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.