A Whole Other Story

Oh, Lover Boy. Last night we spent an hour or two on the phone like we do every few weeks. I told him then "Sometimes I like you. Other times, a good majority of the time, I hate you so much because you frustrate me too easily. Tonight is one of those times." but still neither of us hung up. That's one of the many things I find so amazing about him. So today we spent a few but all too brief hours together. We rode up into the snow tipped mountains, though it was around 26 degrees with the wind chill. So we stayed in his car, watching brave hikers, talking about nothing and yet everything.

Lover Boy: What do you want?

Me: There are lots of things I want. It doesn't mean I'll ever get them.

Lover Boy: So what do you want?

Me: A lot of things that are pointless to what we're doing.

Lover Boy: Things like...

Me: Um.....a million dollars.

Lover Boy: And what else?

Me: I don't know. A lot of things. I want more snow. I want a better jacket because I'm really cold. I want to go to Europe to backpack. I want to dance like nobody is watching yet everyone is. I want to be able to sing. I want to punch Arch Nemesis in his arrogant face. I want to punch Pompous Prick in his arrogant face too. I want to punch anyone actually. I want a best friend who doesn't have a penis. I want an unlimited shopping spree. I want to learn how to hula hoop. I want to stop loving Bestest and I want to stop hating Bestest. I want...hell, I just want things, okay?

At this point he leans over and just takes me in his arms gently. I wish I could say I wasn't shocked but I was. Completely and utterly shocked because Lover Boy, though sweet in his own way, isn't a very comforting soul. He see things a different way than I do and I envy his ability to rationalize love. It's a skill he has perfected and controlled so when he embraced me into his warmth, I did hesitate. But no more than a brief second for then I was greedily clinging to him. In all my life, very few people have had the ability to make me feel safe and he's one of them so I enjoyed every last second of his tender hold. One hand rubbed affectionate circles in the small of my back while his other twisted up into my hair. He knows what that does to me and he knew I was aware of him abusing his power over me as I sighed and collapsed against him. His voice echoed sweetly in my ear.

Lover Boy: I think you just want someone to talk to, to hang out with, and to hold you like this. I think that's all you really want.

Me: Mm you know how I said sometimes I like you?

Lover Boy: Mhm...

Me: This is one of those times.

Winner, winner. Chicken dinner?

You know how I told you I'm a huge actress buff? No? Okay. [insert linkage here]

Ah, good. Now to further catch you up, in my acting participating junk, I do a competition called forensics. [insert definition linkage here] And yes, that IS wikipedia. Got a problem? Let me just log in and I'll edit your complaints away, sucka! Now forensics has different categories and I've participated in most all of them but my favorite and my top performance is usually in the genre of Dramatic Interpretation (from now on known as DI). In DI, you perform a monologue of a serious or dramatic nature. It has to be under ten minutes but usually longer than seven. A lot of the pieces involve being crazy or killing someone. So this is perfect for since I'm cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.

In my current piece, I portray a woman whose four year old daughter was kidnapped, raped, beaten, and murdered. Then I shoot the bastard who did it. Probably one of my favorite ones I've ever performed because it's so emotional and shows a side of humanity that is very rarely acknowledged and whatnot. Anyway, my whole point of this post was to brag immensely about my competition today. It was the championships, so the best of the best, really. I placed first.

Yes. I won. I was THE best. Hell yeah. I owned those bitches. Except I didn't have a chicken dinner. That's just gross haha.

And what happened after my competition, with Lover Boy, well....that's a whole other story...

Arch Nemesis.

He's behind me. And when he is silent, my ears prickle at his soft breathing. But when he speaks, oh when he speaks, my whole body tenses like a hound dog catching the scent of a red fox. Desperately I try to force his voice from my hearing but his muted mumbling resounds through my entire being. He speaks low and deep as a man yet a soft, raised pitch reminds me he is just a boy. Part of me is memorized and another part is clawing in fear at my skin from the inside out. A voice has never affected me as his does and for months, I've been exposed to it yet the fire it ignites still burns as hot as the first day. He's completing his thought now as the embers dwindle and he stops speaking. I want to look. I want to look so badly at him but should he catch my eye... I mustn’t look, I tell myself. Picking up the charcoal colored Papermate pencil, I try to focus my miniscule attention span on the trigometric identities before me. But my traitorous mind begins to whisper excuses to turn around. Heels clicking down the hall. Seconds ticking in the clock. Fingertips rapping on the desk. Shoes tapping against the stained carpet. Don't succumb, I plead in my thoughts but suddenly he exhales and I turn. My shoulders twist more than they should as I toss my head around and my movements are noticed. Or was he already watching me? Our eyes meet but for a brief second before my gaze shifts to the glaring clock. Casually yet with a racing heart I turn back and pretend to adore my mathematical equations. Except all the formulas are unloved. No, only one though is truly on my mind.

My Arch Nemesis has ice blue eyes...

Siren

Hold her in your arms.
Kiss her on the mouth.
Let her crawl inside you.
Let her in your house.

Stroke her gently as she purrs,
Imbue her with soft feelings.
She infects you with her pretty lies,
Leaves you sick and reeling.

But you love her like no other.
You'll take her to your grave.
Share with her your soul,
Become her sacred slave.

She'll engulf your life entirely.
Suffocate you in your sleep.
Make you feel so special,
Make you feel complete.

While your body slowly fades,
You'll appreciate her will.
The sense of strength she gives you,
Her annihilating skills.

