two doors

don’t you hate that?

two doors.

which one do you choose?

the bigger one, with the crowd flowing into it? a window right in the front, easily able to look back… if need. you are pounded into the walls by sweaty bodies, all blind… and following the mass into the darkness. your feet trample over the over- used floor boards.

or the small one, with only yourself unlocking the rusty doorknob? the skeletons rattle as you open it, cobwebs mesh over your sweaty face. you are alone. the only flicker of light comes from a rusty lighter in your shaking hand. but you know if you can scrape out of this alive… you’d be the best.

two doors.

which one would you choose?

alas, the small one… your brave and have something to prove right? you refuse to let fear stand in the way of the mighty power within yourself; driving you past the dark shadows and the maggot- eaten dreams that failed as you pass by. right?

bullshit.

you’d pick the common, safe and secure path.

because your a pussy.

remember the italian princess

remember when he used to call you his Italian Princess?

he wrapped his leather-clad and studded arm around you

the corner of his eyes crinkled like old newsprint

smelling of cigarettes and that musty bar Spider Bite rocked at

but the door slams behind him, following the trail of many others

the ash and must lingers in your red tinted butterfly hair

it's wisps curl around your hallow cheeks

butterfly kisses to red itchy eyes

i will comfort you, as the other times

boney shoulders shake and shiver in my arms

the same words will leave your cracked lips, again and again

barely audible over static Lingo on replay from your outdated tv

remember when you shuffled to his stoop

the chilly dead air whispering about the midnight strike?

with only a thin red blanket covered in calico down

tears streaming down your face you pounded fist against wooden door

till knuckles bruised black and blue; the door never opened

instead the police, flashing blood red and blue, took you home?

i remember

remember when time danced past

as you pushed those skeletal fingers into the phone

the same 7 digits searing your brain

becoming blurred under you ultra- violet stare

finally he picked up, a restraining order hot on his breath

you could only sob into the phone

i remember

remember when i was eight

the darkness covered you; yet another episode

you stared at me with black sunken eyes

"i don't even recognize you"

"i'm you goddaughter, salina?"

you continued to stare rocking back and forth, eyes dry and unmoving

i remember

moving out

moving out

far, far away

where you cannot find me

moving out

a long way's away

where you cannot control me

moving out

farther than before

where you cannot degrade me

moving out

longer than ever

where you cannot live through me

and yes,

i'll get into stupid shit

but at least i'll have no fear,

that you will not spit upon my words

whenever you are near

moving out

sadness faded

the time away becomes a friend

absence makes the heart grow stronger

bitch, you best believe i'll win

stupid face

smoke on my breath

nothing in my head

smile on my lips

simple

arms move slow

nodding to invisible beats

lazy chortles

dude

foggy helmet

holding hands

dilated give- away

high

relationships don't exist in cyber space

he sits isolated

the white walls close in

its 1 am

he's blogging about his cat

click click click

hundreds of pictures of her ex

she cringes as her hands cramp up

368

he skypes with his german girl friend

her throaty laughter comes two seconds late

he tells her he's going out with friends

but he really needs to finish that poem about that damn cat

she squints against the computer screens glare

her little boyfriend looks a lot like her ex from the side

"whats over there?" she points

as he turns his face, a tear slides down her cheek

he sits isolated

the white walls close in

its 3 am

he's still blogging about his cat

click click click

hundreds of pictures of her ex

she cringes as her hands cramp up

897

eyes

your eyes are heavily framed with the darkest brown

lashes like the bark of pine trees after a heavy rain

when they're wet, the stick together like little tee-pee huts

all alignment of bark and night

the outer corners of your eyes droop down like you have a big secret to tell,

but you don't

so when you're sad, it intensifies and my heart stops

your eyes like a child's, so innocent

like you cannot understand why people have to be so mean

the color is the prettiest

like watercolor of the lightest wash of teal

over golden sea-glass

the color of catalina's oceans;

