I’m in love with the melodic sound of your voice, though I’ve yet to hear it in months. I lust for the words to slither from your serpentine tongue, to fly out from your mouth, light as a feather. I will never know that voice again, I will never know the devilish touch that felt so angelic.

There is no difference between the eyes of a killer and the eyes of a pacifist, we all are animals, poised for the kill.

There’s a photo that I took of us once and in it, you can see me perfectly. I am in your arms and I am smiling, as is usually the case whenever I’m near you. You can see sheer contentment…no, sheer joy in my face which is normally so twisted and contorted by anger and hurt. You, however, are blurred. Though you were smiling and it was clear, the way the picture had blurred your smile looked reluctant, if not completely fake. As I examined it more I realized that perhaps this is the most symbolic thing I’ve ever seen, it showed the truth or at least the truths I’ve known. Despite my own reluctancy, I have always been the one strong and steadfast, loving you unshakingly and irrevocably. You, over the years, mostly due to the fact that I couldn’t show my love and give all I could give have faded away from me. You’ve taken on my own reluctancy, we have changed in each other.

destroy everything you love before everything you love destroys you

It is a constant grumbling in the stomach of my mind. I am thirsty, begging for a drink. I am hungry, starving for passion and affection. I am living this life in a fast lane, a lane of depravity and occasional shame but when I am filled with these things, my mind no longer restless or wanting, then I am content to continue along the path.

Steal my heart but don’t release my tongue or the truth will run rampant, my confessions of love will never be stopped. Sweet sincerity, the sweetest and most disgusting kind, will pour from my ever-appreciative lips. Do not get too close to the truth or it will swallow you whole, and the fact is that the truth is a terrifyingly dark place.

I feel a rage growing inside of me, white hot and fuming. 16 years have passed and I still have not uncapped this bottle of frustrations. I have tried to ship it out to sea with my secrets, madness and pain encapsuled. Somehow, the stream always finds it’s way back to me. The water always rises and brings my bottle back to me. I can feel it surfacing, bobbing like a buoy, with every slight annoyance. I can not hide from skeletons forever or they will pull me in to the closet with them, by my ankles, they will pull me in and they will lock the door.

(Source: lostwordsspokenagain)

— 2 months ago with 607 notes
(Source: pattyp66)

— 2 months ago with 390 notes
(via kristacular)

— 2 months ago with 1463 notes
DAY SIX:

Today was a lovely day. I’m loving Burton, which is suprising me. We had stretch class in dance this morning and it felt remarkable, although I could hear all sorts of bones n’ whatnot crackin’ away. Algebra was good, I’m so glad I have the class I do. English was okay too. Then I secretly saw my friends after schoool…can’t tell how I feel about some things but whatever. I’m just annoyed that my internet is working, but I got a chance to write in my classes today. I’ll probably be posting them soon. I’m starting to feel really different…it’s a long story.

— 2 months ago
(via c0rpsewhale)

— 2 months ago with 23450 notes
hellyeahdavidbowie:

who ever took this is very lucky !

(via shotsofbrandy)

— 2 months ago with 41 notesThis divulgence of truth, truth and love is earth shattering for me to give. I wait with bated breath for any whisper of reciprocated feelings as your mouth gently peels itself apart, giving way to your words coming out so slowly but each filled with a fist, a fist that drove itself in to my gut with a force, a driven force that made an undeniable impact. I could no longer hold my breath or hold back my genuine and explosive emotions. I thought I would fall to my knees, maybe cry, but I only let a smile spread across my face. Despite feeling like I had showed more emotion than I had in years, the truth is that I wasn’t, because I knew. “I love you,” you said to me. The world seemed to have been lifted off of my shoulders but suddenly, instead, a weight was put on my heart. You see, lies are a terrific, terrific thing for a time. They are something to hold on to, they are plugs to fill your cracked heart. However, lies are lies. Lies will ultimately destroy you. Those cracks and holes will never be truly filled or fixed, because what is broken cannot ever be fully mended. When it comes to lies though, they will be torn apart like the seam to the shirt he once used to rip off of your body with what you thought was passion, when it was only lust for skin, lust for some kind of attention they felt they were lacking but were entitled to. Lust that you thought was love, love that was never real. So lies…are beautiful, they are beautiful but devilish creatures.

What invades my soul is suprisingly not the injections of love and warmth that I receive daily from this home, this family, these people, like medicine. What invades my soul is helplessness, hopelessness but I do not feel like a victim. I’ve never felt like a victim. In the bottom of my soul, I knew this storm was coming even though their forecasts were so vastly different. This thunderstorm is deserved, the calm before it should have given it away.

As the tears roll down my face, gently carress my lips, the year roll through my mind, pull at each string inside of me. I am reminded when I wake in the morning and the does not shine with the same vibrance, I know; when music is the only thing that floods or temporarily washes off the pain, when music brings on the pain with each exceedingly relevant lyric. I am awash, drowning in a sea of senseless grief. Senseless only because I will continue floating and despite my greatest wishes, the visions I see in my head and pray to become reality simply are not to be and will never be. You will not sail out to sea, and if you do, it will not be to come after my lost soul, simply to see the world. You are free. You were left free and I was left in this state of perpetual madness. No one is going to come after me. When the tears make the ocean higher, my head will slip under. I will try to claw myself back to the top, as though I were stuck in a grave…ironic only because I am. I will look up, at this mess I have made, the mess I allowed you to make of me and I will let my body sink with my dreams and you.

(Source: imgfave)

— 2 months ago with 586 notes
(Source: youaresimplygorgeous)

— 2 months ago with 669 notes
(via likeacoffin-fit)

— 2 months ago with 125 notes
(via l0veitaway)

— 2 months ago with 139 notesAs her eyes scan through this dull room, vacant, she sees nothing of interest until she finds your face. Her eyes find your jaw, firm and masculine, and then your lips, soft and sensual. She begins to scan your face and, were she truthful with herself, she would admit she is looking for your flaws. She searches, her eyes could have memorized that face. Flawless, she finally admits. For a split second, she dreams of a future. She dreams of holding that gentle yet manly hand. She imagines your strong arms wrapping themselves around her delicate but voluptous body; finding their way down until the tips of your fingers meet the end of her shirt and you tenderly pull it over her head. But before she can continue with that beautiful fantasy, she realizes that it is never to be. For you are a vulture in this hierarchy of students, and she is a carcus. You will look her over, you will pick her over and perhaps those hands will meet that skin but those hands will be rough. They will be too hot. And while those arms may be strong, but they will be strong with violence and wanting rather than passion and longing. There will be no sense of admiration for the body in front of your ravishing eyes. You will simply act, with an heir of greed and entitlement.

In the cold nights of fall, though not nearly as frigid as winter here, I see him outside my window. I wonder how long he has been waiting there, with blood shot eyes, a serpents tongue, and these claws which each year seem to be sharper, longer, deadlier. He waits so long to see me, he tries so patiently to claw his way in to my room each night. I hide myself under my blanket, as if he is the boogie man out to get me, as if I am five years old again and all I have to do to be rid of my problems is hide under my beloved blankets. I know what he is now though, and why he only comes at this time of year. I do not greet him with welcome arms, only because he still is such a terrifying creature, but I guess I was too.

