Let Go

And in that moment, she sat alone in her dark room, hugging her knees, and missed you. You who she'd never met. You who are by all means a stranger. And yet somehow, with your kind heart and the innocent wisdom within your maturity you'd broken down all the barriers and infiltrated her heart in a week the way it had taken so many years to do. She felt, if only for a moment, certain of her feelings for you, and yet at the same time, utterly mixed up about what those feeling meant. Though hundreds of miles away, you were right next to her for a moment. She tried so hard not to let you in, she really fought it; but now it seemed it was too late, she'd passed the point of no return; neither party would escape this completely unscathed. This terrified her. What had she done? What if the daylight brought with it hesitation and a change of heart? What if she hurt you? Her kind heart could not contain the thought. Or worse, what if it didn't? What if she felt the same, if you felt the same, even though we both know that there is no forward from here? With a mournful sigh and a wary-eyed glance around the darkened room she was angry with the world. Why did this always happened to her? Why did she always fall for ones who were so far away? She hated what she knew was the aftertaste of this midnight happiness-the lonely, a feeling of lonely that can only be found when you know there is someone out there but you cannot reach them. For once she just wanted to know the warm touch of romance without it being overshadowed by distance. Oh what a whirlwind of a five minutes! She loved and hated it at the same time. Mostly she knew that she was falling too hard too fast; her mind told her to stop it, warning her of the impending rocks below, but her heart, her hurt, they pushed her forward. She tried to get back to the happy moment just before the "goodnight", hoping to relinquish these hesitations from her mind and dwell in the euphoria for as long as possible; the morning could be a time of worry, for the night she just wanted to dream a little. She paused, and took a deep breath, trying to silence the voices; she couldn't help but think of the beach. She flipped her hair, and laughed thinking of what you would say if you could only see her now.

Plexyglass Ceiling

I hate societal double-standards. I hate that boys can date younger but girls can't. I hate that if a man is promiscuous it's a source of pride, yet if a girl is, it's shameful. I hate that no matter what happens in the world, their will always be elitist men.

I hate many of the expectations of woman. Whether we realize it or not, they exist. I hate that we are supposed to be feminine and mysterious and sexy and all the other things we have to be. What about just being ourselves? Even if I'm not sure who that is yet, it is what I want to be.

And within all these standards, I hate the socially acceptable forms of communication. The way no one believes a male-female friendship can be strictly platonic. The way if I say the wrong thing, some one will interpret to mean that I do or do not "like" them. I hate that guys can say provocative stuff without it evolving a conversation, yet if the girl chimes in the conversation is suddenly lead in a direction or she is shunned. Sometimes I just want to say what's on my mind and not have anyone read into it. Guys can go up to a girl and say "Dayum girl you look fly", and though personally I laugh at them, it's acceptable; but a girl can't say such things. Not that I would indulge it, but if I want to complement some guys ass, I should have the right to do that without some societal judgement.

I'm just so frustrated beyond belief with social barriers that will never be broken and with my efforts at sorting myself out as a I sort out my dealings with others.

Tangent time (and not the geometric kind): It's just like I am me. I am not what girls are supposed to be, and I like that; who wants to be a clone of all the other Barbie's, ya know? I am also rather conservative when it comes to values. Yet at the same time, I'm a teenager to here. It's not like I live on Pluto. I have the desire to party, to have fun, to just let go sometimes; though the need for drugs and alcohol I don't quite understand, the liberalism and freedom of it all looks like fun sometimes. I just wish my peers understood that instead of assuming I'm a narc just because I'm not hittin' the giggle weed every other weekend.

Breakaway

I really have nothing of real interest to report. No profound philosophy or intricate concentrations on human emotion or the functions of life. Just sitting here, in the chaotic juxtaposition of girls that make up my digital media class, bored out of my mind because it is that last day and we therefore have nothing going on, listen to the No Doubt being blasted from behind me. I really should be working on other things. Chemistry and English and Math and all the other things that beckon; but I don't want to. Far to much in my life is like that, all the things I should be doing but don't. It's like my life is divided in half: the things that others expect of me and that which I expect of myself. Mostly my mom; she expects me to be meek, and sutdious, and her personal assistant. But I am not those things. I am loud, and could care less about school or sacrificing in the service of others.

