In My Life

It's New Year's Eve.

That always makes me depressed,

I look back on a year I'm always less than thrilled with,

Always falling short of my "resolutions",

I don't know exactly why I bother anymore.

"Anymore"

I'm sixteen, I shouldn't sound like some old person.

I'm not old yet.

I only feel that way sometimes.

So why should I make New Year's Resolutions?

(That sounds narcissistic, geez)

I'm not perfect, nowhere near.

But I never keep those goals I make.

I always fail.

Maybe, if I put them here, someone with hold me to them.

Perhaps, but most likely not.

I have nowhere better to put my "goals" and "resolutions"

(I hate both words.)

Aspirations.

- (the typical) Loose weight.

You know we all want to, and I'm always on this bandwagon and nothing ever comes of it. Yes, I do try. Sometimes, I try awfully hard. Nothing comes of it.

- Lighten up on the cynicism and pessimism. This may or may not happen, sometimes, it's inevitable.

- Work harder on school work. I've been slacking.

But at the same time:

- Do more that makes me happy. Not anybody else. It's selfish, but sometimes, I forget that I exist outside of school and I forget that I like to do things.

- Practice guitar more diligently.

- Write. More.

Write more, everyday. Write anything. Write something gibberish. I just need to write more.

- Read more. Classics, poetry, everything.

-Ditch my envious and jealous feelings.

-Do something about liking him. Either stop, go insane, or whatever.

This could go a lot of different ways. What can I say, I like him. But I wish I didn't.

Alright.

Hold me to these, whoever you are, reading this.

Adieu.

Femme Fatale

"My dear,

You see, it isn't you,

It's always me,

And in some way,

I think we might want to stop

Our charading.

Our midnight masked

Phone calls,

And our Sunday Mornings

Full of sleep.

I see now,

That you and I,

Are two beings,

Two entities,

Who exist in separate places,

At different times.

You are one half of the jigsaw

That isn't mine.

Indistinguishable

Amidst the other pieces,

Brightly colored.

Mine, pale."

An interesting way to begin.

An off-the-cuff sort of poem.

None of which is true.

I wrote a post about him.

Then I deleted it.

Because whatever I say ends up sounding stupid.

Idiotic.

Childish.

Don't I have better things to think of?

I'd assume not.

No, no,

I've succumbed to that weird ailment that strikes down all of us stupidly weak-hearted ones,

And makes us sort of lie there convulsing on the floor.

Ha.

We all look so pathetic, squirming around.

How sadistic of me.

The boy on the television is wearing Buddy Holly glasses and is playing what looks like a Gretsch Hollowbody.

He has a decent voice.

Total hipster.

Buddy Holly sang "Dearest".

Which always reminds me of "All I Want Is You"

Thought they're quite different,

And that song always reminds me of him.

"If you were an ocean, I'd learn to float."

My favorite line.

Turn, Turn, Turn

My brain doesn't seem to want to cooperate.

All I'm getting are quotes from The Shining

"Danny isn't here right now, Mrs. Torrance."

"Heeere's Johnny!"

Indeed.

I feel like a 5 year-old,

Wearing these matchy-matchy pajamas,

Made of fleece, and all the same pattern.

I am all mulberry-colored, and swathed in static.

Do five year-olds like these type of pajamas?

Do they like feety pajamas?

I never did.

It's funny,

How I wrote more in two weeks during school,

Than the two weeks without school.

Sixteen pages for the two weeks of school,

And only a handful of poems for the two without.

Hmm.

Do you think

That sleep can be counted as part of living?

There seems to be just living and dying,

But why shouldn't sleep be a third sort of thing?

Living,

Dying,

Sleeping.

Because as we sleep, all snug in our beds,

Are we living? I think not.

Are we dying? It wouldn't seem so.

So I think sleep

Deserves a category all its own.

Wouldn't you agree?

For the time of dreamscapes and counting sheepies,

Dreaming of sailboats and giant monsters, and outerspace.

It deserves to be individual.

I like to separate my sleeping from my living.

Dreams say things about us that I don't think we're

Completely aware of.

Speaking of dreams.

I am sleepy.

You should be, as well.

For the hour is "late".

Not at all, really,

But I must be up at eight.

So sleep it is.

Adieu, adieu.

