Sunday, February 23, 2014

Same.

My real problem:


lol, I don't know why I liked this so much:


Me at lunch:
and dinner:
and breakfast:
and snack time:
even when it's not appropriate to be eating:


School:


Common sense:


Me trying to smize like Tyra:


One day...


Me on the phone with my friends:


But really...


okay, I don't even know what this is, have a nice night.











Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Infatuation Note - NOT A LOVE LETTER

Dear Blogging World:

THIS IS NOT A LOVE LETTER AND I DON'T LOVE HIM.
And I might ramble a little, but that's because sometimes when I think about him one hundred things pop into my head at once and I get really really happy.
DARN YOU NELSON FOR MAKING ME THINK ABOUT LOVE THIS PAST WEEK,
CAUSE NOW IT WON'T LEAVE.
But it's not even that I love him,
but I love everything about him.
I love that he changes his mom's bike tires,
and I love the songs that make me think of him.
I love his terrible taste in music,
and I really love how crappy he makes his quesadillas.
I love his dog, and the fact that his brother says hi to me,
and I love that his mom is dating again.
I love that he doesn't care that his mom is dating again.
I love that he let me name his truck,
and I love that he thinks ice cream solves everything 
(it does.)
He eats at Arctic Circle more than anyone I know,
and it's pretty disgusting,
but I think I might just love it.
I love his mom,
I love that she calls him an idiot.
I love her true love for her kids,
even if she has a funny way of showing it.
I love his bedroom.
I love all the crap he has hanging on his walls,
and I love that he's a borderline hoarder. 
I love that he buys me one dollar books for my
"Presitine's Day"
or
"Valdent's Day"
gift.
I love that only he would think of making me a t shirt,
and I love that he makes t shirts.
I love his ambition
and his drive
(nothing sexual intended.
now you're all thinking sexually.)
and I love his love for Dr. Pepper.
I love how I drink Dr. Pepper around him even though I don't like it.
I love his quirks
like the trash in his car.
The best thing about his car is the air soft gun that he uses to fake shoot people when he gets road rage.
I love that he drives crazy,
and I love that he lives for my reaction.
I love that he wants to read my poetry,
and I love that he won't actually ever do it.
I love that he lets me read his, though.
Neither of us are very good,
we just rant.

Apparently, there are a group of people who have figured out who's behind the pen name of this blog...
Hi.
To all you, I want to let you know that I don't love him.
I really don't.
I just love everything about him.

Monday, February 17, 2014

1273 Dean Avenue

Inspired by Sarah Smoke's 128 Redding St.
I spent too long thinking about it for me not to get curious...and begin my own chapter. Good artist steal, right?