Thoughts race. Blood pumps. Veins pulse. Mind reels. Skin shakes. People need people. I need you like I need water, like wind and sand. Addiction is a lifestyle. Change is needed. Thoughts stop. Decisions come in to view. Options are many. Scared is often. Blood drains. Veins are blue. Skin shakes. I need we, like the sea longs for my soul.

Today I looked at a picture. It was a picture of you and me. It looked so old, although I knew that I wasn’t. I still think about you, I still remember that so vividly. But it’s like I’m looking at someone else’s life, it’s almost surreal. That girl looks just like me but I don’t recognize it, at least not compared to the ghost in the mirror looking back at me. These eyes are dull, and almost sad. Those are full, full of life and it’s wonders, full of your scent and the feast of passion and love they thought were surrounding them. I am a shell, monotonous and frozen, glassy and dilated. The truth lies in the smoke, the smoke and the mirrors…and the photograph.

Love has become such a far off idea to me, warped by confusion and loss. The past is the past, but the present is just the cycles from the past perpetuated.

The cold weather brings me back to the past, like a wind picking up photographs left out in the grass and blowing them my way. In each one, there you are. In each breeze, I see you. With each rain drop, I feel you.

I have no faith anymore and I want that so badly to inspire me to move, to inspire me to live and prosper. Instead though, the most strength I have is to maintain this smile, and when I’m alone I find the srength to cry. That’s all I find in these misty hills and dark pathways.

I love you. I love you so much. :)

"All of me is all for you."

It's weird to get these kind of butterflies again. Believe it or not, they all feel different, just like they all are different in reality. With you, they feel gentle but they never stop fluttering, even when you're not around. The way you touch me is so undeniably passionate, that I could forgive you for even the rudest of remarks. There is fire in your eyes when your lips caress my thigh, there is love ni your finger tips as they touch my rosey cheek. "I love you," I said, and you whispered it back. It is so strange to be back in this place, after so long, after so much growth. We are both changed people, and it is strange to think that we could ever come together like this again. Our bodies have changed, our minds have evolved, and yet love still finds it's way...inbetween all of our cracks and imperfections, it winded it's way out from beneath the both of us and bind us together, twisted itself around us and ensnarled us in happiness. Over the last 6 years, I have always found you. You have always found me. Like you said, "we are like a tragic love story, our story is still being written."

At the Bottom of Everything by Bright Eyes

Dear Blogger fans,

I cannot concentrate on school today due to the fact that I want to have sex and cannot stop thinking about it.

"There will come a time you'll see, with no more tears, and love will not break your heart but dismiss your fears. Get over your hill and see what you find there, with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair."

Mumford & Sons, once again you've saved my life.

We ended everything last night, it was like my entire world had imploded. I watched the sun slip out of view as the words crossed your mind and then flew from your lips, like knives or bullets. There they were, laid out, pressed through my chest. Then later that night as I turned on music, tried to lay myself to sleep, I heard the song you once played for me. I broke down, I'm broken. I think, at this point, as cliche as it sounds, I should come with a warning label attached to me.

As her eyes scan through this dull room, vacant, she sees nothing of interest until she finds your face. Her eyes find your jaw, firm and masculine, and then your lips, soft and sensual. She begins to scan your face and, were she truthful with herself, she would admit she is looking for your flaws. She searches, her eyes could have memorized that face. Flawless, she finally admits. For a split second, she dreams of a future. She dreams of holding that gentle yet manly hand. She imagines your strong arms wrapping themselves around her delicate but voluptuous body; finding their way down util the tips of your fingers meet the end of her shirt and you tenderly pull it over her head. But before she can continue with that beautiful fantasy, she realizes that this is never to be. For you are a vulture in this hierarchy of students, and she is a carcus. You will look her over, you will pick her over and perhaps those hands will meet that skin but those hands will be rough. They will be too hot. And while those arms may be strong, they will be strong with violence and wanting rather than passion and longing. There will be no sense of admiration for th ebody in front of your ravishing eyes. You will simply act, with an heir of greed and entitlement.

I will lose my sight if I allow myself to bury underneath you, but you are under my skin like a flea or a tick. As hard as I scrub, pull, brush and beg, you will not let me go until there is nothing left of me. In a morbid way, I don't mind.

I realize that I'm not beautiful and I'm not perfect, not like her anyways. We could have had a good thing though.

There’s this feeling that I can’t escape, like I’m ruined in some way. I remember lying there, flat on my back, not completely coherent of the situation but knowing that every thing about you was going to tear me apart. I remember lying there crying, I’m not sure if I really was or not, but I remember feeling like it. That one moment, when I knew it was going to happen, I looked at your face and there was nothing. There was no feeling, none of the words you had said only an hour prior meant anything. You were emotionless, I know that’s the truth now. I know that I am dirty now, filthy. I want to scrub myself until I bleed, until I’ve gotten some part of you off of me, at least the slightest bits. You might say you’re not judging me but I know you wonder if I kissed the same, if I loved the same, if the feeling behind it all was the same. It’s not, that girl that night was me…but it wasn’t, it was just another form of self mutilation I’ve let myself endure. My scars are infinite, my past was a treacherous path in a painful territory that I had tread with a smile and a bottle.

Rare moments are those that I feel invincible, that I feel as though my body could run across the country, my mind could force my hands to write a novel that would change the world, that I could change the world. It is not a short time after that I realize the truth, my lungs are fading, my heart is weary and my mind far gone from the vicinity of intelligence and openness it once loosely ran through. I will be the death of my soul, this lifestyle will kill me.

He said, “the past is the past,” a cliche phrase, though some of it stands true. I just turned to him and I said, in the purest and most simple of ways, “I was a bad person, I don’t think I am now but how are you to leave your past behind when it seems the rest of the world cannot?”

Skinny Love -Bon Iver
Wonderful -Gary Go
Roslyn -Bon Iver
Into the woods -Bon Iver
Give in to me -Leighton Meester and Garret Hedlund
Naked As We Came -Iron & Wine
Salvation Song -The Avett Brothers
The Death of Me -City and Colour
Comin' Home -City and Colour
Body in a Box -City and Colour
The Sleeping Sickness -City and Colour
The Funeral -Band of Horses
Murdered in the city -The Avett Brothers
Shame -The Avett Brothers
I and Love and You -The Avett Brothers
I Saw Lightning -Telekinesis
Live Like We're Dying -Kris Allen
Kids -MGMT

These will be on repeat in my car for the next few years.

I both love and hate the idea of my future, mostly because I'm so desperately excited and so discouragingly frightened.

This is the tattoo I'm getting for my 16th birthday. Yes, it's a Chinese symbol. No, I don't speak Chinese. Yes, it's overdone BUT no, I don't want a huge tattoo and yes, it has a lot of meaning.

