Shapes

It's the circle in the square.

The idea doesn't work.

And I know it won't.

But I thought of it anyways.

Somehow the circle fits.

Because it's just lines on paper.

And lines on paper are easily crossed.

Almost 16?

1. I seem suffer an injury for every self portrait I take, this one caused head trauma from tripping over my tripod.
   
2. I'm terrified of dark windows I can't see out of at night, I've always thought there was someone outside looking in at me I couldn't see.
   
3. The last time I cried because I was physically hurt was four years ago, when a guy friend started smashing my broken wrist into the desk, because I told him it was impossible for my wrist to hurt at all so long as it was in it's cast.
   
4. When I was a baby I was born with a fluffy red Mohawk.
   
5. The one thing I regret in my whole life was going along with a plan to get rid of one of my very best friends. Everything was resolved, but every time I see her I feel unworthy to be her friend after what I did. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself, and I hope I never do.
   
6. I'm really freakishly shy if you don't know me, but if you knew me well, you'd know better than to think that.
   
7. I have a REALLY bad temper, but I'm very good at keeping it inside.
   
8. I'm not very religious at all, but it's mainly because I don't know what to believe. It's the bad thing about being imaginative and logical at the same time, it makes me very conflicted.
   
9. I think my cat is the best smelling thing in the entire universe; I just like to ENHALE her. =P
   
10. I really hate retouching my face when I upload self-portraits, but I'm incredibly self-conscious of my skin.
    
11. I've been told many times to write in to those embarrassing moment columns in magazines, because stuff like that seems to happen to me all the time.
    
12. Each of my ears is completely different, but I like to think it gives me character. J
    
13. I can't remember a time in my life where I wasn't confused, but I think that could be a good thing because I always have an argument for every side, so I tend not to miss many options.
    
14. If you examine the contents of my room, you can find out almost anything about me.
    
15. Last year someone I cared about a lot shattered me, and I'd do anything to understand exactly what happened in the whole messy thing, to try and help myself continue to get over it all.
    
16. When I talk about my insane British grandmother, I mean it in the most loving way possible, because I'm pretty sure she's where I got all my character from.

Broken.

I know I really shouldn't. It shouldn't matter at all. It's so stupid. Even if I knew it all along and I was just deluding myself that I was being completely, utterly, ferociously, back stabbed. I'm so confused but I shouldn't be, I should know whats wrong with me but I don't, I'm sorry, but I' guess I'm just one huge ass living faliure at life.

Careers Projects

Digital production, documentation practices, introduction to portraiture, first year programs, undergraduate requierments, portfolio applications, OCAD, Sheridan, Ryerson, residence accomodations, STU/SEM courses, Liberal studies, faculty of arts electives.

Nononononononononononono.

Why are you making me think of this now?

I'm too young to go to unniversity, to plan my future.

I don't want to ever leave my friends.

I don't want to grow up.

Faller

I smile that special tight smile.

My face goes the special shade of pink.

I feel the special little pulse in my neck.

My stomach twists in special knots.

My spine tingles in special patterns.

I'm falling in that special way.

Yellow Belt

It seems wrong for a girl to beat people up to impress a boy.

Maybe I'm sexist.

Dreaming with a broken heart

Last night was really great, I didn't think you loved me like that, I didn't think anyone ever would.

But unfortunately when I woke up I was only hugging my pillow, and it was damp from the feeling of abandonment and the loneliness wouldn't let me escape back to you for the rest of the night.

Life.

If I knew you in real life,

And you didn't live in a different country,

And you weren't taken,

And I wasn't too shy,

I could be your good friend,

Because you seem to be more me than I am.

Life isn't fair, but it's not like I didn't know that already.

Why, hello there...

Who are you mysterious flickr boy?

You and me may be the same person.

But I hate to say that my stream can't show you that.

I want to learn about you.

You fascinate me.

Oh no no no dear girl, this is a BAD idea.

But he makes me... smile.

It was a dream.

I had the most amazing dream.

Of a boy who looked in to the sun and whose eyes lit up into the most unusual shade of blue.

And he turned to me and smiled.

And he never said anything to me.

But I could hear his thoughts, and looking in his eyes I knew that he was thinking about only me.

And we sat in the sun together, and no one else could come in, because we we're the special two.

And they talked and speculated, but they never knew about our secret arrangement.

But the boy gave up trying to hold me in.

And he let me go.

And I got tired of staying with him.

And now that I'm free we don't have any sunlight anymore.

But every time I hear this boy I know's voice,

I think of sunny windows and blue eyes and sappy blog posts.

A secret.

I'd never felt so claustrophobic in my life,

than when I heard you'd set me free.

But if you hadn't,

I'm afraid I might still be in love with you.

Flash.

There's a new picture in my head I've been making for a while now.

It's too fantastically true and made up to photograph.

I love photography.

But this is when I get out my pencils and draw my feelings.

Ink

I'm a very multicoloured canvas, with unlimited dimensions.

But when you go in to "levels", and drag everything down, I'm a pure white canvas.

With a black splotch right smack in the middle, that you didn't notice before.

And even though there's infinately more white than black,

all you see is the black, because it's so much darker and different from the rest, it's hard to look away.

Hoped

Oh dear.

That's not good.

I guess I was hoping you stopped writing because you had nothing to write about.

I guess I was just hoping.

I should know by now things like these just don't go away.

But I was hoping that they would.

I'm a stupid idiotic naive hoper.

Mirages.

I'm walking through my desert.

And I've just managed to start enjoying the heat.

And I've found some people along the way I can laugh with and who can keep me company.

And things aren't that bad anymore.

The problems only come out quickly at night in the darkness, but I lock them away safely and they don't bother me in the morning.

But the heat is really quite hot.

And sometimes, even though I'm trying to enjoy it I miss my snow and my winter.

And when I see the mirages I do, I really hope that they're just mirages and not actually real.

Because that would just open up all my little problems and splay them out to bake in the sun with me.

And I'm hoping these mirages are real even though I shouldn't, but they can't be anyways because it wouldn't make any sense.

So when I look up from smiling and laughing and being the most out-going in the room, in to my lap so I can't see you.

And manage to meet your eyes across the circle.

I pretend I can't feel your hand through all the hands that are linking us.

And I pretend I don't wish I were sitting next to you so I could finally be allowed to touch those hands.

And I pretend you weren't looking at me and smiling when  I look up.

I pretend you aren't happy to see me again.

Because that would spill all my problems out to bake.

I've cracked.

I've craked, it was bound to happen someday.

Because I'm laughing and crying at the same time.

And I've never felt so happy at once before.

Or missed anyone so completely.

I'll just sit here smiling and feeling like the luckiest girl.

Who was hooked up from the mud and thrown in to the sky.

And has finally realised she can fly without her hook.

Thank you. So. Much.

Oh dear.

I love him still.

He's just too... loveable.

But it's okay.

Because I only love him.

And that's it.

Because he's sweet.

And it's okay to love him.

When I'm not in love with him.

Happy Birthday

Reminder at 12:00.

Happy Birthday!

Hugely decorated locker, mini cake, hugs.

Happy Birthday!

Whispered singing, embarrassment.

Happy Birthday!

Candy question right, unselfish Kassy, he said it like old times.

Happy Birthday!

Inside jokes, more hugs, free food, happy, silly.

Happy Birthday!

No presentation, slack class, hanging out.

Happy Birthday!

Unit test, being smart, Mr. Rennie remembering.

Happy Birthday!

Free cookies, photography, being brave, Carol of the Bells.

Happy Birthday!

Being mobbed;

Happy Birthday!

And it continues.

Happy Birthday!

Best. Birthday. Ever. I. Love. My. Friends. Life. Is. Good.

:D:D:D:D:D:):):)=)=):D

The Heartache Can Wait, Brandi Carlile

You're talking about leaving 
It's right about Christmas time 
Thinking about moving on 
I think I might die inside 

I'm thinking about years gone by 
I'm thinking about church at midnight 
I'm thinking about letting go 
I think that might finally be alright 

But this is where we shine 

Silver bells and open fire 
And songs we used to sing 
One more chance to be inspired 
Is what I'm offering if love is not enough 
Then stay with me because 
The heartache can wait 

It's not about hanging on 
It's making my deal with God 
If I could call one last truce 
We've given it all we've got 

Then I'm gonna catch my breath 
And make it a long December 
If we've got nothing left 
This could be worth remembering 
With a smile upon my face 

Silver bells and open fire 
And songs we used to sing 
One more chance to be inspired 
Is what I'm offering if love is not enough 
Then stay with me because 

Silver bells and open fire 
And songs we used to sing 
One more chance to be inspired 
Is what I'm offering if love is not enough 
Then stay with me because 
The heartache can wait

Epic.

You know that place?

Where you feel so huge?

And every thing you do is so important?

And you want to run outside,

with cinematic flashing shots,

to run to the climax of the movie?

And you feel it all swell up in your chest?

