If You Were Born Today, December 18
You are a proud, idealistic person who is sometimes quite stubborn and set in your ways. You are more emotional than is obvious, and having a purpose and direction in life is vital to your emotional health. You need to feel proud of what you do, and the more you do, the stronger a leader you are. Your manner is regal and respectable, you are far from petty. Relationships define you, and many of you have a hard time being alone. You have great respect for others who are clever and witty.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Sunflowers worship, while the pain disintegrates
It drips, it suffocates, and the stars illuminate through his bloody fingers
His single step, a red puddle of mistakes
String like tree branches, his limbs go
Into the soft dirt
It pours over him in the glossy forest of purity, and faith
Limbs tremble, fingers bare, chest ruffled in skin, his body lingers
The clouds awaken
Swirling over his body, like vultures
They land.
It drips, it suffocates, and the stars illuminate through his bloody fingers
His single step, a red puddle of mistakes
String like tree branches, his limbs go
Into the soft dirt
It pours over him in the glossy forest of purity, and faith
Limbs tremble, fingers bare, chest ruffled in skin, his body lingers
The clouds awaken
Swirling over his body, like vultures
They land.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
These are the days when
The veins crawl over my eyes
And I’m blinded by the shadow of you
Consuming my mind
You’re a parasite
Suffocating my insides,
Poisoning my heart
I long to let you go
Strip your wings, crush the
Blurs of you in my mind
Wipe them away, replace them
With mirrors
I long to look at myself,
Asking,
What I have seen in your skin, and then I,
Remember the twinkle in your eyes, and the way they
Glossed over me when I saw you for the first time
It was this day, a year ago,
How can you forget?
I miss the pain,
I miss my mind going into intermission,
Where the days lingered on and all I forceful ably cared about
Were the patterns of you
You’ve left me broken,
Crushed underneath your mantle
A delicate doll, a quite little girl
Searching for salvation
The veins crawl over my eyes
And I’m blinded by the shadow of you
Consuming my mind
You’re a parasite
Suffocating my insides,
Poisoning my heart
I long to let you go
Strip your wings, crush the
Blurs of you in my mind
Wipe them away, replace them
With mirrors
I long to look at myself,
Asking,
What I have seen in your skin, and then I,
Remember the twinkle in your eyes, and the way they
Glossed over me when I saw you for the first time
It was this day, a year ago,
How can you forget?
I miss the pain,
I miss my mind going into intermission,
Where the days lingered on and all I forceful ably cared about
Were the patterns of you
You’ve left me broken,
Crushed underneath your mantle
A delicate doll, a quite little girl
Searching for salvation
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Days pass where my heart lingers inside of my body like a coffin
Buried underground, beneath my thoughts
Roots dig into its valves, while my breath keeps
Beating away at the countless amounts of dirt and wood
I scratch, I peel, I starve
As the wood dampens, and my heart slowly erases
The many memories of you, the many
Forbidden footsteps you left on my
Oh, so lonely heart.
It beats only faintly, as if it’s lost forever
Buried underground, beneath my thoughts
Roots dig into its valves, while my breath keeps
Beating away at the countless amounts of dirt and wood
I scratch, I peel, I starve
As the wood dampens, and my heart slowly erases
The many memories of you, the many
Forbidden footsteps you left on my
Oh, so lonely heart.
It beats only faintly, as if it’s lost forever
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
The Girl in the Photograph
Withers while she Decays
Six feet under
A black velvet dress, matched with
tipsy high heels
and a plastered pale face
The glass went through her
As the photograph tumbled under the scraps of
Selfish thoughts, children swaying to paint, and the bitter taste of
summer
Her childhood lies in the batch of photographs
left in grandma's mossy car, where no one choses to go
We let her stay dead, never opening the box
For if we do,
we'll illuminate her eyes,
touch her senses,
and color her mistakes.
Withers while she Decays
Six feet under
A black velvet dress, matched with
tipsy high heels
and a plastered pale face
The glass went through her
As the photograph tumbled under the scraps of
Selfish thoughts, children swaying to paint, and the bitter taste of
summer
Her childhood lies in the batch of photographs
left in grandma's mossy car, where no one choses to go
We let her stay dead, never opening the box
For if we do,
we'll illuminate her eyes,
touch her senses,
and color her mistakes.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
The shape of his chin lingers in my memory. The taste of his lips seep into every drink caught in my throat. Clouds remind me of the shapes of his body. The curves like diamonds, the softness like his tongue.
His fingers tangle in mine constantly. My heart leaps from nervous, to frustration, to shattered in under a five minute radius. I look at him, search in his eyes, and wonder who he will marry, who will be the girl caught in his palms. I know it’s not me. But right now, while I’m kissing him softly, I pretend to be. I imagine a white dress. Wine flowing in guests’ mouths. A bouquet wrapped around my hands. His grin as I enter the paths of our lives, swirling with friends and family. An enormous church where God looks down upon us in happiness. My hair dripping down the sides of my face. A single kiss that unites us for eternity…
And then I wake up. His acne leaving grease on my lips. His smile only half of what it will be once he is grown. My eyes strangle his. Love is tossed in our mouths, sloshing back and forth between cavities and left over fast food.
His fingers tangle in mine constantly. My heart leaps from nervous, to frustration, to shattered in under a five minute radius. I look at him, search in his eyes, and wonder who he will marry, who will be the girl caught in his palms. I know it’s not me. But right now, while I’m kissing him softly, I pretend to be. I imagine a white dress. Wine flowing in guests’ mouths. A bouquet wrapped around my hands. His grin as I enter the paths of our lives, swirling with friends and family. An enormous church where God looks down upon us in happiness. My hair dripping down the sides of my face. A single kiss that unites us for eternity…
And then I wake up. His acne leaving grease on my lips. His smile only half of what it will be once he is grown. My eyes strangle his. Love is tossed in our mouths, sloshing back and forth between cavities and left over fast food.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Tears soaked through my Cover Girl fresh complexion make up as I walked the dingy concrete path to the newspaper room. For the past three and a half years of my high school career, the hunger I have for journalism has starved the inside of my stomach. Many nights would swim by me, letting my computer screen be the only glow of light reaching my face. The only form of interest, only conversation starters, would be ones involving who is getting interviewed next, who will meet their deadline, and who will sadly lose all of their credibility.
I want to get into a great college...
I want to get into a great college...
Monday, August 3, 2009
The shadows cascade her eyes as if she is living in a picture of black and white
Her eyes illuminate the essence of the sun
Brightly burning behind her
Wrapped in clouds of curls and a dirty nicotine smile
A manly confidence invades
her womanly posture
Her toes, implanted into the sand
Speak of secrets and unwanted men
Grandmother, how many days can go by
Where my heart lies
Beneath the ground in which you lie
Grandmother, how many years can go by
Where my mind searches to find
the beauty left behind
Her eyes illuminate the essence of the sun
Brightly burning behind her
Wrapped in clouds of curls and a dirty nicotine smile
A manly confidence invades
her womanly posture
Her toes, implanted into the sand
Speak of secrets and unwanted men
Grandmother, how many days can go by
Where my heart lies
Beneath the ground in which you lie
Grandmother, how many years can go by
Where my mind searches to find
the beauty left behind
Sunday, August 2, 2009
He'll make me laugh, cry, and think. He'll sculpt every inch of my body with his fingertips. He'll save fortune cookie fortunes. He'll wear converse. He'll twist his shirt sleeves up. He'll read for fun. He'll be able to recite his favorite quotes. His laughter will erupt. His eyes will search and understand. His hands will comfort. He will know me...
I traveled to a camp made for crazy Armenians drenched in their faith 5 hours away from my home. It was magnificent; every taste was beautiful, every afternoon shower felt like a heavenly water fall, the priests and deacons sang so wonderful, and nature seemed almost unrealistic. The stars in the sky looked like a jar of glitter had exploded. I searched for shooting stars every night.
I realized my faith in God that week; among the chirping of the birds and the many hymns that followed. Sleep was not a priority (one I would be deprived of by the 7th day leaving me grumpy and ready to leave). But as I fought through all the sickness, the sleep deprivation, and the hunger was a butterfly locked in a cage for the past 2 years. Her faith: destroyed. Her ethnicity: erased. Until she was released from dirty hands, spreading her wings, flapping them in ecstasy.
I found inspiration within those trees, love within those fields, wonder within those clouds. Nature seemed to bloom around my tiny feet.
Voluminous women with curves to die for, men with enough hair to wrap a petite animal. Armenians have such distinct features that I love. My eyes would wrap around their bodies, letting my wonder soak in and understand these people, these people who I am. I wanted to touch every single one of them as if they were my mother, father, brother, sister. I never missed my family while I was there because for a moment, for a week, these people were the only family I had; the family to save me, sculpt me, comfort me.
I cherished every moment of camp as if time was slowly slipping away and I had to savor it in my mouth, in my lungs, and in my heart. The water was beautiful, every time it would gallop into my water bottle or trickle down my neck. I felt thankful for everything given to me, ate every single inch of things on my plate until only centimeters of scraps were scarcely left.
The friends I made at camp will hopefully stay with me until the very end... The girls we raised for a week must always remember us, only for a moment if they will.
I realized my faith in God that week; among the chirping of the birds and the many hymns that followed. Sleep was not a priority (one I would be deprived of by the 7th day leaving me grumpy and ready to leave). But as I fought through all the sickness, the sleep deprivation, and the hunger was a butterfly locked in a cage for the past 2 years. Her faith: destroyed. Her ethnicity: erased. Until she was released from dirty hands, spreading her wings, flapping them in ecstasy.
I found inspiration within those trees, love within those fields, wonder within those clouds. Nature seemed to bloom around my tiny feet.
Voluminous women with curves to die for, men with enough hair to wrap a petite animal. Armenians have such distinct features that I love. My eyes would wrap around their bodies, letting my wonder soak in and understand these people, these people who I am. I wanted to touch every single one of them as if they were my mother, father, brother, sister. I never missed my family while I was there because for a moment, for a week, these people were the only family I had; the family to save me, sculpt me, comfort me.
I cherished every moment of camp as if time was slowly slipping away and I had to savor it in my mouth, in my lungs, and in my heart. The water was beautiful, every time it would gallop into my water bottle or trickle down my neck. I felt thankful for everything given to me, ate every single inch of things on my plate until only centimeters of scraps were scarcely left.
