I think if you wait long enough for all your attempts to fail, you'll finally find the right one after fucking up so many times.

Best Days

Who knew Mondays could be bearable?

.......I'm going to be published!
Never doubt your potential.

Gonna come round soon

You know that post I had that I deleted? Yeah, well, that was stupid.

I sit in my bed
And wiggle my toes where they once touched yours
Your notes, once paper
Feel like fabric now
I was ready to tell you, but you weren't ready to listen
No, you turned your head
Can't you tell you're just making my mistake?
We felt like children
But now we feel like doctors
Dissecting every word
Prodding at each problem
Searching for a diagnosis.
I hate doctors, you know.
You were stupid and drunk and you chose her instead
Because you felt sorry for her
If only you knew what I had been through
Maybe then we'd be stupid and drunk together.
You wrote three letters.
"P.S. Remember that everybody loves you and you're really amazing and perfect and unbelievably beautiful."
"You really do change me."
"I'm going to see you tomorrow, and you'll make my whole week better."
Spoken word is impermanent
Fading as soon as they release from your lips
But what you wrote
Will never leave
And maybe if you let me tell you my story
You won't leave either.

Guess who's back, tell a friend

I wrote this a long while back, debated posting it, then pushed it aside. But you know what? I don't care. So here it is.

I fell in love when I was fifteen.

We sat on the slope of a hill, and his head was in his hands. Tears threatened to fall, but I know he wouldn't let them.

"I'm sorry," I repeated for the twelfth time. "I can't change what I feel."

It had been a seven-month whirlwind, from my skin being stuck to the leather in his car from kissing for so long, to three hour long phone conversations, the picnic table soaked with my tears as the realization that everything was back to haunt me had sunken in.

He held my hand, he kissed my cheek, he made me dizzy with every touch, and we were in love.

But now he didn't understand. I stared at the middle schoolers playing soccer, and every time I closed my eyes, I prayed to a nonexisting god to switch places with one of them, to go back to before my heart was torn, hanging onto the last stitch.

His eyes told me that he heard me, but his body sent a message of confusion, and I knew I had broken his heart as well as mine.

He stood up and walked up the hill, stopping at the top. I followed him, more tears falling at every step.

He kissed my cheek one last time, tasting my tears, then got in his car and drove away.

"I always loved you" was the last thing he said to me.

Who needs angels anyway?

I could use another cigarette
But don't worry daddy, I'm not addicted yet
One too many drinks tonight and I miss you
Like you were mine

All your stormy words have barely broken
And you sound like thunder though
You've barely spoken
Oh, it looks like rain tonight and thank God
'Cause a clear sky just wouldn't feel right.

He's taken and leaving
But I keep believing
That he's gonna come round soon
(He'll come round soon I know)
You may be my final match
'Cause I chase everything when you play
Throw and I play catch
It never took much to keep me satisfied
But all the bullshit you feed me you miss me
You need me
This hungry heart will not subside

He's taken and leaving
But I keep believing
That he's gonna come round soon
Until I see him again
I'm staying believing
That it won't be deceiving
When he's gonna come round

Well I may seem naive if I cry as you leave
Like I'm just one more tortured heart
These cracks that I show as I'm watching
You go aren't tearing me apart
I may seem naive if I cry as you leave
Like I'm just one more tortured heart
These cracks that I show as I'm watching
You go aren't tearing me apart

The angels said I'd smile today
Well who needs angels anyway?

Merry Christmas!

2 down, 4 to go

I apologize for the gap in posts - exams are this week.

Ain't as bad as we all talk it up to be.

I'll have more soon! Promise!

Explanation

I deleted it because I chose to.
I don't want any more questions.

Letter to you

"Don't be fooled by the calendar, there are only as many days in the year as you make use of."

-Charles Richards

Hi, blog.
I forgot your birthday.

I started my blog on November 27th, 2009, and since then, I have done nothing but grow. It's funny to see when I was being a silly teenager, head over heels one day and melodramatic the next. Oh wait, that sounds familiar...
One of the items on my makeshift bucket list - created during my Buried Life obsession - was to keep my blog for a year. Thank you so much to everyone who reads this, whether you have glanced at it once or followed it the entire time. Thank you to those who comment, and thank you to those who don't but reveal themselves - the surprise that someone still keeps up with my ramblings never fails to make my day. Thank you for dealing with my crazy emotional ups and downs and my endless rants about boys, sports, life, whatever.
Anyway, one thing I've learned is that my Tuesday Tellings (for those of you who don't know, that was my weekly secret-revealing) were a mistake. Once I started keeping my personal secrets, I felt more like I had a story. And isn't that what I always wanted?
Speaking of stories, I have made the decision to tell a new person my story. This person has become increasingly more important to me, and I value their opinions and care about them probably more than they realize. I hope they are ready to hear what I have to say.