transparent but layered with beauty

i love you n

i fell in love with someone at camp

no, not crazy passionate "in" love with someone

but i began to love someone

i couldn't figure out why the hole in my stomach

burned at the edges

why the sore became inflamed when weezer

lazily churned out of my ipod doc

i didn't understand why the lump in my throat

grew and grew into a being on it's own

stretching like a cat up through my palate

down into my trachea

purring with fever

we lazily floated in the water

the sun slashing the skin on our backs with fire fingers

the water propelling us with it's gentle caress

we were free to confess anything we wanted

as time knew not it's name

as the hole burns brighter

as the lump grows bigger

i understand i would rather have known to love with pain

than never to have loved at all

i love you n

theater

theater will always chase me down
put a knife to my throat
and force me to put on another show
but in all fairness, i'm not complaining

break-up at LAX

my wet eyes; you are blurred from my vision
walking backwards from me
our once intertwined hands drop
heavy as lead

planes reach their destinations:
a neat- freak's suitcase, all alignments of black and blue
a pack- rats treasures, all muddled and bundled
i remember your suitcase holds my ratty yellow kitted sweater
a confession: i allowed kitty to pee on it before you left

but now my mind is a blank slate:
i sit and eat panda express emotionless
the grease and soy sauce tastes like bile in my throat
my lemonade, iced tea, and sprite concoction makes me shiver
as the abundance of ice crashes and tumbles into my teeth

the people around me talk excitedly about their travels
but i am motionless in my cheap plastic seat
the neat freak aligns his utensils around him with purpose
but i am content with the noodles that splatter the table before they hit my mouth

congratulations:
you have become a passenger abroad the LAX plane
destination unknown
at least the pack rat has his treasures;
all you have is vile kitty pee on the sweater of your's truly

and you don't have this blubberous intoxicating food
which tastes good now that all you have is salted peanuts;
which you hate (i assume) in a perfect airport world

but at least in your suitcase have your favorite purple tie
oh, how i wish i was that ratty purple tie!
i would hang around your neck and weigh you down
like these pot stickers in my stomach

teach me to dance

i see you smiling
i'm not going to pretend you're not
i smile along
do you see me?

i see you laughing to yourself
a memory that waltzes through your brain
i dance along to your song
do you see the clumsy steps unfold around me?

i see you writing
recording your tails of arabian nights and foreign pastures
i think about where you've traveled
i've pack my bags, take me with you?

...

inspiration-
yankee bayonet/ will be home then
by the vitamin string quartet

the carnival

the carnival is dark and mysterious

clowns twirl their feathered hair

red carved smiles hide grimaced mouths

pink painted cheeks dripping dust from sweat and grime

children's laughter ricochets off the rides' metal carcasses

gray-yellow light cascades throughout heads of soft down

mother's wary eye watches from above

her hand, though rough and hard, dances around the whimsical facade

the clowns dance faster and faster

spinning and weaving huge nets of fly-away web

children's eyes are filled with red smiles and pink cheeks

but mother's eyes widen to see grimaced mouths and dripping paint

children skip and fly into the web by clowns

giggles erupt- they are covered and warm

mother cries out- they're strangled and helpless

but the clowns' lips curl as they teach the children

the dance of the carnival

hide and seek with mr. fox

i am so transfixed, you really are clever:

eyes look from corner to corner;

sly and swift like fox running low on yellow trails

smile quick and gone once i blink;

made almost unreal thus never converted to memory

teeth sharpened and glistening;

better to devour up words and their hidden meanings

your arm closes in over my eyes;

you say, "let us play hide and seek"

but i say, "i am tired, let us play another day"

who is clever now fox?