That flash of giant inspiration,

that makes you want to scream and play air guitar,

and make art?

That's where I'm at.

A Rant.

WARNING: RANT AHEAD.

Yesterday morning in careers I read a very dream-shattering article on the Internet. It was about how photography isn't art, I will never be successful as a photographer, photography is only popular because it's easy, and that if I did get a good career in photography I would be subjected to spending the rest of my life shooting mindless photos of weddings, babies and other creative-ly confining subjects. 

It's been eating away at me for the past couple of days, and I'm only barely able not to track down the person who wrote that article and kill them slowly and painfully. I'm not going to pretend I know ANYTHING about any of this, but this is my opinion.

1. Photography is an art. It's not just about taking a frozen image from our lives, it's also about creating an image that is ART. If you knew every tiny little technical detail on how to mathematically manipulate dials and shutters and apertures and ISO numbers and who knows what on a camera, in order to get the most  scientifically technologically beautiful picture, I'm sure it would look like a piece of crap if you didn't have talent. That's not to say if you had all the talent in the world, and didn't know how to work a camera you'd get a great photo, but there is nothing scientific about some of the greatest photos ever taken. Think about "Afghan Girl".It's (arguably, of course) one of the greatest photos of all time. Yes the colours are nice, the background isn't distracting. And sure, in this version her face looks a tad low in the frame to me, but honestly looking at this photo is that really what anyone actually sees? Personally, I see the emotion in her eyes and in her dirt covered face.  This photo tells a story, and it communicates something to whoever's looking at it and creates some emotional response. That to me is one of the many signs of art. I'm well aware how much technical knowledge helps photography, I understand what aperture, ISO, shutter speed, mega pixels, etc. are. It's hard to explain! You need both, but if you had to pick one or the other, go for the thing you can't learn. The invisible magic substance in your soul that tells you what you need to know.
2. It isn't EASY. I sort of touched upon this already, but you can't just flippantly pick up a camera and take a snap shot of something pretty. Even if you have talent, that's not to say you don't have to WORK to get it to show through. I personally am not even close to being an amazing photographer. I'm maybe about .000001% there. But I honestly feel that I've improved immensely from my first crappy little shot of wet pine needles to the photos I take now that I am personally very proud of. And I worked HARD to do that. I looked things up, I read my whole manual, I tested out every function on my camera. I took photos of identical things from different angles and lights, trying to get different emotions. I take maybe 80 photos at least usually to get one I'm satisfied with. You need to pay attention to different elements and think and see artistically.
3. Now, as to making it a career... that's one thing I still need to think about. There are so many pros and cons and lists and issues and decisions, I have no idea. I don't even know any professional photographers, but there are some I think I could maybe contact. I think it would be great to be a photographer, it's not something I just find fun, it's something I really LOVE and hold very close to my heart. When I'm out creating photos, even if they aren't the best, I feel like I'm doing something amazing and natural and calming and inspiring. It just feels like something I have to be doing. I honestly, truly, LOVE photography. I don't know if I'll ever succeed at getting to make it my profession, but whatever I do I will definitely incorporate it into my life.

And then... 

I went on to find one of the people who's work I admire most's photo to show up on DIGG, not posted by her. I was heartbroken as I read all the disgusted comments, the stupid jokes, people made fun of the COMMENT she wrote at the bottom. Hey, it wasn't the most intellectual thing anyone could say, but please people, grow up. 

My opinion on photoshop:

The photo was VERY heavily photoshopped, and I'll admit the original looked a bit crappy. But I've been thinking, and I've decided that photoshopping an image is just as much an art form as taking one is. You need to pay attention to lighting and texture and contrast and composition, and I really, really, admire this DIGITAL ARTIST'S work, because I think it's usually gorgeous and it conveys so much feeling and character through it that I find it difficult to believe that someone could be so stupidly narrow-minded that they would completely miss the entire point of her work. Maybe I've been using the wrong word for her this whole time, and I think I have been. I'd definitely say she's a digital artist, not necessarily a photographer. A painter might paint a painting. And then he might think, hey, this would look a lot better if I added some snow on top. And maybe I could get rid of this funny looking branch here, and add in a couple holding hands and walking down the street together in the background. And would people say it wasn't art anymore?

This isn't to say that anyone who photoshops their photos slightly is a digital artist, no way. I mean, even before photoshop there was dodging and burning and contrast enhancing and cropping going on, in the DARKROOM. I like it when people call photoshop and similar programs digital darkrooms, I think it's completely true, very, very advanced darkrooms with tons more features, but all the same, there's nothing new about editing our photos after we take them.

Photography is art because...

"Because there is a difference between a picture and a photograph. Anyone can learn to operate a camera. The art comes in when you start cheating the camera. You select a non-standard exposure and/or aperture, you select the framing of the photograph and its composition. If you are shooting in a studio you control the lighting. A professional photographer once told me that a real artist with a camera can take a black and white photograph of an apple and the viewer will know whether it is red, yellow or green. I learned what seemed like a million things from him but I still take pictures and he seldom misses the opportunity to tell me."

"Photography is an art for the same reason modern art is art. Its the process the effort and the thought that's put into it. Photography may not be as time consuming as other media, but all the elements of art are present. What differentiates a photo from a snapshot is first the art elements(i.e. rule of thirds, composition, lighting, line, shape, form, etc. that all would be present in a drawing or painting). Then secondly the meaning that is behind the photograph, which is also present in other art mediums. Fine art photographs are supposed to be worth a thousand questions not a thousand words. Granted, a photograph can make a statement, but along with that statement should come the question why. Photography is mostly considered an art form because it is meant to give a completely different perspective on the way our world is portrayed. I could go on about this forever......"

This is an endless debate, and I have about forty million different and conflicting opinions on it, so I think I may stop for now and go stew for a bit. Though I think the best comment I've heard made on this whole photography/art/photoshop etc debate has been:

"I myself do not use the word ART ever.
I never argue or even contemplate this issue.
I have replaced the word ART with SELF EXPRESSION a long time ago.
l same goes for the word ARTIST."

A bit blunt, but a very good point.

Ugh ugh ugh.

Why do I always hate you at night?!

And then in the morning everything's fine?

This is so stupid.

Shhh...

The hidden things aren't things when you  live here.

The hidden things are the lip biting and the tooth clenching to try and keep them all hidden.

When I grab my own wrist, and hold down backspace so I don't type that.

I don't hit enter.

Ever.

Sometimes the lid cracks and all of them look out and up at the world, and some escape.

Like Pandora's box, releasing all the feelings in to the carefully sterile world.

Sure it'd be great, and things would be free and there would be release and colour.

But not all the colour would be good, and some of the most important colours would be off.

So I'm going to keep sitting here, holding the box closed with my weight.

Writer's Block

I need names.

I need the name to think about the characters.

But we're the characters.

And we already have names.

And I can't imagine anyone else being us two.

No matter how much I don't want to be a character in your story.

Interesting

How unusual we are. You're with them and I'm with us. You do that I don't. You listen to that I listen to this. I never thought we'd ever talk, I never thought we'd ever want to. But we do, and there's only one thing the same about us, but it doesn't seem to matter as much anymore because we're both just people.

Coming through my cracks

You're getting in.

Coming from everywhere.

From my headphones, the photos I see, the words I read, the thoughts I think, media, friends, books, families, worlds.

In through my eyes my ears my mind my nose my self.

But stay out.

Because you'll never be welcome here again.

Have You Ever?

Have you ever?
Have you ever?

Have you ever
Have you ever
Ever found
Your forever?

Your forever
Like a high
Like a high
To find before you die

Do you know
Have you dared
To find you
You never cared?

When all it does
All it makes
Is a smile
Light your face

Doesn’t matter
Never has,
What they say
You know it as,

Have you ever
Have you ever
Ever found
Your forever?

Your forever
Like a high
Like a high
To find before you die

Doesn’t matter,
So essential,
That you find it,
Your potential.

It’s the thing
You never knew
You love forever
Whole way through.

It’s not the person
Most a thing, a place
When you’ve found it
Start your chase

Have you ever
Have you ever
Ever found
Your forever?

Your forever
Like a high
Like a high
To find before you die

Find your forever
Find your forever
Find your forever
Before you die

Go.

Lollipop

You're my bright red, sticky, licky thing.

You've stained my lips, and to my jeans you cling.

You're too sweet made with so much taste,

Unfortunately you must be replaced.

Fighter

Bruised, skinned, pulled, torn, sore, achey, cut, tired, sick, dry, cracked, limping.

Strong, fit, talented, stable, toned, capable, happy.

Love is Pain

I don't want to be one of those girls in the bad relationships with the boyfriends who beat them, who don't want to leave because they feel like they need the love and affection, even if it's twisted.

I don't want to settle for just any physical contact with guys whatsoever.

But after observing my heart for a couple jujitsu classes,

I'm starting to think I'm getting a bit desperate.

