It's always Sierra.

Another day.

No money.
No motivation.

Gross, looking for jobs today...Ugh. Well it would solve the first problem.

I don't want to go to SP 111. I want to go back to bed.

No, I want to go to the beach. I wish I had a full tank of gas.

I just don't want to do this, this responsiblity. It is not making me happy. I just want to graduate already. Then have some sort of minimum wage job, that pays just enough for me to be able to move into the apartment. I essentially need to be able to come up with  600-1000 dollars a month.

But then there's the car sitch. I won't have one if I move out. Fuck.

I hate saving money.

I am disgusted. With everything.

I guess I wasn't finished...

When we dated, your mother didn't like me, and never went out of her way to be nice. For no reason. I was always polite and respectful. Now you're dating a girl, who two months ago, you were on the phone with me saying: "Well this friend of mine walked all the way from her place to mine, and it's too late for her to walk back. And she just really wants to fuck, but she's engaged." And I was like, "I don't care."


But now you're dating her. This girl, who was JUST engaged to someone else. This girl who was trying to have sex with you, while engaged to someone else.

1. If she'll do it to him, she'll do it to you.
2. I cannot think of a single reason for anyone to approve of that. And everyone does. They all do. Even your mom.



I really just hate how fucking unhappy I am. When you get to be happy. You get everything you want. Why can't I get that. I have to try so fucking hard to please everybody, but for what? Nothing.

I try to make things work with someone, with the support of his friends, and end up finding out he has had a girlfriend the entire time.
I try to just be friends with someone else, and he tries to get me to sleep with him, and when I don't, he offers me pills in hopes that they will change my mind. And when that fails, he leaves. Straight up: "If you don't want to fuck, then I don't want to be here."
I try to make something else work, and he gets pissed because I don't have the money to drive all the way out to where he is.

Logically, I should stop trying. But I can't. Or just won't.

I'm miserable. I hate my school. I hate my classes. I hate the creep who won't leave me alone. I hate this house. I hate that my mom got married so soon. I hate that I look at the marriage and don't see an ounce of happiness. I hate that I am home as little as possible. I hate that I've squirmed my way into my best friend's family without being invited. I hate that I don't have a job. I hate that I'm ashamed of being who I am. And I hate that there's probably only one person who will read this, and she will laugh, and this is embarrassing. And I hate that I don't know how to make it so she can't read it. I hate that I don't have friends. I hate that I smoke. I hate that my dad got back together with her, just as I was starting to talk to him again, for the first time in years. I hate how badly I'm craving attention. I hate that I've been sitting by myself for an hour, crying. I hate that I'm a dirty fucking slut.

I hate how ashamed of myself I have become.

I'm scared.

I'm scared that I stuffed all my intelligence so deeply far down, and swallowed it all back so far, that it's gone completely.
I'm scared to actually try to reach my potential, in case it has disappeared from lack of use.
I'm scared I won't be loved, but I reach out to all the wrong people.
I'm scared I'll never be able to get another job.
I'm scared of disappointing my mother, which I surely have done.
I'm scared I'll never find the motivation to do anything with my life.
I'm scared because it doesn't feel like God can hear me when I pray anymore.

I hate myself again.

I'm really glad,

That I hate everything about myself today.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

After everything, it still feels wrong.

We broke up, you were a dick, it felt right.
We didn't get back together, it still felt right.
We started talking again, and it felt kind of wrong.
We still didn't get back together, that was right.
You left again, and now everything feels completely wrong.

Something should have happened. I know it. I skipped a step, missed an action. I left something unsaid, but what?
I feel like I walked on stage with the wrong script memorized, and I don't know why.
Everything really was going right. I was ok with, and accepting, everything. But now, it's all wrong. And it's too late to figure out why.

Fine.

I fucking miss you.

I don't hate you. Even though you said all of that.

It just hurts so fucking bad.

I never imagined this.

And that is the truth.

A couple hours before he broke up with me, I was sitting with a friend, and talking to her about it.
She asked me if I thought we would end up not being together.
I remember I felt like that was impossible. I shook my head. That couldn't happen.

But it did.

You hit lower than a girl would have. Girls know how to strike exactly where it's going to hurt the most, and apparently so do you. I just don't understand. I didn't do anything. And you turned around and clawed my eyes out as if I'd cheated on you with all your best friends and then some. I'm sorry you had to waste so much money on me. But you didn't have to come. I told you not to. And I couldn't get out of bed because I was tired as fuck. The timing was terrible. I would have been tired anyways, but you also came at the end of a week that I spent up all night every night typing papers. And when you asked to take my mom's car I got uncomfortable. That's just not something people do. And when you told me you were "fucking bored" with attitude, I was rubbed the wrong way. My bad mood from lack of sleep was only intensified.

We were apart so long that I learned how to live without you. I learned how to live without seeing you. All I had to do was talk to you. I missed feeling you, but at the same I learned to live without touch. People would reach out to hug me, or just bump into me and I would flinch. I didn't have to see you, because your pictures were on Facebook and Myspace. When you got in my car, I was exhausted and stressed because there were so many people getting pulled over, I was almost out of gas, and I could hardly keep my eyes open. I couldn't take you seriously in your uniform, and I wasn't overflowing with joy and excitement like I thought I would be. You looked like a little boy. And I felt old. Again, you were excited about something, and I wasn't. I was just so turned off and I don't know why. Your voice was even beginning to irritate me. Your hands were cold and you smelled like the plane. You took off your shirt, and were even more muscular than I thought. It was too much. I continued to pick out your flaws, which is ironic because I used to think you had none.

