You stand and watch.
You see the sky and the birds and the tops of trees and you think, isn't this lovely.
You breathe in the pure smell of morning sun and you close your eyes for a little bit.
You are taken by the feeling, you want to run and jump.
You want to be free.
It is wonder that surprises you, wonder for what it would feel like, the last time you feel.
Would you cringe to the thud of uneven concrete on your skin, or sigh to the force of wind over your body, or perhaps smile with the adrenelin. And what might you taste?
You imagine it would be something similar to sour lemons mixed with grape juice, or cheese and vegemite and honey on toast. Would it smell nice?
Just like the breeze drifting through the strands of your hair.
You are distracted by a sound, a giggle and mumbling.
Something familiar but shocking.
You want to be sick when your eyes catch up with your ears and you finally realise.
It was all a joke.
You said once "Maybe this is a joke, but a nice joke, and I like it."
But did you really like it, if it is a joke?
I don't think so.
You become teary, and kick yourself because there is so much more to be teary about.
The horrifying events trickling through your life that freeze your soul as you squeeze your own hands.
You can't be brought to tears by something so ridiculous, so insignificant, such a joke.
And that's when you remember.
Something small, but so big and dominating that you shun away and cover your eyes in fear.
And you don't understand how you could have forgotten.
Some say love is a figment of the imagination, but you believe otherwise.
You have felt it streaming through your veins, and tumbling around in your bloated heart, and swirling through your mind and dancing in your thoughts, like an unbearably perfect headache.
And, you unfortunately still feel it.
And there he goes,
on with his life,
and you yours.
So, what's the problem?
You open your eyes and stare into a haze as crowded voices cloud your thoughts and they slowly drift away.
You bite your lip, nibble a bit, and walk away, in your awkward way.
Your life goes on, not parallel to his, but at an acute angle, just the wrong degree from where you need to be.
You whimper softly inside and walk on through life.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Seven Days
It's like trying to fall asleep with your eyes open;
Reading the words, feeling the emotions, understanding, and yet.
So she folded her arms and hummed a tune about black birds.
Something to make you uncomfortable;
The note in the distance, sounding as you involuntarily pound in sincopation.
Warm socks with cold toes and burning sweat, trickleing.
A secret, meaningless, yet untold, curious, without a care, angry.
Small pages, a tear, an apple, a friend. Lost for words, lost.
Walking towards a beautiful rainbow as it fades to nothing.
A kiss on the cheek: A punch in the concave of your chest.
Metaphor;
What if she rejects me?
She won't.
What if she turns me away?
She won't!
So, I approached her and asked if she was ok.
She's not.
She said it was fine.
She's lying.
Goodbye.
I love you.
Lots and lots of words;
Sorry.
Bagel.
Fountain.
Scarf.
Rain.
Tissue.
Cuddle.
Stare.
Wince.
Glance.
Forget.
Forgot.
Animals;
Jump on eachother.
Play.
Hide and go seek in the sky.
Down to the creek for a bath.
Smelly feet.
Fun, loving, friends.
Jealousy.
To the point;
Wednesday the ninth of June,
is awfully awfully soon.
There may be a surprise,
so i'll close my eyes,
And look into the great big moon.
Inside i see a rabbit
I wish that i could grab it,
Hold him tight
and kiss him good night,
And realise your not a rabbit.
Where freckle and lip do meet
and hair is never neat
I whisper in your ear
something you'd hate to hear
and i frown lightly in defeat.
Eager to please
with a moment to seise
yes, it's true
you love me too
and my life is at ease
Then i open my eyes
and what a surprise
reality is here
to fill me with fear
and the birthday girl sighs.
11:11;
i wish i wish i wish.
but, you know it is not possible.
The whether man said himself,
that whether or not, is not that whether,
whet her, wet her, wet hair, wet bear,
whether you will or whether you won't,
the impossible depends on whether
you sleep with your eyes open,
or not.
Reading the words, feeling the emotions, understanding, and yet.
So she folded her arms and hummed a tune about black birds.
Something to make you uncomfortable;
The note in the distance, sounding as you involuntarily pound in sincopation.
Warm socks with cold toes and burning sweat, trickleing.
A secret, meaningless, yet untold, curious, without a care, angry.
Small pages, a tear, an apple, a friend. Lost for words, lost.
Walking towards a beautiful rainbow as it fades to nothing.
A kiss on the cheek: A punch in the concave of your chest.
