They Call It A New Leaf.

Have I depressed you all to the verge of suicide yet?
I'm dramatic sometimes, it's very true.
It was a hard year, and today when I finished my last exam and thereby said goodbye to tenth grade, I decided it was time for a change. Of course, I decided to start here, because my blog is my creative outlet. That, and my mom won't let me pierce my eyebrow.
It's time to be real, but optimistic. Metaphorical sob stories get hard on the head.
New look, new out-look.
I can't delete all the old sobfest posts. They happened, they were part of my life too. That would be pretending.
And there will be hard days, and one can't always be optimistic, but at the end of the day I suppose it's important to remember that we are all free.

Why.

We never took a single photograph together.

Someday I will pull myself out of this hole.
It won't be dark, and I won't be afraid.
Someday I will be happy, and free, and think of you only fondly.
I will have success.
I will fall in love again.
I will love things I never thought could I love again.
I will want to get up.
I'll want to do it.
I know I will carry on.

"So I will live life day by day, and let each moment pass right through. And as the hours pass away, I won't forget to think of you. And if you're with me, I will smile, and if you're not, then I'll smile too."

Lets call it a day.
I can't follow.
You blind me.
You twist and make shapes I don't recognize.
What is time, and space, when you are with me?
It does not exist.
And with you in another place there is too much of it.

There is too much time, and too much s p a c e.
Although I have removed you before, I have to put you back each time and look at you, like the book you can't touch, but your mother kept on the shelf within your reach anyway.
And it is just time and space.
I sit there and I look at it.
There must be a day that will come when it will break and shatter loudly around me.
And it could only be sweet relief.

Good Intentions

I believe people assume that I am confident because I am outspoken.
I am only outspoken by nature.
I have so many quirks, and things about me that just aren't attractive, and I have a love hate relationship with these things.
Sometimes I embrace them, and sometimes, I just want to be with someone again, and then I start to wish I were different. Lately, I've been extremely attracted to someone in particular, but I have the sinking feeling that said person doesn't find me attractive in any way, shape or form. And I am constantly feeling this need to change. It makes me think of everything I am, and how when it's all there, in front of me, together, I don't always like it.

I don't brush my hair.
My skin is always broken out.
I'm failing math.
I take 30 mg's of Prozac every day, because I've been diagnosed with depression.
I'm overweight.
I have Trichotillomania.
I see a therapist.
I wear glasses.
My teeth are yellow sometimes.
I lose a lot of things.
I break a lot of things.
I get angry often.
I cry over extremely petty things.
I'm very jealous.
I wear too much makeup.
My eyeliner never looks good.
My breasts are way too small.
Writing is my passion, but I secretly want to be a truck driver.
I'm possessive.
I'm sensitive.
I can forgive on occasion, but I never forget.
I'm way too empathetic but I'm afraid people will think I'm self-righteous if I talk about it.
I'm judgmental but I try to love people.
Sometimes I feel like a bad person.

"I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions."

A Work In Progress.

In the shadows of your empty room
I see your feet and watch you move through sun
We danced with dust and cracks
The beat of traffic, coming back
And you, a jukebox singing songs
A radio with nothing on
But all-consuming melody
Your voice, your body calls to me.

Where do you go in this city?

The television set is singing static loneliness
We tore the curtains down, and now the light shines on the mess
Lipstick stains on coffee cups I'll never put away
Your furniture and dirty clothes all have too much to say.

Where do you go in this city?

I used to get off the bus and walk, and watch the ghosts of you and I walking towards me, holding hands, talking. Your ghost looks as though he is in a world beyond my ghost.
My ghost is wearing stripes, but I am wearing floral.
It's a different time.
It's been almost a year since what you were became a ghost and who you are became seperate.
I don't wear that striped dress anymore, but she does.
Although I was myself and my ghost, you were no longer there in the flesh.
I used to go to bed with my ghost, and then she would turn on me. She didn't want to sleep.
She didn't want to get up either. She had realized as well as me that you are different now, different than your ghost was.
But if she realized it, maybe you were always the same.
I am not what you want.
And maybe she was not what he wanted, it was just that they didn't know it yet.
In the end, it's all me. Nobody else.
And spring has come.
Sun has come.
I have survived it, on my own. Without you.
With the snow, so disappeared ghosts, and so disappeared my need for you.
I do not need you anymore.