Oh the lists you'll see

I think I'll make another diary-like entry about my life.
So today is monday, happy monday guyz. monday doesn't deserve to be capitalized because monday's SUCK. Well I'm just chilling here, listening to Bon Iver because that's some real inspirational music. Reflecting on this month's events. (Here's a list because I like lists!)

1. Lost my best friend of eight years.
2. Merged into a new group of friends.
3. Narrowly avoiding a kiss from a man-slut.
4. Put ANOTHER label on myself.
5. Lost my best guy-friend.
6. Realized I'm head over heels for one of my best friends.
7. (The number seven reminds me of Thursday?)
8. My gecko died :(
9. Got stood up by my homecoming date.
10. Let my emotions get the best of me... tsk tsk!

There's my list. The end.

Just kiddinggggg :)

So to Sarah, in the unlikely event that you're reading this right now, I'm sorry that you can't see how much your boyfriend is ruining your life... how many friendships of yours he's cost you. It hurts me to even think about this, so I just won't.

Facebook is really stupid. It's like this huge popularity contest, plus it just fuels nonsense drama.
Its so easy to go through life with no purpose, just floating in the motions. But once you realize that you're an individual, it starts to hurt. You realize that there is no cookie cutter mold. We're raised being taught that we're all human, and therefore we all have characteristics in common. But I've grown to see that that isn't exactly true... So we decide to branch out and hold onto anyone that can even pretend to understand. That's why we toss around the "I love you" statement so much. Who wouldn't want to believe in undeniable love? It's such a comforting thought, that you can depend and trust someone that much. If it were true, maybe people would actually be happy.
I hope anyone reading this is happy. I hope there's something in your life that you want to see, want to know so bad that you keep hanging on. I'm sure it's worth it. To be honest, we're all walking the same road here. Might as well walk hand in hand :)

Spread some love <3

Sienna lifted her fingers from the chipped ivory keys. She looked down at her shaking hands, bearing the burden of her secret's secrets. Her melodies, that had once been so gentle and pure, like the fresh snow, were now heavy and made the heart ache. In her small room of few objects and many walls, she swayed to the throb of her own song. Bubbling to the surface was years of realization, guilt, fear. The demons drifted out from her soul and wrapped around anything they came into contact with. Even her writings withered at her touch. There was not a single laugh nor careless giggle left inside her being. She had been hallowed out by the pain of many lifetimes.
Sienna's piano, her one last hope, melted away into another memory as the room faded into the foreground. She fell all the way through the back of the world, where no one would dare search for her. At this distance, she could still hear her sad lullabies weaving through a network of buzzing ideas.
The alone was eerily perfect. She forgot to hold back her tears and fears. They fumbled out of her mind in a mess, and from some other world she saw her figure collapse into a pitiful heap.
Life was in her hands, like the seed of a rose, which she could choose to nurse to a towering beauty that would only prick her to tears in the end. Or she should crush it into a dust, and let it rejoin the free-blowing wind.
Instead, Sienna idly let her hands drift along the sad notes, which so screamed for freedom of the boundaries of her mind. For eternity she was caged into this loop of events, this mindset. But if she only pleased, it would be too easy to let go and slip past where one can ever return...

I just remembered something.. how so long ago you held my hand through the ice and bitter cold. every time I slipped and wobbled you wrapped your arms around me and laughed. you never stopped gazing at me with all that joy and utter delight. my legs stopped shaking and my fingers intertwined with yours. yet through all of that, you had been just another face then. never would I have thought of... loving you.
now here I am. remembering. and I can't help but think... look what what we made of 'us'. look how we were meant to be.

Native Lands in Distant Seas

In between the city of never ending lights and melting metal,

Behind the sloping hills of ever fresh farm,

There is home.

Where people and ideas and music notes grow through crisp grass.

When the wind which blows with icy kisses that burn our eyes and pinches our exposed skin,

We can’t help but blow shy kisses back.

It’s where my spirit was born, without the body that was one hundred miles away.

On that secret land has no reflection in the water that dutifully surrounds it.

It’s the place that one wouldn’t live at, nor stay away from.

Difficult is this expanse of land to come by,

Unless you are there in the very beginning,

Grasping at helping hands that lead you soundlessly along the dirt path where you stop being inside yourself,

And become a piece of everyone else,

The very mud your toes are slowly sinking into,

Even Earth herself.