You just cut me really deep. That's all there is to it. Instead of that never happening, I was being held by someone else while I cried. I was being comforted by someone who could actually be here for me. I was being cared for by someone who understands what it's like to not be perfect, unlike you.

Let's point out the obvious, shall we?

YOU dumped me. So I'm not really sure why you're flipping a bitch. I didn't do anything. I didn't do a single thing wrong, except that I wasn't happy. So you dumped me. Now you have the nerve to call me a whore. The nerve to freak out on me, for not doing anything. Because, no matter what you believe, I didn't do a fucking thing wrong. I didn't cheat on you. I didn't even think about it. I didn't lie to you. Because he was only my friend. So what if he's more than that now? It's not like you're in my life. Nothing that exists now existed then. So whatever. I don't need you. I was obviously just hindering your ability to find perfection. Sorry I wasted your fucking time.

You can't say I didn't warn you. Because I did. From the very beginning I told you I wasn't a good person. From the very beginning I warned you that I had a tendency to fuck up. It's not my fault you didn't listen. I'm sorry I can't be who you want me to be. I'm just not nearly good enough for you. Obviously. What else is the problem? If it was easy for you to be without me, than obviously you're better. Did you ever think about how bad it stung to hear about all the fun you were having while I was stuck here, miserable. You were always happy, I wasn't. I felt pathetic for crying. I felt pathetic because I couldn't be like you. I couldn't have fun and be happy during this seperation.

Well I don't want to be you. I don't want anything to do with you. I appreciate you, for hitting me as low as you could. I'm glad you know me well enough to cut me where i bleed the most. I don't care what you think. I know I'm a whore, big fucking deal. But you knew that too. You said it yourself: "that girl who i fucked at a campout."

Sorry I broke your heart. But if you get a chance, if you could spare just a moment of your precious time, step away from the fucking mirror, and take a look at what you did to mine.

I'm laughing.

Because that makes you just as bad as him.

I feel like I need to be alone.

I'm keeping myself constantly busy and I don't know why. I keep searching for things to do. When I'm with people, I want to be alone.

When I'm alone, I can't stand it.

Why do I always have to feel so numb?

It doesn't make sense to me. Why can't I express and feel emotion like a normal person.


Maybe I just need a trigger. Something to wash over me so I can finally at least break down over this. Because I'm either doing a really great thing, or a really terrible thing. Breaking down is a normal after effect. So why haven't I done it.

Because I decided it would be easier to be happy. I've never made that decision before. Ever. I've always choosen the darker road. I'm not the type of person who goes out of her way to be happy. I'm the opposite. So what changed?

Maybe my subconscious has a horrible plan. A plan which consists of me holding in every feeling and pain I have from what happened. A plan that differs from the normality of embracing pain. Maybe everything will stay tied up inside until that last possible moment, and maybe that will cause everything to be ten times worse than it would normally have been.

Or maybe I'm just fucking crazy.

It's funny that the only place you have complete privacy is in your own mind.

I'm too young to feel this old.

I built a time machine

I'm going to see the homecoming queen
Take her to the Christmas dance
Maybe now I'll get in her pants
Whatever

Back with my high school friends
Meeting where the train tracks end
Passing round a skinny joint
Rolling up to Lookout Point
I want to pull it apart and put it back together
I want to relive all my adolescent dreams
Inspired by true events on movie screens
I am a one man wrecking machine
Back in my parents' house
Back to the shouting out loud
One day you'll be a man
One day you'll understand

I want to pull it apart and put it back together
I want to relive all my adolescent dreams
Inspired by true events on movie screens
I am a one man wrecking machine
Inspired by true events on movie screens
I am a one man wrecking machine

Here in the present tense
Nothing is making sense
Waiting for my moment to come
Everything has come undone

I tried to pull it apart and put it back together
No point in living in my adolescent dreams
Inspired by true events on movie screens
I am a one man wrecking machine

Inspired by true events on movie screens
I am a one man wrecking machine

"One Man Wrecking Machine" Guster

I love that I post homework assignments.

Just keep running, Cassie thought to herself over and over again. Stumbling as she raced her way through the littered streets, all she wanted was a hiding spot. She took a right into a long dark alley, instantly regretting her decision. It was a dead end, but it was too late to turn back. She saw a mound of trash farther into the darkness. She knew it was her only chance so she bolted for it. When she reached it, she crouched on the other side, sinking her body low to the damp ground like a predator waiting for its prey. Though she appeared to hold this position, she was very near to being the victim. Her blood-thirsty slayer was following close behind.


Cassie tried to quiet her breathing as she looked back the way she had come. Then she heard what she dreaded most. His footsteps. They were heavier and slower than hers had been. Steadily, they grew louder. Sweat seeped from every pore on her body, leaving her with chills of fear and adrenaline. She knew he was moments away from deciding whether to search the alley, or continue down the way he was headed. Her eyes wanted to close in defeat, and her body wanted to give up, but she refused to let it. She had to be ready for him.

Her pulse quickened as the footsteps slowed. He was going to turn; she knew it. She quickly glanced up at the walls surrounding her, but they were bare. Not even a rickety fire escape could be her savior. It was too late. Again she regretted her choice of turning. Slowly and silently she pressed her body as far into the ground as she could. Her clothes were covered in filth, which left her hoping to blend in to the grimy street.

She could see him, hunched over so far it looked as if his neck grew from his chest. He was looking down the alley, taking in every detail. The smoke in the atmosphere made his gaunt face appear to be a sickly shade of gray, which almost exactly matched the stringy threads that grew out of his pale skull. His eyes were shifty like an animal’s, and had the same crazed look that ensued after making the choice. The choice that showed how far they would go for survival. They were the eyes of a cannibal, and they were searching for her flesh. He held his hands as a vulture would its feet. They looked like claws with long yellow nails protruding from each finger. His nostrils flared, taking in every scent and hunting for Cassie’s.

