collar bones.

Sat, 26 Dec 2009 12:29:36 GMT

"I feel you've ruined me forever."

"Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could." - Louise Erdrich (The Painted Drum: A Novel)

Also, important:

"When it comes to men that are romantically interested in you, it’s really simple. Just ignore everything they say and only pay attention to what they do. It’s that simple. It’s that easy." -Randy Pausch (The Last Lecture)

"You can’t stop loving or wanting to love because when its right, it’s the best thing in the world. When you’re in a relationship and it’s good, even if nothing else in your life is right, you feel like your whole world is complete." -Keith Sweat

"You’re going to come across people in your life who will say all the right words at all the right times. But in the end, it’s always their actions you should judge them by. It’s actions, not words, that matter." -Nicholas Sparks

Fri, 25 Dec 2009 10:50:19 GMT

i thought maybe typing whilst durnk i'd stumble upon some new inovationsa nd notions. okay so, about my life?!! whats gooda bout it.
lets see

jeff is susch a heartbreak when i think upon it. he is so flaky and poopy and he s not that cool. did anyone know he texted joona all the tiem!!! maybe he texcxted melissa who knows. omggggggg alright ahtst sooooo no cool. omg okay

soooooo theres a lot fo epople in my life im prateful er
grateful for. theres my family, there' always there.

the YA RE

fuick it okay.

uihhhhhhhhhmm...

i sjust whish ther ewas a better way to e be.

i can't just keping keep wishing fo ru

wish upon a star.

i am alone on christmas.

its a weird feeling.
are you gonna tedxt me?

Fri, 25 Dec 2009 06:10:17 GMT

"What we most want is only to be held...and told...that everything (everything is a funny thing, is baby milk and Papa's eyes, is roaring logs on a cold morning, is hoot-owls and the boy who makes you cry after school, is Mama's long hair, is being afraid and twisted faces on the bedroom wall)...everything is going to be all right."

-Truman Capote’s Other Voices, Other Rooms

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 11:47:43 GMT

You're very beautiful, inside and out, and you need to remember this. Hold it inside of you, and where ever you go, with every fickle boy you meet, pull it out and polish it. Don't cry over a boy who won't even cry over you. When a relationship crashes and burns up, put the fire out and grow new things from where the ashes once were; like a fiery phoenix, simply rise above chaos and destruction with beauty and grace. Just remember, you are so full of strength and wisdom. And with every goodbye, you learn, you learn.

I just can't hold myself down with these expectations of some grand sweeping gesture. Real life is not a movie; my forgotten lost love~*~ isn't going to show up on my door step with flowers in his hand, begging for me back.

I'll say goodbye to so many people in my life. This fact alone is the most heartbreaking for me. I'm too much of a sentimental person. I live in the past far too much. If only I could place myself in the present - the concept alone seems easy enough but it is so difficult for me. For me to just text that cute guy, tell him I have a crush on him, that he gives me butterflies. I deserve to be treated right - I don't deserve any less. Why should I lower my standards?

I don't know many things. Life has yet to deal me a tough hand. But the fact alone that I know there is so much to be discovered is good enough for me; I know good things are headed my way. Trials and tribulations. Hardships. Our hopes and expectations, black holes and revelations.

I'm not waiting around for anything. I'm building up my life. With every new year, every year that passes, I grow up a little bit more. And maybe I can't go eat out alone, by myself, but I can tell you about these boys I once loved, or I can talk to you about how I think life is so precious, or how people are so hurt but still look so strong. How I admire the hell out of a lot of people. How I'm saddened by most human nature. How I adore jellyfish, who can just float around effortlessly without a care in the world.

I can talk to you about anything and everything. I will take care of you, if you promise to take care of me.

I have so much to offer you. All I want to do is float around and enjoy my life, and be happy. I want to be heartbroken, to feel angry, to meet someone I can respect, to learn new things that I never knew existed before.

There's so much out there to grab. I have such good people by my side. If I'm down, I can call them and I know I can depend on them.

And that, alone, has always and will always be enough. Nothing more, nothing less.

Sat, 19 Dec 2009 21:50:03 GMT

And if you don't love me, let me go.

Fri, 18 Dec 2009 07:34:03 GMT

I started sending you a note
Oh how I hope that you're happy
I hear you're somewhere in the sand
and how I wish I was an ocean
Maybe then,
I'd get to see you again.

