Change

Living is changing, progressing to death.
But as each day goes by we grow more and more afraid.
Afraid of what we don't know, which is our future.
We forget the boring repetitive motions, that make up the bulk of our life.
Our memories are full of frightening, exciting, and soul feasting events of change.

December the 18th,
It was saturday, marking the official end to year 10,
and a start to those long holidays, that you spend all year wating for.
I woke that morning with a sickly feeling, and a phonecall of pain and foreboding released my nausea through endless tears, gossip girl and ice cream.
A lot of things happened that day, so much so that I felt like I'd lost myself in a pool of distaste and emptiness. But, I was still myself inside, way beneath the exaggerated pain and suffering, was little old me.
Although, I was never little, but bubbly and excitable, of average height and form, large facial features, obtuse personality, not little. And, I am yet to be old. So there was enormous young me, sitting, watching and waiting for the moment when i noticed that flicker in my eye. The flicker of recognition and redemption of pride.
As much as the world changed around me, I was still the same me. And that thought, changed me.

January:
I was blatently rejected, then blatently accepted. Utterly confused.
I sang to the melody of my own tune, listened to my heart, and mixed lyrics with the flutterings of the unsteaded blood pumping. I had a job, friends, a beautiful family, at some point a boyfriend, a sore tonsil (only one), familiar baggies under my eyes, a year to look forward to, ironed white shirts, brand new matching knickers and five gum at hand. But something was missing. My mind.
It wasn't till the very end of this month in which i found it lying tattered by the side of my bed, beneath piles of unwashed clothes and school books. With it I found enthusiasm, to bring it back to health and let it live on with ease and limited angst. I learnt that teen angst was a waste of time, but practically unavoidable. So, my mind back flipped and let me accept that life was life, and would always be while I am alive, living and breathing life.

February:
My sister and I argued over the front seat like the spoiled brats we are, snickering snide comments towards eachother about how ugly and horrible and obese we were. My mum started the car. My sister complained about the music and how it wasn't playing in the back seat speakers, and in response I called her deaf, among more vibrantly worded descriptions. My mum drove on. I sang loudly and outoftune to bohemian rhapsody, my sister yelled at me, but sang a long with me. My mum paused the track.
My grandfather had been admitted to hospital with bowel cancer.
My sister and I cried, my mother drove on in silence.

March:
Sometimes you learn from your mistakes, and sometimes it takes a second go.
This change in thoght was inevidable, "LEARN FROM YOUR MISTAKES!" My conscience barked, and a patted him on the head and gave him a treat.
I fell in love, unreasonably. And it remains a secret, even to me.
But there it is.
My heart took over my body, and decided it most necessary to fall in love with something so far out of reach, so unattainable, that I would urn but not be distressed too much by it's precence.
The intensity was greater than my love for my undoubtfully, or if you're grammatically correct, doubtlessly, soulmate Basil, my best friends, my parents, my sister, my aunties, uncles, cousins, grandparents, pets. I could not, and still do not consume this lightly, or at all. There is no way that I understand what this overwhelming power is, but it exists, and will remain to be ignored until the feelings can be properly expressed.
I might wait years, or i might stop waiting.
But, the drastic change to such a feeling, unimaginable. Frighteningly unimaginable.

April:
I made a list, 16 things to do before my 16th birthday. It is now waiting to be exterminated.
Oh the loathe that I hold for this uncompletable list, which seemed like a good idea at the time.
Ah, key phrase "seemed like a good idea, at the time."
This would surely follow me through my life, with a tutt tutting essence to my swagger.

May:

Three days.

Try not talking for Three Days, and I'll buy you a Ferrari.

He said.

And he wasn't joking, or lying.

But, as it goes, I failed without realising, and proceeded to remain silent in my unnoticed failure.

Regaurdless, I learnt.

I learnt the importance of words and the strength of that communication.

The way some people just enjoy talking, and the feeling bubbling inside my bones when they simply would not STOP.

I observed, and entertained myself by attempting to communicate with people.

I told lies, without speaking, what talent!

I read books, and closed my eyes and ears and everything was gone except a smell in the air, and the pulse of my breath.

Life was beautiful, until I talked,

and talked and talked.

and kept talking till i was alone.

