Abandoned Lovers

I hate writers block. I try and try and try to just spill my guts out and all I can come up with is a sentence then the train falls off the track and catches on fire, killing the millions inside. I stare at the pictures hanging on my wall and try my best to come up with a story, a topic, even two words that rhyme will do. But all I receive is a blank slate and an empty track. Besides the couple of trains that have already crashed of course. Every creative thought I had today is screaming at me and all I can hear is a whisper that is impossible to translate from each one of them. Sometimes when they speak up, the words get all mixed up inside my mouth and come out as gibberish through my fingertips. So as I lay here in bed trying to be a good listener, I thought I would at least write something so I can stop punishing myself for something that I didn't do wrong. I'm pausing too often even now trying to think about what to say about not being able to think about what to say! I sit here staring at the images I can collect out of the creases in my ceiling, and I can see how they dance for me, trying to strike an idea in my too empty mind, but all I can get is that they are swaying to the music with such beautiful timing. Anyways, I just had to say that you shouldn't be angry at me for my inability to write anything good at this moment because I am already bruising my fists from punching holes in my walls trying to reach the outside and see something splendid to write about. I hate writers block.

Basket of Goodies

Red needs to find an escape. The sky out side is depressed and about to cry so she grasps her blood stained riding cloak, yanking it from it's feeble hanger. Throwing it over her already heavy shoulders, she twists the knob to say hello to the tears that are beginning to form pools on the muddy ground. The dead streets she walks through hold treasures that give her the perfect alibi for her run-away scene she created at home. She collects a dirty apple, a half eaten cake, and a ripped up basket as evidence. Sticks she finds patch up the gaping holes inside the woven container. Now all she needs is something that can patch her heart. Placing the food inside the mismatched cradel, she tucks it into the nook of her arm. She slings her head down to watch her scarlet shoes trip over each other clumsily on the damp cobblestone. God must have lost one of his angels tonight. Body slumped from the weight of the world, her locks of hair hide her face just as curtains hide the actors before the show begins. Footsteps sound in front of her.
I'm just heading to my grandma's, officer. Heavy breathing begins to get louder and louder. Lifeless eyes turn up to see who else has decided to stand over her, looking down at the tiny, pathetic bag of bones beneath them with judgmental eyes. The cold in the air turns the warmth in his breath into a thick fog that blinds her for a brief moment. Inches away from her, her worst fear stands. She remains still, she has no intrest in showing any emotion. She remains distant, just as she practiced at home earlier that evening. She's been bruised too badly tonight to care about experiencing more pain.

Death doesn't frighten her at this hour.

Eyes pierce her skin trying to reach her heart for a quick end, but her heart is too hard to penetrate with terror, and too cold to ever experience passion. To ever feel the thing they call love. The soaked black hair on the beast's back stands on end as he angers from the lack of interest she is showing towards him. He snarls and slides his feet and body into a lunging position. The girl camouflages her eyes with the shadow from her hood and the corners of her mouth turn upward in amusment because of how naive this wolf has become. His feet lift off the ground with a mighty push, she imagines the creature that is ten times her size flying through the air and a laugh forms in her throat. She swings her arm, basket gliding in slow motion towards the monster, and smacks him square in the jaw. Perfectly. His hot head rising in temperature, he falls to the ground, shattering everything but his bones in the process. She walks away from the wretched thing and moves in the same direction she wandered towards earlier. Her head and shoulders dangling down, curtains drawn, giggling to herself. Eyes closed she listens for his strong legs running at full speed after her, wanting to rip out her throat and she can almost see the blood that would be glistening in his eyes, but nothing dares threaten her with any sound. Besides her own two arrogant left feet stumbling over the stones beneath her and the conceited rain dripping onto her pulled up humble crimson canopy, there is only silence. She remembers that this was the first time she's laughed since daddy came back. Pleased in her findings, she walks towards grandma's, picking up sticks to fix the newly formed holes in her basket of goodies.

Silently... Quietly.

