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Pieces of us die everyday. [18 Feb 2004|07:15pm] [ mood | blah ] [ music | jewel : amen ] I'd like to say that I trust you. I mean, you say he's changed and all. But I don't see it. And I don't hear it. And all I feel are his old habits colliding with my body. I have the bruises to prove it, but you wouldn't want to see those, would you? You'll just say, "I know what I'm doing, if you think you know better then why don't you try to change him?" The truth, though, is that I couldn't. And you can't. And I don't blame you, even if I say it's all your fault. I guess it's just hard to change someone who's standing behind your back threatening to kill you. My biggest fear is that someday those threats will no longer be just threats. My fear is that it will be a reality. And I know I've said it a million times that I want to die, but not like that. Not at the hands of this "person" whom for as long as I can remember found satisfaction in using you, me, and everyone as a punching bag. And I'm apologizing if it's my fault. And I'm apologizing for saying it's yours. And I'm apologizing for the fact that I have no fucking clue how to fix him. I'm not even sure if he can be fixed. I'm not sure of anything anymore. It just fucking hurts to look at pictures of him smiling when it's almost a sure thing that sometime in the near future his fists will find pleasure in causing pain onto me. And I'm sick of living like this. And I'm sick of you saying that we all need to change in order for him to change. Because I can't change who I am for him. And I don't think it's my job to fix him. And I don't think I deserve all that he's done to me. I'm just sick of it. Please...I'm begging you...just don't say "We all are." Because I know that. It just doesn't help anymore. 1 | %

Okay [27 Dec 2003|05:07am] [ mood | sad ] [ music | bright eyes [still] : laura laurent ] Another thing from my book... Let me rest my head on your shoulder, let it nestle right in close to your neck Wrap your arms tightly around me and don't let go until everything is okay Your little kisses and warm hugs could wash away elementary worries You could buy me strawberry popsicles on warm end-of-spring days And I'd tell you about the boys I liked in my class and the cartoons I had watched as the popsicle melts, drips down my chin, and stains my brand new tee shirt You'll take me to the park and push me on the swings and stop me when I'm scared if I go too high You can catch me in your arms, and make it all okay, again I'll make a card for you on Mothers Day, "SUPERMOM!" And I'll bring it to you because you're sick. I'll set it near the bunny I gave you for Easter Then I'll cry, and you'll hug me, and tell me everything will be okay And then... You leave me. They said your body went to sleep forever and that your soul is up in heaven with God, watching down on me But it isn't the same It hurts, and I'm too young to understand, and no one is here to wipe my tears, or give me hugs and kisses that make the world seem perfect. I feel like you left me, like you betrayed me And I blame God. "Damn you God!" "Damn you for taking her from me!" Now no one is here to hug me and tell me everything will be okay when it won't And nobody is here to listen to my stories, ver afternoon popsicles. And nobody is here to stop me if I go too high. But I'll be okay. Instead of talking to you, I will talk to this pen, who then, will talk to this paper. And instead of hugging you, I will hug my knees, crying and hold pill bottles, while I contemplate whether or not I should take all 20-something of them. But I won't. And I'll be okay for now. And I'll remember you when I eat strawberry popsicles on warm afternoons. And I'll remember you when I take my brothers to the park swings and push them as high as the clouds, and then stop them because they're scared, and that's just too, too, too hugh. Someday, maybe it will be my kids on those swings. And I'll make them feel like you made me feel. It will be okay. I'M going to be okay. And now, I don't need you to tell me it. 2 | %

Broken [27 Dec 2003|04:51am] [ mood | bored ] [ music | bright eyes : make war ] I searched my entire collected works book from Creative Writing last year looking for poems with a rhyme scheme and the only ones I could find were ones that were specifically assigned to rhyme. So...here's yet another free verse poem. I wrote it in 10th grade, but I put it in my book, so here it is: I'll let this warm south wind sweep me up, and the harsh intoxicating sounds of 1:00 traffic push me forward, to leave behind all that's at home. I felt somewhat comforted, like I was under your wing, but really, you're just made of feeble feathers. I love you so much. I love this. All of this. The chase. The pain. The blood that bursts from my broken heart, and I'm right back to where I was last time. Waiting to be mopped up, sopped up, whichever. By the rag of a million dreams, that scream in the silence of your swollen voice. I'm leaving this behind. This hurt will fill my lungs, and I want to scream, want to explode, but the words to justify escape me. So long, so long. I never said goodbye. I will return, when the long days become short again. And I'll pick up my tired heart you left bleeding on the ground, and give it to you, with my deepest sincerities. And you'll drop it on the floor, like glass, shattering in to a million pieces. And I am broken again. Eh, it's a tad trite, but hey, I was fifteen when I wrote it so whatever. It's about this boy I was "in love" with who was my best friend and I wrote it on the way to South Carolina. Yep. 4 | %