The friends I made at camp will hopefully stay with me until the very end... The girls we raised for a week must always remember us, only for a moment if they will.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
"And thin and feeble and worn out; her hair
Is ragged; bleared her deep-set eyes; her face
Dry-lipped and pale; her jowls besmeared with dirt;
Her entrails one can see through her thin skin;
Marrowless, her bones stick from her flanks;
She has no belly but the cavity
Where it should be- it is a pit so deep
Her very breasts seem pendent from her spine.
Her knees lack roundness, and her hollow toes
And heels as lean are. angular and thin,
As if there were no flesh upon her bones,
So tightly are they pinched in meagerness."
Is ragged; bleared her deep-set eyes; her face
Dry-lipped and pale; her jowls besmeared with dirt;
Her entrails one can see through her thin skin;
Marrowless, her bones stick from her flanks;
She has no belly but the cavity
Where it should be- it is a pit so deep
Her very breasts seem pendent from her spine.
Her knees lack roundness, and her hollow toes
And heels as lean are. angular and thin,
As if there were no flesh upon her bones,
So tightly are they pinched in meagerness."
Monday, June 8, 2009
I sat on the highest hill of the city, spread my arms like a mad wildfire, and screamed. My scream went for miles, slithering in the ears of the entire town and the bunnies that hide under the shed. I stopped, and the world echoed back my scream fiercely, then faintly. I could still hear my scream twirling inside of the trees while I slowly laid down. The wind whisked my hair like eggs inside of a boiling pan. I felt like nature's food, a warm chunk of girl waiting to be eaten away.
My fingers silently tapped around the dirt in ovals, while my brain drifted into memories of you. Your dimpled smile, your butter teeth.
I always wondered if the earth has suffered from a tragic ending like this. Whether the core was ready to explode, ooz through the cracks of the mountains and splurg with rage on all the remaining humans and animals. I guess that's what a volcano is, the thundering depression of the earth. The earth has never driven itself into a suicide, like I have once felt like doing.
My fingers silently tapped around the dirt in ovals, while my brain drifted into memories of you. Your dimpled smile, your butter teeth.
I always wondered if the earth has suffered from a tragic ending like this. Whether the core was ready to explode, ooz through the cracks of the mountains and splurg with rage on all the remaining humans and animals. I guess that's what a volcano is, the thundering depression of the earth. The earth has never driven itself into a suicide, like I have once felt like doing.
It seems that life has once again crashed down upon me. I feel miserable. Sick. Delusional. Where has all of my motivation gone? Down with the murky toilet water with the rest of the cigarette butts. No, I don't smoke. I like to think I am sophisticated enough to do so though. Blowing in ringlets. Blowing in my lover's face while spicy aroma of the nicotine rapes his nostrils. I'm sick of you adoring me- like a mad puppy in need of a chew toy. I'd rather wrap my tongue around a fortune cookie and see where the cards land me. In hell. In heaven. It's all the same once your lover has dissolved you from their heart. Now your just a cloud. Sheepishly sleeping away your life. You little pale thing, you.
Friday, June 5, 2009
1. Continue my EIC job. :3
2. Buy frilly underwear. the really beautiful kind that you can never wear with jeans but look fabulous nonetheless with just them on.
3. 3rd Base it with Someone I love. (so wrong on so many levels XD hey shuddup I'm almost 18 XD )
4. Before I turn 18 write out a whole album with songs I have written and slightly composed.
5. Go to a kick ass concert. Not spice girls. XD
6. Show up my AP English teacher.
7. Fall asleep under the stars.
8. Have a boy buy me perfume Black Orchid
9. Wear one of the most beautiful dresses
10. Start a comic book
2. Buy frilly underwear. the really beautiful kind that you can never wear with jeans but look fabulous nonetheless with just them on.
3. 3rd Base it with Someone I love. (so wrong on so many levels XD hey shuddup I'm almost 18 XD )
4. Before I turn 18 write out a whole album with songs I have written and slightly composed.
5. Go to a kick ass concert. Not spice girls. XD
6. Show up my AP English teacher.
7. Fall asleep under the stars.
8. Have a boy buy me perfume Black Orchid
9. Wear one of the most beautiful dresses
10. Start a comic book
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
My hair whisked in the wind like a tangled jungle. Your bitter sweet smile transformed this petite girl into a confident tiger. My hands slithered on top of yours, and your fingers caught mine into a trap. I felt lost in the essence of you, your fine lips, your beautiful dimples. Staring at your eyes, I already missed you. I fell into your pupils and the curves of your soft arms.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Everything I touch turns to shit.
When is it my turn? I keep asking myself. The world keeps revolving, but it left me on mars to smoke cigarettes with a foul meteoroid...
There are some days when I want to run away to Indianapolis, become my own woman, and run with the clouds. What college am I going to. Where the fuck am I. I don't know.
There is an open field, with dancing wheat crops and flowing dandelions. I'm searching, I'm running, the clouds behind my tail and my eyes focused on what is in front of me.
Yet, I don't see it. yet.
When is it my turn? I keep asking myself. The world keeps revolving, but it left me on mars to smoke cigarettes with a foul meteoroid...
There are some days when I want to run away to Indianapolis, become my own woman, and run with the clouds. What college am I going to. Where the fuck am I. I don't know.
There is an open field, with dancing wheat crops and flowing dandelions. I'm searching, I'm running, the clouds behind my tail and my eyes focused on what is in front of me.
Yet, I don't see it. yet.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
I haven't written in here in (which seems like) weeks. I'm lonely. I think that becoming homeless in Europe sounds more exciting than my life at the moment. I'm scrounging for new music and avoiding cleaning my room. I feel disgusting, devastated, and definitely depressed. All I do is sit and dream and wish that my life would pick up, speed ahead of the torrent, and wind itself into my head. I just want to go to college already and leave this wretched place behind. Television doesn't satisfy me anymore, and my heart is cracking, bruising, and bleeding through all my hushed up tears. I want to cry. I want to get a piercing. I want to get a tattoo. I want to just change, have something mind blowing, mind altering.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
I dragged my feet on the carpet as the sun quickly rose out of my drapes to pour on my bedsheets. The sun just felt like another lonesome emotion...
I cannot stop listening to the Counting Crows, sitting here, contemplating my life like an 80 year old woman.Wishing I'd done more... looking at how far I've gotten all for nothing. My sentence structure is fucked up. My mind is splattered. My hands feel like arthritis. I think I left my soul somewhere else. Or mailed it somewhere better than here. I can't remember...
I cannot stop listening to the Counting Crows, sitting here, contemplating my life like an 80 year old woman.Wishing I'd done more... looking at how far I've gotten all for nothing. My sentence structure is fucked up. My mind is splattered. My hands feel like arthritis. I think I left my soul somewhere else. Or mailed it somewhere better than here. I can't remember...
Monday, May 11, 2009
Have you Seen me Lately? The Counting Crows
Get away from me
Get away from me, this isnt gonna be easy
But I dont need you
Believe me
You got a piece of me
But its just a little piece of me
And I dont need anyone
And these days I feel like Im fading away
Like sometimes when I hear myself on the radio
Have you seen me lately?
Have you seen me lately?
I was out on the radio
starting to change
Somewhere out in america, its raining
Could you tell me one thing you remember about me
And have you seen me lately?
I remember me
And all the little things that make up a memory
Like she said she loved to watch me sleep
Like she said:
Its the breathing, its the breathing in and out and in and...
Have you seen me lately?
I was out on the radio starting to change
Somewhere out in america its raining
Could you tell me one thing you remember about me
And have you seen me lately?
I guess I thought that someone would notice
I guess I thought somebody would say something
If I was missing
Cant you see me?
Come on color me in
Come on color me in
Give me your blue rain
Give me your black sky
Give me your green eyes
Come on give me your white skin
Come on give me your white skin
Come on give me your white skin
I was out on the radio starting to change
Somewhere out in america, its raining
Could you tell me one thing you remember about me
And have you seen me lately?
Have you seen me lately
Get away from me, this isnt gonna be easy
But I dont need you
Believe me
You got a piece of me
But its just a little piece of me
And I dont need anyone
And these days I feel like Im fading away
Like sometimes when I hear myself on the radio
Have you seen me lately?
Have you seen me lately?
I was out on the radio
starting to change
Somewhere out in america, its raining
Could you tell me one thing you remember about me
And have you seen me lately?
I remember me
And all the little things that make up a memory
Like she said she loved to watch me sleep
Like she said:
Its the breathing, its the breathing in and out and in and...
Have you seen me lately?
I was out on the radio starting to change
Somewhere out in america its raining
Could you tell me one thing you remember about me
And have you seen me lately?
I guess I thought that someone would notice
I guess I thought somebody would say something
If I was missing
Cant you see me?
Come on color me in
Come on color me in
Give me your blue rain
Give me your black sky
Give me your green eyes
Come on give me your white skin
Come on give me your white skin
Come on give me your white skin
I was out on the radio starting to change
Somewhere out in america, its raining
Could you tell me one thing you remember about me
And have you seen me lately?
Have you seen me lately
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
Quiet Girl
I love writing in here. If anyone stumbles upon this, I hope they feel that there is someone in this world who understands them and will definitely love them for who they are. That someone is me...
I will always love you for who you are. I'll always be there, through telephone cords that wrap around my ears and the twirls of ink that can suffocate my hands...
Langston Hughes - Quiet Girl
I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.
Goodnight.
I will always love you for who you are. I'll always be there, through telephone cords that wrap around my ears and the twirls of ink that can suffocate my hands...
Langston Hughes - Quiet Girl
I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.
Goodnight.
After years of twiddling with my eyebrows,whining about my weight, and lathering make-up on my enormous eyes with my pale skin as my palette, I've learned to enjoy my features. Of course, I do not know what tomorrow will bring of this circumstance, because my self confidence comes and goes like a bad pair of lace underwear. I've stopped listening to boys who call me pretty or beautiful. I've kind of gotten into that don't care mantra about compliments in particular. I've realized that I'm a certain type of beauty. I do not particularly enjoy using the term beauty- because when I think of it, I imagine beautiful blond bombshells with bone hips, carving out their posture. I honestly never know what to describe myself as...