Metaphor;
What if she rejects me?
She won't.
What if she turns me away?
She won't!
So, I approached her and asked if she was ok.
She's not.
She said it was fine.
She's lying.
Goodbye.
I love you.
Lots and lots of words;
Sorry.
Bagel.
Fountain.
Scarf.
Rain.
Tissue.
Cuddle.
Stare.
Wince.
Glance.
Forget.
Forgot.
Animals;
Jump on eachother.
Play.
Hide and go seek in the sky.
Down to the creek for a bath.
Smelly feet.
Fun, loving, friends.
Jealousy.
To the point;
Wednesday the ninth of June,
is awfully awfully soon.
There may be a surprise,
so i'll close my eyes,
And look into the great big moon.
Inside i see a rabbit
I wish that i could grab it,
Hold him tight
and kiss him good night,
And realise your not a rabbit.
Where freckle and lip do meet
and hair is never neat
I whisper in your ear
something you'd hate to hear
and i frown lightly in defeat.
Eager to please
with a moment to seise
yes, it's true
you love me too
and my life is at ease
Then i open my eyes
and what a surprise
reality is here
to fill me with fear
and the birthday girl sighs.
11:11;
i wish i wish i wish.
but, you know it is not possible.
The whether man said himself,
that whether or not, is not that whether,
whet her, wet her, wet hair, wet bear,
whether you will or whether you won't,
the impossible depends on whether
you sleep with your eyes open,
or not.
Friday, May 21, 2010
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.
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
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
Thursday, May 6, 2010
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?
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?
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
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
Thursday, April 29, 2010
The Bird and The Worm
I listen to Owl City, because I know how much you hated it.
I'm afraid to look at my own wall, because I kept the sticker you gave me, and it's right in the middle.
I wake up too early, because the morning winter chill brings me the security that left with you.
I write blogs, because I think you liked them once.
I cut my nails too short, because it doesn't hurt when I clentch my fists.
I watch Skins, because you said it was better than Gossip Girl.
I wear jumpers on the hottest days, because I still feel cold.
I deleted all my text messages, becaue I couldn't just delete yours.
I hid all sharp objects, because I can't do that to myself.
I wrote you a letter, because I thought it would help.
I said my feelings were gone, because they are.
I cry too much, because I can't help remembering.
I can't sleep most nights, because of the memories.
I fall quiet and wear my pensive face, because I forget how to talk.
I won't eat avocados, because they are your eyes.
I cut my hair, because you liked how it used to be.
I take deep breaths, because I knew I was right.
I love my friends, because they were all wrong.
I write down my feelings, because I don't really know what they are.
I fall for everyone, because they aren't you.
But, really...
I enjoy the feeling of crapness spinning through my mind, with each Owl City song.
I smile, because the sticker tells me to.
I love cold, winter mornings.
I write blogs, because I'm waiting for Gossip Girl to load.
And I cut my nails short, by accident.
I love Sid and Michell and Tony and Maxie and Effie and Jal and Cassie, but not Anwar. And, Gossip Girl is better than Skins.
I live in warm wooley jumpers, no matter the weather.
I deleted yours first.
The letter did help.
The letter made me realise that I don't like you anymore.
I cry when I'm embarassed, and I'm embarassed when I cry, so I cry more.
I can't sleep because I dream of terrible things, and wake up happy.
I have a pensive face now, so's I don't say stupid things or make bad jokes or cry in embarassment, I just look at you, when you blow out the pretty flame, dancing in my eyes as I play with my cheap lighter.
I hate avocados, and I always have.
I cut my hair like the Tony & Guy ad, because I wanted to be a pixie.
I take deep breaths, as I write this, and wonder if you, or anyone, will ever read it. But really, I don't care, so I write on.
I was right, and my friends were wrong, if only I'd had confidence in myself. But, I guess, shit happened, and I'm still ok.
And, I love them, none the less.
Yeah, I also write about the dead cat I saw on my way to school, and that metaly-petrol smell that I love so much, and english essays, all of which I hardly understand. Feelings, Shmeelings.
And, for the record, I don't fall for anyone. I just got excited at the fact that I was attracted to other people again, after so long of whatever was going on with me, and, you know, complicated my friendships, sexuality and mood swings along the way..
The fact is, I'm not heat-felt anymore, if I ever was. Sure, I'm an emotional whore, and I talk about myself too much, and theres quite a handful of beautiful people who aparently enjoy spending time with me, but, to quote Ben Folds and Regina Spector, You Don't Know Me At All.
