sweetest perfection, of any kind

5:46

I'm toying with the idea of giving up. I miss so many things. I love too much. Today I told my nutritionist that I'm not going to see her anymore. I'm not sure if I do miss the illness or not, but I know it's too hard to keep things up like this. Someone save me, please. Either save me or leave me the fuck alone, because I don't want to deal with this shit. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of caring and acting like I mean everything I say and do. I keep feeling like yes, today is the day that will kill me. What is wrong with me that I am not worth as much as everyone else? Why am I inexplicably less valuable than the next person?

I wonder if this is what it's like to hear voices, knowing exactly which choice you should be making and choosing another option anyways.

Dear Me:

don't ever scare me like this again.

Once I find love...

I will __________

I'm no victim!

p.s. Thank goodness I don't look like Ms. N!

I'm at school, in 2nd block, writing my paper. Done with seven pages, writing two or three more, then stopping. 9-10 should be plenty. I would be satisfied with eight and a half, honestly. Then again, I always settle. Always always always, and there's really nothing wrong with that. I just need to pass and I'll be fine, right? No one is expecting me to do a super amazing grandiose project, but it'll be great. I know it. I just want to graduate and go to college for creative writing and english education. I just want to get better and better. I still have to make note cards, a powerpoint, and a product board. I'm probably still forgetting some super duper vital part, what whatev.

I only want to vagabond and write for the rest of my life. Probably teach high school at a place like this. Maybe fall madly in love and bring a uhaul to the second date.

bahahaha, yeah right... right?

goodness me oh my!

I'm really, really working my ass off on this project. Damn.
I hope the paper turns out as well as I hope it does. Does that make sense?
I'm on page five. 3-7 to go. D:

Tomorrow I'm going to the Spot to buy filters, two-for-one if they're still on sale. What a nice way to spend money, for real!

sidenote: I saw some of my sick pictures. Why didn't anyone tell me I looked like a fucking freak?

a society of giants?

I've grown up too big for this world around me,
dwindled the population that ceased to surround me,
swallowed the parents that tried to drown me
and ended up being too small.

well I like giants.

Confirming Diagnoses Through Honest Writings

Tonight is bleeding freely away from me, losing it slowly and emptying quickly of all the emotions, all of the wasteful things that make me stay near.

Lavender dust mushroom
clouds gather around tiny feet
stomp-moshing down
rainbows and waterfalls


I like this new, really gay style I've developed with my writing.

I still feel the hate.

I give up. You're all too good for me. I will never be enough, or I am overflowing.


The air is filled with wisteria and foxgloves,
blossoming sweet dust upon eyelids
opiate-heavy and laden with restfulness
opal-eyed does with armfuls of flowers

Kissing baby moss-covered hills
and earth smelling thickly of lovely
touches soft and plentiful dusk and dawn
falling moons and stars like sunbeams

P.S. Is there really such a thing as too soon?

Today was the first day I've ever been there. You know where. It was more than nice, because the company was awesome and sweet and amazing and all kinds of good things... and the coffee was neverending. Like, The Neverending Coffee. I'm going to haunt there for the rest of my days and drink shitloads of coffee--Completely obscene amounts of coffee. Cheap coffee&cigarettes sound wonderful right now, when I'm craving creature comfort.

I've been looking for the perfect diner my whole life. A place where I can drink endless cups of coffee and breathe eat drink smoke and write.

P.S. My hedgehog, Midge, died today. She was a very happy hedgehog.
P.P.S. I wrote this entire entry last night before my connection went out.

I feel like my friends have disappeared.

Where have you all gone?

Did I do something wrong?

Today was not as big of a pile of fail as I thought it would be, considering stuff. I sound so gruff, and YEAH.

But I did alright considering my immeasurable levels of social anxiety. I really do need to start taking my pills more regularly, though.

I almost flipped the shit when plans got switched around. Bleerrrgh.

I've finished two chapters of P&G, from Lester to Yves.

Sweet.

Nevermind, neverneverland!

I actually feel pretty cool after getting my hairs cut.

Sweet transformation,
transposition me from dark
into light
the best bits of broken
as if there is love
after fight.