I like being by myself. I only have myself to make stupid gestures or remarks. I don't have to care what the opposite sex thinks of me. I like being my own individual floating in this world. I've learned alot about myself. Like how much I love playing SIMS or how my writing really reflects who I am as a human being. Diet coke rules my body over water, and I feel perfectly confident in that opinion. I like helping others, and I read the news religiously. I check my e-mail almost every 45 minutes and I feel no shame. I still think of ex boyfriends way more than ever, no matter if they were 5 months ago or 3 years my senior. I always have a place in my heart for the people that have really captivated me, no matter how much I try to conceal it by being a badass listening to H.I.M. and painting my nails black. I realized that I feel confident in the color black because that's what my heart feels. I'm like a gigantic black hole, an indestructible power that soaks up light. I have no problem with that.
This blog is like my therapy. If I didn't have it I think I would've gone insane way long before. Is it true that only yourself can make you happy? I think so...
life is always unfolding perfectly - GD
Sunday, May 3, 2009
You say the word
You know I will find you
Or if you need some time
I don't mind
I don't hold on
To the tail of your kite
I'm not like the girls that you've known
But I believe I'm worth coming home to
Kiss away night
This girl only sleeps with butterflies
With butterflies
So go on and fly then boy
- Sleeps with Butterflies by Tori Amos
I question life alot. I always lay in my bed, watching myself disintegrate in my mind. Where would the world be if I just flew away, if I died... The future is the only thing I have to hold on to. It's the only thing I want to hold on to when the world crumbles under my feet and only time can sew it back together. I don't know why I do some things- letting my mind come back to irrational memories that have evaporated in other's minds.
Sometimes I want a friend to hug. A guy, who will show me the wonders of the world and the wonders of the present time. I'm so tired... sleep must have me.
You know I will find you
Or if you need some time
I don't mind
I don't hold on
To the tail of your kite
I'm not like the girls that you've known
But I believe I'm worth coming home to
Kiss away night
This girl only sleeps with butterflies
With butterflies
So go on and fly then boy
- Sleeps with Butterflies by Tori Amos
I question life alot. I always lay in my bed, watching myself disintegrate in my mind. Where would the world be if I just flew away, if I died... The future is the only thing I have to hold on to. It's the only thing I want to hold on to when the world crumbles under my feet and only time can sew it back together. I don't know why I do some things- letting my mind come back to irrational memories that have evaporated in other's minds.
Sometimes I want a friend to hug. A guy, who will show me the wonders of the world and the wonders of the present time. I'm so tired... sleep must have me.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Skeptic
I'm sick of studying. Sick of dragging people on the brink of insanity, bugging them with newspaper deadlines or my latest whine. I finally found the time to sit down, browse through some Distiller tracks, and take a chill pill.
Me and my father watched Escape from Alcatraz with Clint Eastwood. Very interesting, but I felt incredibly sleepy and ready for a nap 85% through it...
I've been reading like a madwoman lately and I think it really reflects in my writing. I took my SAT today, and I'm pretty confident in the outcome. If I get a horrible score, It's only myself that is the ultimate failure, and in nothing else. The way I retain information may not be the the most blessed but the confidence I have in my writing and English skills can go a long way.
I'm tired, I have to take a mock exam for history tomorrow. The JOY. I need to study art history, get my ass in line. All I really do is look up pictures of rock stars and drool. I want to be Brody Dale. :)
Ever since I actually, truly thought of becoming a journalist and pursuing the least bit of confidence in my writing the outcome was fierce. Music journalist, maybe? I've kind of come to the conclusion that I am just a delusional miscreant in this world and I just need to be myself. Not this hardworking, sickly skinny lawyer that every man finds attractive.
I'm tired but the steps to my chair and bed look a mile away. Today I realized that the Richard Nixon Museum is incredibly boring and I wish I didn't waste my mother's money, but I desperately needed APUSH extra credit. Why did I take so many damn AP classes? I don't even have time to write to my pen pals, let alone breathe.
Okay, okay, okay. I need sleep.
Me and my father watched Escape from Alcatraz with Clint Eastwood. Very interesting, but I felt incredibly sleepy and ready for a nap 85% through it...
I've been reading like a madwoman lately and I think it really reflects in my writing. I took my SAT today, and I'm pretty confident in the outcome. If I get a horrible score, It's only myself that is the ultimate failure, and in nothing else. The way I retain information may not be the the most blessed but the confidence I have in my writing and English skills can go a long way.
I'm tired, I have to take a mock exam for history tomorrow. The JOY. I need to study art history, get my ass in line. All I really do is look up pictures of rock stars and drool. I want to be Brody Dale. :)
Ever since I actually, truly thought of becoming a journalist and pursuing the least bit of confidence in my writing the outcome was fierce. Music journalist, maybe? I've kind of come to the conclusion that I am just a delusional miscreant in this world and I just need to be myself. Not this hardworking, sickly skinny lawyer that every man finds attractive.
I'm tired but the steps to my chair and bed look a mile away. Today I realized that the Richard Nixon Museum is incredibly boring and I wish I didn't waste my mother's money, but I desperately needed APUSH extra credit. Why did I take so many damn AP classes? I don't even have time to write to my pen pals, let alone breathe.
Okay, okay, okay. I need sleep.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
So, I guess getting out all that suppressed anger definitely relived some stress molecules. I got one of the best grades you could possibly ever get on an AP English essay about the brutality of video games and their reliance on today's youth. I was amazing- and I feel like a rock star that just fell out of heaven.
But I'm furiously tired... I'll write later.
But I'm furiously tired... I'll write later.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Jawbreaker
It's kind of late and I shouldn't have taken my nap around 6. I already screwed up my entire sleeping schedule, but I plan to stay energized by a diet coke and countless amounts of food tomorrow. I'm excited to get a refund on one of my AP tests, because I want to shave off all this stress. I think I've decided what I want to do with my future-- or atleast attempt to decide. Music has always been a strong calling to me, and I've always been fascinated by artists and their interviews. Of course it's going to take awhile. I'm trying to figure out which cal state I want to go to and then eventually transfer to Medill in Chicago. I have another year of high school shit- and I love to complain in this blog. Right now I'm listening to Ben Kweller while a Robert Frost book of selected poems pours over my desk. I kind of want to watch Sex and the City tonight and look forward to drinking hot chocolate in the morning. I'm trying to make my life happier, see things a little bit brighter, and get myself drenched in as much Art History and English composition until my brain fries and is eventually sold at McDonalds.
I've been looking at Galadarling's article on life after high school(...and life in general) and it really has helped me over come alot of mental obstacles I face. I kind of realized that I can only make myself happy and that looks, brains, and everything is already inside of me and I shouldn't worry so much about what other's think of me. If I want to paint my nails black, I'll fucking do it! If I decide to drench my eyes in eyeliner-I'll do it! and my music taste is fabulous and people are crazy to not like it. They just don't have incredible taste. Okay I'm getting a little cocky.
Today my geology told a group of obnoxious kids that at a 10 year high school reunion, the dorky chicks would be the ones that are the hottest, and the "hot" chicks will be fat with kids. I laughed at this horrendously- I loved it. I always picture myself in the future. Single, a little lonely.
Hold up, Sex and the City is coming on and I have to find my TV controller.
Okay, back to describing myself in later years. God, how obviously boring my life is. Sitting here, typing, wishing my life would change for the better in a couple of years, giving my self false hope, and I pray silently everyday that I get out of this suberian hell trap.
I want to be: fierce (wow, America's Next Top Model word- almost better than a SAT word!), compassionate, naturally beautiful, happy, loving, openly distant, and everything in between. I wouldn't mind being single, hoping that all the things I've learned in my life has paid off in relationships and that I've become smarter- kind of like a jawbreaker. Raw, hard to the core, filled with many layers, and sweet. Bitterly sweet.
I always realized that Carrie Bradshaw was the perfect girl for any guy. She was always there, she was always hilarious, always had the best heart on her shoulders when every single relationship she was in for the past 39 of her life crackled. She was beautiful, intelligent, and had a steady job. Why didn't any man really love her? Besides the crap that happened in the movie, even her dream guy was a complete douche to her for 10 years of her life.
I guess the writer's of the show always wanted women of America to realize that you must make yourself happy, and even 30 year old singletons don't get the happy ending- no matter how rich or beautiful. I would write more but my fingers feel numb and my nose is an icecube. Goodnight- I pray for better days.
I've been looking at Galadarling's article on life after high school(...and life in general) and it really has helped me over come alot of mental obstacles I face. I kind of realized that I can only make myself happy and that looks, brains, and everything is already inside of me and I shouldn't worry so much about what other's think of me. If I want to paint my nails black, I'll fucking do it! If I decide to drench my eyes in eyeliner-I'll do it! and my music taste is fabulous and people are crazy to not like it. They just don't have incredible taste. Okay I'm getting a little cocky.
Today my geology told a group of obnoxious kids that at a 10 year high school reunion, the dorky chicks would be the ones that are the hottest, and the "hot" chicks will be fat with kids. I laughed at this horrendously- I loved it. I always picture myself in the future. Single, a little lonely.
Hold up, Sex and the City is coming on and I have to find my TV controller.
Okay, back to describing myself in later years. God, how obviously boring my life is. Sitting here, typing, wishing my life would change for the better in a couple of years, giving my self false hope, and I pray silently everyday that I get out of this suberian hell trap.
I want to be: fierce (wow, America's Next Top Model word- almost better than a SAT word!), compassionate, naturally beautiful, happy, loving, openly distant, and everything in between. I wouldn't mind being single, hoping that all the things I've learned in my life has paid off in relationships and that I've become smarter- kind of like a jawbreaker. Raw, hard to the core, filled with many layers, and sweet. Bitterly sweet.
I always realized that Carrie Bradshaw was the perfect girl for any guy. She was always there, she was always hilarious, always had the best heart on her shoulders when every single relationship she was in for the past 39 of her life crackled. She was beautiful, intelligent, and had a steady job. Why didn't any man really love her? Besides the crap that happened in the movie, even her dream guy was a complete douche to her for 10 years of her life.
I guess the writer's of the show always wanted women of America to realize that you must make yourself happy, and even 30 year old singletons don't get the happy ending- no matter how rich or beautiful. I would write more but my fingers feel numb and my nose is an icecube. Goodnight- I pray for better days.
It's funny when you'd rather be eaten by a rampage of wild dogs than go to school. Seriously, I'm fed up. Life is this contest- and I've realized that no matter which way I would like to win- I'll end up in a pool of misery mixed with unsettled goals and stomach aches. I've been studying, studying toward this common goal. Of what?
