PMS

I do not want to talk to anyone. You think you have a hilarious story to tell me, but trust me, there is nothing funny about it. You think I'm depressed and need someone to talk to but I really just want you to get the f*** out of my face. No, I don't know why I'm crying. I don't care about what you did today. I'm not going to go do that with you, because I'm sick of you and I don't like you. So do yourself a favor and leave me alone.

I'm angry at everyone but they didn't do anything and there's nothing they can do to fix it. I just want to lay on my bed and cry, and I hate crying. I don't want to read a book, or watch TV, or do anything to try and cheer myself up. Honestly, the only thing I'm up for right now, is an Eminem song and a hot shower.

Or a cold one - cold showers are even better.

Stop

Where did these days go

Lives lost

To pride

And the unknown.

Power wasted

Choices made

Never taken back

Wisdom that I lack.

Words that I reuse

Ad nausium

So you can tell

These are my favorite words

But I don't use them very well

I just sit right here

Every night

And I write

Or I try

To create

Some dispension of hate

So that I don't walk in tomorrow

Ready to scratch someone's eyes out

And so I don't cry on the train

When there's nothing to cry about

And though I'm still stupid

I just don't wanna lose it

When I'm on my way to math

Please no premature ruin

There's no telling when this stops

It stops when my fingers

Stop punching out words

That explain my state of mind

And when the meaning just becomes

Searching for rhymes

I can stop myself there

And stop wasting my time

Stop this, stop that

Stop because I can't go

Go where

There's no place

But your face

That I know

Times feeling upside down again

But I feel tied in

Running into walls

Like an animal pen

And I'm just pacing up and down Columbus Circle

Looking out the glass

At the whole wide world

I wanna stop pacing

Because there's nowhere to go

But if I'm not going anywhere

Then I can't get hurt.

Wrist

Her wrists were so innocent. White, soft skin, like they were the day she was born. Veins of life seen through the surface, perfect and untouched. No tension, no hate, no devestation that would be obvious at the sight of the rest of her. But feeling around in the darkness, she picked up her wrist, and felt the inside of it with her fingertips. Her hands were cold and her arm was warm. The blade was cold, and the blood was warm. It slowly came in, and the sensitive skin over the veins reacted to the slightest touch. The skin was tight and unmoving as the blade stroked it, sinisterly toying at her fate: two inches down, two inches up, pausing at the base. After a while, this rubbed a sore spot. She clenched her hand, and unclenched it. The blade came down, pinching the first millimeter of skin it came in contact with. Then it pressed harder, leaving a whiteish-pale green mark that eventually melted into the pale pale rose pink that they use to describe kids' clothes in magazines. She was left undecided what to do with the knife.

Honesty

I sailed the ocean blue, days and nights, love and sad, searching for the thing that would make me feel complete - for more than an hour. And finally, while flipping my head around along with ten other people one night, I discovered. Honesty. It is that honesty that never exists but is constantly strived for. And once this is found, discussed and enjoyed, life is so much easier in a way. While, most of the time, we will feel let down, disappointed, insulted, etc, at least the suspicion is gone! At least the little bugger at the back of your head will finally have something for fact, instead of working itself into a state of Chicken Little. (The sky is falling! The sky is falling!) Alas, when are human beings ever honest? It's too much of a risk.

Romance

This is actually a true story and not a random fiction on the spot. I watch it happen every Saturday. There is a girl in a black costume living a sheltered life around everyone and special, but too special to live. A girl of innocence, the angelic image, a trapped seventeen year old. What teenager like that wants to be so protected so out of touch, so naive? The perfect person is isolated though so glorious, but see, there is excitement for her. Someone has come from far away, literally the Prince to dance with. This is the moment, the only chance, contained emotion is bursting out. The spectators say, 'oh, what a wonderful actress' but can you see what is really going on? This is her life! Her little teen romance, and it's all hidden by the stage. Seduction, love, the game, the victory, what every other seventeen year old has at excess. Poor deprived soul. It's not acting. She's attracted to him and she's trying to get him because this is all she has to play at. But look. He's bored. She's just another girl he's hired to dance with. 

Verse

 I wrote a poem during hall break on Thursday, December 4, 2008. For those of you who know of the current controversy, this has NOTHING to do with that problem. This was just something that suddenly appeared in my head.

Jealousy to die for lies within one's heart

Soaking in the holes of the soul

Settling in for a session of destruction

Poisoning, twisting inside and out

Sucking out happiness where more should be put forth

And killing, ruining, life ended that moment

Sorrow has no expiration date

Feeding off of itself and empty spaces

Empty spaces...

The words once said

"Take it in stride lest you be called jealous,"

One may use as just a moment's long ease

Breath of comfort

Exhaled into the fire

Pray now you may see brighter days

Brighter self to emerge

Freedom from this death

May the spirits grant it to you.

Luna

I once saw a dream crying to the moon because her heart was broken. The dream named Luna flew around the darkness of the light, letting the ends of her soul drip sorrowfully into the minds of those below. Luna flew to and fro until she could no longer breathe between the movement and her sobs. Moon inquired of her dear friend as to who broke her heart. Luna replied no one. But the Moon saw and felt the pain of many a soul who cried their eyes out to her due to heartbreak.  Luna began to rant - more like singing actually. A long, beautiful string of high pitched notes that blended into each other starting slowly, and then quickened in tempo. When she was done, she floated beside Moon. Again, Moon asked who had broken her heart. The Dream Called Luna replied that loneliness had broken her heart.

Statements

"The way it feels, the way it looks, or the way it feels when people look at you?"

- response to 'I hate this costume,' 12.15.2007

When truth hits you, it's confusing and sad. It melts your brain and sends you

looking to make the truth a better situation. Dreaming and ignoring is much easier.

It just makes truth harder. -8.2.2008

Integration is needed. - September 2008

Take it in stride lest you be called jealous. - October 2008

The only consistent part of life is its inconsistency. -11.8.2008

Triangles Never Tell the Truth - 11.13.2008

Truth exists, its just not true for everyone. - 11.28.2008

And that's my latest one.