Anorexic (Hope and Soul Revised)

Mia's black-hole eyes peer into mine

With Her mysterious darkness and beauty

I run to Her brilliant light to see, for I am blind

I jump into Her spindly arms for comfort, for I am alone

She opens her mouth; a vast hole

Wider and wider

Out pours a thick swarm of black bees

Each bee a tear drop of promise,

Each bee stinging me with their mechanical sound

I open my arms wide and Mia starts reshaping

My cream bones replaced with aluminum and steel

My erratic thoughts becoming mechanical and controlled;

Black bees

With tears I see the Others She's left sowed and shaped:

Squirming on the cold concrete

Porcelain faces burnt and seared by her brilliant light

Glass hands cracked and splintered by her spindly arms

Her black bees bite at their cheeks as well

Despite their glistening and sunken eyes

I call for Mia in the dead chilled night

Mia's a crane over me, the bones of steel poke through Her back

She recruits me to the army if the Others

And I march in line, finally perfection

The mechanical buzz loud in our ears

johnny cash

dear johnny cash,

thank you for making my day a lot better than it started off

with your raspy voice

and straight-forward lyrics

love,

me

my favorite songs:

god's gunna cut you down

i won't back down

rusty cage

hurt

boy named sue

i walk the line

dear sweet children lean how to write a poem correctly please

roses are red
and (dear sweet children)
violets are blue
sugar is sweet
and so are you

as you cans see, it sucks and has no emotional depth
but hey, at least its submitted into my school's literary magazine!

poetry can kiss my over-it ass

ok, can i just vent for one fucking moment?
please if you can't stand bitchy moany blog posts just stop reading, get your self a cup of tea and read something interesting.

I HATE WRITING THIS DAMN POETRY

there, i said it. i hate even looking at my poem that i wrote (and yes, i'm still venting about hope and soul to ash) well, i don't even know if it should be called that anymore because its not even about that topic anymore. i have revised it so many times that seriously, i might as well name it, my lovely walk in the garden. how about, the birds chirp and wake me up each morning how fucking lovely.

so after revising it the second time (where devoe cut out every other word to give it a more poetic stance and not harp on the same thing over and over..) he looked at his creation and was like: (seriously)

"hm, now don't get me wrong, but still it's a little fucking morbid. like (making screamo noises) like it's pretty dark. i can't print it like this. the character was so sweet and innocent in the beginning and she seems to be just sucked into this as a victim from the very beginning. like we need to see her making a choice here. and what? so eating disorders suck, and so what? what's the point of your poem?"

the point of my poem:
dear my sweetheart mr. devoe,
the point of my poem is to experience the emotions of someone going through and eating disorder as i envision it, and in my own language. its pretty dark and morbid because it's a dark and morbid kind of poem. that's it. the point is to get across the loneliness and or depression of someone going through one, not to, as you said, "shine some kind of glimmer of hope throughout the poem just because the main character seems to be screwed from the beginning". my poem only covers a fragment of emotion that the character went through, and i'm sorry she not exited about her life being shot to hell. so yes, she is screwed from the begining and will continue to be screwed.

MY FAVORITE PART
(that i suprisingly am smiling at as i remember the irony of it all..)
one line in my poem used to read something along the lines of:
Her chains cut into their skin, the darkest place they feared
but he cut out every other word so it ran like this:
her chains cut into the darkest place
then he has the nerve to ask me, "so is this like a metaphor for a va-jay-jay?"

um- no. i did not write a poem about a "va-jay-jay" and submit it into my public high school's literary magazine, thank you very much. YOU cut it that way, so ask yourself, "what am i trying to portray by cutting out all of my students necessary words and twisting it into something slued and inappropriate? why did i feel the need to do that?"

this is becoming harder and worth more than i thought. now when i write poems i look through them with "devoe's eye" and i can't see them from their meaning point of view anymore. i see them as a bundle of tangled words that don't make any sense. because apparently when i try to describe loneliness it is portrayed like i'm talking about vaginas.

so yeah, you can see why i'm discouraged.