1273 Dean Avenue was where a small loft just off a busy street resided. Natalie lived there alone, but never by herself. Her place was the place to crash.
“Wanna watch a movie?”
 “Yeah, see you at Natalie’s.”
Then everyone would show up thirty minutes later, and Nat would still be in her bra, quickly throwing a sweatshirt on. Joan was there most often, the neighbors all thought she lived there. She actually lived in a small apartment on the university’s campus, but you would never know it. On this particular day, Joan was sitting on Natalie’s couch skimming poetry, she never read without skimming first. Nat had just woken up, Joan must have let herself in. In an oversized t-shirt and bikini panties, Natalie started to make breakfast. She knew better than to ask Joan if she wanted some-Joan always wanted some. “Was that Peter’s?” Joan asked, not looking from her book. Nat rolled her eyes and grabbed the shirt, smiling. “Yeah,” she replied. This made Joan laugh. They both knew that it wasn’t Peter’s, they didn’t have anything of his anymore. Joan always just teased Nat because her boobs were bigger. Natalie cooks in the kitchen listening to the music that never stops playing, and when she begins to pull out plates, she always grabs more than she needs. She knows when she turns around there will be a cluster of hungry people waiting for their eggs. Sure enough, she hears the door open and heavy Doc Martins pounding on the wood. Natalie ignores it, as Toby goes to the counter because he knows not to go in the kitchen when Nat is cooking. He grabs a plate, dishes up and just smiles at Nat as he takes his place on the couch by Joan. Joan glances up from her book and looks disgusted. “No one told me they were done!” she screams, and she over dramatically throws her book and dishes herself some eggs. Meanwhile, Wyatt comes in with his sunglasses and four Starbucks. Joan looks back and smiles. “I was wondering where you were!” “Toby made me drop him off before I parked,” Wyatt says and an awkward laugh follows. Joan sniggers and Toby just waves. Wyatt puts the coffee by the sink, and slouches against the counter. “Wyatt, you want some eggs?” Nat asks looking over her shoulder. “Oh sure,” he says nonchalantly and waits for Natalie to serve him. Grabbing her toast, Nat looks over at everyone. Joan is sitting cross-legged on the counter with her plate balancing on her knees. Toby is still over on the couch checking his phone while eating, and Wyatt is facing Joan, leaning against the stove. Natalie carries her plate over to the table. Wyatt turns to the fridge and begins to move things around. “Where’s the bacon?” he asks, but Natalie doesn't respond. She looks down at her plate, making sure not to make eye contact with anyone. Joan shakes her head and hops off the counter. She sets her plate next to Natalie’s, and Wyatt sets his coffee by Joan’s. Natalie smiles and is a little more pleased, and Wyatt repeats his question. “Where’s the bacon?” Natalie looks over at Toby. Rolling her eyes, Joan yells, “Toby, get your bum to the table, you bum!” Toby does a small groan while muttering, “I just can’t…” and sits down on Nat’s other side. “I ran out of bacon yesterday.” Natalie finally answers.

This was a typical day on Dean Avenue. People were always flowing in and out, but Natalie didn't mind. She wasn't sure if it was her motherly instincts kicking in, but she actually liked it. She had always been the nurturing one, Joan had always been the defensive, closed off one. Or, at least, that’s how it appeared. Joan was actually quite caring and loving when you got to know her, she just preferred to show no emotion to those that “didn’t matter”. Joan got stressed out way too easily, and the only way she coped with it was to stop letting people in. It was a shame, because Joan was the most loyal person Natalie knew. If you cracked her shell, she’d be by your side for eternity.  Even through the rough times, Joan and Nat had never stopped being friends.

The girls awkwardly balanced many friends. Wyatt and Toby were the fun ones, the spontaneous ones, the glamorous ones. With them, they lived a life of 90201 on Dean Avenue (or at least what they imagined it to be.)

Brian was the awkward one. They had met through mutual friends, but it seemed Brian never left after that. Joan was really close with him, spilling secret after secret out, and he was always there. Joan took the better part of three years trying to get romantically involved. She honestly couldn’t picture herself with anyone but him, but unfortunately, he didn’t feel the same way. What was worse was that he was completely oblivious to her advances, he thought them honestly just friends. When she finally came clean, Brian laughed. True, Joan had tried to play it off as a joke, something that wasn’t that big of a deal, but it was still one of the most hurtful things he could have done, and he didn’t even realize it. But then again, he never truly understood what he did to people. That was Brian for you – completely and utterly oblivious. Joan had a lot of bottled up resentments about him, but always managed to push them aside when they got together. Brian still thought they were as tight as Twizzlers, so Joan played along. No one would ever know, but every time they got together, Joan still thought What if?
When Natalie first saw Brain she was instantly interested. She was always looking for love. Slowly, they became friends and he made it clear that he was not interested in being anything more than friends. She was okay with that. Talking to Brian was so easy for Natalie. They lived for movies and late nights spent together.  The longer they were friends though, the more complicated their relationship became. Natalie was naïve and wanted to trust him. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about her, but he was confused. He seemed to have too many friends to focus on just one. He never remembered her birthday or did the simple fun things friends are supposed to do. He seemed to not call her anymore and things were just awkward. However, for Joan’s sake, Natalie endured him on a weekly basis.

