backbeat.

I should be writing an essay for Teacher Cadets, or reading for AP European History. Instead I'm listening to music and toying with a Rubiks Cube and wondering what makes a person like a certain genre of music. I'd like a head to take apart and mark the way it works; maybe fix the kinks that seperate me from them. I'd like to figure out why no two people ever like the same thing; and why I can't write an essay about one person I've always been able to depend on, when she's managed so many words about me.


Stephen King stated, in an essay, that people enjoy horror movies because we're all a little crazy. My English teacher aimlessly rebuttled that crazy doesn't exist in the South, it's labeled eccentric. Stephen King went on to state that people enjoy horror movies because it gives them a tingle and a surge of life that they haven't experienced since youth. That every human alive is a potential-lyncher, simply out of the zest in living life. An acquaintance, Rex, has stated previously that if he could have any super power, he would choose the power to control weather; because power alone is power worth having and power well spent.

So that's what I've gathered in the past few hours; no two humans enjoy the same thing, and yet all enjoy the experience of fear for the experience of thrill. The power of controlling what they're going through, and expecting what's coming; no matter the fact that it's going to be awful.

So what of us who don't like horror files?
What of us with zero sense of potential-lyncher?
What of us who don't enjoy the writhe of someone else in pain, or someone else in disappointment while we bask in something beautiful? Are we the few who have it together or those who, even by Southern standards, fit in to the line of crazy?

I hate horror films.
But I can't say that I'd never be the potential-lyncher, who finds comfort in the pain of another living being. I feel a bug beneath my feet and almost instantly, I feel content. The death of something that makes me uncomfortable, causes me a bit of uneasiness, is enough to make me calm and allow me to recollect my composure. It's not the bug's fault that I lost it in the first place; it's my own, personal nature that I never bothered to alter when I was a baby because no one ever made me simply deal with it. It's not the bug's fault, and yet it's playing sacrifice for the sake of my comfortability.

In my mind, I am the first, the foremost, and the most important. The only thing to take priority above myself are those I love, and they will continue to do so. Beneath me are those I dislike, and beneath them are non-Sapiens.

Nothing gives me this right.
I hate horror films.
I love myself.
Nothing gives me this right.

redundant.

i'm sick of talking to your voicemail. the sound of your name isn't nearly the same as your laugh, and it's an awful shame that we can't curl in to blankets and get lost in conversation. i'm always on my toes to hold myself up from the edge of my seat; how long will he be mine before technology rips him away?

for someone so close, you feel awfully far away.
i'm hooked.
just wish you'd reel me in
and keep me near.

tell me i'm different.

the week that you spent here was the best week of my life. away from florida and orange bottles with labels about whatcouldhappen and whenitsokay and whyyoushouldnever. we watched nickolodean and talked about how it would feel to grow up and have a family. i said "kids aren't my thing," and you said i didn't know what the words meant. you promised i'd fall in love with the smile of a toddler, and you promised that you'd be there to see it.



oneoutoftwoain'tbad.

the skeleton's of my past are clawing a hole through the closet that i've kept them in. cobwebs won't tangle them long enough for me to escape their grasp; they're holding me hostage by way of the ghosts that are swimming through my mind and screaming to know where'd you go and why'd you leave.





i went somewhere better.
because you left
just like you promised you wouldn't.

i've made a lot of mistakes in my mind.

When I'm eighty, I want to live in the last home in the United States that's bathroom has wallpaper. I want to play CandyLand by board, not disk, and dance in a kitchen grounded by wood instead of stone. I want to give everything I've ever worked for to someone who's never owned something worth giving away. My children can have their childhood posessions and their favorite home trinkets, but I'm not leaving behind money to let them grow lazy; they can work like my parents worked and I'll have worked, and they can save up for themselves. I'd rather a stranger who's three states away and has never crossed my path be the one who reaps what they did not earn, for the simple fact that everyone deserves to be loved by a stranger, at some point, for simply being alive.