Have you ever felt ignored or unimportant? I know I have. But I can't really blame anyone because I'm quiet. Always afraid of what to say and if it's going to be stupid. Something you always want to snatch out of the air and shove back into your mouth and swallow it so it can never escape again. I wonder sometimes if I am easy to forget about because of it. Because of how silently I sit here, writing in my notebook with my only two friends keeping me company. My paper and my pen explain everything I am feeling, yet I still wonder if they are using the correct spelling and grammer after all the years that I've taught them how to do it correctly. Sometimes though, the mouse and keys on this computer will become my friends, too. It just depends on who's watching and if they want to impress them.
I need to learn to speak up. But can I learn how to be the exact opposite of what I am? I can recite facts, spill out information with ease, but when it comes to someone asking me what my life is like, I stutter and shut down. My brain runs off and leaves me to die of embarressment alone. Alone. Am I stuck this way? Stuck just as an old dog can never learn new tricks? People can change right? Or are they just breaking habbits? Is being closed off a habbit?
I can sit in a room full of people but still be lonely. I suppose that having a couple of friends is better than none. I'll stay quiet. I'm not completely alone. Isolated. Unsociable. Secluded. Alone. Very Alone... Maybe not alone, just lonely, which is fine. I'm just going to sit here silently.... quietly. Waiting for the moment I begin to stutter when someone comes to speak to me. The moment I will always be uncomfortable with. But the moment I will always crave. The moment that can never satisfy my hunger. My longing for someone, anyone, to just say hello.

Fear

Fear is a funny thing because even the bravest man has some sort of fear. Fear is weakness, yet everyone thinks that they are invincible for some reason. I'm afraid that you, my friend, are afraid. We are all afraid of something. Doesn't matter if it's irrational or completely reasonable, it's still fear and fear is still weakness.

But I'm afraid too. I'm afraid of a lot of things.

I'm afraid of being lonely. I'm afraid of disappointing my mom. I'm afraid of being obnoxious, so I keep my mouth shut. I'm afraid of sharing things about myself. I'm afraid of going home because I'm afraid of my dad and how, slowly, my mom is taking his side. I'm afraid of not being recognized. I'm afraid of the city at night. I'm afraid of looking bad. I'm afraid of being judged. I'm afraid of hobos being inside dumpsters every time I approach one. I'm afraid of being rejected. I'm afraid of the future, which seems so hopeless right now. I'm afraid of showing who I really am. I'm afraid of looking weak. I'm afraid of being a disappointment. I'm afraid of girls because I'm terrified of the drama they create. I'm afraid of how opinionated I am. I'm afraid of becoming transparent. I'm afraid of the dark. I'm not afraid of getting hurt physically, but being hurt emotionally is a completely different story. I'm afraid of revealing secrets. I'm afraid of squirrels. I'm afraid of growing old. I'm afraid of wrinkles and sags. I'm afraid of being rude. I'm afraid of remembering but I'm also afraid of forgetting. I'm afraid of disrespecting and being disrespected.

See I'm scared too. Maybe of a lot or a lot less things than you, but I'm still just as squeamish as you are. The key to being brave is standing up to the fears you have and showing them how unreasonable they are. So that's what I'm going to do from now on. Is prove to my fears exactly how weak they are. Exactly how strong I am. After all, fear is weakness, right?

Falling

I can hear my own heart beat pounding.
"Are you ready?"
The voice is drowned out by the thumping in my ears and the roar of the plane's engine. I nod my head timidly and I feel all the life leave my body, my face turns pasty white. I slip on my straps and I feel suffocated by the buckles that go across my chest. Wind thrashes my body back and forth. I glance out the open door and my stomach flips upside down when I see the white clouds beneath me.
"Are you ready to go?"
The voice is patronizing me again. As I look at the face the voice belongs to, I beg with my eyes for this face to put me out of my misery. My mind shuts off all reason and turns the faucet of adrenaline on too high. I look down at the world again and quickly nod my head. they prep me one more time, checking every safety requirement to make sure I am ready physically.
No one could ever prep me emotionally.
"1..."
The voice is counting down my seconds of life I have left.
"2..."
The seconds I have left until I begin to live.
"3..."
Seconds left until I become... a bird.
"GO!"
I take two long strides towards the door with eyes closed. I jump tucking my feet underneath me as I fly out of my safe haven and into the wide open horizon. It stretches so far that it seems endless. Just as the possibilities now seem endless. It feels as though I am weightless and the wind pushes on my chest so I can no longer breath correctly.