Untitled [for now?] [27 Dec 2003|04:19am] [ mood | lethargic ] [ music | bright eyes : lover i don't have to love ] This needs some major work, but whatever. When the world shuts down you're counting your money you only have bills because the coins fell through the hole in your pocket but you were too busy to care. And you hide behind your hair and stay awake only to smoke stale cigarettes from an endless pack. You inhale as if it were your last breath, while you stare at walls until you can make sense of things. Everyone is turning back the clocks, but you say, "it's wrong to tamper with time" You're holding CD inserts that are worn from years of being studied You read them over like they're the bible. And each song you listen to for the millionth time somehow always sounds like the first. And a million girls are kissing your cigarette lips, and you never remember why you let them, because you loathe them with their sex-sells-in-your-face-if-you've-got-it-flaunt-it ideals. So you retrieve back to the record store, as you stagger back home from lonely local shows. You buy a million records and listen to them while grazing your cigarette fingers over each lyric While you stare at walls trying to make sense of the songs. And so you cough to clear your throat, and sing to clear your soul. These are the things you know. These will be the things you leave behind. 2 | %

Dull [21 Dec 2003|01:08am] [ mood | melancholy ] [ music | samiam : dull ] .:Dull:. .:By - Samiam:. Four hundred of my closest friends forgotten names that I pretend to know it hasn´t even been that long. So how've been? you look the same remember when The Doughboys played at Gillman and they broke up on your lawn? And I wish it could always be like this is something I´ll be missing it´s not too late to change what you´ve become. The last time I saw everyone we´ve burried our friend and his gun I think he´d be happy here right now. So don´t be jaded. I don´t wanna spend some another long and lonely weekend by the phone without anyone to call. I´ve had a lot of time to think and I´m so tired of thinking I know why he put that bullet in his skull. I forgot how good it feels to be part of a spinning wheel supported and supporting on and on. Forget the judgement and the games forget the shit talk and the shame you will only be young for so long. And I wish it could always be like this is something i´ll be missing it´s not too late to change what you´ve become. And the last time I saw everyone we buried our friend and his gun I think he´d be happy here right now -Don´t be jaded- I don´t wanna spend another long and lonely weekend by the phone without anyone to call. I´ve had a lot of time to think and I´m so tired of thinking I know why he put that bullet in his skull 'Cause life can be so dull... %

This Months Horoscope [29 Nov 2003|03:52am] [ mood | awake ] [ music | desaparecidos : give me the pen ] I wrote this back when I was 16 and stupid. I'm probably still stupid, but this just seems to make so much sense right now. Because this November is a reality flashback of last November. And I said I'd end up back at November, and I did. Many times. ----- I've been saying goodbye for four years, and I still haven't left... It's because I'm afraid. It's just that lately time has become nonexistent. Each week seems to blend into the next, and there is no distinction between Sundays and Mondays, and so on. And the calendar stares at me every day from the place where I sit to write about you. The dates don't matter, the only thing I can see from here is where I wrote that you are a Libra. Not that it matters to me much, but when my best friend calls me to read this months horoscope as written in Seventeen, or whatever, she can tell me if it's meant to be. The answer isn't important. Regardless of what a stupid magazine says, I know for certain what's written in the stars. And somehow, you're up there, way up in the sky, and I'm just here in my room, writing a bunch of nothing that won't ever mean anything to you. You're galaxies away from me [galaxies better?] It's all too clear why. I am not good enough because I am not pretty. I am nothing, compared to anyone. But I'll tell you this. I am not superficial. To be perfectly honest, I couldn't care less about what you look like, you didn't catch my eye. Until that one day. The day you sang. And it wasn't how you looked, it was who you were. It was beautiful. It's just hard because it's the end of February, and yesterday was July, but I always end back at November. I think the calendar is lying. My heart is in July having wonderful conversation with the only boy I've ever said "I love you" to and meant it. My mind goes to November when I said goodbye, but didn't really leave...again. But here I am in February wishing that I could be a part of the army of [elite] teenage girls at this school that all look the same, the sort that believe in their horoscopes, and are probably good at making them come true, because they are beautiful and they have a chance. Maybe if I was like them, I'd be all in one place. But I'm not. My horoscope says that my best days for love are long gone. They only existed in July. Sing. Just sing again so that I can forget the summer, and forget the fall, so I can be here. In the winter. With you. Because nothing else matters when you play those chords. The calendar stops, and the date is clear. And when the music stops, reality reminds me that your songs aren't for me. Now all I have left is November. And I can say goodbye. And I can sit behind P&C and wait. And wait. But I will be back. Because...I'm scared. And I'm sorry...because I know this only makes sense to me. %