When I'm eighty,

I'll put a vase on the table and fill it with my favorite colored roses,
and I refuse to throw them away after they wilt.

I'll make a snow angel, take a picture, and send it to my granddaughter, so that she knows I find her prettier than Christmasmorningsnow.

I'll look through old yearbooks and shrug at past regrets, there's never going to be enough time to own up to every sour word that my quick tongue has ever lashed out. So instead, when I'm eighty, I'll hug someone in the middle of the lip balm aisle in Walgreens and tell them that I'm sorry they've been hurt. I'll tell the stranger, but I'll be hoping that every past regret hears the words.

And if they don't
I'll be okay.
Because I'm eighty
and there's not enough time.

yours was the first face that i saw.

When I was younger, I used to think that being able to reach the jar on the back of the counter was the greatest accomplishment in the world. I was taller than everyone my age, and my brother told me that it meant I was tough and I was going to do something with my life.


When I was younger, I thought that freckledface and chucktaylors was going to be the rest of my life. I thought that falling was the scariest thing in the world. I was terrified of rollar coasters, unlike anyone else my age. I took to swimming because there was no way to trip, and thought that safety was the way to go somewhere in life.


Now that I'm older, I only feel accomplished when I'm directly instrumental in someone else's happiness, and my largest fear is drowning(in self-pity). My glass stands half full unless you ask me mid-morning. I hate when clouds get in the way of stars and I'm only content when my music's so loud that I can't hear the voices surrounding me. Clocks makes me angry but I'd love to take one apart and see how it works.

Now that I'm older, I'd like to take apart the world and see how it works.
But now that I'm older, I've realized that it doesn't matter how the world works. It matters how I work, and how he works, and how we work together. It matters if I'm still glasshalffull when the clock finally shuts up.




It feels like the first day of my life.
The sun is shining bright, my heart is swollen with love and appreciation, and the flowers around me smell so beautiful that I don't have to stop to understand; the whole world is spinning to the tick of a clock that's in my favor. Move up and move on; I love living.

when two hearts race, both win.

grass-stained knees and high hopes dance across the freeway.

this is growing up

this is moving on

this is foundsomethingbetter

and made it mine.

ironknee.

i was told that babysitting four toddlers on a regular basis would be the surest form of birth control.

it's actually what's making me want kids in the first place.

when i dream it's never dark.

did you know you could fly when you opened your eyes?

"When we want to lie, we'll lay down for anyone,"
The worst kind of lie is the one told to yourself.
That doesn't stop me from spitting it out.



When I said I didn't know how, you sat me on the bicycle and gave me a push.
I asked you not to let go, and unlike most, you didn't. Not until I said that it would be okay.
And you grinned, watched me, and cheered.
It didn't matter that I knew it wasn't that great of an accomplishment.

When I said I couldn't wait, you held my hand and walked me down the hallway.
I asked you to make it not so quiet, and you tried to make your voice jolly and your belly jiggle, but you were far too young and far too thin.
I asked you to make it not so cold, and you brewed a pot of cocoa.
The look on your face after we figured out that it was awful, made me believe in angels.

And when I said I'd like to dance
you took my hand and gave me a twirl.

And when I said I'd like to know what it felt like to fall,
you held my face and kissed my forehead and said never settle for less than first.

I'd be lying to say that I wish I hadn't met you; hadn't loved you.
But it's the honest-to-God truth when I tell you that you've become nothing but a disappointment. A sweet melody that's being preached with out practice.
A harsh demand of others what you'd never expect of yourself. The end of the line(rope); the bottom of the barrel.


You made your bed.
Now lay in it.

