Remembering a laughter is the easy part. The hard part is knowing that you're okay living with yourself knowing what you've done. It's such a sad reality, really. Some people can be just so damn ignorant. My part is teaching myself when it's okay to let go and when it is okay to hold on. The burned bridges mean nothing to me now, but used to consume my every thought. What's sad is that not one of you even bother checking in. It's fine and it's dandy, but what if it wasn't and you were responsible? Could you live with that? You already live so comfortably with your shitty job and shitty girlfriend. I bet none of you wondered what the outcome could have been. I wish so badly that somethings could have ended up differently. Maybe if I were more quiet, or maybe if you had a bigger brain, or heart. Maybe if you meant it when you told me you were going to make me yours again and you were going to do it right. Maybe you're all just jealous that I'm going to be somebody and you're not. Maybe you're upset because you know you're wrong and you cannot bring yourself to admit it. Strange how quickly you can grow up. Even more strange how long some people take. And I'm so angry. The world makes me mad because I don't understand anything that goes on around me. And that makes me sad. Then I'm over emotional. I just want my choices to be my choices. Not anybody else's. I want more control over my life. I want to fall asleep on the softest carpet and wake up and know where I am. I can't explain how weird that was. The swooning head over heels fascination killed me and forever will. It's somewhere between Scenic and Skyline where my heart belongs. It's the calm non chaotic, non confusing bliss that doesn't hurt. It doesn't speed, doesn't stab, doesn't get to the roots. I want sense. I want to get out of here. I don't want to remember the people who have made me strong. I want to get hitched in Cali and produce gorgeous babies. Not remembering the boy who took advantage of me. Or the friend who ditched me. Not of the boy who hit me when I was down, or of the girl who played on my trauma. But, first I'm going to kick some ass and see the world. Visit some wonderful people. Find my roots. Don't tell me "you'll grow up." You work at a glue factory. I'm not going to die here, this young, right now. Nah, I'm going places. And I have no problem leaving all of this behind.

what.the.fuck.

Okay so, wtf ever happened to "to be continued?" I am so tired of literally nobody taking it upon themselves to figure the mystery out. I hate it. I hate you and your silly games. I'm sick of someone seeing me as just a toy. If you don't want anything to do with me THEN LEAVE ME ALONE. I'm tired of giving in, and I'm tired of people giving up. Everyone has their own little heads warped around some lovey dovey lie they tell themselves to keep their hearts at bay. We're all just a bunch of pathetic losers pretending to be something we're not. And what are we, exactly? I am fed up. I'm fed up with you and having to tip toe around the things you say. I'm fed up with trying to convince myself that everything is going to turn out for the better: ITS NOT. I am fed up with myself. For allowing myself to trust people; giving in to them way too easily. I am fed up always needing comfort. I am even more upset that I can't seem to find it. Your roots dig towards the pits of Hell while your branches stretch towards the Heavens. I'm losing my faith in human kindness. In friendship. In love. Its all a bunch of lies. Its the shit they feed you in Elementary school to give you something to look forward to. I'm tired of looking for reasons. Of trying to be optimistic. I shouldn't have to try. I'm so sick of everybody.

Dearly beloved, are you listening?

I erased you. You. You. You. All gone. I am bleakly sick of holding on to someone who chose to be ashes. Ashes to ashes we all fall down. No one's ever gonna be like you. Where is my creative flow? This blank white nothing life. It's there. You cannot ignore it. Can't we all be under a tree during fall? Sitting, watching the leaves fall? I miss hanging Halloween and Christmas decorations. I want to bundle up in that baby blue bubble jacket, with white lip gloss, and go for a walk. I'd walk to that boy who never loved me's house. I'd hope maybe by chance he would be outside as I walked by. That was my biggest problem. You never loved me. If only that were my only problem now. Fact of the matter is, they never actually prepare you for life. Okay, so I know the difference between "your" and "you're" and that y = mx + b, even though I never learned what the fuck that actually means, but they never taught you how fucking awful life really is. They taught you arithmetic, but they failed to tell you how to handle death. I know grammar but how do I manage this heartbreak sense of unfulfilled blankness I find myself trapped in every now and then? All the kids are doing drugs. Nightlife is imaginary. Nothing is attainable that you want to attain. You grow up. You lose everybody you've ever cared about while everyone you never cared about gets everything they've ever wanted. You turn into the complete opposite of what you thought you'd be. You make unattainable goals, mainly set on narcissism and superficial happiness and then fail at almost everything you put your heart into. Your body can heal itself. But what about your mind? Does it ever recover? Everyone is so full of shit. Born and raised by hypocrites. You want to sing and write about how fucked up everyone is, but you forget to include yourself. No one actually cares that you're bruised, no one really gives a fuck that your dog died, or that your relationship that you love so much has come to an unexpected end. No one cares that you eat your heart out every single time you wake up and realize that, yes you were dreaming, and no, you have to wake up and be responsible now. Can't we all live under the sea? Everyone uses you. No one cares, hardly anybody relates. We're all looking for the signs we might have missed; overlooking every piece of evidence. When she jumped, she probably thought she could fly. All these stories are far more beautiful than our own. That's why we pay them our money and a small piece of our souls, or lack thereof. We're all broken enough to be humble. We are all sad individuals. Some of us are just better at hiding it.The songs we listen to are encouraging us to pull all of our hair out, while the media we watch want us to grow it out. How are you gonna just show me the door? While a long lost lover sits and watches? Everyone is sorry. So fucking sorry. I really don't care. I just want some company. I want a bit of regulation to this chaos. I want you. I want you so bad, it's driving me mad. Mad. Mad. MAD. We're all mad here. What goes on inside every crevice of our brains? What is this phenomena? Let's fight. Beat the shit out of me. I want to feel it. Every second of it. I need to be reminded that I am alive. I erased you, you, you, you. And I don't even feel bad about it.

somehow someway.

All things considering, maybe our lives are our dreams. Chaotic, nonsensical, lovely. Maybe "life" is the actual dream. Maybe while we're in what we think is "reality," we're actually asleep somewhere else. Life isn't meant to be this boring. blank. hateful. hurtful. painful. remorseful. regretful. unsatisfiable. Or is it? Who is to define life other than yourself? Everything you love will reject you or die. A moment is all you can expect from perfection. Like Tyler Durden sitting in the palm of the hand shaped shadow. Even in my dreams my mother assumes we're going to Heaven. What is "Heaven?" Scenery? Hell is other people. We're all trying to comprehend ourselves. What if we're selfish rude people and we don't even realize it? Fact of the matter is, we're all selfish. Nobody asked for anybody to increase their abandonment issues. Truth is, all I need are my dreams to keep me moving, awake, happy. I don't need you. I don't need your excuses or your justifications. I don't. I will continue to grow with or without you. Hopefully you'll do the same. Everyone forgets the extent of things people do for them. everyone. it.happens. We all reach for a greater good but fail to comply. The people you love always let you down the hardest. Even when you know they won't. Disappointment. That's a given. That's within every promise that is made to you. When all you have left is yourself, how do you live? Apocalypse. You're alone. You now only live for you and you only. No disappointment within people, no one to let you down. Maybe sometimes being lonely is worth it. Like the time travel kid. He loved his power so much he went so far in time that he passed the end of the world. He spent the rest of his life trying to figure out how to go backwards. Isn't that what we're doing? Spending our lives trying to figure out how we'd go backwards? BOOM. You're twelve. Start over from there. Hug your father's neck as if he's been dead for almost three years. Know immediately that every mistake. EVERY mistake you've made after that. GONE. Now, wouldn't everything be perfect then? Why can't we undo things. You know if you wanted to be treated better, you should have said so instead of abandoning me. Whatever. Everyone does it. The dream I had. He was in it. First time I dreamed of him in years. And well. I woke up happy. Dreams are all I need. This constant buzz buzz buzz. There's a never ending babble... Everyone wants you to be crazy. Are you? IS there a never ending loop in your head? Sit down. Breathe. Everything's gonna be alright. I don't know if that's really true. But it's all I have to go by.

All of my hopes, dreams, wishes, my heart, my soul, my everything. It lies within everything that is nothing but fictional. I take biased in something completely made up by media. My tears are trapped between two yellow colored pages. My dreams are the only place in which I feel secure and happy all the time. Everything else? My hate, anger, fear, hurt feelings, and pain? They lie within reality. They bounce between the buzz of the insults you let roll off your tongue. They stick me in a sense of ambiguity that maybe I can live within my dreams. It won't happen. So put on a dvd or hand me my tore old copy of Teen Angel. Allow me to cry myself to sleep only because the happiness I have lies within pure fiction. I wish I was beyond this world; my heart is too big for that. Nothing can save me from this deep rooted depression. Should I resort back to feeling nothing at all? Or allow my only hope to rest with the fiction my mind has been accustomed to? My pain is in my reality. My freedom is within hallucinations and false stories. I can do nothing but accept that.