my sea paradise of teal and night

white beams stream into my eyes, bright and unforgiving

the first chilly breaths stab at my ribs, i am hardly living

with slits for eyes and mouth agape i struggle for the words that will not come

my tongue is dried to the roof of my mouth, my lips sit idly; numb

i hear beeping and smell sharp chemicals far far off; it brings me to this moment

clarity unfogs my slit eyes and creeks open my mouth

like unwinding a rusty hinge, coated in years of dust and grime

reality is moving so fast

the water poured out, gushing blue; the dam broke

sound igniting me like fire

feeling igniting me like wind

i have awoke

as my dream-life escapes me, a fast shard of white hot lightning,

i remember living in the corners of my mind, i was always fighting:

a sea paradise, floating and stretching out around me, everything is quiet

but through the pressure on my ears; my heart bubbles out a riot

the water swims fast pass me but i am suspended forever in teal and night

my body floats alone and i am only a cylinder of light

floating up in slow motion, for until the cylinder breaks through the surface:

i stay sound in my dreams

but things will prove that they are not what they seem

my mind tumbles and swirls through the layers on deep consciousness;

till i hear the small sob of a child dim in the distances

he runs slowly away from me, through the water until only a fragment is seen

i follow and take his hand, as i enclose on it, it turns to black ink, what could this mean?

the ink starts dancing and swaying to the surface of the great deep lake

i look around, the water is eerily quiet and a shiver runs up my spine,

i realize everything around me is fake

the roar of rushing water fills my ears,

and the beeping makes my head throb along to its beat

i clutch my head, still suspended in the water, which around me melts away at my feet

my eyes start to dance with my imagination, faster and faster till lightning strikes me down

and out from beneath comes a roaring bubbling sound

melting clocks, tick loudly around me

i grab at the year-hand but it spins my whole body around; bubbles are all i can see

up is down and down is up;

my reality is my imagination and my imagination is my reality

each hand strikes me at three, three, three...

and as i spin and spin in time with its rotations

the world around me becomes more and more peculiar at each strike of three, to my aggravation

my wonderland:

as i slip back from my awakening again, water the only thing in sight

the only enlightenment i have; my brain isn't screwed on just right

the child with the mild voice and eyes, can be seen in the distance

i follow him again, but my legs melt into the water around me, despite my insistence

i tumble; cartwheel slowly through the water

heavy and thick until i am engulfed in teal and night, reality is slaughtered

the calling of my name becomes dimmer

the cascade of blue caves into my slit eyes, which with one last look at the

child and at the forever melting time; close again, the light not even a shimmer

my body floats away in the water, and i am suspended once more

alone and floating in my sea paradise, somewhere between reality and imagination

somewhere between the beeping and the eerie silence:

somewhere in my mind

we're all looking for our person (stream of counsciousness part 1)

yes, i have already blogged today
but when you have some thing to say you have something to say, right?
i will be off on a random rampage
my steam of consciousness, i guess

you know when you meet someone, and you just sort of say to yourself:
i want to know everything about that person
like, i could defiantly sit and watch a sunset with that person and have a completely intellectual, mind-boggling conversation with him or her.
i actually want to sit and talk and tell everything about myself to this person:
and they would listen to you and you would have so much in common;
it would be magical.

not romantic, it doesn't have to have all the pressure sunsets have,
but you would connect and everything would align correctly in the world for once as you just talk and let the pieces of the intimate conversation fall out into the open, with no sudden urge to fill the silences, with no unquenching fear that the other person would be "weirded out". but you would use complete honesty and complete openness.

the saddest thing is that, throughout the years, (and im not that old)... there has only been a small [infint's] handful of people i would want to share my personal life with.

right now, there is this one person that i just want to run up to and be like "can we just please pass all this get to know each other/ awkward i only know you from this one party sort of thing, and just sit down and get to know each other?" but seeing as someone actually doing that is socially unacceptable, im "sitting waiting and wishing" that time flies and we pass all this unnecessary crap until we can get to the real thing.