The symbol means beautiful.
I'm not getting the word beautiful tattooed on myself because I'm conceited or anything like that but because the word beautiful is so much more to me than just a word. Each day I can look down at my body, a body that I've had quite a lot of issues with over the years and still continue to, and I will have a reminder that I am beautiful. Despite whether or not I find myself physically beautiful, I know that I'm a beautiful person and the people in my life have taught me that. Each day I can look down at that and have a reminder to treat people the way that I want to be treated, to not judge quickly and not judge harshly. Each day I can have a reminder that the world around me is beautiful and even on my darkest days, I have a reason to believe that something good is going to happen because it always seems to...even the smallest thing. I have a reminder that beautiful doesn't just have to mean that I'm a pretty face but that I'm a good person with a pure heart and good intentions. That's what this tattoo means to me and that's why I'm getting it.

Art and life are a work in progress.

Hearing that I had crossed your mind felt like a weight lifted off of my shoulders, like heaven had touched my cheeks if only for a mere second to tell me that I was not alone, that there was a place waiting for me. No matter if it's true or not, you said it. You said the exact words that I had been thinking for months. The truth is that each passing day, regardless of if I'm with him or if I'm with just anyone, your face crosses my mind at least once a day for the most inconsequential of reasons. I hear a song and I think of your face, I hear a word and think of something you said to me so long ago, or what feels like so long ago. At the same time though, I'm his. I made him that promise and I love him enough to keep it. I just can't tear myself away from the idea of us, in a place so far away from this one.

I want to feel your lips curled around my own, your hand pressed gently against the heart that you previously held in your teeth and your skin against mine, caressing me light as a feather as though it was bruised and wounded. I want it to be that simple but it never will be, because Love is never easy and three is a crowd.

What hurts the most is knowing that every thing coming out of your mouth is probably a lie, but wanting to believe it with every fiber of my being. I'm the only one that has stuck beside you, or at least the only genuine one.

Wonderful by Gary Go

please listen to this song

This is the most meaningful CD I've ever been given. I was so lucky to have met you.

If we could forget each other, if we could walk away from those divine memories and pretend that we're not still coiled around each other, entwined around the idea of a future between the two of us then maybe we'd both feel some kind of closure. For now, we don't. For now, it's not over. Our story isn't over, it's still being written.

"I thought I could live in your arms and spend every moment I had with you. Stay up all night with the stars, confess all the faith that I had in you. It's too late, I'm sure and I'm lonely. It's another night, another dream wasted on you. So just be here now, against me. You know the words, so sing along for me baby. For heaven's sake, I know you're sorry but you won't stop crying. This anniversary may never be the same. Inside, I hope you know, I'm dying with my heart beside me, in shattered pieces that may never be replaced. And if I died right now, you'd never be the same."

Three Cheers for Five Years by Mayday Parade
I'm not terribly fond of them as a band but I love this song and I love their lyrics. This is a song I'd recommend to anyone.

I’m trying to do everything, live up to every expectation people have ever had of me and every expectation I’ve had of myself and I’m drowning. I can smile and I can be okay, and for mere moments some times, I can completely forget about all of the things eating away at me but when I lay down on this bed, finally allow some kind of light sleep to fall over me and allow my mind to wander and speak as it please, I realize how disappointed and stressed I feel a majority of the time. I want to do well in school. I want to impress my parents. I want to go to college. I want to get out of here. I want to discover myself and have adventures, but if I truly want to pursue the career I’ve always wanted to pursue, I don’t have time for that. I want to be with my best friend. I want to let her have her own life. I want to be independent. I can’t be independent. I want to be skinnier than I am, just because I refuse to have one more reason to not feel beautiful or one more reason that people won’t find me attractive. I want to look like a super model. I want to work out. I want to go to sleep. I want to be alone. I want you to love me again. I want to work for your love. I want to try new things and not be stuck in what I may or may not want to be. I want to break the mold. I want to fit the mold completely. I want to be a good person. I want to be who ever I am, good or bad. I want to live.

I want to do all of these things and it’s overwhelming. It’s scaring me. I feel like I have so much to do and no time to do it. I feel like I’m so driven to do all of these things but I have no legitimate motivation. I feel like, honestly, I wish the world around me didn’t put all of this pressure on me. I wish I didn’t put this much pressure on myself. I wish I wasn’t so scared of growing up. I wish I felt like I was doing what I wanted. I wish I didn’t feel this way. Most of all, I just wish I could understand what it is I’m feeling and why I feel this way and change accordingly.

Tell my love to wreck it all, cut out all the ropes and let me fall.

I feel like I’ve been neglecting my writing lately, and a lot of the people that did me good in my life lately. Most of all though, I feel like I’ve been neglecting myself. I need to sit down and balance things, sit down and let what has been festering in the bottom of my soul to come in to the light. I have to look it in it’s eyes, get down to the bottom of the grievances between us and see if we can revise the story that has been written. The things that I can not fix, I must accept and learn to deal with. It’s that easy with me, really. I might get scared, worried and a little scatter brained sometimes but once I sit down with myself, I will be okay again. I can rebuild myself and that is the true meaning of independence.

It feels nice to pretend that you’re here, to see your face amongst a sea of others, even if for one moment. It’s nice to imagine you’re next to me, even if just the ease the loneliness for a moment. It’s nice to imagine that it’s just us, in that field you always talked about, with that boy we always dreamed. It’s nice to imagine the world that could have been. In some ways it’s terribly sad, but in other ways it puts me at peace to know that in some other world everything that could have been is. There’s a different us somewhere else that is living the life we always talked about. I have to believe that our love wasn’t a waste of time, wasn’t just a passing chapter in a book. It was real, and it is being lived somewhere else, somewhere away from this place.

You can hear the pain in her voice, how she means each one of the words she sings, because she’s felt those feelings before. That’s the singer I try to be, have every emotion I’ve felt that resembles the lyrics in front of me flow from within me and come out of my lips with just as much feeling as when they were written. Being a singer is more than fame, glory, money, and fans to me although I won’t sit here and pretend those material things aren’t attractive benefits, just extraneous. Being a singer is for me, yes, but it’s my way of giving back what has been given to me. It takes a lot to get on a stage and bear your soul for all to see and criticize, the kind of courage that I find admirable in others. Singing other people’s words makes me feel like I’m sharing something with them, like I know some part of them that some people don’t. It’s makes me feel a connection, it’s friendship. Singing the words I write makes me feel more than courageous, it makes me feel free. Courage is freedom. It’s more than what I want to be, it’s who I am. I’m a singer.

Sitting in this room, surrounded by these undeniably talented people, I can't help but be in awe of them. I can't help but want them to admire me as well. You're all so beautiful, not just because of your voices, but because of your heart, your dedication to what you do. I know that maybe I might not know you as well as I'd like to, or maybe we don't get along particularly but that doesn't mean I don't recognize you for what you are. You'll all go so far, and I hope you have someone there every day that is telling you that.

It's cliche but every time I'm around you, the rest of the world fades away. Your words find me in the vast sea of monotony, grab me as I let the deluge of high school drama and close-mindedness start to drown me. When you're next to me, I'm okay. I'm high above water. I love you, I'm in love with you. When you are near, there is nothing else and I love that.

Stop talking to me.