Very cliche, but Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson is now playing and I think that's all I want in life. I am so tired of living for others, living for some pipe dream at my mom's acceptance. I'm sick of constantly hold myself back, of giving up on things that I want that my mom wouldn't approve, of wasting my youth away trying to be someone that I'm not. Today I become a senior in high school, and yet with the restriction of my life I may as well be a kindergardener. Watching all these seniors graduate and go off to their lives makes me so jealous. I can't wait to be free. To paint my nails black, and right on my arms, and dress myself, and dye my hair whatever color I want, and I all the other things I can't do here.

It's kind of like my car ride to school this morning. I overslept (yeah, going to bed a 4 a.m. was not the best idea apparently, haha) and missed the bus and my mom had to drive me. It was 30 minutes of lecturing me on my incompetance, and what a burden I am on my family, and how sick of me my mom is, ansd how horrible I looked, and how I'm never going to be aloud to get a license if I can't even wake up on time; but eventually, we got to school, I got out of the car, and my mom left, and I was okay and happy and free to go on me.

So I suppose this is just an 18 year long car ride; eventually we will reach our destiny, I will get out of the car, and I will be free. But for now, I'm sick of these spinning wheels feeling like they never progress. I am ready to stand on my own to feet.

The Deadliest of Sin

You know what the hugest factor in the presence of each of the seven deadly sins is? Lack of temperance. I was thinking about this on the bus the other day- how lack of self control is the binding factor in all of the most deadly vices. And I must say, if I am on to something, if this really is the case, then my internal self must be none other than a metaphorical portal to hell.

By textbook definition and scholarly opinion, my biggest vice in life would be that I have no self control; it leads to sloth, anger, lust, gluttony, greed, and even pride. Just think about it. (An inability to control ones thoughts, restrain their distractions creates sloth; lack of control over emotion leads to outbursts of anger, inhibition of desire paves a path of lust, gluttony is found in the absence of temperance in all forms, incompetent management of material desire creates greed, and a relinquishment of egotistical control is often the cause of pride.)

If you think about in this sense, then those anarchistic religious extremists may actually have a point. If we live in a society where not only each of the individual sins are encouraged, but where a materialistic nature and need to fulfill ourselves with that which we do not have are thrust toward our feeble minds from all directions and by all outlets of media, are we not simply creating a nation of disrepair- a land in which our portrayal of daily life in hopes of furthering merchandising creates a breeding ground for the deadliest of sin?

Play

I'm so spinning and frazzled. It's the exhaustion and the stress, and the demon of things I have to do breathing down my neck. The only peace I find, it seems, are in my feeble attempts at intelligent writing, and the spastic happy moments of outer ignorance to it all (usually with my darling Marc <3).

This whole boy-girl thing. It really sucks. It's all just one big giant game. It's about luck, and strategy, and whether or not the cards are drawn in your favor. If you're winning, then it's great, the best game ever; but if you aren't then you hate it, it's so stupid and juvenile and you are determined to win, cheat, or just go cry in the corner.

Nothing can ever just be straight forward. It's all this flirting, and smooth moves, and timing, and it's just such crap. Why must there be all this restraint and lingo. Why is it that so-and-so is "talking" to you but "hooking up" with this person over here and "hanging out" with this other person over here? Why is it all so goddamn complicated? What happened to boy and girl meet, they like each other, boy returns girl's glass slipper, they ride off into a carriage in the sunset? Ok, well that's milking it a bit; but is just simplifying things really so much to ask of society? Why can't we just tell people that we like them and whether they like us back or not, we deal with it and move on.

It'd be so much easier than all this damn drama. I know our society is afraid of "awkward" and "embarassment" (both things which might ensue in the reality of confessing ones affections) but seriously people, get over it! In case you hadn't noticed, life is messy. It is full of awkward moments and elephants in rooms and nerdfighters such as myself, but if you don't suck it up and deal with it, it just perpetuates these infectious headgames (and I seriously doubt that those are good for anyone).

