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.