I'm tired. I want to eat but I can't. I want to love but there is no one to give my love to. My want to die. But I'm too excited for the future. I'm just this iron lung of irony and I hate certain things about myself. WHY CAN'T I BE NATURALLY SMART? My brain fucking hurts. My mind is fed up. I don't have a car. I don't have anyone. I don't have anymore real priorities set in the present. All I have is my insanity. I think I should quit high school and become a writer. Atleast I'll feel liberated...rejuvenated. I can't find purposes anymore. I can't find thesis statements. I don't give a shit about the Dred Scott decision. I can fuck all my AP tests to hell. I really don't want to be one of those AP kids who find themselves committing suicide in the bath tub, but hell, why not? What is there really to live for anymore when you have no car, no chance of passing those AP tests, no chance in hell that you'll get out of here alive. All the people who lead free lives don't take on the responsibilites of the world. I need to stop trying to.
As I'm sitting here, contemplating whether I should publish this post now or just delete it all to hell, I realize how boring my opitiuary would be. I would fade faster than blue jeans...
When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.'
- Acceptance by Robert Frost
I'm tired. I want to eat but I can't. I want to love but there is no one to give my love to. My want to die. But I'm too excited for the future. I'm just this iron lung of irony and I hate certain things about myself. WHY CAN'T I BE NATURALLY SMART? My brain fucking hurts. My mind is fed up. I don't have a car. I don't have anyone. I don't have anymore real priorities set in the present. All I have is my insanity. I think I should quit high school and become a writer. Atleast I'll feel liberated...rejuvenated. I can't find purposes anymore. I can't find thesis statements. I don't give a shit about the Dred Scott decision. I can fuck all my AP tests to hell. I really don't want to be one of those AP kids who find themselves committing suicide in the bath tub, but hell, why not? What is there really to live for anymore when you have no car, no chance of passing those AP tests, no chance in hell that you'll get out of here alive. All the people who lead free lives don't take on the responsibilites of the world. I need to stop trying to.
As I'm sitting here, contemplating whether I should publish this post now or just delete it all to hell, I realize how boring my opitiuary would be. I would fade faster than blue jeans...
When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.'
- Acceptance by Robert Frost
Sunday, April 26, 2009
I plucked my eyebrows today and completely procrastinated on every single aspect of my homework. All I did today was sip on hot chocolate, do my make-up, and finished the book The Perfect Elizabeth. I also took a petite cat nap that made me feel better. I watched a whole marathon of the Ultimate Gamer and some of Scare Tactics. So far this day represents the rest of my life: drab,boring, procrastinating, followed by good music and good food.
Sometimes on Sundays I feel completely lonely, like a chunk of me just needs to have an enormous party filled with popcorn and cute boys. I haven't met one of those in awhile, and I doubt I will for a very long time. I'm kind of ignorant. I need the perfect guy, because I am perfectly picky. When my heart and head says no to a guy, it means NO.
I have:
32 definitions of United States history homework
A word search for English
Flashcards for Art History
4 problems for Algebra 2
To clean my room
Make myself a happy mix
Get off myspace
Stop picking at my itchy scabs
Stop reading Galadarling, though I am in love with it.
Sometimes on Sundays I feel completely lonely, like a chunk of me just needs to have an enormous party filled with popcorn and cute boys. I haven't met one of those in awhile, and I doubt I will for a very long time. I'm kind of ignorant. I need the perfect guy, because I am perfectly picky. When my heart and head says no to a guy, it means NO.
I have:
32 definitions of United States history homework
A word search for English
Flashcards for Art History
4 problems for Algebra 2
To clean my room
Make myself a happy mix
Get off myspace
Stop picking at my itchy scabs
Stop reading Galadarling, though I am in love with it.
Him
I'm tired. I have something in my eye. My nose is stuffed up and packs of homework are calling out to me from hidden parts of my room. My room, chaotic and filled with molding clothes, should be cleaned. But I don't clean it. I want to listen to music, but I can't put my finger on what I want to listen to. Depressing Nirvana? Pass. Spice Girls? I'm not in the mood.
Sipping on hot cocoa and reading seems to be the only valuable explanation I can come up with as to why I don't want to do anything. Lately, I've been getting these obstacles of instant drowsiness and urge to sleep in my bed all day and only let sunlight illuminate through a slice of my drapes. I keep thinking of speeches inside of my head. I hate this. This feeling of never knowing. This feeling of knowing that life is just one big mass of indiscretion. I can't ignore the lead that surrounds my heart or the many feelings of regret. It's like warm soup slipping inside of me, it makes me feel whole, feel human.
Last Night I went to a festival with my supposed best friend. It was boring, in some way, because I feel utterly depressed and hiding it takes a lot of energy out of me. I was tired, cold, and hungry- though nothing would fill me up. I had a salty churro, a diet coke, and barbecue chips. It was satisfying, but something was missing. Where the festival was was the first place I was him. He came off the metro link and I was waiting for him quietly, excitingly. I remember I was wearing my maroon baby doll top and my long black jacket. It was the same maroon top that I wrote when I was invited to my first exboyfriend's house to eat pizza and play pool. I wanted to look beautiful, or semi attractive. It was maybe the 5th month I had my license, and I felt so powerful that I could drive anywhere I wanted to, at any given time. I remember him looking me up and down, remembering the memories we shared together. That summer I didn't let him in to my heart, so he stopped talking to me.
The coffee shop by the metro link was adorable. I bought chi tea for me, and a hot coca for him. I waited, patiently, for the train to arrive. The man that stood by me looked creepy with his beard and stern face. The train arrived and I was so scared.It looked like a massive bullet creeping toward me. I looked, confused, waiting for the doors to open. They sounded like a space ship, and he stepped out. He was beautiful. Was.
I can't write this. Maybe one day, but not now. It's an Eternal Sunshine type of moment, where I want to lay in the grass and feel perfectly in bliss that my heart is still attached to my body without any memory of anyone breaking it before. But it's not like that, and I wish it was.
Sipping on hot cocoa and reading seems to be the only valuable explanation I can come up with as to why I don't want to do anything. Lately, I've been getting these obstacles of instant drowsiness and urge to sleep in my bed all day and only let sunlight illuminate through a slice of my drapes. I keep thinking of speeches inside of my head. I hate this. This feeling of never knowing. This feeling of knowing that life is just one big mass of indiscretion. I can't ignore the lead that surrounds my heart or the many feelings of regret. It's like warm soup slipping inside of me, it makes me feel whole, feel human.
Last Night I went to a festival with my supposed best friend. It was boring, in some way, because I feel utterly depressed and hiding it takes a lot of energy out of me. I was tired, cold, and hungry- though nothing would fill me up. I had a salty churro, a diet coke, and barbecue chips. It was satisfying, but something was missing. Where the festival was was the first place I was him. He came off the metro link and I was waiting for him quietly, excitingly. I remember I was wearing my maroon baby doll top and my long black jacket. It was the same maroon top that I wrote when I was invited to my first exboyfriend's house to eat pizza and play pool. I wanted to look beautiful, or semi attractive. It was maybe the 5th month I had my license, and I felt so powerful that I could drive anywhere I wanted to, at any given time. I remember him looking me up and down, remembering the memories we shared together. That summer I didn't let him in to my heart, so he stopped talking to me.
The coffee shop by the metro link was adorable. I bought chi tea for me, and a hot coca for him. I waited, patiently, for the train to arrive. The man that stood by me looked creepy with his beard and stern face. The train arrived and I was so scared.It looked like a massive bullet creeping toward me. I looked, confused, waiting for the doors to open. They sounded like a space ship, and he stepped out. He was beautiful. Was.
I can't write this. Maybe one day, but not now. It's an Eternal Sunshine type of moment, where I want to lay in the grass and feel perfectly in bliss that my heart is still attached to my body without any memory of anyone breaking it before. But it's not like that, and I wish it was.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Invietable Heart
It's funny how my memories capture my thoughts. Your in them, all the time, everywhere, in everything I look at, in every single step I take that leads me into endless ruin... I wish I could say I miss you, but honestly, I never really knew you. You were just a character in disguise, something to feed my hopeless heart on. I want to believe that mistakes happen for a reason, but this mistake was too soon, and it led me into a drowning air wave of others... My mind wants to love you, and my heart wants to move on. My heart, saddled in salt filled locket lathered in gold resides in another heart, in another year, in another decade. It wants to wait, while my head is ruling, capturing your memory, tearing it apart with every single tear, every single hopeless desire. Every day is a climb, I'm reaching to the top of the chamber, of the dusty purgatory house, and your face is no longer the only light at the end of the tunnel, I see myself, she's beautiful without the artificial, and she will be until eternity disintegrates her.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
So I don't know what's wrong with me. It's not like I'm not attractive, or have a deformed personality. I'm a 5'1, perfectly average (okay, perfectly abnormal) kind of girl that tends to study when she feels like it, takes loads of AP classes to boost her GPA, reads comics and goes on the internet like a maniac, and keeps a far enough distance to her friends and family where she spends more time alone that with anyone else. Currently registers a borrowed heart and lives off of diet coke and the occasional new band. I think I'm lonely.
Maybe it's this weird social anxiety. But how do you explain my leadership abilities. I don't get myself sometimes. I just want to move into a new place, fall into things, start out fresh and shake off this insanity. I don't think another year of high school will satisfy me. I don't want to get a job- for a job in this economy is impossible. I don't want to be single at 48, but if I am, I hope I'll be successful. I'm the type of person who craves affection easily. This does not mean that I will take anyone up who offers though. I actually... don't know what I want in a person anymore, though I know I always think of someone in the future. I just... can't put my mind on who.
Maybe it's this weird social anxiety. But how do you explain my leadership abilities. I don't get myself sometimes. I just want to move into a new place, fall into things, start out fresh and shake off this insanity. I don't think another year of high school will satisfy me. I don't want to get a job- for a job in this economy is impossible. I don't want to be single at 48, but if I am, I hope I'll be successful. I'm the type of person who craves affection easily. This does not mean that I will take anyone up who offers though. I actually... don't know what I want in a person anymore, though I know I always think of someone in the future. I just... can't put my mind on who.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Summer Rose
He took her into his arms like honey. Before, he would have disregarded her, torn her up, and spit her out in front of him. But this is different- their older. Her auburn hair looks burned, and her freckles have faded. She became what he adored, a tiny little dirty blond with thick lips and a jawline made of bone. He wished for someone like her to come around, but he did not give any intention to her being the girl who always loved him. She sent him love letters in the form of pleads, and her eyes were this domestic simplicity of Gothic rage. She painted her nails black, carved her eyes with dark make up, and pouted her lips. Her hair would be dyed a faded black, letting the pieces of her old self, her born self, sprout up every once and awhile.
