Difficult.

Have you ever been told that you were being "difficult"? I know I have. It happens when you say something others don't agree with, or you are strong in values that others don't share. The meaning of "difficult" is: hard. Essentially, when someone calls you "difficult", they are having a hard time agreeing with you, or a hard time changing your mind about something. What's so wrong with that? Everyone has their own opinions.

Opinions, now there's another contraversial word. We all talk of "individuality" and "expressing our own thoughts", but we always want to be the one who's "right", too. If everyone's opinions are unique to the individual, how can they be "right" or "wrong"? They can't be. I am however a big fan of the word "misconception". You know what I mean; not everything is as it seems. A person can strongly believe something, but turn out to be completely mislead. People often make decisions that create excess problems in their lives or deteriorate their feelings of personal dignity. These decisions are then inaccurately labelled "wrong decisions", because of the regret that follows. But, these decisions aren't bad decisions at all. They are in fact, the best kinds of decisions because they help a person grow. Provided of course, that the person making the decision made the decision in order to do the best they could for THEMSELVES and not for anyone else.

One of the most common ways of hurting yourself is to make decisions in order to prove yourself to others. For example, oftentimes girls adopt promiscuous behaviors to prove their sexual liberty. They want to prove that they are proud of their bodies. They also want to show that they are capable of having emotionally detatched relationships. Ironically, none of these girls are "free" at all, because they are so focused on proving their so-called "liberation" to men. Because these women are so busy validating themselves as opposed to doing what they think is best for themselves, bad decisions and self distruction are bound to be present.

However, making personal decisions is rarley easy, since most of us (especially teenagers such as myself) aren't really sure what to believe in. We all have a billion thoughts bouncing around in our heads; different ideas of what is the best way of living, different inseights. It's especially hard when trying to consider matters of the heart.

A lot of people will tell you that feelings aren’t important, that you should use your head. It’s at those times when I feel like laughing. Why is it always a debate of head vs. heart? Our heart, ladies and gentlemen, doesn’t actually feel much. All it feels is the pressure of your red blood cells being pumped to different regions of the body. Yes, you get what I’m saying. The heart is a muscle. Emotions are derived from the brain. Feelings are just thoughts that havn’t been elaborated upon yet; thoughts without words or pictures. If you actually sat down and dissected your emotions, you would discover that they actually make sense. Actually, your feelings are a lot more valueable than anything your “head” has to say, because feeling comes from inside of you. The rest of the babble going on in your brain is simply bits of regurgitated thought, collected from others. As we discussed earlier, the best decisions are made despite what other people think. Therefore, if you wish to make the most constructive decisions for yourself, feelings are actually the most important things.

And sure, even then you could potentially mess up. But as long as the decision is yours and yours alone, you will be proud of it and proud of yourself. It’s never easy to reject the counsels of others, because if your ideas are different than theirs, they will probably label your thinking as “wrong”. Don’t worry about it. Setting your own boundaries and making your own decision is your own PERSONAL responsibility. And personal means that other people don’t have to agree. It's honorable to be "difficult".

My Script - excercise 1

I'm currently reading "Girls Gone Mild" by Wendy Shalit. The entire concept of the book is basically about young women's (and girl's) hopes for love and emotional connection with men versus society's view that such hopes are impossible. I actually find it to be a very interesting read because I myself feel hopeless and wothless when it comes to guys. It seems like no male actually values me. As a matter of fact, my boyfriend hasn't called me all summer and before the break, he only wanted to get together to mess around in the forest. However, he is a decent guy. It's just so strange to see how what guys want and what girls want is so drastically different. While I do find "Girls Gone Mild" to be an excellent read, I am still kind of wondering if emotional connections with men are even possible since society has taught women that the only way to attract a man is to objectify themselves. It's really hard to point fingers in a situation like this, too. It's not right to blame the men, since we teach them how to treat us. At the same time, blaming the women is utterly ridiculous. All I know is, everything sure is mixed up.