He moved toward her slowly, and Cassie held herself as still as possible. Her hand was resting against something cold and hard. She wrapped her fingers around it, hoping it was a rock and not a skull. He took step after step. His boots crushed whatever debris came underfoot. Reaching out his hand, he dragged his nails against the brick wall as he walked. The closeness to him made Cassie shiver in horror. He stopped.

“Where are you, Darling? Where’s my pretty little dessert?” he said. His voice was raspy, and low. The voice of a killer. “I know you’re here somewhere, and I’m going to find you. Daddy’s hungry.” A disgusting grin spread across his face as he said those words, showing his teeth. They were sharp and jagged, perfect for tearing meat.

A rat scurried across the ground behind Cassie’s stalker. With reflexes like a cat, he spun on one foot and crouched down. His arm seemed to be spring loaded as he reached it out, bringing down his hand. The helpless animal was speared by the man’s talons, nailing it to the ground. Bringing his hand to his face, he sniffed the dead animal. Each claw was piercing through the body of the rat. Cassie knew this was her only chance. She quietly lifted her body from the ground until she was standing, her muscles aching from the tension. His back was still facing her. She took a cautious step towards him, gripping the rock she held. He had brought the rat to his mouth and sunken his teeth into it. The tiny bones made a cracking sound while blood dripped down his chin. Cassie lifted the rock about her head and paused for a split second. Did she have the power to kill another human being? His head snapped towards her and the instinct for survival replaced her morality. Her question was answered as she brought the rock down into his skull with all her strength and he collapsed onto the ground. His eyes were open, but they lacked life. The rat’s tail emerged from between his teeth, twitching.

Cassie tried to back away, but her knees gave out and she fell in the pile of garbage. The moment she landed, a terrible stench exploded around her. It was the smell of rotting meat. She covered her face and rolled off the pile. Swallowing repeatedly to keep the stomach acids down, Cassie looked at the pile for the first time. Something was sticking out from beneath a stained brown rag. When she saw what it was her body took over. Heaving and coughing she lost the little she had managed to fill her stomach with. After her retching had ceased, she risked another peek. It was a hand. Most of the tissue had been removed, eaten. The little that was left was growing a dark mold. The smell was enough to turn Cassie’s stomach again.

A scratching sound behind Cassie distracted her. Immediately she turned to face the dark wall, the adrenaline still pumping through her veins. She listened as carefully as she could. The noise was coming from the other side of the wall, the wall that turned the alley into a dead end. She was overwhelmed with trying to decide what to do. If she ran now she could survive. What ever that scratching was would not reach her. However, the curiosity was overpowering. She walked slowly towards the wall, and as she drew closer she was able to make out a boarded up door that she had not seen in her earlier rush. Her pounding heart sent vibrations through her body.

She was standing close enough to the door to touch it. She leaned her face towards it, putting her ear up against the boards. The scratching was accompanied by a small whine. Animal or human, Cassie could not tell. The helplessness of the sound tore at her heart. She could feel for the vulnerable entity. Cassie knew this was exactly how she sounded that night. There was no way to tell how long ago it was, but her best guess was around ten years. She had been on the other side of a boarded door.

It was after the secret that all the food stores were empty leaked from the government. Her mother had locked her in the empty pantry when the first flesh eaters came. She sat there curled up in a ball listening to her parent’s screams of anguish. When the cry’s had ended she was left alone. After what felt like days, her uncle had found her there. They were together after that. He protected her and she brought him laughter. All they had was each other. One night he went to find firewood and never came back. Cassie had to go on alone.

Cassie’s body trembled as she came back to reality. Without a second thought she began pulling on the boards, trying to get them off. She wanted to save it. The wood was decayed, so it didn’t take her long to remove. After she had cleared it all she reached for the door knob. The cold metal felt clean against her skin. A bead of sweat dripped down her forehead as she turned the knob. It clicked eerily as she pushed the door inwards. The putrid smell of waste filled the air of the room she entered. There was no light but the little that came in from the open door. As her eyes adjusted, she looked around for the thing that made the sound.

“Hello?” she called unsteadily. “Is anyone here?” her voice cracked as she spoke the words. Taking another step inside, she could see that she was standing in a living room, though it contained no signs of life. There was a couch, two arm chairs, and heavy drapes over the wall. Cassie walked over and spread the thick sheets of fabric. A window behind them filled the room with a smoky light. Frames hung on the walls, though you could not see the pictures they held through the dust. The walls themselves were papered with faded flower print that matched the furniture. The couch had huge chunks missing from the cushions as if something had taken bites out of it. The arm chairs had the same mysterious problem.

Cassie turned on her heels as she heard the strange whining coming from behind her. Backed into the corner, shivering in fear was a child. It was young and ragged enough that there was no way anyone could determine its gender. She took a step towards it, filled with curiosity. The child sprung onto all fours, hissing like a snake. Jerking backwards in alarm, Cassie stared at the inhuman creature. It was dressed in torn rags, and hair ran from its skull to the ground in knots. The teeth of the creature were broken and sharp, just as threatening to the skin as shards of broken glass.

It was leaning back onto its legs, preparing to pounce. Even though it was just a child, Cassie knew better than to test fate. She had lost all her strength after being hunted, and she wouldn’t put up much of a fight against the jaws of a shark and the energy of something so young. She had to choose.