You don't know that I can't stand loosing Monopoly, and that singing is my favourite thing to do in the world ever, and that I'll never reach my dreams, so I'm making up new one's along the way, and that I wrote you half a song which ended with the words "I love you" because I thought I would one day, and how much I love drinking milk from the carton. And you never noticed the way I looked up into the corner of my eyes ever now and again, and you didn't even realise that you couldn't handle me for more than exactly 2 months and one day, and finally, FINALLY, I don't care anymore. Beause as beautiful and wonderful and sweet and lovely as it all was, life goes on, and all I'm really thinking about now is how good those sliced strawberries and banana and chocolate sauce and maybe a bit of caramel sauce and vanilla ice cream and icing sugar, on waffles are going to taste, when I make them with the waffle maker Paloma and Julia are giving me for my birthday.
I'm afraid to look at my own wall, because I kept the sticker you gave me, and it's right in the middle.
I wake up too early, because the morning winter chill brings me the security that left with you.
I write blogs, because I think you liked them once.
I cut my nails too short, because it doesn't hurt when I clentch my fists.
I watch Skins, because you said it was better than Gossip Girl.
I wear jumpers on the hottest days, because I still feel cold.
I deleted all my text messages, becaue I couldn't just delete yours.
I hid all sharp objects, because I can't do that to myself.
I wrote you a letter, because I thought it would help.
I said my feelings were gone, because they are.
I cry too much, because I can't help remembering.
I can't sleep most nights, because of the memories.
I fall quiet and wear my pensive face, because I forget how to talk.
I won't eat avocados, because they are your eyes.
I cut my hair, because you liked how it used to be.
I take deep breaths, because I knew I was right.
I love my friends, because they were all wrong.
I write down my feelings, because I don't really know what they are.
I fall for everyone, because they aren't you.
But, really...
I enjoy the feeling of crapness spinning through my mind, with each Owl City song.
I smile, because the sticker tells me to.
I love cold, winter mornings.
I write blogs, because I'm waiting for Gossip Girl to load.
And I cut my nails short, by accident.
I love Sid and Michell and Tony and Maxie and Effie and Jal and Cassie, but not Anwar. And, Gossip Girl is better than Skins.
I live in warm wooley jumpers, no matter the weather.
I deleted yours first.
The letter did help.
The letter made me realise that I don't like you anymore.
I cry when I'm embarassed, and I'm embarassed when I cry, so I cry more.
I can't sleep because I dream of terrible things, and wake up happy.
I have a pensive face now, so's I don't say stupid things or make bad jokes or cry in embarassment, I just look at you, when you blow out the pretty flame, dancing in my eyes as I play with my cheap lighter.
I hate avocados, and I always have.
I cut my hair like the Tony & Guy ad, because I wanted to be a pixie.
I take deep breaths, as I write this, and wonder if you, or anyone, will ever read it. But really, I don't care, so I write on.
I was right, and my friends were wrong, if only I'd had confidence in myself. But, I guess, shit happened, and I'm still ok.
And, I love them, none the less.
Yeah, I also write about the dead cat I saw on my way to school, and that metaly-petrol smell that I love so much, and english essays, all of which I hardly understand. Feelings, Shmeelings.
And, for the record, I don't fall for anyone. I just got excited at the fact that I was attracted to other people again, after so long of whatever was going on with me, and, you know, complicated my friendships, sexuality and mood swings along the way..
The fact is, I'm not heat-felt anymore, if I ever was. Sure, I'm an emotional whore, and I talk about myself too much, and theres quite a handful of beautiful people who aparently enjoy spending time with me, but, to quote Ben Folds and Regina Spector, You Don't Know Me At All.
You don't know that I can't stand loosing Monopoly, and that singing is my favourite thing to do in the world ever, and that I'll never reach my dreams, so I'm making up new one's along the way, and that I wrote you half a song which ended with the words "I love you" because I thought I would one day, and how much I love drinking milk from the carton. And you never noticed the way I looked up into the corner of my eyes ever now and again, and you didn't even realise that you couldn't handle me for more than exactly 2 months and one day, and finally, FINALLY, I don't care anymore. Beause as beautiful and wonderful and sweet and lovely as it all was, life goes on, and all I'm really thinking about now is how good those sliced strawberries and banana and chocolate sauce and maybe a bit of caramel sauce and vanilla ice cream and icing sugar, on waffles are going to taste, when I make them with the waffle maker Paloma and Julia are giving me for my birthday.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Well well well well well, it's been a while.