I was brought by two people who dated since high school. My dad is a wonderful person who blushes at sexual jokes and refuses to use deragatory terms with anyone. Except for when he occasionally uses the word "skank". Even then, he still blushes. I think my mom is one of the luckiest people in the world, because that's rare in men. My mom is a little less shy of those things. She often brings up sexual matters. She comments to me on which of her co-workers she finds attractive. The told me about the time she gave a cuban dancer condoms as a gift. She is much more lax about such things. I tell my mother a lot about my own personal dating life as well as the physical aspect of it. Her reaction: "If you have sex, don't tell me. I don't want to know." She is also not afraid to voice her opinion that my boyfriend is using me. My parents do not expect me to have sex, however they probably suspect that me messing around with my boyfriend is extremely likely. Certaintly my mother who, like I previously mentioned, is already informed about the sexual area of my life. I would also like to say that in my family, I am the rebel. Whenever something goes wrong, I am accused. Usually the accusations are right. I am not expected to listen to what my parents say half the time. However, when it comes right down to it, my parents trust me. Hence their expectation that I would experiment with sexual things without actually having sex. Or oral. Ew. When it comes to drinking, my mom knows I would have a few drinks but doubts the possibility of me over-drinking. My dad on the other hand, doubts that an alcaholic beverage would ever pass through my lips except at family gatherings. As far as drugs are concerned, my parents would be shocked if I ever did any. On the whole, my parents expect me to be responsiable, but somewhat mischevious.

My friends have a similar opinion of me. Actually, maybe a less harsh one. Kayla, one of my best friends, always expects me to do slightly more than I've done. She predicted that I'd been down my boyfriend's pants about a month before we actually got to that stage in our relationship. Since most things happen slowly, since the ladder concept (one step at a time) is the most common, she is usually pretty accurate in predicting things. None of her guesses are too far out, just slightly out of reach. My other best friend, Eric, doesn't expect anything from me. Whatever I say goes, as far as drugs and alcahol are concerned. The only thing he doesn't approve of is how far I've been with my boyfriend; he believes guys and girls should get to know each other extremely well before engaging in sexual activities. However, he keeps his opinions about that stuff pretty quiet; he understands that my life is my own buisness. He also expects me to keep a cool head; he doesn't think I'll sleep with my boyfriend, drink too often or do drugs. My best friends do however make me feel the need to dress different than I would like, and to joke about sexual things more than I feel to be prudent.

You're probably wondering about my boyfriend's opinions. Well, as far as sex goes, he thinks it's all for fun. He rarely tells me he loves me. As a matter of fact, he told me that since we are only in highschool, our relationship isn't "serious". He's asked me to give him a blowjob before. He didn't push it when I said no, but he hasn't made plans to hang out with me since (and this was back in June!). He doesn't eat lunch with me, he doesn't call me on the phone. He only sees me when he feels like it. When we touch each other, he refers to it as "playing". I'm pretty sure he expects me to eventually sleep with him. On the topic of alcahol, he likes hearing about when I drink. He has told me several times that hearing about me drinking "turns [him] on". He wouldn't be surprised if I did drugs, but I don't think he cares if I do them one way or another. He doesn't care how I dress, but he doesn't like it when I braid my hair in several braids. That's about it with him.

Some of these expectations are liberating, others maddening. I think I have wonderful parents, and what they expect is reasonable and realistic. Sometimes I don't like the way they go about enforcing these expectations, but what kid does? My friend's expectations of me are not bad, but they do not exactly lift me up. It would be better for me if my friends assumed the best from me. My boyfriend's expectations hurt me. He doesn't seem to care about my well-being at all, simply my attraction factor.

I personally don't like the idea of sexual encounters in the least. It seems to me that the second a guy unzips his pants, it isn't about you and him being together anymore. It's about him getting what he wants; using you to obtain pleasure. All thoughts of true love are dismissed as silly and us girls pretend we don't care that all he wants is a hole to jerk off in. Sexual things make me feel worthless. The media is a terrible influence on this sort of thing. As far as alcahol goes, I don't like the idea of being drunk. I also don't like the idea of drinking on any kind of a regular basis. However, getting a buzz a couple of times a year is fun. As far as drugs go, they scare me. I see them as the worst and most appealing thing in the world. Therefore, I think I should keep away from them. Again, the media should stop promoting drug use.