Without turning her face from the creature, she shifted her gaze in search of something blunt. There was a lamp lying on the ground a few feet from her. If she was quick she would surely be able to grab it. Bringing her focus back to the little monster, she side stepped towards the lamp. The hissing grew fiercer as she moved. Her weapon was close enough to grab if she just bent down to it. The moment she reached for it, the thing sprang at her. It leapt onto Cassie’s torso, digging its claws into her collar bone and sinking its teeth into her shoulder. Collapsing in pain, she felt blood begin to cover her chest. Now that she was on the ground she was able to grab the lamp. As she wrapped her fingers around it, the creature pulled his head back from her shoulder, taking with it a chunk of her flesh. She had felt the bite being taken, and now she could hear it chewing her own muscle. She brought the lamp down hard against the back of its neck. It was the same cracking sound she had heard when her previous assailant had bitten into the rat. The claws piercing her skin relaxed and the chewing stopped.

As she rolled it off of her, she was plagued by an awful realization. If she did not manage to find food she would die. Just lying on the floor her head spun from starvation and blood loss. Pressing her palms to her wounds, she sat up slowly to look at the little body next to her. It seemed so small and helpless. If its mouth had not been full of human flesh, and its fingers not covered in blood, it could have been mistaken for innocence. Its entire body was thin and bony, and the cheeks were still red and warm. Cassie reached out a bloodied hand to stroke its forehead. She became lost in thought as she absorbed the warmth through her fingertips. She had killed two people in an extremely short amount of time, and one of them had been a child. If murder was possible, what else was she capable of?

It’s dead, she thought, It’s not like it has a soul...It’s not like I’m going to eat it alive.

Her stomach grumbled at the thought of meat. She had not eaten a real meal in years. This child could feed her shrunken stomach for days. She looked around the room one last time. There was a small fireplace in the wall. Matches were scattered across the ground in front of it.

Stopping her thought, stopping all emotion, she stood and grabbed a cushion from the couch. After tossing it into the fireplace, she picked up a match. She lit it on the wall and set the cushion on fire. As she walked to the child, a sense of dread attempted to fill her, but she blocked it. Carelessly picking up the body, she removed the ragged clothes to discover it was a little girl. Without a single thought she carried her to the fireplace, and placed the naked body atop the blazing fire. At first the stench of burnt hair was nauseating, but slowly the smell of cooking meat filled the room.

When the fire died down, Cassie used the lamp to roll the blackened body onto the floor. Reaching for the tiny hand, she ripped of a finger and dropped it into her mouth. She continued this with each finger. After that, the palm of the hand. After that, the arms. By the time she had finished, her stomach felt as if it would explode, and there was a small pile of bones sitting on the floor next to her.






That was stupid. And what kind of a name is Cassie?

Here it is again, yet it stings like the first time.

What do I want? That's a good question, isn't it. I want you to be happy, I want me to be happy. I want us to be happy together. But guess what, I don't remember what that looks like. We spent so much time together before you left, and I can barely remember it.

The reality is that I built a wall.
"You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness."
That's what I did.

While you were gone, I thought about you, but I blocked out the memories we had. Because it was painful to remember them. Now I have to strain to even remember glimpses.

Whether or not I like it, I learned to live without you. I still spoke to you, thought about you, missed you. But I filled my time up so that I wasn't given an opportunity to break down over you.

It doesn't help that no one else really understands how difficult it is. Everyone's just happy for us. It's cool. But they don't know how it feels. How fucking hard it is. Yes, I want you here, but not if it means that you're going to have to leave again. It's a terrible terrible tease. I would honestly rather you be gone the entire time, without any breaks, than have you ripped away from me over and over again.

I know this is more difficult for you. I know you have to leave everyone behind you. But I don't. I have a choice. You signed up for this, not me. And if you want me to be happy while you're back, then it's going to be fake. Because I am not happy. We established this before you came home. Not that it accomplished anything. I tried to talk to you about it. I guess you just don't understand?

And now you're mad at me. Because I'm not happy. I'm not trying to fuck with your head. I'm not trying to play games, or be confusing. I just don't know what to do. I love you, I really do. But that doesn't mean I am cut out for this. I can't move to Hawaii with you. What's in Hawaii for me? You, and some uncle I've met a few times. That's it. I can't abandon my life for you. I can't put on a smile and hold your hand and be the perfect girlfriend if it's all a lie.

I don't enjoy having to explain to everyone what's going on with us. Why can't you just talk to ME. I don't care if it's not something I wanna hear. I'd rather hear it from you than other people.

Maybe we aren't right. What if that's the problem. What if the first time things went wrong, we were supposed to stay apart. And because we didn't we're both upset now. Maybe I'm not emotionally strong enough to handle this. Maybe I subconsciously put myself in this position because I like feeling like shit.

Maybe we are right.

But there are too many "maybes". All I want to know is what is. And how am I supposed to figure that out?

I never understood,

How difficult it would be to go without things as simple as touch. Every hug, every brush of our fingertips, I took for granted. I ache to feel you again.

2 weeks.

You'll be home. I'm so excited, but I feel like I can't get as excited as I should be? Because what if it doesn't work. What if you can't come home. I've thought you were supposed to be coming home before and you didn't...What if that happens again :(

I wish,

I had more to say to you than just "I miss you."

It's starting to feel so hollow. But I don't have anything else to say. I don't want to talk about school, or people, or work. Those things are a waste of time. They aren't intersting. But that doesn't leave much to talk about.

I don't know why, but today has been one of the hardest days so far. Hard enough for me to clean my room. In order for my room to get cleaned, I have to be in a HORRIBLE mood. And it's clean. I still don't feel better. I want a hug.