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 10:59:33 GMT

What the fuck were the writers smoking? And why did they turn Link into a douche? And why am I even questioning this godawful show?

Watch it for lulz. Nothing else.

Wed, 16 Dec 2009 05:31:10 GMT

needtogetoveryou need to get over you you are not that cute you dont smell like anything you are very flaky you didn't really care about me you're just a hovering jellyfish you just don't care you are not stable.
this is not healthy. we are not right. there never was an us.

you are funny and cute but so so wrong for me.

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 01:24:56 GMT

I am far too young to be stressing out over silly boys. I am far too young to deal with a boy who doesn't know what he wants.

So. From this point on? I'm going to have fun. I'm going to pick up the phone. I'm going to date around. Not exactly sleep around, because I respect myself more than that, but date around. Do cutesy fun things. That's it. No commitment, hopefully, but FUN.

Alright Santa Cruz, here I come.

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 10:43:57 GMT

Risk

To laugh is to risk appearing a fool
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental
To reach out for another is to risk involvement
To expose your feelings is to risk
exposing your true self
To place your ideal, your dreams before a crowd
is to risk their loss
To love is to risk not being loved in return

To live is to risk dying
To hope is to risk despair
To try is to risk failure

Yet risks must be taken
Because the greatest hazard in life is risking
NOTHING

The person who risks nothing
Does nothing
Has nothing
Is nothing

Self-realisation is harder than
Self Sacrifice

{you've got to pick me up}

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 01:48:58 GMT

Because there are other boys out there, that want to kiss you and want to take care of you. They'll see you, and it'll be just like opening a present come Christmas: excited, nervous, and anxious - all at the same time. There is no use in waiting around for the boys who will never make up their damn minds. If you're treated badly, give up, walk away - because surely there has got to be better. This is the only way that I know. Why get heartbroken over mistreatment? No, simply, there is better, and there always will be.

So here's to all the boys who I never expected I'd find. I was caught up on the first one, but I cried him out of me after a month, only to find another one holding my hand. And after he climbed out of my window, left me behind and stopped talking to me, still, I said there's someone else out there. After him, this cute boy sat next to me in English class, where I didn't know anyone and my hands were sweaty and my gaze was fixed, and he introduced himself and probably told a joke. I think I fell half in love with him after the first five minutes of conversation. And it's scary, how you can tell when someone is about to change your life. And then I met this other boy, online, and he was so sweet and tender, and he really cared. He held my hand and held me, because he wanted to make me happy. But see, I got so selfish and self-deprecating, and I swore that I didn't deserve this. I convinced myself that I was a bad person, undeserving of such love. So I closed the door and ran away, scared of getting hurt, scared of being taken care of. And along came that one boy who I was half in love with for a while, and he actually liked me. He took me on adventures, he smoked hookah with me, he told corny jokes that made me smile so big it hurt. All these stories he had built inside his head, all the people he'd met, and all the places he'd stumbled upon, he shared these with me in short whispers, and I leaned in extra close to listen. I couldn't miss a single word. I didn't ever want to look in anyone else's eyes again.

But he failed me. He left me behind. Whenever he packed for his adventures, he rarely bothered to let me know where he was going. And fish began swallowing his cellphones, and I never was in contact with him. I'd sit in the passenger seat of his car, suddenly aware that that was my only place in my life: on the side, at a moment's convenience, out of the spotlight, only a spectator. While he drove to his dizzying destinations, I simply waited in my bed, eager for his call and for his new story to tell. I was so hypnotized by his big wavering arms, his wide eyes at the exciting parts of the story, and his crooked smile.

After he left, I was left in a crippling chaos. Just before the end of senior year, but just before the big college experience. I'd vowed to make summer unforgettable.

There was this other guy I met in senior year, but he didn't mean much to me. I simply used him to pass the time, but I got bored after a month. I'd realized that from now on, I'd be looking for the boy full of adventures in every other boy I'd ever meet. He needed to be: tall, lanky, dark, witty, (flaky?), whimsical... and absent. The dashingly unavailable prince charming.

