post #4

I honestly think I'm emotionally unstable.

Seriously, every other post on my blog is generic and depressing, and the others are random, cringe-inducing, and... cheery, for lack of a better word. I don't know. I'm just a teenage girl. I suppose this is a good enough excuse for my madness.

So, um. Now I'm going to talk about food.

You know what's odd? When you're really hungry, and you go downstairs to look for food, you find a fridge full of stuff and you still complain that there's nothing to eat? Yeah. My life. When I'm at my hungriest, it's like the fridge monsters destroy every last thing that could possibly be appealing to eat, and leave all the unsatisfying junk.

Cottage cheese.
Sugar-free raspberry jelly (with added fiber!)
Cinnamon bun flavored yogurt. What is this I don't even.
An assortment of less disgusting but still unappealing yogurt flavors. WHO EATS THIS MUCH YOGURT?

I really don't know how to end this entry.

I hope I find some food after this.

post #3

i'm in prison.
do as i say.
you never listen.
do you even know what you're saying?
my heart hurts.
put your feelings aside.
i'm trapped.
we only want what's best for you.
you have no idea.
you're too young to realize.
i'm not too young to realize that i'm being played
a pawn in someone else's game.
let me go.
or you'll lose the very thing you're trying so desperately to strengthen.

post #2

On Friday, February 11, 2011, I visited my friend Camille's house. This is one of the many interesting events that happened during that visit.

Ka-chink. (That's totally a can opening sound.)
I opened a soda.
I pulled out a bendy straw.
I looked at the soda label.
It read Fruit Punch Soda.
Perplexed, I took a sip.
Then I started squealing.
What is this it's so delicious oh my gosh it tastes like fizzy bubblegum and goodness and this must be what heaven is like how have I never had this soda in my life oh my gooooooosh.
I am now sipping this soda in complete bliss.
Every sip is impossibly more delicious than the one before.
I am a happy person.
The end.

post #1

Oh. Well, hello there. It seems as though I haven't written much on this blog in quite some time. Well, if you're interested in my writing (hahahahhahahahahahahahahahahaha), then you're in luck. I have not one, but two poems to share with you. And I'm putting them in the same post! Normally I'd do something like this out of laziness, but today it's a different reason. I'm posting these two poems in the same post because they go with each other. Thing is, the poems are almost exact opposite. But they're also a lot alike. That's why I'm calling them...

My Yin and Yang Poems. Pshaw, I'm so clever.

Love is a four-letter feeling, and so much more.
How long will it take for you to know?
It's not a hug, a kiss,
it's not even a word-
not a sentence, a paragraph, a story, poem, song.
Love is selflessness.
And I lose myself too much.
Is it that you're stronger,
that you know better than to give your all?
Or maybe it's the other way around.
But I always feel like all of me is not enough for you.
I feel like nothing is enough for you.
Maybe that's why you hate the world so much.
So go on, live your life and find happiness,
if not in me, then in someone else.
Just do what you do,
whatever you do.
But don't do it for me;
do it for you.
I'll try not to get in the way.

Anger is a five-letter word,
It's burning in me; all for you, darling.
It's dangerous, and I'm afraid it will make me blind.
So when you speak, and ignite the flames,
I pray my mouth will be the extinguisher,
and I'll speak the words my heart wants to say,
and ignore the thoughts my brain screams.
I am angry with you.
You make me feel insecure,
inferior,
and everything I run from.
It's as if you live to bring me down,
but that's not it at all.
In making yourself feel good,
you trod on me.
Why are you so convinced that I'm trying to make you feel bad?
I wish you would just stop. Stop everything-
your hurtful words to spark my envy,
your spiteful eyes to spark my guilt.
You will not destroy me.
How sad it is that the ones I love the most are the ones who break me.
What a joke.
And to think I still love you
like I did yesterday.

christmas journal #5

Christmas music. 

You'd think I'd adore Christmas music. I Iove Christmas, I love music. But together? It can create some pretty horrible songs. 

Don't get me wrong, some Christmas songs are awesome. And sometimes I listen to Christmas albums in June, just because I love them that much. But tuning into radio stations all through the month of December, all you can hear are the haunting melodies of overplayed Christmas songs. I probably heard at least 12 arrangements of Santa Baby and Last Christmas this holiday season, and if I have to hear I Want a Hippopotamus For Christmas one more time, I might pull my own hair out. That song. That stupid, whiney, annoying, pitiful song. I hate that song. There is nothing joyful or pretty or remotely positive about it. 

So in conclusion: Christmas songs are good. Overplayed ones are bad. And I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas should never see the light of day again. Ever.    

christmas journal #4

Happiness in a mug
Oh, what a wonderful thing
Terribly delicious. 

Comforting and sweet,
Heat rising through the air
One part milk, eight parts chocolate 
Cocoa dumped in by the gallon
One minute in the microwave
Lookin' good. Really good. 
A whiff of the stuff is bliss. 
Tastes like the holidays. 
Exceptional. 

christmas journal #3

There's something about the Christmas tree. The tree, for my family, is probably the most important tradition. We have a fake tree. We love our fake tree. It's big and green and it doesn't smell bad like real trees do. And it has some awesome strategically placed pine cones. The golden lights are attached to it, because my family is simply too low-maintenance for stringing lights onto trees.

Every year, we pull out the ornaments and put them on the tree. This is my favorite part of the holiday season, the ornaments. There's no special order; just wherever we think the ornament fits. It usually ends up being an overly crammed, spastic looking tree. It literally comes out different every year.

Excuse me for being obnoxiously cliche, but it really reflects the year, that tree. Every year it's like it says something different about us, as a family. I know, I know. It's a plastic tree. It doesn't talk. But seriously, it's almost like every year, it says where we are at that point. This year, it was filled, crammed, busy. As we were. It still looked kind of sad. Like we were. But the golden lights brought everything back together. A glint of hope. We have that. Okay, I'm done with the tree/family analogy now. It's stupid. But really, really, freakishly true.