Home is an eternal connection that holds beyond death and hate.

Home knows only each other, and without introductions.

As I reach home once again,

After a trying year of wandering thoughts,

I find it all just as I left it,

With welcoming branches reaching up towards the sun, and the sky reaching down to us below,

Creating perfect unity and home as I know it.

Who said its a box?

Honors English class; period four. Ms. Smith comes to the middle of the room with a big smile and plops down an old cardboard box and says: Write.

            If you listened hard enough, you could hear the music box sing. Though harsh a melody the song was, it wove a story that put the restless orphans to sleep every night. Like them, the song was a breathing story, chocking on sobs and dribbling out laughter. There was no crank to begin the music. The box gave birth to its song when a feeling of sadness reached its tattered edges. Every note stretched up and out, grasping around blankets of sorrow from each child, and making it vanish, as if by magic. Then they could smile on their own, and be as light as the wind itself.

When the room was empty, the music box hummed slightly all by its lonesome, remembering its own sad tales. Sometimes a happy child would walk by and only see an ugly antique, and hear only a slight droning beep. They might kick the box in annoyance. Of course it would never lash out in return, because it understood. And if that same little boy with dirty hair and scraggly clothes were to come by again, this time with his heart in two, he would sit with his feet on the gray and cold concrete floor, and with his knees pulled up to his barely beating heart. He would listen to the song played from the wooden cube with intricate carvings and highlights of dust.

            Sometimes the children, or even the caretakers, wondered where the little thing came from. Truth be told, the thing had no maker, no beginning, no middle nor no end. It, and its magic, simply was. And to brothers and sisters and those who were absolutely alone, that music box was what made the echoing hallways of the orphanage a place full of color and life, a place to call home.

RepetitionRepetitionRepetition, Crash

     I pulled the wool blanket tighter around me and sighed. My breath swirled and pushed into your chiseled features.
     You smiled at me, flashing perfect dimples.
     The air was dry and cold, in the most refreshing and cleansing way. I felt it all the way through my bones like a dream catcher, taking all the nightmares away. I tuned into the gentle swaying of the ship and nuzzled my head into your shoulder, where it fit perfectly. You kissed my forehead. You had surprisingly gentle lips... for a guy.
     "Look up at the stars, Naomi," you whispered into my hair.
     I looked up and saw dark night sky, covered in clouds. I laughed and pushed you a little bit. You smiled wider and pushed me back. Things are so easy with you, as a friend. It was worth all the stress of getting to this point. Despite the fact that you broke my heart countless times... But I wasn't in the mood to sit around and talk some more about our feelings. I would much rather run away from them all. Literally.
     I detached myself from you (slightly unwillingly) and stood up. I put my hand out to you, inviting you to come along. You looked at me and raised your eyebrows, but before our skin could make contact, I was off.
My bare feet sank into wet ground in the pool areas. It was green and fuzzy. My toes were numb by now, but that didn't bother me. I was on a mission. Which was of course the same mission as it usually is; run until I fall off the edge. I twisted my head around to see how far behind you were, and shrieked when you flashed by me, grabbing my hand and pulling me along.
     I was fast. You've always been faster.
     Soon we were outside again, near the rear of the ship. You slowed down, but didn't let go. I slid my other hand along the railing, the only thing separating us from the frigid ocean. Though it was nighttime, I could see a faint outline of the Alaskan mountains. I leaned over the edge and watched the water splashing around the massive boat.
     I felt your arms wrap around my stomach and your nose against my neck. The body heat was much welcomed. Cold as I was, I wouldn't have gone inside. This was one of the moments that I wanted to stretch as thin as possible
     I turned around so I was facing you and leaning against the metal bars.
     "Its windy," I giggled as my hair spread across my face, blinding me.
     "I'll protect you." You put your forehead against mine and stared straight into my eyes.
     Unwavering, strong. You didn't sway even in the harshest conditions.
     My smile loosened. "I know. You always do."
     You kissed the corner of my mouth. "Smile my dear, or the sun might not come up."
     How could I not smile at that? I leaned my head against your chest and listened to your heartbeat. Steady, consistent. Real, alive.
     I looked up at you, tears brimming. "I thought you would be gone by now." Like last time. And the time before that. My mouth barely opened to let the words pass.
     "I noticed something. Anywhere else that I end up going is never better than this."
     "What is 'this' that you're referring to?" To be honest, I didn't want to know the answer to this question. Sometimes things just slip.
     "Being with you. Being right here right now, and not five days from now in a whole new place. This is what I need."
     What about what I need? What about how you can't stand for me to let you go, but won't let me have you either? You can only hand me the same half-assed love so many times.
      You leaned in for a kiss, because that's how these things sort themselves out. I stood in cold silence, because that's the kind of person I am.
     Silence.
     The wind kept blowing and I heard it rush past my ears. The waves kept crashing and spraying against the ship. Inside, doors might close and open. A young woman might walk in an elevator and try to remember what floor their room is on. Cooks might be preparing for breakfast in a couple hours. I might be stuck here, at a loss for words or actions. Confused, worn out, and homesick, I fall into your arms.
     Just like last time.

