To Do

Hating yourself isn't poetry, you know.
But it's a lot easier to hate than love and it's a lot easier to be crazy than sane or maybe it's easier to be sane than crazy, I dunno.

Girls, stop highlighting your hair the color of suicide,
and boys, stop falling asleep to netflix. It's bad for your eyes.

Everyone, stop wearing so much death. Colors are cool. Dye your hair blue and get some new piercings. (maybe don't do the last one, I did that and my mom was angry.)
Eat fried chicken if you want, learn how to make tortillas.
Listen to the Weepies, watch the movie "Scott Pilgrim vs. The World"
Take a bath
IN BLOOD
just kidding, but take a bath and fall asleep and listen to music and relax.

Fail a test. Get 36%. It will make you feel like crap but then you'll feel better about the next test you take.

Get your palm read. Apparently it's complete bullshit but it makes you feel cool.

Google stuff you want to know about. Read scientific articles online.

Break a bone.

Love something a freaking lot. And then learn how to stop loving it. And then love something else and stop loving that too.

Pray. It doesn't matter what the heck you are praying to, but pray and pray and pray.


Oh, and don't forget to tattoo every mistake you make onto your forearm.

*sigh*

sorry if the writing is too small for you to read
zoom in or get a magnifying glass

remember I'm forgetting

                                   

I remember sitting in my underwear eating cereal from trader joes and falling asleep to hospice and waking up to rain. I remember what the clock said; I remember the date matching it perfectly. I remember being happy and sad and happy.

I remember walking that dog. I remember walking that dog around the block, across the grass, through the park, on the benches. I remember running and running and crying a tiny bit. I remember opening that front door and feeling like a million dollars and walking up those stairs and feeling like one.

I remember the porch, ten feet in the air. I remember the broken glass and burnt meat and unlit cigarettes. I remember the plants, dying faster than the floating goldfish in the dirty fishbowl. I remember those movies taking the place of the books and the books taking the place of fine wine. I remember the fine wine taking place of the food and the food being nowhere in sight.

I remember the fireworks, your yells were louder. I remember the hammock, your hugs were tighter. I remember the encyclopedia and the bible and that fancy computer, but I remember you always had the answers. I remember the poker table and the alcohol, but you knew the right games to play.

I remember sitting in my underwear eating cereal from trader joes and falling asleep to hospice and waking up to rain. I remember what the clock said; I remember the date matching it perfectly. I remember being happy and sad and happy.

six words were never enough for (us)

(III XIII MMXIII)

24% unsure

I'm sitting in my bathtub right now.

There are bubbles and it's dark and I'm thinking thinking thinking.

I'm thinking about the last time I did a cartwheel and the last time I cried and the last time I made cotton candy (I can do that, well, because I am very very cool.)

I'm thinking about how math works and how I want to become a geologist but I'm too scared because of all the science and math classes you're required to take.

I'm thinking about the taste of cigarettes on your mouth and how I hate the taste of cigarettes (but secretly like it a tiny bit.)

I'm thinking about how I could slip my head under this water and not ever come up, but I know I would because I'd start panicking at 43 seconds (I've timed myself before, is that weird?)

I'm thinking about all the lies I've told and all the lies I wish I'd told and all the lies I'm probably going to tell.

I'm thinking about you and him and her and her and this boy I saw at Target who I think is/was my soul mate because he had pretty hair and nice clothes but he was with his mom and I was with my mom and so we just kinda stared at each other and wandered away but I am 76% sure that we were soul mates.

I'm thinking about how to steal poptarts from the vending machine because I'm poor and can't afford to pay one dollar for two pre-baked toaster pastries.

I'm thinking about muddy buddies because I'm always thinking about muddy buddies because I can never have them but I always want them and they are just so freaking good.

I'm thinking about love because I'm always thinking about love because I always think I'm in love but I'm probably not.

shit, muddy buddies are so much better than love.

attention attention

see you in hell

I poured my soul,

but have been

lost

lost

lost

I should love God

rather than you;

I do not

echo in your ears

Favorite things at this exact moment:

• Breaking Bad
• Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
• cheesy broccoli soup
• memory foam
• Parks and Recreation
• geodes
• my Nintendo DS 
• eyelashes
• the Arctic Monkeys
• soft carpet
• black
• Requiem for a Dream (terrifying, don't ever watch twice)
• Requiem on Water (a very excellent song)
• the word "requiem" (look it up)
• candy
• money (preferably cash, change/debit works too, though) 
• Korean movies

Prize: Candy for all

I think we all spend too much time loving things we don't really love
and hating things we don't really hate.