Baby sunflower dresses became grunge layers. Her sleeves engulfed her hands, and her jeans took up tears, rips, and drawings. She liked the attention of her bright red lipstick, and he liked to watch her put in on in Math class. He thought she was the most beautiful in the morning, where her mother didn't see how she looked. She left the house wearing blues, baby pinks, and sunshine yellows. By the time she got off the mustard bus to school, the girl's bathroom became her closet. She hid her school attire in her gym locker, or her friend's backpacks. She would walk in there, looking natural with the exception of her black bottled hair, and come out like a transformed Barbie doll. He always stood outside the girl's bathroom with his friends. She thought he was the biggest slob in the universe, with his shady eyes that turned a deep set green with gold lining. He would always watch her, like he tried to with every girl. She was the exception- she seemed mysterious to him. He liked her natural self, yet he didn't understand why she would transform. She would watch him at the corner of her eye, baffled by the friends he chose. His pretty boy stance, and the way his lips pushed together when he was in clear thoughts made her stutter. The books he carried were always the finest you could receive. She noticed he liked to read Oscar Wilde while eating twinkies. Gross combination, she always thought.
He sat under the trees with his other friends- they would watch girls and give her dirty looks when she glanced at them. He would have never guessed that this girl so abnormal could be so beautiful...
Baby sunflower dresses became grunge layers. Her sleeves engulfed her hands, and her jeans took up tears, rips, and drawings. She liked the attention of her bright red lipstick, and he liked to watch her put in on in Math class. He thought she was the most beautiful in the morning, where her mother didn't see how she looked. She left the house wearing blues, baby pinks, and sunshine yellows. By the time she got off the mustard bus to school, the girl's bathroom became her closet. She hid her school attire in her gym locker, or her friend's backpacks. She would walk in there, looking natural with the exception of her black bottled hair, and come out like a transformed Barbie doll. He always stood outside the girl's bathroom with his friends. She thought he was the biggest slob in the universe, with his shady eyes that turned a deep set green with gold lining. He would always watch her, like he tried to with every girl. She was the exception- she seemed mysterious to him. He liked her natural self, yet he didn't understand why she would transform. She would watch him at the corner of her eye, baffled by the friends he chose. His pretty boy stance, and the way his lips pushed together when he was in clear thoughts made her stutter. The books he carried were always the finest you could receive. She noticed he liked to read Oscar Wilde while eating twinkies. Gross combination, she always thought.
He sat under the trees with his other friends- they would watch girls and give her dirty looks when she glanced at them. He would have never guessed that this girl so abnormal could be so beautiful...
Monday, April 20, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. " - Emily Bronte
There are just some days when the world shouldn't know who you are... where you do not do work for others. You simply let your mind takes you where it wants to go. Love should have a name, like Serene, Majesty, and Torn. The Future should be named the Past, and we all could follow our own paths, live in the trees, and dine on freshly born tomatoes..
I've been wanting to write a romance novel for the longest time. Every time I get the motivation I always fall back somehow- I try to write a story about a girl whose lost, brittle, and bitten...
There are just some days when the world shouldn't know who you are... where you do not do work for others. You simply let your mind takes you where it wants to go. Love should have a name, like Serene, Majesty, and Torn. The Future should be named the Past, and we all could follow our own paths, live in the trees, and dine on freshly born tomatoes..
I've been wanting to write a romance novel for the longest time. Every time I get the motivation I always fall back somehow- I try to write a story about a girl whose lost, brittle, and bitten...
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Everything I do, I do with all my heart. I put my heart into newspaper, and I put my heart into you. You didn't take it with you, I sewed it into you when you hugged me last. I let my bleeding veins attach to yours.
There's a boy carrying my heart. I think he'll always have it, and I'll always let him have it. He needs it more than me. I'm okay with being heartless, as long as I use chunks of others hearts in return to make me whole. He'll always have a part of me to walk with, and I know I'll always have my mind and body to look forward to.
Reading William Saroyan makes me feel better about the person I am- this half-Armenian, half-English,French,Spanish little girl floating around the universe with mint skin and crow's hair. I don't mind being a little different than most, listening to music that makes me cry and writing to pen pals and best friends that literally live half across the world. It makes me love them more, knowing that they wake up in a world different than my own. I want to write a story with my heart. I want to see their glittering faces when I gain my own independence and sleep in the same room with them. Wake up to the same breakfast, and know that I'll always remember the wall paper splashed on their chipping ceiling or the way their dimple dashes across their mouth.
Writing seems to be the only thing I have anymore. It's a part of me now. It's my only love. Love has once found me, captured me, put me into a greater existence, but then again- it was swept away with a single stroke of bad luck. I don't know what happened, and I tell myself every day that I want to rewind... but what would rewinding do when fast forwarding will only hurt me more? I'm sick of thinking of you.
Goodnight.
There's a boy carrying my heart. I think he'll always have it, and I'll always let him have it. He needs it more than me. I'm okay with being heartless, as long as I use chunks of others hearts in return to make me whole. He'll always have a part of me to walk with, and I know I'll always have my mind and body to look forward to.
Reading William Saroyan makes me feel better about the person I am- this half-Armenian, half-English,French,Spanish little girl floating around the universe with mint skin and crow's hair. I don't mind being a little different than most, listening to music that makes me cry and writing to pen pals and best friends that literally live half across the world. It makes me love them more, knowing that they wake up in a world different than my own. I want to write a story with my heart. I want to see their glittering faces when I gain my own independence and sleep in the same room with them. Wake up to the same breakfast, and know that I'll always remember the wall paper splashed on their chipping ceiling or the way their dimple dashes across their mouth.
Writing seems to be the only thing I have anymore. It's a part of me now. It's my only love. Love has once found me, captured me, put me into a greater existence, but then again- it was swept away with a single stroke of bad luck. I don't know what happened, and I tell myself every day that I want to rewind... but what would rewinding do when fast forwarding will only hurt me more? I'm sick of thinking of you.
Goodnight.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Danielle: A bird may love a fish, signore, but where will they live?
Leonardo da Vinci: Then I shall have to make you wings.
- Ever After
Sometimes I make up romances in my head. I imagine my older self studying at a table, in college, working punishingly hard, while a cute boy slams into the chair next to me and notices how unavailable I am to him. Though this already did happen with my prom date,my ex-boyfriend, my homecoming date, and this guy I've dated earlier this year, I want it to be someone I can genuinely like.
Henry: Do you really think there is only one perfect mate?
Leonardo da Vinci: As a matter of fact, I do.
Henry: Well then how can you be certain to find them? And if you do finally find them, are they really the one for you or do you only think they are? And what happens if the person you're supposed to be with never appears, or she does, but you're too distracted to notice?
Leonardo da Vinci: You learn to pay attention.
Henry: Then let's say God puts two people on Earth and they are lucky enough to find one another. But one of them gets hit by lightning. Well then what? Is that it? Or, perchance, you meet someone new and marry all over again. Is that the lady you're supposed to be with or was it the first? And if so, when the two of them were walking side by side were they both the one for you and you just happened to meet the first one first or was the second one supposed to be first? And is everything just chance or are some things meant to be?
- Ever After
Leonardo da Vinci: Then I shall have to make you wings.
- Ever After
Sometimes I make up romances in my head. I imagine my older self studying at a table, in college, working punishingly hard, while a cute boy slams into the chair next to me and notices how unavailable I am to him. Though this already did happen with my prom date,my ex-boyfriend, my homecoming date, and this guy I've dated earlier this year, I want it to be someone I can genuinely like.
Henry: Do you really think there is only one perfect mate?
Leonardo da Vinci: As a matter of fact, I do.
Henry: Well then how can you be certain to find them? And if you do finally find them, are they really the one for you or do you only think they are? And what happens if the person you're supposed to be with never appears, or she does, but you're too distracted to notice?
Leonardo da Vinci: You learn to pay attention.
Henry: Then let's say God puts two people on Earth and they are lucky enough to find one another. But one of them gets hit by lightning. Well then what? Is that it? Or, perchance, you meet someone new and marry all over again. Is that the lady you're supposed to be with or was it the first? And if so, when the two of them were walking side by side were they both the one for you and you just happened to meet the first one first or was the second one supposed to be first? And is everything just chance or are some things meant to be?
- Ever After
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Jelly Beans and Coke
Sitting inside a pale blue car, watching the California dirty freeways twirl while the backyards of personal dumpsters are visible. Walking down concrete hallways painted a neutral brown, smashing into excess fat, teased hair, and bitter eye balls. Crashing into hard blue chairs that have signified my butt shape for the past 7 months. Speaking to people I see everyday, talk to everyday, and have known for half of my childish life. Driving in the mornings to be stressed and assumed the worst by a 50 year old mother who cannot spell JOB on an application. Waking to the hottest water known to man while it trickles down my back and washes away all my dignity. All my bliss. Preparing me to be hurt for the day to come where I will walk into a classroom filled with opinionated over achievers. And I'm the highest.
Walk past every single person I could attempt a friendship with but have not. My eyhes stay attached to my shoes, and I picture myself kneeling forward having people think as If I'm looking at my body. I don't like to see myself naked. Sometimes I do, when I barely eat and I know my hip bones are sticking out like the sharp edges of a knife. I love to rub my finger on them, thinking that if I rub too slow that they will eventually slither across my skin and trickle out droplets of blood.
A GPA is no longer something to look at, it's become a future. Every single aspect of my personality is ridden into that tiny little 3 digit bar code on my head. Or on a piece of paper. College looks like a milestone. It's far away and my hands claw into this foggy set back as far as the woods. I feel sick. I hate the word love. I want to become a writer, but a writer is what I never shall become. I want to melt into a puddle of tears, learn to fly with a bird's left wing, kiss angel's curls, and see myself in the future. I'm hazed. I can't find who I am, because I lost myself to social suburbia.
The only thing I live for now are jelly beans and diet coke. And that only goes so far.
Walk past every single person I could attempt a friendship with but have not. My eyhes stay attached to my shoes, and I picture myself kneeling forward having people think as If I'm looking at my body. I don't like to see myself naked. Sometimes I do, when I barely eat and I know my hip bones are sticking out like the sharp edges of a knife. I love to rub my finger on them, thinking that if I rub too slow that they will eventually slither across my skin and trickle out droplets of blood.