I guess my ideas are a bit different than society's. But, not so different from hers. Or even his.

bet on it

Everybody’s always talking at me
Everybody’s tryng get in my head
I wanna listen to my own heart talking
I need to count on my self instead

Did you ever lose yourself to get what you want
Did you ever get on a ride then wanna get off
Did you ever push away the ones you should have held close
Did you ever let go?
Did you ever not know?

I’m not gonna stop
That’s who I am
I’ll give it all I got that is my plan
When I find what I lost
You know you can
Bet on it, bet on it, bet on it, bet on it on me
I’m gonna make it right
That is the way
To turn my life around
Today is the day
Am I the type of guy that means what I say?
Bet on it, bet on it, bet on it, bet on it

How will I know if there’s a path worth taking
Should I question ever move I make
With all I’ve lost my heart is breaking
I don’t wanna make the same mistake

Did you ever doubt your dream then let it come true
Did you ever blame the world and never blame you
I would never try to live a lie again
I don’t wanna win this game if I can’t play it my way

I’m not gonna stop that’s who I am who I am
I’ll give it all I got that is my plan that’s my plan
When I find what I lost
You know you can know you can
Bet on it, bet on it, bet on it, bet on it bet on me

I’m wanna make it right
That is the way
To turn my life around
Today is the day
Am I the type of guy that means what I say?
Bet on it, bet on it, bet on it, bet on it

Oh hold up
Give me room to think
Bring it on down
Gotta work on my swing
Gotta do my own thing
Oh hold up
Stop

It’s no good at all
To see yourself and not reconize your face
Out on my own it’s such a scary place
Ohhhh the anwsers are all inside of me
All I gotta do is believe

I’m not gonna stop
Not gonna stop till I get my shot
That’s who I am that is my plan
Will it end up on top
You can
Bet on it, bet on it, bet on it, bet on it you can

Bet on it, bet on it, bet on it, bet on it bet on me
I’m wanna make it right
That is the way
To turn my life around
Today is the day
Am I the type of guy that means what I say?
Bet on it, bet on it, bet on it, bet on it
You can bet on me


**********************

I wish I had someone to bet on. Well, I actually do have someone I am betting on. It's just that odds are he won't come through in the end. I wish I had someone who cared about me.

Oh well. They can all bet on me, even if I can't bet on them.

i hate him.

he promised he would be there forever. "a circle's round! it has no end! that's how long i want to be your friend!" FUCK YOU! more like "a circle's round! it has no end! only beginnings! I'll never fucking complete what we've started!" I hate him. I hate his eyes, his promises, his lies. I hate his stories. I hate the way he made me feel needed then turned around and completed his own circle. And linked it with someone elses. leaving me alone in the dirt. Now all I want to do is call him up and beg, because he is the second best thing I have ever had in my life. But I can't do that; my pride won't allow it. I'm freaking out. All I can do is trace the circle we drew together in the sand. Using my right big toe i shape over the big wide "O". feeling the grains underneath my feet. The grains have changed. The tide is coming in and the sand we buit our circle in is caving uder; wet. Wet from the tears he's never yet seen me cry. But, it happens all the time. I cry. "I'm not gunna lie about it, I'm not bulletproof." Actually, I'm the sounds of a billion gunshots. The white surrender flag. The peace sign. The girl who continually survives even the most brutal of fights. But never gets her way. Others I care about die off. I give up what I really crave. I compromise. So, no one hates me. No one is out to get me. Everyone is out to forget about me. Fighting their own battles, no one cares to thank the person who supplies them food and help when they need it. All he cares about is winning over her. So, fine. Let him starve.

The problem is, watching him starve will bother me more than starving will bother him. Or her. And it won't bring him back. Maybe I will call.

Or maybe not.

It depends. On how high the tide seems to be and wether or not I think I can hold on. Or if it would be smarter to just let go; to surrender?