Then there was Alfie and Ashley. Nat and Joan didn’t like to talk about Ashley much, she had hurt them and acted like it was nothing. But that was the thing you had to realize about Ashley, nothing was ever her fault. Ever. So they continued to talk to her mostly just out of kindness. Natalie was a lot better at it than Joan was, but neither of them thought they’d have to continue it out of high school. They had been wrong, because Ashley kept trying to peer into every aspect of their lives, calling and texting them constantly. Both of them continued to tolerate it, knowing that without them, Ashley had close to nothing.
And Alfie, oh Alfie. He was a friend that never gave up on the girls. He was always there for a deep talk and a good laugh. He was a terrible driver which always made for a good story. Nat never knew anyone else who drove 80 on State Street, but then again she was the one hanging out the sun roof.

Next came Peter. He was a tender subject for both the girls…
Natalie: When I hear that scumbag’s name I think of all the great times we had together. Some of the best years of my life were spent with him. I even let him read my diary. That is how close we were. Somedays we would just drive. We could talk forever without always having to say words.  He was fracking rich and a gentleman when he wanted to be. He could be the most generous person you knew. Once, before he changed, he could make me smile when I felt like dying. He wanted to be everything he thought I deserved and more. He gave me a hickey on my couch while my mom was home. That jerk. In front of my best friend. Then he gave her some too. It was kind of gross. *Joan laughs and agrees* We were so stupid. He didn’t take me to Disneyland. I hope he remembers when he licked my eye because he will never be able to come that close to me again. He is trash. He looks fat with a beard though.
Joan: What a dick. Man, I thought he was a true friend. I really did. He was the kind of guy you could just be yourself around, ya know? We had the best of times. We could not talk for weeks and still be best friends. I laughed the loudest and loved the most with him. You could always count on good old Peter, or so I thought. He got in a really toxic relationship with some fake bitch and it all spiraled downhill from there. He felt the need to lie and ended up just pushing everyone away. Like, seriously, we were best friends. Like Natalie said, we all wanted to know what a hickey felt like, so what’d we do? Get Peter to give us hickies. It was hilarious. Looking back now I realize that he is truly, honestly, an ass. He just uses everyone’s emotions when he needs them, and wipes them under his shoe when he’s finished. He’s a cocky, fake, jerky little dick. And I never used the word ‘dick’ until he turned into one. And honestly, I think that’s what he thinks with, his dick. Cause he’s a dick, the little dick. Dick dick dick dick dick diccckkkkkkkkkkk dick dick dick dick dick dick HE’S A DICK.
You know the worst part? We’re still friends. I guess me and Nat just couldn’t let go of what used to be. What a dick.

And that’s how it goes. There’s of course more people that pass through the doors of 1273, but these people have found a place in the heart of Dean Avenue. And now that you know the basics, my dear, please understand that our story has only just begun.

to be continued.

also, i'm shocked if you read all this. 

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Imperfectly Me

I'm sensibly insensible.
I'm ignorantly educated.
I'm hopelessly wishful,
and casually undetermined.
I'm a high maintenance middle class,
lost in a world of beautiful sins.

I'm directly lost
with an invisible map
that plainly leads to nowhere.

I'm a dull color wheel,
or a bright gray,
depending on the day.

I'm sensibly insensible,
and perfectly imperfect,
and I just might be fine
with staying that way.

7/seven

This is the seventh poem I've written about you.
They say that seven is a magical  number
that because it's 3+4 it has all this hidden meaning
and that authors purposely use it for symbolic reasons.
To me it just means that this is the seventh time I've been too weak to say no.

I've heard things like
"the person you are mad at the most is the person you care about most"
and I'm always like "lol no!"
because it's hard for me to admit that I really do care about you.
Scratch that,
I'll openly admit that I cared about you
but never would I say I still do.

I don't know how you  keep sucking me in
because you've given me more than enough reasons to stay out
and I don't think I love you, but I do think it's time for honest hour.

