I was...

When I first started writing here, I was trying to find something. I'm not sure if I've found it.

But, I've definitely lost it.

It's almost as though...

It's almost as though you don't realize that you are not worty of tieing my shoes.

I WANT YOU TO FUCKING APOLOGIZE!
Saying sorry because you think I am leaving does not fucking cut it.

Why can't you be sorry?
Why can't you care?

What do I do about this?

FUCK.


I feel like we are back in a forest in tenth grade. My feelings mean nothing to you.


I need help.

Him.

"I love you.
I need you.
Like a thousand times before."

Matt is my everything.

So, I'm a worthless whore.

I cannot believe what he did to me, until I think about it.

I need some sort of proof that this is real.

"Would he walk on water? Would he run through fire?" Clay Aiken - Measure of a Man.

Fuck. I am not dating a man. I am dating a scared little boy.

This guy is a loser.

I miss Eric so much.

This boy I am dating, he wants nothing to do with me. I'm tired of all of this shit. I didn't need it from him too.

Part of the problem is that from a very young age, I was taught that the way a person is treated bears no impact on how much they are loved. I was hit, but I was loved.

Him?

It's the same.

I accept shit, because when it comes right down to it, I know that he loves me.

Maybe I don't love me.

Time is the New Love

I remember a time when love wasn't a box,
or an unspoken word folded up in old socks.
Calenders count down the days till he is gone,
like sunsets slipping through hour-glasses at dawn.
With his hand in mine, and our eyes locked on our toes,
I hope they are wrong when they say everyone goes.
Because this faded moment is missing an edge -
A picture frame lying on a forgotten ledge.
Trying to hold on to memories is useless when
you've got nothing to keep them in. So, count to ten.
Hold in your anger, dry your tears, do some laundry.
It's only a matter of time 'till the truth's set free,
and you find out if forever has an ending.

There was a time.

There was a time when everything I thought and everything I felt made sense. Then again, I wonder if everybody feels that way.

Remember that wise guy that said "Everybody is born an artist. The question is whether or not one will remain an artist when one grows up" (or something). Anyway, that got me to thinking. What is art?

art (according to dictionary.com)
–noun
1. the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.

So, art is the expression of beauty.
What then, is beauty?

beau⋅ty (according to dictionary.com)
–noun, plural -ties.
1. the quality present in a thing or person that gives intense pleasure or deep satisfaction to the mind, whether arising from sensory manifestations (as shape, color, sound, etc.), a meaningful design or pattern, or something else (as a personality in which high spiritual qualities are manifest).

So technically, beauty is a quality expressed by pleasure. We only know something is beautiful if we like it. That is the only indication that we have. But if that's so true, why do I still think that he is beautiful? What gives me pleasure about him, even now?

Anyway, what I started off saying is that art is an expression of beauty. But, beauty is best expressed/recognized by pleasure. So, art is a way of taking pleasure in beauty. Would that not imply that taking pleasure in anything is therefore art? If you have fun doing something, then it is beautiful. And in participating in said act, you are making art. And enjoying beauty.

That's what I cannot explain to my parents. I am not lazy. The reason I roam the streets at night with my friends isn't for an escape. It isn't a waste. I'm not immature. And I'm not hiding.

I'm an artist.

But, I'm more than that. I am the art itself. I am consumed by pleasure. The pleasure comes from inside of me. Beauty sets me off, raving like a wild fire.

And I won't stop until the entire forest is burnt down.

Sometimes I wonder if all trailer trash started out this way. At least, I do when my parents tell me I'm headed that route. It makes me wonder if society is really just way off in who they glorify.

I see no beauty in numbing myself to beauty. I would get no pleasure in a life of accomplishment.

Especially not if it means spending less time with my friends.

Sometimes I do worry that I could make my art better. That maybe I'm limiting myself. I mean, I don't see how. But, people tell me I am. They tell me I need to try harder.
What is an artist?

art⋅ist (according to dictionary.com)
–noun
1. a person who produces works in any of the arts that are primarily subject to aesthetic criteria.

Aesthetics are not my strong point. Maybe that means I'm more of a private artist.

My art can only be felt by me. I create my own life.

I live my own life.

And I'd appreciate it if everybody else would just back the hell up.




Thank you.

-- The Private Artist. <3

I am on her side.

Until they listen. And then everything just goes numb.

I remember back when she used to hit me. I can't believe the way that my sister can say "shut up" and get less than a slap on the wrist. When I was her age, if I had spoken to my mother that way, I would have had the shit beaten out of me.

Sometimes I wonder if I talk to my friend in the right ways.

Actually, it seems as though all I have to offer anybody are those three words. "I love you"s are actually pretty hard to come by, though. Contrary to popular belief, those words aren't becoming meaningless. The more people spit them out there as though meaningless, the more they desperately search for meaning in them. It's kind of beautiful, really. The more I tell him I love him, the more he needs to hear it. The more he needs to hear it, the more I have to tell him.

I don't know why he'd stay if I didn't.

That's not to say that I don't have a lot to offer the world. I have everything. I have all my love.

Sometimes I wonder if my boyfriend will leave me for that reason. You know. I'm not an achiever. I'm not somebody who holds their breath and dives right in, yet I don't double check the temperature with my toe, either. I don't even swim.

I just watch. And promise a lifeboat.

Hell, with all of them drowning, I might actually be a lot closer to getting one than they are.

A New Year

This is shit.

He never misses me.




I give up.