Listen to your parents

I'm supposed to write something about why kids should listen to their parents. It's for my mom. I left the house at eleven PM when she SPECIFICALLY told me not to. As opposed to all of the other times when I just sneak. What good my writing is going to accomplish, I'll never know. As far as I can see, nothing. I'm still not going to do things I don't want to do. I guess she just wants validation. She wants to make sure she isn't wrong in her assumption that she knows best. Since deep down she knows that I am the one who is in charge, that must be why she feels the need to ask my opinion. So here goes:

Contrary to popular belief, there are several reasons why kids should listen to their parents. Let's start with the fact that our society would be a heck of a lot better off with an ounce of grattitude. If kids were taught to appreciate all of the things their parents provided for them, they would be a lot more concious of what other people do for them in the "real world". If kids would learn to sit down and shut up when appropriate, they would also be far more equipped to handle difficult situations that arise with other authority figures such as their bosses and teachers; people who have the power to influence their lives. On a more personal level, kids should listen to their parents becacuse "blood is thicker than water". Usually that phrase is used to mean: family is more important than friends. However, let's interprate it this way: even if what parents want thier kids to do isn't what's best for the kid in question, (as long as doing it won't seriously harm them), why not do it? What the kid believes they should do is symblized by water. Love of their parents is symbolized by blood. Kids appreciating the people who matter most is far more important than doing what they want. However, the most important reason that kids should listen to their parents is that if they don't, there are concequences. For example, they may be forced to waste their talents and their time writing lame explinatinons as to why kids should listen to their parents. In short, kids should listen to their parents because it is far simpler than dealing with all the drama that comes with disobediance.


Pretty good, eh? =P

I've already thought this

I've already thought this thought a billion trillion times over.Or rather, these thoughts. Excuse me. He never calls. But I stay because I do believe we have a chance; I'm positive he likes me. I want in his pants. But he won't let me because of the circumstances. So I'm torn. Between fighting chances and chances never given. Between lovers and friends. Which is all rather hilarious since I'm going to die fighting in one battle and not ever even get the oppritunity in the second. So really, I'd be better off ammusing myself in some other way. But, the appeal of war is too great: the chance to stand up and prove that I am someone. That I do in fact, have something worth fighting for. I took my pride out from my closet and burned it down. Until all that was left was a paper bag named shame. Yet I wore it with dignity, integrity and an unespected twist of vanity. And a tiara. I am the paper bag princess, crowned with the wish to win. And, since I wear the crown, it's obvious I will. Or else I'll order you killed. But, I wouldn't. Because I'm off to rescue him. And all he can say is "come back when you're dressed like a real princess.", "come back when I'm not too busy for you." or "come back when I'm done with everybody else." Doesn't anybody respect royalty these days? I guess not. I guess the folds of dignity and integrity aren't worth much; they're just paper. Pride is worth a hell of a lot more. But what would I have to be proud of if I didn't try? I could doll up. Paint on some lipstick. Buy a dress. Burn my bag instead. I could get my Prince. But who the hell would I be then? Mrs. Prince Ronald? Mrs. Princess Elizabeth is a way more famous name anyway. And her future is set: to become a queen. Who the fuck is Ronald? No one but the princes of my heart. He's pretty gorgeous. He's pretty clueless. He's worth nothing. I still stand alone. Thank God for my paper bag. Without it, I'd be naked and even more useable than now. Or I'd just be cold. But I'm not; that's not me. I would never hurt anyone. But I would move dragons for you. I would risk my life for you. But I'll never die for you. Or let you see me cry. you're not worthy of it. all your worth is my re-consideration of the way I've been treating myself. Again, I blame it on me and you are off the hook. I just don't want to spend my life dolling up for some prince who isn't even around. I'm glad I'm finding out. that "YOU ARE A BUM!". But I'm not at the part where you reject me yet. And what kind of a friend would I be if I didn't at least try to save you? This isn't about you. It's about me and my mossion, cloaked in a paper bag.

the five deadliest sins.

1. vanity

as in, no thinking you are better than anyone else. no reveling in your own personal mystique.

as in, no blogging.

2. gluttony

as in, no overating. savoring every morcel of nourishment that you are fortunate enough to come accross. thinking and feeling the joys of eating.

as in, no eating loads of KD with your friends.