And things have changed.
I've noticed recently, that I enjoy writing lists. Lists of what to do, what to buy, who I love, the list of things to do before my 16th, and just lots and lots of lists, listing things. So, I've made one for you, actually, I'm about to, and here's how it starts:
I've noticed recently, that I enjoy writing lists. Lists of what to do, what to buy, who I love, the list of things to do before my 16th, and just lots and lots of lists, listing things. So, I've made one for you, actually, I'm about to, and here's how it starts:
- Was disrupted from my aimless search for my stolen personal belongings, and endless crying, by fireworks.
- Found love interest of the moment, grabbed him, kissed him. Felt a bit weak in the knees, tasted a tangy mix of beer and packaged chips, saw the inside of my eyelids, smelt sweat and the inklings of a new year.
- Heard him say "This doesn't feel right", let go of me, and felt...confused.
- Saw something frighteningly snake-like.
- Woke up before 6am, read Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.
- Went to the police to report my stolen belongings.
- Facebook-chatted with the girl I somewhat idolise, for my boss's number.
- Got dumped.
- Made 80 cupcakes.
- Recieved great advice from "such a babe."
- Made a phone call, that unwillingly changed the next two and a half months of my life.
- Made an angry cake dog, and wrote a blog about it. Met someone special for "coffee", was uplifted and hopelessly locked in an awkward head-over-heels position.
- Went past "Wolstonecraft" station, remembering who's stop that was, gave her a ring, appologised. Realised how much the smallest phonecall can change things, again. Laughed.
- Met Dannielle and the frightening Red Cross voulenteers.
- Met Joe, Harry and Lachy. Was awkward.
- Until it wasn't anymore.
- Loved the beach, and a few other things.
- Held hands in the spa.
- "Watched" a movie about zombies taking over the world.
- Had own world taken over by sweet, sweet kisses and avocado eyes.
- Saw Toy story 2, for the first time ever, IN 3D!
- Did some things, watched babe and faulty towers.
- Had an amazing strawberry milkshake with the greatest girl in the world.
- Was asked, "Oh, are you a new year 7?" for the second year in a row, despite the white shirt.
- Was late for economics, and forever held the awkward seating arrangement. Was accepted.
- Met his friends and Tim Humphrys
- Made first boost.
- Went to fairday and met Tim's friends.
- Mardi gras. Smallwood. No comment.
- Heard a song, I rather liked.
- Got over it, eventually.
- Fell in love with Eeyore, the snuggly soft toy.
- Was dumped.
- Called Tim.
- Called Morgan.
- Wallowed in self pity.
- With the best friends ever.
- Wore thick wooley red jumper on the hottest day of the year, because it was safe.
- Cried some.
- Visited Papu, in hospital.
- Danced, finally.
- Saw Callum and Benita, finally.
- Listened to a song, thought of someone.
- Watched skins.
- Went to the zoo..
- Bought Chocolate Body Paint.
- Morgan
- Morgan
- Morgan
- Easter show.
- Work
- Sleep
- Watched skins.
- Work
- Sleep
- Missed south african boy.
- Work
- Wrote a letter to someone about something.
- Hid it.
- Watched skins.
- Felt attracted to people, for the first time in six months.
- Cried some.
- Enjoyed school.
- Hated school.
- Studied..
- not really.
- Questioned sexuality.
- Banana Buzz, thought of her.
- Did 7th grade saxophone exam.
- Was exceedingly happy.
- Dreamed of jumping off the top of F block.
- Woke up, smiling?
- Work.
- Banana Buzz, again.
- Her, again.
- Saw another him.
- KAROKE!!
- Was sombre.
- Listened to that song again.
- Thought some, Cried some, Slept some.
- Woke up.
- Did maths.
- For 4 hours.
- Finished A Clockwork Orange.
- Had cold feet, literally.
- Studied,
- no, really this time.
- Played my saxophone.
- Was happy
- Was sad
- Was menstrual?
- Watched skins.
- Had lunch.
- Realised english essay was (is)... shit.
- Facebook.
- Blue tacked old school photos on my wall. Laughed at my evolvng middle part, gapped tooth, ridiculous expression. Understood why people don't like me at first glance, or second.
- Or third.
- Waited for mum to go and buy me Frankie.
- Wrote this blog.
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