Your voice is nails on the chalk board to me, your words are irritating. Every thing that comes out of your mouth is just a regurgitation of things we've all heard. It's nothing you've ever experienced, it's only a story you've heard and stolen, pretended that it was your own. Perhaps you believe the stories you tell now, percieve them to be your own, perhaps you've heard them so many times that you actually believe they are. You're nothing, nothing but a bug under my shoe and a pain in my ass. I'm going to be so much more than you ever expected, and even then, you'll probably say how well you knew me.

I felt very pretty today.

His feathery, lustrous skin and peaceful lips washed over my body like the ocean on to the shore, washed the strangest and most comforting feeling of serenity on to the most overwhelmed and tense parts of me. Suddenly in one subtle moment, all worry had dissolved and I knew nothing but his touch, nothing but his taste. Surrounded by only him, knowing only him, I fell. I fell down the rabbit hole and beyond, in to a place I now call home. It is not so uncomfortable this place, only secluded and reminiscent. As time passes, I do not worry about the trials and tribulations of yesterday, only when I will know that enchanted touch once more.

I can't stand that most of the counselor and teachers in this school think they can just assume that we're all the same, that we're all juvenile delinquents just because we're not athletes or consistent straight A students. I can't stand that they think they can clump us together, fit us in to the mold of these generic stereotypical roles. They assume they know what's wrong, if anything even is. They judge us and analyze our every moves, our every word, and think they somehow know us. They don' though, they don't know anything about us or our lives. At least I have enough respect (even as a teenager) to not presume I know a thing about their feelings, pasts and them as people.

We're just kids passing by to them, not people.

Sometimes I sit down and think about people, things they've done to me and things I've done and it really starts to hit me. I can't explain what I mean...just, sometimes I ignore my feelings and then it slips to the surface and I start to realize how profoundly it has affected me and how hurt I actually am, then I wonder how I keep this calm facade when I have all of these gut wrenching, bone shaking, painful feelings inside of me. It's weird, and a little frightening, that I'm so good at hiding the truth. I start to wonder if that's why some of my relationsips don't work, 'cause I act so uncaring and indifferent but then when the truth comes out, I'm just a breakable girl who has been broken before. I've built up this nearly impenetrable wall because I'm so scared and damaged and aching and resentful.

And I started to think about how I ruined our relationship...and I did. It's true. I hate myself for it. All this time I've waited for him to love me again, give me another chance. All this time I've searched for him in others, given myself freely until there was nothing left. Instead of hardened by lack of touch, I was shattered by loveless touch. I tried to maintain that hard outer exterior that I'd earned, the wall I'd built from abuse and hurt, only to find out he loved the most beautiful parts of me...the parts of me that were pure and fragile.

You Remind Me Of Home -Ben Gibbard (lead singer of Death Cab for Cutie)

Maybe in some other world we’re still in love, maybe in some other world I’m laying downstairs with you. In that other world, we’re together, right this very moment. Maybe that other world is the right world, we just chose the wrong path on accident. It was all meant to be but one little mistake changed the course of our destiny, set us off of our path. One little mistake led us away from each other. Two mistakes tore us apart. The end was inevitable after the snowball began. At least I can dream though, on these nights when I’m plagued by the perfection of the past, of our past, that in this other world we’re happy. In this other world, this world that I dream about, I make you happy. I make you as happy as I know I could now. In this world, we’re the people we’ve always wanted to be and we’re together. In this other world, I’m spending the night alone in your arms, in the very spot we used to be. We’re in the middle of that bed, there’s nothing else around us, or at least there doesn’t seem to be. The love between us is palpable and not even the most stubborn of “adults” in this world could deny our love, could deny what is undeniable. In this other world, I’d never let you go. I’d never do the things I did, the things I never knew I was doing until now. In this other world, I won’t regret ruining us. I won’t have to. In this other world, I’d spend every moment making up for things I never did, I’ll devote myself to you like I always promised I would. In this other world, that little boy will have a home, and a father that loves him more than he loves himself. In this other world, we’ll be the people we always wanted to be, together. If I had never lost you in this world, maybe I would still love myself. If I had never lost you in this world, maybe you could’ve been better. When we were thirteen, you told me that you were born to love me and you knew that, in the bottom of your heart. When we were fourteen, you told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me. When we were fifteen, you told me you wanted me to be your wife, the mother of your children. When we were sixteen, you told me that we were like our life was like something out of a fairytale, that we were a love story that should be documented. Throughout all of those years, you told me you loved me. In this other world, you still love me. I still hear you whisper those words to me in the middle of the night when you think I’m sleeping.

I need to get out of this town. I need to get away from your lustful stare, the stare I know is no longer directed at me. I need to run from your eyes, the eyes the peer in to my soul without me even knowing, the eyes and heart that know me better than I know myself. It frightens me, it warms me, it enthralls me, it tears me apart at the seams. Today I found out that I’ll be singing a song, in front of a hundred or so people, the lyrics were, “If I had my way, I’d be a thousand miles away…” I thought it was funny…and kind of sad I suppose that it was obvious in my face and my actions how desperately I needed to get away. The truth is though that if I had my way, I’d be with you. We never really get our way though, do we? So, I need to get away from here. I need to get out.

my bones are your bones, my home is your home

You know I love you so.

Some times I really wonder if I'd just give it all up for you.

I really don't know how to feel about any of it. I mean, I want so much to just be happy and take my own advice about things, let what will be simply be. My mind just won't let me do that. I'm listneing to Skinny Love by: Bon Iver. The lyric I love most is, "tell my love to wreck it all, cut out all the ropes and let me fall." Yesterday, as I said, my terhapist said I analyze, over-analyze. But, how do you stop yourself from trying to protect your heart when you know that ultimately almost all of the things you love now, or at least generally romantic relationships, will undoubtedly fall apart? My guarding my heart isn't ou tof nto caring but caring too much; I could give him all, steal his heart and fill him in every way possible, but I don't because I don't want us both to fall apart when we walk away. This way he'll never know that I could have made him the happiest he has ever been, that I could have made his dreams come true.

THIS movie.

"You are the smell before the rain, you are the blood in my veins."

The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot by Brand New

Words of lust will whisper and drip from my serpentine tongue like poison when you are alone, seeping in to you and forcing your body to react.

X marks the spot where our love became impenetrable and infinite. The wind and sweet smell of renewed confidence due to each others’ beauty and adoration marked the moment I gave myself to you. Best friends was more than a title, but a promise of loyalty and place to seek heed. In my arms you will find acceptance, in my heart you will find your name. X marks the spot in the sky when God gave me my greatest gift, you.

The greatest advice I ever gave to myself, the only advice I had ever given to anyone and held on to myself was to let what will be, be. Life, it seems for at least this moment, is far more simple than I and others are making it out to be. If facts are faced, we are out of control of everything surrounding us. What we are in control of though, despite our losing track of it sometimes, is ourselves. We can control what we do and how we let those things that are out of our control affect us. What we are in control of is our willingness to respect and accept the things in life that have been thrust upon us and walk forward with our heads held higher than high.

“Freedom is wasted on animals.”

