November the Fourth of Two Thousand and Ten

Only now do I begin to feel those lovesick twangs. I think that I want you, but yet I do not. I miss what we had, what we could have had, but yet, I do not. I do not regret the decision I have made, for as I said before, it has shown me the sun (reference "Allegory of a Dark Cave" by Plato). I do not need to play a part in a play before I can figure out what was here, I know myself too well for that. It is just that comparison is a sick habit that I can not kick. Like I told you last November the First,"You are an amazing kisser." Some boys just won't stack up.

I've got the proof that I'm not yours anymore though. Unlike your worry, it is not some boy or some love note written by a girl. It is my physical evidence of change, my only status. Where did this come from, you might ask. China. I will wear it round, we'll see who notices.

You two, the boy and the girl, with the Friday hangouts, want to do it for Winter Formal? With my volleyball friend too? She's got a deep soul, I'm sure you will like her.

I'm so excited for tomorrow! Who knows what another day will bring?

'Between the stars lie planets,
like broken bicycles.
Traveled far to find a home,
but only to be broken and misused.
Why must I be so bicycle?
And you the sin.'

November Second of Two Thousand and Ten

Here we go again. New day, same play. She's right world, they aren't my friends. I mean, they were before I started treating them like play things. "Friends don't mess with your mind or fuck with your feelings." I'm a bad person and a bad friend. What am I trying to accomplish here by destroying them? I wish not to stand up for myself when I don't deserve it, but I know that I'm not purposely trying to hurt them. If I could be with them both, and please them both, but I can't.

I know now that my problem, how I have tried to deny it, is that I am on the rebound. Once more, as always. I wish no one had gotten caught up in this either. I want to run away from you two, and never put you through the damage my heart will take out. I've already stabbed one of you, but you won't see the blood 'til I pull out the knife. I wish I could tell you, other you, to run. But I can't. My sick self needs someone to be hers.

Even sicker, is that there's only one person I want. Only one.

'What sick sun is this?
Rising and turning the sky black.
What bright moons are you?
When did two become the heros of the day?
Don't save me.
Only I have sheathed myself.'

October the Thirtieth of Two Thousand and Ten

No. Whatever was thought, planned, meticulously pondered, considered, and believed stands true. If anything, it is only more solid with the light on in the room. Never once had I considered what was real until I knew what it was. I am the lucky one who left from the cave ("Allegory of a Dark Cave" by Plato). I saw the sun, and though it blinded me at first, I know only what is real.


"I am completely satisfied without the time."

You have to understand, I cannot reach out to you. I love you, it is true, but I can't do it. You know that this anger comes from somewhere else, and I hate to lash out at you, but I feel like you're always giving me a double standard. Always tell me what's wrong with me. Not crediting me with any intelligence. Not giving me any leeway. I want to talk to you, but I'm too upset. I can't even tell you that I can't talk to you. There just isn't a way for me to do this. The reason why we always talk when they're around leads me to my next paragraph (and the one after that)...

I finally figured it out. After all the suggestions for last night, and the endless possibilities, it only hit me this morning. And it smacked me right in the face (how cliché). It's my family (but more specifically my father). I realize now that I always felt that even though he always (had to) love(d) me, I strive for his approval too. In order to receive this, I must intelligent and have no controversial opinions at all. This comes to what defines me: I sit down, shut up, and take it. Take how he criticizes my every move, how he rejects my every proposal, how I will never be good enough, how immature I am, how (on and on and on). I only wanted to be his girl, the daughter he always wanted. I took a few steps off the trail and got lost, and now I'm on a separate path. He'll never understand why I believe what I do because he hasn't seen what I have seen (and the reverse). [Never again shall I underestimate the effect a parent may have on a child.] "[My child], I am so glad you agree with me on everything! I couldn't have said it better!" He just said that to me about the way I described the political propositions of this year. I...want him to love me, so I let my anger dwell within.

Onto you. It frustrates me. How things are between us. In at least two ways. The first being the fact that no matter how independent from men I wish I could be, I will rely on you (heavily), and I already find you quite helpful (for my sanity and stuff). It's so aggravating to think that I will need you eventually and it is so..confusing. I don't know how to feel about this. It makes me nervous. I can only hope that you would never betray me without my deserving, but I am afraid to trust my friends. I have lost them so easily, and they have cut me so deeply. You know what it is like to hurt and be hurt.

'Rising with the sun,
a blood stained flag waves.
Shut, then open, shut,
Falling and soaring.
Jump and caught.
Turned to smile,
Neptune and Pluto switch,
Uranus admires.'