Random [27 Nov 2003|03:45pm] [ mood | depressed ] [ music | coldplay : amsterdam ] ( Someday, I'll finish the things I start... ) %

The Day I Died [26 Nov 2003|08:20pm] [ mood | sad ] [ music | coldplay : green eyes ] Sharon, I don`t want hard feelings between us, because I do care about you, but I can`t continue to be involved in yours/beccas life. It is sad, but you guys live differently from me (no better no worse) and it just doesn`t work. I don`t want you to be unhappy, I do still care about you two, it`s just that my way of existing, I don`t think you are immature, and if you are it is just as immature as me (come on, you know me) it`s just that we are all starting or in the process of growing up, and I am going one way, while you two go another. I know you have a hard time with acception/rejection, but this is not a rejection, I am just saying that it isn`t working anymore, my feelings for you haven`t changed, but I have, and I know I have, but sometimes change is good. %

Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody. [25 Nov 2003|10:18pm] [ mood | lonely ] [ music | john lennon : stand by me ] So the last exchange between us forever was me returning the John Lennon CD I borrowed from you a couple of weeks ago. I didn't even fucking look at you. I just handed it to you. And you didn't have to look at me either. And for that half-second that was the exchange itself, Your hand and my hand held the plastic simultaneously. And that was the last thing we'd ever exchange, aside from hallway glances. Glances of me missing you, and you not caring. Much the same as I make millions of ------------. In honor of you. Because to me, I gave you that CD, like you were dying and I was saying goodbye. So now I pay my respects in blood and tears. Not for attention, beause I hide them so well. And no one has to know but me and the person you used to be. In the same car, in the same CD player, that we listened to Jealous Guy and sang along; I listen to Stand By Me, And cry more than I've cried in so fucking long. The stoplights stopped making sense, And nothing mattered except the fact that I should be on my way to pick you up. Like I always did on days like these. But I wasn't. Everything's changed. And I wish I could pause that half-second that we made our last exchange. And make it last forever. Because I'd be connected to you. And now, I've never felt this far away from someone when they're in the same fucking room as I am. This is your funeral. And I stand by you. Like I always did [even when you didn't believe I was] And always will [even if you don't care] No matter what - 'regardless of who comes into the picture, and regardless of all the soap opera shit.' The PINEAPPLE will always need the ONION. And somehow, I wish that it was the other way around, because then I wouldn't be hurting so fucking bad right now. Maybe this is my funeral. %

A real friend. [25 Nov 2003|10:06pm] [ mood | depressed ] [ music | sparta : cataract ] Do you remember the time that we were in the ocean and were surrounded by jelly fish? You said that if a jelly fish stings you, you have to pee on yourself as to stop from being poisoned or something like that. And I said that I didn't have to pee. You said that you did. You said that if I got stung, you'd pee on me to save me. It's funny though, that now you probably wouldn't even waste your fucking piss on me. But you know what? If you got stung this very minute...I'd pee on you if you didn't have to go. Real friends are the ones that dig your retainer out of the disgusting garbage can at the food court in the mall, almost throwing up, because you accidentally threw it out. %