We hide under rocks until the stars come out.

Everything around you is so much bigger, this mind frame is unreal. How can we collide as people we barely ever heard of? Every person, man, woman, child, mother, daughter, father, son, brother, sister, cousin, aunt, uncle, student, teacher, lover, enemy we meet and pass all have their own screwy heads wrapped around their own ideals that no one will ever be able to explain, name, or justify. If everyone were honest we'd all be in chaos because we're all so used to lying to everyone around us; we're all liars. Then we hate being lied to. Everyone is after the same goal but not. Everyone wants to be satisfied but all in different ways. Marriage? Its a joke. Apparently. People fabricate lies and falsities to someone they put every ounce of effort into, only to take it all back when they're bored of one another. Everyone is constantly changing. Your lover can always be a mystery. The only people who don't want to be loved are people who don't care. Love is just some silly word people use to explain happiness. Is happiness equivalent to love? maybe, but who's to tell? We're all filled with meaningless word after word into this discombobulation of what is morality and what isn't. You'd think by now we'd eat our conscience just so we could have full bellies.
It isn't a matter of good vs. evil. Its you. You, you, you. You're surrounded by everything you loathe and everything you're looking for all at the same time. What are we looking for? Purpose? Meaning? Existence? Explanation?
What.happens.when.we.die. What if we're all just thrown into the same thing over and over and over and we're all just filled with these questions and theories and beliefs. Our faith is rested inside every crevice of every corner we cut. Is there salvation. No. There's nothing to be saved from. Our bodies crave reason; our bodies crave entertainment. We live, day after day, solely on the belief that whatever shit is going on will eventually get better when we all know that it doesn't. We search for those nights where everything is going the way we want. The ocean, the sunset, the busy streets lined with drugs and acceptance. We want to meet incredible people who help change our lives albeit good or wrong.
We hope and wait for something better to happen, but we fully accept that it might not. This is everybody; this is everything.
It's like that feeling you get when you're on a ferris wheel and the wind is blowing cool through warm air. That person you're with... it's never who you want it be. It's never who I want it to be. I want to bump into a complete stranger who's reeking of beauty. I want to go on a ferris wheel right at sunset with the perfect weather and I want to kiss him on the lips. I want to get off, hold his hand, then go away. I want that one perfect moment, Then I want the pleasure of never knowing them. I don't want to know them then four months later yell at them for something stupid then break up and hate each other. I want that moment with a stranger.
I'm so sick of falling in love.
I want to have the good and then go on with my life.
I can fall in love with an idea.
I don't want the mess after.
What do the Heavens say about us; about me? About you.
We sleep to dream, we dream to sleep, everything is a vicious circle.
Constantly hoping for ashes to turn back into bodies, hoping that one day we might repress everything we hate; everything we regret.
There has got to be away to go back. I'll never give up on that rewind button.
I don't want to be old. I want to be free.
When is enough enough? When is this going to get old? When will we be able to strike an atom? When will we fall into a black hole just so we can get over ourselves and these daily dilemmas of false courtesy and the trickster?
We are all just misguided ghosts.
We are all just howling at the moon's beauty.
We are all wasting everything we touch.
We are all searching.
It's not going to come.
So, we'll sit around the fire telling stories of depression, rejection, addiction, science-fiction.
Our thoughst, our tendencies, our heads, hands, and hearts are all lost within the pages of our favorite books; within the scenes of our favorite movies.
Who else cries themselves to sleep while Finding Nemo is playing in the back ground?
Who else remembers the uncanny pain of seeing your father die. Not even that, but the day after. The day after is always the worst. What do you do the day after someone is gone? It cannot be explained other than pure miserable blankness. Turn on the television after every.single.time. your heart aches. Our hearts are just big calloused scars.
You want to be the girl with the big heart, but the scars and callouses make it impossible.
We are all terrible people.
We are all annoying.
We are all lacking morality.
We are all missing hope.
Why hope anyway?
Everything we do counts for something somewhere...
Just not here.
The clouds cry for our loneliness and misery.
But we all look up at the stars with the smallest hint of hope.
We see the stars as beautiful twinkles of hope.
Maybe they look at us the same way.

This isn't a fucking joke.

As redundant as everything is, my point still remains unheard. And that's the thing. I'm running out of juice; I'm running on empty. What’s the point of expressing myself in such a luminescent manner, if everyone is too busy with their fingers up their assholes to care? Everyone is so quick to make assumptions. Everyone is so strung out, too busy being dicks, too busy sniffing said fingers to just fucking stop and pay attention. If everything is spelled out for you, then you don't learn anything. But who wants to learn anyway? You're all so smug. This identity crisis makes me cry every time. To look death in the eye. To lose faith in God, everyone else, even yourself. What hope is there? To look someone directly in the eye and scream at the top of your lungs how you feel and them still ignore you, or still not fucking get it. The hallucinations make everything worthwhile, but then again, everyone is so quick to judge. You want to know me? Read every entry I've ever typed, and it will reveal more to you about myself than a year of friendship ever could. No one wants to try that hard. No one wants to care or feel. You openly admit you know you're doing wrong, but you still do it. Everything I feel is on the tip of my fingertips. It’s collected in this nature, it's written by hand in the form of letter, after letter, only to be transformed into confetti. Nobody openly admits that they steal original thoughts. And all I ever do is repeat the same shit and try to figure out if I can make it sound prettier than the last time I said it. Speaking in metaphors. Everything is so enlightened, so surreal. Can't we all just trip in a pool and stare at the moon until we can’t feel our bodies? We shouldn't be this young and this unhappy. We still have decades and decades to go, and we've already seen too much. How can we get away? How can we erase the things we don't want to see anymore? The nightmares, the memories, the heartbreak, the young, childish mistakes we make. My heart can only bleed so much. I feel like a hundred years old. Life is fucking hard and as much as everyone knows that, they don't even realize the gravity of it. I've overcome adversity but at what cost? The lights can save you. The big city dreams. The feeling of speed and bliss at the same time. The numbness you get when your heart drops past your toes and into the ground. That cold chill you get when you notice that someone else has visible scars. The closet that once saved you that is now a dust filled rat trap. No one is going to go back to the places you've been and feel the things you've felt. No one is going cry your tears. You really are all alone in this world, and it’s up to you to accept it and overcome it. The tools you need are by your side. Everything is all jumbled up. Everyone tries to tell you what you feel. I know what I feel. What I feel is wrapped up in an old, yellow, frayed book that’s barely kept together by a paperclip. What I feel lies within that letter I left inside the theatre. What I feel is within the heart of the first boy I have ever loved… Its within the rain drops that I spun around in…on the grassy hill I rolled down…on the tree I wrote lyrics on. Its in every crevice of every inch, line, and nook of my bedding. My fears and horrors are placed at the front of my brain and the end of my heart. It’s everything. Take your time. Everything is just a big, big mess. And it’s always going to be that way. Life isn’t a joke, and death sure as fuck isn’t either. It’s a sticky, messy ride. And it’s different for everyone. I don’t have a point. I just have a lot of things to say.

It's funny that how for every ten hateful people, there's one nice person. I mean its ridiculous, but maybe if there were more nice people, you wouldn't be able to appreciate them. My scars are terrible marks. They're awful and not enough time has passed for me to understand how to deal with them and put a hold on my emotions. But I'm trying, okay? Don't call me a "wreck." Because all things considering, I think I'm doing just fine. It's funny that how a kiss can change your whole perspective. You're an idiot. You really, really are. And I don't even pity you at this point. You know what you're doing. You're too stupid to stop and think. You bring everyone in your own pattern of self destruction, then you play the victim. I am done. This is me washing my hands. They're too dirty, and smelly, and gross, and I am washing them. So please go away. And take all of you when you go.

Let's get started.

This isn't a game. It's not a battle of wits, or see who can go the longest under water. This is a pure, simple, and clean task. You can search for mention of your name, but it isn't all about you. It's about dreaming to afford a nice car. Or dreaming that one day you'll be rid of this place with your middle finger held out of the fucking window. It's wondering about insanities, orders, love, lust, beauty and everything in between. It's being hungry after you just ate the last bite of the food you spent your last cent on. Things aren't nice anymore. They're messy, confusing, and so fucking expensive. I will never forget the look on your face the last day I saw you. That tired, exhausted, cry for help plastered on your face like you haven't eaten or slept in days. I let you go yesterday. It was time for me to move on. It's only been eight months. But I decided I can't carry my scar forever. I can't show it off hoping someone asks about it so I can tell them the story they'd never expect to come out of my mouth. But I will keep the scar in a box and I will pull it out from time to time and tell myself what happened, just so I don't forget. I am so tired of this lackadaisical excuse you keep giving the world. This isn't the way you have always been. You were vibrant and healthy and caring but now you're lonely, tired, and mean. But I'm done with that. I'm done with people like you. People who excuse everything they do by simply saying that's just the way they are. WRONG. That's the way to chose to behave. If my taste buds can taste the spicy taste of salsa, the sweet taste of shaved ice, the salty taste of my lip on a blazing hot day, then I can get up out of my own misery and fucking enjoy it. So can you. All of you. You're not a welfare case, you're not "special," you're not smarter than everyone. You allude to this metaphorical pretense that gives you this false appearance then you behave normally on a public basis? Be independent. I am so annoyed with the leeches that are around here. I am going to do something I should have done a long fucking time ago. And If I can do it. SO CAN YOU.