Conversations

What do you say when someone says "You don't care about me."

What do you say when they're right?

Do I lie?

Do I admit it?

I don't want to hurt her feelings.

Do I care then?

But... well... I really don't.

Maybe I would if I could get through to her.

Maybe I would if we were friends.

But when you care about someone it shouldn't matter at all.

I wish "I don't know," wasn't the same as "no".

Lights off spotlight on

With me underneath it.

On stage covers gone

Scary I'll admit.

My Profile.

Name: Andrea Rose
Age: Too young.
Height: 5'5"
Status: Single
Interested in: Guys, not men.
Looking for: A guy, acceptance, friendship, dating, a relationship, love.
Getting over: The name that hurts when spoken.
Likes: J, A, S, J.
Listening to: Set Down Your Glass by Snow Patrol.
Favorite part: I'm shaking, then I'm still. When your eyes meet mine I lose simple skills, like to tell you all I want, is now.

We're waiting.

We're all sitting around looking at each other.
Occasionally we glance at the empty chair.
We don't know what to do with ourselves.
We're not sure how to behave when you haven't arrived yet.
Ever since the chair was emptied, we've been wondering if anyone will fit there as naturally and perfectly as he did.
We're not really sure of anything anymore.
All we can do is wait.

Pride is hard to swallow.

Link:

That was difficult. You better appreciate this girl.

Hate.

Blood pulsing heart beating eyes narrowing.

Keys tapping mouse clicking windows flying.

I wish you would vanish.

I seriously want you to disappear off the face of the planet.

You're the only thing left tying me to them, and I want you to let me the fuck go.

Never ever speak to me again.

How dare you you stupid little immature bitch.

I can't belieeve I ever tried to help you.

That was a fucking low blow.

I want you gone.

I never want to think about you, hear your name, see your face again.

To think I was worried about you.

You deserve all this. You deserve every little bit of the crap you're putting yourself through.

Leave me the hell alone and go shatter someone else's happiness.

NIIICEEEE!!! That was a spectacular waste of a morning, but it showcases my musical genius. :D:D

Echo.

Echo. Echo. Echo.

I re-read it with a clear mind. And it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would.

It didn't even hurt at all really. There was the tiniest whisper of a forgotten echo of feeling that's long gone, and then nothing. I think I'm supposed to be happy about that.

ARRRGGGHHHH.

You're a stupid stupid stupid boy.

With your stupid little half grown moustache that looks really ugly and your stupid funny shaped head that seems to only hold a couple random math skills.

And your stupid long eyelashes and unusual blue eyes.

And your stupid scratchy pre-pubescent voice and your stupid friendly uniqueness that managed to ensnare me in your stupid stupid little net.

And your stupid ugly coloured hoodies that I used to wanted so badly to wrap up inside.

And your stupid STUPID friends who you would date and NOT ME.

YOU'RE STUPID PICKINESS, HOW DARE YOU?

HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT?

HOW DARE YOU?

HOW COULD YOU HAVE EVER POSSIBLY CHOSEN THEM AND NOT ME?

And you tell this to SARAH.

How dare you have the nerve to talk to me after everything you don't even know you've done.

You stupid stupid stupid little boy.

How DARE you.

The stupid way you keep giving me these stupid flashbacks of all out stupid little good times when we were alone together.

Stupid times when you were excited you got me all to yourself.

Oh, oh yes.

You said so yourself, I have the conversation history to PROVE it.

And I haven't read it for ages but I know it all off by heart anyways.

Every little thing you did right just made every huge thing you did wrong even worse.

And you did every possible wrong thing wrong.

You could have made this easy for me.

Quick and clean and easy, no strings attached.

But instead you ripped me apart and tore my skin and shredded my heart with your teeth.

You stabbed me in the chest with a rusty spoon and scooped out my heart in the most violent gruesome way you possibly could have!

GOD YOU'RE GOING TO BE BAD AT BIOLOGY.

Stupid stupid little boy you have no idea what you've done. When you look at me and I look at you and we walk past each other with cold expressions of indifference, you have no idea what I'm thinking.

No, I don't hate you.

No, I definitely don't love you.

Yes, I'd be sad if you left.

No, I wont care if we never speak again.

I'm done. Over. Finished with you.

I'm only still battling with the angry scars you left behind.

I don't do words.

I am not a word person.

I can't think in words. When I think in words I confuse myself and wonder what ever made me want to think in words because words don't make sense. And I don't communicate with words. I can try but it doesn't work because how can I show how I feel and think in a different format than the way I actually do? See that didn't even sound right, because it was in WORDS. And I don't do words. 

I am a picture person.

I think in pictures. And colours and light and sparkles and fire and ice and feelings and images. I can't give someone advice in pictures because how am I supposed to get pictures to come out of my mouth? There's no body part that allows us to exactly show what picture we're thinking of. We can't project them from our eyes. We can try and draw them but that never ends up being completely right. We can take photos, which is the closest we've ever got to the truth. But I don;t know if I want to take all the photos that show my picture thoughts, because I'm thinking there's a reason we cant naturally show people our pictures. Maybe they're not supposed to see them.

Bolt

The air is still and warm.

It's muggy and it's hard to breath.

Something's charging up in the air the pressures building.

The hairs stand up on someone's neck.

A buzzing noise and anticipation and someone looks up to the angry clouds and opens their eyes.

Then the strike comes hard and fast and electrifying and shocking.

Someone laughs and smiles and cries and screams as the electricity flies through their body setting everything on fire.

Someone is burnt and charred and collapses and dissolves into a pile of gray ashes.

And everything around them is gray and charred and ashes and dead.

And the air settles and the pressure relents and the storm goes away.

And the sun comes out and lights up everything except for the dull gray charred dead spot where the thrillseeker used to stand.

And the grass and trees and the top of the hill are all dead too.

And when the clouds come back angain or whenever a shadow passes over the dead spot,

A new bud and growth and sprout of a new thrillseeker comes up to welcome the strike soley for the moment of exhilerated torture that will kill them with its awesome power.

Claws

Standing in the dark room with every one else. They're screaming and crying and moaning and suffering. It's so dark, we can't see each other's faces, so we can't see who it is exactly who's doing what. We keep the lights off so no one will know. I'm screaming with them, but a little bit quieter, because I'm afraid someone will recognise my voice anyways. And I don;t know if anyone else is like me, but the whole time I'm thinking and wondering what would happen  if I just left the room, to get away from all the pain. I consider this, but then I realise that everyone here needs me, because I'm the only one thinking enough to listen, and even if there's nothing I can do I'm the listener, and that's my job, and who knows what would happen without me in that room. But sometimes I get so fed up, and I just want to leave that place and be selfish for once and go off and leave the room and all the suffering people. So I open the door a crack and quietly slip out in to the light. It's blinding at first, but I feel happy and free and wild. But I hear the whispers coming from behind the closed doors still, no matter how hard I try and plug my ears. And a shadowy hand reaches out from behind the crack in the door and brushes at my arm. I shake it off and try to ignore it, but it's there. The whispers are telling me I'm stupid and selfish and I'm neglecting my job. I try not to listen. I want to HELP the people out of the room so they can stay with me in the light, but none of them want to listen. They might make the occaisional visit, but no one is able to stay, they all get sucked back in. I'm different though. I don't get sucked back in. Instead, I get dragged as the shadowy hand reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me kicking and screaming back in to the darkness.

Boy.

You could be happy and I won't know
But you weren't happy the day I watched you go

And all the things that I wished I had not said
Are played in loops 'till it's madness in my head

Is it too late to remind you how we were
But not our last days of silence, screaming, blur

Most of what I remember makes me sure
I should have stopped you from walking out the door

You could be happy, I hope you are
You made me happier than I'd been by far

Somehow everything I own smells of you
And for the tiniest moment it's all not true

Do the things that you always wanted to
Without me there to hold you back, don't think, just do

More than anything I want to see you, girl boy
Take a glorious bite out of the whole world

Never

I wish you would do one thing.

That would make me think I didn't care about you more.

Than you care about me.

Oh well.

That's never going to happen.

True Love

First think. Then walk, and look so you can find. Then crouch or stand or balance or lie or twist. Then stare and think. Then try auto. Then use manual. Changing aperture for depth of field. Changing shutter speed for light. Do I need tripod? Hate tripod. Look more. Think more. See. Stop thinking. See more. Raise finger. Push button half down. Does it work? Yes. Push button all the way down. Click! Push button more. And again. And switch. And again. And stop thinking and press button and change dials and move joystick and flip numbers and adjust balance and compose and feel and see. But thinking time is over. No more thinking now, just clicking and doing. Keep clicking. Just right. Stand up. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Plug in. Turn on. Open. Revise, look, choose, delete. Open. Zoom in, zoom out. What does auto curves think? I disagree. Adjust colours. Crop. Un-do. Crop again. Zoom in, zoom out. Artsy? Meaningful? Creative? Different? Not today. Save as. Open window. Click bookmark. Upload. Wait. Still waiting. Done! Name. Re-name. Tag. Add to groups. Re-name. Wait. Watch. Read, listen. Laugh, frown, get upset, feel talented, feel like a pro, feel like an idiot. Wait more. Decide. Decision made. Love. Remember and forget. Start again.