He came back, one dark late night in August. He picked me up, took me to the wheel of donuts, and talked about how he was leaving. Off to another city, far away from this tiny town full of cows and empty hopes. Like a tiny silly jellyfish (mindless and souless?) he hovered in and out of my life, quiet and tip toeing through all the important parts. He was just as invisible as he was when he was in my life, but this time I wanted to hold him so much closer. I realized that we could never be, we never really were to begin with, and we never really should be anyway.

He kissed me, and held me until sunrise on an uncomfortable mattress perched on a hillside overlooking the freeway. And somehow, I thought that was enough. That was an adequate ending to our misfortune of a "relationship". Swept me off my feet, and swept me back down on my feet.

And as I walked towards college, I had this new kind of unfaltering hope stabbed into my chest: if I found such an ironically beautiful piece of garbage (read: treasure), why couldn't I find it again? Surely, the boys in Santa Cruz are a little more reliable, a little more grown up, a little more careful with a girl's heart.

But, alas, it seems that there are no real changes. And all I can do now is search for the right one to make me feel as nervous and as terribly hopeful as before. He doesn't need to be like the last boy who uncovered me so, but better, in any way. I do deserve love, everyone does. The only problem now is figuring out what is good enough for you, and what is not. To not settle for mistreatment and fickle boys. Because those boys hurt the most, those boys leave the most and deepest scars.

One with kind lips, coffee hair and/gentle fingers to strum across the waves.

Tue, 08 Dec 2009 09:40:06 GMT

"And inexplicably, she wanted him to understand her. In him, she saw a bright golden light: one of tenderness and unstoppable passion. For so long, she had locked herself away from the world, convinced no one would ever truly hold out their hand for her. The boys past had all been nice, simply to pass the time. Truly, she wished to awaken one day in a world where she could breathe easy, with the simple understanding that she had someone to love, fully and wholly."

I'm so done with waiting around for some silly indecisive boy to figure out whether he wants to be with me or not. How unfair is that? I shouldn't pine away next to a pond, tickling trees and plucking petals off of flowers, wishing you'd simply return where I used to think you belonged. It's another hopeless game: he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me when? he loves me how? he loves me sometimes, he loves me never. he'll never love me.

So I'm making my great escape. Climbing up on stage, right after you've disappeared into thin air. The stage lights trace my every emotion, and I'm caught on stage, in distress and panic.
It's a matter of taking a few breaths, stepping back, and realizing that this is all one big sham.

I've read so much Salinger these past couple of days. He's pretty great! So, I want to try and read more more more booooooooks. No more finals! YAYYY. I also got my Holga today, so I'm superrr psyched to take cutesy niche kitschy pictures :3

Just watched Memento again. I swear, I've seen it before. I think? O GOD I'M NOT SURE.

Alright, welp, I'm done with finals. I think I might have these weird hang out thing tomorrow. Which I .. hope is still on.. O GAWD.

I freak myself out. I gotta go to that cute little forest spot I found the other day.

Sat, 28 Nov 2009 23:27:58 GMT

When I get my house, apartment, shack, whatever... i'm going to make sure the tiny bathroom converts into a darkroom. I'll take hundreds of thousands of pictures everyday of our life. of the forest, the ocean, the trees, the people i see.

i don't get into elaborate fantasies, but i imagine these little things, and it's enough to keep me going.

i'll meet the truly perfect guy, or one of the many "ones" there apparently are out there... and we'll live happily ever after.

bleh. i'm actually thinking positive for once! bravo!

INFp

Sat, 28 Nov 2009 04:26:18 GMT

If your type is Intuitive-Ethical Intratim - INFp (The Romantic):

++:You are a very romantic person and have an excellent imagination. You appreciate beauty in both art and life. Your creative nature cannot stand greyness and regularity. You always bring an element of elegance and originality to any situation. You understand others moods and dispositions well and will often use your good sense of humour to uplift friends and family. You posses a rich variety of emotions and you can apply it to many situations. You depend greatly on your emotions to guide you. Sometimes you show great feeling for people and may often idealise others. Wherever you go you often create an atmosphere of elation and optimism.

--: You have a tendency to be led by lofty aspirations to an easy life. You often complain about your emotional and physical state. Eventually you can cause people to tire of you and even doubt your honesty concerning your well being. Sometimes you waste lots of time on small talk and fruitless dreaming instead of realistic activity. You have difficulty forcing yourself to do uninteresting, everyday chores, especially if finances and household economy are involved. You often cannot resist buying something that catches your eye sometimes causing you to exceed your budget.