Dear You;

Here's the story.
We went out. You know that. But nothing about it was good. We fought and fought and fought over the most pointless things. Everything. We never did anything fun or spontaneous. He wasn't nice to me, and I wasn't nice to him. Nothing about it was worth it. Not at all the way it is with you.

With you, everything is perfect. Everything is fun, and everything is beautiful. More than once I have purposefully put myself into a bad mood just to see if you could get me out of it. You always have. You're sexy, smart, funny, and perfect in every way. There isn't a thing about you I would change, except for your location. Florida is a little too far away for my liking.

I wish you were here, to hold me in your arms. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and that is the truth. You're different from every guy I've ever been with or liked. You're smart, strong, successfull, you even have the same values as me. You actually graduated high school. That alone is a huge step up from every other guy. Because you aren't just one of those guys. You are you. You're Travis, and you are amazing. You care about me, more than I would have ever even hoped for. And I miss you more than you could even imagine. You're the last thing I think about every night. And the first thing every morning. I'm not even attracted to anyone else, and I don't feel any desire to be with another person. Which is alot of why that relationship with him didn't work. Because all I could think of was you. All I wanted was you, and he knew it. He pulled some stupid shit that I shouldn't have fallen for, but did. He said that it wasn't worth waiting for you, and he was here now when you couldn't be. He said he'd be there for me, but he wasn't. All he had time for was bashing other people behind their backs.

I've never heard anyone say a single thing against you, excluding one person, but she was just jealous. I haven't ever worried about my friends or family liking you, because I know that it isn't possible. You have the most amazing personality, and you're still respectful. You can tell sooo much about a guy by the way they treat their mom, and you treat her the right way. You're so grown up and mature, and I admire you for it. I wish I could be like you. You're my better half. We fit together so perfectly, and you balance me out just right. Everything about us is right. And that is the truth. I've never felt so close to another human being. I've never been so comfortable with anyone else before. And I miss you so much. I hope you feel better about last nights conversation after reading this, because I feel terrible about it. If I could go back and erase what happened I would. In a heartbeat. I just hope you don't hold it against me forever, even though it would be fair if you did.

I miss you baby. Every night without you is just a little bit worse. The day I see you again will be the best I've ever had.

I hope you're sleeping good.
Love, Me.

I miss you.

I haven't seen you in 3 months and 3 days. And I won't see you for another 2 months.

What else is there to say?

Fuck :(

The Dream.

It began with the fact allready in my mind that I was pregnant. This being said, I did not look down at my whale body and react with anything more than mild acknowledgmeent. I was huge. For some reason, I hadn't told anyone yet, so I went to find the father. I knew who he was, and when I got to his house and told him he reacted pretty strangely. And told me I had to sleep on the floor from now on. I know. What the fuck? Anyways, after I told him, I left, and life seemed to go on pretty normallly. Then I went into labor, and we were off to the hospital. The room was huge. The bed was set up, and there was room for over 20 people to stand and watch. Althout there were only around ten. Family and such. The father wasn't there, but his parents were. I had just been given an iv with, what I thought, was just pain killers. I fell asleep.
When I woke up, the room was empty except for my mom, and I was no longer pregnant. An icy cover of anxiety and worry poured over me. Where was the baby? Was everything ok? And why wasn't I awake for her birth? I stuttered out all of those questions at the same time, and my mom just looked at me, with a look that said "You're an idiot." The father's family took the baby. They drugged me, and took my baby. I started sobbing, but no one was there to comfort me. My mom was there, but all she wanted was to leave the hospital and get on with our lives. I tried asking her where they took my baby, her only response was, "It doesn't matter."
I've never experienced being a mother having their child ripped away from them before, so it's amazing that I'd be able to feel it, even in a dream. All I know is that it was the worst pain I have ever felt. I never got to hold my baby, or touch her, or see her. I wouldn't make her bottles late at night, and I wouldn't teach her to walk or ride a bike. She would never call me "Mommy."
I just don't understand why I had this dream. And it was so vivid, that even now, three days later, it breaks my heart to even write about.
I woke up from it with tears streaming out the corners of my eyes, and my hands holding my stomach, the way a pregnant girl would hold hers.

You are my Sunshine.

"It's definately that time where I have to say goodnight, Sierra Smooth Bellinger. And now that I've said 'smooth' it reminds me of how nice and soft your skin feels...hmmm. It's also that time where I close my eyes and think of you and pretend you're next to me sleeping.

Goodnight :)"

Another long summer's come and gone,

I don't know why it always ends this way
The boardwalk's quiet
And the carnival rides
Are as empty as my broken heart tonight.


But I close my eyes and one more time
We're spinning around and you're holding on tightly
The words came out
I kissed your mouth
No Fourth of July has ever burned so brightly
You had to go I understand,
But you promised you'd be back again
And so I wander around this town
'Til the summer comes around


I got a job working at the old park pier
And every Summer now for five long years
I grease the gears, fix the lights, tighten bolts, straighten the tracks
And I count the days 'til you just might come back


Then I close my eyes and one more time
We're spinning around and you're holding on tightly
The words came out
I kissed your mouth
No Fourth of July has ever burned so brightly
You had to go I understand,
But you swore that you'd be back again
And so I'm frozen in this town
'Til the summer comes around
Comes Around


And I close my eyes and
You and I are stuck on the Ferris wheel
Riding with the motion
And hand in hand we cried and laughed
Knowing that love belonged to us girl,if only for a moment
And "Baby I'll be back again," you whispered in my ear
But now the winter wind is the only sound
Yeah and everything is closing down


'Til summer comes around
'Til the summer Comes around
'Til it comes around
And comes around


And I miss you baby,
And I miss you baby

Thank you, Kieth Urban.
Fuck you, Printer, for not printing these lyrics for me so that I can put them in his book.