3. jealousy

as in, no wanting what isn't yours.

as in, no wanting to kill his crush because she's a rat faced trollop.

4. lust

no skanking around. no tramping the seats. no obsessing over the likes of me.

as in, no going for him.

5. greed

don't want more.

as in, don't blog about what you are missing.


as in...i'm going to hell

why waiting does more

why do i think im special when no one else does? why do i lift myself up while others put me down? why do i smile when they tell me to frown? why do i wear pink when they insist i wear brown? and after all this, they still take the crown. and the cake. and the rake. and everything but the kitchen sink. because that's mine. the place where i clear off the grime and the soot on my platter of life. i dream of maybe becoming a wife. or not. maybe dying alone. but that's more of a nightmare than a dream. something i try to avoid during my scheames of mass construction and self destruction. and skip the instructions. i wanna be unique. even if i mess up and connect up all the wrong parts. here is where tomorrow starts today and forever skips a moment. here, where we sit.

and wait.

FUCK ITS 1:01

why the fuck do you pretend to even have the faintest idea of what you are talking about? they aren't fucking beneath you. my writing doesn't suck just because i use the word "fuck". he isn't an idiot just because he plays one on T.V. she isn't stupid just because she makes a few typos. oh god, maybe i'm like them. shallow, insipid and wrapped up in my own false glories. i don't want to be. i never want to loose it again. the feeling of knowing someone better than they know themselves. the understanding and commitment to another person that i felt to her. she was my best friend forever. now, fuck. we barely look at each other. we can't stand it. or at least, i can't. i can't stand knowing she likes other people better than me. what the fuck did i do wrong? what is it that i always do wrong? why don't guys love me? i don't befuckinglieve it. i'm not a whore. i'm not living in a steryotypical world where every guy screws every girl for fun. guys turn me down. he turned me down. i told him no strings attatched, i was his. he told me, get some fucking strings, i don't want you. so here i sit, knowing i don't have any real friends anymore. because. because the one person i care about the most couldn't care less about me. sometimes i imagine she still wants to be friends. in a way it's impossible to me. that we could have shared EVERY FUCKING THING our entire lives and she still doesn't care. doesn't miss me. at least not as much as i miss her. or maybe not at all. probably not much. that's what my boyfriend told me when i first told him about her. how could he say that? now he pretends he forgets who she is, or shrugs it off when i want to talk about it. that's why i kind of hate him. how could i love someone who doesn't want to hear about her? and i hate him because he never calls. he didn't even send me a fucking postcard from fucking italy. oh my fucking god he WAS ONLY GONE TWO WEEKS!!! we've been dating almost nine months. i'm bawling my eyes out. well, it's kind of subsiding now. sitting on my cousin's bathroom floor in Boston, Mass, USA. mutherfucking USA. sorry about all the swearing, kids. it helps me pace myself, calm down. in real live...ha i almost said "in real life"...then i remembered that i'm living now too. but what i mean is, in person, i don't swear much. at least, not outta the random like that. i don't wanna loose all respect people have for me. some people tell me that the people i hang out with are going to wreck my life. that i'm made to do great things. i HATE them for that. what the fuck do they think? that she wasn't? what did she think? i'll tell you what i remember of her. she was beautiful. but she didn't know it. she still is. maybe she knows it now. i don't know. she told me that if she could have any hair in the world, she'd want hair like mine: blond and wavy. well, that's what she called it. my family tells me i'm kind of part burnette. i say fuck you, i'm blond. she said i was. and the fact that i can't even spell "blond" kind of proves it. unless i am spelling it right?.. i dunno. she never cared much for trying, because she believed in Rob Thomas' words (even though they hadn't been spoken back then...or at least, she never heard them...or at least, not as far as i am aware).."DONT STRAIN CUZ NOTHIN EVER COMES FROM IT". she had dreams. she wanted to be a vet. she doesn't anymore. or maybe she does. just like i kinda still want to be a famous singer. just