Now if it were just the whole "circuling around eachother" thing, then maybe I can deal; but it's more than that. There's this whole other sect, that's all about toying with people-playing there emotions like a paddle ball. If we didn't have all these societal norms and expectations to follow, then we would millions of hearts might be spared some detriment. I could say to this person that I really like them, and yet confess to another my desire for plutonia (yes, I did just invent the context of that word).

It all just like a big game and it seems to me like no one ever has a winning streak for long and yet, they just keep playing (reminds me of Vegas, haha). All this falsery and mixed signals and double motives and so very much left up to inferences which are often misguided; clearly communication is a huge lacking factor. And though I very much believe in staying chill and taking it easy, I don't know...sometimes I just wish people would think before they act and that they would take life just a little bit more seriously.

Island of Hope

So a friend of mine and I were talking the other day in a group and we were being all girly with the 20 questions and whatnot, and it came up that I'd never been kissed (I know, my life is a bad Drew Barrymore movie; pathetic, eh?) and she said to me "That's really good" and I sort of sat there like, "WTF? Are you kidding me, how is that good exactly?" She then went on to say something along the lines of, it's good because my heart has been safe and I haven't had to deal with the pain of boys because they're all stupid. Cliche as I am, I then proceeded to whip out the timeless classic "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" at which point she responded with "Yes, but once you've loved, it's harder to do so again because your so scared of getting hurt."

My last few days have basically been musing on this concept. As Mr. M would say, it has been part of my recent "education". It has led me to somewhat of an epiphany. I complain about it far too much, but a year and a half ago, I got my heartbroken. It was not even a big deal, and yet I fell for him, hardcore, and clearly I didn't mean anything in return once the dust settled. Anyway, this was just the most recent and detrimental in a lifetime of rejection by men. I realize now that the reason that loosing him has hurt me so much, the reason it took me far more time to get over than I should've, is that in loosing him, it felt like that was it, like that was my one chance at love, at feeling that great sense of euphoria and hope, and it was over. Things hurt so bad because I lost hope, which slowly caused me to lose confidence, and even my sense of self in the downward spiral of the last 6 months or so. (A stupid stoner ruined my recent life, pathetic eh? Especially since it is due to another stupid stoner that my entire life has been fucked up to this point. I seem to have a Kryptonite in them. lol)

What I realize now as I find myself moving on and searching for a new relationship, even having found a guy whom I really like, is that it may be the case that I self-sabotage. I've learned that in time all the boys I like loose interest; things get screwed up. Whether it is my fault or not, my sense of paternal abandonment issues lead me to constantly blame myself. While I am on the one hand filled with elation at the prospect of this new person, I at the same time restrain myself, knowing that I will eventually just mess it up before getting to the good part, so what's the point of getting my hopes up, you know? And unfortunately I know, thanks to years of my mothers attempts to therapize my man issues out of my system, that this will ultimately result in me settling for someone I don't really love or someone who is not good enough me (in all statistical odds, someone like my father), simply because I crave their acceptance and affections. (*sigh* My life really is a crappy Drew Barrymore movie, haha).

So what I now I'm prepared to rebuttal with to this friends argument, is that just because one has not loved, does not mean they are not afraid to love. In my opinion, it is far better to have had the true experiences of a relationship and then suffer the pain of loss at it's close, then to never have even got to enjoy it and ultimately face the same rejection.

I don't know; I seem to be pathetically girly lately. I'm just ready for someone to believe in me, even if it is just a compensation for a lack of belief in myself. I just wish that in this sea of sadness I could find an island of hope-someone who will say yes.

The Inconstance of Mortality

My life is a combination of fate and coincidence.
The blessings of Serendipity in conjunction with my own efforts.
All my life’s journey, leading me to where I am.
My actions and reactions as they define my future.
All those that I love and those who have loved me in return.
My life, in this moment, and as in an eternal self;
But nothing lasts forever.

Domestic Violence

She wipes her blood up of the floor,
Wringing out her mop,
Sopping up her dignity.
Her tears flow into the stream of cleaning solution,
Her fists clenched,
She shakes in anger.

She didn’t even do anything wrong.
He came home in a foul mood,
Longing for someone to beat down,
And he used her as his punching bag…again.

He told her not to fight back, not to scream.
“Just take it like a woman,” he says.
She hates herself for following his orders.