After all, you were ready, weren't you?

Reveal

Little did you know, your comment made my day.

No,

my entire month.

Thank you.

Stuck, frozen, stopped

So basically this is just me ranting about how I'm sick of stereotypes and cattiness and whatnot.

For a second, she

Hesitates -

Am I beautiful enough?

No, and I'm not smart either.

See that girl,

She walks the

Walk and talks

The talk,

Her skinny legs move without a flaw

And her eyes shine even

First thing in the morning.

No one's

pretty

skinny

smart

good

enough these days

Where we break down everyone else

Just to claw our way up.

We starve

We slave

We run until our legs

Give out

Just to be good enough.

Once, we felt talented,

Now, we feel taunted

Haunted by simple words

That chip

Away

At our core.

She may not be quite as beautiful

Or quite as smart

Or quite as capable,

But she is strong

And she knows what is possible.

Dickinson titles, take 2

I did this for an english assignment and had to analyze it. I really liked it for some reason, so I'm putting it on here. Tell me what you think.


Wild Nights, Wild Nights!
God is a distant, stately Lover –
I cannot live without You.
I’m Nobody! Who are You?
This is my Letter to the world –

Because I could not Stop for Death –
He preached upon “breadth” till it argued Him narrow.
This World is not Conclusion –
There’s a certain Slant of Light.

I dwell in possibility
Because I Could Not stop for death –
My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun –
I never lost as much but twice
Wild nights, wild nights.

This is my letter to the World


I began with “Wild Nights, Wild Nights!” and left it all capitalized to illustrate a title, an opener that would set the scene and leave a reader interested to find out more, like what made the night “wild,” and who is involved? The next line answers ‘the who’ and ‘the why’ – the narrator has a love affair with God, and he is her caretaker. Her life depends on him and his guidance – without Him she is nobody; she has no physical identity to call her own. However, she questions his reliability to save her from her confusion over who she really is. “Nobody” and “You” are capitalized to show names, and to emphasize that the only character with a real name in the poem is God, and that the woman has nothing to call herself. She then says “this is my Letter,” a transition into her retelling of what happened during this wild night.
The narrator could not stop death from approaching. She was losing her physical self because she had already lost all sense of her identity, her mental being. “Stop” and “Death” are both capitalized because they are both out of her control and have more power over her. In the next line, He and Him are the only words capitalized, illustrating her dependence on her lover, and also following the way the Bible describes God. He argues, fights for her freedom from her daily struggles, proving that he is loyal to her and cares for her well-being.
“This World is not Conclusion” – her life does not end here, and the dash placed at the end of the line indicates that there is more to be said. Although she has given in to her death, she will go to heaven and be united with God again. The material world has concluded, but only opens up an entirely new spiritual world. This world is her certain slant in the light of the darkness of the wild night.
“I Could Not stop for death” is said a second time, this time with the emphasis on “could not.” Here the narrator officially admits her surrender, letting the reader know that this is what has happened and that she is no longer resisting. At this point, her life is a loaded gun, ready to release the bullet and fly into her new life on a different side. She “never lost as much but twice,” then “wild nights” is said twice. This stanza contains two repeated lines and words (stop for death and wild nights), both of them said twice. The narrator has two selves, the physical and the mental, and passes from the material world into the second world, which is the spiritual. Even though she has “lost” her life in the body, she moves on to where she will be happier. “Wild nights, wild nights” was an intimate, personal decision for her lover.
And finally, the poem ends in a single line, repeating the last line of the first stanza – “This is my letter to the World”, and this time the emphasis is on letter, not world. We have read her first letter, her explanation, and now we turn the attention to her World, her destination from one of confusion to one of happiness. Similar to Whitman’s poems, the line ends without a period, showing that this is not the end of her story.

Guilty pleasure

There you go making me feel like a kid again.

Dickinson titles

They shut me up in Prose—
I dwell in Possibility—
Because I could not Stop for Death—
My Life had Stood—a Loaded Gun—
I heard a fly buzz—when I died.

There’s a certain slant of Light
The Brain is wider than the sky—
This World is not a Conclusion
Much Madness is divinest sense—
This is my letter to the World—
Tell all the Truth but tell it Slant