Damn.

I was pissed. Haaaa. I'm glad that's straightened out, although I do not feel about writing about it.

I miss you. So much. And I hate how cold I am when I talk about you. I hate that I don't just tell anyone how bad it feels to miss you this much. But who would really understand? Very very few people. Not to mention talking about how bad it hurt would turn me into a huge crying mess. No one wants to see that.

Yes, please.

Shit on me even more. Thank you.

Trash me all over Facebook, then chat it up with your sister who molested you -multiple times- and fucked with your head. You're a fucking idiot.

I am more grown up than you will probably ever be.

I need to delete you. That's what I need to do. I don't even want to give you the curtesy of mailing the letter I wrote. I don't even feel the need to explain myself to you. You won't listen. You've never listened to me. All you care about it yourself. You only cared about me when you needed something. I'm not gonna do that anymore. I'm not going to let you suck the life out of me any longer. You make me feel like shit. You always have, and you always will. I can't sit around while you call me: slut, whore, stupid, idiot, fat, ugly. And while you make comments about how if something smells, it's me. Or how I look like shit. When have I ever done that to you, April? Why can't you understand that I hate that. Have I ever told you your stomach looks disgusting? Or that you need to lose weight? Or pointed out all your physical flaws? Or made fun of you constantly for one tiny thing?

No. Because that's not what friends do. They aren't supposed to be like that.

You're stabbing me in the fucking heart right now. I can feel myself wanting to apologize just so you will stop making me look like a cunt to everyone else. So I won't have to see all the shit you say about me anymore. But guess what? Even if I were to apologize, you would talk me down. Try to one up me. That's all you ever do.

I don't get it. Maybe you should take a psychology class, so you can see how fucked up you're being. But that's ridiculous. You would never acknowledge you did something wrong. At least not genuinly.

You don't need me, but I don't know if you believe that yet. You act like you do, but you always act like this after we fight. Oddly enough, you're always the one who comes running back to me full of apologies. I don't. I always forgive you, and set you up with another chance. I never say sorry first. I only do that if I know I'm in the wrong. But I never have been with you. You'd think that would have been a rather large flashing sign, two, or maybe even three fights ago.

You're breaking my heart right now. You're making me hate you. I don't want to hate you, I just want to close the door on our friendship for the time being. I never said forever. But if that's what you want, then go for it.

I would love to be able to watch your child grow up. But I guess it's ok that I won't be able to, because it would kill me if you raised him to be punk kid who gets into all the same shit his parents got into. And I honestly am not that skeptical of it happening. I wish that I could say that if I were there I could stop it, or change it, or help give him a better life than his disfunctional parents could, but I would not be able to. Because you wouldn't listen to me. You never have. You can't take advice. You can't take criticism. You can only take the roaring sounds of applause. And if you don't hear it, you show them how capable you are of hurting people.

Wait, you do that anyway.

The Break-up.

Yes, it's official. I won't be your best friend ever again. I have to stick to this before you drag me down to your level for good. I have to stick to this so I can stop spending all my time stressed out over your shit.

Fuck that.
You told my mom to Hell. You will never be apart of my life again.
I won't even give you the grace of feigning friendship.
When you need help, don't call me.
Unless something happens to Aiden. That's all I want to know about.
He is number one priority to me. You aren't.

Two projects.

1.
I.

I saw the best minds of my generation contaminated by their everlasting yearning to be more like those who rule their living rooms.

Who are exposed constantly to the lusty residents uttering fairy tale proclamations and living in glass cages for all the world to see while silently smirking and accepting enough dough to make a single loaf of bread that could end world hunger.

Who see those people standing under their spotlight and their sex and their glamour and idolize it passionately.

Who see the fallacious simplicity of their love and children and life and covet it.

Who were exposed to all this because their creators shoved them lovingly in front of the silver screen in hopes that their prolonged absences would not be noticed.

Who had their innocence destroyed when their rectangular baby sitter showed them something even an adult would find obscene.

Who want a hug a touch a kiss a whisper in a way no mere child should learn of-but who was there to teach them otherwise?

Who search the littered street corners for the sort of love they see in the bedrooms of the hollow black boxes. Hollow as their own souls.

Who reach out to touch the arms of the college boys home for the weekend who are ignorant to what they are getting themselves into, grinning and seeing only another sweet girl with another appealing offer.

Who are seductive as they spread their cherry flavored lips in a confident smile to show teeth as white and sharp as if they’ve freshly broken through bloody gums.

Who angle their heads so their faces-still round with baby fat-appear sharper.

Who are as ready as a lady twice their age, whose clothing is as scandalous as another Pretty Woman, and whose true age must be kept quiet or else men shirk back in disgust at themselves.

Who are broken again and again in pursuit of that love.

Who see the Stars with their Starlets with Starlets of their own and see there is another kind of love they can use to try and fill their leaking entities.

Who can’t see the “Do Not Enter” sign on the street they’re walking down because a reality show and a movie joined together in beating it into the gutter months ago after discovering how profitable teen mothers can be.

Who see a way to fasten people to them for a life time as well as create something that they are sure will love them for all eternity.

Who know that this will happen, because their baby-sitter-box told them it would.

Who make the tiny white pills disappear under their tongue so that no one suspects how terrible their desire for a love like Holly Wood’s has become.


II.

I’m with you at the kitchen table,

Where your mother cries and asks herself out loud where she went wrong, pulling her hair and digging her manicured nails into the shiny wood table.