No one will ever reach you,
Not your family not your friends.
She'll hold you in her killer grip
Until your life light ends.

Heat.

Heat.
Friction of bodies all bumping in tandem beat.
Aching dissonance sounds wrong to untrained ears;
Light hearts skip in that last tense instant where all things
stop—

waiting,
waiting,
waiting.
With desperate pleas for resolution…
the agony of heartbroken wails,
a singer’s soul spilling from split lips in a
wrenching cacophony
of sound and sweet chords that pull tension tight.


An ache that develops at the scream of a minor seventh,
ugly, harsh howls that leave you spent,
quaking,
silence resounding,
louder even than the last fading chords.

The last rays of the sun,
night bleeding to day,
sound bleeding to silence,
and the final release.

Oh, Daddy.

It started out barely as a touch.
Secrets lies and fear, they controlled me
Then by six was more by so much.
Stolen childhood, by the way he'd scold me

Beat me bloody but I cried never.
Fists stopped hitting, hands stopped touching,
But those words, they'll stay forever.
And I much prefered his painful punching

"You fat pig", "You worthless cow",
"You lazy whore", they are still here.
Loud and clear I hear him now
All his screaming taunts echo in my ear

Though several years it has been,
I dream his face, his angry eyes,
And I carry on what happened back then.
I keep his secrets, I tell the lies.

I still tell myself those words he screamed.
I continue on with all his abuses.
I deny myself pleasure, hope, and dreams,
Food, love, happiness, and I make no excuses.

I watch myself suffer and find sick pleasure.
In my way, it's how I prove him wrong.
In my scars, I find my own sweet treasure.
In my pain, I make myself strong.

At times, I wish I were safe.
At times, I wish I were sane.
But I know it's far too late,
And still I accept the blame.

Quiet Ramblings

It seems that I don't know what to write. I believe I've come to a point where every thought I have seems meaningless or superficial. And there are no interesting stories to be told because my life is no epic poem; it's more of a tragedy. Not even a good tragedy, mind you, like Hamlet. My life is the lines scratched across the paper on Shakespeare's floor.

But now that I think about it, I think that is up for debate.

Maybe I am the worst written by Shakespeare or the best told by an unknown. I'd like that more, I think. To be a great play written by a previously unbeknownst man would be remarkable. To be the first of someone before they were magnificent. Everything after would be compared to me and somehow it would never be enough because I was great, I was marvelous, I was perfect.

Speechless

He left her.

The boy I'm in love with left his girlfriend yesterday.

After months of promising me, he'd leave her...

He left her...

For a girl who isn't me.

A difficult question

What's worse, being in denial or facing the truth?

They say ignorance is bliss. Does that make facing the truth worse?

But then again ignorance and denial are two different things.

Ignorance is not knowing how bad it's become.

Denial is partly knowing and fully choosing to pretend.

Yet your truth and my truth may not be the same.

My truth is that I'm completely in love with you.

Your truth is that love doesn't exist anymore than Santa Claus.

So which truth is the truth I must face?

Or am I allowed to deny neither are true?

Because in the end, I'd rather be in denial than lose you.

Battle of Epic-ness

In my college program, I'm forced to take a United States History class which would be okay because I actually like history for the most part. The first semester was extremely good. We had this amazingly funny guy who liked the subject and entertained us WHILE teaching. Shocking, right? But he got a full time teaching at a REAL university so the board people at our community college got their feelings hurt and said he wasn't allowed to continue teaching our class. We protested as did he but alas, in the end, we started this semester without him.

Our new professor is apparently the man who will be teaching us next semester for our political science class. This does not bode well for me since he started our first class off together preaching his values and beliefs that are of a more conservative nature. I set these doubts aside and tried to maintain a positive outlook. But this failed. The first several weeks of class, we learned nothing of history. To be honest, we've had maybe one class in which he spoke the majority of the time about events and people that actually are related to US history. The rest of the time he was, as he says, "preparing us for his class next year".

Thus I came to be in a hard, cold chair, doodling sweet nothings into my notebook that is supposed to be used for actual notes while he stood in the front of the classroom, droning on about sexism, the difference between man and woman, and where the phrase "Don't cake it on" came from with regards to make-up. We had only about seven minutes left of class when the conversation somehow took a more interesting turn when he wrote "deism" upon the board. My interest perked up immediately because I have a bit of fascination with this religion in particular. He then asked the class if we knew it meant so I murmured a little yeah while the rest of the class remained silent (here silent is equal to oblivious and/or ignorant). He began to speak and this is what has remained in my mind since he opened his crusty mouth. "Deism is the belief that God is in nature."

Now if you don't know what deism is, allow my quick google search to clarify.

The belief that the world was created and set in motion by a supernatural agent which subsequently does not intervene.

That's the gist of it really. It's based on the idea of looking at the universe and the world, then using logic and reason to acknowledge a higher power's existence. The deity, hereby known as God, created natural laws and things such as gravity, and then set them into motion to govern the universe, and basically no longer interfere with our daily lives. This means there are no revelations, no creeds or divine articles, no miracles or supernatural events, nothing like that. There is no relationship between mankind and God except for the fact he created us. This is the general principle of deism, not that God is in nature. This statement, to say the least, irked me and I very loudly made my opinion known that he was wrong because he was. Now it can be said that he is a little egotistical and pompous so having a student disagree with him was a sharp blow to his masculinity, I guess. I'm pretty sure he's also a bit sexist because he constantly makes remarks about women being the weaker sex and being a housewife isn't a job, it's an excuse. But that's not the point right now. The point is I was not going to let him talk incorrectly about one of my favorite subjects. So I began arguing back with him and he made a snide remark that if I was so right, he wanted a one page essay proving him wrong. I waited about fifty more seconds of listening to him spew nonsense before finally having enough. I got up and walked out of class.