This is not an apology. [22 Oct 2003|03:09pm] [ mood | depressed ] [ music | the get up kids ] I took the best nap, and had the worst sleep ever. And I woke up only to feel as bad as yesterday, about yesterday, when just earlier everything was fine. It's because I need to be reassured. We all need to be reassured sometimes; EVERYONE does. And right now, I just need to be told that everything is going to be just fine, even if it won't. The words of people who probably don't care for me anymore are a broken record whispering faintly [and yet speaking volumes] in my ear. And I wonder why I would keep such nothing promises, from nothing people, who see me as nothing. It's because I need to be reassured. I need to know that I can still have you in my life in someday. And now I don't know that. I need to know that someday we could be friends, maybe not best friends ["Best" is just a word in the end isn't it?] And right now I don't know that. I need to know that friendships can overcome anything. Even the hardest tests. The ones that make us feel the worst. And make us look inside ourselves. And make us keep those promises we've made. No matter how sick with hurt we feel. You all are human, and so am I. And I hope that someday we can all realize that after all the high school drama is left there for the kids we leave behind, and all the words we are given are kept in our ears, and all of our knives are found in kitchen drawers instead of in backs, we can all be friends. Forever. Even if forever is a really long time. 2 | %

The UPS Man Dropped You Off In My Heart. Too Bad I'm The Wrong House. [30 Jun 2003|10:32pm] [ mood | sad ] [ music | alkaline trio : one hudred stories ] Let's make a toast. To this bleach. I drink it for you...no. I drink it BECAUSE of you. I want my insides to burn. To be how you make me feel with your words. The words you throw out carelessly, carelessly with no concern for my poor, poor ears. I drink to forget. To forget how we met. To forget how we spoke. To forget...why we spoke. It's foolish. Foolish to think I equal anything more than pathetic. I felt like I should have been important. Like what I said to you should have meant something. But I just get pushed behind. Minimized, and only maximized when you're done catering to everyone else's words. Do I drink this fucking toxin to blame you? Or because I'm blaming myself. Personality. Personality is key. You are not AT ALL what you seem. You write perfect words. Except those imperfections. "Sterio" ... "Lier" And I love it. Because that is perfect. To you, laziness is no excuse to leaving off the 'y' and the 'o' in 'you.' There is no excuse... And then you stop. No more words. No more anything. And I sit over here, teary eyed, because...that's who I am. Personality. It all comes back to that. This is pointless. It's been awhile now. Maybe I'll just try to remove you from any form of thought process running through my head. But...you're so intriguing. I'll toast to that. edit -- 10/22/03 This is ridiculous and probably one of the shittest things I've ever written. 2 | %

Best Friend [30 Jan 2003|12:29am] [ mood | angry ] [ music | aok : justice of the peace ] Was I your best friend when we were twelve years old and walked home from school together smoking Newports that you stole from your parents? Was I your best friend all those times you embarrassed me infront of boys that meant[mean] the world to me? Was I your best friend when your big mouth got me kicked out of the library? Was I your best friend when I listened to your stories about doing things you thought made you seem cool? Was I your best friend when I tried to justify that you were a good person to everyone? Or was I just your best friend simply because no one else was around? Take the word best and shove it up your ass. Take the word friend and walk all over it. Because that is what you did to anyone you ever titled that anyway. I hope you wake up and realize that you are an idiot and no one likes you. Make sure you tell that to both of your faces once it becomes clear. I hope that everyone else sees how you really are. And those Newports become all that you have left. %

1.My Music Maker, 2.It Wasn't Supposed To Be Like This, 3.Atoms [14 Jan 2003|08:16pm] [ mood | blah ] [ music | green day : geek stink breath ] ( .one. ) ( .two. ) ( .three. ) %