Fri, 27 Nov 2009 23:27:53 GMT

text messages if i was on my death bed?
1: thank you so much. for everything. you have always been there for me, no matter what, no questions asked. i love you i love you. i hope you lead a good life.

2: i'm so glad to have met you. with all your imaginative stories, you always gave me hope that tomorrow i'd wake up happier. and i did. you're a beautiful person, inside and out. i know you'll be happy and successful. don't ever let them change you.

3: i could always count on you. no matter what, you were a phone call or text away. we've been through so much, and we've grown up together. please don't forget: only you can make yourself happy.

4: i loved you so much, and so dearly. i never got over us. you were the epitome of everything i ever looked for in anyone. and i'm sorry that it didn't work out. but you are a good person, no matter what anyone says. i hope you find whatever makes you happy. or waldo. whatever you want, ya know?

strangely. i think those are the four people i'd text.

Fri, 27 Nov 2009 05:24:50 GMT

All these things. THINGS. Things. I'm so sick of the desire for material things. It's so bad when you're growing up; every Christmas: is Santa going to bring me a new Barbie? Some cute clothes from Limited Too? Was I GOOD ENOUGH THIS YEAR to WARRANT presents from some imaginary person?

New shoes, new clothes, new iTouch, new car, new computer, new new new.

This materialistic and consumerism driven society just bothers me to wits end. There are horrible things happening in the world, and all I'm doing is sitting here, typing away on my MacBook Pro, worrying about what I'm going to buy this year for myself and other people.

Presents? For what? For being a good person?

I really can't define myself as a good person, with the things I've done. I lie a lot, I break hearts, I commit little acts of violence all the time. I do such horrible things.

But that's not even what this is about. For people to think that they "deserve" things, with the money they've "earned" is ridiculous. Sometimes I really wish I could just move away, become independent somehow, and just screw everybody. I don't get into those reclusive mood that often, but I really am right now.

Because I've realized how just completely selfish it is.
Christmas has been turned into this ravage bargain-hunt. Black Friday is such a ridiculous day. I've heard all these ruthless stories of people getting killed due to some redneck low-class "stampede" at fucking Walmart.

The more I look at this world under a magnifying class, the more despicable it is.
And I hate feeling that way. I want to find hope in human civilization. I want to wake up and be glad that I'm here, learning new things and meeting new people.

I was so ready to go out in the world and explore. Find out whatever makes me happy.
But to think that all this exists? I'm not so sure anymore.

It breaks my heart. With everything else breaking my heart, this only adds to my continuing plummet into this makeshift emotional*~~ phase I seem to be going through.

I really need to figure myself out.

Thu, 26 Nov 2009 10:50:46 GMT

i'm just a sucker for you.

Walking Tall

Confident and friendly movements are key.

Mom was right: Good posture and a genuine smile are crucial elements of attraction. In fact, we register facial expression, hand gestures, and posture even more quickly than looks or style.

Those who look relaxed yet assured are attractive because they put us at ease—perhaps because we interpret others' movements using mirror neurons in our brains that engender copycat emotions, says John Neffinger, a political consultant who specializes in nonverbal behavior.

"Internally summon up the attitude you're trying to project," Neffinger advises. "Think about what you felt like the last time you truly felt confident. Once you've recaptured that feeling, you'll stand tall as you walk into the room."

And since we're all suckers for flattery, the easiest way to look good is to look interested. Channel your inner Bill Clinton by using steady eye contact, keeping your palms turned up, nodding, and pointing your feet toward your target.

—Carlin Flora

Tue, 24 Nov 2009 21:41:51 GMT

{if you knew I was dying, would it change you?}

Sun, 22 Nov 2009 19:36:22 GMT

It was beautiful.

I looked forward to this for two weeks. You! On stage! It wasn't a great magician's spiel either; it was you, doing what you do best. OHHH, that's so exciting. I'm too happy that this opportunity occurred. And to think it almost didn't happen! What a quandary. But it was all sorted out, thanks to the generous people in this world. AHHH, so many wonderful things happened over the past few days. Things are really looking up.

I still get hung up about that other Demetri, but it's alright now. I know it will slowly fade, and if it doesn't fade, it'll just be a permanent scar on my heart. It's nothing to be ashamed about: it's very real and very factual. I loved and lost. I laughed and cried. I lived.

