Just a Blurb

Ms. Pederson ... Are we allowed to write in sort of a "rant" form? I have a bunch of thoughts I want to write down, but I don't want them in a poem, really. I want it to be as if it were a paragraph in a book, or something. That sort of "blurb".

I'll write it here, but if it's not what you'd like to see us writing on our blogs, I won't do one like this again.

There was nothing in the world that seemed appealing that day. Food slipped down my throat without taste, and although I could feel it making it's bed in the pit of my stomach, I did not feel comforted. I might as well have filled myself with rocks. And truth be told, I needn't any thing more to pull me towards the ground. I had rock bracelets hanging from my wrists, and rock anklets hung down by my heels, so one must see why eating just didn't seem a wise idea. I felt it fitting to eat nothing at all. It meant an empty stomach paired with an empty everything else. But tell me, how does this person find heaviness dripping down from her fingers and heaviness dragging down at her feet if everything is empty; her mind, her stomach, her days, everything? There is weight in my emptiness. I am empty and yet weighted down by some unknown. I am empty like a ghost and I am faint like one too, but I am weighted, weighted, weighted like a horse who has been working the fields too long. How long I can walk under my veiled master's loads he throws atop me, I am not sure. I am a ghost, I am a tired horse, and I am breaking.