The blood coagulates, and the bruises form.
“It really wasn’t that bad,” she tells herself.

She walks into the next room to kiss her sleeping children.
“I love you my darlings,” she coos into innocent dreamful ears.
She vows to protect them,
Tells herself that by staying she gives them a better life;
But it’s a lie.

Staying is the dagger with which she slits their wrists.
She thinks she is keeping them safe,
But doesn’t realize the true danger they are in.

They will cry themselves to sleep, and blame themselves for the fights,
And,
Sooner or later,
They will beat or be beaten.
The will perpetuate the pattern of abuse.
The cycle continues.

Clarity

Sitting on the roadside as I often do,
The breeze creates a forced flit of my hair
As the raindrops fall.

Time passes and I remain solitary in the fog,
Waywardly waiting by the roadside,
Impatient to catch my bus to nowhere.

A gaggle of giggling girls passes;
Their beautiful leader guiding them along.
They hang on her every perfect word.

Many days later I walk past the roadside with my friends;
I see the goddess sitting beside the road, looking damp,
Waiting for her bus to nowhere.

As my friends depart and I sit next to this girl,
There is a moment of clarity within the rainy fog:
In life and in suffering, I am never alone.

Romance

Romance is a blue-eyed baby; naïve to the ways of the world. The daughter of Hope and Serendipity she is akin with Lust, Friendship, and Delight. She is foreign to Hatred and to True Love. She witnesses the world through new-born eyes, with which, everything is vividly vibrant. The ways of the world are magic in her mind and even the bitterest fruits taste sweet to her. Her smile lights up the sky, and she is almost always smiling. She is considered the most beautiful baby to all but Heartache and Resentment. Romance is idolized by many and loved by all because of her beauty and because she always follows her heart.

Memorium

Funerals are an odd thing. I'd never been to one before today; and, though this technically was not one, I will consider this my first, for the atmosphere was close enough.

That girl, the one you see there, looking so strong and beautiful. Yeah, her, on the left; she just lost her mother. But could you ever tell? No, you wouldn't know. You really wouldn't.

The room, was masked in a thick fog. A shadowy cloud of darkness was all the bound the various individuals of the room together.

The people seemed scattered in thoughts, motives, and intentions. Some where there to "make an appearance". Some were there out of obligation. Some were there to ease their conscience. A handful were there to support the grieving family. And believe it or not, a few even there, out of love and reverence to the departed.

The speeches were given. Interruptions of foolish schoolgirls, noisy airplanes, and a few inconsiderate cell phones prevailed. Many looked around the room and fiddled in boredom. Others cried and hugged. I sat and maintain reverent composure among this foreign display of the human condition, manners, and instinctive coping mechanisms.

The strangest part of the whole affair was sitting in this very solid and corporeal building, with such a very abstract problem being presented like a rising hurricane, and watching the guiding procession use religion as their shelter of choice.

I've never understood priests. Or organized religion for that matter. But that is beside the point.

The point was the Catholicism. The talking about God and his glory, about Jesus and his suffering, and even providing the Eucharist at the commencement of someone's life. Doesn't that seem a bit morbid?

A memorial is not a time for ramblings of the glory of some God, or the commentary of some mumbling priest on what he thinks we need to hear. Oh no. A memorial is a time to celebrate a life, and to commemorate and experience the sadness of that lost life in a communal setting. A one-time group therapy session for those within the sphere of influence of the dearly departed.

God has enough about him. He needs to be a little less selfish. Let things be about someone else for a change. After all, he took this persons life, the least he can do is give those she leave behind a little one-on-one time with her precious memory without butting in via some crackpot old clergyman.

Pity

I call you up, and hear your voice so sad; but I don't pity you. I feel myself drudging the grunts out of your tired body. I sense your pain. I'm sorry you're hurting, but I do not pity you.

I know you've had a hard day, and that you have it rough; but you did this. You are responsible for your life, not me. I tried to warn you. I tried to do my part and guide you to the right path. I told you this would do you no good in the end; but you didn't listen. It is not my job to hold your hand, you have to learn to take care of yourself, because someday no one will be there to do it for you.

Now you're devastated and you don't understand how you got here, so you blame and hate on everyone else.

I don't pity you.