Honestly, it kills me that you still haven't taken me to a dance.
Honestly, I hate that Harry Potter isn't your second religion,
because we'd have so much fun if it were.
Honestly, I will never get tired of you knocking on my door,
instead of just texting "here".
Honestly, you are the perfect image of everything that destroys me.
Honestly, I hate you.
Honestly, everything about you makes me cringe.
Honestly, I still picture us in a relationship.
Honestly, I love you.
Honestly, it took so much courage to write that.
IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou
but not in the Disney Princess and Prince kind of way
in the casual sandals and tea kind of way.
Honestly, I hate when you're honest with me.
I hate knowing all your secrets,
and I hate when you don't tell me your secrets.
Honestly, I just want to you to be everything I need you to be, and
honestly, I know that you're not even close.
Honestly, I always hope that two years will change you.
Honestly, your parents are the nicest/scariest people I have ever met.

but wait, there's more...
Honestly, I'm so confused about my feelings for him.
Honestly, I threw up a little when I thought I wanted him to kiss me.
Honestly, I hate what you've become,
but I wonder if I really just hate what I've become.
Honestly, I just want you to hold me and listen to me,
and be invested in my life
and have you heard that stupid thing that says
"If the crush lasts longer than four months it's love"?
Honestly, I've had a crush on you for five years.

It's hard to accept that I don't actually know you,
I live on what I want you to be.
Honestly, I'm so done with you and can't wait til you're gone.
Honestly, I've thought about deleting your number off my phone,
but then I remember that I have it memorized.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

#stolen from the real world

I don't know what love is.
I have never been in love before (at least I don't think I have.) I have never been in love before, but I have been in this world long enough to "understand" it. Seventeen magazine gives me flirting tips, and Kris Jenner reminded me that your first marriage doesn't need to work out, neither does your second one. My friend's on her fourth. Hey, this is life, right? So this is love, mmmhmmmhmmmhmmm....

Ever noticed that there's more break up songs out there than love songs?

I have been choked by the influence of music.
(i never said this was a bad thing.)
I don't know what love is, but I know what I would like it to be. I know I would like it to feel like a barefoot day in the meadow with a sundress and naturally blonde hair. I know I want it to be an over sized sweater with a big hot chocolate mug and a million laughs. I know there's supposed to be some passionate kissing and mesmerizing sentiments. I think I'd like it to be leaving to go get the groceries, and coming back with priceless memories. I want it to feel like the Fourth of July everyday.
I have been choked by the influence of music, and it has shaped my ideal definition of love. I have tried to mash it into a perfect love soliloquy. Full of awkward pauses, and small giggles, teary eyes and breathless moments.

I call it:
I Won't Give Up, Michelle, if you Run Away With Me. We can Light a Roman Candle and I won't be a Gambler.
(it's a very awkward title, but I suppose so is love.)

Let me catch my breath...
this is really hard.
If I start to look like I'm sweating, well...
it's cause I am.
*i laugh and he smiles at how stupid he feels*
*trying to start over*
Slow down,
we've got time left to be lazy.
So, light a Roman candle with me.
Just a Roman candle,
you can wear your sandals,
and I'll pour you just one cup of tea.
Then you can go and rest,
you haven't seen my best...
cause I won't give up on us.
Even if the skies get rough.
I'm giving you all my love...
God knows we're worth it.
*eyes brighten as new idea comes into his mind*
...run away with me?
*excitement builds*
Let me be your ride out of town,
let me be the place that you hide...
get the car packed and throw me the key.
Run away with me.
Say the word, and I'm already there!
*tears form in both of our eyes*
I love you
I love you
I love you! That's all I want to say.
*cute small giggle here*
But it was love at second sight.
*i nod and smile at the memories*
I swear when I grow up, I won't just buy you a rose.
I will buy the flower shop,
And you will never be lonely.
*a pause*
Ma belle...
Sont des mots qui vont tres bien ensemble...
tres bien ensemble.
*a small laugh, because we both know what this actually means*
*i look down but he continues to stare at me. when we meet eyes again
it's perfect*





my favorite "love" songs
i won't give up - jason mraz
michelle - the beatles
run away with me - the unauthorized biography of samantha brown
(^^ i think it's a musical or something)
the gambler - fun.


