i woke up with a dream you didn't exist,
a horrible, horrible nightmare.
quiet, please hush.
don't wake the watchman
morning rises with the lighthouse
the sea is silent
my dreams are silent
you are silent
goodmorning, my child
there is so much for you to discover.
Monday, February 1, 2010
made of metal.
you fabricate the lies that drape across my bones.
it's colder than my heart,
if you can only imagine.
it's colder than my heart,
if you can only imagine.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
strict machine.
in regards to my life, as is, i'm not too huge of a fan.
i spend each week on a strict schedule. it's a 6:35 wake-up every morning excluding the days that start with "s", followed by a rush to meet standards and self-approval.
typically it involves a shower.
after that, i slink into the clothes that i bought at the stores with the popular brands, slithering into the serpent society wants me to be. i do my hair, i paint my face, i brush my fangs, i am "pretty".
well thank god for that, because only now can i proceed on with my life.
i either find some socks, or put on shoes that don't require them, and clammer down the seven stairs and with enough momentum, push myself through the garage door and into the three-walled ice-box. i pound my four fingers onto that rectangle that opens the garage, and scurry around to the driver's side of my two-door.
and the rest you can imagine. i get to school, i blend into the sea of hairspray and notebooks and neon colors because those are in this season and all the talk about who is getting with who and what's for lunch and did you see what you got on that test because i did really bad and it will most certainly affect your grade and just basically other things that don't matter.
and i get to my locker, which i finally figured out how to open on the first try, and i do just that. i get my things, and i close it, and i walk to class.
apparently this is news to the world, but i have places to be, like first hour, and i'd be more than grateful if you and your herd of swamp manure got out of my way.
so once i proceed through these eight hours of monotony, i am blessed with the brains and ability to dip out on ninth hour. it's really only for the elite, or those with a study hall, but regardless, i fit both of the criteria.
then, i get home, and on days that start with an M or a T, i drive a block away and work all night. i just, work and do things and break down cardboard and hand over hollenbacks and mix cement and sort x-rays and clean things and take out the trash and sit patients and write down abbreviated operations that literally make no sense to the average joe and give people magazines and vacuum out their mouths that are full of spit and water and decay and filth.
and then i go home.
on days that start with W or F or S, i drive exactly five miles to this establishment on the highway. i hardly even have a purpose of clocking in, because by the time that's over with, i'm almost ready to clock out. here, i take orders and clean things and make things out of custard and stock things and talk and be friendly, because i'm extra good at that.
then i drive exactly five miles home and kick my shoes off in the three-walled ice-box because my dog happens to like to lick the bottom of them, and my mom is afraid she is going to chew right through them, and so in an attempt to savor my shoes, they freeze.
welcome back, says my house that hasn't seen me in fourteen hours.
oh hey, i respond, why gee i'm surprised i even remember where you are, being gone so long and all.
my house doesn't say anything. houses can't talk.
and by the time i arrive back, there's usually a dinner i missed. it's never as good when it needs to be reheated. so i slump in my uniform that i am too lazy to pluck off, and i eat whatever wasn't wanted an hour ago, and i watch everyone relax.
half an hour or so later, i begin to look at my homework. depending on interest and general time-consumption, i opt out or opt in, but my mood is a large determinant, and it usually determines that i opt out.
as the hours hit their peak and begin back at one, i decide that i probably should be tired, but i'm not, so in an attempt i change and brush my teeth and take out hair pins and check my phone but there's nothing on it because there never is so i don't really know why i check anyways and turn off my lights and crawl into my bed and wait.
and i actually wait a long time, and i feel like i'm really waiting all night.
i just sit there and wait and think and be cold because my room is absolutely awful temperature-wise, and so i've got to retain my own heat with this lump sum of blankets i've acquired. and somewhere between the heat-retainment and thinking and waiting and watching the green numbers on my digital clock climb and climb,
my alarm goes off, and now it's tuesday.
i spend each week on a strict schedule. it's a 6:35 wake-up every morning excluding the days that start with "s", followed by a rush to meet standards and self-approval.
typically it involves a shower.
after that, i slink into the clothes that i bought at the stores with the popular brands, slithering into the serpent society wants me to be. i do my hair, i paint my face, i brush my fangs, i am "pretty".
well thank god for that, because only now can i proceed on with my life.
i either find some socks, or put on shoes that don't require them, and clammer down the seven stairs and with enough momentum, push myself through the garage door and into the three-walled ice-box. i pound my four fingers onto that rectangle that opens the garage, and scurry around to the driver's side of my two-door.
and the rest you can imagine. i get to school, i blend into the sea of hairspray and notebooks and neon colors because those are in this season and all the talk about who is getting with who and what's for lunch and did you see what you got on that test because i did really bad and it will most certainly affect your grade and just basically other things that don't matter.