I look down at the earth I am falling too quickly towards. Am I insane?

The wind is rushing through my hair and cleansing my mind of thoughts and I soon forget that I am even falling. It feels more like I am flying. I can feel the water residue collecting on my body as I fall through the clouds that were once below me. The clouds that I would look up at while standing on the planet I am now gravitating towards. I approach the ground and finally pull the tiny string that is my life line. My parachute floats me down to the Earth, giving me just a few more moments to feel worth more than just another person. I am literally on top of the world. I am now only inches from the ground so I point down my toes and take my first step on soil. It feels like the this is the first time I have ever walked on this soil, but I have been here before.
I stumble at first but quickly learn to stride with grace. The precious air around me calmed and makes me feel at home. In a state of peace. I smile and laugh as I take off my gear that once kept me safe. Now completely confident in the protection of the worlds arms. I completely expose myself to anything I was once threatened by before I jumped.
Before I fell... in love.

Why I am who I am

"I am who ever you say I am. If I wasn't, why would you say I am?" -Eminem

I was just listening to this song, and I started asking myself why I am who I am? It got me thinking about who I think I am. Who other's think I am. My mom thinks I am a good kid, and is proud for who I turned out to be. My dad thinks I am selfish, untrustworthy, and irresposible. The kids at school all think that I am always happy and a little intimidating. My best friend thinks I am depressed and as scary as an ant. So what am I? Why am I me?

I'm me because whenever I hold a secret, I don't ever let it out of my sight. I'm me because when ever I feel like a musician I sit down and practice playing. I'm me because every one of my outfits has to match perfectly or I will start over again and change until it does. I'm me because I have a high tolerance level and you can't do anything that will bug me. I'm me because my only pet peeve is waiting in line. I'm me because I know at my house I'm not loved so I spend my time in my home. I'm me because whenever it rains I sit outside fully dressed until it stops, no matter how cold I get. I'm me because I do believe in God, but at the same time I don't. I'm me because I think texting is annoying after about an hour of doing it. I'm me because I forget everything about myself but will remember everything about some one else. I'm me because I don't care who you are, you will be my friend. I'm me because I was raised to keep to myself and not except any help from anyone but to do everything you can for anyone else. I'm me because I have a.d.d and just lost focus on this post. I'm me because I am raised by my family, go to school, have friends, and lose friends. I'm me because of everything I've learned from everyone and everything. I'm me because of you. So thank you, for helping me create myself.

I think of you.

I think about you. I think of you like a pig thinks of flying. Like rollercoasters think about riding. Like frowns think about smiling.

I'm thinking about you like pictures think about memories. Priest think about preaching. Like parents think about preaching, but the only thing either of these two do is preach, preach, preach, but not a single one will follow the words of their own speech.

I think about you like ears think about closing. Like laws think about breaking. Like cells think about locking.

I'm thinking about you like the damned think about sinning. Like the holy think of repenting and like the sinners think about confessing to the priests who keep on preaching.

I think about you like pencils think of paper and paper thinks of pencils. Like girls think about boys. Like boys think about gaming.

I'm thinking about you like game makers think about addicition. Like addicitions think of money. Like money thinks of corrupting.

I think about you like coffee thinks about it's cream and sugar. Like a cake thinks about it's icing. Like strawberries think of chocolate.

I'm thinking about you like rings think of marriage. Like married couples think of babies. Like babies think about growing up.

I always think about you. You are always on my mind. Obviously, I'm in love and that's why my mind is infested with thoughts of you. I hope this sickness never leaves my body in withdrawl. I think of you.

Family? Who cares.