October the Twenty-Fourth of Two Thousand and Ten

Day One with Six Days and Eight Days:

I don't want to remember what was happening last year on this night. All those happy memories. It's not easy to think back on those times and smile, thinking, 'That was a good day.' I'm sorry, but it will never be like that again. I remember us sitting against the wall, listening to heavy metal, leaning against each other's bodies...It makes me want to vomit. Because it was so pretty. And now, it feels dirty. Even those cornfield moments, I don't know what to think. You ran from me, but you kissed me too. My heart beat fast.

Smiling. That wasn't my idea of what I'd be doing today when I woke up. I felt the end coming. I dragged myself around the house and tried to stay active. Every time something would happen, I would cry. CRY. Over absolutely nothing. Like, I went outside and asked my parents if I could have cinnamon roll and some fruit. My mom said, "Of course." I walk to the kitchen and before I can even eat, I start crying. Sobbing. I don't even know. My parents kept bothering me about the dishes. I knew I had to do them, accept the responsibility, but it kept tearing me apart. I sobbed for hours and hours, without anyone asking. I didn't know what was wrong, why I was so upset, and the frustrating thing is that I still don't.

Our conversations always make my day. They always make me smile and get me thinking. Don't fade away. I really love it. I will always thank you. I will always appreciate who you are. Try not to change. I will always try to be there for you, even in the toughest of times. And I love to listen to you rant.

'Without the sun,
the Earth doesn't live.
Without the moon,
Earth knows know beauty.
Without love,
the heart goes on.
Without air,
there is no heart.'

October the Twenty-Third Two Thousand and Ten

Day Five with Eight Days:

I remember now what life was. Anger, not pain, not feeling. Everything inside consumed by hatred, eating me from the inside out. Everyone gets lashed out on. Everyone loses. Even me. I squeeze my hands together, trying to keep myself from feeling anything but loathing. I can not relapse; I must always remember. But that's just me, I am too stubborn. That's the thing. No one would know; no one could care. My dirty little secret, and I would never need to hide. Nevertheless, I would only come to hate myself more and thus begin the destructive process over again. I think that if I fell from the edge, I wouldn't be able to stop. And someday, I would just be a piece of blood.

I hold myself tight, clutching my arms, trying not to die. I cry because it leaves me gasping for breath. I found that life is about feeling anything in life. Anything but anger. That may be the only thing I feel anymore. What is this rumored sadness? A happy day? Where these times go?

'A whitened soul,
found in tiny spaces.
Never live an open soul.
Hold a you to never.'

October the Twentieth of Two Thousand Ten

Day Three:

Big surprise how you make me feel.

Our arguments hit me deep, but I do not forget. I remember when he used to say, "You'll be sacrificing everything we worked for. Our world together." -sob- I will never pity you again. Your broken heart is my play toy, for my innocent one was yours. I have forgiven, but will never forget. I watch carefully from a distance, only revealing what I must.

Nevertheless, you still make my heart beat fast. I'm sure that you are magic. When I see you, I want to make out with you. That would be inappropriate, though.

What is the theme behind your wounding? Broken Trust.
How? It's simple. I believed in someone, to be a good person, who destroyed my life.
This is my dedication to you, boy. You ruined everything I ever had going for me. You ruined who I was as a person; I still can't trust completely. I let you know me, and understand me, but you violated me. Never again can I be the same. Furthermore, for the longest time it was like I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THE TRUTH. Everything was so wrong that I couldn't even tell myself what happened. Now that I know, I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop dreaming about it. I can't stop hating over it. I was seven, and you were eleven. You know what you were doing, and I had no clue. Sometimes, consensual sound be defined.

'Looking around,
I fight away the light.
Can't stop water from spinning,
the time keeps dripping.
Is this a broken mind,
or a working soul?'

October the Nineteenth of Two Thousand and Twelve

Day Two:

Everyone can see that we have hit our rough patch. We're such Tauruses about it too. Stubbornly sticking to our principles, instead of trying to compromise. Telling everyone that we don't care what happens, and who knows if it's true...

Out of everything, it's disappointment that hit me hardest.

I'm placing the same set of letters on the table, spelling out a single word. Everyone else does the same. I place another set of letters, and they place their previous. I'm not really sure, but I think that everyone is convinced that if they make the same argument over and over eventually I'll see their point.

'Intertwined fingers, pulling,
walk along the rocky shore.
Separate directions without a care.
Don't look back,
I'm 242 gone.'