Because Selfish Girls are Special Too

Dear you,

You're not here and i'm not even sure i've noticed yet. It's awful of me, i know.

But what's happened to us? you haven't even seen...

I've needed you most now and youweren't there.

You were never there for me. Not once. not one midnight call in tears or a depressed day where you just sat there for company.

When with you i felt like i avoided myself.

was different.

I want to tell you i'm sorry.

I love you, always will.

But can't like this anymore.

Another Sad Song for a Sad Heart and a Sad moment to call your own

For an hour I've been trying to force myself to sleep. I can't anymore. 'm plagued by dreams of you. It's too hot between the blankets. The apprehension won't fade. I keep thinking you'll be here. Even through sleep the twists and turns are felt.

I'll refuse to eat again and again for reasons I don't even understand.

The violin, polls, pictures, I can't remember what was real and what's not.

He never understood me. Understanding is overrated.

I'm lonely. I need someone to talk to.

lonely. How awful is this. Lonely. Since when.

I began to think of the last time my body felt an absence like this. And it can't remember. Years, to be completely honest. years. what the HELL!?

Hold me, I'll say. Alone again.

empty beds. Empty phones. A dead internet.

please be here for me. Please give me. Please take me. Please me.

I'm aching in desperation. This hurts my body. My body.

I have too many unneeded commas, too many words in italics. To many parentheses (but mostly because I like them).

Too many and not enough.

"Give me miles of mountains and I'll ask for the sea" is what he says.

I'll be honest, completely honest and tell you that i shouldn't be listening to this music. shouldn't be thinking of the wrong boy. i shouldn't be missing things.

I've forgotten a part of me that i am. Th emost of me. I know i'm not being clear, i'm not even thinking clear. How could i very well write it clearly?

I'm feeling.

that's the end of the story. I'm feeling.

feeling things i shouldn't feel. feeling things in a half assed sort of way.

a dull blade of guilt. not sharp enough to break skin so i'll run it over my forearms again and again scratching. trying to scratch it into my blood.

Guilt was always sharpest. guilt and anger, but you all knew that.

Not to say i'm cutting again, don't be silly. I know who reads this and who might jump to what conclusion. I'm not so insane as iw as years ago. I don't feel enough as i used to.

to do the things i did.

to need the things i needed.

to want.

I can't even think of the words i want to describe myself. Did you know that's something i always do? Pick words that mean sydney and i can be slightly happy.

i'm nothing right now.

I'm angsty. what an awful word. bordering depressed. but depressed is too strong. i'm on the verge of "ok" but only because i have to be.

My mouth is thick with sleep and sweet with candy. My eyes feel dusty. My heart can't beat. My voice goes unheard.

I feel desperate. but i don't know what for.

I'm on my knees begging and pleading and on the verge of tears. (me, the verge of everything) but i don't know what for.

I'm fucking UGHK inside for no fucking reason. i don't know what. i don't know why. i don't know what teh hell is fuckign me up like this.

do you see?! don't you see?! i'm so twisted inside i can't find the right words. i can't think the right thoughts, i can't result in anything good just a ball of screaming and swear words. Because fuck is so articulate, right?

yes, i miss laura. yes, i miss adam. yes, i've done things that i should regret and don't.

but i feel like all that's not enough to make me like this. sad. depressed. i can see those happeneing. but that's not even what i am. that's nto even what this is.

i don't think that's what this is.

it could be.

i wanted to write you a poem. to remind you that i think you're beautiful. but i found myself thinking of someone else's lips and the way they moved. You know that's what got me, right? I'll say it with a smile. His lips are so what got me. what a sucker i am, i know. what a skeeze. Maybe it's time to go back to my old online journal (i only really do it online cause it's easier to type) full of secret entries and the redblackblue of bruises.

I'll bite my lip to this. to him. to you. and smile.

i'm such an awful contradiction

Listening to Damien Rice She'll Let you Rip Her Heart Out

Sometimes she forgets to talk. The thoughts run too quickly. and, you know her, never one to chase.

SOmetimes she'll forget she loves you. The you that no one ever expects but always knows in the end. The you with dark hair and long legs.

You're not delicate, love, not fragile.

Simply beautiful.

I don't even know what it is that i miss and love and need anymore.

It's just you.

it's just standing sitting sleeping anywhere near. not talking. being almost worried about not being enough. not doing anything and worrying of being boring.

did you know i still worry abou tthat? whether or not i'll be enough for you.

this one has no rhythm, horribly written i'll call it. But i needed you to know...

I still need you. Leaving hurts in a deeper place than i'll admit.

Adonis. Aremis. Aurora.

I have a thing for "A" names.

Highlight What You've Done

Bright lights, flourescent, and windows with sunshine and white cielings and walls. Brightness.