Why does family mean so much to us? I understand that in retrospec, they are the only ones that can carry on our lives through our names. But hey isn't that kinda selfish?? I thought, at first, that family meant you could run home and feel safe and loved. But the statistics say other wise. Whenever 1 in 4 teenage girls in the United States go home, they are abused and/or neglected. In the next twenty four hours 1,439 teenagers will commit suicide because they don't have a relationship with their parents. There will also be 2,795 teenage girls that will become pregnant with in that same time, and 80% of them only had sex because they don't have a sturdy relationship with their father. Sexual abuse within the family has been reported up to 80,000 times in the year 1995. In the next twenty four hours 3,506 teens will run away from home. Every two hours a youth is murdered by someone they live with. A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds and more than 5 children die EVERY DAY because of child abuse. About 30% of abused and neglected children will later abuse their own children. The cycle continues. I don't know about you, but this doesn't sound like family. Yet with the media, and with the news, stories, and maybe even how we were raised, family isn't family anymore. It's simply the people you live with and who will carry on your blood line. Let's get real. It shouldn't hurt to be a kid. It's ridiculous how often all of this happens to kids we know, and I pray that maybe one day family will mean something again.

What is Love?

Love is a surprise hot chocolate in the morning when you didn't ask for one. Love is explaining you are having a bad day and then not ten minutes later being sat down in front of the t.v. so you can laugh at "Family Guy." Love is whispering to each other about who is the most amazing out of the two. Love is watching "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" and laughing at him complimenting how amazing the sundance kid's hair is. Love is spending every day together for 12 days and thinking that it has been such a short amount of time. Love is not caring what others think when he wraps his arms around you in public. Love is him begging you not to wear make up because he thinks you would be beautiful with out it. Love is eating only appetizers at Olive Garden in a suit and a dress. Love is going for ice cream afterwards. Love is saying no a million times but he is just as stubborn as you are and persists on buying you things. Love is saying the room is a mess when there's nothing that could possibly be cleaned. Love is going to school just to see his smile and hear his laugh. Love is being on the brink of tears but being strong and holding them back. Love is watching "How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days" on the tenth day of being in a relationship. Love is being in a relationship that is a secret from his parents. Love is seeing him every minute you can, but it's not enough. Love is watching the super bowl and he still kisses you after seeing you angry because the Patriots lost. Love is sneaking in kisses on the cheek whenever he possibly can. Love is buying a couple of Dr. Peppers at McDonald's just to help us think of things to say when we get to his sister's. Love is the way he whispers that he loves me at least ten times a day. Love is the way he stares at me and then gets mad at me when I turn my head. Love is the way he already knows who I am better than I know myself. Love is going to school every morning with him. Love is holding his hand as he kisses each of my fingers. Love is slipping a Saint Christopher pendant over my head for protection and sealing it with a kiss. Love is holding hands in church. Love is listening to him sing his heart out. Love is him listening to my heart beat whenever I'm around him. Love is falling asleep in his arms. Love is trusting him with everything. Love is what I feel whenever I'm with him.

Intro

I am 18 (finally) and have realized exactly how stupid high school really is. Don't get me wrong, there are some amazing things about it, but when you stop to think about it, all it really is about is hormones and drugs. I am one hundred percent in love with music. I play the piano, uke, and guitar. I want to learn how to do dubstep and play the violin. Classical is by far the most expressive in my opinion, but I can't get over the sounds they can make with a computer. I am the mother of my three siblings because my parents basically ignore us and have ignored us since I was around 6. My favorite color is red. I am in to psychology and when I graduate and get out of this hell hole I want to become a psychologist for children and teens who have dysfunctional families. My favorite food is my mom's chicken and broccoli cassarole. I am ready to move out but I refuse to leave my siblings with my dad. I have an amazing boyfriend that stands up for me and is just as stubborn as I am. Possibly even more than I am. My favorite animal is a sting ray or manta ray. I am very independent and if I am offered any thing I will feel as though I need to return the favor. It takes a lot to make me fall in love, that's why it's weird that I am in love. I feel as though I am invisible to everyone and I always will be. I am happy to be in creative writing so I can learn and have a good time.