Freedom was given to animals in order to let us humans find a way to be envious of it, to long for their constant supposed ability to live by no rules. Our envy was given to us so that we may learn to overcome it and admire the simplicit beauty of it. The truth, biggest of them all, though is that wings do not change the fact that they still must walk a hard, straight line.

Love does not need to be reciprocated in order to be acknowledged and real.

Love is kind, it is true, it is forgiving but it is jealous and greedy all at the same time. It will compel you to be the greatest and worst you have ever been. It will coddle and break you. It will leave you face down on the floor as only love can. In short though, it will leave…but Love is only lost when it is disrespected and forgotten.

Love does not need to be reciprocated in order to be acknowledged and real.

Love is kind, it is true, it is forgiving but it is jealous and greedy all at the same time. It will compel you to be the greatest and worst you have ever been. It will coddle and break you. It will leave you face down on the floor as only love can. In short though, it will leave…but Love is only lost when it is disrespected and forgotten.

The sentiments I convey are merely the same thoughts I have written over and over, they are the same sentences only with different synonymous words. I re-write these thoughts because I lose sight of the things I know in my heart to be true, the only real morals I have ever lived by. My constant repetition of them is not only to remind myself to always keep them in mind but because there are days like today and feelings inside of me like I am feeling now; there are moments like this one for instance or Saturday night when all of my beliefs about kindness, friendship, love and beauty are proven to be true. These simple, incomparable moments, moments I will never forget or pray to never forget are the reason I breathe. They are the reason, if only for now, that I am so at peace.

Kindness is often found in the souls you do not know and never truly will.

Everything about her body exudes sex appeal, every unch appealing. There is a longing in her eyes, a lustful secret she is begging to tell. In her breasts lies this story, in her hips that paragraph forms. As she moans and arches her pages turn; the story insightful, flirting and crude. Her tongue holds the subtext, of love and deceit. Her thighs beg him to stay, linger at least a while longer than the last. As she turns to her side, as though avoiding a coool wind, his arms reach for her and find her frightened, longing skin. Now though, it is not the same longing he finds.

I am terribly frightened and immediately, undoubtedly horrified by the thought that I may not be able to shake my well-noted and undeniable patterns of self-loathing. In lamens terms, I'm scared that I will never be able to love myself.

The difference between you and me is that you might wear this and love it, but when you get to school you pretend that it's all over a joke and prempt an strike that may come, I wear it because I love it. Fuck what anyone else has to say...(Sometimes I wish I could say that to the insecure girl inside of me and quiet her already nearly quiet cries. I wish I was that girl.)

What drives us to hate is not our pain or feelings of indifference, it is merely our greed. It is our constant need to feel superior, to have something that no one else has, to have more of it if they do. Hatred is our unfailing and unshakeable begging for power. Hatred is no more than a passing glance to us.

My head is literally barely above water at this point and I just keep sinking lower.

I miss you more than I hate you.

Your hand slid all traces of clothing off of my begging body, warm and wanting.

Your tongue slid itself down, dirty and taunting.

Your weight upon me, your skin against mine, your lips firm but purely loving left you no longer daunting.

A slide, a push, a moan, muffled screams.

The bliss of that moment still sends me irreplaceable electrifying, incontestably stimulating shivers in my dreams.

I will never forget you, never forget that night.

I’ll never forget the way you held me under the orange, pink, blue, awe-inspiring morning light.

I won’t forget those whispers, dirty words, admonitions of feelings.

I won’t forget the first time our bodies fell together, leaving me reeling.

I won’t ever forget the first time I felt pinpricks of pleasure over every piece of skin, under all my skin,

was spine melting harmonic rhythm, better than every other feeling has been.

Shaking, Shaking, uncontrollable.

My body contested by unrelenting fire and affection, inconsolable.

Until I am grounded once again by your arms around my newly calmed waist, rid of quivering flesh, snuggled in celestial euphoria.

A twinkling eye can mean many things. The pair twinkling at me right now are lustful, but not in the frightening way. They pull me in, send a shiver…or tingle, maybe, in the best parts, the parts that force his looks. I am meat in front of a lion that will take me in his firm grip and devour me. Maybe, if not only for tonight, I want to be devoured, be paralyzed, enamored and filled with and by you.

The most beautiful smile I ever saw was yours, yours and yours; my favorites are all of you. You once…we all once smiled genuineness in our lives. We have all loved ad showed it in our smiles, from the bottom pit of our temporarily inflated hearts. Eyes brooding contentment, maybe even sheer joy. Your smile, wide and warm, held the power of a cheetah, power that would draw him in to them; their eyes full of ocean passion, not so golden intentions but full of forest green lust. His lips, like perched birds awaiting their signal to fly, to soar you in to another universe. These smiles, my smiles, your smiles are my favorite.

"God could not be love because love was a corpse, because she lost the love of her life, and the only thing remnant of him."

Leave me to smile, to burn.

You tried, loved me as best you could. You loved me until we both hurt, loved me until I fell to my knees. You loved me, sometimes, until I was weak in those same knees. We really beat ‘em all, didn’t we? We were that classic couple, that symbol of undying love, the couple that granted the term couple. We were never-ending love, we were Romeo and Juliet. We were Harry and Sally.

What life is truly like is like a spring day, in the very beginning of spring. It’s shining outside, there is a whisper that comes from the sun, begs you to come out and play. You go outside in shorts, not because you think it’s warm enough but because you just want to do it. You want to break the rules, a right of passage in some way. You lay out in the grass, laugh with your friends until your stomach hurts, until you’re crying. You lay with them until they get too cold and leave you stuck in the middle of your mind, dazed, lost in thought. They leave you stuck in the middle of your mind, the part where the sunshine has inspired thoughts of future, past, dreams, wishes, misfortunes. Yes, it’s cold. All those irritating chill bumps rise on your arms but you keep smiling, won’t budge, won’t admit, like it’s not happening. You are searching for your sun, your happiness. Yes, life is just like that. Be cautious though, for what is given can be taken away. Appreciate all of the rainy season, all of this analogous life.

I want to explore each crevice of my mind, immerse myself in the thoughts I can and will have. I want to explore every second and photograph within the confines of this refusing to be confined mind. Nothing will encapsule the brilliancy and unfadeable thoughts of this mind. I will feel no earthly pull. I will detach but forever live attached to your own mind. Nothing will be final, this is only the bumps of the road for now, they disintegrate or shift as time continues inevitably, unstoppingly, quickly…and yet so slow.

NO ONE IS FUCKING LAUGHING WITH YOU, YOU STUPID BITCH, WE'RE ALL LAUGHING AT YOU.

...apparently I get really angry at girls in my latin class.

I am beginning to believe this is a problem. My longing is more than that, it is a nagging need curling and churning in the pit of my stomach. It is the one thought which continuously erases others, others which would generally take precedent to the rest, which would generally take control of me and my emotional state as a whole. My mind is consumed with the need for that euphoria, that sickening euphoria that when prolonged leads to this self-induced, self-inflicted, painful and draining crash. Without that, I am not me. I am a shell, a manican wearing a brightly colored mask. No part of my personality glitters and drips glory. It is a constant surge of emptiness, my life is without meaning as well as everything surrounding.