and i get to my locker, which i finally figured out how to open on the first try, and i do just that. i get my things, and i close it, and i walk to class.
apparently this is news to the world, but i have places to be, like first hour, and i'd be more than grateful if you and your herd of swamp manure got out of my way.
so once i proceed through these eight hours of monotony, i am blessed with the brains and ability to dip out on ninth hour. it's really only for the elite, or those with a study hall, but regardless, i fit both of the criteria.
then, i get home, and on days that start with an M or a T, i drive a block away and work all night. i just, work and do things and break down cardboard and hand over hollenbacks and mix cement and sort x-rays and clean things and take out the trash and sit patients and write down abbreviated operations that literally make no sense to the average joe and give people magazines and vacuum out their mouths that are full of spit and water and decay and filth.
and then i go home.
on days that start with W or F or S, i drive exactly five miles to this establishment on the highway. i hardly even have a purpose of clocking in, because by the time that's over with, i'm almost ready to clock out. here, i take orders and clean things and make things out of custard and stock things and talk and be friendly, because i'm extra good at that.
then i drive exactly five miles home and kick my shoes off in the three-walled ice-box because my dog happens to like to lick the bottom of them, and my mom is afraid she is going to chew right through them, and so in an attempt to savor my shoes, they freeze.
welcome back, says my house that hasn't seen me in fourteen hours.
oh hey, i respond, why gee i'm surprised i even remember where you are, being gone so long and all.
my house doesn't say anything. houses can't talk.
and by the time i arrive back, there's usually a dinner i missed. it's never as good when it needs to be reheated. so i slump in my uniform that i am too lazy to pluck off, and i eat whatever wasn't wanted an hour ago, and i watch everyone relax.
half an hour or so later, i begin to look at my homework. depending on interest and general time-consumption, i opt out or opt in, but my mood is a large determinant, and it usually determines that i opt out.
as the hours hit their peak and begin back at one, i decide that i probably should be tired, but i'm not, so in an attempt i change and brush my teeth and take out hair pins and check my phone but there's nothing on it because there never is so i don't really know why i check anyways and turn off my lights and crawl into my bed and wait.
and i actually wait a long time, and i feel like i'm really waiting all night.
i just sit there and wait and think and be cold because my room is absolutely awful temperature-wise, and so i've got to retain my own heat with this lump sum of blankets i've acquired. and somewhere between the heat-retainment and thinking and waiting and watching the green numbers on my digital clock climb and climb,
my alarm goes off, and now it's tuesday.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
postmarked
i ordered a boyfriend through the mail.
his name is either elliot or duncan, whichever i decide i like more when he arrives. he is taller than me, nearly too tall, but not quite there. and he has perfect teeth. (i paid extra for that.) he has brown hair, which is kind of long, but not zztop hair. he wears big shoes and long sleeves, and sometimes t-shirts if the weather permits. he wears belts with all of his pants, and they sit just four inches below where pants should, and that is actually how i like them to sit.
his eyes aren't really anything special, but they're nice to look at anyways, from the pictures i saw. he's actually very skinny, so shipping costs didn't rise. he has kind of a sleep problem like i do, and he likes talking on the phone. he likes to go on adventures and he likes to laugh, and smile, and talk. and he listens to brand new. he likes driving, and likes to text me "goodmorning!:)" from what i've been reading.
he's got a phenomenal vocabulary; conversations are interesting, and he's got more to say than "yeah, haha" because that wouldn't hold up with me too long. he likes to read. he likes to watch movies and think. sometimes, at the same time. he likes to watch stars, and fix things. he's apparently very nice, except he's got an attitude of which gains him respect. maybe he's a little rude, but that's okay.
i'm rude too.
he's really interesting, to be honest with you. he spends all his time analyzing situations and organizing thoughts and just thinking. just plain out, thinking. and i like that a lot.
i just hope when UPS drops him off at my doorstep, he likes me a lot too.
his name is either elliot or duncan, whichever i decide i like more when he arrives. he is taller than me, nearly too tall, but not quite there. and he has perfect teeth. (i paid extra for that.) he has brown hair, which is kind of long, but not zztop hair. he wears big shoes and long sleeves, and sometimes t-shirts if the weather permits. he wears belts with all of his pants, and they sit just four inches below where pants should, and that is actually how i like them to sit.
his eyes aren't really anything special, but they're nice to look at anyways, from the pictures i saw. he's actually very skinny, so shipping costs didn't rise. he has kind of a sleep problem like i do, and he likes talking on the phone. he likes to go on adventures and he likes to laugh, and smile, and talk. and he listens to brand new. he likes driving, and likes to text me "goodmorning!:)" from what i've been reading.
