Zombie.

And with every blog title a song,

I think it's almost protocol to say something about them.

Or at least music in general.

And that I like it.

I'm listening to it now.

(The Police, to be exact.)

And that music is the human expression of emotion and love and

Everything.

And I'm feeling a little "I'm So Tired" and "Blackbird" right now.

Because the Beatles had a song for every event or feeling.

Even that awkward moment where you want to hold someone's hand.

It's a very opportune song, I suppose.

Away from that thought-train now, please.

And onto something societal.

Society seems to base your life success on two factors.

A) Money.

B) Children.

I don't care for either.

Money corrupts and children are parasites. (Yes, even me. I'm a horrible parasite...)

And it's as though you're not successful if you don't care about money

Or if you decide children would be a hindrance on your life.

My mother will go," when I was her age I had a full time job and a kid."

Well good for you mother, but people are different.

And the fact that the neighbors don't have kids sort of spooks people.

Like two people in love MUST have some physical sign of their love.

That's what herpes is for. (Haha, joke time.)

So let's bring on the rounds of disappointment and self-loathing!!

Yeah!

Because letting everyone down was so my life's goal!

Because disliking children and

Deciding that a passion for what you do is more important than a paycheck

Apparently makes me somewhat of a failure from what I've been able to deduce in a meager 16 years.

I've much to learn, of course.

And people always say, "Oh, you'll change your mind! Someday you'll want kids."

Well when that day comes please smack me with something. Hard.

It'd be much appreciated.

Awesome.

Anyways.

Silly society...

It's so crucial though...

And I'm thinking that someone else sang "I've Found a Reason"

But I'm only listening to the Velvet Underground version...

If there even is another version.

There was something else that needed to be said.

Possibly a word on my current zombie-like stage.

I'm a living Claratin commercial...

"Got allergy fog?"

Well hell yes, I do, actually.

Ahh, no.

Alas, it was about my current texting situation.

And regardless of the fact that nobody cares,

I'm still typing.

I'm being ridiculously happy in one,

Because it's about awesome prospects of weekend maritimes.

Although there are no boats involved.

Such a horrible sentence.

Because of the lack of boats.

(This makes me what to be near the sea though. But what doesn't?)

But, on the other hand.

I'm talking about my weird little quirks.

Like staring at his arms?

Yes.

I do that.

I like his arms.

And there was a sappy text to explain that.

My liking of his lovely arms.

And how I'd love to be wrapped up in them.

So it's a balance of happiness (without boats) and of longing and sappiness.

So much teenage humility in these things.

That boat would come in handy about now.

I'll just go for a sail and forget that his arms exist.

And the sea winds will be all I need to be sustained,

All salty and cutting,

And cool.

And I'll be that speck of sail amongst all the sweet grey-blue.

Of the sea,

Which my heart also belongs to.

And lookee there, a little rhyme about my dearest affinity for the body of water that connects and divides the land masses with the humans who so plague me. How silly, they don't all plague me...

So it's time to leave.

To get to other, more important business.

Mostly dreaming.

But pay no mind.

Adieu, my lovelies.

And.

I love you.

White Sky

I've tried and failed to write a blog post three times today.

Three.

It's a magic number.

So hopefully this time I'll get it right, and the words won't look so silly standing there in little rows.

Maybe they'll have something to say, today.

Maybe they'll say that I'm happy without reason, and that I'm not so much dreading things anymore...

Or at least, for this moment.

It could change in an instant, as things so often do.

But I'm digging this little weird-happy place,

And I'm not even expostulating (Vocab word of the day) against my meager (or not so much...) amount of homework.

So let's get on that, shall we?

Maybe there'll be something much more intriguing to read later?

Only time may tell.

A-Punk

My English teacher discovered that I had a blog.

And she wants a link.

What she finds if I decide to actually give her the link my very well disappoint her.

It is just my thoughts.

A few poems.

A couple links.

Nothing too exciting.

Just a mundane little teenage ranting place.

But if she's intrigued, I am perfectly fine with that.

I just have to edit some tell-tale signs of my horrible obsession with somebody she might just know.

So I'll do that. And then I'll gather up my courage and send her a link.

And hopefully I'll have ditched the worst of my rantings.

But what's the point in covering up who I am, right?

Expectations.

Hello 6:25 blog post.

Or instead of "hello" I feel a "Good morning" is in order here.

But it's Monday, so the goodness...

It's highly limited.

How good can it be when you're awake and mildly sunburnt and dreading what you once longed for?

Answer: Not that good.

And is it true? An I a smart-aleck 16 year old? Apparently my parents think so.

And that made me distressed. Because, as a 16 year old, I know nothing. This must be so. Because I if I knew anything I could function on my own, all independent. But I can't do that. I know nothing. I am as clueless as the next person.

But sometimes I feel the need to express my liberal opinion. Does that make me a horrible person? Well it seemingly works like that. So what do I do? Not talk? Would you prefer my stony cold silence to my opinions? The opinions that make me a person!? I'd love to speak my mind more often, but you will continue to put me down and shun me and say I'm a smart aleck.