I probably say "I hate her/him/that/life/everything" at least 13 times a day, and that is 13 times too many.

The girl I always say that I hate probably has a lot of problems (just like me) (just like you) and she's probably doin her best, because high school sucks (I don't hate it though.)

Yeah the football player in our class acts like he doesn't care / doesn't even appear to try, but hey he took the class.

So what if there's a guy who is completely straight who likes to dance across the stage like a total queer, so what.

So what if a girl has to kiss 42 boys for her to feel like she's anything at all, so what.

I think generally, we're all pretty good people. (Don't get me wrong, there are some shitty people out there.) But I think everyone is doing their best, and people know what's best for them.

So heres a challenge:

1. Stop overusing the words love/hate
2. THINK before you say that rude thing about that person you probably don't even know
3. Stop tearing people down and maybe try and lift some people up (with the amount of people who have talked about being sad/depressed just on these blogs I know some people are pretty freakin sad, and why not change that if we can?)
4. Be nice to yourself, too
5. Remember that people are people, we're all pretty dumb sometimes

It would be cool if re-blogging was a real thing, because then we could spread this all over the internet and CHANGE THE WORLD!

just kidding, but really, let's start being nicer to each other. 

I used to hate animals, not anymore

pretty happy

I'm happy because I made it to November. Because my bed is super comfy, I have really good friends, and because my mom still makes me breakfast. I'm happy because of the string tacked to my wall and the number of stairs in my house and because apparently the chemicals in my brain are well balanced. I'm happy because out of the 5 people in my family, I don't hate any of them. I'm happy because there are a lot of pretty places in the world and a lot of places I've never been. I'm happy because I like books and watching movies and TV is pretty cool, too. I'm happy because even though a lot of crappy things have happened to me, a freakin lot of good things have happened to me as well (plus I've got a lot of life ahead of me, which means a lot more crap but also a lot more good.) I'm happy because I got a C on my math test (just kidding, that sucks.) 

mind | matter

I'm thinking about you.
I'm thinking about you like a lot, like a lot thinks about cars.
Like aliens think about mars (even though scientists aren't sure about life on there)
Like robbers and serial killers and teenage delinquents think about getting out from behind bars.

I'm thinking about you.
I'm thinking about you the way gamblers think about winning,
The way sinners think about sinning,
(the way I also think about sinning.)
The way baseball players think about the ninth inning.

I'm thinking about you like, like, like,
Like football players think about cheerleaders and cheerleaders think about football players, and fans think about football players and cheerleaders and the band and hotdogs and good weather and whatever else goes on in a sports fan's mind

I'm thinking about you like CRAZY,
Like crazy people think about love.
Like Americans think about the gov(ernment)
Like boxers think about their winning boxing glove (punch punch)

I'M THINKIN ABOUT YOU, 
AND I'M DREAMIN ABOUT YOU,
AND I CAN'T QUITE GET MY MIND OFF OF YOU.

I'm thinking about you.
I'm thinking about you like poets think about the word blue.
Like homosexual men think about their new shampoo.
Like greasers and thugs think about getting that 23rd tattoo.

Oh, it's true, I'm thinking about you.

vir-ile

And all of the sudden I'm doubting God and the grass under my fence, and I'm wondering why my mom makes dinner and praying I don't turn out like Sid Vicious.

There are 9 things on my mind and they go like this:

October
November
December
January
February
March
April
May
June

It makes me wonder if those 9 things are ever going to repeat themselves, or if this is the end maybe.

October you're beautiful. Those freckles on your lips only make me love you more, even though you're gone gone gone. And just like the weather, I though you were here to stay forever, but no you had to leave like the leaves.

November you're so casually cruel. It hurts to think about you, the way you're stuck between October and December the way you are. The way you put me in so much pain, but still somehow make me happier than I've ever been. I wish you could've stayed a little longer.

December, I'd be dead without December. That pale skin of yours says it all.