he's got a phenomenal vocabulary; conversations are interesting, and he's got more to say than "yeah, haha" because that wouldn't hold up with me too long. he likes to read. he likes to watch movies and think. sometimes, at the same time. he likes to watch stars, and fix things. he's apparently very nice, except he's got an attitude of which gains him respect. maybe he's a little rude, but that's okay.
i'm rude too.
he's really interesting, to be honest with you. he spends all his time analyzing situations and organizing thoughts and just thinking. just plain out, thinking. and i like that a lot.
i just hope when UPS drops him off at my doorstep, he likes me a lot too.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
people wonder why i complain so much
i hate seeing bad parents. i hate seeing them yell at their kids. i hate seeing them abuse their kids. i hate seeing them threaten their kids. i saw that today, and it made me lose any appetite. that shit makes me absolutely sick. i can't imagine what kind of individual that child is going to grow up and be, but i like to think they'd posses the same sort of personality malfunctions that i do. we're nearly one in the same.
i hate when my mom cries. i hate when my mom gets frustrated. i feel like she's gone through enough in her life to pay off another two, and she just shouldn't ever have to feel sad or like she can't be helped or anything ever again. i hate making my mom feel bad, because she is really all i've got anymore, and she's really all i ever needed to begin with.
i hate being analyzed. i know who i am, and i know where i'm headed, and i don't need you to answer either of the questions. i don't want to hear who you think i am, or how you think i go about things, or what i think about in my free time, or where i work, or what i'm paid, or why i hate winter and my hands are always cold, or why i don't like smiling in pictures anymore, or why i don't really find anyone else funny, or why i'm almost always mad about something, or why i can't trust anyone. i don't want to know how the public views me, because it is most definitely always wrong.
i hate when my mom cries. i hate when my mom gets frustrated. i feel like she's gone through enough in her life to pay off another two, and she just shouldn't ever have to feel sad or like she can't be helped or anything ever again. i hate making my mom feel bad, because she is really all i've got anymore, and she's really all i ever needed to begin with.
i hate being analyzed. i know who i am, and i know where i'm headed, and i don't need you to answer either of the questions. i don't want to hear who you think i am, or how you think i go about things, or what i think about in my free time, or where i work, or what i'm paid, or why i hate winter and my hands are always cold, or why i don't like smiling in pictures anymore, or why i don't really find anyone else funny, or why i'm almost always mad about something, or why i can't trust anyone. i don't want to know how the public views me, because it is most definitely always wrong.
happiness, real.
YOU WERE ONCE HAPPY WITHOUT THEM, YOU'LL BE HAPPY AGAIN.
what i'm afraid of is the argument of that. i feel i, once, just won't snap back into being happy again. i feel i've been hurt too much and far too often to continue to follow this paved roadway. i'm tired of this bullshit.
me, all of me.
100% of me is tired of where i'm at.
i'm tired of liars. i'm tired of being used, and abused, and giving advice that i don't even know if it works because i'm never in a relationship to give you anything real, and i'm tired of being alone. i'm tired of being the third, or fifth, or any odd number, really, wheel in a group and just sitting there as everyone acts all couple-y and shit and i feel like leaving. i'm tired of feeling like leaving.
i've substituted happiness with dollar signs, and i suppose it wasn't too much of a change. money buys my happiness; i'm married to the government.
Monday, November 23, 2009
i hate
i hate the way you handle problems, or arguments, or just whatever the fuck you'd call this. i hate the way you've thrown me out of your life until you feel i'm allowed to come back into it.
look, i am not going to wait around for anything.
or anyone.
or you.
and i don't plan on starting now, or in a week, or ever.
i don't deal with ignorance;
ignoring people
problems
things
situations
ideas
arguments
me.
and the fact you have chose d, all of the above, shatters everything i've thought of you.
maybe i'm blowing this out of proportion.
but you know, from a first hand account, how my brain works, and what i've been through, and how i deal with being angry because i just don't deal with being angry. i dump my confrontations on people, and i let them deal with their fuck-ups.
here's to you, you motherfucking winner.
look, i am not going to wait around for anything.
or anyone.
or you.
and i don't plan on starting now, or in a week, or ever.
i don't deal with ignorance;
ignoring people
problems
things
situations
ideas
arguments
me.
and the fact you have chose d, all of the above, shatters everything i've thought of you.
maybe i'm blowing this out of proportion.
but you know, from a first hand account, how my brain works, and what i've been through, and how i deal with being angry because i just don't deal with being angry. i dump my confrontations on people, and i let them deal with their fuck-ups.
here's to you, you motherfucking winner.
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