I know nothing. I have an opinion. Don't we all? Why can't you accept that? Accept me?

And what's with the sudden bombardment of pressure-inducing college questions? I don't know where I want to go. What I want to do. Or who I want to be. Or who I am. Or what I'm good at.

Really, I have no talents. I'm just curious. There's an einstein quote that's something like that.

So what does it matter that I don't know where my life is headed? I'm 16, and my only obligations currently are to my school, my blog, my poetry, and guitar. So why can't I just live this moment right here without having to worry about what happens in two years? Because, yes, I obsessively worry about this type of thing.

So.

I'll answer it for you right here.

I would like to go to Columbia.

I would like to be a writer.

I would like to live my life and be happy and have money not matter.

There.

You'll never see this.

But I don't care.

Because I said it.

It's right there.

And that's what I want to do.

So now let me worry about being 16 for now,

Please?

Hello, ten minutes later end to this blog post.

Adieu.

I love you.

99 Red Balloons

This blog post has a purpose.

It's to show you some spiffy things.

So here's some links to spiffy interwebs,

http://www.stumbleupon.com/

This is awesome. It's also a procrastination tool (we all need one, right?)

http://derp.cheezburger.com/

This is hilarious. Kind of silly/stupid, but very funny, don't deny...

http://solveproblemmarie.blogspot.com/

This is my friend's blog. She's nifty, please read it.

http://www.postsecret.com/

This is a place for secrets.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwTsZHGQ6FE

This is the funniest Youtube video I think I've ever seen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iubJ-XSL9go

This is pretty funny too...

None of these showed up as links. Yippee.

Pale Blue Eyes.

Pale Blue Eyes, I am in love with them. With the song, with all connected to either thing. I am being mercilessly pelted with thoughts and things and anger and it's pouring itself forth into prose-like poems, and I'm not sure if I'm ok. I was fine when I was with my lovely friends. I was better than fine. I was amazing. And quite on top of the world. And it was awesome and happy. And it makes high school seem like a much less formidable foe. But alas, all comes crumbling down.

But first, the good.

"My doorbell don't go ding dong, it go dong dong!"

Two drunk college guys telling us we were invited to the party at Clancy's.

"This guy's straight! WEIRDO!"

It's just awesome being with such awesome people.

Awesome has no feeling.

Let's try again.

It's euphoric,

It's ridiculous,

Enlightening,

Lovely,

Stellar,

Rad.

All of the above, please.

And now the bad.

I want to be an artist?

It's a question.

For I'm not sure.

I don't want to be a teacher.

I don't want to major in the Classics.

I don't want to go to OSU.

I want to live while I can and do what I love and not care if i get paid or not.

Being happy is why we're alive.

Life should bring us all the happiness we need.

Also, the hardship, but the happiness too.

And that's what worth living for.

The love, the passion, and the happiness.

I want to be an artist for that reason.

There's passion there.

It's fiery.

Do what you love.

Because you love it.

(Or do who you love, as a friend would say...)

So let me be who I am.

And let me speak freely.

I am angry.

And obsessed.

And it's awful and horrid and sublime.

Here's a poem to enunciate what my speech cannot put forth.

I found the sea

In Pale Blue Eyes.

And whose eyes were they

But yours?

And guitar riffs

Chords, and strums

Sound like lullabies,

All broken,

Like the 45,

I smashed against the bedroom wall.

It was Pale Blue Eyes,

And I thought of you,

And I slumped

Down the wall,

All pale blue like the sea,

Like the eyes

That you trained on me,

And I can't get past the color,

Can't get past the lullabies,

The lyrics that held whatever

I forced onto them,

And your Pale Blue Eyes,

I cannot stand,

They've got the depth

Of all the seas,

My favorite things.

The 45.

The color blue

And my sea.

You've taken them from me.

And I can't get over how you look.

When you look at me.

[Yes, Pale Blue Eyes must be capitalized, it's a song. A 45 is a type of record. I'm writing about a boy. In case your deductive reasoning skills are off.]

Ok.

Yeah, it's obsessive.

Goodnight.

Tire Swing.

So I'm wanting a lot again.

I'm so needy.

But hey, that's life!

I suppose,

Have I mentioned that, yes.

I am still in obsession with him.

I really hoped seeing him would deter my feelings about him.

But I wake up each morning and that weird nervous-sick-awesome feeling

And it's because of him.

Can I kill him?

Then again, that might not end so well.

So...

I'll continue to live my life with a healthy fear and longing for him.

I think that sentence is awkward, but I'm not changing it.

Sophomore year,

It's "swell".

Notice the little "quotes".

Yes.

Swell.

But,

Tomorrow is Friday!

And life begins anew!

How To Say Goodbye

I'm upset.

But not dead,

Just getting close.

It didn't hit me until I was in the middle of my math homework.

I am in high school.

My life is a lie.

I burst into tears.

And they haven't really stopped.

And it's quite pathetic,

Because it's not that bad.

But at the same time,

It's so overwhelming.