Colours Make Sense

Back then was black.

But then, it became a dark grey.

And then a black again, with a tiny little point of white.

And then dark grey, with lots of little white points, that were actually starting to take on a blue colour.

And then the blue exploded in to the grey, and filled all of it up except for the corners.

Which were black.

And the colours were black and blue and happy and sad.

And then the blue got darker.

And then it got lighter.

And then it got so dark it turned black, the darkest black.

But it gradually lightened into a dull cloudy blue with dark black edges.

And the occasional point of light.

And then the blue was gone completely.

And it was just a neutral grey.

With one or two tiny points of cloudy blue.

That are disappearing.

In to neutral grey.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

I can't understand; comprehend; believe;  accept; imagine.

How I could have possibly; utterly; actually; literaly.

Forgotten; abandoned; omitted; lost; blotted out.

How happy; content; joyful; peaceful; sparkling.

I was when I was sad; gloomy; bitter; dejected.

"It suprised her how much she actually missed from her own personal dark ages."

Uncomfortable.

Let's try that writing everything I think down excercise again right now, because I'd like to find out what I'm thinking today.

He's sitting and I never see his face anymore and I dont want to look and when i do theres his face and his heads kind of dispraportionate looking today i wonder if it always was or maybe its the shape of his hair that changes how his face looks but i dont really know why i even care and then my arm and i held it after and i missed him and walking i felt it again and i could remeber the day i forgot and there were so many but it was so long ago i shouldnt care anymore and i dont want to but i want to keep caring and i remembered the snow and the black and pink stripes and the cold which i love i love winter and the cold felt nice on my face as usual and he was there with me we were climbing and falling and running back when i was more than he was. And now hes cold and hes warm and its like hes my edward or something stupid like that like in the book cause hes cold and hes HOT like him hes soo hot but i dont actually like him but i want him and its all opposite like two different worlds but i guess theyre different people and after that class i never wanted to let go and i didnt know what id be listening but im so pathetic that clinging on like that felt nice and i want to be able to do that all the time and i want to curl up and hide inside someone else who isnt me because i hate when i hide but i cant come out because im too stupidly shy for an extrovert. And i really should make a bit of an effort to use proper grammar and sentences here but it wont work and it wont be real and i already knew all this and i was going to make  a poem or something arsty trying to say how i felt but im so mixed up and im lonely and i dont know how i feel and this isnt helping at all and i just want to wrap up inside and be warm and happy like the magazines ha ha i hate how people say im like that im not at all i never would be is it so horrible im starting to kind of like the way i look im so stressed i should be doing homework i need to find out how i feel but my brain's developping and im confused and lost inside my own head and im trying to rip out of my skin and show everyone who i am but i guess if my body doesnt want me to show them me maybe they aerent worth showing after all they probably wouldnt understand god i hate drama class. Wheres my family no ones home but im so happy it worked and that was the only one that ever mattered and the only one that ever came true and im so glad they love eachother again as far as i know but im so happy that that prayr came true and theyre amazing and hi mom i have to go.

Polar Opposites

Now that's quite interesting.

He's skinny.

He's strong.

He's fairly unattractive.

He's HOT.

He's unathletic.

He's a black belt.

He's a little nerdy.

He goes to an adult learning centre.

He makes me sad.

He makess me want to jump on him.

Some fairly startling differences.

I'm confused. How am I supposed to compete with all the people you love? And I KNOW you love them more than me, because you love them both ways and me only one. And I know you're not trying to and I know you don't know this, but I'm starting to be pushed off to the side. And I don't know how I'm supposed to make you love me as much as them, because you don't love me the other way, and I don't WANT you to love me the other way either. I guess I'm just not as interesting as them, then. Well, I'm trying not to be hurt or jealous, but I'm failing. And I'm afraid that it'll always be like this, and I really really HATE writing this, because I don't want to make things more difficult, but I just want to know what I'm supposed to do to make up for the fact that I'm not as good as they are. Because trust me, I want to be better to you.

"You're gone, so move on; it's time we let things go.

You're gone, so move on; it's time we let things go.

You're gone, so move on."

-Hedley, Can't Go Back

I always always loved that part. Three lines near the end of a song, never repeated. A little filler stuck in for no apparent reason. It sticks out, a bump in a smooth line. The voice becomes a scratchy whisper, scarily similar to his stupid teenage boy rough, sore-troat, pre-pubescent voice. If I squish my headphones far enough into my ears, I can pretend he's whispering and telling me to let go, like he knows and like he cares about this. And it's not unhealthy at all. If I play back that part of the song over and over again, squishing my headphones in my ears, the message starts to get through. It's going somewhere. Finally.

Covered in layers

My pants are too long.

The waist is too loose.

My shirts are too short.

My tank tops too big.

The shoulders are too baggy.

My shoes are too tight.

I'm constantly adjusting my clothing, because nothing fits me but my skin.

Greedy

Do it again and again and again.

I want you all to shake things in my face, and to push me by the back, and to hold on to my shoulders each and every day, thanks.

I want you all to look around and stare and to hold doors open and to smile at me.

I want you all to find a way to combine yourselves in to one person who I can wrap myself up in and roll around inside and feel perfectly warm and safe and happy with.

That's all, thanks guys. ;)

Proper Speculation

If there's a giant hole. With raggedy pockmarked edges around it. And every single little broken part of the edges that are left is being completely consumed in order to fulfill one purpose. And then there's no part of the surface that isn't busy with something. What happens when there's nothing left over?

What happens if the surface develops nerves? And it now has the ability to feel? The edges are all in pain, but they're so concentrated on the task that they love and will never stop doing, they don't notice. And what if from the giant piece in the middle comes a strange twinge. Like wherever that piece has gone, it's hurting. Or feeling.

What if a new job comes up, that's really only properly meant for the main missing piece? What if the missing piece is the only one that can do it properly? But it's not there, it's far away, busy doing something that makes it hurt and feel. what happens to that job?

Would the edges try and take on the new job on top of what they already do? Or would they discard it, hoping that some day the main piece would come back, still doing it's old job, and continue on wholly and healthily like it should?

What if instead of the missing piece coming back, the ragged edges start to grow and expand towards the middle? What if they grow in and fix the missing hole? But if they fixed it, the new skin would be harder and tougher to break, unless some incredibly powerful force came along and took it for it's own, and gave it a whole new wonderful job?

What if there wasn't a job amazing enough for the tough new skin to let in? Then what would happen?

Math Class Revelations

If I'm sitting here, and you're sitting there

And I'm listening to songs, that make me want to be there too

And it feels like I'm already there

But I'm not

Then somethings not quite balancing.

And if something of mine is over there

Then how much of me is left over here

And how much of whats left over here is being used

To go elsewhere

To everyone else.

If what's not over there is here, and what's here is elsewhere

How much of my heart is left over to love myself?

Nonononononononono.

I can't even bring myself to think the word.

Even though we're all thinking it.

Come back soon Sarah.

Please tell me you'll come back and that you're not already gone.

Don't do it.

Please.

You wouldn't want to do that to us.

I can't imagine you doing it.

You aren't that kind of person.

No offense, but I didn't think you'd be that brave.

Don't do it, wherever you are.

Please, please, please.

STOP IT

This is terrible! She's completely missing!!! STOP MAKING ME HAPPY AND SAD AT THE SAME TIME! SHUT UP JL IM OVER YOU!!! IM WORRIED ABOUT SARAH!!

Holyholyshitcrapcrapshitfuckgahhhrrghh....

I think this is called a dither-spaz.

I love you JL, I need you back Sarah, don't do it, I love you Jamie, don't do it Sarah, keep talking, come back Sarah.

Twisted

She's gone, vanished, missing, I have no idea what happened to her.

She wouldn't ACTUALLY do it, would she?

She WOULDN'T.

Oh crap crap crap crap I'm so worried.

BUT I'm such a twisted person, because because of all this,

He's talking to me.

SARAH WHERE ARE YOU???!!!

Leters, and Run-On Sentences

Dear her,
You're one of the nicest people I know. You're friendly and smart and we have amazing times together. You have some sort of intense talent for putting everyone at ease and making friends super easily. I'll admit it makes me a tiny bit jealous sometimes, especially when you're talking to the hottest jujitsu instructor on the planet, but you have a right to use your talent. You don't mind me when I'm being weird or not entirely pulling my weight on a project, and you never criticize, just remind me gently. I never want to lose your friendship like what happened with the others, and I'll try extra hard because you hold infinite value to me. You are simply amazing, and I will never forgive myself for going along with what we did in grade six. I will never forget that, don't worry, I've learned my lesson, and I am so, so sorry, I love you.