So then came the epic snowstorm. There was no class for two weeks. Well not his class anyway. I had already written my essay though. Three full pages, single spaced, quotes from deist churches, well known authors, and professors with numerous awards. I completed my paper within the day we had our "disagreement". And I made sure everyone knew how pissed off I was and how dedicated I was to my cause.

Finally, we had class. By this time everyone knew I had the essay to give him. What they didn't know was I had become extremely nervous about it because it had been so long with the snow that I had sort of lost my extreme passion and pissed off-ness. But somehow, somewhere deep inside of me I found the courage to get up, walk up to him, drop it on the desk in front of him, and said it was my paper on deism. I then sat down and started talking to my friend, Ireland, in an attempt to avoid his coming wrath because I knew that was not good enough for him. Thus after scanning my essay, he decided to lecture me for over thirty minutes about Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Paine, Ben Franklin, divine right, etc. Basically items that only had 2% of things in common with deism. So after the first few minutes I told him that what he was talking about had nothing to do with the point I was trying to make. I said he remarked that deism is the belief that God is nature and that is incorrect. So then he kept on about the other stuff so I figured there was no point in arguing. I just stared him down. Nobody but two of my friends and I were paying attention to him. Everyone else was just talking amongst themselves for the thirty minutes. Then after he finished, he talked to the whole class about something else that still had nothing to do with US history but to be honest, I wasn't paying attention because he had seriously pissed me off since he said he wasn't even going to read my essay. I just would glare at him every time he looked at me to answer a question or give my opinion. Eventually the class ended and I continued on with my day.

After my following class was finished, I walked into my Spanish class. We were still settling down, getting ready to start a video when he showed up in the doorway and started motioning me to come out. I very loudly told him no, I was in class, even though I was standing in the window admiring the falling snow. So he asked my current teacher if I could come with him for a second. I begged and pleaded with her to say no using my eyes but apparently she couldn't understand the desperation in my look and granted permission to go with him.

Thus I ended up in the hall with him talking to me for another five minutes even though he was supposed to be teaching another class at the time. At first I was paranoid because in reality, while I do talk a big game, being one on one with a superior, an equivalent in intelligence or someone who wants to lecture me really unnerves me. However, he ended up telling me that I was one of the best in the class. Apparently he read my essay and realized what he said isn't exactly what he meant. He meant to explain that God existed in natural law, not in nature like he said. And that my paper had a lot of details he mentioned but it more clearly defined what he meant to say. Then he apologized if it seemed like he was belittling me or stepped on my feelings because he wasn't trying to do that. He said that he was worried about me locking up and no longer actively participating in class which would be bad because apparently I'm "essential" to the class. And that he truly thinks I'm one of the best in there.

Nova - 1
Pompous Prick - 0

Unknown Poem

I loved you.
Didn't you know?
You were my one, my only.
Now you've left me so lonely,
Oh so lonely, and oh so scared.

Sometimes I miss you,
Not too often but still too soon.
Is there time left to change?
I have so much able to rearrange.
Would you come back then?

Today, I loathe you.
Your taste is upon my lips.
And your laugh echoes in my bed
Except it's all in my head.
But once, once it was real.


[Found this in my dream journal but I don't remember writing it. Dated January 26, 2010]

Reasons to date an actress

My bestest sent this to me a few months ago. I'm quite involved in the theater and performing so he said when he first read it, I was the first person he thought of. I was very honored after reading these:

1. We're loud
2. We're good at role play
3. We're not afraid to try on weird costumes
4. We can perform in front of an audience
5. We know how to use our hands
6. One word... props
7. No matter what, the show must go on
8. We can find our way easily in the dark
9. We know how to make an entrance
10. We perform at least twice a day
11. We have lots of practice so we know how to do it right
12. We may take hours to get ready but in the end its all worth it
13. We can stay in one position for hours and still make it enjoyable
14. Our mouths know just how to move
15. We can undress quickly and redress just as fast
16. We are used to trying new things
17. We can make you stand up and scream for more at the end

Omegle.com

If you're ever bored and lonely, you should probably get some friends besides your hand. Go out and meet people. Be a productive part of society.

If you try to follow that advice and fail, you can always be like me. Spend your time in front of a weird HP computer screen that makes my eyes bloodshot after four straight hours. Bounce between chat rooms where you pretend to be 532lb woman who just needs some love and a facebook profile where nobody but your classmates messages you in a mass email. You also are allowed to have a blog where you pour your heart out in one post and subsequently contridict yourself in the next.

If these all fail, you can go to omegle.com where you're put into a random chat with a complete stranger, known as "Stranger", and talk about whatever, whoever, whenever, whyever...that last word was not actually a word but I said it anyway so you can go suck (insert sexual humor). Here is just one my many interactions that I've experienced with this website.