I’m with you in his bedroom,

Where you whisper the news in his ear with a smile on your face, expecting the opposite of how he reacts as he steps back -pale faced- and chokes on his words while his eyebrows come together creating creases across his young forehead.

I’m with you at school,

Where it is obvious from the gawking and behind-handed whispers, the muffled laughter always behind you, that somebody let it slip.

I’m with you in the clean white office,

Where you sit half-naked on paper that crackles under every movement, with pictures on the walls that make you giggle in your immaturity while your mother’s eyes turn on you in reproach and she tells you again that “It’s time to grow up.”

I’m with you in your room,

Where you sit alone on a Friday night the size of a whale, doing homework while the friends you used to have ignore your calls and go to movies and parties without you.

I’m with you in the hospital room,

Where you’re panting and sweating in pain, hoping only for relief.

I’m with you the day after,

Where you watch visitor after visitor pass that tiny part of you around the room and ask you questions and smile at you when all you want is to go to sleep and wake up with your old life back. Where you cry and think, “This isn’t how the show went.”


III.

I’m with you in the hospital room,

Where you take your first breath and scream your first cry and are handed to a girl, a child herself, who looks at you with eyes full of confusion and disappointment.

I’m with you at night,

Where your grandmother holds the bottle to your mouth with tears in her eyes while your mother sits on the porch and smokes a cigarette while arguing with your father.

I’m with you in the morning,

Where your father refuses to change your diaper and complains about having to work and your mother refuses to change your diaper and calls you “work.”

I’m with you in the afternoon,

Where you lay on a blanket in the living room floor in front of the TV with a spit-up stained outfit on while your dad is at the bar and your mom is on the porch smoking her cigarettes and talking on the phone with someone who will be tired of listening to her complain soon. Eyes glued to the colorful shapes on the screen, you gaze into the glass cage and see the people living there. The same baby-sitter-box that taught your mother how to find love.


2.
Some people may say that I have many strengths. Others may wish to contradict that, and argue that I have few. What I know for a fact is this that I have three solid strengths that I have carried for as long as my memory serves me. One of them is that I love to write. Writing is a way I learned to organize my thoughts and clear my head long ago. It is something that has helped me get through many challenges in the past and still does today. It is not something I do bitterly, or out of pure necessity. I enjoy writing, and I learned to love it at a young age. Like most little girls, I owned a diary complete with lock and key. At first, the pages were filled with the normal things little girls write about: boys, playground gossip, and all my childish dreams of fame and fortune. Not long after my first experiences with writing, my life changed so drastically that I was forced to grow up in the blink of an eye. Not only did my personality and perspective change, but so did my appreciation for words and their power.


Words can save, change, or destroy lives. One simple word can silence a man, and another can make him cry out. In the duration of my life I had underestimated their power, and had been unable to see their frightening beauty. Without words, we would be a lost planet. The world would have no peace or order, and all the technology we have today would never have come into existence. I cannot begin to tell you how traumatic instances can result in a new grasp on words because I do not know. Although, I am very thankful it did.

After I realized this I began putting words together in ways I never had before. Writing had always been a catharsis for me, but now I was able to give what I had written some appeal. I would write down every single thought, and search through a thesaurus before I ever used the same word twice. My journals began to fill with more variety and different styles. Writing had always been an escape for me, but it became more. I could write how I felt down, no matter how terrible, and mold it into something beautiful. A boring sentence is like a puzzle with missing pieces; once you find those lost pieces and rearrange it, you have something astonishing.

The pleasure I receive from writing compares only to that of reading. In my seventeen years worth of memories, I don’t ever remember complaining about having to read. I haven’t ever refused a book, although I have judged a few by their covers. There are only a handful of books I haven’t enjoyed, and even fewer that I haven’t finished. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough time in a day to mention all of those that I loved.

In similar ways to writing, reading has helped me through many life challenges by acting as an escape. When you become absorbed into a book enough, the real world no longer exists. It is only you and the characters. If the book is written well, it can feel as if you are there battling pirates or dancing at a ball. You begin to feel a connection with the people in the story, especially if they are going through things similar to what you have experienced before. This can help one feel less alone, knowing that there is always someone in the world with the same worries or troubles. Reading is also beneficial because it not only gives you a feeling of comfort, but it opens your eyes to different cultures and how blessed and lucky many of us truly are.

My third and most socially advantageous strength is that I have a strong sense of connection with people the around me. I can look at a person I’ve never met before and find at least one thing we share. It can take time for me to see that bond, but I always find one. In the past this is how I’ve managed to have such a variety of friends. I am only human, so I do make rash judgments about people, but they never stick. I believe that every person was born pure, and if for some reason they end up being someone less appealing it is not their fault. Because someone has problems is all the more reason to step back and make sure you have seen the whole picture before you decide how to treat them.

The only times I have ever struggled or had any interferences in my work and success, have been no one’s fault but my own. Until recently, I was unable to see the benefits of something as simple as graduating high school. I had no desire to go to college, and no career plans or goals. The reality of what would happen if I continued on this road did not become apparent until I stopped to look at my friends who didn’t finish high school. Two of them have children, one is pregnant, and two are addicted to drugs. All of them are living off welfare, and only two of them have jobs. I know that is not the life I want.

When I was younger, six or seven, I decided I wanted to be a lawyer. Those may seem like abnormally large dreams for a child of that age, but it is what I wanted. About halfway through my 5th grade year I started receiving letters from colleges all over the world, asking me if I was interested in attending. At the end of 7th grade I was given an award that said I had the highest GPA out of both the 7th and 8th graders. By the end of junior high, I had planned out exactly how I would be able to graduate high school in two years so that I could start college early. I was also narrowing down the choices of what college I would go to.