so that people will remember my name. know something about me. and her. oh my god i can't live without this. we were best friends. i can't believe a couple of dumb fucks and some drugs could change all that. i wonder what he's like. her boyfriend. i know this might just be my bad luck, but i've never yet found a guy who truly values a girl. i mean, i'm dating a GEEK and i think i'm still getting used. what for i'll never know, since we aren't having sex and i suck at other kinds of play. he even told me. just like he's bad at it too and i told him. but her boyfriend says he loves her more than anything else in the world. i read it on his myspace profile. and all i could think was "you lucky bastard, you better treasure that girl. one day its gunna sneak up on you and bite you in the ass if you ever hurt her or let her go: she's the best damn thing." not a thing. a girl. i hope he knows the difference. i have always loved avril lavigne. i used to think i looked like her. i used to listen to her 24/7. i still think she's amazing. but her newer album isn't as good as her older one. that's how it always goes though, isn't it? not only is an origional worth more than a copy, a previous origional is most important. first come first serve is the way i base my life. i'm kind of cheered up right about now. that was a great cry though. i havn't cried so hard on my own for a very long time. mainly, i cry on the phone. it's kind of funny. i thought i was in an excellent mood this vacation. and then i go and cry for the first time in months. unless you count the time i cried when a girl died of cancer in the book i was reading. my uncle really pissed me off today. i bought this book called "I Like You". it's about a girl who...guess what? likes someone. and all the reasons why. i bought it so that i can think about what a true friend is. think about her. AND MY FUCKING IDIOT UNCLE GOES: i can't believe it. how old was the author when she wrote this?...he completely made fun of it, because it was a kid's book. he was all"oh yeah, that's art". him and my aunt thought i bought it for a joke. well excuse me mister, i-played-football-in-college and mrs jock's-wife. they are both sports people. their daughters are state champion swimmers. they travel the world, make tons of money and work with computers. i don't think i've found a scrap of paper in this house, let alone paper with anything written on it. what the fuck do they think they know about writing? i liked the fact that it was written for younger kids. in a way. except, in another way, i know lame-ass brain-dead people are going to miss the entire point of the book because it seems "BELOW THEM"...too YOUNG for them. fucking morons. they don't even get it. how that book perfectly discribes what an important person is. what makes someone an amazing friend. and why you should fucking hold on tight to your teddy bears, blankets and best friends. because in the end, they are all that matters. the fact that it was written for little kids just made me like it even more: me and her were CHILDHOOD best friends. and now that i am older than i was before, i have not been able to reach that same closeness with anyone, and i doubt i ever will. that's why i hope and pray she wants to be my friend again. but it can't happen. or..should i make it happen? i'm thinking of asking to go to her cottage again this year. me and my family have gone a couple of times. i want to know her, be there for her. we were supposed to be best friends FOREVER. we were best friends for thirteen years instead. HOW THE FUCK CAN THREE YEARS CHANGE THAT?!?!?!? or...we started slipping away when i was twelve...so three and a hlaf years? regardless, taht's NOTHING compared to what we've shared. when i look at her, I can't IMAGINE her not trusting me, accepting me and missing me. i still can't, even though I'm not looking at her. but it's also obvious i wasn't enough for her. she still didn't want to live in reality. i have a guy friend who does lots of drugs. he used to have a crush on me. i screwed that up. i played hard-to-get and clingy all at once. i'd call him to tell him he wasn't the kind of guy i was interested in. now i'm wondering if maybe he is. he has the decency to call, compliment me, share secrets with me and talk polite and act interested during our conversations. my boyfriend is too busy being "honest" to have any tact onsoever. he never calls. he doesn't even like seeing me that much. my friend does. i know it. once, i skipped school to see him. my boyfriend would have skipped school to see me at the beginning, before