January. January you're brilliant. You are one million things I can never describe, you are a hundred I can. You know how to say "it's going to be okay."

February you're a bitch. That stupid look you always had on your face, and that girl you were in love with. It made me sick. But you were alright.

March, you made me fall in love. The way you stood in front of that class, the way you held yourself up. You made me fall in love with numbers. With books, and with writing my name. You made me fall in love with learning how to sing and learning how to love.

April you're a gift. That fake blonde hair and those big green eyes, I want to be you someday. I want my nails to be as red as yours and my grocery list to be a little longer. I want to be stressed the way you're stressed, I want to be angry the way you're angry.

May baby go away maybe. But that laugh, and that hair. And those problems and those late-night-phone-call-life-saving-opportunities. Stick around, I promise I'll be good.

June you confuse me. You're happy and sad, but mostly sad I think. You've got her and them and maybe that isn't enough. But maybe it is. You'd be more comfortable in basketball shorts, June. I know it.

I'm missing 3 I think, but I only had 9 on my mind.

pockets and/of hell

You carried hell around in your pocket like it was something to impress your friends;
I could taste it on your lips the entire time.

Ordinarily I'd be terrified to disappear like that,
to drop off the face of the earth.

But disappearing with you felt like the greatest honor known to mankind.

It was an honor to disappear into that unknown universe,
to write that language we did.

It was nice to be unheard, unseen for a little.

Now I carry around hell in my pocket,
and I can't show it off the way you do.

It's no badge of honor for me,
it weighs me down at times.

But you pinky swore carrying around a pocket of hell never hurt anyone,
and you seem pretty okay to me.

I just keep praying you remember those words I said to you;

If you died,
I'd.

Page 15

1. Circles under eyes

2. Emphasizing words

3. Walking too fast

4. Ugly hair

5. Tying shoes

6. 18 

7. Intelligence 

8. T.V.

9. That look

10. Cute nose

11. Skinny wrists

12. The future

13. Crying

14. Cat allergies

a post about love

Try these pick up lines and if they don't work then you're using them on the wrong person

"Baby, I love you to the moon and back"

"I'd go without oxygen for days just to be with you"

"Your smile is so bright it hurts the sun's eyes"

"Uranus is my favorite planet"

"I wish I had a telescope powerful enough to see all your beauty"

"I'd run the speed of light if I could have you"

"I'd buy you more rings than Saturn's got if you'd marry me"

"You make me want to take off my asteroid belt"

smiling flash, Talking trash

My parents had me keep a journal from age 3- they wrote, I talked/drew.

MY FAVORITE FOOD HAS BEEN PIZZA SINCE I WAS 3.

Broken Houses

This one time I pulled carpet out of a house for 4 hours with a boy. It was a while ago and I remember that day was pretty boring. I think we played video games after we finished tearing the carpet up, I think his parents brought us takeout. About a month later we broke up. 

But I remember being so happy that day.

I remember being happy about stepping on a nail.

I remember being happy about getting my shirt caught on the door.

I remember being happy about being tired.

I keep thinking "Space Camp" is this giant thing that we're all trying to achieve, I keep imagining it as our goals and dreams.

But I don't think it's one giant thing. I think it's a billion tiny things.

I think it's the way we pay attention to the little details; it's the way we say goodnight.

It's the way our fingertips brush against walls, it's the way we breathe.

It's the way you turn my emotions on and off like a light switch;

it's the way we hear what we listen for and see what we look for.

Space Camp is learning how to type and learning how to be forgiven.

It's bigger than getting accepted into college, it's bigger than finding "true love."

Space Camp is true love.

Space Camp is the ocean, and the way it turns from calm to hell in a matter of seconds. 

Space Camp is every grain of sand, every plant, every human being.

You're Space Camp,

I'm Space Camp,

We're all a little Space Camp. 

Self Diagnosing

Symptoms:

I know a boy who is a schizophrenic, I think I might be one too.

With my vacant facial expressions, and the way I walk, I'm a schizophrenic.

But the way my hair falls out says I'm an anorexic; the way I can't handle the cold says it too.

A girl once told me that if I ever wanted to spot a drug addict, I should look for "red eyes and poor memory," and I've got both of those.