Stranger: HELP ME
You: How?!
Stranger: Okay, first things first, is your door locked?
Stranger: !!!
You: Yes!
Stranger: IF ITS NOT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD LOCK YOUR FUCKING DOOR!
Stranger: Thank god.
Stranger: Do you have a gun? CAN YOU GET ONE!
You: I can't! The door is locked!!
Stranger: A crowbar will do in a snap though, if you have one of those. Come to think of it.
Stranger: AHHH!!!! WE'RE FUCKED THEN!
You: Okay okay I got a crowbar!!
Stranger: Oh! Great. Now.
Stranger: This is the tricky part. Smack yourself in the head.
Stranger: Until you lose consciousness.
You: Wait....what?!
Stranger: Let me know when you've done this.
Stranger: No no, this part is key.
Stranger: Trust me.
You: Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
You: Ow. Ow. Owwwwwwww.saj eomfd ehoooooooheohp's/z
Stranger: K good. Thats what you get for being a horrible leech on society, and just sitting on the internet all day. Zombie Jesus lives!

You know you want to go try it now.

Reiley

Female Dog

It seems to have been years since that day,
Coffee stained smile and ruby red #42 lipstick.
He went for a handshake and got my number.
Surprise was never so sweet as his bambi eyes.

Star crossed lovers in a whirlwind romance
And it grew with time from a tender kiss.
It grew with time into a deeply despised obligation
When he knew this heart to the second it beat.
Sometimes I wish it never grew with time
Because now he deems me to be predictable.

Sweet misery, keep me from that path
Dismal dreams, guide me far till I forget
The smell of his Giorgio Armani draws me astray
And it's expected of the puppy to come home
But this bitch has better plans.

Once Upon A Time

This is not very happy. Be forewarned if you choose to read the prose piece
below. I've been having trouble sleeping lately and tonight I couldn't handle
laying in bed staring at the ceiling any longer. It was driving me insane. All
these thoughts were swirling through my head of past mistakes and things I wish
I could change. I know, I know I can't go back but sometimes I really wish
I could. And so I got up and typed this out. It's made me feel a little better
and hopefully now I can sleep.

“Are you awake?” her voice shook as she clutched the phone to her ear. It was another cold night in her room and she quivered underneath the endless pile of blankets. No matter how many she snuggled under, it was never enough to replace the warmth. Each night she tried to cocoon herself and each morning, she failed to wake up beautiful and loved like she secretly hoped.

“No. Why?”

“Oh…I’m sorry. I just, I had a nightmare and I can’t go back to sleep. I’ll let you go.”

“What was it?”

Just the few words that flowed from his lips were enough to calm her. It had been a few months since she last kissed those lips and several more since she last heard them whisper of his love. But no matter how long those fleeting moments had been, he always answered her 2am calls. She didn’t know why he did but he always did. She figured he too knew his words calmed her unlike anyone else’s. And so she closed her eyes as she began telling her nightmare.

“I was trapped in this, this room that was completely black. Nobody else was there at first. At least I couldn’t see anyone, ya know? It was so dark. And really hot with this nasty sweet smell in the air. I tried to move but I couldn’t, not in the way I wanted to. Instead I felt this tugging, pulling me forward and so I took a step. But I fell. And there was something wet on the ground…it was warm and wet and…” she had to stop. It was too much to remember. Even if it was just a dream, it was so real in her mind.

“It’s just a dream. You don’t have to say anymore if you don’t want to.”

“No. I want to. It was just so real. I mean I can still feel my hands groping around on the floor. When my fingers touched cold skin, I screamed but nothing came now. Then all of a sudden there were these blinding white lights, like stadium lights, and I was in a freezing shower. I shut my eyes and shook my head. I heard as the water splatter against the glass door and for some reason it shattered. So I opened my eyes and looked down. It was so beautiful. It was like a stained glass window. Like the ones in the really old churches that I said I wanted to go to. And I started smiling ‘cause it was so gorgeous and I felt so happy. I reached out to touch it and I looked down at my fingers. They were covered with blood and I just kept smiling as the blood pooled at the tips and one drop slowly began to fall. I watched as it formed and I watched as it began to falling down, really slowly. It was like the Matrix or something and when it finally hit, the window rippled. Like a pool or a lake and I was staring at my reflection. The me in the window, or water, or whatever, that me started laughing and laughing and then screaming. She screamed and screamed and tears started rushing down her cheeks. Then she reached for me and I woke up, crying.”

“It’s just a dream. Only a dream and nothing bad is going to happen to you. I promise that.” he tried to soothe her but something in her wouldn’t let him. Not yet.

“How can you promise me nothing will happen when it already has?! Who is to stop it from happening over and over and over again until I can’t handle it anymore? I’m so tired of this. I’m so tired of being me. I’m just so tired.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever wish you were someone else. And if you’re so tired, go back to sleep. You can’t do anything about it tonight so there’s no point in worrying about it. I’m here. I’ll always be here. And I won’t let anything happen.” he said it all so calmly. She knew he was right. And in her heart, she believed he really would always be there for her. But she couldn’t go back to sleep so easily. “Look, I’ll read you these stories until you fall asleep. Just hold the phone close to your ear and shut your eyes. Once upon a time….”

Letters

Dear Razor,

Are you happy? I ask this only in love because you are worrying me lately. I see you on the edge of the little shampoo holder that I never use for my shampoo and you simply stare at me with longing moonlight silver blades. Sometimes I avoid of your gaze because there is such an aching need in them that I'm not in the mood to satisfy. Last week, I told you that I had a headache and that was a lie. I'm sorry. And each time I step into the shower, I know I tease you a little with a few quick strokes. I guess to rid myself of guilt but more often, to appease society's qualm with women having armpit hair. Are you content with this?