News flash: A warm body won't cure the cold bedsheets. You're still dreaming alone.

self reflective heart to heart.

i wonder if my child will like corners or crowds.
books or beats.
the feeling of gliding through water or a brush dancing along canvas.

i wonder if they'll prefer a teacher's pride
or a peer's acceptance.

i wonder if they'll find God from a mountain's view
or a wooden pew
or an approaching tide
or at all.

i wonder what they'll think when they smell gingerbread
or a candle wick meet it's end.
and how they'll feel about a stranger's tears,
or their best friend's disapprovement.

i wonder if that best friend will be found in the fifth grade
or in middle age
or in the darkness of a 2am that shows no mercy
as it provides no dreams.


i wonder if they'll wish on stars
i wish i may, i wish i might
or time-based palindromes.
eleven eleven
or if they'll wish at all.

and what they'll do
when they do,
if they do.
i hope they do.

i wonder if they'll settle.
or if they'll dream
and if they'll fight
and if they'll be stubborn
or patient.

and i wonder if they'll be one of the few
who finds the happy medium
and lives in the grey area
that life is meant to be lived within.

i wonder how their glass will stand.

long lost dream of the day.

find sleep within moments,
tucked in to sheets mere hours after the sunset.
wake up to a chirping bird and go on with my day well-rested and even-minded.
smileandaccept.



reality?

2am is my best friend,
and 6am comes knocking too soon
too often.


chirping birds have no home outside my window.










good morning sunshine,

you're looking awful dim today.

decisions.

i don't know how many children i want, and yet i know names.

aiden
noah
park.

nobody's laughing now, but you could always make me laugh out loud.

wish i'd never known you.
never trusted you.
wish you hadn't taught me how to ride a bike
or stayed up when i couldn't stop coughing
or held my hand and walked me to the dining room to open presents from santa.

wish you hadn't jumped a fence to get simba when i'd tossed him.
wish you hadn't broken a nose when he pushed me down.
wish you hadn't ridden the helicopter just because i wanted, even though you were scared.

wish you hadn't been so great,
then so disappointing.

wish you weren't so anti social,
and we'd have known you didn't like yourself
and fixed it before satan
got to wrap her hands around you and squeeze
and make you feel like you had nowhere else to go.

wish people didn't stop and say they'd heard so much about you
and wanted to know how you were.

because then i have to tell them that i don't know.
because i don't know you anymore.

wish i'd never met you,
never loved you.

macygolightly.

below the waist
to the gut
over the head
and out the door.


still hate how you went away.
still think your long locks were heaven-sent.
still wish freckles kissed my nose in the same way.
still miss tireswings and blanket forts and running through fields.
still say, "my cousin macy taught me how to smell the rain."
still love you just the same; hate the way you fell from grace(inmyeyes).

giftwrap and gunsmoke.

the people float by me and all i see are colors, colors, colors.
they're shirts and pants and shoes and hair but certainly not people.
not anymore.

life's a game of destination and all i want is to get lost.

instead, i'll go to school. teach a new dog old tricks,
a game of cat and mouse and bloodred pens.

i'm a dress and flip flops and pony tail,
but i'm certainly not a person.
not here. not anymore.
i'm a floating color that's part of the haze,
and i'm passing you by before you'll ever get to know me.

how can someone change your life when you're not living one at all?
get lost.

this air is blessed, you share with me.

"society is a sinking ship and there is no better time to head back to shore."


miles away
and soon to be asleep
not next to me.

but i feel one inch away.

maybe if i close my eyes
and dream hard enough
i'll be able to touch you tonight.



i'd follow you anywhere.

happiness is a loaded gun and life gives you zero options out.

so
sing with me
smile with me
dance with me
live and live freely.

"no more nancy reagan jokes,

i like her."

the notorious b i g.

only make moves when your heart is in it

and live for the phrase,

"sky's the limit."

scent of sex and new found glory.

i fell in love with a setting sun.
the kind who watches stars just to feel
like he's close to someone; anyone.
the kind who keeps points just to stay
in the game. the kind who's never really
been on a team.

i fell in love with a burning bridge.
the kind who had baggage and a story
that no one had ever let him tell.
the kind that played like a broken record
and skipped the beats that could've meant something,
just like he skipped the sheets that he could've gotten
attached to.

i fell in love with a long lost home;
the kind of boy who had no place to go.
i fell in love with inflated hopes and
biased beliefs and the way
it felt to watch the whole world crash
around you because you'd fallen in love
with the kind of lost that's not meant to be found.

i fell in love with a never quite mine,
and i was the same for him.



dear burning bridge,
i found the other side.
it's safe and home and all my own.
the grass is greener
and the sun shines by the schedule of a phone call,
not the spin of a world that's not worth trusting.

dear setting sun,
dear long lost home,
dear never quite mine,
i'm sorry i was the same for you.
but i've found an all-ten-shades-of-the-sunrise,
norman-rockwell-white-picket-fence,
every-fiber-belongs-to-you,
kind of thing.

it's name is love,
and it'll hear your story out.