You tell me that you suffer, that I know nothing of your pain; but I do, and don't pity you, nor do I seek anyone's pity. I have been used and abused. I have watch the degenerative nature of drugs as they crushed my dreams for what I wanted my dad to be. I have fought off my fears and my nightmares, escaped the clutches of an eating disorder, and fought against potential death at the hands of my own father, and later, at the hands of myself. In 16 short years, I have dealt with so much more than you, and while I do not believe that makes me any better, it makes me wiser. I have survived, and you will survive too.

I do not pity you.

"...You can only blame your problems on the world for so long before it all becomes the same old song..." In time you will learn that the world does not revolve around you. You will learn that only you are responsible for your happiness. You will learn that others cannot love you until you love yourself. In time, you will learn, and I wish for you that the times come quickly, and the lessons are easy; but I cannot watch the cycle of ignorance and self-desecration any longer. I refuse to be sucked down in your vicious whirlpool. I'm sorry you suffer. Play the victim card all you want, but I do not pity you.

Disillusioned

Today I've noticed that I can't stop smiling. Nothing really happened to make me particularly happy, I've just noticed that I've stopped caring.

Sure, I have my moments of insecurity-times of doubt, longings to be different, to be more-but for the most part, I am content.

To be quite honest, I really don't give a fuck what you think of me.

Granted, I am sad at the thought of people hating me. I long to be liked-to be the girl everyone genuinely wants to be friends with; but at the same time, I can't people please my way through life. I really enjoy the warmth and welcoming of ND as opposed to the hateful glances I felt at York, yet I refuse to continue to be civil to people who are genuinely mean and disrespectful to myself and the ones I care about. Not everyone is going to like you, and you are not going to like everybody. I hate that, I wish we all just got along, but we don't; it's a harsh reality of adulthood.

The fact of the matter is, I am who I am. I am a self-serving manipulative bitch. I am selfish and conceited and over-zealous. I tend to control situations and be frustrated by that which I cannot control. I am often insecure and mask it with bouts of bragging. Those are my faults (well...those and gluttony of course). I am aware of my faults and I embrace them. I know I am not cool, I do not think I am "the shit," and that is okay with me.

But at the same time, that is not all of me. I am considerate and polite and sweet. I really, truly care about my friends; I would take a bullet for most of them. I am very innocent and naive in an adorable way. I'm awkward at relationships which I find endearing. Though not the smartest, I have a brain, and I use it. I fight for what I love if the situation calls for it. I do my best to be there for others, even just helping a stranger. At the core of it all, I am a good person, I have a good heart.

Good and bad, I know who I am, and I embrace that and I try to be open to suggestions from those who don't. I know certain people think I'm a bitch right now, and I can feel a vortex coming-shit is about to be spread. I am going to stand up for my friends and what I think is right, and that might cost me in the end. But before that happens, here is this. It is not an attack on anyone, or a gossip rag. This is my perspective, this is me. You can take it or leave it, but I certainly hope you'll at least put some thought in too it first.

Acknowledgement

I am Invisible Girl, heroine of the inconspicuous and unspoken. I walk through the world alone and unknown, like a shadow in the dark. Unseen, unheard, but not unscathed; I am burned by Possibility and her army of words unspoken. From the darkest corners, I watch others, flourishing in the light, while I remain under the cover of night.

But lately, it seems my cloak of darkness has been ripped away. Some mistress of Fate has decided it is my turn to flourish, leaving my spandex in tatters. I now feel the glances of others, percolating the force field I have carefully constructed, and I falter at the thought of their eyes on me.

I am not worthy. I am a nerd. What if they notice? What if my very person is shunned?

But do they see my dorkdom? Do they notice? Or do I appear different to them? Has my clever disguise got them fooled, the doubt merely a self-sabotage lead by Insecurity?

Under the bright sun of the known world, I feel their gazes, their judgments; like hot water on icy skin, I prepare for the stinging, the pain, the rejection.

I am not notable. I am not cool. I am not sexy. I do not matter.

My young wings are unprepared for this flight without my cape of Cimmerian shade.

Life was much easier alone in the dark when I was invisible.