Unfortunately, my first week into high school, my family was shaken with an experience that caused me to throw all my dreams down the drain. It is true, I did not have to. I could have dealt with everything the right way, even though it may have been harder, and I would still be on that path I planned the year before. I took the easy way out, and now it is hard to even look back and see that I was that girl. Now that I have opened my eyes to reality again, I am going to bring that girl back.

Where,

Is your logic. Your basic common sense.

The Truth:

I don't know why I'm so terrified of going up to the college, but I am. I never thought I'd make it, nor wanted to. Not in my four years of being there have I EVER wanted to go. Today they tell me I have to go, and they call my mom so I can't refuse. Mom would never forgive me. She'd be so disappointed. And they used that to their advantage. They knew I wouldn't be able to decline if she was allready excited about it. But it just isn't fair. I don't want to go up there. I am scared. To the point where it makes me cry. Literally-cry. With real tears. I don't fucking know why, and it irritates me, but it happens every time I think about it.

I'm gonna be up there alone. With people who don't like me. And teachers I don't know. In buildings I'll get lost trying to find.

It figures I don't "succeed" until I only have one real friend at the school.

Yesterday:

I ate lunch by myself.

Rephrase: I spent the entire lunch period by myself. Not by choice.



For the first time since I started going there. Over three years ago.



I'm embarrassed to say I cried the whole drive home. But there were a few tiny other things that brought me to tears. So I feel slightly less pathetic. Somehow.

I don't know what to say.

But do I ever?

I just don't understand. Nothing about this is fair. Nothing.

I kinda miss being happy. For some reason it doesn't come around much anymore.

He called me. Said the usual; I miss you, it sucks here, I'm doing good, some guy hit on me in the showers, etc. It didn't feel like I was talking to him though, not really. It felt too fake. He felt too far away.



Anf for the record: you're aggravating me. I'm not gonna smile and laugh when you see an advertisement on TV for the Navy and you call them "fags." They aren't fags. And one of them I happen to be in love with. So fuck you. I don't want to go to your house for hours and sit and play video games. There's nothing wrong with your house, it's just that we're always there. Doing nothing. And if we aren't there, we're out with the rest of the boys doing stupid airsofting shit. Which was cool at first, but it's the ONLY fucking thing you guys do. I swear to God. Sometimes you say sweet stuff, or make me smile, but usually I just want to punch you in the face. I'm just getting more and more irritated. I'm not ready. And I don't think we click as well as we thought we would. I'm sorry, but that's the reality of it. Because maybe I miss someone else a hell of alot more than you. And there's really no nice way to tell someone that, is there?

What is there to say.

I know I shouldn't be dating him. But it's too late now. And it's going to end terribly. I feel so empty. And I feel pathetic for saying it, but it's true.

I miss you. I'm sorry I gave up on us. I'm sorry I never think about you anymore, but I can't. Whenever I do I get an ice cold feeling in my stomach, and everything inside me twists into knots until I want to puke. I didn't know that was possible. So, I just don't think about you. But I sleep in the sweatshirt you gave me every night, and I hold Jose tight and sqeeze his paw where your recording is so I can hear your voice or I can't sleep. I can't listen to half the country songs anymore, because every single one reminds me of you. I miss you so much. I wish I could fix us. I wish you could have stayed.

I hope we have another chance. I would do anything.

1,2,3, etc.

1. I lied, I don't hate you. You just make me so angry. You're my best friend, and you're the closest I've gotten to anyone since Ashlee. I love you so much. I know I'm not showing it well at all, but I don't have any other choice. I can't just sit here and let you push me around anymore. If I do, then someday soon I will actually hate you, and I don't want that to happen. I miss you. I love you. I wish you would come back. And I wish you could keep secrets. I wish you wouldn't have moved in to my house. Everything would be different, but we'd still be friends. Gallagher told me I shouldn't let you live with me, but I didn't listen. He was right. I just want things to be different. If you wouldn't have gotten stuck behind, you would still be able to be my friend. But choices were made, and if you're really gone, then fuck. I don't know what I'm gonna do.

2. I love you too. And I wish you weren't leaving. And I wish I would wait for you. But I know I'm not going to. I allready stopped. You haven't even left yet, and I've stopped. I wish I knew what to do. I want to make the right choice. I'm going to cry for a long time. I shouldn't have pretended you didn't have to leave. I kept ignoring it, putting it off. Now I have to act as cold as ice in front of people so I don't break down. I look like a bitch, but it's easier than losing it in front of everyone who brings you up. It would be so much easier if you would just hate me. Break it off quickly, sharp and clean. But you want to be friends.

3. Why'd you have to pick now to be the time for you to let me know this. I've always liked you as a person. You were a good friend. Now everything's complicated. And he keeps getting angry, and you keep getting jealous. And I know I'm going to pick you, and not many people are going to like it. He knows too though, so maybe it's not as low.
No. It is just as low. Why am I doing this to myself. This isn't worth it. He is. You aren't.


Why can't this be easier.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

"...im a super chill person who cares more about other people than myself i always put others before me and i dont understand how people think of only themselves its rather sad...apparently now that im a mom im pretty lame sorry that i would rather take care of my son than go clubbing i dont need outside stimulation to make me happy i got all i need at home..."


Get over it. I thought you understood what I said when I told you my life was going forward so I wouldn't have alot of extra time. But if you did then you obviously wouldn't be putting shit all over Myspace about how you don't have a best friend, how you're so much better than everyone else, how you "love love love" your baby and boyfriend, how I ditched you because you were being "responsible".