works that immerse them in a complex plot and story... the fact that there are almost 8 billion of us is almost mind-bending.i once had a conversation with a person who was a friend of my friend. we were almost strangers, but he acted as if i wasn't.for some reason, he told me everything.he told me stories of his darkest thoughts, his darkest dreams and most needed of desires, secrets that only an insane man would tell another soul... it leaves an impression on you.he told me of a summer night when a friend shook him violently, grabbed him by the shoulders seething onto his shirt, yelling and crying not to jump.he told him everything too,
he was suicidal.maybe everyone has an 'everything' to tell.--i know i've addressed you, the reader, many a time. but this was something swelling up from myself. this is something that i've been dying to write down... whether or not the reader has made this far is a worry for another time.in a few years time, i know i won't be able to read this. i know i won't, i'd probably be changed by then. maybe i'd delete it by impulse, maybe i'd laugh at my naivete... but that doesn't matter. that is a worry for another time.maybe i'm just straight up stupid. i'm young, naive, and is a kid finding things obvious for the first time. i'd be hard-pressed to find you still listening or reading, but again, that doesn't matter, in this moment, in this time.that is a worry for another time.these are my thoughts. this is what i've been thinking about, thank you for being there to listen to my 'everything'.so let me ask you... what's yours?-blixys, sweet dreams, as always.

icon no. 144

2021, April 27th—nullam risus felis, hendrerit sed venenatis ultrices.

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