If I could sleep forever....

I could forget about everything...

If something doesn't give, then I'm running away. From you, and your cold fingers. From this place, with these people. Everyone is too goddamn righteous to even TRY? What. The. Fuck. IS WRONG WITH EVERYBODY?! My head is about to explode. With anger, and hatred, and sorrow. And to get THAT coming from me? That's a dark place I'm in. I'm so sick of your apologies and your failed "attempts" at soothing things over. I'm sick of your fancy words and your "problems" that, for some reason, are always more important to me than my own. I want to drive my car into the ocean and drown along with all of the fishes and sea life that I find myself so intrigued with. I will die a red-headed mermaid in peaceful bliss and serenity. I want to strangle myself with the elegant scarf that Joe last touched. I want to peel off my skin with my fingernails just so i can tell anyone on the other side that i did it. I keep going around this game that you guys have a name for in the search for the same thing but i can't seem to find it, because I'm just going in circles. My breath keeps getting faster and faster as I seem to remember everything that was good at one point. Where is my dad? Where is Joe? Where am I? Have I gone insane? Does anybody even fucking care? I am going to leave here. somehow someway. I am going to escape this. It's too hard. It's too much. It's too personal. And I can't seem to be able to breathe anymore. Where is everybody? What has happened to us?

And for the record? You can shove your "I love you"'s up your ass. They obviously aren't true. Just another justification to make yourself feel better. You're not in a better place than I am. You're just in a different one.


One goddamn fucking day I will find myself in a beautiful place. But not until I get away from these assholes. So help me god, even if I have to DIE first, I WILL BE IN A BETTER PLACE.

Hey, Mama?

That's quite hilarious, all things considering. You can make silly justifications for everything you've done to yourself. You can use fancy words to make yourself feel right, but you know what? If this is the way you want to behave about things, you deserve to be let go. I don't need you in my life especially when you're un-supportive and you don't try. Funny. All you do is sit in your own safe little world all day and pretend to be a kid then call everyone else lazy. Want to know what its like not to be lazy? Its like going outside every single day with a new perspective on the world. And you can put the blame on everyone else just because it's simply that easy for you, but the fact of the matter is, if you don't like your life, then its your own fault. You can't blame it away. I enjoy my life and I'm cutting out everyone who thrives on making it a little less bearable for me. I don't need you, I don't need your pretense, I don't need your fancy language or lyrics that you only use to make things sound nice and clean. THINGS ARE NOT NICE OR CLEAN ANYMORE. We've all grown up. Maybe it's time you tried it too. And I am more than aware of my own mistakes in life, and I take full responsibility for them. I don't need you demeaning my person or trying to use what I have done to make yourself sound better. You're not better. Nobody is "better" than anyone else. We ALL have our plates full with a full belly. We don't need you to add seconds to our plate because you're full too. Just don't do that. Friends and family fight the hardest because they know that no matter what they say, they'll be back to normal afterwords. It gives them the subconscious relief of saying the worst things ever said to each other. And if you are not willing to fight a battle, then you're not willing to win. If you're not willing to fix things, then FUCK YOU. I said sorry. What's your excuse? Oh wait, never mind. I forgot. You're never wrong. Grow up. And take your false sense of security with you. We don't need another sob story. We're all full up here. You're no better than us, so quit acting like you are. And how about next time, you attempt to be an adult and speak to my face instead of some half-ass blog of which we all know who you're talking to. Anybody can write a blog about someone and make it seem like they're speaking generally. The reason we are not friends anymore is because you refuse to be. I hope you fall from your pedestal one day and realize exactly what you pushed away. At least now I've learned not to put faith in anybody. Even someone who makes it seem like you'll be friends no matter what. One day. I'll BE something. and That's more than enough for me. I said sorry. What did you do? This isn't worth my time. YOU can fix this, but I'm done trying. Friends don't do this. Obviously, we're not friends. And on your way out? Take the hurt you left with you.

This is a bit Ridculous.

As I stare at this page wondering why I am typing instead of watching Pushing Daises, I'm thinking how fucked up people truly are. Its so sad, really, because the people around here are so full of shit and they don't even realize it. They are too wrapped up in themselves to realize that they are wrong. And hell, maybe even I'm wrong, but at least I'm open to that possibility whereas you seem to cancel it out entirely. So okay. We all make mistakes, big deal. You get over it. MOVE ON. Stop coming up with excuses and justifications and this that and the other to allow yourself to hold on to something that is just a waste of everyone's time. I hate this. I don't want to be here anymore. And yet... somehow the comfort keeps me here for now. I do not want to be here any more. These people are horrid. And maybe people are horrid everywhere else too, but I wouldn't know that because I've never BEEN anywhere else. Yet... amongst these people there are jewels. And nobody is a fucking diamond in a glass box, but there are crystals and emeralds and sapphires and rubies hidden in the dirt. But, you gotta keep them hidden in the dirt or they'll be put on display and lose their value to you. It's a sanctuary. A pure sanctuary. And nothing hurts worse than someone else abiding in your secret escape. It should be yours, all yours. It doesn't matter whether or not we're still friends. It doesn't matter whether or not my toes are perfectly polished, or even if I can ramble with perfect English and still not make any sense. I want to pull all my hair out and stare at how beautiful it would be on my head. I want to scratch the paint off my walls using only my fingernails just to be disappointed at the wall behind it being bare. I want to FIND something. I want to be part of something... yet not. Not at all. I want to be by myself. I need this breeze to come through and rub sand in your eyes. You never notice how clearly you are capable of seeing until something alters it. You're behind blinders right now, anyway. Maybe one day you'll see things from my perspective. But I doubt it.

There might be more to this than pure understanding. Maybe the point IS to confuse and throw you into chaos. Maybe it isn't really chaos, it's just perceived that way. Day after day, week, month, year, we meet people who will change our lives. Maybe not significantly, maybe not in a good way, but the chaos includes altercations that not only redirect your path, but make you "who" you "are." And, even if you're stuck in a shitty small town, with the laziest resources known to man. Even if you have to face dilemmas beyond your capability of handling (Which is untrue, otherwise you wouldn't be here,) or understanding. Even when you lose faith in the one thing you knew you shouldn't have put your faith in in the first place. Because, you see, you can be given all the fluffy nice happy things in the world. The order of things can be given to you in the form of candy, orgasms, drugs, laughter, love, friendship, trust. But it will all fall down when the exact opposite is handed to you. You'll be stuck in a somewhat of a limbo. And, maybe that's the point. And maybe I don't make sense. Maybe I am flawed beyond belief. Maybe I'm the key to salvation. Maybe. But if we're always stuck on the maybes, ifs, buts, and whys, WE WILL GO INSANE. Fuck. Maybe we are all already insane. But the fact of the matter is. I will never understand why I am so confused. I will never understand why things happen the way they do. I will never understand anything that I live through or go by. But, that's okay. Because neither do any of the other motherfuckers in this world. And those who think they do are ignorant. Which is also okay. To each his own. So why waste the valued spare time we have questioning this place? I mean, is good to question and wonder, that's what makes you smart, but we're all just running in circles. There is no such thing as "good" or "bad." There's the difference between trusting and betraying. But not everything is black and white or biblical. However, there are these "things." That just make you not give a flying fuck about why nothing makes sense, or why our language doesn't even follow our own thoughts. These "things" make you just happy, but can DESTROY you as well. They're people. Friends. Love. Happiness. Its all a revolving door, and we may not understand why we're in a revolving door. Or why we can't get to either of the ends, but we're in there with our friends, and we find it hilarious that we're just going in circles in a public revolving door, THIS MAY NOT MAKE ANY SENSE. But that's okay. It's all okay. I'm okay. Because that's just the way things work. I may not like it. I may not understand it. But that's it. We can all just spare the sarcasm and smile while we're here, right?