"if you knew then what you know now, what would you say in a letter to your younger self?"

dear self,

this is supposed to be a letter. unfortunately, you never lost your sense of stubbornness; i'm not going to save you from bumps and bruises and being disappointed, you'll have to do it yourself.

if it's any consolation,
your taste in music, clothes and movies will be wonderful.
and he smells good.

sandman.

blood in my mouth.

the love you take is equal to the love you make.



i bet late at night, you stare up at the same stars as i do.
i bet you spit at them and sing along with the mix tape that's skipping beats.
i bet when it hits twelve below zero, you can't pretend not to miss california.
if only i was the betting kind.

i wonder if one day, you'll dig out that map we made
with the random darts we threw,
and follow it until you've collected every post card that you ever wished someone would send to you.

and i wonder if you'll write yourself a letter like you always wanted
and outline all the things you hate about yourself
and be done with bad habits by the time your pen ran out.

but i know you.
late nights are meant for smokey bars,
the spitting you do is only in bitterness for games that you lose
because you've always been the betting kind.

and i know you.
you're so stuck by the roots that you forced yourself to lay down.
and maybe you miss california but it sure as hell wasn't home.
the only kind of homely warmth you've ever felt was in a glass bottle that always seems to leave you too quickly.

yes, i know you.
the only writing you do is the kind that ends in a paycheck, so you can find your way home.
the only words you put thought in to is the kind that ends in a smirk, so you can find your way in to the arms of someone who, for the evening, won't disappoint your cold heart.


to know you is to love you and
then to leave you.

you let me in and
i wanted out.

wish i was sorry,
but then again i don't.

longfellow

how beautiful is love

and how beautiful life is

for those

who share it.

valentine.

To love and love fully is to love with out strings. Those who do good with out ever having acknowledgment are those who spin the lighter side of the world on it's axis, propelling the rest of us in to the idea that happiness is a gift felt rather than given. No one can tell you that what you've done is worth it and suddenly make it so - it has to be something that you realize on your own and take to heart so firmly that no opposing view could sway your self contentness.

"Those who stand for nothing will fall for anything."

Those who stand only in a crowded room have never really left the ground.


The whole world puts it's faith in the actions of others, not in the way that they live themselves. They wait for someone who will write them poetry and depend on the affection of others to like who they are. They want rings and ponies and sunsets that follow them as they ride off to the land they'd only visited in dreams. They want a fairytale and they want it now; forget the laughter of a child or the feeling of making a teacher proud. Forget their best friend, who forgave every word they'd ever spat out. Forget the way it smells when it rains and the way it feels to be smiled at by a stranger when you're having the worst hairday of your entire life. Forget how it feels to be loved platonically and with out expectations; they want something movie-like.

I wanted to know how it felt to sleep miles away and feel like they were right next to me.
I wanted to be wrapped in something of theirs, to have the warmth I was aching for.
Something inexpensive and quickly thought out; something to be mine and mine alone.
I got it, and I'm more than willing to bet that I'm happier than anyone who's staring out the window at a sunset they're not riding off in to.

oil and water.

you grew too fast.
you speak too loudly.
you judge too often.
you anger too easily.
your rubik's cube is still at my house,
along with your summer and your
character.