Outside of myself I can look in to myself and appreciate all of the brilliance and understanding that I unknowingly possess.

"I want to be stunned by passion so intense it knocks me right off my feet, down to my knees, where I know I'll surrender to this luscious insanity." -Glass, pg. 267 (Ellen Hopkins)

carpe diem

Burned, left to rot, dry like a forest that will never be able to fully rebuild itself again. A habitat is gone, a life is ruined, many lives are ruined. I suppose you've never done these things, but it feels like it. It feels like all of your assumed kindness, all of you and your artificial being could ruin so much. God knows you ruined this, us. I can't stand to look at you, to see the lies that lie within your eyes. What I'll never understand if why you couldn't just tell me the truth. But hey, this is high school. Should I expect more? No, I've been taught not to anymore. I won't forget that lesson.

Filthy girls are the best, dirt on my face and underneath my fingernails; both of them soon to be embedded in skin, both figuratively and literally. We are so passionate, so unknowing and uncaring of our imperfections and imperfection. These flaws, these wounds do not burt and hide themselves deep inside but live atop this skin. They arte the most visble, most love-enticing, most vibrant pieces of my exterior. We are unfrightened, again uncaring, of your judgements or misunderstanding perceptions.

I want you to sing to me more than I want you to make love to me, paint by my side rather than roll your thirsting tongue down my blushing and anticipating thigh.

The clarity of her voice in the middle of that could have been Summer’s day; A girl enthralled in the dream of a cafe in Paris, France; California, New York. It was inspiring. I mean, really inspiring, it gave me the kind of hope that could make a man feel like living. It was the kind of hope that woke me up each morning, faith to continue each mundane task I must performed. It was the kind of hope that continously leads me back to your heart.

With each laugh, there is a faint and terribly pained scream. Happiness snarling and intwining it’s hands around our throats, soon to wring themselves.

Loving someone, truly loving, is when you watch them and care for then in their time of deepest distraughtness, downtrodden and vastly unknowingly regretting. Loving someone is still loving while they love foolishly others without rightfully loving you. Loving them while they refuse to love you.

I’ve got nothing left to lose. We’re turning our backs to the few doors that are left wide open to us in this world. We are turning away from the warmth and compassion we claim to so deeply desire. I refuse to be that person. I am the eternally open door.

There is nothing you would not do to save yourself. You push past those that supposedly meant something to you and you throw them under the proverbial bus. Little does love mean to you.

I am not the type of girl that boys become infatuated with, I am not the type of girl that boys fall in love with.

Sanity is an opinion.

This facade is impenetrable. I, however, am not. All rationality is lost on me, all conciousness has faded. What I feel is not real. What I am is not myself. I am living in a shell, a rotting shell. All that is left is my mind which I've so distanced myself from. I know my ambitions, but do not wish to think of them any longer. I know who I am and why I am but I no longer wish to understand or discuss why I am this human being that I am. I do not wish to be alone with my thoughts because I am so afraid that of having them condensed, appraised at far less than their legitimate value. I don't want to be with my own thoughts because I am so frightened of falling apart. I miss falling apart though. I miss the highs and lows of being this supposedly insane girl that I am, despite my calm and insightful aforementioned facade. I want to think again, I want to know again. More than any of these things though, I want someone to listen. I want you to feel what I feel, to feel my skin and judge me not, to feel me. I want you to know.

more lost than I've been in years
I just want someone to listen, to love me.

will you promise that you will kiss me and mean it? the kind of kiss that we will feel in our bones, that will bring back the butterflies that I have so desperately missed. I want a kiss from your lips that makes me forget, just for the night, how literally broken I feel. Just one.

All of us are falling in love with the wrong people, the people that will consistently hurt us, the people that learn our every moves and know everything behind even our smallest of mannerisms. They learn these things, they can predict our behavior, and in those predictions they learn the lines that they can and cannot cross. They learn what we will forgive, over and over. The moment we start to realize these patterns, the moment we start to tell them what we will not stand for is the moment they flee.

What’s done is done and what’s past is past but for now in the present, your actions are current and unforgivable. What you’ve taken from me is irreplacable.

Your ability to walk away is a complete and direct reassurance that I can do exactly the same.

I want nothing to do with any of you anymore and supposedly the feeling is mutual. If that’s true though and if you hate me as you so claim to, to all of these people who never had a thing to do with this situation may I add, then stop talking to me. Stop talking about me. My affairs are none of your business. My life is not yours, you are not leading it. I’m not intruding in your life and I’ve not said a thing about a one of you. There’s more than two sides to every story. Please remember that the next time someone who “cared” for you so much and thought you were such a “beautiful” human being speaks to you the way you’ve all spoken to me and the way you’ve spoken behind my back.

I can look at the body of any woman, and consider it glorious and worth all human admiration. I can look at the body of a man and feel nothing, unless I have decided he is worthy of my love and his body is worthy of me cherishing it. There is subtle difference but real differences between our bodies, especially the way we feel about them. It does not take me much to look and be in awe, but it takes a lot for me to genuinely adore their bodies.

I am invaribaly frustrated every moment by how it seems some people repeat my words without actually feeling the meaning, hearing and just spitting out my opinions and sympathies without understanding or remotely comprehending them; I am also frustrated by those who are repeating my words and feeling the same. That’s not for any specific reasons though. I just love my words and mind and hate to see it reverberated in others, especially when I think they’re just mindlessly echoed.

I want to start anew. I want to be the person I know I am, the girl I know I can be if I would just push myself a little bit harder each day, and I want everyone to forget the girl that made all of those mistakes and inadvertently hurt people. If I make a concious effort every moment to assert the mentality of morality and humanity I possess, I can be the true being that dwells inside this shell. So, if you know me, fuck “who I was” and fuck what you thought or whatever you heard. I’m not that, I never wanted to be that. I was pretending to be that. Each and every one of you are guilty of it, so why is it so difficult to forgive me? It’s not. You just have to forgive yourself.

Chaos is defined as a state of extreme confusion and disorder. My mind is chaos, my life is not. My life however, as a whole, is rather orderly. I have the same schedule. I am rarely confused about what I’m doing, or my plans for my future, whether that future be tomorrow or five years from now. My mind however is constantly changing, constantly searching for the answers to questions that everyone is asking…and questions that perhaps no one is asking. I’m so intrigued by the answers to what I do not know, the answers that do not want to be given and the answers that I never wanted to hear. So, perhaps, I am chaotic. Perhaps I am just at this age where these things happen, perhaps I think more of myself.

Home is where the heart is, home is where my heart is. It’s all so where all of the heart ache began.

I believe, in the very bottom of my heart, that people are good. There is goodness inside of people that is undeniable, from the very moment we are born, it is just a matter of whether these human beings will show that to each other; whether they will deny their goodness and walk with those who will perpetuate what seems to be an endless cycle of viciousness and indifference. Some people find themselves lost and unwilling to put behind them the atrocities and pain that has befallen them. It seems to me though that if someone like Anne Frank, who suffered some of the ultimate monstrosities ever executed in our history could believe in people always that we all should be able to believe in ourselves. We should all be able to keep ourselves from falling in to the rabbit hole. “Despite everything, I believe that people really are good at heart.” I will live those words, if only so her death was not completely in vain.