You know I'm only using you for your body and still you stay. A quickie here and there. Except today it lasted a good five minutes didn't it? It's been weeks, since around the first of the year actually. Your touch upon my legs felt wonderful as it always does. I'm sorry it's been so long. I just got caught up in other things. You know how it is, right? When it's snowing and cold like it's been, I turn to pajama pants and jeans for comfort. They don't judge me for not shaving my legs. Sometimes I even think they like it a little more natural. And I don't have a lover right now so there's no one but my pants to impress. I'll try to make more time for you during the rest of the winter but I can't promise you anything. Today was great though.

Love,
Nova

Dear Shampoo,

Oh God, you never fail to please me. Every single time, you overtake me and there's no hygienic product that I love more than you. Yes, you heard me. I love you. And I know you love me too. This is no meaningless fling like Conditioner or friends with benefits like with Razor. This is an amazing relationship which satisfies me in every single way. I hope you feel the same because I'm trying my hardest.

Every time the warm water sinks into my mess of hair and touches the roots, I begin shaking at the thought of your touch. I reach for you and with a few eager pumps, you ooze into my hand. You have no idea how much the sight of this excites me. Quickly I slide my covered hand into my hair and work your magical goodness all into it. Some showers, I do this two, maybe three, sometimes even four, times because you make me feel sooo damn good. I love to lather, rinse, and repeat with you. Those three words are probably three of the sexiest words I've ever heard. Just the thought of them sends shivers down my auburn locks.

And I know, I know that I ask too much of you because you not only give yourself to my hair, you allow me to smear you across my body. I guess it's because you know how lazy I am and how needy Soap gets so you're willing to take over Soap's job while excelling at yours. Please don't forget how much I need you. I have Soap's number in case you ever run low on energy but the last time we interacted, I forgot to ask about its ingredients and I ended up rubbing dead animal bones all over my body. I trust you and know that you'd never trick me like that. I love you, Shampoo. I love you so damn much.

Love, love, LOVE,
Nova

Dear Belly Button,

This just a little note to say thanks. I don't think I've ever actually thanked you for helping to feed me. It was a long nine months inside my mother's womb but you never quit and because of your dedication, I came out a nice, healthy baby at 8lbs 6oz. You and Umbilical Cord were a beautiful couple. So much love and trust there. You were my parents before I was born. Together you nurtured and cared for me, even when I kicked and threw tantrums because I didn't like being grounded. Those teenage weeks were hell for you and I said some things that I wish I could talk back but I did it only because you adored me so much. Now that I'm in the world, I've heard people say that you hurt the ones who love you the most because you trust that they won't leave. And I believe that's why I had my rebellious phase.

This is was time for me to be born. That's when you discovered the betrayal. When you found out that Umbilical cord was cheating on you with Placenta, I know you were heartbroken but still you were strong and in order to protect me, you cut the cord. It was like a battlefield wound for a few weeks, all bloody and gruesome but slowly the hurtful scab fell away and left you more beautiful than ever. You still are beautiful to this day. It's been a long journey but you stayed the petite innie you always were. And I want to thank you for that. Thank you for feeding me when I was a fetus. Thank you for the lint you'd gather when I was little to try and keep me warm. Thank you for the endless entertainment of smushing you and Stomach together to make faces. Thank you so much, Belly Button. Maybe one day, I'll get you a nice piece of jewelry in order to repay you. I bet you'd like that.

Love,
Nova

The joys of friendship

One of our more...interesting...conversations thus far.

Nova: You know the best kind of sled?

Ireland: What?

Nova: A corpse

Ireland: Nice....but you have to break their feet off first so they don't drag and slow you down.

Nova: Noooo!

Ireland: Yeahhhh!

Nova: You put them on their back 'cause their face makes it bumpier.

Ireland: Hmmm....good point. But then it feels awkward because you feel like they're gonna open their eyes and look at you or something...

Nova: Cut their eyeballs out.

Ireland: Good idea. But then there're those creepy, empty sockets...I guess you could sew their eyes shut. Or glue them...

Nova: Go Coraline on it and sew buttons onto them.

Ireland: I think that would get you some style points certainly...

Nova: And if the corpse is on its back, you can lift the arms up to steer with. If it's on its stomach, you'd have to break them.

Ireland: Well they're dead so they wouldn't mind. But I see your point.

Nova: Told you. I'm always right

Ireland: Whatever.

A little bit of exposure

I have to admit it takes quite a bit to make me cry. And here I'm using the word cry in the sense that I actually care so much that I can not stop the tears. If I don't state that clearly, there might be some debate about this because most of my friends say I'm an emotional person. They think I care too much, worry too often, and cry too many tears. And they tell me it's all in a good way. But as I've said I don't trust that many people and therefore not many people have actually seen me cry. Yes they've seen me shed tears but not cry because they haven't earned that part of me. A lot of guys have held me when I let the tears flow and a lot of girls have hugged me, wiping the tears from my cheeks. So you can see how they think I'm one of those emotional, feeling types of people when in reality, it's all an act for them. It's a front I put on because I give myself off as an extremist. I'm either always happy or I'm horribly sad. It's usually the former when I perform daily. I guess it comes from having bipolar disorder. Or borderline personality disorder. Or severe depression with manic episodes. Or whatever they are calling me nowadays. I can't keep up. But no matter what they try to label me as, they'll never get it right. There's so much more to me than it's possible to see. And then I saw this:

- PostSecret

It made me cry. It made me cry so much because this is a constant fight I have with my own dad nearly every day. And it breaks my heart to know that there are other people in the world who have to hurt like I do. Huh...I'm starting to cry again at the thought of all this. Well as I said, it takes a quite a bit to make me cry. And this more than I can control.