Beauty. Here we go.

Who the hell decides who is pretty and who isn't?
I'd like to smack them.
You can be "pretty" based on your physical appearance. I guess that means your face is fairly symmetrical, your eyebrows are thin and curved slightly. Your eyes might be big and curious, or angled and elegant. Your nose thin and smooth. But then again, no one even stops to go through those lists when they see someone attractive. They just stop. Most of the time, I find that people stop and stare at the people who are beautiful. Which of course is completely different from pretty. Beautiful literally radiates from your insides. Okay, maybe not your large intestine and your kidneys, but more like your spirit and soul. Someone who puts others first, and can laugh at their own mistakes, and has a special talent, will shine through all the normal people. And that's why we choose them... because you see them like you don't see everyone else. You get that feeling of wanting to know more, wanting to know everything about them. Who they are, if they love their dad, what their favorite teddy bear's name was. How did they get so damn wonderful?
It kinda bothers me when people say "don't judge a book by its cover" because when it comes to people at first glance, what else are we supposed to judge them by? We work so hard to make sure our flaws are covered and our clothes flattering. I'd like that work to be put to good use, so go ahead people, judge me by how I look. Stare at my face made pretty by smiles, not layers of makeup and concealer. Follow your curiosity and take a chance, you never know what that beautiful person sitting behind you in English class might be hiding just below the surface.



Go with your arms held wide 
Happiness in your eyes, convincing 
And stay the night, turn out every light you see 
And lay them down buried in the ground for me
"English House" -Fleet Foxes

Filled right to the brim; more than content

So last night (this morning?) I stayed up, again, to watch the sun rise. And smartypants me, I grabbed my journal and ran outside so I could capture the feeling. And smartypants me ran through the wet grass like an idiot, to find that my step dad was standing on the front porch, starting at me like I'm an idiot. Which I am. But it was wonderful.

This is what I got.

I can feel the world coming back to me.
Dusty blue, deep turquoise, faded baby pinks highlighting the clouds. Steady shining moon, breaking through the morning dew. Sweet bitter cold, nipping at breathing skin. Sky and heart connecting. Wake up.
I am in love. I am in love with this precious world around me, croaking frogs and twinkling stars.That's enough for me. Whether or not i have someone to share it with... this is enough for me.
Never have I tasted air so sweet, nor as fresh. Never have I seen nature such as this.
This is bliss.
This is beautiful.
Everything is glowing with dawn.
Mist rises from the crisp earth, meeting in the middle with the sky that is just as perfect.
Bliss.
From soaking blades of grass, to the sturdy uneven concrete, feet dance with resistance.
Bright cerulean clashing with puffs of salmon, streaking and exploding across the vast skies. Like careful strokes of wings, rising against the still air. Still... like the clouds, massive and powerful, but steady.
Frozen toes nor "battery low" can sway my heart from overflowing with peace. Bright and proud I rise. I reach out to individuals, not as a whole. Filling at each stop, with love.
Bliss.
Good morning crows, as you kiss the clouds. The cold is refreshing and rejuvenating. Never bitter. Awe and splendor as the sun comes to brushed the horizon. Never have I seen such splendor...
Clouds fade to porcelain, sky to clear and even blue. It is the wings of love that swish and swirl the skies, those wings that add the life to this planet.
This home.
This Dawn.

Safety net, oh safety net, I call to you in a time of need

In the morning, around five twenty three... the sky is lavender. Its pale and dusty, like an underused dream. Its comforting, sweeping away the mysteries of the dark. But the sun comes up incredibly fast when you're sitting there hoping time will stop.