Dear him,
We haven't really talked about what happened, and I'm sure we never will. I don't know how I feel about all that. You seem to be a fairly simple guy, so I'm sure you have it all worked out anyways. I would love it if you decided to talk to me once and a while, but I'd understand if you didn't. I'm pretty sure it;s been the end of us, but you never know. I hope you have a good life, please don;t forget about me, (even though you probably will). If I may suggest something, I think you could try and be a bit more friendly occasionally, because you can be very heart breakingly cold at times, and I don't want you to inadvertently hurt someone the way you did me. You are spectacularly gay looking, and if you are, that's okay. Try to ignore what people say behind your back, they're all just jealous that you're friends with their girlfriends. I love you, in what way, I'm not really sure.

Dear her,
I honestly have to say I don't know what to write here. We are the weirdest, coolest people out there, and have too many inside jokes to count. Please try and remember you're an amazing beautiful person, and no matter what happens, you always will be. None of this crap that's happening to you is your fault, don't take it out on yourself, you know it doesn't help. I suppose we're scarily similar, but don't worry, we definitely don't always share the same opinions. Will you do me a favor sometime though, and ask me what I think about something? Because I promise if you do that I will actually tell you the truth. I'm afraid of doing it on my own sometimes, because I'm afraid you'll disagree with me profoundly, and get mad, and I really don't want to lose you. Sometimes it feels like you don't want me anymore, but I'm hoping it's not really like that, and you're just preoccupied. Even if I'm never am any help when you have problems, it doesn't mean you shouldn't tell me, because just sometimes I might know how you feel, kay? Even if I'm no help, you can always confide in me and share a bit of the load. Sometimes, I'll admit I get kind of annoyed with you, but it's usually for something little and stupid, so don't worry, I'll still love you no matter what.
PS: If you really want me to be a rock, I can be if you want. ;)

Dear her,
You are so freakishly sweet, you know that? But don't be too nice. It's okay to disagree with me and have your own opinion, I like when you come out of that shell. And please, NEVER hide your accomplishments, kay? If you do amazing on a test, or sketch something entirely pro, you deserve all the praise you get, don't be ashamed, everyone will be happy for you. I hate hearing you diss your own accomplishments, not only because you deserve the praise, but it gets a teeny bit frustrating. You're so caring, but care about yourself as well as everyone else. I certainly love you, don't worry.

Dear him,
You, I must say, are slightly creepy. It's one thing to comment on all my facebook photos, but to comment on my friend's facebook photos? You've never even met her!! Though you are quite funny, and you can be very sweet. You make me feel good about myself, if slightly uncomfortable sometimes too. I guess I love you somewhat, you freaking Asian Canadian you.

I wish I had more than two people to write about here.
I guess technically I do, they just don't annoy make me want to strangle them fucking b- frustrate me as much.
It's not like anyone reads this anyways.
Who cares.
Who cares about them.
Well, I at least care about one.
Wish I could be honest.
I wish I could just say how I felt directly.
That's what my photo was about.
It was pretty obvious.
Fuck.

>: (

Rude, annoying, self-obsessed, overly dramatic.

Music Lessons

There's a song that makes me think of you.

It's not a love song.  It's not a hate song. It's not about missed chances or complete rejection.  It's not about lies, or the truth. It's not about rumors, and whispers, or twisted words. Not a happy song. Not a sad song. Not a heartbreak song. It's not light or heavy or deep or quirky or unique or boring. It's not about me and it's not about you.

It's about none of those things and all of them at the same time, and I'm finding that it's looking like every song I hear makes me think of you.

Unfortunate.

Unfortunately, I have people who love me more than you.

And they give a shit about my feelings.

Unfortunately, no one in the world knows what I'm talking about.

And I know they wont figure it out.

It's too bad that you're doing this just to make yourself feel better.

Especially since I know you're just jealous.

Unfortunately, if I wanted to I could explain.

But I know very few people would understand.

Urgh.

I started to type a blog post. But I didn't finish it, and I knew I wouldn't post it, even if it was all true.

I Understand.

I think I know now what it felt like to be her.

A rock. I'm a rock. I'm the happy person. The happy person who signs on to msn and gets three people talking to her about their problems. But that's okay. Because I'm a rock.

I'm smooth. And hard. And stable. I don't cause any problems. But I don't help them either.

I don't do anything at all. I just let people pour their problems over top of me and endure them, never complaining, just silently being there and listening.

I never ever speak up. I never get fed up. Because I'm sturdy and smooth and blank as a rock. I don't cause trouble. I don't stick out. I blend in and go unnoticed in my blankness.

Are rocks allowed to be colourful? Sometimes.

Are rocks allowed to get up and dance? Not possible.

Can a rock fly? Never.

Are rocks allowed to have demons? Not a chance.

Can a rock feel unappreciated? No, that's what they live for.

Is a rock alive? No.

I. AM. NOT. A. ROCK.

kthx.

Drowning.

It's spinning round and round like some kind of infinite whirlpool in the ocean we're all floating in.

Sometimes people get trapped in it, and sometimes they manage to get themselves out, and sometimes they're sucked to the bottom.

I'm standing on a little island near the mouth, fairly content with my life. Sometimes the rocks get splashed and become slippery, but I'm hanging on okay.

From where I am, I have a perfect view of all the people in the giant whirlpool. 

Some of them I know well and love, some of them I hardly know at all.

I'm standing here watching them get trapped.

I'm screaming out for them to fight the current and stay afloat, I'm trying to encourage them all, but all I can give them is words.

All I want is a hook, or a life raft, or a giant net, something tangible I can give them to hold on to so I can pull them back out to where I am.

But I'm looking around and I'm alone on my little island, it's just me and my words and my thoughts and my feelings, and there's no tool for me to pick up and use to fish anyone out.

And I'm too scared to dive in after them, because I know it wouldn't work at all, because I would just end up being trapped as well, and you could say at least we'd be together, but then both of us would be too preoccupied by our own problems to help the other, and then who would we have to try and fish us out?

So I end up standing here and watching, and calling out to them but sometimes I think they can't hear me, and all I want is something to physically reach out and scoop people up with, but I'm starting to think that that doesn't exsist.

I Lie

I like to pretend I'm a bad liar. Because that way no one expects me to lie. And I'll admit, I'm not so good at the little white ones. But when it comes to the big important lies, the excuses, avoiding the truth, twisting my own words, there I must admit I'm quite pro.

I've never been caught out.

But I kind of want to be.

FUCK.

ARRRGHHH FUCK YOU JUST LET ME FUCKING TELL YOU HOW MUCH I WANT TO SCREAM AT YOU SOMETIMES. IM TIRED OF TRYING TO HELP YOU WHEN YOU OBVIOUSLY DONT GIVE A SHIT ABOUT ME.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

I LOVE YOU YOU SHITTY PIECE OF BAGGAGE.

Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday to you, I hope it's amazing because you deserve it, even if you did forget about me.
Enjoy being 15, and please just go get a girlfriend. If I were you I'd ask MR. She did call you Sugar Lips...

Simply put, I miss you.

I'm not going to be poetic or creative. I'm not going to be artistic or interesting. Because it's so hard for me to even think about anything that's not you. And I know I'm back at the top off the "cliff", and that I've climbed back up hear and used all that effort just to drag myself upright again. But that doesn't mean that I'm not still in love with you. It doesn't mean I don't still dream about your face or think about you. It doesn't mean that I don't jump when people say your name. It doesn't mean that I don't want to scream when people ask me about you. It doesn't mean that I don't still feel like there are pieces of me lost in the corner of math class where you're sitting. And I find it so pathetic how listening to only a couple of songs about missing someone completely broke me down. But it's so UNFAIR. I thought you were my friend. And maybe it's all my fault. Maybe I should never have changed. Maybe if I had stayed that painfully shy timid girl around you this would never have happened. Maybe that would've kept you saying "Hi," to me in the halls. I really really really really really really miss you. Tomorrow is your birthday. But I've already given you everything I had, and you didn't like it.