what is the real thing though? i guess, im still looking for it, just as much as everyone is. everyone is looking for that one person, a best friend, a mentor, a lover, a sister that they can just sit down and be completely honest with.

why, do people never answer the phone on the first ring? why? so we look like we are super busy before the person at the other end of the phone hears us say "hello"? why do we all walk around pretending like our lives are this great american soap opera when we just have to admit to ourselves that stuffing our lives to the brim with all this unnecessary crap is never going to fill the void we have to have to connect with another human being.

we're all human, and we all desire to have that one person that we don't have to play games with. that we don't have to fill the silences with. that we don't have to feel ashamed in front of. that we don't have to pretend that we don't need them, when we do. its all games we play to comfort ourselves and remind ourselves tha we are not alone. but, why can't we just admit that we are alone sometimes?

im on a hunt. for that someone. that one person that i can be completely honest with, that i can say things like "hey im just not in the mood today" or "i missed you" to or "i love you" to.

no, NOT a boyfriend that we can send cutesy valentines to, or check off "5 MONTHS" on my calender about. im not looking for an empty romantic shitty relationship with this person (the Lord knows, i don't need one). im looking for someone to fill that void we all have inside of ourselves. that void that is filled when we have real conversations about things that matter, with people we care about.

damn, sometimes we need to sit ourselves down and admit we are all looking for a friend. someone that you'll know that when your in a coma, that person will be there holding your hand until you wake up. someone that you'll know when you get off that 14 hour flight, they'll be there waiting with a cardboard sign with your name on it like an idiot because they missed you so much. someone that knows how much you care about them because you feel comfortable enough around them to let them know how much you care about them.

we all need that someone that we can feel completely vulnerable with, and not worry about the consequences. no matter how much shit you confess, you know that they can handle it. and they know, you'll always be there for them. a unmoving irrefutable knowledge that keeps both moving in the same direction.

yeah, and while we're all writing in diaries, writing in blogs about our hopes and dreams, thinking about the future, and worrying about the past, we sometimes wish that the person (that person you want to be your person) is watching/reading/listening to what you have to say.

why? because you want them to know about you, and right now your too scared to connect, because you aren't sure they'll stay to listen to the end of your tale. so, in the mean time you waiting on the side lines. waiting to share yourself with that person that doesn't even know you think about them. simple things like, i hope she/he is doing well.
something as simple as that.

im looking for that person; we are all looking for that person.

in a language i cannot understand

i close my eyes

imagine the glitter and sparkle twirl and orbit around my face

imagine the sun warm my eyelids, yellow and heavy

the birds chirp lazily and i can hear you humming a song i don't know the words to

i open my eyes

i see you smile back at me, your smile crooked and very imperfect

i see lines in your face; years stretch out behind you, i can see it in the corners of your eyes

you open your mouth and out pours a language that i don't understand

you take my hand

your skin is rough, a tattoo; the color of the wind in your hand

i wish you'd hold my hand for a while, it's bigger than my own

your hands dance with the words you create as you speak

...

your song isn't for me, otherwise i would sing along

we can't run through the years together; you already bought a one-way ticket on a train

that won't come back

you hand leaves mine and the color of the wind lifts from my palm

-but the imprint of the hurricane is still seared into my skin

what if kafka just liked cockroaches?

so. on a complete whim i submitted a couple of my poems to lit mag at my school.
i submitted a personal favorite, hope and soul to ash (i think i posted it here...)
and my advisor told me that he wanted to see me about it

so we were talking, and he told me he likes the way my "brain works"
and my way of thinking, which i had no comment on and respond so with a muttered "ok".

well, he told me that there were a couple things that were preventing it from
being published this year:
1- it seemed "emo" with the death at the end.
first of all, i don't see myself as emo at all, i actually subconsciously cringe at that word- emo.