The sun rose today over a sky of white like the snow itself that sat upon the lawn. Today was promised as gloomy, misunderstood to be melancholy, and yet here it is: bright. Startling white light like so many scratchy voiced songs sung so long ago, in husky noises like recorders and feedback, broken bass thrumming in a cracklesnap punch so abrupt that you sweat it. You're exposed here in the atmosphere, and it's easy to be so at home when the weather is fair.


I have Tegan&Sara st-st-st-stuck in my head.

WHEN MYYYYYY LOUD GUITAR COMES INN.
WHEN MYYY THUMPIN DRUMS COME THRU.

For VD-day, I am:
-going to the orthodontist
-going to school
-getting my hair cut
-going to therapy

basically, I am a loser with no life, but I am going to have sweetsweet hair.

whatwhat!

Today in class I wrote a somewhat imaginary valentine, knowing full well that I have no one to love me this VD-day. I fucking hate Ms. Honey for making me feel what I know all too well.

Like a hole in the head
and blood spilling from your mouth
Like eyes full of lead
and being too scared to shout

What can I say to make everyone know that I am not ready to love myself? And why do I feel like hating myself could make others love me?

I feel so alone. I just want to be free again.. go back to the good old days when I lived in Greensboro.

Fuck it, here:

I've written verses on your beauty
and those rhymes end up in wastebins
on crumpled pieces of paper
or worse yet in open air
passed by lips that have no feeling

this winter courses without meaning
and betwixt us is no love lost
so even on this day catches
the cycle of twilight and sunlight

heaving between ribs and heaert
is this notion of dis-position
the disorderly mean of putting
yourself on a higher horse than me

tonight is filled with premonitions
of equal ground and able minds
without thought and worry
but together both in kind

It sucks. It's abstract and it makes me want to vomit like a beast. I'm sick of this.


I'm sick of myself.

What started so simply as Pop and Giovanni expanded quickly into an intergalactic catastrophe.

I want them to be wonderful.

I don't know if I can finish what I've started.

Little lost girl
with constellation eyes
I'll take you down
to the river
I'll drown us
in the river
with this knife
in our skin
I'll become your
long lost twin

I've got this wicked cough,
and I'm spitting blood.
and nothing has turned out
quite like it should,
but hell if I give up
it'll end so rough.
so I keep heading down the same road
where many speed and many slow
and very few venture to go
down
just because we're fixing to
drown
in this tide
is it living
has it died

I've got this wicked cough
and I'm spitting blood.
It's sloven sloth
and the red rosebud,
dragging me around
with words so profound.
They don't really know
what to do.
So I guess they will just
turn to you
and say
way to go

you killed her
first
now drive
immersed
in this guilt
like a quilt
since you've
stuck yourself
in herself.

(applause.)

How sweet is this song? The rhythm is a little creativekookycrazy, but I like it a lot and the ending is just ridiculous.

Dancing destructive down the streets of our city
where trash meets glam
where we meet in the water
to wash away
the day


Today
I realized nothing. There were no revelations or epiphanies.
I got new glasses during lunch & I smuggled a junior onto campus.
I bled through my tampon in creative writing!

I'm gruesome, a beast, a ghastly fiend.

But within the past two days, two different people have come to me and confessed that they have struggled with the same issues I have. It's tragic, moving, and so many things that I just can't express.

I need to work on my demonstrative presentation for speech/debate. "How to Pack for Vagabonding."

She wears cramped shoes and pops the blisters later, draining the fluid from each bubble. Scrubbing down the raw skin until it bleeds, she washes away the pain with hydrogen peroxide, a chemical strong enough to sting and gentle enough to clean.

Let's hold hands down the avenues
plunge tango-esque into every mosh pit
and crowded street
dragged up in rouge and mascara
like renegades
androgyns tripping up
the same sidewalks
of the business suits
and briefcases
wondering if life is merely
a dream
or if we choose to paint it such a
wasteland.

the age of pwn

hooooooooly shit.

1.tech theater
2.guitar
3.speech/debate
4. CREATIVE WRITING.


yesssss.