A Story

I remember looking over the edge off the cliff. I was standing a bit too far back to properly see what was under it and how big the fall was. I'd walked up closer to the edge before, but I'd always sort of given up halfway there and turned back. We were all standing around somewhere at the top. And then the brave ones started to move closer and closer to the edge, until they either jumped off as fast as they could, or gradually eased themselves over the sides. Soon there were fewer and fewer people standing with me. "It's okay," they said, "we don't want to jump either, we're safe up here, you can stay with us." But I remember they were wrong and I had always wanted to know what it would be like off the edge, and all I wanted to do was run and jump off, but I couldn't do it because I was so scared, and I thought that I was supposed to be like all the stay-behinders and that that was who I was supposed to be like. But then I heard him calling to me from over the edge, and I'd never heard anyone calling to me from over there before. It was so new and different and exciting, and I felt like that was what I was and what I should be, and that the voice was exactly who I was and what I wanted. And I looked back at the stay-behinders and they looked at me and couldn't understand how I would want to go with the voice, because it was so unlike everyone else and so unique, and no one else thought it sounded very nice at all. But I remember how it didn't matter anymore and so I ran as fast as I could and sprinted towards the edge and I was so excited for what would come next because I was so happy. But I miscalculated my footing and instead of jumping off I slipped slighty andd started to panick. I tried to get my footing back and stay on the cliff but all I could do was grab on to the edge with one hand. I was dangling there, half-holding on blowing in the wind. And I heard the stay-behinders telling me to come back, saying that I wasn't allowed to hang in between, I had to pick. They said if I let go now I would only get hurt, because I was too close to the cliff to be picked up safely. But I could still hear the voice and it was calling to me even more now and I wanted to let go so badly, and it told me it would catch me no matter what, and that my friends would help me, but even thinking about it made me scared. And then I heard someone else come up to the edge of the cliff, and I looked and saw some of the stay-behinders and they were really mad at me. They said, "We're tired of your indesicion, you're not allowed to be in the middle!" And then one of them raised their foot and stepped down on my fingers with a big crunch and forced me to let go. At first the fall was amazing, and I'll always remember how exhilerating it was, how wonderful it felt to go after the voice finally and for a minute I even thought he would reach down and sweep me up. But the wind changed and the voice still sounded beutiful but it was harsh and angry, and I flipped in the air and hit my head against the rocks. I kept banging into them, bouncing against the side of the cliff, leaving small pieces of myself behind. And then I blacked out. I opened my eyes and I was at the very bottom of the cliff, looking up at the biggest flight of stairs I had ever seen. There was someone down there with me, but I couldn't tell who it was. They told me I had to climb back to the top and either stay there or keep trying again. I was crying because I didn't want to go all the way back to the top, it looked really hard, and I definately didn't want to jump again. But the person told me I'd be okay, and that the climb was a lot easier near the end. I asked them about all the little pieces of me stuck to the side of the cliff, but the person shook their head sadly and said no, I'd have to pick those up on my way down next time, if I ever felt like jumping again. And then the person left me alone at the bottom of the cliff. I sat there for a while, before half heartedly starting to walk up the stairs. It was harder than anything, but I wanted to keep going because I knew it would get easier. I passed by all my little pieces that had gotten stuck, and I looked at them all so I remembered which ones they were. And the mysterious person was right, it did get easier as I climbed, but I still looked back sometimes because I thought I could hear the voice calling me back very faintly, and even though sometimes I slipped, I kept going even if it was so slowly no one could tell. And now I'm standing back on the top of the cliff. An I'm still missing the little bits of me I lost on my first jump, but if I ever bring up the courage I think I might try and go get them.

Time travelling dreams

I was sitting in a movie theater. I turn to look who I'm sitting next, and it's J. I say hi, and he says, "What, are you going to like ask me out or something?" in a very unpleasant way. I shout, "NO!" and start yelling at him. I tell him he's arrogant and cruel and all I ever wanted was to be his friend, and he even liked me as a friend too, until suddenly we don't see each other anymore, so apparently now he wont talk to me. I tell him how stupid that is, and at one point I start to cry and say, "But I loved you!". He looks kind of sympathetic now, and he says, "I don't know... I feel--" and then he's cut off.
We're outside and I get in to his car. We sit in the backseat in silence until we get to this mansion which is his house. He says "We have to cover our skin when we're outside here, or they'll see us." So we get out of the car and he piles all these clothes on top of me so my skin isn't showing. We walk in to the house and take the extra clothes off. Suddenly, there's this weird maid person with a butcher's knife. J says, "Oh no! They're not really people, they just want to kill us!"
So we're running around trying not to be murdered, when the evil maid catches me in the kitchen. I try to grab her knife away, but I can't so I kick her in the arm. She drops it and I catch the blade, but it doesn't cut my hand. Then I go find J and protect him from all these ghost people who keep popping up and trying to murder us. He says thank you, and gives me a really tight hug. He says, "In another time."
I blink and I'm standing on my front porch, alone. I look across the street and a guy has just appeared, lying in the grass. It doesn't look anything, like J, but I know it's him. I run over and somehow I know he's dying, so I hug him really tightly and kiss his neck. He tells me he loves me. Then this random guy shows up, and grabs a hold of the guy that is J, and takes him away. J says, "In another time," again.

Scars.

When you ignored me, I brushed my face.
When you touched me, I healed.
Waiting for you to answer, I scratched the surface.
When you didn't, I bled.
When we laughed together, I healed again.
When I heard, I gouged.
Letting myself hope, I sealed up again.
Hearing the last words, it ran down my face.
Living again, I'm starting to heal.
But when I remember, there's blood with the tears on my face.

And the saddest part, is this isn't a metaphor. It's the truth.

A letter.

Hi.
You may have forgotten who I am by now. I asked you about the math questions last night, remember? Ah, yes, that's good. Well, thing is, I already had the math questions. And I wasn't planning on doing my math homework anyways. And, well, all those conversation you had with Sarah? She was relaying everything you said back to me. Yes, everything. Does that make you uncomfortable? Does it make you feel awkward? You know what I'm thinking about, don't you. Yes, I'm thinking about that little tiny comment you made. Are you aware I haven't told a single person about that? I can't BEAR the humiliation of anyone else knowing you said that. It was about six words I think. Each one was like you were peeling away little pieces of my heart. You had no idea, did you? You have no idea how much you've damaged me. I don't see how anyone else could be so emotionally destroyed by six words relayed to her over MSN by someone she didn't even like. Even the fact that Sarah heard you say that makes me want to go die of hurt and mortification. Even the fact that Sarah still gets to talk to you everyday, because she never made the mistake of loving you more than you liked her.

Thanks, Andrea.

Maybe I'm bi-polar?

Not quite sure. Or maybe I suffer from multiple personalitly disorder?
Please excuse the bad-tempered one.

Hello?

Could you please atleast TRY and pretend to be a nice person? Can you ATTEMPT to care about what I'm saying? Or are you too wrapped up in your little self-obsessed world to even care about anyone other than yourself? I'm trying here, I really am. I'm trying to SHOW you how to be thoughtful. I'm caring about what your saying, and helping you and listening, trying to get you to realise how you should be towards me. Especially after everything I've done for you, but you've forgotten all about. Can you please try and realise that you're not supposed to treat me like she treats you?

UGH sometimes I really, really HATE you. You have no idea at all, do you? You have NO CLUE. Sometimes when I'm mad, instead of showing you how you should be, I show you how you are right now. And I can TELL it pisses you off. You get mad at me for showing you what you're like. And you're REFUSING to look at yourself and see what you're doing. Maybe you're not eve that selfish, maybe you honestly don't know what you're doing. In that case, isn't it practically my DUTY to tell you? But I CAN'T DO THAT, OKAY? I CAN'T. Because for some reason I CARE about you and love you and I don't think you'd understand, and I think you would HATE me. And for some reason, I don't want to lose you, okay? So I'm not going to tell you. Which I guess makes me selfish, too, for choosing to keep you, and let you continue on this way.

Maybe we're all selfish, and there's something wrong with ME, for being compassionate and for CARING about you, even when I try and pretend I don't. For agreeing with you when you make me feel SO BAD about myself that I just want to go curl up and sob. When you make me feel that way, I say, "Of course," and "Yes, you're probably right," or I blow it off. Because if I burst into tears, you would blow me off, and if I defended myself, you would just put me down even more.

WHY am I always loving the people who hardly care about me at all? You obviously don't.


Now I wish I could say that to your face.

Confusiosity.

I... do not know what to write about.
Even though... I think... I feel like writing a blog post?
Maybe I should write about.... my photo?
This one really does mean something... to me, at least.
I'm... not sure.

Spying

Why the hell do I even talk to you? I don't like you. You're not my friend. We always fight. You are the most annoying self-pitying person I know. We can't hold proper conversation for very long.

Unless of course were talking about him. In that case, I have a million questions and you have a million answers and there's a few cat fights along the way, but when we talk about him I'm most attentive. I care about your feelings, but only so that you wont get mad and stop telling me about him.

And I'm pretty sure I know why I still talk to you now. Because when we talk about him, it shows me little glimpses of his life. Who he talks to, who he talks about, where he eats lunch, what he does that's annoying, what makes him laugh. Anything and everything is a precious little tidbit of fact.

NononononononononoNO. That can't be true. I don't care at all. I don't care about him anymore. That's what I told them all. That's how I feel.

He's stupid. You don't like him.
He's stupid. You don't like him.
He's stupid. You don't like him.
He's stupid. You don't like him.
He's stupid. You don't like him.
He's stupid. You don't like him.
He's stupid. You don't like him.
He's stupid. You don't like him.

You.

Rude. Selfish. Frustrating. Annyoing. Self-centred. Melodramatic. Bossy. Stupid. Ugly. Awkward. Angry. Hypocrite. Deluded. Pitiful. Tries-to-hard. Untalented. Disgusting.