2-"we" (meaning some sort of secret society of writing gods) like the figurative aspects about it but that i should just cut out all the literal aspects

3- he then told me that obviously the main character is symbolic for something... and then he paused. so i told him that that main character symbolizes (...) which was the truth and it got a little quiet. now i feel really weird that now he knows what my poems about. the real reason i was uncertain of even turning this in was because i knew that people would pick it apart.
no, i don't care if they don't like it. i just hate when people say shit like "the author is symbolising this here..." or "obviously this is a comment on how the traumatic events of the author's childhood shaped his choice of diction here..." i mean. what the fuck. BUT i do understand sometimes it's true. the author did mean that there; but if he/she/i didn't don't pretend it does.

in my english class we're reading kafka's "metamorphosis". every time mr. k's is reading he tells us, "the author turned gregory into a bug because it showed his isolation as a human being. you can see his alienation here and here..."
SO BADLY i would love to be like, "UM. excuse me what if kafka just like cockroaches?"

i guess my point is, that not everything needs to have a point. the whole point of the modernist movement is that the authors wrote about things that didn't make sense. so, why dear teacher, are you adding all this analytical shit to someone's work? what if kafka just fancied cockroaches?

i'm revising my poem; i caved. he did give some good suggestions, i will admit. so my poem will be shined up, clipped up here, and figurative words added there. i'm guess "sad" because when i was writing it i just sat down and typed out how i was feeling at that exact moment. now, i'm writing while trying to remember that feeling. it's not the same thing.

ill post the "better" version here.

i only like grey's anatomy as a friend

reasearch sucks:

"on average patients with scoliosis have a shortened life span of about 14 years."

um, holy fuck?

so today, i did it

i finally admitted to my parents i was scared (...)

and i had a good sobbing embarassing messy mascara cry

and it was one of the best things i could've done

to be vunerable, and to admit: "i'm shitting my pants right now please help me"

is scary

but when you know you have the best possible people supporting you

and you have people who want to help you make the right descisions

it puts some to the worries at bay

my dad remeinded me that i watch too much grey's anatomy,

i know, how is it possible?

and not all surgerys are as dramatic and hectic as those on my favorite show

which basically made me smile

...but if anyone is operating it'll be christina yang, thank you very much

so, im putting these worries at rest for now

i'm going to stop watching grey's anatomy

and im going to get a good night's rest

hallelujah

...

pee-ess- maybe you should try this:

i (name) am/have ______ and i don't give a shit

mine would be: i suhleenuh myhoney have scoliosis and i don't give a shit

yours might be:

i (name) am gay and i don't give a shit

i (name) hate red heads and i don't give a shit

i (name) can't sing for my life and i don't give a shit

i (name) relized my mother told me to do the laundry and i don't give a shit

...obviously this is very liberating...

shakespeare makes me want to punch someone in the face

i'm joining theater at my school
i'm actually really exited
i can learn more and more everyday
that's something to look forward to, isn't it?

well everyone tells me the teacher is crazy
and she drains everyones time
but i need someone to drain my time
i have too much time, in my opinion
sure i'm always busy, but with stuff like math and chemistry i.e.,
stuff that "frankly my dear, i don't give a damn" about
(ahh, gone with the wind reference)

so she asked me if i wanted to join beginners theater or advanced theater
i told her advanced, naturally
not because i think im a good actress,
i have absolutely no experience...
except being little independent films that my father and his friends make
and of course high school musical 1 and 2- oh joy!
(i have so much more work to do it's traumatizing to think about it all)
but because i'm ready for something
that will finally challenge me in something i actually care about improving


she then proceeded to give me a list of things i needed to do
i am supposed to learn a monologue and audition for her in two month's time
she suggested shakespeare,
and if you know me you know about how much
shakespeare makes me want to punch someone in the face
(out of fright of acting it-
and frustration of my limited attention span)
maybe i'll do something from a chorus line, i love that play

well, it's a step in the right direction i presume

flock of sheep in spacesuits

we look up at the stars
and the earth falls out from beneath us
each twinkling star placed by hands much bigger than our own
star dust is blown in the blackness, with wind that blows faster than we have ever known