we were dating. now, he can't even send me a FUCKING POSTCARD. i can't believe it. here i sit, all A FUCKING LONE. WHY?!?!?!? i used to want so much. to be famous. but not really to be known and loved so much as to be heard. the reason i wanted to be a famous singer to begin with was so i could write songs expressing my true feelings to guys. unfortunately, i'm not that great at lyrics yet. or singing. i could be an actress, but i don't really want to. i'd love to be a writer, so long as i was well known. and maybe that's the way it is for everyone who wants to be famous. they just want to be noticed. but for me..i have so much things to say (duh...this thing is a billion pages long!) and no one wants to hear. i sit alone every night feeling like a failure because i havn't accomplished ANYTHING. but the main thing i have to offer the world is my ideas, and no one wants those. they are so wrapped up in creating false realities. realities where people press their shirts and comb their hair everyday. or where people gamble, drink and smoke forever. i've been a little tipsy before. since i don't really know what drunk is, i'll call it drunk. the girl i drank with said i was piss ass drunk. i think i SUCKED wayyy to much for me to have been drunk. it was the worst feeling in the world.don't get me wrong, i love feeling free. i love being able to say ANYTHING and have no concequence. i love the exhiliration of doing something i over protective parents would try to fucking stop me from doing if they have the muthrfucking chance...HA! they'd shoot me for those sentences if they read them! maybe that's why i liek writing though...i can say anything. and when i have my words and my brain, i feel a lot better. just more desperate. but with drinking comes desperation too, don't you worry. when i was "drunk" (like i said, im not sure, but APPARENTLY i was drunk drunk drunk) i begged my best friend to have sex with me. for over half an hour. and eventually it hit me: he was saying no. i felt like puking, crying and curling up in a ball and dying forever. and in the morning it was even worse: i knew then that the thing that was the worst about drinking is that it doesn't solve anything. you numb yourself for a few hours. then most pass out. but not me. thanks to my fucking insomnia, alcahol keeps me up all night. then you get up in the morning and are all hungover and exausted. and you have to clean up your friend's piss and suck on mints and spray fabreeze all over so your parents don't find out. then you go mope because OH MY GOD you told your best friend you loved him. and he rejected you, liek you knew he would. because deep down inside, you know you two are just like brother and sister. but you decided to try anyway, cuz the alcahol was supposed to help make it easier. you were supposed to convey your wish to him and he was supposed to be all delighted at your offer. i hate chick flicks. actually, i love them and loathe them at the same time. they express every wish every girl has and they ALL COME TRUE. in real life, tellign someone how you feel does NOTHING. they probably already know. and i know it. that's why i don't understand. why he never calls, why the other "he" lies to me, why my best friend doesn't care and why we still aren't close friends anymore. i almost put that we aren't friends anymore, but i don't believe that. i havn't given up the fight just yet. i'm determined to write until at least one o clock. then i can read this again. and again. once i'm finished. me and my friends wanted to duplicate our favourite DVD. you know, re-shoot all of the scenes ourselves. then give it in to the actors. that will take too much time away from my thoughts. becides, my therapist thinks i could do so much more with the world. and she thinks that without looking down on extacy dealers and cocaine users. she sees all people as people. that's why i love psychologists. that's kind of why i want to be one. not because i want to hear the SAME problems over and over again (because i don't), but because i want to be one of the people who "gets it". right now, i honestly don't. but i want to. and i care about all of these lost souls SO much. and i hate people like my UNCLE who say lame ass things such as "the lives of people who do cocaine are worthless". thank you for fucking deciding what's worthless. too bad you are nothing to me and she is everything. anyway, it's one. i just wrote a whole frickin novel. goodnight. i'll probably go to sleep. unless i decide i can't in which case i may come back to write more. but until then...PEACE