Monday, February 10, 2014

Dying Wish

Hold me closer
Hold me tighter
Hold me longer
For, tomorrow
we die.

When you tell me you're here for me
Mean it.
When you tell me I'm beautiful
Mean it.
When you tell me you love me
Mean it.
When you kiss me,
kiss harder,
For, tomorrow
we die.

If I could spend my last moments with you
Dying wouldn't be so
scary.

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Elementary, Dear Watson.

We changed the words to 
"(ear) L-O-L-O-L-O-L-O-B-E!"
And I thought my brother's acne was a disease.

Color Crew!


When you say crayons, I think Color Crew.
I guess I just watched too much BabyFirst TV this summer.
(I was a nanny. But I used to make her watch Color Crew.
I really liked guessing what color was going to be picked.
Then I realized it was always the fourth one in.)

Dear Big Me,

I'm so excited for you to get a boyfriend in high school and to have a best friend and be popular. I hope you do your hair like Lizzie McGuire, and wear really cute clothes. Don't talk to ****** because she's a weird and you can be friends with ***** because she's prettier. I can't wait until you get your driver's license and you and your friends can drive everywhere and to your parties that you'll go to every weekend. But don't forget Jesus is your friend and He luvs u!!!!!!!!!

-Little Me

Dear Little Me,

When you grow up, you're going to hate life a little more. And I know you think it's unfair now, but just wait another 7ish years. And, you should have just asked mom for the Barbie Jeep. She wouldn't have been mad. I'm sorry to break it to you that you're not very popular and you don't have a boyfriend and Lizzie McGuire hair is really awkward now. BUT you do have friends and you love them. Things might get rough sometimes, but you know they're always there for you in the end.

Fight with your sister a little less. Stay out of her business, because news flash, you're not always right. And I know, she's a brat sometimes, but that won't change. Learn to be the bigger person even though you're the litter sister. And be a littler happier when she gets engaged, kay? 

Your favorite color will always be green, but I know you're going to say it's pink and yellow and orange and black because you're just tired of saying green. 

You still won't have your drivers license at 17. You'll learn about a little thing called anxiety, and realize that driving provokes it.

You won't get invited to parties, but you won't really care. To be honest, your life will be nothing how you imagined it, and you won't really care.

Jesus still loves you, but you stopped going to church.

You're going to have enough lamented Young Women's quotes to fill a room, but they will all stay tucked away in your "church purse" which you won't pick up after ninth grade. You'll get a lot of calls from people who are "worried about you" and "just checking in". Be a little nicer to them, kay? You will learn that they're not actually worried, and they just look at you like a check mark on an attendance sheet, but...it won't hurt you to be nice.

You're going to like him, and he's going to like her. And all the boys you like in high school won't like you back.

That boy you "fell in love with" in eighth grade? Yeah, you didn't fall in love. But your heart will still ache for him senior year.

If I could make you do something different, I'd make you talk more, and talk quieter, so people actually want to hear what you have to say.

Just be content with life, cause it doesn't change.

There will be a time when the unthinkable happens. I wish I could go into more detail, but it's still hard for me to think about. Be there for her more when she needs you, and less when she needs them. You'll be able to tell, just look a little harder. Sometimes you'll think she's not there for you...she is. She just has a funny way of showing it sometimes.

I'm sorry, this doesn't make much sense, but you'll find your ability to accurately describe how you feel gets worse and worse each year.

I hope you still love me.

-Big Me

P.S. One day he'll stop playing his guitar. Please appreciate it now. Please don't ever forget. And, it's okay to cry when he says he "can't remember how to play". Cry long and hard.