we are so limited
we squeeze the sky and the stars that hang so preciously in the sky
in our limited brains, in our elementary textbooks

in science class, someone with a whiteboard and a pointer
tells us how the earth was formed
with chemicals and gases and mistakes
but as you're sitting there in that generic blue plastic chair you feel there is something more

and just to think were are just a speck on a speck the orbits another speck
just to think the sun could suck us dry if it imploded, by chance
just to think acid jungles and ocean worlds might be orbiting somewhere
and we wouldn't know it
but someone would

just to think, our little blue and green twinkling planet hung up in air:
people live day to day
the flock of sheep all move in the same direction, it's all humanity has ever known

a child looks up in the starry night, his big brown eyes filled with the whimsical universe
and wonders how everyone walks with their eyes closed if there is so much to see
wonders why when you push bigger and bigger with your mind you always hit a wall, where you can't think anymore
it's just easier to think about your own day to day instead

when you think someone has got to have placed those stars
someone has got to have painted that night blacker than black
someone has got to have lightly blown on each little planet making it orbit like
a little kids science project
someone

and when you stand and tell me that the someone who hung my world
knows how many hairs there are on my head
it's too big, too magical for me to understand
because i think, why would He want to know me?
i don't stand much taller than the dirty ground i walk on

but sometimes you just have to think that if He took that much time
making the universe spin and twirl in beautiful silence and heart-stopping beauty
He thought you should be in it; because you're here aren't you?

He spent time weaving each thread of hair
painting each freckle
and putting the stars in our eyes
for a reason

so we could walk hand in hand through the stars
i would be in a spacesuit
and He'd be cloaked in the stars, He'd point out the milky way and smile

epiphany by flashdance

as i was watching the movie flashdance, i had a vision.
i can follow my dream.
and yes, it seems so cheesy to take something that generic from an old 80's movie;
but when you sit there and ponder that one sentence, that one thought,
things just start to come together, you can almost make out the big picture.

we seriously have one fricken life to live, why not give it everything you got?
i want to know what im so scared of, what is everyone else so damn scared of?
that you'll fall on your ass? we've all done that, plenty of times.

i guess once you start to see that the only thing that's stopping you is the fear of failure
you can just keep moving, keep perusing
because if you fail,
there's no regrets

a box of old stuff

i have finally and completely moved.

4 boxes, and many more to go,

but i'm out of that apartment and into a brand new one.

my sister and I counted, our 10th move.

apartment apartment house apartment apartment.

so as i was going though some of my old stuff, i came across a blue old box that looked like it had been warped by hundreds of years. a thick layer of dust coated the top and elementary stickers covered the sides.

i opened it and found all my elementary school journals, pictures and just, memories. they poured out of that box. but one things that i found: diaries.

diaries that said 'memories' on them, another was a harry potter diary, which i find ironic because i always make fun of my sister for being a harry potter freak. alright let me just put it out there, i like harry potter. who doesn't?

anyway, in my move all together i found around seven or eight diaries. filled with stuff. heavy stuff, light stuff just all this stuff i totally and completely forgot about. entirely.

as i began to read them, i was seriously transported back to my years in 5th grade, 6th grade and so on. it was an eye opener to how much i have seriously changed.

i found letters from my old best friends, and in my diaries i actually wrote about each friend. old fights, good times, and the notorious crushes all came back to me.

the boys i liked!!! i remember reading the first time a boy asked me out (typical response for me: no; so some things haven't changed), i read about my first best friend and how we became friends from hanging out at the monkey bars; literally this stuff was golden.

it was so funny when i addressed my older self, like, 'older salina if you are reading this..." and it was so strange because i was. i was like sitting with my younger self and experiencing everything again with her.

i had totally forgotten how much i hated my middle school, and pretty much everyone in it. i drew pictures and wrote charts and made lists.