These little experiences build up, shape me, form me. They destroy me and break me, but you need to embrace the past. I'm writing an essay about this damn it. The past is fraught with disaster and horrible events, but it is within this rubble that we must progress further. Migrate to the better. I understand this now, and I don't feel bad for "living in the past" or for "holding on to him." If this is my form of stability, shouldn't it be a good thing?

Until I can stand on my own.
I still wake up everyday excited for the numerous possibilities.

And...
everything isn't so bad. good things happen.
good things come to those who wait?

in the meantime, I'll bide my time here in this quiet city. Santa Cruz: soft rolling waves, cold foggy nights and damp mornings. I figure if I stay deep in this forest long enough, the light of the day will just wash all my problems away.

A little naive to think, but I've always been one to hide away from my problems.

Though few in number, they are still there. And that's what's keeping me down.
But I am happy. I think I am. I'm sure of it. And besides, I'm already fascinated by your smile. So how long until it happens?

BFF is just an illusion, a magician's trick, a sham.
But I was so in love with tricks.

Sat, 21 Nov 2009 10:28:52 GMT

“You’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them - if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry.”

catcher in the rye. j.d. salinger.

you, you, you.

Sat, 21 Nov 2009 10:23:50 GMT

The City In Which I Loved You

And when, in the city in which I love you,
even my most excellent song goes unanswered,
andI mount the scabbed streets,
the long shouts of avenues,
and tunnel sunken night in search of you...

That I negotiate fog, bituminous
rain rining like teeth into the beggar's tin,
or two men jackaling a third in some alley
weirdly lit by a couch on fire, that I
drag my extinction in search of you...

Past the guarded schoolyards, the boarded-up churches, swastikaed
synagogues, defended houses of worship, past
newspapered windows of tenements, along the violated,
the prosecuted citizenry, throughout this
storied, buttressed, scavenged, policed
city I call home, in which I am a guest...

a bruise, blue
in the muscle, you
impinge upon me.
As bone hugs the ache home, so
I'm vexed to love you, your body

the shape of returns, your hair a torso
of light, your heat
I must have, your opening
I'd eat, each moment
of that soft-finned fruit,
inverted fountain in which I don't see me.

My tongue remembers your wounded flavor.
The vein in my neck
adores you. A sword
stands up between my hips,
my hidden fleece send forth its scent of human oil.

The shadows under my arms,
I promise, are tender, the shadows
under my face. Do not calculate,
but come, smooth other, rough sister.
Yet, how will you know me

among the captives, my hair grown long,
my blood motley, my ways trespassed upon?
In the uproar, the confusion
of accents and inflections
how will you hear me when I open my mouth?

Look for me, one of the drab population
under fissured edifices, fractured
artifices. Make my various
names flock overhead,
I will follow you.
Hew me to your beauty.

Stack in me the unaccountable fire,
bring on me the iron leaf, but tenderly.
Folded one hundred times and
creased, I'll not crack.
Threshed to excellence, I'll achieve you.

but in the city
in which I love you,
no one comes, no one
meets me in the brick clefts;
in the wedged dark,

no finger touches me secretly, no mouth
tastes my flawless salt,
no one wakens the honey in the cells, finds the humming
in the ribs, the rich business in the recesses;
hulls clogged, I continue laden, translated

by exhaustion and time's appetite, my sleep abandoned
in bus stations and storefront stoops,
my insomnia erected under a sky
cross-hatched by wires, branches,
and black flights of rain. Lewd body of wind

jams me in the passageways, doors slam
like guns going off, a gun goes off, a pie plate spins
past, whizzing its thin tremolo,
a plastic bag, fat with wind, barrels by and slaps
a chain-link fence, wraps it like clung skin.

In the excavated places,
I waited for you, and I did not cry out.
In the derelict rooms, my body needed you,
and there was such flight in my breast.
During the daily assaults, I called to you,

and my voice pursued you,
even backward
to that other city
in which I saw a woman
squat in the street

beside a body,
and fan with a handkerchief flies from its face.
That woman
was not me. And
the corpse

lying there, lying there
so still it seemed with great effort, as though
his whole being was concentrating on the hole
in his forehead, so still
I expected he'd sit up any minute and laugh out loud:

that man was not me;
his wound was his, his death not mine.
and the soldier
who fired the shot, then lit a cigarette:
he was not me.