A GPA is no longer something to look at, it's become a future. Every single aspect of my personality is ridden into that tiny little 3 digit bar code on my head. Or on a piece of paper. College looks like a milestone. It's far away and my hands claw into this foggy set back as far as the woods. I feel sick. I hate the word love. I want to become a writer, but a writer is what I never shall become. I want to melt into a puddle of tears, learn to fly with a bird's left wing, kiss angel's curls, and see myself in the future. I'm hazed. I can't find who I am, because I lost myself to social suburbia.
The only thing I live for now are jelly beans and diet coke. And that only goes so far.
Where the two rivers meet is a diverged crossroad. A rock, twinkling with water slowly correlates to a broken branch, while my knees desperately fit in between moss and over grown waves. Bleeding, my knees stain the waves red as my hands twitter across lines of water. I'm not dead yet. Nor am I drowning. I'm dreaming this. This passage into your heart, where my body disintegrates as soon as I get too close. Your arteries are pumping me out, your mind is shutting the body down. I can't breathe anymore, you've sucked my lungs dry from the poison of your demeaning kiss. I'm drowning now, while your smile is plastered under your nose...
Monday, April 13, 2009
Idiots.
I'm tired of bad days. I'm sick of waiting for the world to swallowme whole with every single step. I'm sick of this teenage agony that I feel everyday. I want to stop caring what the world thinks of me, and sit in a guargantuan library with Charlotte Bronte's thoughts and Emily Bronte's wit. I want to be among them as their little sister. Sometimes when I'm deadly depressed, I imagine myself sitting and talking to Charlotte about my feelings. She pets my hand and tells me that the world is cruel, and offers me the best advice she can give. I tell her everything on my mind, down to the last drop of innocence to the highly devote opinions I have of my parents. There would be moss growing from the ground, and the library will be set in an outside green house. The books will never wilt and we will never grow old. We will laugh about the joys of life, maybe even write a beautiful novel together. I won't have to think of my past nor future, but the present and the wonderful time I'm having with her.
Sometimes, I think I'm depressed. I want my shoes to crack through the ground and let my mind sleep in a silence in a string of stars swirling in the universe. I want to lie on the beach with mermaids, gallop in the desert with dinosaurs, and feel wind on my wings. Last night I imagined a mascerade before my death. Beautiful jesters, light colored cat masks, unicorn huffs, and delightful patterns of lipstick on people dancing around me. Picasso scares me... his quote on "Anything you can imagine is real". I imagine alot of things, and they could be real. Inside my head they are real. My own bliss is what is real, and all my bliss is inside my head. It'll never go out, because at the end of the day this world is made of terrible circumstances, like me never getting to drive in the next 6 months, me losing someone that was once considered my soul mate, and my own self.
I feel so lost. Charlotte if you hear me, I'm pretty devastated. I don't know if I could love someone again, it'd hurt too much and I'm too niave. Love is supposed to last forever, and this feeling is definitely bubbling inside of me, eating my flesh from the inside, and capturing my heart. I wish he knew how much this hurt, how I want to talk to him, how I want to change the past as much as possible. I would reverse all the yelling, all the insults, all the assumptions. I would be more driven. I'd try to be a good student. I'd make better choices.
Now is the time to fix all that. I'm trying. I really am. But society brings me down. Deflates me. Everyone wants me to fail. What will happen once I do smoke my first cigarette, fall in love with an asshole again, and turn my life upside down. I want to know.
Sometimes, I think I'm depressed. I want my shoes to crack through the ground and let my mind sleep in a silence in a string of stars swirling in the universe. I want to lie on the beach with mermaids, gallop in the desert with dinosaurs, and feel wind on my wings. Last night I imagined a mascerade before my death. Beautiful jesters, light colored cat masks, unicorn huffs, and delightful patterns of lipstick on people dancing around me. Picasso scares me... his quote on "Anything you can imagine is real". I imagine alot of things, and they could be real. Inside my head they are real. My own bliss is what is real, and all my bliss is inside my head. It'll never go out, because at the end of the day this world is made of terrible circumstances, like me never getting to drive in the next 6 months, me losing someone that was once considered my soul mate, and my own self.
I feel so lost. Charlotte if you hear me, I'm pretty devastated. I don't know if I could love someone again, it'd hurt too much and I'm too niave. Love is supposed to last forever, and this feeling is definitely bubbling inside of me, eating my flesh from the inside, and capturing my heart. I wish he knew how much this hurt, how I want to talk to him, how I want to change the past as much as possible. I would reverse all the yelling, all the insults, all the assumptions. I would be more driven. I'd try to be a good student. I'd make better choices.
Now is the time to fix all that. I'm trying. I really am. But society brings me down. Deflates me. Everyone wants me to fail. What will happen once I do smoke my first cigarette, fall in love with an asshole again, and turn my life upside down. I want to know.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
When you stop I'll keep going. I'll run past your eyes, jumping over every single hill, rock, and hole that faces my direction. Trying to stop me will not hurt me, it'll make me better than you...
I'm about to make myself a lovely set of Aunt Jemima waffles and am listening to some Taylor Swift on the way to my thoughts. I got offered a position as a leader for my school's enormous club that only admits about 8 people. I'm very excited because I do not have to sign up and prove myself for something this time. I've been constantly looking over magazine designs and editing the April issue of the newspaper.
The new position will have me being the Editor in Chief of STAND's Rhythms section. I will be able to attend meetings (like I don't have enough!) and get to go to retreats and whatnot. I'm pretty damn excited, because my life revolves around publications for the school.
I already made a literary magazine for Poetry Club (I'm the president of that also..hehe) and have come out with 8 publications of our school newspaper as the Editor in Chief.
My dreams are finally coming true, have come true, and now I have to follow them. I've been thinking of going to UC Santa Cruz for communications, but my real dream school is Columbia college in Chicago. :3
Will write more after breakfast.
I'm about to make myself a lovely set of Aunt Jemima waffles and am listening to some Taylor Swift on the way to my thoughts. I got offered a position as a leader for my school's enormous club that only admits about 8 people. I'm very excited because I do not have to sign up and prove myself for something this time. I've been constantly looking over magazine designs and editing the April issue of the newspaper.
The new position will have me being the Editor in Chief of STAND's Rhythms section. I will be able to attend meetings (like I don't have enough!) and get to go to retreats and whatnot. I'm pretty damn excited, because my life revolves around publications for the school.
I already made a literary magazine for Poetry Club (I'm the president of that also..hehe) and have come out with 8 publications of our school newspaper as the Editor in Chief.
My dreams are finally coming true, have come true, and now I have to follow them. I've been thinking of going to UC Santa Cruz for communications, but my real dream school is Columbia college in Chicago. :3
Will write more after breakfast.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
"Does the mind rule the body or the body rule the mind?"
- The Smiths
I would like to think I'm a pretty girl with a nice, curved nose. My eyebrows may eat my face, but they add jazz to my smile. I probably do weird things with my mouth, like biting my lips, sucking on them when I'm nervous, and trying to peel the skin off with my teeth. I may think too much, but that never stops me from wanting to. Today, while waiting for an inconvenience, I made up a whole speech I wanted to say to someone.
This guy- we've kind of dated. I didn't really see it as something special- just playful. We were talking for awhile and got "kind of" close in the midst of it all. I had a bad anxiety attack one day and kind of took it out on him. We stopped talking for three weeks.
Then I get a call from him. An apology message. It said he was sorry for being so immature and that every time he sees me he feels bad that he just randomly stopped talking to me.. and how he doesn't have the guts to face me in person and apologize. I found that kind of cute. I called him back, and we talked.
I'm trying to keep this positive this time. My emphasis on it is that when I met him I had just freshly been broken up with the guy I thought I was in "love" with. I was not ready for a relationship, or even a close encounter. We met at a party and instantly hit it off. I thought he was charming, and I'm sure he thought I was cute. It surprises me that he came back, just like that. Willing to talk to me. To see me at the club I'm president of. To call me, to talk to me, to text me.
It's really sweet and I don't really want to screw things up this time with my insecurity or broken heart. And if I do, well, oh well. It's just going to be a positive experience.
- The Smiths
I would like to think I'm a pretty girl with a nice, curved nose. My eyebrows may eat my face, but they add jazz to my smile. I probably do weird things with my mouth, like biting my lips, sucking on them when I'm nervous, and trying to peel the skin off with my teeth. I may think too much, but that never stops me from wanting to. Today, while waiting for an inconvenience, I made up a whole speech I wanted to say to someone.
This guy- we've kind of dated. I didn't really see it as something special- just playful. We were talking for awhile and got "kind of" close in the midst of it all. I had a bad anxiety attack one day and kind of took it out on him. We stopped talking for three weeks.
Then I get a call from him. An apology message. It said he was sorry for being so immature and that every time he sees me he feels bad that he just randomly stopped talking to me.. and how he doesn't have the guts to face me in person and apologize. I found that kind of cute. I called him back, and we talked.
I'm trying to keep this positive this time. My emphasis on it is that when I met him I had just freshly been broken up with the guy I thought I was in "love" with. I was not ready for a relationship, or even a close encounter. We met at a party and instantly hit it off. I thought he was charming, and I'm sure he thought I was cute. It surprises me that he came back, just like that. Willing to talk to me. To see me at the club I'm president of. To call me, to talk to me, to text me.
It's really sweet and I don't really want to screw things up this time with my insecurity or broken heart. And if I do, well, oh well. It's just going to be a positive experience.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
"For your soul, my love
Rip out the wings of a butterfly"
- HIM
Need to stop ogling over long lost boys. Need to actually do homework. Need to stop eating so much. Need to start writing a book to let out all these suppressed emotions. Need to listen to more Janis Joplin. Need a lady bug to fly on the strands of my hair while I sleep in the grass with my sunglasses so I can sleep in a world of shaded red and sunflowers...
Today, when coming home from school, I had the most enormous revelation of my ex-lurve standing behind the door waiting to pounce on me. I got a little excited but to my surprise it was just a scarf on the floor. Of course, I am battling myself in my head, telling me to stop, rewind, and rethink all the others who have graced these lips before and how their now stuffed inside my closet like the unused geometry and stuffed animals.
Queen Adreena and a bowl filled with ice cream would get me out of a situation like this. I've been battling this for 3 months now. What the fuck is wrong with me? I don't know. Maybe it was like.. love. hahaha.