as i was reading this feeling came back to me. i wasn't just remembering it like a picture, i was remembering the feel of that time. the feel of the old town and school i used to go to. everything was just a feeling, not a memory because i hardly remember half the stuff i wrote about.

wow, i feel so old. i'm 15 years old and i'm old. i guess i do miss that 'era' of my life, even though there were hard times. pictures can only take you back so far, but for me it was the diaries that brought me the rest of the way.

so thank you younger self.

love

"love is patient and kind;
love does not envy or boast;
it is not arrogant or rude.
It does not insist on its own way;
it is not irritable or resentful;
it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.
Love bears all things,
believes all things,
hopes all things,
endures all things."

-1st corinthians 13

i just need to let this sink in.

the one-man dream catcher

right now im might just be the most determined person
i have ever been
and all it took was my parents not believing in me
funny, isn't it?

when you were in kindergarten didn't your parents say,
"reach for the stars!" and
"you can do it!"
yeah well, that was when we all wanted to be firefighters and policeman
when we all wanted to be doctors and presidents

try telling your parents you might want to become and actress
might
even the smallest possibility that you won't be normal
and you learn that everything they told you in kindergarten was
straight-up, no lie
b u l l s h i t

from you too
and that just plain out hurts
we were always supposed to be on the same side
fighting for freedom of individuality and independence together
but is i grow older i again realize,
b u l l s h i t

it hurts, but again makes me more determined
maybe God is putting this hurdle in my life
so that i can fight harder
so that i can try harder
so that i can experience happiness on my own

and you only need one person to chase a dream
so bring it on

the schizophrenic with the sparkling eyes

i have see him at the bus station
twice
he blends in with the mass, but has a look in his eye that sparkles and shines
he smiles to himself, a sweet shy smile that is only for him
he talks to everyone around him, straight-forwardly and honestly
he doesn't hide, and that's what i like about him

i imagine things about him
what his childhood was like, what his adulthood is like
and the story unfolds in my mind as i wait for my bus

i find myself wishing that he has a special girl that he likes
rooting for him, that she liked him back
if you saw him you'd know he deserved a sweet girl
his eyes just scream out that he knows what love is
they just sparkle and shine

i imagine his name is something simple
but something you can't forget

i see him loping with his big backpack and tall frame
from the hospital to get on the bus
sometimes i see him getting off,
and see him walking in that same direction
once again
i have a feeling he goes to the hospital everyday
and is friends with all the nurses
he would know each one by name, and know all the twists and turns of the hospital

he is a youthful sweet-faced man
i picture him at the age of 23
maybe older, but laughter and innocence had kept his features childish

he sometimes has his arm wrapped around someone, who's not there
he always laughs at jokes that no one can hear
and out of the corner of my eye i see him look at something magnificent; things that no one can see

and as the crowd looks away, uncomfortable and scared
i look on in curiosity, and wonder

i want him to show me what is so magnificent that he just has to look at in amazement
i want to ask him, can i meet that sweet girl you have your arm around
i bet she's interesting, even though he would be the only one to know that

he's a schizophrenic
i have heard him say it out loud more than once
but why does he need reality, if what he sees is so beautiful?
why bring him down here to walk among the living and the sane,
if what he sees is so damn interesting?

he should be helping us
there has to be something beautiful on that bus stop that im missing
and he's got it

MY HOT BOY LIST

everyone's got a list

1. gabriel macht*- he's just plain out too sexy he gets a star and, 10
2. shia labeouf- 10
3. johnny depp- 9 1/2
4. james franco- 9 1/2
5. penn badgley- 9 1/2
6. michael cera- my obsession for obvious reasons, 10
7. ashton kutcher- 8
8. peter fachinelli- 8 1/2
9. seth rogen- 8
10. kevin costner- i would like to make it clear ONLY in JFK and, 9
whoops totally forgot:
11. david boreanaz*, 9 1/2
12. mc steamy, 9
13. mc dreamy, 8