The fact of the matter is, we’re all expecting things to be different, when we know it’s never going to change. False hope. Everyone is determined by instinct or whatever it is, to only satisfy themselves. And once a person cannot be satisfied, they lose faith. Everyone is utterly selfish. And we should be, considering we are living OUR lives. However, we tend to forget or fail to realize that everyone else’s goal is the same, only to themselves. They want to satisfy their person, not yours. Seeing as we believe the world revolves around us, we think for some reason everybody should satisfy us as well. But the only way someone is going to satisfy you, is if they get something out of it. There is always a reason for someone to be kind, loving, sensitive, caring, or thoughtful to you. Because it makes THEM feel like a good person. You do the same. We all do. Everything is inter-related, but not connected. Not by choice, faith, will, hope, love- nothing. But we’re all too shallow and self-centered to realize it. 9 times out of 10 a person is a shallow thinker. I like to say I’m the 1 out of 10, but then again, I’m just as selfish as everyone else. We’re all doomed. If Hell is real, we all belong there. Doesn’t mean we necessarily deserve it, but we all belong there, because, morally speaking, we’re bastards. We don’t have morals. We tell ourselves we do, in order to make ourselves feel like decent people, but we don’t. We lie. Every day, that’s a given. But little by little, we find ourselves slowing falling into what’s considered evil and finding excuses to break the ethics we were “taught” when we were young. “Well… It’s okay to cheat IF” “I’m going to steal this, because I need it more than they do.” “She won’t know if I go behind her back for this.” All the time. And we convince ourselves that as long as there is a decent excuse, morality knows no bounds on us. What’s sad is we lose people we consider “friends” in this. Maybe by the things we do for ourselves, but through the things they do for their selves. Everyone is wild and is thrown into this complete and utter chaos, and we try to live in it, accept it, make it suitable by our standards, but we really don’t know what the fuck we’re doing. And that’s okay, because no one does. We all have the same mentality. We are all trying to get what we want for ourselves. For whatever reason.

People will miss me when I'm gone.

You can watch your cigarette burn. Thing is, I am enlightened. It might have taken me a while to realize, but I am gifted. There is this thing called friendship. We might not be able to connect, or fully understand the shit that goes on in this world, but I do understand that beauty is all around us. And we can waste time wondering why people commit suicide or how angry a broken space bar makes us. Its all worthless, because you're only given one life to live. And I say "let the chips fall where they may" and I might be flawed. I might be cliche. I might repeat myself all the time, but I have come to realize that the friends that stay make me such a beautiful person. Maybe I'm the fish for once. And as a New Years resolution, I say FUCK THE DRAMA. I am eighteen years old and if a supposed best friend wants to go behind my back, or a an ex-boyfriend wants to exclaim how worthless I am, or someone wants to leave their dead body to my finding, GO AHEAD. You want to make this world shittier? You want to fill it with ate and arguments, GO AHEAD. Because I am special. Because I will make this world a better place even if its just be surrounding myself with love, friendship and beauty. And if you have a problem with what I do, or what I say, or even the way I handle things. Be my guest. I'm not going to let your hatred and meanness ruin my life. I only have one anyway,so why dwell on the vile when I can be surrounded by Beautiful people with beautiful lives? Love is so much greater than anything placed on this world. Everything has beauty, and to the petty people who don't realize that: YOU'RE NOT WORTH IT. You can cry all the tears in the world. You can discover your selfish friend's dead body, you can watch as a parent slowly dies by a disease that is disgusting, but no matter how much bullshit a single person can face head on, there is still so much love and beauty that can help them get through the pain. I would know. If after everything I have gone through, after all the shit people try to blow up in my face, I'm still smiling, I know that this life is worth living. It bothers me that Joe coped out. Not just the fact he's dead, I can handle that, but to rob the world of more love? It's already lacking in the department, obviously. I mean as much hate, war and genocide that the world harbors, general unkindness, rudeness,and uncommon courtesy there is, I still love my life and everything that has made me who I am. The shit I've dealt with was SHIT, but it has aided me in seeing how much one little person can do. Existentially speaking, nothing matters and one person can't change anything, but that's one thing I don't agree with. I am Rachel Anne FUCKING Atkins, dammit. And I may only be one little person, but the amount of love I have will change something in this world. I will love everything and everybody as much as my little heart can, even if I die trying.

Hi, My name is Rachel Anne Atkins.

I don't like it when you won't listen to what I have to say. I don't like it when you interrupt me while I'm trying to explain something important or meaningful. I don't like it when I'm used. I don't like it when you live so far away from me. I don't like it when I don't have money. I don't like it when I am awake. I don't like smoking marijuana, because it doesn't get me high enough anymore. I don't like looking like a child. I don't like being treated like a little girl. I don't like it when things are taken for granted. I don't like it when my iPod doesn't charge. I don't like it when all I want to do is scream, but I can't because people will think I am crazy. I don't like caring about what certain people think. I don't like that everyone thinks I am just looking for a "good time." I don't like that even though I KNOW there isn't a reason for everything, I still try to find one. I don't like it when you ignore me. I don't like it when you don't see the beauty I have inside. I don't like it when you don't take my hand as I'm reaching for you. I don't like it when I can't catch the dragon. I don't like it when nobody laughs at my jokes. I don't like being called naive or immature, because I am not. I don't like boys who just want their dick wet. I don't like having emotions all the time. I don't like seeing two sides of myself battle constantly. I hate it when you don't reply to my texts. I hate it when you don't understand what I am talking about or what my intentions are. I am not evil. If evil were to be defined, I would not be it. I am a very nice person. I fucking HATE it when you leave me outside by myself because you don't want to be around me. I can't stand it when you take what I say the wrong way. I hate that I don't have enough money to go to the movies and escape from my life for two hours or so. I hate it when a song I love is over. I miss dancing with someone who cares about me in their bedroom. I don't like writing papers; I don't like reading books that I don't relate to. I hate it when I don't know what to do about a situation. I can't stand it when I lose someone I love for good. I hate it even worse when they're still there, but slowly slipping away. I don't like not being able to connect with you. I wish someone would send me mail. I hate it when I want to cry, but I can't. I hate that Post Secret only updates weekly, and that allmylovingg won't load on my computer. I want to say I miss high school, but I know I don't. At all. I can't stand it when I fail, even more so when I have to face the failure everyday. I hate not being near a big city. I hate that even if I were near a big city, nothing would change. I hate that my first thought after I wake up is, "Why did I have to wake up?" I can't stand headaches, especially the ones I get from crying too hard. I want to be in love again so badly. I hate it when I break out, or when my hair looks shitty. I hate that my hair is short and curly. I miss my father. I hate that I dream about him being alive and being so happy about it, only to wake up and find that I was only dreaming. I can't stand not being able to paint my nails because of work. I hate that good shows cost money that I still don't have. I hate that I'm not in an environment to where I can learn about everything I want to learn, and nothing that I don't. I hate that I'm not athletic and can't do sports well. I want to be a speaker. I want love to flow through my veins. I want to be an Alaska. I don't like awkward sexual advances people always make. I don't like it when people I don't know touch me. I hate it when old men stare, and the next time one does, I'm going to pick my nose. I can't believe I keep making mistakes. I want to make at least better ones. I hate it when my mistakes are always dangled over not only my head, but my heart as well. I hate feeling lost. I don't like this world. I am angry.

Hey Joe...