It has slowly dawned upon me that there is no purpose in our lives. We are insignificant. For so long, I have believed that I am meant to be something. I am meant to be someone. I am meant to do something. The trust is that, in the end, I will not be remembered. The people that die after me will remember me, with loving thoughts and gentle words. They will think of me and smile as they go to sleep, perhaps even pray for my resting soul, but they will lead their lives as though I had never left. In the end, I lived this life for myself. I’ve done what I wanted to do and if I don’t do that, then I lived no life at all. I am more than dead to the world, I never existed. There will be no record of me, whether that be police or in a Hollywood Star. I’m going to go everywhere, do everything that I want to, everything that I can. I’m ready.

As I lay here, tears running down my face, like snowflakes on a dark day landing on my cheek. The kind of dark day where my warm, soft hair whips around my face and it does not feel warm nor soft. I don’t know why I’m crying, there is no genuine reasoning behind these soft streams of water. I feel broken and angry with myself, because I am angry with myself and I am allowing myself to be broken. I am used and broken. Nothing about me is pure anymore. I miss that, feeling like a child. I am not in complete control of my life anymore. Not that anyone ever is, especially children, but that is really what adulthood is. You don’t have control and you have to deal with that. I’m crying because this angry and broken self I am just wants someone to love her, and she is so afraid of being unloved that she gives herself. She sells herself. When she is finally alone, in this bed, on her own, she feels you under her skin. She feels your hot breath against her neck, no longer alluring but filthy. She wants to scrub herself. It is dirty, she is dirty. Behind that kiss, there was no love. Behind it all, there was only corrupted and foul intentions. She scratches herself until she bleeds, tears her flesh until there is nothing left to claw. You are inside of her forever. Of that, she will never forget. She is alone, with your foot print on her chest. The reason behind it all is only that she wanted you to be him. Each man that lays down next to her is him. She loves him with an unceasing love and loves you as she loved him. Afterwards, laying in your arms, she knows that you are not him because you do not have his scent. You do not whisper the same words. All she wants is that familiar breath, that is not what you can give her. You are just an animal.

I’m never full. I keep begging and begging for more. Hours awake with my eyes wide open, my mouth is wide open, my arms are wide open.

I desire far more excitement than I am living. I want to feel fire when your skin is against mine, for now all I feel is nothing. All I have is my apathy, rather than the butterflies that used to flitter around my stomach. Never have I felt butterflies with you. It is merely the mundane task of getting you off, occassionaly but rarely getting myself off as well, and then laying next to you and making the same conversation I make with every person that happens to walk past me. You don’t want to be with me, you never wanted to be with me. I’m comfortable arms to cry in and a warm body to have on top of yours for the blistering cold nights of loneliness. I feel like I’ve let myself down. I am selling myself for a love that is never to be, I am giving myself freely and receiving nothing in return. I suppose it’s just that I don’t want to be alone, or maybe just that it’s nice when I’m given the chance to be able to pretend you’re still around. Mutualism at it’s best, but also parasitism slowly tearing me apart.

We are all here and we are all fucked up. None of us really know what we’re doing but we’re out for ourselves, and somehow along the way we find people that we’re willing to look out for as well. We find love, then we lose it just as easily as we found it. We learn and we let go. We are here for a short amount of time and in that amount of time, we must live all of the emotions that we can, whether they are good, bad or indifferent. We must take every opportunity with open arms and regret the ones we did not take. We must fall apart and rebuild ourselves. There is no purpose in any of our lives other than to live them with as few regrets as possible. In the end, no one cares what you did or what you could have done. When we are all gone, no one is going to remember you. Stop living to be memorable, live to be yourself and everything that you yourself want to stand for.

I don’t trust you. That statement has been said to me, has been said to people by me and is a statement that lives in each one of our brains and is a part of all of our lives. Trust is a part of love, trust is a part of respect. Trust is the basis and foundation for most of the relationships in our lives. If there is no trust, there is, if we are all honest with ourselves, no kind of relationship. I can love someone without trusting them, that I am sure of because I live that every day. I can not, however, trust someone without having some level of respect for them. So, I don’t trust you anymore. It hurts me and it hurts you, but that’s just the way it is. I don’t know how to allow you to regain my trust and I can’t just give it back to you.

My opinions are just the words of a stupid teenage girl who is fascinated by people, enthralled by the feelings and thoughts inside of her head. My opinions are from a girl who wants the world to hear her.

Moving on is the hardest thing any child, teenager or adult can do. Moving on requires strength, a kind of strength that very few of us possess. Moving on is the ability to know how you felt, but understanding that those feelings are futile. Moving on is refusing those feelings and shoving them in to the bottle deep inside your chest that holds every emotion you’ve never wanted to deal with, even if the fibers of your very being are falling to pieces because you’re aware of the fact you’ll never feel just the same again because you just won’t. I’m not going to be the one to sit hear and bullshit you that you’ll fall in love just the same again, because once you’ve had those feelings, you will never feel them just the same again. You will never love someone as deeply as the first person you ever loved because at that point, the scars they left are far to deep to heal. You can love again though. Always, you can love again. It’s what we were built to do.

On days like this, I am not grateful for anything. Perhaps in the parts of me that I do not see I am, perhaps in the parts of me that I refuse to acknowledge I am happy for whatever your Jesus and God have given me. All I am at the surface though is angry and confused. All I want to do is break out of the walls of my cell, the walls that keep me this angry and confused person. I want to be more than the me that I am, more than the person you all know me to be. Inside my head, I know who I want to be and I imagine that I am her. Instead of the scowl on my face or a deceitful smile, there is a smile. It is a smile of genuine and true happiness, the kind of smile that not a person could refuse. I am nice to the world, for the world has given me nothing and no reason to be hateful. There is no scars that marr my wrists, face, body and soul. In my mind, I have all of these friends who would be here at my every beck and call. They are subservient. However, it is not a one way kind of thing. I am there, whenever they wish me to be. In my mind, they wish me to be every moment because they need my advice, they need my words of wisdom that always leave a sense of peace and calm resounding throughout their lives. There is no back stabbing. When we read things like Julius Caesar, we can not comprehend it, not because the words are difficult or because we are not educated but because it is such an absurd and foreign concept that people would so blatantly turn their backs to each other. It is foreign to us that a friend could viciously attack. In my mind, there is a family sitting in this room with me. They are doting on their only, their most beautiful, their most wonderful, their most intelligent and ever so talented daughter. They are not screaming, there is nothing being thrown. There are no broken dishes that so intimately resemble the appearance never seen of our broken hearts. In my mind, I am greater than the person I am. I adore even myself, even when this girl I have come to know and love is at her worst. I am crazy. This girl does not exist, this girl is chained inside of me screaming and begging to get out. This girl is clawing, kicking, crying. She is there. Of that, I am sure. I will never let her out though, because there is not a single being around me who deserves to see her. There is not a single being who would give me the kind of commitment she requires. You all leave. You filthy, dirty, ingrateful mother fuckers leave and she is not someone who can be left. She will hunt you down and ruin you. She is not everything good, she is everything just and right.