The Big Blue Elephant in the Room

He didn't mean to.
"I love you so much...Just not like that."
"Never?" I ask in disbelief.
"Never," he replies softly,
"You know I don't want to hurt you,
I would never want to hurt you babe."
I smiled at his kind heart.
"This won't come between us," he reassured, "I won't let it."
"I know, I'm fine," I laugh to hold back the tears.
Nothing would ever be the same after this.
"I'm sorry," he said;
But he was too late,
He'd already broken my heart.

Cyber

He presses his lips to my chest,
Or so he types.
His previous words still spinning in my head:
"You are so pretty...Why don't you have a boyfriend?"
I laugh at the thought.
Foolish boy, I am invisible girl.
What is he thinking?
But then again, he will say anything to get me to cooperate.
I am only desirable to nameless, faceless internet boys-
Basement dwelling perverts and nerds.
They are my rebellion,
Fuel for the fire inside me which longs to be desired,
My bittersweet escape.

Retraction

So you know that boy, the one I just wrote about, my best friend in the whole world, the one I've liked for almost three years, loved for the past 10 months, the one I thought loved me? Well he doesn't. We're just friends. Didn't I know?

No, I didn't know.

It's Complicated...

I remember meeting you so clearly. You were wearing the stupidest hat I'd ever seen, but, like the scent of spring, something about you drew me in. It was as if I already knew you.

In all honesty, I never thought we'd be friends. I thought, he's cute and that's about it. I walked away that last January afternoon, your number safely tucked away in my phone and expected nothing more. But then we started talking. Everyday we talked, about music and movies and philosophy and life; until my phone bill had gone well past my texting limit. And somewhere along the way, you became my best friend and I became yours.

Two years have passed and with them, we have grown so much; but even so, through the time and distance and my mom and everything else coming between us, we got through it together. Without even knowing it, you helped me through my first heartbreak and my parents divorce. You were there for all the big moments, and almost a year ago now, you told me that you loved me; and, though I may not have acknowledged it at the time, I heard you loud and clear, every sweet sylable.

Sometimes I wonder about us. Between you and me, things are not always explicit. We don't say everything we mean, a lot is implied, and I rather like it that way; but sometimes it means I worry that this is all in my head. I feel really twisted sitting here, listening to you talk about your girlfriend, helping you plan the perfect date, when really, it tears me up inside. (Let's just say helping you fall in love with another girl is not exactly the best Saturday night I could ask for.) Yet, at the same time, I love you and I love how hard you work for these girls and I do want you to be happy, no matter what that means for me. But I can't say it isn't confusing to hear you say how much you like one girl one minute, and how much you love me the next. (...Cue Taylor Swift background music, anyone?)

I know that you care about me as much as I do you; but at the same time, I'm scared. Even though I know that nothing I could ever do would effect us, I worry. I worry that taking things to the next level might make it harder to be so far from you. I worry that being with you, means the end of possibility in my life, since, I know that being with you I'll never want to be with anyone else (because let's be honest here, your sister even thinks we are going to get married some day haha) And most of all, I worry that I might screw things up and loose my best friend and the best thing that has ever happened to me, you.

The hardest part of it all, is that there is no real word for you. Sometimes I call you my boyfriend, but that I know is a lie; and yet, best friend doesn't quite fit either. It's complicated and I hate it. I miss you. I miss your voice and your eyes and even your stupid hat. I miss your curly hair and your awesome facial expressions. I hate that my friends chatter about their stupid trivial romantic affairs and mock me for always being single, when I have you, but just too far for them to see.

Every night at 11:11 I wish for you, for us. I want to see your name in my relationship status, hang out with you and your sister in all your twin-tastic craziness. You are exactly my brand of heroin and I am heavily addicted. I cannot wait to see you again and, even if things don't ever work out for us, I look forward to having you in my top 8 when we're old and can't read computer screens anymore. You are my best friend and I love you forever, no matter what babe. <3

Friendly

I live for the affections of others. Not, the attention so much, but the praise. The smiles of friends are like my oxygen; to hear the words "You are so awesome, I love you," my saving grace. I will work for hours on birthday presents, so excited for my friends and looking for nothing in return but their laughter; or write them notes just to watch their eyes light up with delight. There is no time to much, no cost to great, no favor to inconvienient for the ones I love.