I want to know exactly how you felt about me. I thought we were supposed to be climbing the friendship ladder... Everything you told me keeps replaying over in my head. Even in your drunken stupor, you had excellent grammar. You really did mean a lot to me. I talked about you to Katrina all the time. You were the only reason I ever went over to the house when you first moved in. We picked out your bedroom furnishings together at Target. We argued about the garbage can and almost bought an unnecessary microwave. Your tiny ass car we squeezed into. I had to stay at the house because your damn key wouldn't work... We were at the mall. We were there so you could finally get your guitar from Patrick, but he forgot to bring it. I was eating Chik-fil-a, you asked me if I knew Chelsea Thompson. When I said no, you freaked out at the fact that someone didn't know her. I said its weird how so many people know so many people. and you replied... "I know... and here I am sitting at the mall with Rachel Atkins." Or when I tried to type my gay ass paper on "The Journey of Man" and we got into a debate on whether or not knowing our ancestors mattered. You said everything was connected in someway... I disagreed. We would sit there and watch your light while listening to your techno playlist. You had so many playlists. Or how about that night Bri and I convinced you to get "Get on Your Knees" tattooed on your other peck. Or when we laid out drunk together on Charlie's front porch and watched the stars and I told you that we were gonna be best friends. What about that night when you held me? You put your arms around me and held my hand as we both slept... that was only two weeks ago. Maybe three. That was the night Jason got drunk and yelled at everybody to wake the fuck up. Remember the Converse girls? Haha. I brought them to your house for a party, they took one look around, started talking about waffles, then left. Apparently that was their code word. You would always let me sip on the drinks you bought. Always drinking your vodka. That night, you got so drunk and had to puke, but Chance was puking in the toilet so you had to puke in the bathtub. God it was so funny. You were trying to pull moves on Kristen Lynch and she was so turning you down. Haha. You were always putting your arm around someone. I loved it when you did that. You did it all the time to me. Everyone loves you so much. I hope you were aware of that. I remember we sat in my hot as fuck car waiting on your cousin to come home from school at your aunt's house. I remember when you still lived there. You were always going through the window. We were always like "That's one black motherfucker." Your PacSun cologne... You always knew what I was wearing because it came from PacSun. We wanted to smell so good for the parties. Always partying together. Like that time I picked you up from Barnes and Noble and already had six people in my car, so Bri sat in your lap as we all went to Charlie's. Or the night that we fell asleep at Charlie's and you didn't have a blanket. I woke up and found you covered with a curtain... It was five AM and you were so pissed I fell asleep and didn't take you home. You could have just woke me up and I would have. So many late nights at Charlie's... that's where we hung out most. We would dance, and if Joe was dancing, you knew he was drunk. I keep thinking that there's going to be a rewind button... I REALLY FUCKING HOPE THERE'S A REWIND BUTTON. I would have come over that night you asked me to... I would have made more of an effort to fix whatever it was that happened to us. THIS CANNOT BE REAL I HAVE TO BE DREAMING. I saw you EVERYFUCKINGDAY this summer. I miss you so much. I love you so much. I knew you loved me to. You would never say it back whenever i said "I love you" when I dropped you off you'd say "Aight see you later" and I'd smile because that's what you always did. But that night.... you said "I hate feeling the way I do about you." "I love yoU." "You're smart and beautiful, its al i ask and you fulfill it." "please come back." I wish more than anything that I came back that night. but you were drunk...and i was afraid you'd want to have sex and i didn't want to because you meant more to me than that... what if all you wanted to do was talk...?or just cuddle like we did a few weeks ago? You said we would make music together. Acoustic tracks... Whenever you drove Bri and I somewhere because I was drunk. You were too, little did I know. I sang every beautiful song I could find to you. Just to show off... You never did realize how much you meant to me. You were on my top on Myspace even, as retarded as that sounds. This just has to be a really bad dream right now... I can't believe you're gone, and I can't believe it was suicide of all things. You were way too smart for your own good. You knew exactly how fucked up this world really is... You always told me. God.. I love you so much... Why would you do that? To us? TO ME? Did you think about who would find your body hanging from the fucking attic???? IT WAS ME, JOE... ME AND GABE. WE FOUND YOU. He cut you down... your body literally thudded to the ground. 180 pounds of dead weight fell down the ladder onto the floor. We kept hoping you would wake up, even though we knew you wouldn't. I keep waiting for this to end. But I know it won't. I keep waiting to see you again... but I'm just not going to. God. I miss you so much.... I love you.

I hope you found what you were looking for.
I hope you got your 40 Oz. to Freedom.
Climbing the friendship ladder.
Always.
<3 Rachel Anne.

You Reach for the Heavens and the Sky.

-->But you fail to realize the beauty of the roots that reach for you.<--


It's a sad day when you realize the most beautiful thing you've ever seen has died into a lifeless grain of dust.

You stand so close to beauty of was once was. You sit and gaze in its presence. Then it vomits all over you and shrinks down to the core of its true being. You hand out goodies and favors and would like the same in return. You expect too much. Expecting ANYTHING is expecting to much. You sit and get thrown up on for days, weeks, months just to behold and be a witness to such beauty until one day, you get sick and tired of getting puked on. You're frustrated at always cleaning yourself off and then expecting the vile to not hit you again when you know for a fact that it will. And when that day comes, thats the day you realize who you are and what you were. People change, but the heart never does. People get sick of always being hurt and spit on over and over so they move on. But their heart? Their actions? Their core? Guess thats how you find out who people really are. Sometimes, you waste your thoughts and feelings on something, SOME ONE who's core is pure rotten and you were too distracted by their beauty to realize what they are. Hearts don't change. Your heart grows. The day you actually realize that, is the day that you'll find out how much of a mess you've left here. Broken promises? Petty business. Lies? False tales to get through the day. Accusations? Merely a put off of hypocrisy to make yourself to be in denial. WAKE. THE. FUCK. UP. Grow up. Get some balls. And LEARN. Shake the dust off yourself, get out of your selfish waste of self pity and denial, and go figure out what you were meant to do here. We're tired of it. Its pathetic. You're better than that. We all are. Trust me. We'll all float on okay. Its pointless to waste time on failing to admit that beauty is always right the fuck there. One day we'll figure out (all on our own, because we're too stupid of creatures to take anyone's word for it) that everything doesn't have to be this difficult. I am Rachel Fucking Anne Atkins. Always have been; always will be. This is my life. I am wasting it one minute at a time. AND I AM OKAY WITH THAT. Its time you should be too.



It's called growing out.
You should try it sometime.

You Took The World From Me.

-->I keep reaching for you, but you never take my hand.<--





One day. One day, I will be able to express everything I feel into one simple sentence. No one ever truely gets what they want. Whether it's holes in their walls so that sunshine can leak in, or even simply wanting to keep your closet. I know it never makes any sense, but the only way to keep a person content is to search for happiness. Once you get it, you can never keep it. It's almost like a fire. It's fun to start but it will eventually fade out. And you can never truly get the same fire the next time. You have to start over for a similar thing. Every fire is different and chaotic. Then there's the water that puts it out. And once the rain comes, you have to wait for the pit to dry before you can ever start another fire. I guess what I'm trying to say, is that I'm so sick and tired of always trying and trying and getting absolutely no where. Like I'm on a merry-go-round and I can never find that one horse that all the other kids want to ride. And after I find that one horse, the only one with a blue eye, and I finally hop on it, the ride stops. And its time to get off. And I want to leave screaming and crying and kicking and just going absolutely nuts, like a child. But adults can't do that. I want to scrath off all the paint on my walls using only my fingernails in hopes of finding a secret message someone left just for me. A message with the most significant words ever spoken written clearly and in beautiful calligraphy. I want to search the back room of the theatre to find a letter from someone who knows what its like. The kind of I letter I wrote and left. I want magic at my finger tips. The kind of magic that automatically locates the beautiful horse with the blue eye. And even after my magic lets me find it....I still want to be able to ride on it while crying and letting everything go. Letting everything go. Just like you let me go. That must be wonderful. To truely let go of someone. I think its impossible. I want to hide under my sheets. And wait for my father to find me and give me "belly sugar." I want to lay in my closet and look up at all the pictures and posters I've ever put up. I want to be part of the wall that has my friend's signatures on them. I want to just be alone for once. Absolutely alone. And I want to scream and kick and shout and bawl my eyes out like the child I have inside my soul. I know it never makes any sense. One day I will be able to express how I feel in one simple sentence. One day.

You//Brought//The//Flood.

-->Waiting.<--



Waiting for something. But, when you don't know what it is, what's the point in waiting? What if what we're all waiting for is merely a glimpse of what we need? People get tired of waiting. What's that Arisotle quote? Paitence is bitter but the fruit of the seed is sweet? Something like that. But is the sweet worth the bitter? Everyone is waiting. Watching. Hoping for some sense of reality. So? Let's not wait anymore, they say. People get so lost in the complications of their own morality that they give in to the daily basis to capture a sense of who they are. We are nobody. We're wasting our time waiting and we are wasting our time searching for things that aren't going to come. Things that don't exist. Does recklessness and abandonment pacify us? And do we always tend to never have the strength to avoid taking the easy ways out of confronting or morality? Never cut something that can be untied. We are all here. right here, right now. All of us. Together. What's the point? That is the point. The point is that there is no point. Contradictions. Life IS a contradiction. And so am I. So is every living body out there. We connect because we can. Not because of fate, or destiny, because we are able to. So? We do. We do these things because we can. Nothing has a reason. That's the point. The point is, there is no point.

Who am I?

I'll tell you who the fuck I am.
I am the same damn dismantled red head.
I am the same fucking girl who gives all she has away and then for some stupid reason, expects the same damn thing in return.
I look for beauty even when I know its only a few feet away.
There isn't enough in this world.
There aren't enough cigarettes. There isn't enough sleep or dreams. The world need more orgasms and more drugs.
But really?
This world needs some more fucking LOVE.
The three trains that pass by my house call my name... They call me to them and then the tracks scream in pain after they leave.
My tear ducts are tired of running and overflowing, and in the end, its up to me to make them stop. Its my responsibility to tell those trains NO. Its my responsibility to make the world understand that this constant bickering, this never ending fighting doesn't HAVE to happen. We could just lay there.
I know what I want.
I just can't have it.
And my little heart wants to try and try and try while my brain is so sick and fucking tired of constantly pushing for something that just is NOT going to budge.
I'm a little girl.
I wear my heart on my sleeve and I'm always looking for something.
I don't know what I'm looking for, but if I am still looking, its obvious I haven't found it yet.
Adventure flows through my veins and I'm bored of this god damned town in this god forsaken state.
Sweat drips down my brow as I wipe it away, knowing its just going to drip again.
I keep trying to fix things that I don't even think are broken in the first place.
I'm trying to hold on to whatever has been making me feel so alive lately.
The thing is.
Everyone thinks that this shit never gets old.
It does.
Everything gets old.
And as much as I keep trying to hold on to what makes me feel so invincible...
It keeps slipping away from my grasp.
I'm still tired.
I was tired a few months ago, and I'm tired now.
All I have done is run in the same fucking circle over and over again.
I just needed the smallest favor,
and I couldn't even get that.
This world is selfish.
I'm selfish.
I am Rachel Anne Atkins.
I am eighteen years old and I have no desire to form a career.
I want to do the things I love doing, but everyone seems to prevent me from that.I have absolutely no idea what I'm even getting at.
But I do know.
That.
I'm a wreck.
And I want the things that I want, but I know I just can't have them.
So.
Whatever.