i know that pushing me off the ellipticle meant
"you're the only best friend i've ever had."
and buying me a princess cake meant
"don't settle for anyone who won't treat you like this."
and spitting your gum out on my cheek meant
"i like the way you don't make me grow up."
and how you didn't mind spending your birthday at chuckecheese
and how you let me yell at you even if you weren't wrong
and how you walked away when your condescending tone was just too much
and did not fault me for not coming after you
and did not fault me for not calling you again
and did not expect me to ever love you
or ever miss you.

and i like how you trip me in the hall or tell me how your mother's doing,
and how our only non-awkward conversations are about clothing
and the occasional bad film that we both caught at four am the previous night.

i'm not up to the challenge of a friendship like yours,
but i'm keeping the summer
and i'm keeping the rubiks cube
and i'm keeping the sound of a laugh when the person you trust most
is the person who just tripped you.

spare me just three last words.

72 hours of insomnia.
roadtrips to norfolk.
greenestreet too late at night
and too deep in to summer.
street festivals.
breakdowns.
trampolines.
scavenger hunts.
trashy reality shows.
judgmental glances.
wall collages.
interpretive dances.
days and days and days
of you and i
and sunshine;
you were my sunshine.

you'll always have a place in my heart, that holds true.
it's just now the place where things go to gather dust,
the final place to crack before you're infinitely broken;
where expectations go to die.

reflection.

whispers sweet nothings with out ever being asked.

buys me skittles just because i mentioned a new flavor.

tries them with me; makes the cutest face of "gross".

plans ahead, never forgetting to incorporate me.

asks a thousand questions and never minds about irrelevance.

dances around in a cloud of wit and teasing, settles for the point.

goes from my cheek to my knee in ten seconds flat, not missing an inch.

shares my breath with out quite kissing.

makes me believe in all the things i ever tried to avoid.
makes me think it's okay to risk getting disappointed.

surething.

"She is spending valentines day with that asshole.
She only likes lemonade.
And I only like her."

Wonder if anyone will ever know that the scent of wine makes me feel like my stomach is going to tear through itself; tear through me. That I like soda but stick to water and coffee and energy drinks.

I want to get lost in the sheets with someone I didn't have to sleep with to sleep next to.

Forget the day of the month or that it's time to change the calendar because you miss the sunrises when you're too busy talking in a fort you've made out of the bed and your love.

Cry over nothing more than the way that the clouds are shaped that day and be forgiven.

Lose the electric blanket and never quite notice from the way you're keeping me warm.

Think I've got it.


Shower me in promises and passing years,
I'm ready for all that they entail.

the school of life is now in session: it's likely most are failing.

I have this huge stack of envelopes sitting on my desk,
all from random colleges.

Hawaii, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, New York, New Mexico, Oregon, Nevada, Indiana, California, Georgia, Virginia.

ODU is one of them. I think I'll save the letter simply out of love.
Brown was, too. I won't save that one; it pisses me off that I couldn't go.
HPU and UNC have miraculously avoided contacting me thus far(:

I attend a block schedule school, take most of my courses AP, and keep close friendships with students who have already graduated and attend college. By my senior year, there will be several courses I'm taking directly at or from (via the internet classroom systems) a University. For most of my peers, we're already in a college-like setting and will continue to grow deeper in it before graduating High School. The only thing that will be new or somewhat exciting after graduation will be the amount of people and the ability to register for the time that your classes are. None of that seems like something to be anxious for. It's probably why I take school colors in to consideration when thinking about a school - no way in hell would I attend somewhere predominantly orange.

That's cute.

So is my necklace.

I'm really excited for this afternoon.

I'm feeling completely uncreative.

I don't feel bad for not attending the concert yesterday.

I want asian food, but I'm not hungry.

I want a poptart, and don't need to be hungry to talk myself in to that one.

I should dry my hair, but I have a habit of procrastinating at the stupidest things.

I wish I hadn't started to babysit because now I absolutely adore little boys; I want one so badly.

My phone is too cute to suck so much.

