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.