Sometimes, I have dreams of being older. Their more like day dreams, but they involve him. I'm working and in college at the same time, while he goes to the same event as me. We are meeting, then leading into a bed that looks as if it is a black cave swallowing us whole. We have sex. It sucks, but I remind my seventeen year old self how wonderful it was supposed to be. I leave before he wakes up from being so disgusted in myself. He gets ahold of me and tells me he was once in love with me. I remember how many times I wanted to be with him so badly and he wasn't ready. My older self leaves him, telling him that he's too late. I then suddenly feel impowered, beautiful, and ready to take on the rest of the world.
I want to feel that right now.
Though I do feel like I do not need anyone, I also watch myself wanting to wait on a rock, smoking a cigarette, and finding the meaning of life through an endless supply of drugs, chocolate, and kisses.
Not happening anytime soon, sadly. My fucking horoscope makes me feel like shit:
"Still single? Shame. Doesn't have to be that way you know. If you get yourself out and in the public eye today there is no telling what can happen. Try talking to attractive strangers about the weather. Open your mind and heart, and you will be surprised what walks in."
Hey horoscope, it does have to be that way. You want to know why? Because I am a fungus to guys, and most guys are a fungus to me. I don't want to open my heart to the next loser swarming around my head. Who talks to strangers about the weather? Not when your in high school. Drugs, maybe. But not he weather. We aren't mature enough to think of things outside our heads, funny horoscope.
"I taste death in every kiss we share
Every sundown seems to be the last we have
Your breath on my skin has the scent of our end
I'm drunk on your tears, Baby, can't you see it's hurting"
- Razorblade Kiss, HIM
Rip out the wings of a butterfly"
- HIM
Need to stop ogling over long lost boys. Need to actually do homework. Need to stop eating so much. Need to start writing a book to let out all these suppressed emotions. Need to listen to more Janis Joplin. Need a lady bug to fly on the strands of my hair while I sleep in the grass with my sunglasses so I can sleep in a world of shaded red and sunflowers...
Today, when coming home from school, I had the most enormous revelation of my ex-lurve standing behind the door waiting to pounce on me. I got a little excited but to my surprise it was just a scarf on the floor. Of course, I am battling myself in my head, telling me to stop, rewind, and rethink all the others who have graced these lips before and how their now stuffed inside my closet like the unused geometry and stuffed animals.
Queen Adreena and a bowl filled with ice cream would get me out of a situation like this. I've been battling this for 3 months now. What the fuck is wrong with me? I don't know. Maybe it was like.. love. hahaha.
Sometimes, I have dreams of being older. Their more like day dreams, but they involve him. I'm working and in college at the same time, while he goes to the same event as me. We are meeting, then leading into a bed that looks as if it is a black cave swallowing us whole. We have sex. It sucks, but I remind my seventeen year old self how wonderful it was supposed to be. I leave before he wakes up from being so disgusted in myself. He gets ahold of me and tells me he was once in love with me. I remember how many times I wanted to be with him so badly and he wasn't ready. My older self leaves him, telling him that he's too late. I then suddenly feel impowered, beautiful, and ready to take on the rest of the world.
I want to feel that right now.
Though I do feel like I do not need anyone, I also watch myself wanting to wait on a rock, smoking a cigarette, and finding the meaning of life through an endless supply of drugs, chocolate, and kisses.
Not happening anytime soon, sadly. My fucking horoscope makes me feel like shit:
"Still single? Shame. Doesn't have to be that way you know. If you get yourself out and in the public eye today there is no telling what can happen. Try talking to attractive strangers about the weather. Open your mind and heart, and you will be surprised what walks in."
Hey horoscope, it does have to be that way. You want to know why? Because I am a fungus to guys, and most guys are a fungus to me. I don't want to open my heart to the next loser swarming around my head. Who talks to strangers about the weather? Not when your in high school. Drugs, maybe. But not he weather. We aren't mature enough to think of things outside our heads, funny horoscope.
"I taste death in every kiss we share
Every sundown seems to be the last we have
Your breath on my skin has the scent of our end
I'm drunk on your tears, Baby, can't you see it's hurting"
- Razorblade Kiss, HIM
Monday, April 6, 2009
Age of Attitude
"What would Jesus do? I think if he were in my shoes he would lie down and wait for the next Union Pacific freight train."
- "Cake" by Patrick Tobin
I have a million things to do like clean my paper-filled room, call my prom date back (just in case he finally notices that I am a complete loser and take a strange misdemeanor to dating at this time...), finish my homework, write my articles for newspaper, AND watch Dancing with the Stars. Instead, I write in here.
I was reading Country Living Magazine (so, your asking in your head- why would a Seventeen year old girl read an old woman's magazine? Don't worry, it's the same question I have when I walk into an antique store with my 50 year old mother) and noticed Kate White. Kate White is the Editor-in-Chief of Cosmopolitan, has been the Editor-in-Chief of 4 other magazines, the biggest being Redbook and McCall's. Can you say wonderful?
I have such a strange admiration for those who level themselves up in the magazine field. (I sound like a little boy goggling over Mario jumping over mushrooms). I've been reading books such as The Best American Non-Required Reading and articles on the ever-so-interesting Area 51 and listening to Green Day. I want a writer's life; just an endless display of mind adventures.
Did I mention she has written more than 5 books of a bestselling series? I call that AMAZING. Or just nonhuman.
So after detailing my life in a 15 minute bus ride, I have decided to come up with a list. Usually my lists don't exactly work. Actually, they really don't help me. I try to go buy them but fail miserably. Maybe it's a jinx.
After going to Armenian Apostolic Church on Sunday for the first time in two years I decided that one of my main goals in life other than becoming in the magazine industry is to marry an Armenian. Of course, this is going to fail. Mainly because I already fail at dating (I'm Seventeen, have only kissed 3 guys, got hurt more than 5, and ended a relationship in which I was head over heels in, went back and hurt myself by wanting to be with him again) and because the amount of Armenian guys who would want to be with me are scarce. They want babies. They want boobies. They want brains.
I think I only have 1/4 of the last.
and that is if I think really hard. I think my ex-Armenian boyfriend noticed this.
New subject.
I woke up approximately at 3:50 AM this morning after going to bed at 7:00 PM. I did 25 definitions, along with a Advanced Placement United States History essay. From my surprise, it's not due until Wednesday. Go me. That's what you get when you think your the Queen of Procrastination but you just become the Queen of forgetting and waking up early in the morning to do shit you probably would not do anyways. I keep thinking I'm going to get to go to UC Santa Cruz and start a life outside of this deserted land mine, but then again my mother speaks of things lower than this. Community College.
Yes, I wanted to kill myself after that last thought.
Why take Advanced Placement if you, yourself, aren't advanced placement enough?
(Did that just make sense?)
"Tell me the words I might have said
That's pumping pressure deep inside my head
Was it bad enough to be too late?
Just tell me the words I might have ate"
- Words I might have Ate by Green Day
- "Cake" by Patrick Tobin
I have a million things to do like clean my paper-filled room, call my prom date back (just in case he finally notices that I am a complete loser and take a strange misdemeanor to dating at this time...), finish my homework, write my articles for newspaper, AND watch Dancing with the Stars. Instead, I write in here.
I was reading Country Living Magazine (so, your asking in your head- why would a Seventeen year old girl read an old woman's magazine? Don't worry, it's the same question I have when I walk into an antique store with my 50 year old mother) and noticed Kate White. Kate White is the Editor-in-Chief of Cosmopolitan, has been the Editor-in-Chief of 4 other magazines, the biggest being Redbook and McCall's. Can you say wonderful?
I have such a strange admiration for those who level themselves up in the magazine field. (I sound like a little boy goggling over Mario jumping over mushrooms). I've been reading books such as The Best American Non-Required Reading and articles on the ever-so-interesting Area 51 and listening to Green Day. I want a writer's life; just an endless display of mind adventures.
Did I mention she has written more than 5 books of a bestselling series? I call that AMAZING. Or just nonhuman.
So after detailing my life in a 15 minute bus ride, I have decided to come up with a list. Usually my lists don't exactly work. Actually, they really don't help me. I try to go buy them but fail miserably. Maybe it's a jinx.
After going to Armenian Apostolic Church on Sunday for the first time in two years I decided that one of my main goals in life other than becoming in the magazine industry is to marry an Armenian. Of course, this is going to fail. Mainly because I already fail at dating (I'm Seventeen, have only kissed 3 guys, got hurt more than 5, and ended a relationship in which I was head over heels in, went back and hurt myself by wanting to be with him again) and because the amount of Armenian guys who would want to be with me are scarce. They want babies. They want boobies. They want brains.
I think I only have 1/4 of the last.
and that is if I think really hard. I think my ex-Armenian boyfriend noticed this.
New subject.
I woke up approximately at 3:50 AM this morning after going to bed at 7:00 PM. I did 25 definitions, along with a Advanced Placement United States History essay. From my surprise, it's not due until Wednesday. Go me. That's what you get when you think your the Queen of Procrastination but you just become the Queen of forgetting and waking up early in the morning to do shit you probably would not do anyways. I keep thinking I'm going to get to go to UC Santa Cruz and start a life outside of this deserted land mine, but then again my mother speaks of things lower than this. Community College.
Yes, I wanted to kill myself after that last thought.
Why take Advanced Placement if you, yourself, aren't advanced placement enough?
(Did that just make sense?)
"Tell me the words I might have said
That's pumping pressure deep inside my head
Was it bad enough to be too late?
Just tell me the words I might have ate"
- Words I might have Ate by Green Day
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Love... and Dracula Movies
"I have not broken your heart- you have broken it, and in breaking it, you have broken mine."
- Wuthering Heights
Wuthering Heights is supposed to be this magical romance- or so I'm lead to believe. I picked up the book for the first time in over a period of 6 months, where it was casually laying on my bookcase turning into a statue next to Jane Eyre. Jane Eyre is one of my ultimate favorites, and I've always thought that Charlotte Bronte could never be foreseen from another writer, until I noticed her sister, Emily. Their both so beautiful, using the most sincere customs of language and giving them a voice- giving words a voice in my head that pentrate my thoughts with the character's. As I was reading (I'm only on the 20th page..) I began to realize that I,myself, do not have a custom in which is the perfect man for me. I got to thinking to my fellow best gay friend- and I asked him, Should I have an ideal perfect guy down to a capsize? Should I know what I want in a person?
The answer in my head came back as "YES!!"
"If all else perished, and he remained,I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. "
-W.H.
So, I have decided to write down all the aspects of my extremely idealized type of man/boy. I know that such circumstances in a person cannot be found, no matter how long my heart seeps in searching.