Fuck my skewed thought process.

soulmeets(perfect)body.

brown eyes,
let's be the kind of melody that's on repeat for years.
a mix tape that doesn't end,
that doesn't break,
that's never worn out nor faded.

and let's change our tune to fit the season
just like our breaths change to fit our kisses
and the number of inches we are from one another.
let's be the kind of melody that's newlyweds first dance to,
the kind of dance that brings good luck
and a lifetime of happiness.

brown eyes,
let's be
the kind of melody that never ends

Those who laugh shall never truly be alone; for happiness comes in tons.

"Who's God?"

the ache in the pit of your stomach
when you've laughed too hard
with someone you love too much.

the kind of ache you'd never trade.



that's God.

"You go on. You set one foot in front of the other, and if a thin voice cries out, somewhere behind you, you pretend not to hear, and keep going."

The lighter flicked open, and up went the flame. The cap came down and it disappeared, closed again. Open. Closed. Open. He left it open for a moment, and let his eyes burn a hole in to the head that was in front of him. He wondered what it would feel like to really burn a hole in something; someone. He thought about the way the guy would scream, or if he'd simply turn and hit him. He thought about how it would feel to hear the crack of your own jaw and know that it was broken. He thought about how it would hurt: the flame, the crack. He closed the lighter and sat it down, pretending to ignore the weight that was lifted when those behind him finally stopped watching him. He hated being observed, but he'd come to terms with the fact that he was always going to be the type of person that others wanted to watch - his steps were off beat and he was never one for relevance. He listened to his professor, and couldn't bear to make it past the first few words before he was gone again; staring out the window. He watched the students walk past him and gave them each a life story. A name, a personality. The one in the blue had gotten his heartbroken last week, and the one with the red purse was rushing off for a class that she was late for. He nodded to himself; she's always late. She looks like the kind that would always be late.

He wondered what kind he looked like, but he didn't wonder long.
He looked like someone who was crazy,
who was wasting an education that had fallen in to his lap because of the kind of dumb luck that others dream about being born in to. He looked like he'd never really had a friend, never really had someone to go home to. He looked like school was his very last straw, and once it was over he would be, too. He looked like the kind of guy who took everything to extremities; who was flying when he was up and only came down when it was in a flame of self pity.

He looked like the kind of guy who would have a lighter but never actually need it.
He looked like the kind of guy that you could look at and know exactly what kind of guy he was.

Nodding to himself, he closed his laptop. He closed his eyes; he was tired of burning holes in to people. He let the professor finish his lecture, and then he filed out as the last of his peers. He placed his textbook on the desk at the front of the room once he reached it, and gently set the lighter on top of it. In one, brief glance, he said good bye to the classroom and the aged professor who was watching him from ten feet away. Four steps later, he was out the door and walking away; in the middle of his semester and at the end of his rope. He had spent a long time burning holes in to the backs of heads and giving people lives through windows. In all of those years, he had forgotten to live his own.

He didn't know what kind of guy he was, or if he was really any kind at all.
He just knew what kind he was tired of looking like.

captain corelli's mandolin

When you fall in love, it is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then it subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the desire to mate every second of the day. It is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body. No, don't blush. I am telling you some truths. For that is just being in love; which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away. Doesn't sound very exciting, does it? But it is!

ten years ahead, what do i see?
you.

every living creature dies alone.

good morning view.

love the way we've got our own soundtrack.

we sing by the look in our eyes when we
tangle our arms and wish it was our legs
and that the seat of your car was a comforter
strewn across our bed.

i'd apologize for the fact that my heart is beating out of key
but i really doubt you'd blame me
or hate the fact that it's all your fault.

need this.

anxious(sick)

my heart's
beating
out
of
my
chest.

success.

duke v. unc
almost made me wish we were friends.

wanted to rub it in your face
or laugh like we used to.

almost made me wish we were friends.
instead i spent it with him;
the very best of.

Stars ain't nothin' but a hole in heaven.

What if prayers were nothing more than bullets that landed in clouds, blew up mid-sunset and showered down as disappointment?

What if the stars were really just a bunch of dead dreams?