Till The Morning Light.

Its honestly like a railroad train decided to change courses and aim for my chest.
I miss you.
But, I don't have to tell you that, do I? You know.
I'm tired of this longing sensation that I have never felt before. As much as I tell myself to STOP IT, it gets worse each and everyday. I try to put the brakes on. Really, I do. You can give me credit for at least that.
I sleep. It feels nice. My dreams are everything I've been wishing my reality to be every night. Then I wake up, and I expect to see you there. And you're not. I know that. I sigh, get up, then repeat the whole day again thinking of you the whole time.
See, I can post this because I know you won't read it.
I keep giving myself little hints of hope that either make me or break me.
I'm tired of crying.
Doesn't mean I don't still cry.
I'm tired of hurting.
Doesn't mean I don't still hurt.
I'm tired of wishing, hoping, dreaming of everything coming back together.
But I still do.
I guess you can say its my own fault for letting it get to me so bad.
Or maybe its my own fault for loving you in the first place when I told myself not to.
It hurts.
My brain is constantly buzzing, now.
I have to turn it off.
I have to go to bed.
You are my sweetest downfall.


iloveyou.



The one red leaf, the last of its clan, that dances as often as dance it can.

So? Things Just Happen.

Today, I told someone to tell me something beautiful.
The very first thing he said was to look at the sky and then you'll see.
I was in class at the time, but when I got outside,
I was all alone and it was pouring.
I looked to the sky and felt the raindrops catch in my eyelashes and cover me as well as they could.
He was right.
It was beautiful


Why is it human nature to have a concrete reason for everything?
Well, that's where religion comes in.
But, why can't humans just accept the fact that things are what the are?
No reason.
Simple.
Why must there be a reason?
Sometimes, things just happen.
Sometimes, people die.
Sometimes, you can break up with some one you love
...and eventually, get over it.
Sometimes, all you can think about is leaving town and everyone else in it far behind.
That's why things aren't as simple as they should be.
Things would be simple, and people could accomplish things simply,
but we don't.
We complicate things and twist them and make them have meaning.
If we just step back, take a deep breath, close our eyes, and look at the sky, we can all realize that things just are what they are.
And that is beautiful.

Scenery?

<--People need more of it.-->




Why choose an aesthetic pretense over a painful reality? Why? Because, nobody wants to handle pain. For that matter, why would someone waste time on pretending to be okay? Create alternate realities in order to hide from your own. What exactly is so wrong with that? Absolutely nothing. I find I repeat myself often.

"...And then, in an explosion of joy and grace, into the air they sprang! Not only were the laws of the land abandoned, but the laws of gravity and the laws of motion as well.
They REELED, WHIRLED, SWIVELED, FLOUNCED, CAPERED, GAMBOLED, and SPUN.
They leaped like deer.on.the.moon. The studio ceiling was *thirty feet high,* but each leap brought the dancers nearer to it.
It became their obvious intenion to kiss the ceiling.
They Kissed It.
And then, neutralizing gravity with love and pure will, they remained suspended in the air, inches below the ceiling, and they
[KISSED]
each other for a l.o.n.g.l.o.n.g.t.i.m.e...." -Kurt Vonnegut

<--And here's how I see it.-->



Bravo, Charlie. I guess I could say that I'm finally getting it. But in all honesty, I still don't. I simply could not be the best if I was the only one. How sad is that? If you are the only one, you cannot be the best. At all. What's funny is that sometimes, being the victim doesn't make people feel sorry enough to help you, but in fact, being the victim makes people hate your very being. Maybe, in a very long stretch, I could see the anger stemming from someone defenseless and pathedic. I mean, being a worthless, empty, depressed little hole in the floor for someone to trip into could cause some digust. But the person who just complains about the hole instead of trying to cover it up? That's what's really disgusting. But you know what I think is far worse than the arrogant ass who doesn't think to help the person? The person who knows they should help and doesn't. The person who sees a soul being completely destroyed and travels miles away to escape their responsibility as a human being. Yes! It is your responsibility to help someone whom you know you can save! In the very fabric of human nature to hold on, that human will lose. Sad? Yes. We're always told to hold on, to never let go, never give up. But what happens when holding on may save your soul, but destroys your very being? Destroys your ONLY connection with human existence? Do you still hold on? In a lose, lose situation, everyone wins except yourself. And that, my friends, is what happens when you become a victim. No, we don't choose to be stepped on and let down. No one chooses to be an honest victim. No one chooses to be locked out of human connection, stuck in the back room, staring at all the memories they weren't even included in. Nobody chooses that! Nobody would ever choose the feeling of being left in the dark while everyone is inside playing games and laughing! But what we DO choose is to overcome! But what the hell happens when by the time you overcome being a victim, everyone you wanted to connect to is gone?! A victim will always be a victim. And when the world leaves you, who is left? Yourself. Lonliness is the core to salvation? No, it's not. That is absolutley ridiculous. The thing is, nobody sees this the same way I do. Everyone sees the victim choosing her fate. Fate is never chosen. Why would someone ever choose to shun themsleves to such a pathedic pretense of reading letters from beautiful souls they've never even met? When would someone chose to reduce to pure hatred of everything? They wouldn't. But you would never know, because you never stopped to help that person to realize that they are a victim. You never stopped to even question the condition of their soul. Assuming that they were reduced to the choice of hating everything? Pure ignorance. What's the point in overcoming being a victim if everyone you did it for has left? Would you do it merely for yourself? What good is your emotional and mental stability if you can't share it with someone? You're left with shadows, ghosts, memories, and the notion that you chose to be a victim. What good is that? Maybe we should learn to let go more often. A victim is a victim. And once the victim goes through hell and back, they become numb to the past. NUMB TO THE PAST. You can't even imagine the thoughts or the people you used to have/know. Faces become blobs, memories become dreams. And the worst part of it all? You're still in the back. Still in the dark. Only this time, your connections with human existence aren't a few feet away playing games and laughing, they're miles away having a great time. If you are the only one, you cannot be the best. At all.

-->Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.<--



It's the ideal form of perception. I mean. In the end, you were born alone, you will die alone. But when is the last time you went outside and felt the breeze on your face, breathed in all the air around you and thought: "This is MY life. I can do whatever the hell I want." If that means getting fucked up every weekend or even every day, then that is your life you are living. If we're always seeing things from our point of view, then, ideally, we are the number one person in our lives and our opinion matters most. First person. But choosing hate over love sounds silly. Yeah, it is very fun to hate the bitch that dated your ex, or the person who was too shallow to live up to their words, the person that shit talks you, the person that lied to your best friend. But what is the point? Hate creates this black hole in your chest that fills it up and clogs it. Those days, with the breeze, you can't feel them if you're stuck in a sense of teenage wasteland. You get in your car and you light up a fag, roll the window down and just fucking LIVE for once. Life gets so cluttered with the "ifs, ands, ors, and buts." Life is exactly how you deal with it. Yes, life is this endless bottomless pit of oppression and agony, but can't we appreciate it for what its worth?Without death, there is no life. I know, sometimes, you just want to stand under a tree and let your bare feet connect with the roots that reach for Hell. Or climb the tree as far as you can go to grasp the branches that long for Heaven's touch. Or maybe you just want to lay on the patch of green grass under the tree and lay there forever. Maybe take a nap. Then wake up and feel that 'I just woke up' high sensation. A natural high. What if we were capable of sleeping forever? Not dying, but sleeping. Dreaming and having the sense of "This is not a dream" When in actuality, it is. That very reason is why people do drugs. They never want to wake up. And who does, really? You can appreciate life without having to appreciate reality. Reality is cold and dark. Dreams are warm and inviting. Let's all roll down a soft patch of grass on a hill and accept it: we can NEVER keep a moment. We are always alone. We can live without ever facing reality. Or, we can live with reality in a sense of purity and wholeness. We can hate one another. We can love one another. WE CAN FUCKING LIVE. It's like that feeling you get on a ride. That deep butterfly feeling? But you only get to keep that feeling for so long, then it goes away. How much are we willing to sell our souls for? Do we even have a soul to sell? I feel as if love and beauty are at my fingertips, but I have no way to get them into life. And even if I did, where would it go? A piece of paper will become confetti. The blog will be lost amongst The World Wide Web. A painting will be put on display for a few years. A performance will be forgotten. Is that why art is so beautiful? Because it doesn't last? Does anything last? Does anything even fucking exist or am I just a game someone else is playing? Do false realities make everything better? Or just numb? Do having false realities make me a bad person? What is a bad person. Morality? Heh. We've all set ourselves up in a game. What do our lives even mean? Absolutely nothing. That is why they are the only aesthetic grasp we have. The breeze on our faces and that feeling of being alive. Or that feeling we get when we're messed up. That feeling that this is all a dream. That's all it is, really. Just a big, fat, lonely, dream. And there isn't a way to wake up. Get punched in the face. Hate a stranger. Pop a pill that makes you feel like tomorrow won't come. Go outside and spin around until you fall on your ass. This is your life. And it's ending. One minute. At. A time.