Pretty Boy

I want to tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a pretty little girl. And one day, while Little Girl was walking in the crisp autumn grass with her friends, she saw a boy. She had never noticed him before and she started whispering to her friends about him.

"He's so cute," Little Girl giggled. "What's his name?"

Her friends looked at her with mouths agape as if she had suddenly become another person but she was still Little Girl and being stared at embarrassed her. As her cheeks turned pink, her friends recovered and rolled their eyes. They informed that he was Pretty Boy and told her all kinds of little secrets about him but they warned her about him too. He wasn't just another boy. He was different and while he intrigued her, she heeded the words of her friends and put the thought of him far, far from her mind.

However over time, Little Girl saw more and more of Pretty Boy but she never talked to him. She wouldn't. She couldn't. All of her friends thought that she was so brave and confident but the truth was Little Girl was scared. She was scared of everything. The thought of being left alone terrified her. She had nightmares of rejection and betrayal by those who love her. And her body would shake at the idea of trusting someone with these feelings. So she smiled and laughed with all of her friends. Little Girl would flip her river bed hair and bat her eyelashes at the silly boys who tried to impress her because if she did that, she thought, nobody would see the terror hiding in her wildflower eyes. But Pretty Boy never noticed her and she only saw him a few times a season so she thought nothing of it.

Little Girl had a friend who was as beautiful as the dawn and she was envious of her friend. Then one day she heard that her friend was Pretty Boy's girlfriend. It made her happy because when she saw them together, they looked perfect. She thought they looked like a princess and her prince. Part of her was sad because it wasn't her with Pretty Boy but she didn't pay any attention to that thought. It was normal for her to feel that way whenever she saw a friend find love and she was alone. But she was happy for them and they were happy for a long time.

Then one night, Little Girl couldn't sleep. It was cold and snowy so all of her friends were giddily dreaming but no matter how much she buried her head underneath pillows and blankets she couldn't drift away. And suddenly Pretty Boy called her. Before that, they had said very few words to each other over the past month or so and it shocked her. But she answered however hesitantly and they began talking. Pretty Boy told her about how he lost his girl and it broke his heart. Little Girl wanted to cry as she heard his beautiful voice tell such a sad story. She listened and listened and tried to make him feel better. She told him about how she had made mistakes and hurt a lot of people, including herself. She whispered to him secrets in the night that not even some of her family knew. She promised him that it would be better one day, maybe not that night or the next day or the next week or even the next year. But one day it would be better. Pretty Boy said that for some reason he trusted Little Girl even though it was truly the first time they talked. And Little Girl trusted Pretty Boy. She didn't know why because she didn't trust anyone except her best friend. They talked for hours into the night. It was funny how they had so much in common that they never knew about. Eventually Pretty Boy figured out that Little Girl was getting sleepy and told her to go bed. So they said goodnight with words to speak later. As Little Girl shut her eyes and began to fall asleep, she held the phone closed to her and wondered all about Pretty Boy...

So now that it's morning, all these thoughts are running through my mind. Last night, I bared my soul to a near stranger and I have no regrets about it. However, for the record, I'm not one for regrets. I try to believe that the choices I've made have brought me to where and who I am today. I look at my mistakes and attempt to learn something from them. Then the pain is worth it as long as it helped me to be a stronger person. So if telling Pretty Boy my secrets was a complete screw up on my part, I'll be okay with it. Well no, I won't be okay with it because my stupidity will hurt like hell but in time, I'll become stronger and learn another lesson about trust.

But what if it isn't a mistake? What if he came to me last night to save me from something? Or for me to save him from something? What if...what if...what if...I've come to now believe "what if"s are one of my greatest flaws. I seem to have an issue just seeing how things pan out. Still I can't help but wonder...what if....

Pon and Zi

- Azuzephre

Farewell, my love.

Thought I'd try a little bit of prose tonight. It's been eons since I've dabbled
in this type of writing. Let's see where it leads, I guess.

Her back was towards him but she still felt his auburn eyes burning into her. His body shook as his fists clenched before splaying his fingers and sighing heavily.

"Just go." her quivering voice whispered. Part of her didn't believe she was the one who had said it but there was no one else around. Why would there be? It was around 2:30 in the morning and it was such an unseasonably cold night for the time of year. When she had asked to meet him here, no thought had crossed her mind to bring a jacket and she shivered slightly in the pale moonlight. A gentle breeze shuffled the autumn leaves and caused chills to rack her body. The wind was all she heard. That and the sound of his breathing echoing behind her.

"No. Not until you tell me why," he spoke. She closed her eyes at the pain seeping in his voice. "God damn it! Tell me why you're doing this. You know I love you. And I know you love me. No matter what you say. Just tell me why."

She guessed she always knew she'd be the one to walk away. Deep in her heart, she knew he wouldn't be strong enough to resist her succubus ways. Still she wished he had had the strength because she didn't know she still had it in her. Hesitantly she took a few steps forward with her heels snapping against the pavement. What came next wouldn't be easy so she slowly knelt down, careful to keep her balance, and began untying the ribbons on her black stilettos.

"Oh God no. Don't leave. Please don't. You love me. I love you. I've always loved you since the moment you first walked into my life, since the second you looked into my eyes. Please don't leave me." he begged her. The thud of his weight hitting the ground was like a sucker punch into her heart. His sobs rang throughout the night and in the distance dogs began barking in response to his cries of misery. "Love, don't do this. Whatever it is, just tell me. I can fix. I promise I can. No matter what, I'll make it all better if you just stay. I love you so much. Please..."

