Biography of Shiloh Thompson
I've often found that the more you try to think of something to say about yourself, the harder it is to do. So, like all great things, I shall start at the beginning and work my way from there.
I was born in Michigan, where I lived almost exactly eighteen years of my life. Raised out in the middle of the country, there were many places to inspire a child's imagination to greater heights. Oftentimes, one could find me outside running up and down the gully that runs next to my house, imagining myself a lady knight or pirate on some adventure or another. Of course, I was horse-crazy, as most girls are, so many of them involved my faithful steed, a coal black stallion with a perfectly round white star on his forehead. We had many adventures together, many I still cherish.
I reached a point in time when I began to grow up. My adventures still happened, however, I began penning them on paper, giving them new life and inspiration for greater things. After trying my hand several times at writing short stories and novels, I decided it just wasn't for me. Even after my teacher selected my short story for the local newspaper, it still wasn't what I was looking for. So, on a whim, I started poetry.
It was love at first poem. I was hooked. It was the perfect way to express myself. I shunned typical formats, forging ahead with my own. Why try to confine inspiration and my muse to the structures of formal poetry? It never did, and still doesn't make sense to me.
All through junior and high school, my poetry began taking on a darker turn. One might call it 'emo' in this day and age. Many of my poems scared me with the depth of the anger and depression they contained. Frightened, I would destroy them after writing them, not realizing those poems were windows into my very soul. Slowly, I began realizing the severity of my depression, and turned to the loving arms of a friend and my true passion: horses.
It took one stubborn Arabian gelding named Shadow to turn my life around. Other horses had helped, but he finally straightened me out. He was as black as the mahogany he was named after, with a crooked white blaze as crooked as his heart and two white socks. Much like the stallion of my childhood, I was one of few people that could ride him without paying dearly in pain for the chance. He was so much more than an animal; he was, and is, my soul mate.
Boys, it seems, come and go. After severing a two and a half year long relationship with a man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, I moved away to a different state, leaving him and Shadow behind. Missouri was a quiet place to relocate to. Its simple beauty, from the beautiful Ozarks to the city in which I reside speak to my soul. The life I am forging for myself here is helped along by some of the best friends I have ever had. It was difficult at first, as many of the friends from my past life turned on me, stating I deserved what I got, that I was wrong for wanting to move. I have found now that was encouraged by one I thought I could trust. But I have moved on from that pain.
So now I am attending Missouri State University as an Agricultural Communications major, with a duel minor in Equine Sciences and Journalism. I still write when the inspiration strikes. My poetry is a window into my soul. I welcome you to take a peek and meet the real me. I pray you enjoy my works as much as I enjoy writing them.
Shiloh Thompson Poems
Rain, rain, fall today, Wash away my debts to pay,
A Prayer In A Moment Of Weakness
My heart says one thing, But my head says another Who would think something Like this would happen again?
Insomnia Of The Writer
Typing furiously upon her keyboard, This insomnia gathering itself tighter, No rest for the weary poet, As she works deep into the night.
Not Another Teenage Stereotype Statistic
I don’t look like the other girls, Not dressing in Hollister and AE, Never shopping at Abercrombie & Fitch, Could never afford to pay that much,
I Miss My Friend
*Author's Note* I think I'm losing my best friend because we are both moving on into different relationships. Its a sad thing to see us drifting apart after we went though so much together. He is one of my greatest inspirations, and I hate to lose someone who was so wonderful to me. But I don't know how to say it to him. A different kind of heartbreak,
Tall, yet unimposing, You stood in my doorway, A knight in shining denim, Bearing a gift of Chinese food,
*Author Note* One of my favorite things to do is curl up in my aunt's library over Thanksgiving with a book of prose or poetry and satisfy my literary cravings. A dusky ambience full of silent laughter,
Ode To Friends
*Author Note* This suddenly popped into my head. I've been going through some rebirth feelings right now with starting over in a new state. I went through some pretty rough stuff before the move, and so it is all coming out in what one of my friends would call an 'emo' manner... No matter, I enjoy writing, so if my poems seem a little redundant, that's why. Thanks! Anger and passion Hate wells up
An Eulogy For The Man That Cared
Pictures say more than a thousand words, Agony etched in every line of my soul, With every snapshot, another piece of me dies, Time not healing, only causing more pain.
Don'T Be Fooled
I won’t be fooled again, By false promises of friendship, Never again trusting blindly, In those who sugar coat their lies.
Galloping free Together again
Dance Of Life
On the lake where the waves were breaking, There, upon the shore, walked a young girl, The only figure on the endless sandy beach.
On The Shores Of The Lake
I sit quietly upon the sand Breathing The air whooshing in and Out
Musing On Friends
Pondering thoughts I will never voice, A strange paradox of loneliness and pain, These feelings are here not by my choice, But there is really nothing left to gain.
Insomnia Of The Writer
Typing furiously upon her keyboard,
This insomnia gathering itself tighter,
No rest for the weary poet,
As she works deep into the night.
Blank page filled with promise,
Of words written black and bold,
The cursor dancing and scampering,
Back and forth across the page.