      I watched as shadows twirled and fought through solid materials. I thought. What else was left do to? This is who I am now. I lay awake until the sun comes up, too afraid of what slips into my mind when its dark. Then I waste away the day, lost in dreams of what will never be.

     My only regret is that I do it alone.

     Truth is, I'm missing something.

     When lovers fail, friends catch you before you fall. They tell you that you are right, this is what is right. They hug you and do not let go. They don't allow you a single second to think, maybe... possibly... I want my lover back? But what do you do when your friend, your sister, your other half, won't come home?

     You sit.

     You watch the sun rise, and watch it set.

     You wait.

     You try so hard not to think about how your former lover now has your address to mail your a birthday present. You try not to think about how you know you will lose your strength and fall once you get that present... and how there will be no one around to catch you.

Greetings, from a broken heart

I am cursed.

I broke up with my girlfriend yesterday. "Whyyy?!" you might ask.
Since I like lists, here's a list of reason why:

1. This year, she's moving to another state to start college.
2. She is four years older than me, which I just realized is totally creepy.
3. Apparently she's BFFs with my ex best friend (let's call her Lena), who I happen to have some very messy history with.
4. I don't trust her.
5. I don't even like her as a person anymore.
6. I fell for four different guys since school ended. No guilty feelings at all about that, I might add.

So breaking up with her was all part of my plan. I guess I felt a little bad that she was totally upset about it... but that's honestly not my problem. But then I hear that her and Lena got high together, just a few days before she was shoving weed in my own face? Maybe I'm overreacting here. It could be completely normal that two girls who are four years apart and barely saw each other all year are suddenly smoking to oblivion together. And maybe its cool that when I came over her house she was almost in tears because I didn't want to make out CONSTANTLY. Oh and here it gets good... I tell her about guy number two that I had a crush on, and all my deep feelings about him.

And then she's silent for about five minutes.

Then she says "I love you." and goes in for a kiss.

Not exactly the response I was looking for, babe. Try again.

I think I'll go back to boys for a while.

But now I have to get some sleep, since tomorrow I'm going to a Jew Festival. I really wish I could tell you what that is.

Stay sexy my friends <3

P.S. the tenth was my birthday. happy belated birthday to me :)

Twelve Goodbyes

“Looks like we’re all leaving you today,” he said with a smile.

            I looked up and smiled back at him. I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

            “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, okay?”

            I’m not that sick. I can take care of myself. I rolled my eyes and nodded.

            His smile faltered for a second. He walked over and kissed the top of my head swiftly. Then he walked away, brushing off his sleeves.

            Today is May twenty first. It’s a Saturday. I am home alone because my parents are workaholics. I am slowly dying from the inside out. But that isn’t terribly important. What is important is that I have some confessions to make, and this time they will be heard.

            I waited for the garage to close. And I watched his car roll away in the reflection of the television. He didn’t pause to wave goodbye at the end of the driveway.

            I stood up and wobbled a little bit. The floor sunk away and I felt pressure building against my skull. Breathe, I told myself, because sometimes I forget that’s a human function.

            The house is empty. I am alone… almost.

            I slowly inched towards the stairs that led to the basement. It was only a half staircase, not to difficult to jump.

            “Is taking the easy way out such a crime?” a thick and creamy voice said from behind me. She had a slight lisp.

            I ignored her.

            “When are you going to name me? I think I deserve a name. And I really don’t want yours anymore. As much as you hate to have your limelight stolen, I am my own person, not a piece of you.”

            I dug my disintegrating nails into my palms. She’s not a person. People can’t do the things she does.

            “Do you want a hand getting down? You look a little stuck.” She reached out to me, to hold my arm.

            I jumped before her flawless skin could make contact. Air wound around me, spinning and healing my wounds. Then I landed. My legs gave out and buckled under me. No noise came out of me, not a cry or a whimper or a whine. I lay there, basking in pain.

            She walked over and stood above me. Her wide brown eyes searched uselessly through my own dull lifeless eyes. “Why won’t you let me help you?” Her voice cracked. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought she was on the brink of tears.

             I can take care of myself, I thought. I stood up and found that ignoring the pain was easy when it was everywhere at once.

            My mom used to be an artist. After my original father left her, all she would do was cry and cry. She burned all her paintings. She’s been remarried four times since then. She makes me call each man “dad” because it makes her feel less abandoned. We like to pretend they really are my dad. The truth is that no one could ever replace my dad.