Fifteen [02 Jan 2003|10:16pm] [ mood | blah ] Okay, I'm just going to copy this out of my uJournal. I wrote it last night/this morning, whatever. It's more of a rant than anything. But yeah, it just sort of works. I'll try and fix it up a little. ------------------- So it's 1:25 in the morning. And I have to go back to school in 5 1/2 hours. Where I will see my boyfriend. I feel so stupid. I am a slut. I sucked my boyfriends dick after a week and a day of dating. I don't really think I am a slut. I honestly don't regret it. But I just know that someone would probably see it that way. And someone would probably think that I am going to die of lung cancer. Because I smoke like 1-3 cigarettes a week. And you know what? I don't even know why I do it. I am not addicted. It doesn't even make sense. I have grown up since last year. Last year, before school started...I was 15. And you know what? I would rather be fif-fucking-teen, and be in "love" with a boy I did not know than be a cigarette smoking, cock sucking whore. Tonight...tonight I am 15 again. Tonight I am reading excerpts from "Subj: Here it is..." And going over endless 5:00am conversations stored in the message archive. Crying of course, crying is the usual. Crying is what I do. And snot up my inside out pajamas [like pillows and socks]...because I'm praying for a snowday so I can sleep. And I copy and paste, copy and paste, copy and paste it all to Meagan. Poor Meagan who reads my tears...yes she reads them because she can't hear them. And this makes no sense. Because I am sitting here 4 months later crying over a boy who probably thinks of me as a cigarette smoking, cock sucking whore. It's just like old times...well same place, but different setting...if that makes any sense at all. But I have a boyfriend. A nice boy, who is fif-fucking-teen. Who's dick I sucked. And I think that the only person I may have "loved" [even though as she says - x1DopeSickGirlxx: i would really hesitate to use the word love as a teenager] was someone who I never fucking met! This is so ridiculous. But months later I am still wishing I could be 15 again, and have someone sing happy birthday to me on their guitar when I turn 16. I don't want new fucking boyfriends. I won't fall in love with my boyfriend, I won't. I hate school. I wish that I wasn't still such a fucking loser who goes online all the time. BUT I HAVE A BOYFRIEND! that should make everything better! Well it fucking doesn't. Because ladies and gentlemen... I AM A CIGARETTE SMOKING, COCK SUCKING WHORE. yahoo has never been the same since. 2 | %

And So I Die [written 11-14-02] [28 Dec 2002|02:52pm] [ mood | sick ] Over the next few years I'll watch 100 sunrises and sunsets, sinking and rising over crashing ocean waves. And I'll kiss babies like politicians, and I'll smell-sweet-fresh-picked flowers. But nothing makes happiness, and nothing equals smiles. And no sun, nor any ocean, will EVER be as bright, or as deep, or as blue as your smiling eyes, when they smile at me. But smiles fade like sunsets. Babies grow. Flowers wilt. And so do I And so do I And so I die. Tomorrow, when tears fall like raindrops, I will remember your smile. And the day after, when I'm drunk off decaying kisses from boys who speak empty words, I will remember your smile. And then, when I take that blade and make deep gashes along each blue vein, I will remember your smile. The sun sets, And so do I, And so do I, And so I die. %

Cheap Shoes [28 Dec 2002|02:40am] [ mood | sad ] What do I amount to? What does this make me out to be? I offer myself to you, offer some cheap thrills. Thrills you just can't resist. We have grown so far apart. It used to be so much different. On nights like these, your hand would rest there on my heart, and mine on yours. It was like an intimate hand shake...even more powerful than that between lovers...but that between friends. I told you my overused stories about how I wish I were dead, and you made pacts with me so I would feel safe. And I was the one that was there for you when your girlfriend cheated on you with everybody and their mother. It just doesn't make sense. That now, I'm still holding your heart, cherishing it in my highest regard, loving it as much as I possibly could. And there you are kicking around my heart like a can you found out on those alleys where you'd walk and wonder about all the girls that screwed you over. You don't even care that my soul is bleeding at your will. All you care about is that once you get home you realized I've stained your shoe. Where did it fall apart? Don't lie to me. Don't pretend that we are close when we are not. Just because you want me to show you what I can do with my tongue. I won't be cheap. My tongue is a weapon, and I hope YOU bleed because of the words it lashes out at you. All of this time I have been fooling my mind into thinking that we are better friends than we truly are, or ever really were. So just pick my heart up off the dirty ground. So I can mend the spots torn by your (cheap) shoes... So I can figure out how to breathe again before you break whats left of me into a million pieces. And I'll give you back your heart. And it will be the same as before we met. I'll be scarred and you'll be fine...the same as always...in some alley way kicking around some other friends heart thinking about all the (smart) girls that screwed you over. But one last thing before I return it...let my words...my tongue...lash it as well. So YOU'LL KNOW HOW IT FEELS to bleed inside. How's that for thrills? %

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