Rising, she clutched the shoes to her chest and started walking straight ahead. The stones were cool against her bare feet. She knew he wasn't looking at her anymore because it finally had hit him and he knew no matter what he said or did, she was leaving. Under his breath he continued to murmur how he loved her so greatly and the agony of her inability to say it back overwhelmed her. The truth was that she did love him. Her heart beat for his heart beat. But the love she could give would never be the love he deserved. A sudden gust of wind swept past her and carried with it his smell. She could practically taste him on her lips once more and she could hold back no longer. With the force of the wind, she began to run. The soles of her feet slapped hard against the wet ground as she left the walkway. Through the park she ran faster and faster even when the pounding in her chest became too much. A time or two she nearly slipped on the recently cut grass. Up ahead, she finally saw the gates as her feet met the pavement once more. But even then she wouldn't slow down. She couldn't. Not until the sound, the taste, the memory of his was far behind her.

Midst of Misery

Last night we laid beneath the stars,
Together lost in a night far from colorful.
And in the snow you kissed all my scars
Because you claim they're so wonderful.
Now I wonder you he see
When you cast your hazel eyes upon me.

In the morning after we returned,
I stood gazing in the mirror for so long
Because it scared me, what I had learned.
And now I wonder if you know you're wrong.
What I see proves you to be delusional
For in this reflection I am not beautiful.

There are scars from my wrists to my thighs
From a father who can't love more than his alcohol,
From self-cristism after so many failed tries,
From rocks and twigs when I clumsily fall.
There are scars covering me head to toe
And there's still so many you don't know.

Before we kissed, you brushed the hair from my face,
Whispered to me how gorgeous my forest eyes are
And a feeling came over me that I can't replace.
But now I think you're seeing me from afar
'Cause hiding beneath the green is years of misery.
And up close, you can't possibly believe I'm pretty.

You told me that my skin is softer than the breeze
And traced the faded lines of every past mistake.
Said I've got what every girl in the world envies.
Now the voice in my head is screaming it's all fake
No matter what I can't drown out its sound
The only time it shuts up is when you're around

Maybe one day I'll understand the things you say.
But as for today, my knuckles are bleeding
'Cause I couldn't stand the mirror looking at me that way,
And the way you do is just what I've been needing.
So from now on, your eyes are my only reflection
Because in them I see me as you see perfection.

I don't know much...

I have this friend. Actually, to be honest, he's more than a friend but less than a lover. We actually dated for a few months the winter of '08-'09 and things did not end very amicably. He had never been in love before and I had never felt good enough for anyone. It was truly a roller coaster relationship and it would be fair to say one of my only regrets in life was how I treated him. He did makes some mistakes but in my soul, I know he really cared for me and in the final weeks I simply stabbed his heart with my three inch stilettos. It can be safe to say that while he has his faults, he is a better person than I am because in time, he forgave me. I'm not sure why he chose to do such a thing because if I had been him and he me, the day I forgave such words and actions would be the day I closed my eyes for the last time. Yet he forgave me and we've come to have a very close relationship in past few months. When I had a near death accident, he was the first person (after my mother of course) that I called and he talked me the rest of the night as I lay in my bed, sobbing. We talk about his younger sister and brother, the colleges he's been rejected by and accepted in to, his beautiful dog, Lily, and quite simply, everything.

More recently however, he's been more beneficial to me than I think I'll ever be to anyone. We were talking in the midst of the night when most sane people were fighting an epic battle with their bedsheets and I began to have a slight emotional breakdown because I had finally had enough. I had finally gotten fed of with the inner workings of my barely beating heart. For the people who know, it's not a very hidden fact that I have had my fair share of boyfriends and relationships. It's quite obvious that I do not like to be alone and I crave attention. I'm also a very affectionate person and constantly need someone to reaffirm my sanity through physical contact. Add that to the fact I really have no trouble getting guys. Now that isn't to be conceited. It truly is a fact, one I don't necessarily see the reasoning behind but nonetheless, at any given time, there is always at least one guy I could call and ask to start a relationship with who would said yes. Most people assume that it's because I'm "easy". And I've come to realize that I am. I crave someone to call my own so greatly that I'm more willing than most to cross lines. To be pyschological, it's because I have such a horrid relationship with my father but the fact remains the same that at times I use what my mama gave me to get what my father can't. And I have finally had enough of that. It's pointless. It's demeaning. And it's painful.

So as we were idle chit chatting, I began telling him everything I was feeling and how fed up I was with it. I told him how I'm tired of searching for a happily ever after fairy tale love when I know I'm not going to get one. How I am now starting to believe that they are a carefully thought up torture device for young girls. How no guy has ever loved me the way that I want, the way that I need. How sad the realization is all men see me good for is my body. How envious I am of him because he can so easily not put himself out there. [Part of me thinks I'm to blame for this since I was his first girl, first kiss, first head over heels and I hurt him.] He didn't deny that I am the way that I am. Instead he told me this:

I don't know much of love other than as a word. But I do know that there is
a feeling in your heart where you care so much for someone that you'll do
anything, absolutely anything to make them happy.

Together, we decided that no longer as I am using my body to capture love because he is tired of seeing me hurt by "guys who are no good for me" and I am tired of being hurt by them. I don't know if too much damage as been done, if I've lost all faith in a happily ever after fairy tale love. I don't know if I'll ever find someone to love me just because I am me, if there truly is another chance for me. I don't know if my old habits can change so easily, if I'll ever believe like he does that I'm good enough. I don't know much. But I'm willing to find out because I have a feeling in my heart where I care so much for him that I'm going to do anything, absolutely anything to make him happy. It may not be romantic, it may not be returned but for him, it is love and I only hope he knows how blessed I am to call him my friend.