Let's start of with appearance and work our way into the inner core. I am attracted to a man with locks of love- deep brown, auburn curls that can settle on his face. Or, raven's hair. Any hair that is an extremely natural and beautiful illiminated color. I love deep oranges, definite blondes, pitch black strings.
I love definite skin tones. Something like pale white (as my own skin color) or a deep rich cocoa brown. I don't like unnatural tans, or the strange yellow/orange color that people tend to color to.
I want a guy who can be spontaneous, letting the universe fall into place with me and him. I want him to surprise me by just being with me- coming at the right moments of my life and not leaving at them. I want him to wait by my car after a wreckless day. I want that warm feeling that he'll give to me with his arms and his heart.
A gentlemen who can open the door wide open for me, give me compliments without me holding a rod and a bait to his face, and paying for me at appropiate times. A guy who will not let me use him for his money, but rather for his heart.
The same music taste as me is much needed. I'm sick of these "stupid,bohmenian losers" (Ghost World). Someone who is into Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Billy Idol... and can honestly say they liked them before they liked me. A guy who I don't have to push my music tastes on, or listen to certain songs and have them remind me of him.
Someone who will give me long talks before I know them. Spontaneously sitting with me inside a coffee shop, me being completely oblivious when I woke up that I was meeting them that day, and having one of the best days of my entire life. Letting him come to me, not me having to make him talk to me. I need an open interest. An obvious interest.
A guy who can write. A guy who knows what to write. A guy whose writing I can understand.
Someone who doesn't highly remind me of an Ex. A musician would make me trip over my toes- especially if he wrote me songs. I never feel that courageous to think I'm those type of girls. I have holes in my ego.
Someone who can give me the most memorable kiss. A guy who can lay down with me while I read Charlotte and Emily Bronte to him.
A guy who has his own life. His own misconceptions of the world. A guy who is wonderfully intelligent and beautiful in his own way.
A guy who can let me know him first, openly know him, and share all of his interests while exploring mine. A guy who wants to deserve me.
Someone who will fight for me. Blast into my heart. Take control and never let go.
"...I have a single wish, and my whole being, and faculties are yearning to attain it. They have reached - and soon- beause it has devoured my existance- I am swallowed in the anticipation of it's fulfulliment. "
-WH
- Wuthering Heights
Wuthering Heights is supposed to be this magical romance- or so I'm lead to believe. I picked up the book for the first time in over a period of 6 months, where it was casually laying on my bookcase turning into a statue next to Jane Eyre. Jane Eyre is one of my ultimate favorites, and I've always thought that Charlotte Bronte could never be foreseen from another writer, until I noticed her sister, Emily. Their both so beautiful, using the most sincere customs of language and giving them a voice- giving words a voice in my head that pentrate my thoughts with the character's. As I was reading (I'm only on the 20th page..) I began to realize that I,myself, do not have a custom in which is the perfect man for me. I got to thinking to my fellow best gay friend- and I asked him, Should I have an ideal perfect guy down to a capsize? Should I know what I want in a person?
The answer in my head came back as "YES!!"
"If all else perished, and he remained,I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. "
-W.H.
So, I have decided to write down all the aspects of my extremely idealized type of man/boy. I know that such circumstances in a person cannot be found, no matter how long my heart seeps in searching.
Let's start of with appearance and work our way into the inner core. I am attracted to a man with locks of love- deep brown, auburn curls that can settle on his face. Or, raven's hair. Any hair that is an extremely natural and beautiful illiminated color. I love deep oranges, definite blondes, pitch black strings.
I love definite skin tones. Something like pale white (as my own skin color) or a deep rich cocoa brown. I don't like unnatural tans, or the strange yellow/orange color that people tend to color to.
I want a guy who can be spontaneous, letting the universe fall into place with me and him. I want him to surprise me by just being with me- coming at the right moments of my life and not leaving at them. I want him to wait by my car after a wreckless day. I want that warm feeling that he'll give to me with his arms and his heart.
A gentlemen who can open the door wide open for me, give me compliments without me holding a rod and a bait to his face, and paying for me at appropiate times. A guy who will not let me use him for his money, but rather for his heart.
The same music taste as me is much needed. I'm sick of these "stupid,bohmenian losers" (Ghost World). Someone who is into Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Billy Idol... and can honestly say they liked them before they liked me. A guy who I don't have to push my music tastes on, or listen to certain songs and have them remind me of him.
Someone who will give me long talks before I know them. Spontaneously sitting with me inside a coffee shop, me being completely oblivious when I woke up that I was meeting them that day, and having one of the best days of my entire life. Letting him come to me, not me having to make him talk to me. I need an open interest. An obvious interest.
A guy who can write. A guy who knows what to write. A guy whose writing I can understand.
Someone who doesn't highly remind me of an Ex. A musician would make me trip over my toes- especially if he wrote me songs. I never feel that courageous to think I'm those type of girls. I have holes in my ego.
Someone who can give me the most memorable kiss. A guy who can lay down with me while I read Charlotte and Emily Bronte to him.
A guy who has his own life. His own misconceptions of the world. A guy who is wonderfully intelligent and beautiful in his own way.
A guy who can let me know him first, openly know him, and share all of his interests while exploring mine. A guy who wants to deserve me.
Someone who will fight for me. Blast into my heart. Take control and never let go.
"...I have a single wish, and my whole being, and faculties are yearning to attain it. They have reached - and soon- beause it has devoured my existance- I am swallowed in the anticipation of it's fulfulliment. "
-WH
Friday, April 3, 2009
My Confessions; Capturing my first thoughts
"Secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames
And what do I get, for my pain?
Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game"
I'm seventeen years young and completely lost. I like- no scratch that- love to write about suicide, fallen love, diminished beauty, and everything concerning a wrinkled heart. Music sets me into worm hole of another world, where the universe creates this space only for me to dance in. I've been told I have anxiety disorder. Cue the violins.
So I wanted to start writing. Writing about nothing. Writing about this world that I am lost in. Writing about my short, uneasy, cheesy, life filled with unwanted love, bad habits, and bloated thoughts.
I tend to spend a lot of time by myself, contemplating thoughts and leading my life to an unfulfilled tendency of high school homework and bad breath. Sometimes, I want to purchase doc martins and fly away into a rock concert, being a groupie, and finding love through tears and lipstick. Preferably on the sexiest man alive. Which I don't know who that is yet.
I think I've already been in love. I don't want to talk about him and the complete,utterly disastrous asshole he has turned into, but about the concept of love itself. I want to find it someday. I know that being young (though I feel outrageously old, like I should have done more in my seventeen years than imaginable) I have a lot of time to sort things out with myself and settle down with someone when I'm in my mid 20's. That seems like a perfect plan, thanks facts of life. But what I have witnessed about myself is that I cannot, and will not, form myself to anyone anymore. I'm too stubborn. Too driven. I'm like a cigarette's never ending flame. I just keep sparking, causing fires in front of the mouth. I burn, I sting, I possibly skill. Who knows, who cares?
"And someone will say what is lost can never be saved
Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage"
Though itself is the worst subject ever. Speaking of it can only lead you to pure sanity. Feeling it leaves you in a wasteland of desired feelings. I imagine myself kneeling down on a luscious mountain, filling with mouth with nicotine and chocolate, and letting a boy's hand swift up and down my back. As I breathe out, my hair will wisp in the wind and I'll look as if I am Pocahontas having my hair swirl in the wind, the color of raven's wings and lips the color of crimson charcoal. Though the sunlight I'm looking out on to will be fluffed with orange clouds bursting through the sky's pink bruise. But then again, I imagine myself. Myself just lying there, mindless and unable to feel. Just a smile wiped across my face.
I sometimes play out scenarios in my head. I play games with myself. I tell myself stupid things, I make myself believe people I care about actually care about me. It doesn't work that way.
Neither does love.
"Now I'm naked, nothing but an animal
But can you fake it, for just one more show?
And what do you want?
I want to change
And what have you got, when you feel the same?"
- Bullet with Butterfly Wings, The Smashing Pumpkins
And what do I get, for my pain?
Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game"
I'm seventeen years young and completely lost. I like- no scratch that- love to write about suicide, fallen love, diminished beauty, and everything concerning a wrinkled heart. Music sets me into worm hole of another world, where the universe creates this space only for me to dance in. I've been told I have anxiety disorder. Cue the violins.
So I wanted to start writing. Writing about nothing. Writing about this world that I am lost in. Writing about my short, uneasy, cheesy, life filled with unwanted love, bad habits, and bloated thoughts.
I tend to spend a lot of time by myself, contemplating thoughts and leading my life to an unfulfilled tendency of high school homework and bad breath. Sometimes, I want to purchase doc martins and fly away into a rock concert, being a groupie, and finding love through tears and lipstick. Preferably on the sexiest man alive. Which I don't know who that is yet.
I think I've already been in love. I don't want to talk about him and the complete,utterly disastrous asshole he has turned into, but about the concept of love itself. I want to find it someday. I know that being young (though I feel outrageously old, like I should have done more in my seventeen years than imaginable) I have a lot of time to sort things out with myself and settle down with someone when I'm in my mid 20's. That seems like a perfect plan, thanks facts of life. But what I have witnessed about myself is that I cannot, and will not, form myself to anyone anymore. I'm too stubborn. Too driven. I'm like a cigarette's never ending flame. I just keep sparking, causing fires in front of the mouth. I burn, I sting, I possibly skill. Who knows, who cares?
"And someone will say what is lost can never be saved
Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage"
Though itself is the worst subject ever. Speaking of it can only lead you to pure sanity. Feeling it leaves you in a wasteland of desired feelings. I imagine myself kneeling down on a luscious mountain, filling with mouth with nicotine and chocolate, and letting a boy's hand swift up and down my back. As I breathe out, my hair will wisp in the wind and I'll look as if I am Pocahontas having my hair swirl in the wind, the color of raven's wings and lips the color of crimson charcoal. Though the sunlight I'm looking out on to will be fluffed with orange clouds bursting through the sky's pink bruise. But then again, I imagine myself. Myself just lying there, mindless and unable to feel. Just a smile wiped across my face.
I sometimes play out scenarios in my head. I play games with myself. I tell myself stupid things, I make myself believe people I care about actually care about me. It doesn't work that way.
Neither does love.
"Now I'm naked, nothing but an animal
But can you fake it, for just one more show?
And what do you want?
I want to change
And what have you got, when you feel the same?"
- Bullet with Butterfly Wings, The Smashing Pumpkins
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