:: 2008 1 December :: 4.42 am
:: Mood: tired

One day 'til 19.

I don't wanna be the girl that has to fill the silence.
The quiet scares me because it screams the truth.
Please don't tell me that we had that conversation
'cause I won't remember. Save your breath, 'cause what's the use?



I'm safe, up high.
Nothing can touch me.

[x]

:: 2008 30 November :: 6.26 pm

Dear Finn,


You were meant to be a birthday gift. And you were. But the most adorable, personable, outspoken birthday gift in the world.

You listened to me bitch, nodding and tilting your head to the side when my voice dipped into a sad pitch, making me smile. And when I'd raise my voice, you'd bark for emphasis, always on my side.

You always hogged the big, red pillow and sometimes I'd nudge you just to hear you grunt at me. Your little personal, 'fuck you.'
TOTALLY my puppy.



My world imploded and you didn't care. We were still BFFs and that's all that mattered. You lived for my arrival each day, and reveled in your outside potty breaks that turned into hour-long snow games. Pretty soon, I did too.

So why didn't you wake up?

Why did Alex and Casey have to dig you a grave that I, still, feel was too big for you? Five weeks, little man, and then you were gone.
I'm not mad, I just feel left behind.
I feel a little pathetic writing all of these goodbye letters to you, Isaiah, and his brother/sister.

I haven't moved your food or water. In fact, the pieces you stashed around my our room are still there, neatly piled like you left them.

I miss you.

I wish things were good again. I wish Carlie wasn't a cheating liar and I wish Derek was happy. I wish Desi and I could still be buds.



But nothing ever works out the way you plan, right Raych? You just have to roll with the punches and make sure you dodge the particularly bad ones. After awhile, you learn the ropes. You learn how to see through those black eyes, how to draw air into your aching chest, and how to suture your own gashes - even the ones all the way in your back.

I wish none of us had to be so ruthless. So selfish. So solitary.
But that's what it takes, right?
Because Life has become War.

A war where babies stop breathing in their mama's arms, and puppies with one white-tipped ear don't wake up.

7 comments | [x]

:: 2008 30 November :: 5.38 am
:: Mood: sad

Seriously?
Like, for real, man?
Is my life some fucking joke?!

Because you know, nothing can go right for more than two consecutive days.

Where the hell have I been, how did I miss so much, and when the fuck did refusing to lie make me an abnormal person?
If you want to cheat on your boyfriend, that's your prerogative, but don't ever ask me to cover for you.
You know - for future reference.

I'm not so mad about losing a 'friend' over something like that. Thankfully my morals are strong enough to withstand a night of threats and getting out of the car, and sitting at a deserted gas station at 3am, and frozen driveway screamfests.
Thankfully.

But coming home to find my birthday puppy dead?

Come on.

It's not even my BIRTHDAY YET. Which means I have three days to find a desolate cave in which to barricade myself. I can't take anymore.

I feel bland and everything-less. Ambition, love, comfort, inspiration, sleep, feeling. Kind of like a rock left to the waves of the relentless sea. I'm losing my features and feel so bland.
At least inside my head.

He wasn't even five weeks old.
He would have been, today.
Just like Isaiah being 5 months.
That just seems to be my number.

Nothing is what I thought it would be and nobody is who they swore they were.
Which is all well and good, really. It's fine.
I just need a break. I need some air. I need to be held until I fall asleep.
I need to figure out what I'm doing so wrong.

I've worked so hard to keep out of the masquerade and be real with people. I put honesty first. I do everything with passion and thought. So why am I always the one called crazy? emotionless? a liar?

I keep wishing my son and Finn would wake up.
Or that I will.
Because this has honestly become a nightmare.

9 comments | [x]

:: 2008 25 November :: 10.11 pm
:: Mood: sore

2 comments | [x]

:: 2008 24 November :: 6.50 pm

Saw Alex every day this past weekend.
Hung out with Hillary, Carlie, Casey, and Derek on Saturday. Disco bowling? Hells yeah.
Have a date tonight with, of course, Alex.
And, of course, he's late.

That's my quick update.

2 comments | [x]

:: 2008 21 November :: 11.00 pm
:: Mood: disappointed
:: Music: Rihanna - Rehab.

3 comments | [x]

:: 2008 14 November :: 5.23 am
:: Mood: chipper
:: Music: Frou Frou - Breathe In.

Hi-ho, hi-ho, back to work I go!
Oh yeah babies, I've rediscovered my drive and inspiration, so here's an old-lady-in-a-grocery-store-handing-out-cheese sample of my new stuffs.


* I couldn't decide which fit better.



ft. the lovely Court

And new vintage prints of the ever-captivating Cam Capone:
(fullview is better)

I am super "blah" tonight. I think it has a lot to do with washing my hands of my old journal, starting anew, and MAYBE the fact that Casey brought me cigarettes and he remembered I love twix. Maybe.

By the way, I don't mean 'blah' in that I don't want to get out of bed or wash my hair or breathe, I mean it in the sense that anything could happen right now, and I'd be okay with it.

I just wrote Alex a long note that he'll hopefully read in good time, otherwise Mexico (or any other country, really) here I come.