I feel the need to scream as loud as possible. I want to tell people I love them. I need to play Kingdom Hearts and Ocarina of Time until my eyes bleed. I need love. I need to escape. I need a tree log with a sharpie and a CD player filled with melodramatic music from middle school. What I NEED? Summer 2008. Virgin Suicides. The Quiet. Hard Candy. Donnie Darko. Beautiful story lines with beautiful quotes. Paint on my finger tips. I miss you. I miss my dad. I love him so much. Sometimes, I used expect him to tuck me in at night. Now I lay awake forgetting what sobriety feels like; I'm drifting to sleep to escape even further from reality. City of lights. That's where I need to be. A simple "Sup?" could have brought back too many memories. But, then again, that's where this all started. I remember sitting in the theatre room with Stephanie discussing boys, and how we both felt like lost ghosts to our lost lovers. We'd giggle and tell jokes and talk about bitches behind their backs, and one time, Ashlea heard us. It was so simple. Mary wrote me a letter once that every time I read it, I cry. Right when I read that one line, "I held your hand in my head down the halls of that hospice center." A person today implied that their life is so much harder than mine. Like, he somehow knew the things I have faced just by looking at me. Losing my father was and still is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I don't think I'd even wish that pain on my WORST enemy. I am so tired of losing people. If you're my friend, SHOW ME. If you love me, TELL ME. I am waiting. For all of you.

I Can Post This because I Know You won't see it.

FUCK.

That's it, just "FUCK!!!"
You just want to scream it as loud as your lungs can push it out and hope that every single republican and Christian mother can hear it. The old people too.
Seriously? I want what is best for me. I want a best friend who is consistently by my side. A significant other to feel loved by. Money in the bank to spend whenever needed or wanted. A house. With weed. And actual REAL people, not the fake ass bitches that end up at Kodiak's.

Listen, I'm not here to tell you the way you live is wrong. I'm not here to correct your grammar or spelling then slap you on the ass and say "Good game." I'm here to prevent any more catastrophes because if one itty bitty incident happens again, I will go fucking insane. Now, I'm sure as you're reading this you're thinking 'this makes no sense. you're already insane.' (Although if you were typing it, you would more than likely put 'your' instead of 'you're.') But isn't that the point? We all want people to assume we're all crazy. That we're dangerous. That our life is far more interesting and difficult than theirs. And you know what? Maybe it is. I mean to be completely honest, my life could be a goddamn movie. And not a bad one, either.

Story line: little girl grows up into a loving and caring family. Daddy's little girl. Loves music. Finds theatre, falls in love with it. Gets practically raped in a church. Looses faith in anything. Father dies tragically. Girl loses first love. First love immediately moves on to girl's good friend. Girl's good friend somehow manages to turn all of her friends against her. High school just became HELL. Girl finds new love. New love brings her into hardcore drugs and she practically dies because of it. She also misses out on every senior experience, including a good graduation. That love leaves her as well, leaving her with nothing to look forward to. Girl finds party scene and sleeps with everyone willing and attractive, thinking they'll mean something. Girl looses herself. Finds different friends. Girl finds a great friend hanging from attic because they killed themselves. Girl watches them get cut down and fall to the floor. A month later girl finds out her friend from a couple of years ago jumped off a set of railroad tracks and fell to his death. Girl had found a new boy. New boy plays with her emotions and lies to her face. Girl finds out, leaves boy, Boy makes girl seem like a bitch. Girl almost flunks college and almost gets fired. Girl is completely broke and everything she owns breaks out of nowhere, or gets stolen. Girl's friends are all angry because she sincerely does not have the time for them. Girl dies. The End.

Pretty compelling, huh?
See. The point is, nobody I have met yet completely understands me. And I guess that's okay, no one ever will. But wouldn't it be NICE, just to have someone right there who has lived your life that you can talk to? I mean, it beats conversing with yourself in the car every night and morning. But Nice. You, know that's a word that isn't used to often. NICE. She's a NICE girl. He's a NICE boy. By "NICE" do you mean: "He seems very NICE at first, and although he likes to argue sometimes, he actually can be NICE to everyone. Until one day you discover he's just like every other guy you've tried to be with, and he ends up using you, playing you, and sleeping with other girls behind your back. He's really NICE." ? Maybe that's why "NICE" isn't used too much these days. BECAUSE NOBODY UNDERSTANDS THE CONCEPT OF COMMON COURTESY ANYMORE. "No, I have an idea. Let's take this girl, right? Okay. She's cute. She's witty. You know, gotta mouth on her? She dyes her hair red, but everyone thinks its natural. They call her 'that crazy redhead.' Alright, you follow? Kay. So let's tak this girl. She's witnessed a good bit of tragedy at her age. Lost her dad at 16. Kinda has those 'Daddy problems.' You know those women who sleep around because they lack male contact? Yeah. Alright. Oooo! She also has been royally fucked over by quite a hand full of guys. Not to mention she found one of her good friend's dead body not too long ago. Okay. You still following? Alright. Let's take this average girl.... And fuck her over." Common courtesy, people.
You know what? I believe I deserve some respect. What do you think? I mean I give respect to anybody who overcomes adversity. Funny thing is, it's not that people just don't respect me. Nah, see. Some people actually go out of their way to DISrespect me. And you know what I say? FUCK THEM. They are the most useless, unimportant, selfish little bastards that will never make it far in life. That's what I say.
What, soft!
There's something so... deep about theatre. The way you can just forget about your life and the shit that has happened to you, and be someone else and focus on their shit. Yes, its still shit, but its NEW shit. The way that you can make yourself emotional just by tricking your body. But its not just mechanical. You FEEL those emotions you portray as well. And sometimes, it feels GOOD to let go. And its okay, because everyone sees you in the most vulnerable and weak state your mind can be in, and they applaud you for it. They consider it a talent. And you just feel good. It feels amazing to let go of all you've been harboring. Fuck, you've seen Fight Club, right? That's how it all starts. He just wanted to let go. Thing with theatre is that it goes beyond physicality and voice. It goes into the mind. Analyzing EVERYTHING. And it makes you change, just a little, into every character you portray. It's really odd to think about. But it goes deep into the wiring in your brain. Seriously. Try it. Be someone else for a day. Its hard as fuck, but it feels so.... liberating.
They say that you can measure a person's intelligence by how many curves, or folds, your brain has. You know when you think REALLY hard it almost hurts? You're working the muscles in your brain. Feel the burn! Well. If thinking makes you intelligent. Then I must be beyond smart. Because, let me tell you. Thinking is what I'm good at. I think all the time. Too much, actually. Enough to where I have to tell myself to STOP. I think about things that have occurred. I think about why's mostly. And it drives me crazy, because, to be completely honest, the way this world works disgusts me to no end. I HATE IT. Everything. Humans. Their superficial way of psychology explaining why nothing in this fucking planet has any aesthetic quality anymore. There is ALWAYS money involved. And what IS money, exactly? Paper? Currency? Why is it there? Why must we spend our ONE and ONLY (as far as we know) life working away doing something we hate? Because that makes us "Responsible." What the fuck is responsibility and who in their right mind decided we're terrible people if we don't have it? Why is it this way? Does it HAVE to be this way? There has GOT to be more. I know it. I feel it.
FUCK.
FUCKKK!!!
That's it. Just "FUCK!!"

I could sleep for days.

<--Dreaming makes things just a tad better.-->

I'm tired. I'm tired of you. I'm tired of not having a family anymore. I'm tired of not being able to keep my friends anymore. I'm tired of not having any use to anyone; not having any worth. I'm tired of this school and these god damned people that run it. I'm tired of not getting what I want, and I'm tired of wanting things I know I can't have. I'm tired of sex. I'm tired of drugs. I'm tired of vague memories that give me false hope for things like them to happen. I'm tired of this god forsaken city in this hell hole of a state. I'm tired of this whole fucking world. But most of all? I'm tired of the fact that no matter how tired I am about anything, I can't do shit about it.