PS FUCK ITS 1:01.,..i am one of those freaky organized people who likes things to be exact.

<3

it's hard to cover everything in a poem, but prose hardly narrows down what i'm saying. it's impossible to understand.

i love jacob hoggard.

maybe i'l never love anyone else.

poetry again --> dying in heven

we sit side-by-side, toes touching the open sea,
me thinking that maybe you are thinking of me.
or maybe you aren't and i'm only dreaming
of what this might have been to keep me from screaming
about how spookey and creepy it is; everything.
so i turn over my hand and flirt with my ring
(not given to me by a soul becides myself)
i push my mystique up to the very top shelf.
then i let my lips open, they want to confide
inclings for you i don't have so that i can hide.
and you cast me aside like i believed you would
after all, you wouldn't want to even if you could
take the chance on a person like me; it wouldn't work.
because after all's said and done scilence will lurk
and we can't have that. or else we would have to think
about the things we try to forget as we drink
in moments that have passed and seconds we waste.
that seems like nothing in comparison with taste
of boy and girl and forevers that do end.
and wether we are suitors or friends we pretend
that these fleeting moments will last us a lifetime,
when really forever will get along just fine
without us.

mountain do

hairspray is a phenominal movie about mountains turning into molehills and the places the moles run for sanctuary.

there's a certain feeling a person gets when they reach the edge of the world. when they touch ocean, taste forest or hear desert. the whispers of promises broken are hanging in the air. lies are hung over doorframes far more often than mistletoe. and in that moment of clear perception you realize something:

sleep is like death; you aren't mentally present in reality when not awake. but sleep is also an like life. you have dreams, where everything works out. you also have nightmares, where it feels like everything's hopeless. but in the end, you wake up; reality. so, maybe death and reality are one in the same. maybe death's the time when we finally peel open our heavy eyelids and notice that everything we hope for and worry about wasn't important anyway. so death is realizing reality. but that's what life is too. so we never die.

or we're just idiotic turds sprung from elephants five times our size. why should reality last forever? then again, why shouldn't it? there are moments when its almost totally unbelieveable. that the world could be the exact same everyday. that i could still be the same person. i can't imagine it staying this way.

thank god. life bores me.

but death scares me.

catch us with our eyelids peeled open at the close.

i wait. for wednsday. for work to end. for smles to start and lies to end. for the boy to bend to mend my broken eisel. the girl to peel over his skin and feel the rod of hope that's within; not out. not waiting but going on unnoticed for forever until he notices. waiting for fairytales to scare me and for honey to be sour as my mom's puss. waiting for the lottary to be worthless and sex to be lonely. i wait for realities that i don't have. or maybe i have them and i wish you did.

either way, i wish for realities that aren't there.

don't fein a memory with someone you forget. it's useless for bleeding scars to ever try to mend. the mark will never flee. don't forget about me, the way you felt. me. the way you kissed. me.

i need sleep.

i'm going on vacation.

yay,

boston here i come.

my eyes are open at a time they should be shut. i open at the close.

a series of incomprehensiabe words that will never amount to a sentance.

fat. breasts. saggy. waiting. ass. sex. whore. wanting. leaving. loving. sharing. feeling expressing. bleeding. pain. crying. best. friend. maddie. erease. wait. sit. hope. dream. understand. the. end.

accross the globe

i would walk 1000 steps if i could sleep with you. that’s what the song should have said. instead of all that “i wanna see you” crap. oh sorry. nevermind. the song was written by a girl.

a guy? would love the girl to be far away. so he wouldn’t have to see her. for guys, there’s no such thing as love. only sex and acceptance. you think if you accept me for who i am that you love me? you think if you enjoy being with me you love me? you think if you could only prove it, i would get it? as fucking if.

you wouldn’t even have to contemplate any of the above if you loved me. you wouldn’t be able to imagine an existance without me. time would stand still and our ending wouldn’t have been fortold.

as it is, i predict mayham. and a little boy falls alseep in kingston and thinks of the lucky bastard from italy who gets all the canadian ass he wants.

while an ice princess stays up alone.

from his to hers

from his big brown eyes to her baggy blue ones i see it: the reason for existance and the meaning of hatred. the space between their noses is the line between love and hate. the sound of his scilence is representation of all we wish we could say. the biting words she uses proves her insecurity. his piercing glare pronounces his misunderstanding.

grow the fuck up.

..xxrainbowzz

artistry is feigned with big words and over-used expression. conversion from using the world to express oceans to using nothing but our own heads and sentiments is near impossible. i choose brains over brawn. but i choose rigidness over risky creativity. i don’t get why. why i have the urge to prove my depth by useing the shallowest of words. words such as “emotions”, “ravage” or “expression”. words that are too big to matter. pick your favourite set: mad-sad-pain or furious-depressed-desperation. it’s all the same. why i suppose that a better vocabulary means better art is unbelieveable. in the amount of time i spend finding new words for colours already named i could have named the entire rainbow. instead all i come up with is perrywinkle. when i could have just said blue.

figures.

fuck you.