*Sigh*

Huuummmm....

See this warmth,
These flushed cheeks.
This is someone,
I haven't been in weeks.

Listen to me laugh,
And watch me play.
All thoughts of us,
Have floated away.

But I'm not sure,
If I'm completely right.
Because I have a feeling,
I'll think of you tonight.

This is all your fault.
That I still like you.
And it's not quite love,
But still I pursue.

'CAUSE I THINK YOU'RE A POO.

Green-Eyed Fool

I hate them so much. I hate them I hate them I hate them.
Even though I love them so much. My favorite couple ever.
But I hate what they have and I hate what they have too. And them. And them. And them. Because they have everything I want. They have the only thing I want. It's the only thing I want at all, more than a new computer or a three million dollar show home or EVEN clear skin.
Yes, I did just say clear skin. Shocker.

I hate them for having what I want so much and for deserving it more than me.

Nostalgia

I miss you.
I MISS you.
I miss YOU.
I MISS YOU!
I miss you...

I miss it I miss it I miss it and you and even her and them and you and you and you even more and then and there and that and THAT. I miss THAT most of all. Except for YOU. And ME. I miss US.

And when I think about everything I miss most, it all happened because of everything that you did. And I miss that day. I miss that day most of all and the feelings you gave me. And the way you made me feel like you loved me even though I knew you didn't.
And one of things I want to do most right now is run out in to the middle of the field. To that sacred holy and revered spot and look at a messy little scratch on a purple goalpost. Because I want to make sure we're still there, together.

Science Lesson

There is a greater change of a random collision if there are more molecules in a smaller space.
I think the same would apply to secret feelings.

I'm starting to think most of my feelings locked up together, which I'm sure no scientist would ever say would be a good thing. There's a very high chance of a quick and violent reaction.

I wish I could tell you. I really do. But I once took a magazine quiz that told me I'd do anything to avoid confrontation, and I agreed very quickly.

I don't want to tell you how I feel, because I think it would make you mad. And sad.

And I don't think I'm ever going to tell you.

Because it's always gone quickly, and it's perfectly normal, and it's not important.

At all.

ATTACK!

I have been assaulted.
And attacked and raped and beaten.
A complete barrage of wild emotions and pounding hearts.
A massive wave of you.

I have been destroyed in Boston Pizza.

By a flashback and a fantasy and a dream and hope come true all at once.
And a nightmare, too.
And a severe case of déja vu.

It's the last day of school. I'm about to face two months without him. I see him by his locker. Time to say goodbye, to tap him on the shoulder and give him a hug. I walk up to him. He's crouched down picking up his books in his tool-ish, sweet little way. I'm behind him now. My hand makes a twitching grabbing motion at his shoulder. I falter. I start walking again.
He hasn't noticed I was there.

Has anyone in the world ever had a seizure brought on by a camo-patterned hoodie and short mousy hair? OTHER than the fashion police?

Too many things

So so so so so many people.
So so so so so so so so so so so many secrets.

I'm trying to figure out a way of telling you, without you knowing what I'm saying.
Because then I can lie and pretend I'm a brave person.
Because that was my favorite compliment I've ever gotten.

"Andrea, you're so brave," he said.

I don't want to be such a downer, but...

I HATE being negative. I HATE being sad. I HATE wanting to spill my problems out to someone, because I don' t want them to feel sad too. I'm afraid of making people unhappy.

I want to be me the way I'm supposed to be.
I want to be who I am.
And I'm starting to think that I actually know who I am, but that my real problem is actually achieving that.

Andrea is happy and optimistic, she loves life and loves everyone. She has trouble being sad for too long, because she's more hopeful than anyone she's ever known. She's bubbly and fun and exciting. She's talkative and laughs all day. But she's no airhead. She's smart and philosophical and likes to think.

But I'm not Andrea, because I'm sad, and depressed and melancholy. I haven't been outside for two days. I feel like crap and I look like crap and I can't work up the energy to do anything.

I hate myself, and I'm jealous of Andrea.

Negativity

I'm not sure if I ever want to be happy ever again.
I want to just go back to the old, quiet, me.
I don't want to love like that anymore, because I don't want to believe that anything could ever be good again.
Because I believe that if I do the same thing will happen.
I think I'll revert to that version.
It's not the real-me version of Andrea, but at least that version never got hurt.
That version didn't love life, wasn't optimistic, that version was just neutral and gray.
And that version wasn't the real-me version.
But the real-me version has too much of a heart to survive in this day and age.
The real-me would have loved it and understood it, would have been happy and bubbly and excited.
This version will just sit here and pretend to laugh and be happy.
She wont understand the beauty of life like the old one did.

But I'm not sure I want to be the real-me right now.
Maybe again someday.
When I feel like forgiving life.

Don't go calling me a bitch now, thanks.
I'm allowed to be sad in heaven.

Waiting

I'm still waiting for someone to see me staring off in to space, and ask me what I'm thinking about.
But I really hope they don't because I don't know what I'd say.
It's not that it's really a secret anymore.
I could tell them I was thinking about a boy.
But now I'm starting to think my real trouble would start if they asked me how that made me feel.


This is a creature on fire with love, but it's still scary since most people think love only looks like one thing, instead of the whole world.
-StoryPeople

Honesty and Secrecy

Here's some of the secret things I'd tell people, that are completely honest, but never in a million years will I let them know. How depressing.

I'd tell him to speak up.
I'd tell him to ditch his friends.
I'd tell her to shut the fuck up.
I'd tell him... everything. I'm going to miss you.
I'd tell her exactly what gets on my nerves.
I'd tell them what he does.
I'd tell her she's the nicest person I know, and she should love that about herself.
I'd tell her exactly how optimistic she should be.
I'd tell her to suck it up.
I'd tell her to try and understand me better, please.
I'd tell them that I'm smarter than them, I just know how to have fun. And at least I have a LIFE.
I'd tell her not to be jealous.
I'd tell him my true motives.
I'd tell her, even when I'm pissed off it doesn't mean I hate her.
I'd tell him about what he does that's awesome, and what he does that's repulsive.
I'd tell him he's under appreciated.



I'd tell myself not to worry. They'll figure it out without me.

It's all I can do, and I'm sorry.

I can imagine it working out perfectly, I said.
I can't, she said
And I said, no wonder you're so stressed.
-StoryPeople

I'm going to tell you it'll be okay. And I will repeat it over and over with nice, logical, encouragement. And when I get pissed off and annoyed because of all your whining, I'm not going to tell you that I have my own problems, and that I've told you the same thing over and over again. I'm going to keep telling you it'll be okay. And I will give you all the advice I can think of, in every minute little detail, even if it only helps a tiny bit. And if I can't think of any advice, I'll just be quiet and try to comfort you, or make you laugh, or try and get you to forget about the problem. Maybe I'll do a Google search, if it's something I think might help. Or I'll give you a WikiHow article. And if after all of that, after I've done what I think will help most, and it doesn't work or makes you annoyed with me, I'm really sorry. Because I'll admit I'm not wonderful at giving advice. But it kills me inside to see anyone in the universe suffering, even if I hate them wholeheartedly. And I don't know why. I say it's my conscience, but I don't try to help because I'd feel guilty. I just can't bear the thought of anyone being sad. And if it's MY fault they're sad, then I will punish myself and grovel and apologise and feel misreable. And of course I want myself to be happy, but my suffering isn't nearly as terrible to see as someone elses.

Because I'd take on the worries of the whole world if I could, if I thought it might help.

Again.

Same place. Same time.
Same boy. Same songs.

Fourth Times The Charm?

The Ignoring.
The Forgetting.
The Avoiding.
The Replacing.

1+1+1+1=4 times.

That's been four periods of agony. Of tears and choking and runny noses. Of depressing blog posts like this one. Of overplayed sad songs on my ipod. Of bitchiness and angst. Of scattered pieces and missing chunks.

I'm hoping I can keep it at four, because that's a new record per boy. It's not the kind of record I like setting.

I'm hoping I can set the good kind of record next time. A big fat zero is what I'm after. But if I'm being honest, I think I've given up hope on myself. I don't think I'm capable of a zero.

But I don't think I'm capable of even another 1.

Our Fairytale

Once upon a time...