She calls him love. "love," she says whispering on phones at work, "come see me." She begs. "Love come take me away," pleading.

Pretty with enough effort. pretty for once. pretty with her feminine legs made sexy with stilletos and lace trimmed skirts. "business attire" she calls it. In her mind it's dress up. Eyeliner, mascara, a little bit of lipstick. Pins here and there to keep herself composed.

And he doesn't even see. The only one that matters, he doesn't see.

"Love," she says whispering to phone lines, "Come see me." She's begging. Puppy, we'll call her. "Love, come take me away." i'm beautiful for you, she's thinking.

rows and rows of numbers, addition, subtraction, highlight what you've done. Debit, Credit, ingoing, outgoing. She assumes she'll be poor again with post-it's on her walls and windows to remind her of this life. A thousand bite sized notes to remind her of this life. Work by the hour, a whore for a dollar.

"please take me away," she's on her knees yearning. She's on the ground, tear stained, eyes shining. "please take me away."

They're talking signatures again. signatures and money orders and phone lines to set up. She doesn't know their game. doesn't want to. She'll close her eyes and only play dress up. She has no right to judge, don't worry, she won't. Closed eyes, not blind. Plugged ears, not deaf. She wants you to know that playing fair never wins. Being honest never pays. What an awful realization for the girl that wanted magic. What an awfu lthing to say for the beauty who's never lied.

"I need you, Love. I need you." She's not saying it anymore. Dreams buried, a cemetary of hearts where moss hangs from trees, toads can be heard, and the fog is always low to the ground.

What happened to her happily ever after. Where is her shining knight now. Where is the tower safe from the wolves. The witches.

She has begged and pleaded with you. She's waited and wanted. She's looked to you so many times. You, her love. You, her savior. She's looked and she's looked.

And now she's turned away.

Determination

Upon seeing black and white pictures of something i've never seen i'm fill with a weak sense of aching. A want.

I want to be surrounded by an old world and old fancies.

The horrible, terrible, very bad day.

Things I've Learned today:

1) Chai's might look tempting and taste relatively good but if you're slightly lactose intolerant and have to work all day rather than roll around in bed in utter twisting pain do not, i repeat, do NOT drink them.

2) PMS + work stress = bad times.

3) if you tell a boy you feel sick and are stressed out and then he gives you dead flowers to try and make you feel better don't tell him they're dead. but is it REALLY my fault that EVERY time he leaves them in his car, forgets and they DIE!?!?

4) don't volunteer to get everyone's food but not our own cause you're not eating at Sushi main. they're slow. retarded. and fuck up your order. and end up 12 dollars more poor.

4a) along those same lines, don't throw a partially sick inspired partly pms inspired partly stress inspired hissy fit about your order being wrong and not eat it. cause in half an hour when the hunger pains are hitting you'll think about food left in room temp. air for those 30 minutes cultivating unheard of amounts of bacteria and THEN you'll REALLY not want to eat it. and your ice tea will get warm. your soup will get cold. your legs will hurt from walking in high heels too often. your head hurt from lack of sleep. and the next thing you know there're tears in your eyes for who knows why!

5) don't wake up 20 minutes early and not brush your hair, get a jacket, or do your makeup just to get a hot chocolate. most likely they'll fuck it up and give you a chai instead.

6) don't expect to be a happy camper on period day 2.

7) try to keep money in the bank accounts

8) blah.

9) fucking ball licking dick sluts shit.

10) i hate the world. kill me now.

Love, Sex, and Hate are Red

She's spent most of her life wishing she would look good in pink. She bought the right shirts, right shoes, she put her hair just so. Ribbons, gloss, that sort of thing.

Everyone wondered, behind her back of course, who did she think she was? She wasn't the same. She was different. And not different enough to make her special, mind you, but different enough that she could never be like them.

As a little girl these thigns went on, as an adolescent they continued, and as a teenager she tried even harder. It was a secret struggle, something inside her saying that she was different but she could still be the same. She could be that same bubblegum beauty of other girls. She didn't want different anymore.

A part of her, the part she was most ashamed of, wished she wasn't the way she was. She wished her hair were blond. Her skin fair. Her lips pink. Her eyes blue. She wanted it so much she grew almost bitter, "they are making me outcast" she thought.

She was wrong. She liked to tell herself it was only in her mind, that everyone could see the same sort of wonder in her as everyone else. She convinced herself that in everyone else's eyes, if she tried hard, walked right, made her breasts seem a little bigger, that she could look great in pink.

But now, now things are different. Realities must be faced. She is an adult. She can't hope for "cute" or "darling" or "sweet."

Only a thousand other words that only work well with red.

And i'll tell you, She looks stunning in red.