And they brought in a motivational speaker.

Are you serious?

A re-hash of what all the adults tell us.

You can change the world if you want to!

You are special!

Only other can make you feel inferior!

Yes, well,

Lies.

I am one being.

I cannot change the entire course of the world.

I am not special,

I am like every other cookie-cutter little person.

And no, others don't make me feel inferior.

Forget what those people say.

I, yes, I make myself feel inferior.

Because if I didn't, who would?

Somebody's gotta keep me ground,

And it may as well be the only person that knows everything about me.

Myself.

So I'll "motivate" my way through another year.

Pssh, yeah,

Motivation.

I'm a trifle horrible at that type of thing.

Motivational speakers can't be so peppy away from their motivational speeches.

It'd be impossible.

And I am scared for tomorrow.

It will be scary.

Yet the same.

As things always are.

I felt as though I'd just had a long weekend,

Not a three month break.

Just a short hiatus.

I like that word.

Hiatus.

Reminds me of haikus.

Which I hate writing.

They are so short

And I am not language-skilled enough for that.

And the school website isn't working,

And I can't get my homework done until it works.

That's distressing.

So let's get these 179 days over with,

Shall we?

I hope I can keep the contact with people

And my own emotions,

To a minimum.

I am so fearful.

So meek

And cowardly.

And so quiet.

I have words to say,

But I can't say them.

And I just want to scream.

And tell the world that I'm not all that bad.

I'm not horrid,

I don't think, at least.

A Well Respected Man.

I'm going to die.

In T-minus, one hour.

Approximately.

First I'll have to lug this huge bookbag

Over to the bus stop

And then I'll endure a bus ride with the Delaware scum.

And I'll swim through the halls of Hayes,

Half-dead at this point.

And I'll see people.

And I won't stop to chat.

Because I'll feel like puking.

And I fall in a heap (Not literally) into the classroom.

And die.

That's the next hour of my life

And it needed to be written down?

Nope,

But I, personally, needed it.

Sleep (Instrumental)

It's feeling like autumn.

It can't do that.

Seasons are not allowed to change,

I can't get a grasp on this.

On now.

On tomorrow.

On how to carry myself in this new and foreign school year.

Though I know the architecture,

Know the faculty.

Know the way I should carry myself.

But I've scrambled myself

All up like an egg.

And I can't figure out how to get the parts of me back into

Order,

All lined up like DNA strands

I figure my insides look all chaotic and scary.

And inside my head...

It's like a bomb's about to go off.

I'm just not cut out for high school.

But no one is, really.

It's made to induce feelings of awkwardness.

Let's get this over with.

Let's get the awkward over with.

But I swear,

Some things

Will be awkward forever.

I don't know what to say.

I worry about these types of things,

If I go and speak my mind,

I fear a negative reception.

People will definitely

Find my wordings strange.

So it's time to put on the high school

Clothes and attitude

And vocabulary

And act like I haven't changed.

Act the same.

Same as it ever was.

Because it's high school.

And nobody cares who's changed and who's the same.

And the teachers will never know who you really are,

For they don't care past slapping a red-written grade on your school papers.

And I don't care past getting those papers in and getting them returned with some alphabetical symbol higher than a C.

For below a C is failure to me.

But I've slacked so much this summer.

What will I do?

I'm giving up while I still can.

I am so scared I could puke.

Maybe I will.

I don't care.

Rollercoaster

This will be short.

But it needs to be said.

I will not be able to come to terms

With the fact that

Nothing I've imagined

With you and I

Will come true.

I can't realize that.

And when I can,

And do.

I'll cry.

Because that's what I do.

And I have to see you tomorrow.

And I can't handle that.

I hate myself for that.

The End.

Moving, Shaking.

I'm awake.

And I can say it's not picture-perfect.

I'm not happy-sleepy with a cup of steaming tea sitting in the back lawn mist,

Watching ducks fly overhead.

I can't claim I don't want that.

I can claim that I'm sleepy and irritable,

And I have no tea to speak of,

And it isn't a misty morn.

I can't claim that someone's here,

Someone kind and awesome and also sleepy.

I can claim three children all hyper and screaming.

Who will be here most of the day.

I can claim this leg cramp is making it painful to walk

And the egg recall is making me worried about cooking breakfast...

And I had a bad dream.

It started out lovely,

Of course, with the crazies,

At the mall.

Which will come true.

But then there was a giant crunchy spider and I was at home.

But then I wasn't.

There was a storm

And I was at my grandmother's.

And we happened to be talking about the guy I'm fawning over.

And then the guidance counselor went *poof*

and showed up.

And threatened to get him into a lot of trouble.

And that's truly the last thing I want.

He can't get in trouble on my account.

I won't have that.

But nothing's happened between us,

So there's nothing to cause trouble,

As far as I am concerned.

I hope the troublesome dream-parts don't come true.

I hope for today to go swiftly.

Tomorrow to go well.

And Wednesday to never come around.

For I'll break down and cry and be a nervous wreck

Because it's high school,

And that's just what I have to do.