Designated Doodler

Have you ever swallowed a word? Felt it rise up in your throat And then gulp it down In a capsule of air A snap decision To not interrupt I wonder how the word will digest In my stomach What sort of nutrients it contains How long it will stay in my system What would have happened If I had decided to let it out An animal kept shut In the warm wet cage of my mouth Pacing behind the bars of enamel It was fetched and jailed in a single instant Buried by the passing moment Its taste still salty on my tongue

http://www.tcu360.com/campus/2012/03/14825.more-early-friday-classes-possible

You may not believe it but people with anxiety problems can be some of the strongest people you've ever met. They have to constantly work at finding the best in situations, they have to be cognizant of their blessings, they have to overcome the fact that their body may be betraying them. They have to take their situations and look past them; they must constantly rise above. Very likely they will be aware of their surroundings, know who they can count on and when, know their limits better than most and have the intelligence to wrestle with, and rise above, their circumstances. You may think that anxious people are weak; but you would be wrong. It is also very likely that their struggles with anxiety have helped mold who they are for the better. I may be hyper aware but that makes me a great artist. I may think too much but that makes me a wonderful writer. I may obsess at times but that makes me an incredible observer. I may be somewhat emotional but that allows me to connect to oth

Factory forced orange scented fructose floated towards me as soon as the plastic box was opened and out of sight. The foil was cool against my fingers and I wanted so badly for this to be edible, but I knew it would clash with my tastebuds. Perhaps if it were a real, fresh blood orange...dipped in melted decadent dark chocolate of a decent caliber then left to cool with grains of sugar sprinkled gingerly on top...it might be good. But this was fakery. And worse yet, once the globe was unwrapped and divested of its foil facade, the chocolate ball refused to crack apart.  I hesitated to simply bite it for the anticipated sugary sting it would inflict on my incisors. I pried at it with my thumbs and pulled on it with my fingers. My blood red nails left crescent kisses on its dappled surface. It stuck to itself, safely impenetrable, a sphere of frustration. I let a hysterical giggle slip as my digits did the same. Finally, I enlisted a white plastic soldier with nubby serrated defenses. I