I give myself one song to write - in the avoidance of homework and in honor of the fresh throatsore feelings. 3:30 seconds and counting. But something to say this time, almost twenty-one and I finally know myself a little more. But this one would take both hands and you haven't one to spare. So unpublished, and three more songs ( Read more... )

I miss the way the N64 sat on top of the VCR/DVD player next to the TV in the corner. You could tell we'd just played when the controllers still dangled out half-way across the floor, cords tangled up. I miss the nasty sink in the kitchen, stained with splotches of paint and questionable masses in the drain, along with the random spagettio. I ( Read more... )

Train ticket to chicago, $50. Packing a bag, 15 minutes. Finding someone to drive you to the station, four questions. Stepping on the train, an impossible dream ( Read more... )

"What do you really want for your birthday?"

Something to say.

The lies they tell us, the lies we want to believe. Eighteen pounds and two years of slow torture later and the truth is coming out. No matter how hard you work, no matter how much you polish that chunk of gravel, how much you compress it, how many tons of pressure you pile on, you’re never going to get a diamond or see that pearl. You get what ( Read more... )

I keep forgetting that I'm not beautiful and it's screwing with my mind. I also know fifth graders who get more action than I do ( Read more... )

And like that, like the slow crawl of the sand away from the shore, I'm back to where I was before. Drowning. And the light is too bright and the music too loud and the hope gone. No, too deep ( Read more... )

Even in class, the summer heat sticks to my body. Telling me - I forgot to put on deodorant, again. And for the second day in a row I wore my underwear inside out. My mind is never fully here ( Read more... )

Already, I haven't written shit and I'm laughing. Laughing at a word that used to mean something. It used to mean something to us all but now when I read my "friends" journals ( Read more... )

Hope. Impossible. Why bother Andrea? Why? Why torture yourself? All it is, is a dream. Pure fiction. Nonsense. Why do I have to work so hard to control my thoughts, to keep any possible unmanagable thought under the microscope and dissected into a cloud of dust? Why can't my thoughts fly free like before, as a girl ready for anything? Why ( Read more... )