My constant headaches and the way my eyes refuse to properly work is a sure sign that I've got a brain tumor.

The way my throat makes it hard to swallow as soon as I'm about to say something important means that I've always got a cold.

And the way I can't smile without thinking about it first definitely means I'm depressed.

Illness:

I am a depressed anorexic on drugs suffering schizophrenia who has a brain tumor and is constantly dealing with the common cold. 

Medication:

• One tablespoon Lortab (to numb the pain a little)
• A little of the antipyschotic drugs to counteract the schizophrenia
• 3 tylenols 
• 2 Cymbalta pills
• a cheesburger
• a slap in the face (so I'll stop being a drug addict)
• 8 hours of sleep 
• 4 hours of socialization 

*I highly recommend self diagnosing, it is easy and always 100% accurate. 

Why I won't be a Suicide Case

This post is dangerously close to a suicide note.

I don't know exactly what a suicide note reads, but this would be mine I think.

Dear Mom/(specific name)/(specific name)/everyone,

I'd like to start off by saying I'm sorry (see I'd say I'm sorry but I really wouldn't be)

I'm sorry that things are ending like this, I'm sorry I'm selfish.

Believe it or not, I have a lot of problems.

Mom, when you kept asking me day after day "are you okay" while I stared at the ground and replied "yes, yes I am." 

I wasn't okay. (I'm not okay.)

Sleep sounded a lot better than homecoming, it sounded better than that movie you took me to.

Sleep sounded better than family dinner every night, and better than facing my fears.

I've never cried in a movie, but the number of times I cried this week was 4. 

4, when I decided to type this.

3, kneeling on my carpet while I was folding laundry.

2, curled up on the left side of my bed.

1, standing in the cold shower. 

My eyes have been glazed over for days, I haven't eaten a glazed donut in months.

The contrast between my anxiety and self confidence is turning into the grand canyon.

Sorry about the ring, sorry about the dress.

Sorry about July 26. 

Sorry.

(see I'd say I was sorry, and by the end of the note I would be.)

Balancing the checkbook

green eyes and 5 ft 3, 

I know for a fact that's who I want to be.

I want to walk around with books balanced on my head,

I want to go to sleep with you layin' in my bed.

I'd be okay with dancing in the dark,

there's a door with a lock; a dog with his bark.

For you I'll sleep through the sun rise, I'll stay awake 'til she's gone.

While she sleeps I'll study her brother the moon,

I'll study her cousins the stars.

I'll major in math.

I'll learn not to cry.

I'll become an alcoholic; 

together we'll learn how to die.

We can drown in vodka together,

I hear that's not a bad way to go.

Vodka will be sweeter on our lips, sweeter than we'll ever know.

literally IDK

-Why is making out a cool thing

-Why are some people so good looking and some people so ugly
-Why does crossfit exist
-Why is everyone so sad
-Why do dogs do that thing where they bark at some people but not other people that are equally as harmful
-Why do boys think it's okay to do drugs
-Why can't communism work better in real life
-Why don't I have a job
-Why isn't the United States on the metric system
-Why do we have tonsils
-Why is crying a thing that happens
-Why are there cheerleaders for football and basketball
-Why do people argue so much about abortion and gay rights
-Why does the ACT determine which college we get accepted into
-Why do so many people misuse the word "literally"

Hey guys guess what my favorite food is

It's captain crunch.

This isn't a list of confessions

When I was 8 I threw a brick at my sister.

I don't remember it hurting her (I missed and hit the ground) but I do remember the look on my mother's face.

It was a look of surprise and anger and disgust, it was a look that said "why did you do that."

Other than that, I was a pretty good 8 year old.

And a lot of times I think "would the 8 year old me be proud of the 17 year old me?"

The answer is no.

No.

No, the 8 year old me wouldn't be proud of the 17 year old me.

The 8 year old me didn't know that sex and drugs existed.
The 8 year old me didn't know what swear words were or what being gay was.
The 8 year old me thought that every human had good intentions,
and sometimes the 17 year old me still thinks that.
The 8 year old me got dipped in some water and was convinced she would never sin again,
now you tell me was that brain washing or soul cleansing?

The 8 year old me had hope.

The 17 year old me is kinda messed up and my parents know it.
The 17 year old me is happy.