I haven't been on this site in fucking forever.
I guess I kind of got past the point where I needed it.
I met my best friend here, which was pretty sweet.
It's weird going back and reading my posts.
And realizing how much I've changed.
I can't even remember the person I was when I first logged on to here.
Unsure, not really knowing anything.
I guess I am a lot better.
I've come out to a couple people, although I am not ready to deal with the parentals.
there is such
in the fading
light of day
walking along concrete
sidewalks and buildings and
my bedroom window
and i am thrown
of my own.
sitting in the car with you two i feel so alone
maybe it's just my mind playing tricks on me
really, i have nothing to be mad about
you two have your own thing just as i spend much more time with my own friends
it doesn't change how awkward and out of place i feel
summer was so different
now it seems like you two have branched off without me
and all through the movie and the party and the fun all i could think about was you
Yay for school essays.
In the seventeenth century, the Puritan faith was based on one belief: God walked among humans, judging everything they did. If god walked among humans, so surely the devil did too.
Seemingly harmless, these thoughts eventually gave way to blind panic when the puritans found
themselves face to face with something they did not want to understand: witchcraft. When the
So many kids around me have died lately. Kyla on monday night.
The cops are still investigating, but most kids are thinking murder/rape.
it's really bad
another kid, shot in the back of the head
he was in his house
it got robbed
i don't know
i don't know how to deal with this
how do you get over this stuff?
You're quite used to this now, the tiny tugs at your insides, the leaps in your stomach whenever you see her. It won't stop for a while, and maybe you should take some time off, some time away from her. It always worked before, and you know that it'll save you from countless pain and heatache. You can only take so much, and lately you've been just about ready to break. And you're sick of this, sick of always being in love and always being hurt and always being so fucking emo, and you hate it. Because emo kids are sad and pathetic, and you don't want to be that. You want to be strong, so that no one will affect you, and if she doesn't care about you you can just shrug it off.
Do you know what you just did to me? With one comment you tore me apart. I won't recover from this for a while, but you haven't even noticed what your words have done to me. The smile is frozen on my face, and I feel sick. Fag. It's not really a big word, if you think about it. Words shouldn't hold any power over us. You go on, laughing and talking as if what you just said will not weigh on your conscience for a while. And it won't because you don't think about it that way, the way I can't help to. Your eyes held such disgust as they looked at her. "Holy crap, isn't it that April girl? She's with her girlfriend...ew." It's not really about the subject, because I'm not fond of her either. But the way you look at them freezes me, leaving me speechless with a rising sickness deep down. If you knew, would you look at me like that? Would you still smile at me, and talk to me, and be my friend. I don't know if I want to know, because I've known you forever, and it would kill me to lose you.
They are talking about childhood memories, days spent sun drenched, splashing in lakes. And I am quiet, fading and hoping they don't notice. Or maybe hoping that they do. It would explain sad eyes and strained explanations. And yet when you do ask me, I still manage to smile glibly, and launch into a story. It's cute, really, and it might've happened. Most of us have lost toys, and spent days looking for them. Except my memories are too dark for me to think of, and I can't imagine what you'd think of them. Maybe you'd feel sorry for me. Don't. I do enough of that for both of us.
I'm so sick of falling in love. Does anyone else feel this way? I just wish I could keep a lid on my hormones until I meet a girl who might be capable of returning my affections. And it's not that I don't like falling in love. I'd just rather fall in love when I'm out of the closet, something I don't really want to tackle in high school. Still, why does school have to be so bloody straight? The only gay kids I know, or really know of, are really, really weird. And not in a cute, odd way, in a weird lets stay away from them way. Grr. Very annoying. I spent yet another french class trying to concentrate on my work and not her. Damn, this is getting prety bad.
It's just a casual comment, but it manages to smash my good mood to bits anyways. I really shouldn't care, you're straight, and I need to come to terms with that. You'll never love me, at least not in the same way I love you. You will always mention to me boys you thought were cute, and you'll point them out around me too. And I'll always smile and agree, and try to ignore the fact that you've crushed my heart again.
pristine places newfound faces
beam with complimenting statements
in a gallery of paper hearts
while zinfandel in plastic cups
slide down our throats to warm us
to loosen our lips, our inhibitions
freely speaking minds soaring, roaring
visually stimulating rocking horse races perpetually
ideas expressed with seductive gazes and winks
I bite my lip to refrain from biting yours
It's just a word, but it has a meaning that goes deeper.
We're all supposed to be brave, boys more so than girls.
From a child, we're taught to face our problems (at least we should be),
and not to be scared of the dark.
Suck it up, it'll end soon.
You don't want to look like a pussy, do you?
I guess I'm brave in some ways, others not at all.
I'll protect myself, stand up for my friends.
I stumbled into the kitchen this morning feeling particularly peckish. Scrambled eggs and cottage
cheese! With hot sauce! As usual! I was reaching under the counter for the scrambler pan when I
heard a muffled throat clearing. Slight, yet haughty. Polite, yet arrogant. I rolled my eyes and
turned around. Sure enough. White bag of croissants. Rustling.
"What, man?" I asked, exasperated. "I told Mom I didn't want croissants! You're not for me, you're
In a world of monotone lectures
And monochrome hallways
Non-pigmented flowers in a black and not-so-white garden
Coordinated and classificated in gray.
Spread like warm butter over processed un-whole wheat bread
Don't think I don't know what you lost
In the back of your brother's 1969 cadillac convertible
Or what you gained, shall I say
When you found those ways to get wasted
the wind sounds first, a low bass note rumbles
followed by high piccolo as it trails
between the branches. qued, I dim the lights.
now a mourning cello warns of the din
about to bombard my little room. I
jump to greet a flash of light, surprised.
a moment's pause for proper syncopation
yields expectedly the rumble of the
bass drum. raindrops patter against my screen:
the only barrier between me and