Time is never-ending. Although we die, the time that has surrounded us all of these seemingly exigent years, these ultimately insignificant years will not stop. Our lives seem so vast and imperative to us and yet in the end, we are so inconsequential. I know I have said this before. I guess I am just re-realizing it. I would like to believe however, if only for my sanity’s sake, that someone will feel when I a gone. For one moment, their time will halt. Some connection, any connection I have made will possess and retain a strong enough bond that some kind of telepathy will pass and she will know. He will know. They will know. It will be as if I am giving you my silent goodbye, my special goodbye; my undying gratitude. In words unspoken, your bones, organs and resplendent heart will know my irrevocable love.

For whatever reasons, I am infatuated with you. I am willing to be hurt by you; never will I understand why. I know the truth. You are my father. You are my mother. You are my past, present and the others that are soon to come. You are continuity and finality. Every aspect of you is going to tear me apart until there is nothing left. I don’t care. I am flying high, on every emotion available to man. I am superior. I am screaming at the top of my lungs and no longer is it a piercing shriek of fright or humiliation. It is brave, a deep and dark roar from the pit of my courageous chest, filled with passion from my bare and benevolent heart. What I need from you I will never receive, these feelings will never be reciprocated. I am beautiful, more beautiful than you can fathom or comprehend, than you would even attempt to comprehend. Acceptance has become a daily routine and on this day I will accept the fact that even when I am not alone, I am alone.

For unknown apprehensions, friendship seems like an impossibility. Despite my vacant stare, I am feeling something. I can feel myself breaking and it feels good to feel anything at all; rather than just wearing cheery adjectives on my face, exuding superficiality without hesitation. It is a shiel I continually carry. This is a mind set which is just that, set.

I will prevail. I will immerse myself in creativity and expression. I will indulge in flesh and delight in the beauty and in the disappointment that are human beings. I will leave technology behind me and learn the bare truth about myself, learn the bare necessities.

For as often as I judge without thinking my judgements through, make snide remarks without hesitation out of anger and feel superior for inconsequential reasons, I will also be one of the first to tell you that everyone has problems. Some times, as I’m sure we’ve all heard many a time before, we’re just too caught up in our own to recognize when the people around us are hurting. It does not matter what we are all going through, does not matter whether your life is ten times worse than the girl you know who is crying about her ex-boyfriend. We all go through pain, we’ve got to understand that, even if later these girls and boys realize that those problems were insignificant. For now, it hurts. For now, we cry. For just that reason alone, I feel that I’ve got to at least try and be kind to these people that I meet. I heard a quote once, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” In spite of my naivety I thought it a beautiful concept but then thought no more of it. Not until recently did it dawn on me just how true that idea is, just how groundbreaking it would be if people would take it to heart the way that I did not up until this day. At least now I can try. I want to be a better person, even if only to inspire someone else to do the same.

"let us laugh and cry and solely sing"

Simple Song -Iwan Rheon

I feel so happy.

It feels so wonderful to know who my real friends are. It feels like I’m standing out in my backyard, with the sun shining down on me. It’s like the first day of summer, after all of that spring rain. Even though I still feel like a fool, at least I know the truth now. After each mistake, I know myself. I find myself in those people who hurt me, regain the strength that I’ve always had and just forgot to acknowledge. It’s like I’m starting all over again, with a new found hope and a revived confidence. So, no matter whether I make this same error in judgement again, I can take solace in the fact that it will gift me these feelings of rebirth, balance and optimism.

With every facet of myself, I love you. I love you with all of those cliche words. I love you truly, madly, deeply, irrevocably, unconditionally, unwaveringly, stolidly, indefatigably. I have denied my feelings for so long. I know it is too late, I know that we will never be what we once were. I’ve said it many times over and still know the truth. There is just nights, when I lay in this bed, and I imagine that I can smell you. I imagine that you are here with me, as you were so many days and nights before. I imagine waking up to you and kissing you. I hold my teddy bear, the one given to me by you, so closely…as if it were you, I suppose. I pray that you don’t lose your beauty as so many others I know have.

No one has seen my body. No one will see my body. I’m not sure why I’m typing this here but I just want to tell someone anonymous who will not come up to me and ask, even though I know there are people here who know me personally they are not the type of people to do that. I will not go in to detail about my skin and the horrible marks that mar my body during the Winter but it makes me feel ashamed. I hate the scars that linger on my arms from rage and sheer stupidity. Although it is out of my control, I can not look at myself without crying. I hate the monster I feel I am. I hate how harshly I know people would judge me if they could just see. In some ways I am glad you are gone because I do not have to explain to you why I can’t take my shirt off when we make love or why I do not want you to touch me even though I want you more than anything with every fiber of my warm flesh and unclear mind. I can not stand the fact that it will not leave, no matter how hard I try. I hate my body, and sometimes I really don't like myself.

Moira Shearer

I will be the first to tell you that I can not dance well. I was told once that I would be good at it, but it has just never been something I felt comfortable doing unless in the comfort of my own basement. I do not know the names of famous ballerinas or dancers, yet I admire them so. Some days though, I stand on my tippy toes and I pretend that I am those people. For a moment, I am not worried about my skin, or the boy who left me, I am beautiful and even though no one is watching, I can feel eyes upon me. There is no judgement in them, just awe.

In my eyes is the story, in my soul lives the truth.

I am not perfect. I am delicate and rude and when I look at myself, I like myself. I am not horribly fond of myself but with each mistake, I learn more about myself, learn more about what I can withstand and learn the true meaning of what it is to be a good person. So, now that you have left and I have been hurt, I realize what it means to feel sadness and I am accepting of the fact that there was no real love to speak of. I will be just fine, for I have learned and experienced. I will move on as though you did not exist, but I will remember each kiss and gentle touch. I will remember each loving word and deceitful smile. I will remember them often and happily until the memories begin to fade and I once again find someone who will attempt to hurt me in this same manner, who will have the same intentions as those before him. This time, however, I will not be as easily swayed.

It is a sure sign of feeling and passion when there are no words, there is just music. There is a kind of grasp on your soul, mind and skin. There is a connection between two human beings occuring in between the rhythm and cadence of the powerful lyrics and purely breathtaking instrumental harmony.

The lights on the highway are dull and they’re cold but I’m warm with contentment ‘cause I’m on my way home.

I know that we have all lived this feeling and I just want to let you know that you can read this anywhere, you can find my story in the teen section, you can find all of our stories but I am here and I am living this right now and if you need me, I am here.

Every time the phone rings, every time I feel it vibrate, I am praying that it's you but it never turns out to be. When you tell me you want to see me, I get more excited than I do right before I go on stage. When I drive past your house, I just want to walk to the door and run in to your arms. When I drive past you, I literally break in to tears. Look, I know we're not in love. I know we weren't in love. I do love you though, I genuinely do. We both made this mistake, please let us both make it up to each other.