#216

I wish I had somewhere to go in the morning. I'm tired of sitting around waiting for people to call and I'm tired of calling people myself and getting stuff together but I can't live like this much longer and I HAVE TO get with my friends before I go to Spain and Italy in two weeks or else I'll be halfway miserable... RAWR.

#215

I wish The Gent didn't go to bed so early (as in 10-11pm). I wish I wasn't afraid of bothering him by texting him. I wish I could talk to somebody. Ugh, but I CAN I just WON'T. urgh 

#214

Magpie #121


The letters and the faces,
they line up among the places
where I placed them on my brown desk many moons ago
Now there lies but on face
and scattered letters calling in chase
for him to come back home
And the bill of rights
and the bill of times
the bill of electricity lays too
And I would say I don't know what to do
here without you
But I do, in fact, know what to do
I just don't know what I
want to do
about you.
Should I send the letter that lays in the open?
The one that lays, stark and naked, straight forward as hell and blunt?
Should I sent the letter that resides completely next to it?
The one that rests, casually but firmly, with belief that we can work this out?
Should I sent the letter that accuses and points the fingers of blame?
The one that could definitely be supported without a doubt, but that I might feel bad about or unreasonably harsh for sending?
Should I send the letter that begs for him to return?
The one that weeps and cries for his return and ultimately fears that he never will and will inexplicably, and unknown to me, throw away?
Or should I send the letter of each other letter, mentioned and not?
The one buried beneath all else: containing my feelings, my thoughts, my aches and pains, my hopes and desires, and all else?
I sit and wonder and others around me question my wondering.
They question why I wonder
instead of going straight on and forward, as they say, and getting rid of the problem
they question my reasons for sticking to him and not trying to find someone else,
maybe someone better,
because maybe I wouldn't have to look that far or hard,
and maybe I know that.
...
This letter, all-knowing of everything I know to be true in my head and omniscient of all that lies in my heart, would be the perfect letter in the perfect setting
if only I could find it, in all its perfectness, underneath this pile-up of absolutely everything in my head.
since you been gone.

And then, the face stays--
just forehead and eyes and upper nose or nostrils
maybe
but, nevertheless, directly half-and-half of my viewpoint.
I see it
but not the whole thing
as in, not the whole picture
I simply, inexplicably cannot see, nor imagine, the whole picture although I'm pretty sure I know what it looks
at least kind of
like
 like you
 being gone
 and all
 and fallen off the face of the earth... except not really...
 I just don't know.
And I can't decide or determine whether the face watches with solemn passivity
or looks on as I make a decision
or counts the seconds until I come to the final conclusion
or sees my brain turn and wind up
or senses my heart back down and step up, steadily or not so much, like the constant rolls of thunder or waves in the sea
or reminisces about its own memories, other, more interesting things it has witnessed and completely ignores me
or counsels my spirit with that knowing look
or blankly stares for it so happens to be inanimate
Does being inanimate mean anything to a mask?
If not, why does it matter?
And if not, what could "being inanimate" keep the mask from doing?
Why is it even a mask now?
It's just a face
And it watches carefully, or not.
And it watches unknowingly, or the opposite.
And it watches as I make my decision
and reach for a letter
buried beneath.

#213

When I share a blog with someone...there's always the fear...that they'll see something they don't like...and it drives them away. Or anything that drives them away. And I love to share, but sometimes it's hard. You know?

Just..thinking about that. Hook is sleeping in my room...and I am on the bed.
And the rest is still unread.
Because it's future, see?
GAH YOU INTERRUPTED MY BEAUTIFUL POETRY.
.. It's okay. :)

It's time to splurge the abnormality.
Irony, no? Exactly. It's not irony.
So so sorry ... This is definitely considerable as randomness..moving along. :)<3kitty

#212

I WISH SOMEBODY ELSE WOULD NOTICE.
I WISH SOMEBODY WOULD NOTICE WITHOUT ME HAVING TO TELL THEM.

#211

I'm not even 100% positive as to why I'm trying to find my phone.
It's not like he will have texted me back.

I FEEL LIKE SHIT.

#210

I just finished watching that movie that ABC FAMILY made last year... Cyberbully. With Emily Osment in it.
From the first climax on, (won't share for spoiler reasons) I cried for the next ten minutes straight and the rest of the movie on and off...
I'm not being bullied...but I'm being hurt.
And things hit home.

My shirt is covered in snot from the top of my chest to my belly button
In a sort of a "v" shape
The ends of my hair, where they rested in the current of snot and drool pouring out of me and down the path of my shirt, are sticky. And wet.
My right arm, where it rested over my abdomen, is also covered in a layer of sticky saliva. And snot.
My hand, it kept clutching my side as I sobbed and sobbed and cried.
I don't think you understand.
But I felt her pain when she said she didn't see a reason to even try anymore. I don't want to kill myself. I just want this to be over.
I don't want to be without you, my dear boyfriend, but I can't do this like this much longer.
Demi is right: I have to give my heart a break.
Or, well, no, that's me that's right..
I'm shaking.
My chest feels like its getting chapped from the wet laying on it for so long.
I am not bothering to take this shirt off.
WILL YOU JUST BE ANOTHER WHO IS SORRY BUT LEAVES ANYWAYS?
YOU AREN'T WORTH IT THEN! IF THAT'S THE CASE YOU AREN'T WORTH IT.
But it wouldn't even matter if that was the case... Because you'd already be gone like the LAST GUY.
The snot and drool has soaked through my shirt and is subsiding on a thick layer on both sides of my shirt.
This too gross for you?
Go find something else to read. Something happy and sweet that won't bother you then.
If this is too much for you, that's sad.
That's really really sad.
You know what else is really really sad?
This is too much for me.
But at least I can handle my own words.
I love him.
But I love myself too...
I just want to find my phone so I can call you and hear your voice and hang up.
...