For, I have tried talking to myself.

Yeah.. it's a bit fucked.

June:
I will be sixteen, and I will be around dying, sick, old people as much as I can, wishing on every "11:11pm" that bowel cancer was just a dream.

 I will be Mary, and I will probably do a lot of regretful things, but I will die smiling, one would hope

The face of a child.

I wear it like a mask, an old, rotting mask with cracks and faint lines of loss.
I wear it all day and all night, even in the shower.
I wear it when I smile and when I frown.
I wear it well.

The many layers that are my life are piled high, similar to the leaning tower of pizza, only it's not quite so beautiful, and it has fallen many a time.
These are my layers;

The Cherry,
On top lies the cherry. I never much liked cherries, but some people do.
They stain your fingers for days, unless you wash them off.
Perhaps you enjoy it at first, and keep coming back, until you get sick of the little pip and the red ring around your mouth.

The Fairy Dust,
As a child I had always wanted a fairy party, but instead I dressed in my DW dress, with my John Lennon glasses, jelly shoes and fountain pony tails, and made wishes with the fairy dust of other people's fairy birthdays.
Blow the dust away, make a wish, and see what happens.

The Bubbles,
The bubbly, excited, quirky, jolly, awkward, fun, joyfull, energetic, overwhelming bubbles. The flow in a continuous stream, till that anoying little know-it-all turd, with the pe-nis on his forehead pops them all... Dick.

The Aligator skin,
This is a very important layer, as it protects the most important layer. The skin is breakable, but well guarded, and if you are not welcome, it will bite.

The Memories,
It pains me that one day I won't exist, but I can only hope my memories will live on. Expressed in words and songs and french kisses, these precious gems are greater than love. You, and you, also you, and perhaps you as well, are inside, a tiny poleroid of your soul subsides and I kiss it gently, before I hold it to my heart. Without a doubt the most important layer. And the pain, hurt, regret, erky feelings and longing, are all worth it.

The Cupcakes,
If you have ever seen me make cupcakes, or present cupcakes or even think about cupcakes, then perhaps you'll understand what they mean to me. I bake from the inklings of my heart for the pure pleasure of anyone taking a bite. This layer is love at it's best.

The Nail Polish,
Thickly painted and glazed over everything inside, it acts as a core.
Sometimes red, white, blue, yellow, sparkly or even clear, it provides a barrier, a shield from the depths.
But, it cracks in time.

The Whipped Cream,
Sure, it can be fun, but it's a little nasty trying to get out of your hair in the shower.
It's kinky and light, a tasty delight. But, fear it.

The Mosquito net,
There is no buzz inside.
But peace and harmony, boring?
I don't think so.

The Wombat's cave,
A place much like my room, as it used to be described. Where pictures and drawings and treasured memories hang on the walls, proudly. Where homework lays splattered all over the floor, a saxophone resting in the middle and that homely feeling you get when your mum expresses love, and your dad is genuinely proud of you, and you and your sister are playing card games and shouting obscenities by the open window. This is a place to snuggle up and have me in full veiw.

The Freckle,
On my lip, and my pinky finger.
You might notice it, and smile. You might be this close, and not even realise.

The core,
like an Apple's, robust and sour with a tinge of awkward.
Feelings are traced in tattered note pads, and stubbed out felt tip pens, and guinipig-eared pages of books, and funny faces made in mirrors, and the foot prints on my ceiling, and the traces of fingerprints around my heart, pushing the blood away and holding tightly.
Where do you put your Apple core when you finish the Apple?

Didn't you hear?

How am I to know

When it all becomes too hard

when your smile is decaffinated

and your laughter is drowned

By the coral shelving

along side mine

the blood stops pumping

and tears are your veins

The wind blows softly

And you fall

I am there with open arms

but what am I supposed to do

I close my eyes

and think a thought

so thoughtlessly fickle

like a freckle on a trembling lip

What is the use of living

if you aren't there

to hold my hand

tightly

Who will I sit beside

without words

but combined feelings

of peace

Who will I turn to

without doubt

but clenched fists

of angst

Who will I think of

without fear

but the other half

of me

I will count on my fingers

the seconds it takes

for a month

to carve into my heart

Show me a smile

that is true

And stay with me

i love you