            Though her personal work is gone, the art room stayed. It’s the perfect hiding place for dad’s letters, each with the return address of a new base camp every two months.

            The back wall was splattered with shades of green and blue paint, the left wall orange to red, and the right wall with purples and magentas. The fourth wall was a mural. It was one hundred and thirteen sea shells. Each one had the figure of a new born baby in it. One in particular shone the brightest, with silver wisps of light emanating from it. That one is supposed to be me; it’s the only one with her eyes open. Bright blue eyes, full of life and love and hope. The mural was drawn two weeks after I was born.

            The floors were dark brown wood, with scratches and stains all over them. Dust covered everything from the half empty tubes of dried paint to the crumpled papers with fading ink. I picked up one and smoothed it out. On one side there were seven harsh lines with ancient drops of moisture scattered around. The other side was clean.

            I combed through the mess until I found a bitten pencil with a missing eraser. I numbered one through twelve on the page, and started my confessions.

Dear Mom,

1.      I hate the new kitchen.

2.      “Dad” number two raped me.

3.      I’ve never had an abusive boyfriend, just an ignorant mother.

4.      I tried to overdose on miscellaneous medicines I found around the house three times.

5.      My real father loves me more than he ever loved you.

6.      When you missed my play in fifth grade, it wasn’t really okay.

7.      I’m highly allergic to “dad” number four’s dogs.

8.      I’m failing science as a cry for help.

9.      I stopped talking because there’s no point if you aren’t going to listen.

10.   I used to love your artwork.

11.  If you said sorry, I would’ve forgiven you.

12.  It’s too late.

            Now, to make each and every word seen and heard. I grabbed any tubes of paint that I could find that still had something to live for left in them. I was still searching for a sufficient number of brushes when the girl started talking to me again.

            “You were amazing in that play, with your cute little pigtails and rosy cheeks. You were the only one who remembered every line. Your teacher cried with joy at the end. I don’t know if you had seen that, but she did.”

            My hands shook and I dropped the rusty remains of a brush that I had been holding. White noise started playing in my head. My head felt like a too expanded balloon, ready to explode any second. But I have to finish, I thought, just a little bit longer.

            I piled the supplies I gathered and my list on top of each other. I ran up the stairs, not stopping to think about falling or dying right there.

            I went to the living room, with the empty walls and clear space, it was perfect. I painted confessions two, three, and seven in that room in bright red. Then I looked down at the floor. It was so bright and happy, the light bamboo panels. In mere minutes, the words of number five sloppily shone like fresh blood.

            “Think about how all your friends will feel.”

            The word “friends” rang in my ears, over and over.

            I couldn’t concentrate anymore. It felt like bees were slowly eating away at my brain cells. Somehow, one, four, and six were blazing across the counters and cabinets of the kitchen in a yellow-green.

            I fell hard onto the tile and heard a crack as a can of paint opened and spilled around me. It tickled my toes as it flowed away. It smelled like inspiration. I felt my heart beat ebb away. Thump…thump thump…

            No, I need to finish. I will not die half a failure.

            I sprang uneasily to my feet and dipped the tip of a brush in the river of deserted and unloved purple. Eight, nine, and ten stuck to the fancy chairs and the silk curtains of the dining room.

            All the time, the girl sat on the floor and stared at me as if I was committing a crime. The girl with black hair that barely touched her shoulders, which I fiddled with while we watched the clouds, once upon a time. The girl whose stubby fingers I had intertwined with my own as we contemplated the “why” of life, once upon a time. The girl that had left years ago, but I liked to pretend that she was still here, because it made my silence that much less lonely.

            I will not cry.

            I have two left.

            Everything I was engulfed in leaping flames and the ground was slippery. I never had to imagine what dying felt like. This was it.

            In my mother’s room, there was not one piece of out place. The carpet was white as snow. The sheets were black and modern looking. It made me sick. I tipped the can of blue so that a fine stream of gooey paint slowly poured onto the floor.

            If you said sorry, I would’ve forgiven you.

            I gave my mother so many chances to fix it all.

            The walls screamed the words. I felt my body burning with rage and sorrow. I will not cry, not for her, not for anybody. My legs started working, pulling me away from all that I had done.

            One more.

            Then I was outside, looking at the rows of cream colored roof and siding. It was all so perfect. Black paint, to match the color of my insides.

            It’s too late.

miscellaneous pictures? sure let's go with that