"you're just an empty wish cast upon a dead star."

a little voice inside my head says don't look back,

you can never look back.

but i fill my walls with photographs to prove it wrong.

browneyes.

brown and green have always been a perfect match.

like two birds
on their very first flight,
bouncing off one another in their first day of being
free, free, free.

palm trees showered in glitter,
brown and green.
a winter wonderland in mid-july,
you and i.

midwest skies traced by city lights,
perfectly
free, free, free.

coming home to brown eyes
is the only way to ever
come home.

I could be buried in my expectations.

He laid back, staring at the dots on his ceiling and the way that they bunched together in the corner closest to his door. He took in a breath and whispered out, "I think I'll become a reader. I'm a little sick of baseball." He closed his eyes; waited for silence because he had become accustomed to her silence.

Instead, she touched his forearm. "You can't just become something that you weren't before."

He wanted to argue, but decided to be content in her answering at all. "I suppose you're right. An artist probably couldn't get away with picking up tapdancing shoes."

She nodded, satisfied with the knowledge that he agreed though she hadn't listened to a single word he actually said; and was definitely bullshitting her. She closed her eyes and did not notice that his body had tensed next to her like it does when he's angry.

"What are we? I mean...Really, what do we do?" He was full of resentment, though his voice was dripping with insecurity.

"We lay in bed and we contradict each other." She answered matter-of-factly.

And like a toddler full of why's, he pushed. "But what are we? Aren't we supposed to be in love?"

She sat up, cocking her head to the side and taking a second to notice how hopeful his eyes could look despite the way he knew it was futile. There was a brief, passing moment in which she almost wanted to just say what would make him happy. But she knew lying just wasn't her style and yet breaking hearts seemed to fit her like brand new jeans. She could make him happy, but she'd never really mean it. So instead she rest her head back against the wall behind the bed, took in a breath for added affect, and then lowly stated, "You can't just become something that you weren't before."

He took in the words, having to replay them in his mind a million times with in the few moments of silence that followed. He wondered if she could hear his heart crack, and then he wondered why it hurt so much; what was wrong with him. He didn't love her either, but he had kind of hoped that she would make him. Doing his best to keep his jaw clenched and somehow speak at the same time, he ignored the tightness in his throat caused by the knot that was growing every second. "So, if you don't love from step one, it just won't ever happen?" And all at once, he was sick of her speaking like a novel while he made himself so obvious. "I don't believe you."

She tried to avoid letting her eyes grow, but couldn't deny the fact that he had shocked her. His sudden growth of a back bone and pair had not been what she was expecting in terms of a reaction. Shutting her eyes again, she watched the inside of her eyelids and admitted to herself that he was right, but also admitted that she wasn't one for games of effort. "Are you the now or never kind?" Taking in a breath and holding it, she realized for the first time that she didn't really want him to say yes. She sounded more hopeful than she wanted to be noticed, but she knew he'd notice anyway.

He crawled out of the bed, and stood by his door. Peeking up at the bundle of dots that were now directly above his head, he opened the door from behind him. "Maybe I should be." His words were cold and final, and he was out of sight by the very last one.

She knew well enough to be gone by the time he'd returned, because he'd meant what he said. And she had unknowingly chosen never.

loose lips sink ships.

hate the way i'm forced to live by the tick, tick, tocking of a clock with no second hand. and the way chipped paint is the only kind of mural my eyes get to settle on, unless i want to watch the muscles of a mouth that's always speaking words i don't agree with.

hate the way they ask for your opinion but really want you to spit out the analysis they gave a week ahead. and the way they'll say i'm brilliant with out really listening to me; yet still i sit with my tongue tucked between my pearly whites.

today, dr. seuss wrote great expectations. and i'm waiting on the tick, tick, tocking because the jabberwocky's going to bring me lunch.

the only way to really be seen nowadays is to set aflame the pedestal you're rested on.

(green)sboro.