I'm tired of longing for a Chicago. I'm tired of not being near a big city with huge lights. I'm tired of not having an excuse of ruining myself. I'm tired of aesthetic pretenses. I'm tired of beautiful storylines and measures. I'm tired of wishing to be in Alabama instead. I'm tired of making art that only lasts for a performance or two. I'm tired of hiding and not being able to ride my fucking merry-go-round horse with the blue eye. I'm tired of longing to tear up the night and never actually doing it. I'm tired of reaching for a hand that I know will not grab mine. I am so fucking tired of lying to myself and everyone around me. I'm tired of sunshine not leaking through me. I'm tired of not being able to get everything in one sentence. I'm tired. I am really fucking tired.

I am glad I'm not insane. Or alone.

It's so crazy to be so close and intimate with someone, and just when you're ready to let go, it seems as if, you don't exist anymore. That nothing exists. That the world around you just moves on and on and you're left in the middle watching everything go by, and feeling helpless. Because. There is nothing you can do to stop it. And he moves on, and people move on, and before you know it, a weeks passes, another week, a month, or two. And you just blink a few times and it's a year. That quickly. And you can't grasp anything. Like as if, You're a ghost.
And you try to understand.
But.
You.
Just.
Can't.
And it seems like if you could just make him understand. Make him be a ghost with you. It would be alright.
It would be alright. Just for a moment.

And the Tulips...

-->If there were any left.<--

In the end, we all become the thing we swore we'd never become. The thing we hate the most. But, we're too comfortable to do anything about it. So? We lie to ourselves in order to justify it. False realities in order to escape our own. We play games, we read books, watch movies, do drugs, in order to numb the pain of the shock we got when we came out of the comfy womb and out into the world. That first painful breath that made us scream to the top of our lungs. We didn't like it. We wanted to stay inside our mommies' tummies. Because the world is so cold and painful. That kind of pain you get in your lungs when you've been running on a cold day. We all become the enemy and nobody gives enough shit to change it. Why? Because it doesn't matter. Who cares if we all hate ourselves? How does that impact this god forsaken planet? It doesn't. God laughs as we attempt to make ourselves successful with a large family. Why do we care? How does any of society's pretenses make anything better? We are just flesh, bones, and emotions. We like good weed, orgasms, money, and material items. We are animals, nobody likes to accept that, because its too gruesome to think about. We try to be high and mighty with sky scrapers, and dollar bills, but what does any of that amount to in the end? We all lie to ourselves in order to make the day bearable. Every moment is insignificant, and we barely remember any of them. We forget moments, hours, days, weeks, years. We're all wasting time. But that's the point of time isn't it? To waste it. So. This is your life and it's ending one minute at a time? YES. Because there is no point if it doesn't have to come to an end. You were born alone and you will die alone. You've been lying to yourself ever since you took that first breath out of the womb. And you will lie to yourself until the day you take your last. Who are you? That's the thing: No One. You are no one. You are alone. You lie everyday you step out of your bed. You think: Life isn't so bad. That is a lie. You look at yourself in the mirror and think : I like myself. That is a lie. Nobody truly likes themselves because we're all the exact thing we've always hated. And that will never change, because we're too comfortable to make it change. And what's wrong with that? Does it matter? Does anything matter? No. You are no one. You are alone. You lie to yourself everyday. You will not change. And it doesn't even matter.

A One Man Show is Aesthetic.

A one man show is aesthetic. Imagine. Alone, with everyone watching you. Or you watching everyone. The equivalent to life itself. You are alone. Plain and simple. There is and never will be someone with you from beginning to end. I'm speaking literally. Like near you, communicating to you. Never. Ever. Life is a one man show. People watch you perform. Make their opinions on whether they liked your performance or not. Then they go home, and forget about you the next day. It sounds sad, but I take much comfort in the fact that it's this way and in the fact that I, as the person seeing life from my eyes only, cannot and never will be able to change this. I cannot change anything. Not people. Not situations. Not time. Not death. Not anything. People do what THEY want. Time moves at the pace IT wants. Death takes people when IT is ready. Things just happen. I cannot change any of it. But that makes me human, makes me simple, makes me feel. Makes me whole. So, I say, fuck it. I'm going to be happy. I am who I am. You are who you are. They are who they are. It is what it is. And that's the way it will always be. And I'm finally, actually okay with that. I just cannot believe it took me this long. I enjoy my mistakes. And I enjoy other people hurting me. I enjoy it because that's the way it should be. Because, otherwise, I can never know simplicity, or true life in itself.

Crisis//Crisis//Crisis.

-->Eh. Stephanie did it, so I say, why not? I like to write random shit anyway via bulletin. Might as well have it all saved and collected in one spot.<--
Well. I used to compare life to a frame by frame painting but someone came along, licked their fingers and smeared it everywhere. Life as a blob of colors without any details or point. But I've realized something. A smeared painting only makes the viewer think even more deeply about the picture at hand rather than a regular one. So? Maybe I'm a point of reference. That is okay with me. I tore up all my old letters. Guess you can say I'm growing up? I say growing out. Ghosts can't read anyway. Maybe, all we're looking for really down here, is our wings. Once you find them though, and the search is over, what's the point? To fly? What if you finally get out of your cage and fly, and you don't like it? Or get tired of it? What do you do then? What if you finally get one opportunity to fly free, and it storms and knocks you down to where you don't want to do it again? Flying? It's over-rated. Let's just dance until the sun comes up. I say, you have to lose every sense you have before you can make them become keen. You must destroy yourself in order to survive. Contradictions fuel me. I am one. Down the drain. Hold on. You just might fall off. I make no sense normally when I write. No sense to anyone else but myself. And I like it that way.

2006

Shes just a girl

She always has her nose in a book
and always runs away from love

Shes a little naive
and randomly dances at grocery stores

She loves to stick her feet out the window on warm summer days
and loves to sing while running in the cold snowy days

She's the girl that spins and twirls in the rain
The one thats always watching cartoons

Okay;; maybe shes more than just a little naive
shes just a girl

Shes always swinging on swings
and jumping on her bed

She still wishes it was the 90's
ya` know back in the day

sleeping in tents with her nextdoor nieghbor
who just so happens to be her best friend

Playing with Daisy
and putting on leather pants for bulldog boogie

Shes the girl who goes out with Lucas
and has 20000 *NSYNC posters on her wall

Well;; not anymore.
Shes still just a girl

Shes the girl who sleeps in her closet with her best friend
the one who loves Subway sandwiches;; no chips and a drink please;; just the sandwich;; thankyou

The same one who has all of her crushes names on the bottom of her wall;; marked out
Shes just a girl

Shes just a girl
who silently waits
and even though she wants something to happen;; when something starts she runs away.

Shes the one who cries
and holds her pain inside;; only because shes not aware of her pain;;
not aware were it comes from or why its there

Shes always there for her friends
and even though her friends are ther for her;; she doesnt call upon them
only because she doesnt know what to say

She doesnt know why she hurts;;
she just wish it would stop.

Shes the girl whos parents wont stop fighting;;
Only because her dad is dying and her mom has no patience

Shes the same person that when she had help;;
they walked out of her life;;
not to decieve her;; they had to;;
God wanted them to minister to another church.

Shes the girl who sits on a log in the woods for hours just to think
The girl who sighs all the time just because it makes her lungs feel good.

She often runs bare foot;;
and thinks of Robbie;; the guy shes been in love with for 5 years;; the guy thats barely noticed her.

This girl is an ugly girl;;
with a BEAUTIFUL SOUL
even though;; shes the only one that sees that

The exact girl who still lives at Old Furnace with Maggie
or in Windemere with McKenzie

SHe used to draw clalk hearts on the driveway with McKenzie
The five year old girl who was her best friend in 6th grade;;
only becasue nobody else liked her.

Shes that person who`s favorite memory consits of two boys & a class field trip
Even though both of the boys olny liked her best friend.

Shes the one that;; to this day;; gets picked on or made fun of;;
and still has a smile on her face
becasue she will make your day better;;
even if no one will make hers that way

Shes the girl thats always hearing wonderful things about her friends;;
by the people she wants to say nice things about her

She blows bubbles
and loves the warm brezze

She is just a girl

The one thats soooo scared of the future
what it holds;; and what it brings.

Shes got a beautiful heart
Even though nobody ever sees that.

Shes so innocent and quiet
quiet not in person;; for in person she is loud;;
but quiet of her feelings

because no guy loves her
no guy will ever love her
becasue she is ugly & useless

She is just a girl

Take notice of this girl
For she will be somebody
even though right now she isnt

But take notice
even if she is just a girl
after all thats all she really wants;;
to be noticed.

She is just a girl

Shes the one that is in love with the past
unlovingly lives the present
and is so afraid of the future.



Shes just a girl
Shes just a girl
Shes just me.