A Gift

Sometimes I wonder about the past
And how it went by oh so fast.
It seems as if yesterday was just here,
Yet it's truly been many a year.
Still I keep the memories close,
Every one of joy and of sorrows.

Sometimes I think about the future.
It reminds me that we can never be sure
Because tomorrow is always threatened
And it can be lost in less than a second.
While dreams may turn true, it is still fearsome
For we never know what is to come.

Sometimes I think about what was and is to be
All the people I've known, all the places I'll see
And yes they can give my downed spirits a lift
But I've come to know I have of a more precious gift
A gift so true, so sweet called the present
That we must cherish for it is so brilliant.

I don't really like this poem. But I had these random thoughts stuck in my mind that would not come out any better in a prose form. So this is what I ended up with. Maybe it's because I'm sleep deprived but this is just such a sloppy poem. Oh well.

Rant -.-

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over almost six years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the Leak Guard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favourite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

However I have to wonder, have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from "the curse"? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my "time of the month" is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my family likes to call "an inbred hillbilly with knife skills." Isn't the human body amazing?

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from "Aunt Flo". Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behaviour. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women.

In fact, only last week, my friend fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... which brings me to the reason for my letter.
Yesterday while in the midst of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: "Have a Happy Period." Are you fucking kidding me?

What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness - is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James?
So, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on painkillers and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.

For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like "Put down the hammer" or "Vehicular manslaughter is wrong", or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit.

And that's a promise I will keep... Always.

Love

-Walter 'Flash' McCoy

This one was actually taken by my friend. I thought it was just amazing so I had to show it off.

Not finished.

There it is,
A glimpse of his blurry scent
And I look oh so desperately.
But I don't where he went.

Calculus crush has a smile
A smile that threatens to destroy me
Oh sweet boy
Will you ever notice me
I know I'm not too good at this stuff
But you plus me equals chemistry

Realizations

You are the stars.
I am the dirt.
You are the joy.
I am the hurt.

You are the laughter.
I am the tears.
You are the dreams.
I am the fears.

You are the beauty.
I am the beast.
You are the most.
I am the least.

You are the song.
I am the silence.
You are the virtue.
I am the impatience.

You are the gentle.
I am the abrupt.
You are the innocence.
I am the corrupt.

You are everything,
Everything I long to be.
But I am nothing.
I am only me.

I am a warrior.

For those who have ever doubted my immense strength, stoic resolve, and unwavering dedication, you can go suck it.

I have a sprained left wrist. Two busted and massively swollen knees that are a very pretty mixture of black and purple. A bruised chin with fresh, vertical scratches. And a plethora of sporadic, colorful bruises and scrapes.

Maybe that doesn't show those traits I listed but it does show I can take a hit. Sort of. I can fall. And fall with style!

To begin my story, let me first start off by explaining snow. Yeah, snow. My memories of snow are few but held close to me. I remember it more from pictures of my first winter. We had a snow storm that year and got several feet of this mystical, white fluffiness. There are photographs of my six month old self in a little cave that my two elder brothers had dug for me. I wasn't exactly visible yet the pink snow suit and my mom swear that it is me. So I grew up waiting for that blizzard to make it's return. Year after year I remained disappointed. Here and there we would get a couple of inches, maybe a foot every other winter or so. Eventually I gave up the dream that was barely half awake anymore. Then this winter...I guess the phrase "A watched pot never boils." is fitting...this winter has been amazing. We got a few bouts of wintry mix which is common yet just before Christmas, we got 22 inches. Can you believe that? Global warming at its finest, ladies and gentlemen. 22 amazingly yet agonizingly cold inches. Slowly, ever so slowly, it melted away only to be replaced several weeks later by another 9 inches. Now by this time I was content, satisfied with the level of snow. And then this past weekend, guess what happened? 14 inches. Can you believe it? Probably. I do 'cause I'm experiencing it.

Now the first two days of this most recent snow burst, I'll be honest. I could not have cared less about it because it flippin' snowed me in and therefore I wasn't able to leave my house for two days. That was miserable but today I finally broke free. First I was just escorted to a family friend's home but then we decided to take action. We put on five bazillion layers of clothes, threw some sleds into the back of the pick-up, and set off on an adventure in the dark.

That's how I came to be standing at the top of a snow covered hill that was a very steep couple of hundred feet. The first time I attempted to slide down it, I made it about twenty feet before toppling over and rolling a good sixty feet until I managed to grab a chuck of ice that stopped my seemingly endless tumble. The second time I went down, I went airborne over a ditch and nearly punctured a lung on impact. My mom says that's an exaggeration about the lung puncturing but I don't think it is. I got a ride in the back of the pick-up truck to the top again and eventually I migrated to the kidde hill and snowboarded on a sled 'cause I could do that without injuring myself. And then...then I was dumb and went back down the big hill again. It was one of the most painful experiences of my life, to be quite honest.

Then on the way back up the hill, I sat looking out into the distance. The pick-up truck jostled and shook me, threatening to throw me off but I couldn't take my eyes off of the city lights. It was a splattering of green, blue, red, yellow, white against the black. And something came over me in that moment as I stared at such a breath taking sight surrounded by friends and family. I think people call it happiness.