I want to sit in a field of open green. The kind of grass that never itches; only provides something soft for you to rest upon. I want to sit in a field of zero trees and zero bugs and the perfect kind of lighting for a book. The kind of green that lets you know that it could be your home if you'd simply let yourself relax within it's open arms; but reading seems far too bizarre. The kind of green that makes you feel like where you are is the greenest side that could ever be; that no fictional universe could compare to the place you're sitting.

I want to sit in a field of open green and open possibilities.
The kind of green that lets you know that you could run, and you'd have such a clear pathe that nothing could stop you. Nothing could catch you in time to bring you back.

The kind of green that lets you know that you could run, but makes you feel like having a nap instead.



Waking up here isn't so bad, but it's certainly no field of possibility.
When I look at it objectively, I'm on the greenest side.

"you can do your homework while i'm gone."

I've got it bad.

420.

I wish I lived in Virginia.
I could attend ODU with out it being out-of-state.

I miss the way it looks in April.
I love the look of the grass and the crunch of the leaves, and how if you go right you can hit the beach. If you go left, you can get lost in a city, and if you simply weave forward for a little bit then you can relax in the coziness of a town barely large enough for an elementary school.

The people smile, wave, and spend their lunch breaks cleaning up highways when it's Earth Day. They greet with hugs in the middle of the street and stop traffic to encourage a squirrel to continue through the light.

It doesn't matter if it's what you were looking for; when you go, you fall in love.

Everyone else I know spent the national "pot day" making fools of themselves.
I spent it dancing with my best friends, four bands, zero food, gallons of water, twenty bucks, and having the time of our life.

Greensboro is suffocating.

smile lines.

Today's a day with shining sun and frosted grounds.

It makes me think of laughing until I've forgotten every time I've ever cried;
of dancing until I've forgotten how to sit still;
and of singing despite the fact that it will never sound like the intended song.

half asleep and floating on air.

I very rarely accept the mistakes of others with the level of grace that I'd like to show.

I hold mental grudges, despite the fact that I can't harbor any hard feelings. I remind myself time and time again of all the things that someone's done wrong and the level of distance that I should hold between us; between my heart and theirs and any sort of softness that could develop and somehow make me vulnerable to someone who makes mistakes. I always fail, and enjoy their company despite myself.

My peers who ask stupid questions or make jokes that I find to be on the "miss" side of the High School Comedy "hit or miss" spectrum, are hung within my mind. I watch them walk in to class the next day; next month, and I'm still thinking to myself how they took a false step that one day. I hold myself to a line of perfection and hate myself for every stupid question, every "miss", every wrong answer on tests that don't quite count.

I think that I hold others to them more.
I do better when I feel like I'm competing; like I'm proving someone wrong. I achieve at an easier rate when I know that I'm subtly shoving it down someone's throat that their assumptions were as left-fielded as their mouths were quick. I want them to know that they're human, that they're no better than anyone who's next to them.

So why can't I get over the fact that I make mistakes?
That my peers who ask stupid questions make mistakes?
That I'm human and therefore not exempt from all that such entails?


I don't live for the feeling of accomplishment,
I live for the feeling of striving to reach it.
And the fact that I finally found someone who makes mistakes that make me love him more. Whose wrong moves make me flutter on cloud 9, readily positioned above him to be the perfect "hit", because I hate the way we have to miss each other.

nothing like a stomach ache for all the right reasons.

"Hunter, what on earth are you doing?"

"I'm catching snowflakes!"

"I don't see snowflakes."
"That's why you're the grown up!"

"DO YOU SEE THE SNOWFLAKES NOW?!"

pretty brown eyes; soft blond hair. smooth skin and constantly chapped lips that are always curled in the biggest of smiles. greets me at the door with hugs and climbs up on my back to be whisked around the kitchen in a whirl of giggles. sits on the counter while i make him his lunch, always asking to help out. cuts me out snowflakes and colors me dinosaurs, hides on my lap when the other three are ganging up on him. cries when he falls and always lets me make it better; looks to me when he's not quite sure where to go. whines openly, forgives freely, and renews my faith every day.

makes me want something of my own, maybe.

The perfect words never crossed my mind 'cause there was nothing in there but you.