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Raggedy Ann

(I'm on a diet and I should be on my elliptical right now. LOL)

It's 7:02, and maybe I'm just obsessed with time, but I'm waiting for your call. I'm waiting because you made me walk halfway to you before saying no, you'd call me later. Well, it's later and I'm waiting for your call. I honestly don't even want to see you, but you make it seem like I'm a big deal. You make it seem like I'm somehow important in this maze you call your life, but how long until I get lost in it again? No, I'm seeing all the warning signs, I guess I'm just ignoring them.

It's now 7:06 and my obsession rings on with my gratitude for him. You know, his texts tonight reminded me that I'm a person, something you could never do, cause in your eyes, I'm an object. A doll even. But not an eighteen-inch with pretty hair and glass eyes, a rag doll. I won't break if you throw me.

7:08, and I'm becoming increasingly aware that I want to read in the bathtub.

7:10 and I remember I'm scared of reading in the bathtub, because I don't want to drop my book in the water.

7:11 and I had to wait a whole minute to write something else, because of my time issues. Remember how I said I won't break if you throw me? Yeah. I'm proud of that. I'm proud because I don't need to mold to your life, I'm going to get up and walk away this time.

Actually, I might not break,  but I certainly got ripped when she distanced me. (7:13)

Maybe things would be different if I cared about what I wore a little more. Maybe, 7:14 now, if I kept my hair blonde and laughed at everyone's jokes instead of calling them idiots, I'd be happier. Maybe if I started high school over again tomorrow, I'd meet someone like you and Rhonda Bromley would know my first name because I'm "that cool". I bet I wouldn't swear as much, and I think you'd like that, and maybe I'd speak Spanish. Then we would speak together and laugh at the pointless things we said. No one would know, because we were speaking Spanish. Maybe I'd just always have to be happy for you without getting too close, cause I'm not sure you know what a real friend is.

It's 7:19, the perfect time to think about what I'd do differently if I could press restart on high school. I'd probably make it a goal to graduate seminary, and talk to people. That means I'd have 684 friends, rather than the whopping three I have now. I'd carry around a princess lunch box and smile at everyone in the hall. I'd have four pairs of combat boots, and two pairs of riding boots, and skinny jeans would be my middle name. Heaven forbid I wear leggings, no no no. Too scandalous.

Well, 7:26, and here's what I've got to say. It doesn't bother me that I'm not on student council, and I will call you an idiot if your joke is stupid. Call me Raggedy Ann, but you can't tear me down, because I'm determined to get back up, with or without you. I love my friends, and I love my acquaintances, too (I've got a lot of those) I do have a swearing problem, but you better damn well deal with it, because it's gotten a lot better since November. My lunch box is Charlie Brown, but I don't even pack a lunch anymore and that doesn't bother me. Going to all four periods a day is hard, and I know you belittle me when I admit that, but get off your high horse. I only own one pair of combat boots, and one pair of riding boots, and they're both brown. I sometimes put thought into what I wear, but lately I haven't, and that's when I've been getting the most compliments. I LOVE LEGGINGS and I will wear them always (except not lately because all of mine got holes in them) I'm in the middle of skinny and fat, but my butt is rockin'. And I don't know if I'm making sense anymore, but I really don't care, because it's 7:32 and I'm still waiting for you to call.

I think when you call I'll blow you off because I'll be reading a book in the bath.

7:33 and I think I'm going to love me.

Monday, February 3, 2014

9:02 pm

I'm tired of hearing
"You have cold hands,"
more than
"I love you, honestly."
And I'm tired of saying
"Cold hands, warm heart."
And I'm tired of hearing your laugh that follows.

But it's 9:02,
so  maybe I'm just tired.

I already said I was bad at titles.