And the ones I do not see
in cities all over the world,
the ones sitting, standing, lying down, those
in prisons playing checkers with their knocked-out teeth:
they are not me. Some of them are

my age, even my height and weight;
none of them is me.
The woman who is slapped, the man who is kicked,
the ones who don't survive,
whose names I do not know;

they are not me forever,
the ones who no longer live
in the cities in which
you are not,
the cities in which I looked for you.

The rain stops, the moon
in her breaths appears overhead.
the only sound now is a far flapping.
Over the National Bank, the flag of some republic or other
gallops like water on fire to tear itself away.

If I feel the night
move to disclosures or crescendos,
it's only because I'm famished
for meaning; the night
merely dissolves.

And your otherness is perfect as my death.
Your otherness exhausts me,
like looking suddenly up from here
to impossible stars fading.
Everything is punished by your absence.

Is prayer, then, the proper attitude
for the mind that longs to be freely blown,
but which gets snagged on the barb
called world, that
tooth-ache, the actual? What prayer

would I build? And to whom?
Where are you
in the cities in which I love you,
the cities daily risen to work and to money,
to the magnificent miles and the gold coasts?

Morning comes to this city vacant of you.
Pages and windows flare, and you are not there.
Someone sweeps his portion of sidewalk,
wakens the drunk, slumped like laundry,
and you are gone.

You are not in the wind
which someone notes in the margins of a book.
You are gone out of the small fires in abandoned lots
where human figures huddle,
each aspiring to its own ghost.

Between brick walls, in a space no wider than my face,
a leafless sapling stands in mud.
In its branches, a nest of raw mouths
gaping and cheeping, scrawny fires that must eat.
My hunger for you is no less than theirs.

At the gates of the city in which I love you,
the sea hauls the sun on its back,
strikes the land, which rebukes it.
what ardor in its sliding heft,
a flameless friction on the rocks.

Like the sea, I am recommended by my orphaning.
Noisy with telegrams not received,
quarrelsome with aliases,
intricate with misguided journeys,
by my expulsions have I come to love you.

Straight from my father's wrath,
and long from my mother's womb,
late in this century and on a Wednesday morning,
bearing the mark of one who's experienced
neither heaven nor hell,

my birthplace vanished, my citizenship earned,
in league with stones of the earth, I
enter, without retreat or help from history,
the days of no day, my earth
of no earth, I re-enter

the city in which I love you.
And I never believed that the multitude
of dreams and many words were vain.

Li-Young Lee

Final Personal Narrative Poem.

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 09:04:55 GMT

Into Thin Air

I.
The spotlight burns the stage, and I’m searching, trying
to catch any sight of you.
The Great Houdini! Performing his last stunt of his astounding career!
The curtains rise and I hold my breath, biting
fingernails, popcorn crunching and anticipation burning
through my ears.
And suddenly: a glimpse.
The curtains rise and I’m staring at you: mousy hair, dark face, lanky body.
You introduce the trick, the disappearing act; and with your ever illusory presence,
with a cape full of holes, I watch as the drum roll reverberates
throughout the auditorium, through my chest, through my head.
Like a child, I am excited and confused and lost,
but I won’t give up hope, I won’t let them win.
And poof! You disappear into thin air,
with nothing but a thin cloud of white pale smoke to show
you were there, you were here, next to me one moment,
gone the next.

II.
But wait.
As the smoke clears, I see the trick, the sham, the genuine you:
A quick trapdoor aiding your escape, the big fraud.
The audience gasps but I cry instead;
Left behind, tormented and I can not grasp the artificiality.
The magician’s hat was quite the façade but I get it now, you see, I understand.
I used to believe your catastrophe was the Katrina of losses,
and I was picked up into your whirlwind of abandonment.
But no.
You are a dying dust devil, intent on destruction,
unraveling with the wind.
The ocean waves are untouched by your grasp,
just as I am,
and I’m searching for a blessing instead of a calamity.
One with kind lips, coffee hair and
gentle fingers to strum across the waves.
The storm raged past, and left a path of mess,
but it’s time to gather the rubble and rebuild.