I think putting a camera or camcorder in my hands would be dangerous, so let's do it.

Waking early and with a purpose, I pull you to my chest and stroke you into restfulness, as if all of my nurturing can make our world alright again. Everything is right again, I feel when you're in my arms.

So tonight I'll go to sleep just hoping, that I can rise in the morning and still be here instead of being stolen in the moonlight. A claimed changeling in the twist of twilight. My entire life revolves around my being, resolves around my need for seeing.

Let's have a picnic on the railroad, checkered blanket and all, as if pretending we don't belong anywhere makes the fact less strong.

I can pet your head, run my fingers down your scalp, scratch behind your ears and remember every single fact that composes your sweet skull. I run a risk admitting this, but: I love you. I may, in fact, be in love with you, considering that even the thought of your acceptance makes me weak in the knees.

Suddenly
I am soft bones and empty skin, blowing in the wind as you turn your head aside
I am smoky-breathed and full of promise, plump and swollen and venomous
I am knowing that you are the best of this, the better half of emptiness
I am being swallowed whole.

I'm getting new glasses. I'm cutting my hair. I'm doing my makeup.
I'm breathing fresh air.


Sweet babe, resting peacefully aghast astride my hips. We are more intimate than basses and bicycles, legs interwoven as we spiral dizzily downwards. There's something new and invasive about us. There's something completely blinding.


I've never been so scared to let me let people in before in my life, but it's terrifying, isn't it?

If anyone can beat the system, it's me, right?

I'm hoping that the fawn song of my nails on the oddly-stringed guitar is enough to keep you calling my name in your sleep, thinking that there's nothing hopeful enough in the world to keep you remembering my face. Even when I ask you, will you know what it is you're consenting? This is what it means.

I can feel your cheek brush against mine, and when I wrap you up in my arms, I want to keep you safe.
Maybe someday?

hum foreign lullabies and nocturnes,
croon your mind to rest

in a blanket, safe as a second-skin and
without wings

another cold twilight, wrapped
in smoke and liquor

trap the beasts and ghouls
in a tiny jar

paint murals of mermaids,
thick as opals and mud

begin to take what you deserve,
and keep it for our own

Deer. I'm constantly on guard for your sake.

For your spirit, FawnGirl.

boo hisssss

I can hear my organs churning.

I am not a human error, I am a great thing.

This semester could really be one of the simplest things in my entire life if I just don't cop out.

1st-Tech Theater
2nd-Guitar
3rd-Speech/Debate
4th-Strings

I think that since this started, I have changed a lot. I am no longer weak and helpless, but a real woman. Recovery and rehabilitation have been intense, and I suspect they will remain as such for a very long time, but that doesn't mean I have any reason to give up. It's hard, and let me tell you right now: I think it's worth it. These diseases have stolen so much of my life, and I want it back. I need it again, to be able to live without the frenzied worrying and counting.

I'm reading modern fairytales and writing books, drawing sets and haircuts. I'm planning CDs and dreams, hoping that I can make ends meet in my mind at the very least. I want my life to be jacaranda blossoms and honeyed tea, wisteria vines that creep and curl, tan horses rolled in dry dust, burnt yellow birds fluttering in sunflowers, broken-glass patios paved with mirrors and rocking chairs, reading and listening rooms that smell like antique stores.

I have dreams of hips and calves, smooth shoulders and arched backs.

I want to be happy when I grow up. Fuck productivity, I want to spread the fire-- Consume and cleanse.

I'm heaving. Hard jerks of ribcage and lungs intermingling in a place where skin just doesn't belong. You can pretend tomorrow, but I know today we'll never be the same because it will never be the same. I'm counting down the days, four two three, depending on every single on. Tonight I want to sleep with your ghost, know that every running joke we have will still be running in the morning-- that nothing will disappear in the night. I just need a break from change, but I'll get none of that.

Why won't you save me?

I want to be small and helpless, weak and dumb enough for you to fall in love with me, but I'm such a failure at playing these games. I'm too big and amorphous, rather a cosmos than ice planet of any sort.

I feel like I will always be the third wheel among unicycles. Irrelevance.