There was a very sad little girl. She was painfully shy, and going into her first year of high school. She was terrified, and didn't have any friends in most of her classes. For the first week of school, she was in her own personal hell. But after a while, she started to look around at the faces around her. She happened to lock eyes with a boy who sat next to her in music class. She asked him his name, and from then on they talked occasionally, and things were starting to look up, the girl had even found a friend to sit with at lunch. Then one day, the friend had to go away on a long trip. So the little girl became sad again. Untill she decided to sit with an old friend of hers, who was sitting with three other people. She decided to be brave and sit down. There were two girls, and one boy. It was the boy from music class. As she was awkwardly introduced to them all, she started to get the funniest feeling in her chest, that she couldn't quite recognize. Soon, she spent every lunch with these friendly people. Her and the boy both had lockers upstairs, so they ended up taking long walks together around the school, just talking and getting to know one another. By this time, the little girl had finally figured out the strange feeling, and had identified it as love. She became completely dependent on the mysterious boy, and rumors started to fly. Then one day, the little girl did a very foolish thing. She decided that the boy loved her back. She tried over and over to tell him how she felt, but each time she couldn't quite manage the words. Eventually, she tried sending the boy an e-mail, explaining everything. She was nervous, but proud of herself for being brave. Unfortunately, the boy read the message and told a very untrustworthy friend, who told the evil witch of the school, who started laughing and saying nasty things about the little girl behind her back. The girl was crushed, and heartbroken that the boy would do such a thing to her. The boy and girl still talked, but things were never quite the same. They still had amazing times together though, laughing and joking and fooling around. The little girl decided to forgive the boy she still loved.

The two were parted for the summer holidays, and when they came back for their second year of highschool they only had one class together, and the girl had to sit with her closer friends at lunchtime, instead of him. They started to grow apart, and the girl's old heartbreak started to retun, and she missed the boy more than she could've imagined. One night, the boy tried to talk to the girl, but it was a confusing conversation and only gave the girl false hopes. She had recently figured out that the boy loved someone who wasn't her, and was trying to think of a way to give herself hope, against her better judgement. She tried to talk to the mysterious boy, but he wasn't being very conversational. The little girl was starting to despair, and had had her heart broken by this boy so many times. She cried for a long time, but her imagination helped her think up of excuses for the boy's behaviour. She tried not to, but she began to hope again, because she was too afraid of losing him.

The girl had a friend at the time, who she didn't like very much, but who she confided in and who was fairly good friends with the boy. The friend one day confessed to the girl that she might be starting to like the boy as well, and was craving love. She even said that when asked, the boy had said he might say yes if the friend asked him out. This hurt the little girl even more, but she still hoped. The girl's friend however, once said that she would feel awkward and embarassed holding the boy's hand in public. The little girl was so angry that she wanted to hit her friend for saying things like that. She didn't want the boy she loved to be used that way, and told her friend that if she truly liked him she wouldn't feel embarassed, it would be the best thing in the whole world. The friend did not understand, proving to the little girl that she was the one who truly loved the boy, even with his mysterious qualities.

To this day, we still don't know what happened. But since this is a fairytale, we're going to say that

they lived happily ever after.

Just A Dream

Be how you were,
When I loved you without the suffering.
Be how you were,
When you brushed your fingers on me.
Be how you were,
When we lived in our own world.
Be how you were,
When I was your favorite.
Be how you were,
When you said my name more than anyone else's.
Be how you were,
When you decided to accept me at my worst.
Be how you were,
When you reached down and pulled me out of hell.
Be how you were,
When we braved the world together.
Be how you were,
When you cared.

Be like in my dream, of how you used to be, when you said you were sorry, and you'd never wanted to hurt me. When you said you'd never wanted to make me cry. When you cared if you killed me inside. Be like in the dream, where you held me and apologized, and I accepted. Be my Jamie, the one I'm still in love with, even though he's stabbing me through with holes and leaving scars on my soul. Be the one I held back, and told, "I love you, my Jamie." Be my memories and my dreams again. Make me happy.

My huge problem would be my huge imagination.

Is it just me
Did I commit a crime
I won't believe that loving you
Is just a waste of time
Or was it in my head
I'm reading into things that you never said

'Cause I still don't have the answers
To why we couldn't work it out
I wanna think it's something that i did
So I can turn it back around

But if I still believe you love me
Maybe I'll survive
So I tell myself you're coming home
Like you've done a million times
And if it's alright
I'll still be loving you
'Cause I can't break it to my heart

~~~

You haven't yet given me a reason to give up all hope. Because I'm a resourceful person, with a massive amount of imagination. So if I want to, I can make it so you still love me.

And maybe that way I'll survive.

Today, in fragments.

I cannot go to the ocean
I cannot drive the streets at night
I cannot wake up in the morning
Without you on my mind
So you're gone and I'm haunted
And I bet you are just fine
Did I make it that easy
To walk right in and out of my life?

Goodbye, my almost lover
Goodbye, my hopeless dream
I'm trying not to think about you
Can't you just let me be?
So long, my luckless romance
My back is turned on you
I should've known you'd bring me heartache
Almost lovers always do.

-------------

Do I attract you?
Do I repulse you with my queasy smile?
Am I too dirty?
Am I too flirty?
Do I like what you like?

I could be wholesome
I could be loathsome
I guess I'm a little bit shy
Why don't you like me?
Why don't you like me without making me try?

-------------

And please don't tell me that I'm dreaming
When all I ever wanted was to dream another sunset with you
If I roll over when it's over
I'll take this Cali sunrise with me
And wake up with the fondest memories

-------------
I lay awake at night for you
And I pray

We'd cross the deepest oceans
Cargo across the sea
And if you don't believe me
Just put your hands on me
And all the constellations
Shine down for us to see
And if you don't believe me
Just put your hands on me

O.o

You have,
Thoroughly and completely,
Confused me.
I have,
No clue,
What you're thinking,
Or feeling.
I don't know,
Why you do,
The things you do.
But,
I like it,
So please,
Don't stop.

Oh no, please no.

Please god please, please for the love of all things good please don't let it happen. If none of my prayers come true but this one, I'll be perfectly happy. Just please. Please, please, please, don't let it go that way. Please. I love her.

Amen.

I live in Oakville, therefore I am happy.

I have food and water. I have a nice house, a family who adores and loves me. I get a generous allowance, and am part of a wealthy family living in a rich suburb. I get good grades, I don't have any disorders, I have friends, a fairly good body. I'm perfectly healthy, and fit. I play in a soccer league, and go shopping with my mom. I have the perfect life. Compared to starving children in Africa, I live in heaven. If I'm unhappy, I'm being an ungrateful spoiled brat, and should be thinking of the less fortunate.

But I'm SAD. And I don't think that I shouldn't be aloud to feel anything but content without being called a drama queen, or a brat, or ungrateful. Because in all those movies about people with perfect lives, they always have one tiny bit of emotion or hurt buried deep down, which, of course, instantly humanizes them.

So, why aren't I allowed to have everything, and still be sad? I don't think that's fair. I think I should still be allowed to be (lame, I know), heartbroken. I should be allowed to feel self-concious, and I should be allowed to feel like someone worth feeling sorry for.

I know I'm not nearly as brave or strong as starving children in Africa, I know they go through more than I do in my life every single day. I know that they want food and clean water and love. But EVERYONE wants something. Even if they just feel like a cookie, and there aren't any left. Even if they want to talk to someone after they've just spent the whole day with them. Even if they want to have an affair along with an amazing relationship. Every will always need something else. I don't think we should be accused of being ungrateful and selfish for being human.

Would you say I was selfish for wanting a boyfriend, when there's a girl out there with a boyfriend who abuses her, who wants nothing more to stay as far away as possible from him? To me, you could say, "At least you don't have an abusive boyfriend." And to her, you could say, "At least you have someone to fulfill you." I dont think that girl is ungrateful, I tihnk she's suffering, and I feel sorry for her. And I dont think I'm being ungrateful, becuase I'm heartbroken, and that is not generally considered a desirable state of being.

I will always want something.
Everyone will always want something.
And I don't blame them.

I.. Don't.. Know... Ouch.

Oh. Okay. Now I get it. It's fine really. A good thing. I just... my head hurts.
And my stomach.
And the general torso area.
To be exact, the spot just below my heart feels numb.
My head is a slow, dull ache.
My stomach has a little knot at the bottom.
It's like I'm sick, too.

I feel really small. Like a tiny little soul trapped in a body made of blunt sarcasm and a spiky disposition. My body is telling me to be mad. And sad.
Now my nose is tingling. And my eyes are starting to prickle. But I'm biting my lip because I have family members home. And I hate when people see me unhappy.

Today started out so well.
Earlier today, the boy I loved loved me back.
He thought about me as much as I thought about him.
Even my classes all went great.

But tonight, some time around who-knows-when.
The boy I loved didn't feel at all the same way.
He didn't want to talk to me.
He doesn't want to see me anymore.
The stories he told about me all the time, were just stories.
He was probably mocking me anyways.
Like everyone one else who thinks I'm stupid.
Like everyone else who thinks I'm just cheap entertainment.
And I lost a friend who could've become really close, if I wasn't in love with him.

I just wasted a year of my life.
If only it could've meant something at all.

WHY COULDN'T HE LOVE ME BACK? WHY NOT?

Crap, let the waterworks begin.

WHY DID THAT HAVE TO HAPPEN AT ALL? WHY THE FUCK WAS THAT NECESSARY?

I have no idea.

I think...

I don't know what I think.

Or feel.