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 03:42:57 GMT

I think the ideal guy, would be the beat poet. The man with a handful (chestful) of life experiences. And every night before bed, we both lay on our pillows and discuss what happened during our days. I'd learn his multi-faceted views on the world, how contradictory and absurd it is, but how much he still loves every day. and me.

and then I'd laugh and smile at his jaded point of view, because even though life has beat him down, he still finds the courage to wake up in the morning, drag his feet across the hard wood floor and adventure.

no amount of trivialities could knock him down. a firm tree, with roots deep in the earth, he'd persevere. and love.

and i'd hold his head in my lap, and stroke his soft hair, and tell him: life is not unkind, or unfair. it is just in its deliverance of justice and problems.

the only unkind thing is how humans respond to their battles, and whether they take them with their head held high or barely breathing and huddled in a corner.

and yes, we will both venture on, undaunted by our tumultuous pasts. and i'll love him, above everything. i'll inspire him and he'll inspire me. i'll take apart his head and extrapolate from him his life experiences, only to realize that we both are wounded and bleeding, but still walking.

and in that sense, neither of us is weak in any way.

{Strength in my bones, put the words in my head.}

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 22:06:17 GMT

I think I know now.

It's the boys with the hearts, the boys with words, the boys with thoughts that tuck you in at night. It's falling asleep at night, listening to his voice and knowing he's just. right. there.

Across the phone line, across town, a bike ride away, a phone call away.

Because it used to be, I was with you and you were with me, and I was content with that for a while. But my heart, that greedy heart, wanted so much more. And I couldn't help it. It's natural human desire to want more, to expect more. To hunger for more than on your plate. I wanted the whole goddamn cake, and I wanted you to watch me eat it.

I stuttered out the words, I fell down the stairs and I broke my fall with my heart.

I keep picturing you now, and I think you're the one I miss the most. Santa Cruz just isn't the same. This town could never be whole without you in it.

I can write these words over and over again, but you're never coming back.

Used to kid myself, thinking you'd be just around the corner. Thinking it was bad timing, but I knew it wasn't. I just didn't want you. I was just naive.

And now, here I am, in the town of my dreams. But it's all empty. You're not a phone call away, nor a text away or even a stupid silly IM. I booted you out, proud that I actually took initiative for once in my life, only to choose something worse.

I was stupid. So stupid. And I'm sorry. But that doesn't change anything.

You're not here, and you never will be again.

"I'll look out for you till I die... till I rot.. Oh, I'll remember you till I die, until I rot."

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 01:45:25 GMT

"If you knew that I deserved to be treated better, then why in the hell didn’t you treat me better?"

It's a strange concept, because it's as if you don't feel like you're good enough to be with someone. Some people are just so above you, on some visceral level, that it seems you could never provide for them what they'd need. And it's heartbreaking, in that manner, that you'd feel below someone. What makes a person higher than us on some grounds? Mentally? Physically? Emotionally?

I've felt that way; that feeling of inferiority when compared to some boy. And to this day, I don't get it. It doesn't make sense. Why WOULDN'T you be good enough for someone? Unless you're a horrible person, who a life full of regrets and mistakes, who purposefully never LEARNS from his/her mistakes, than maybe you really don't have anything more to offer to someone. Instead, you should learn to garner hope from within yourself, and reshape yourself into a better person (which INCLUDES learning from your past mistakes). But on the whole, I'd say that a lot of people are MORE deserving of love. This simple, foreign, but all too realized concept.

We grasp at it where ever we can get it. Street corners, empty boys, dirty sidewalks and unwholesome cafes. I'm looking for you, where ever you are, looking for a replacement. looking for someone better. to fill those voids.

and i can smile and feign indifference to the rest of the boys, but it's you that has captured me. "bewitched me," body and soul. where do I go from here, then, huh? You caused this, can't you take it back as well?

I'm stuck here I'm stuck here I'm stuck here.
There's so much better and I'm psyched to see it. Where are you, kyoote boy of mine?

So, I have to realize my own self-worth, resulting in a better idea of what I'd truly want in a partner. There are certain things you have to awaken in me, certain things that make me fall in love with you easier.

I wish you cared, my god, I wish you cared. It's such a paradoxial cycle: I love you, i hate you, i can't stand you, i deserve better, oh my god you're adorable, fuck i'm back in.

I do it to myself. I can't blame anyone else. I know. I won't complain.
but this hurts.