"Lately life's been the same, I find this comfortable place with all my friends and then my friends start telling me that I've always been wrong.
I'm so tired of being wrong."
Paranoia in B flat Major - The Avett Brothers

I lied to you today. I guess I should say I'm sorry, but I'm really not. I know it's awkward to not hear me say sorry, because it's turned into my comfort word, and it's getting hard to say anything else. I lied because I was uncomfortable with the situation. She terrifies me to no end, and I don't know what would happen if I lost you. I lied because it was too cold outside and I'm too much of a wimp to have fun anymore. I lied because this is about the seventeenth time I've read Harry Potter, but if I can open my mind to his world, I can shut mine to my own.

I'm going to be honest, I'm sick of giving you my loyalty and my trust and my love and receiving nothing in return. Whoever said giving is better than getting has obviously never been in my situation, because it sucks. I know you adorn me with your title of "best friend", but I feel like I'm no better than that girl you trashed the other night. When I talk to you, you've begun to roll your eyes and belittle me. We always talked about how belittling is the worst punishment, and I'm regretting opening up to you.

The worst part is, I know you're not trying to punish me. Or, I hope you're not trying to punish me. (What did I do? I'm sorry.) With how little we've been talking and how much you've been talking, I'm starting to think it really is a punishment. 

I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry

And maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, but it wouldn't be the first time. Or maybe you just don't want to be my friend, because you mock me with your every inflection. They say actions speak louder than words, and you couldn't get more true than that, not even with the Bible.

And I don't know if you're going through a hard time, but if you are, I'm here, I always have been, but I don't know if I always will be, because you're actions have been pushing me farther and farther away, and I'm about to fall off the cliff.

I really can't lose you, because if I do then I really am alone. Just simply alone. 

because she went to him,
but she wasn't actually there at first
because her problems were bigger than the world.
and when he started to leave
i clung on too hard and just ended up pushing him away.
and they're not true friends,
but if i ever need a high i know who to go to.
and him...
well, he's there for everyone else, too
and i've always been a little possessive. 
but it's only because i've never felt like i've had a true thing to call my own.
sorry.
actually, i think i really am this time.

Just simply alone.

Saturday, February 1, 2014

My Wiring

I guess you could say I'm human. I have a working body of flesh and blood, and I suppose I feel.

Lately, feelings have been becoming a task, not an emotion. 
She got engaged...feel happy.
Mom's on vacation...feel rebellious.
You're applying for college...feel excited.
You two made up...feel relieved.

Name any positive emotion, I've checked it off on this ever going to do list I call my brain:
ecstatic (check)
brave (check)
blessed (check)
energetic (check)
happy (check check check)
 (that one has a lot of checks, because apparently you're supposed to feel it a lot.)
faithful (check)
motivated (check)
free, prepared, relaxed...

Forcing yourself to feel isn't fun.
Forcing yourself to feel isn't right.
Forcing yourself to feel isn't human.

So, maybe what I'm trying to say is I'm not human.

Maybe what I'm trying to say is that I am a robot.
That I really believe my brain is wire a certain way, and there's nothing I can do to change it.

There are these times when I feel a glimmer of emotion. I smile naturally, I laugh whole heartedly...
But then when I lay in bed, I close my eyes and wipe my tears,
because I'm not turning back to my past,
it's catching up to me.

She got engaged...felt lost.
Mom's on vacation...felt lost.
I applied for college...felt lost.
We made up...felt lost.

Someone get a road map, because I might not be taking u turns, but I sure am lost.

12:36

Lunchtime walking through the halls makes me realize I'm very angry.
There's close to nothing poetic about this,
I might just be an angsty teenager.

I hate the boy in the flat-brimmed Bronco's hat,
sitting next to the awkward lanky one.
He's wearing it because he thinks it's his ticket to fit in.

I hate that girl laughing too loudly at her friend's jokes.
It's because she thinks they're all she has to hold on to.

I hate the sad boy walking by himself.
He's only walking because he wants people to think
he has something to do,
somewhere to be,
someone to meet.

I hate the two sophomore girls walking and talking
deep in their conversation.
They remind me of me and her when we were sophomores.
I wish we were sophomores again.

I hate the girl coming to talk to me.
No, I want to be alone.
I'm not lonely,
I just want to be alone.