Be on the look out for new work :]
Or just refresh frequently!

I read you, and God I'm good at it. I am so spot-on.
Chord shapes in air. Go press that dissonance.. if you dare.
And you breathing in, finesse an innocent
from her partying.

And I'm high enough from all the waiting
to ride a wave on your inhaling.
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
to ride a wave on your inhaling..

'Cause I love you, no?
Can't help but love, you know.

What part of no don't you understand? I've told you before;
to just get off my case. This isn't happening. Stop this now.
And I - where was I? I have to be somewhere.
Now where did I put it..?

And I'm high enough from all the waiting
to ride a wave on your inhaling.
And I'm high enough from all the waiting
to ride a wave on your inhaling.
'Cause I love you, no?
Can't help but love you, no.

Is this it? No. Is it? ..no. Is this it? yeah. Is it? No, no.
Is this it? Oh. Is this it? No. Is this it? No. Is this it?

Yes.

Hello, we're back and we're taking calls.
Now, what was the question?

Can't help but love you, no...




Later, loves.

3 comments | [x]

:: 2008 13 November :: 9.04 pm
:: Mood: blah
:: Music: Epica - Feint.

:: 2008 21 April :: 11.19 pm

I am.
I am the hope of my mother, personified. I am the faults of my father forever immortalized. I am the years of bouncing back and forth, the product of their tug-of-war.

I am my grandmother's years of tender care and the sparkling of my grandpa's eyes. I am the fatigue of a family so close we collide and spin out of control, clinging to one another to survive.

I am the sobbing of a 3am phone call and the roaring of my car's 4am ignition. I am the purposeful shuffling of her feet along her driveway. I am the finality with which she shuts my door. I am the loss of a best friend.

I am the frantic heartbeat of children as their parents spill blood in the other room. I am the urgent knocking on my door and the gratefulness in their eyes. I am the flowery scent of their tousled hair and the exhaustion they lay their heads upon beside mine. I am the undying bond between my younger sisters, cut over and over again only to scar over stronger.

I am the good intentions of every passerby and the ignorance of those who know.

I am the responsibility in my older sister as she tucks her four kids into bed. I am the determination in her when she wakes them. I am the regret that mounts with each second as her 23rd birthday nears. I am the ripples of her lost future drowning.

I am the misunderstandings between us, the way she blames me for my success, calling it vanity. I am her chastising me for my right choices. I am the bleeding of my tongue, bitten to spare her of knowing all of the wrong one's I've ever made.
I am the resigned goodbye spoken to a dead line.

I am the inability to deal with people. I am the remnants of a recovering hypocrite, never do be fully healed. I am the failed comprehension of my own advice.

I am Queen of Attention to Detail.

I am self-redemption at its finest. I am sore muscles after spending the night curled in an arm chair. I am the chaos of my thoughts and the inescapable flaws of my rationale. I am the fever that burns in me to write and the constant rearranging of letters and words.

I am the lump I sometimes leave in people's throats.

I am the tear in my middle as I finally choose to leave, and the pounding of Alex's bass as he comes to pick me up, rescue me. I am the loss of control over my tear ducts as I read the letter she wrote me. I am the unfathomable perception of my 9 year-old sister. I am her vows to never stop loving me, never stop missing me. I am the way she writes as if I've died.

I am the realization that part of me has.

I am the aimless way we drive around before deciding on a place to go. I am the bleachy smell of that expensive hotel room. I am the readiness to begin anew and the understanding in his eyes as he drives me to school. I am the solace and salvation he never gave me, but the methods he used to show me how to find both in myself.

I am the shock of friends' faces when they see how much I have changed.
I am the defiance in Alex and Toby's eyes when they're the only two left.

I am the acceptance of Alex's family and the infectious warmth of his mother. I am the giggles that bounce off the walls as his sister and I pick out nail polish. I am the awkwardness of my first pedicure. I am the relief that it's all I've got to be awkward about.

I am the bouncing of our new kitten as he explores our new home and the warmth of him between us. I am the resolution in his kiss on my forehead before I fall asleep. I am the yelp of an angry, squished kitten.

I am the blushing on our faces when we figure out Paul is a boy's name and the persistence of Alex's refusal to be wrong. I am the pat on his back and reassurance that Paul is an okay girl's name.
I am the glaring defeat on his face as I pet our girl, Paul.

I am the newfound security in myself. I am the self-forgiveness finally accepted. I am the ability to stand on shaking legs beside his grave. I am the relentless I Love Yous pouring out of my mouth and soul. I am white tulip petals sprinkled over his name, to scatter as I walk away and perhaps carry off some of his perfection to someone else who needs changing.

I am the lesson learned far too late: that the loss of a life can take yours.

I am every person who surrounds themselves in fortresses of arrogance and ignorance and other ridiculous self-defenses.
I am the shattering of my own.

I am the forced optimism to change myself. I am struggling treading, growing stronger every time I say his name. I am dirty fingertips that have touched perfection only to bury it. I am the comfort that comes with knowing my heart rests within it. I am new life placed before me.

I am eyes wide open.

4 comments | [x]