I love you.

Gimme Some Truth

Sometimes,

I enjoy frivolity.

My entire life could be deemed frivolous,

But what I mean is

Doing those things you really oughtn't do,

And enjoying every picturesque moment of it.

Doing what you so please, doing it up so it's like the films,

Laughing in the face of whoever pissed you off today.

I sometimes love getting an air of snobby-authority.

Once in a while it's good to just let yourself go egotist for a few hours.

In the safety and privacy of your own home, of course.

And by frivolous and egotistical,

I wasted three hours of my life doing nothing

That would please anybody.

I cranked up my new Velvet Underground vinyl,

Grabbed three books of poetry and completely vegged.

Then came my brilliantly strange idea.

I would go picturesque,

So I drew myself a bubble bath

And read Whitman and ate some chocolate.

In the bath.

It was lovely, I won't lie.

Sometimes.

It's nice to just screw the world and go on your merry way,

If only for a moment.

And this all sounds like silly pish-posh,

But what shall I do?

Have you ever watched any of Andy Warhol's films?

I'd say you should,

But you probably shouldn't.

They're strange and I don't quite understand what he was going for.

I'm not sure why he slowed down the ridiculous amount of film he had of the Empire State Building.

I'm just not sure about him.

He was certainly interesting,

And I like his art.

He liked cats and was gay, apparently.

He introduced Nico to the Velvet Underground.

He did a lot.

He was crazy.

I like him.

There are three oranges in a bowl in front of me,

With four bananas.

And they're all in the earliest stages of rotting,

The bananas have the speckled skin

And the oranges are becoming mushy.

Everyday they sit here,

They die a little more.

Until they are eaten.

Then, They're gone.

Are people like this?

Rotting a little everyday?

Until we are finally swallowed up,

By something bigger?

Is everyday we live a day where we were dying as well?

Or do we live up until the very moment that we stop breathing permanently?

Is this a "glass half full" type of question?

My glass simply has liquid somewhere else.

Or maybe it's full of Five Alive and everyone else measures in orange juice?

Can we all measure our glasses in different things?

Could mine be iced tea, and yours could be grape juice?

Someone else's a shot glass of vodka?

This is obviously an apples to oranges comparison, folks.

Why must we all insist on half-full and half-empty?

Can't the glasses all be different?

Can't the liquids be different?

Can't we all be individuals, not tied down to a half-half measurement?

Why is the world trying so hard to be cut-and-dry,

When nothing is so simple?

I sometimes think that nothing is known for sure,

We're all just going on a relative, opinion based theory.

Because who really knows if it's 2:09 pm, as opposed to 2:11?

And who knows the worth of anything?

Why do we kid ourselves?

Is it simply to feel powerful?

Are we all just looking for our next high?

Our next "Aha!" moment, or paramount achievement?

If so,

We could all be stoned and this world would work better.

But we don't like that,

So it isn't that way.

I'm never sure how things are supposed to work.

There truly isn't a single way to do anything.

What's the phrase...

"There're a hundred ways to skin a cat"?

Gruesome, but true.

I've run out of things to say.

Not really,

But nothing that can even remotely tie to any of this is coming to mind.

Peculiar.

Hmm.

Goodnight, I propose.

Goodnight and adieu.

I love you.

White Wedding

Maybe you've become the sea.

Serpents

Beach

Stretching on in the faintly lit miles

Of green sea edges.

Where the serpents taunt those,

Brave enough to travel to the water's

Broken

Shattered

Edges,

Like the glass I have dropped

And which shattered,

And the liquid,

It spilled in some fluid pattern,

And so I suppose the sea was made.

The shards of blue glass

Became monsters.

And the schoolchildren fear them,

And wake, sweating from nightmares

In which the large, writhing beasts

Were eating them whole.

Such as I wake from the dreams of drowning

Tossed without end in some storm,

In which the green swells

Topple on me,

And I wake to rain on the roof

(which leaks)

On the little cottage.

I am close enough to feel the cool tendrils

Of the sea.

Its green brine beckons me,

But I fear not the monsters,

They look like puppets,

Bobbing and weaving and ducking

Amongst the swells.

I am frightened by the voice of the deep green,

Which makes a throaty sound,

That sometimes sounds like my name.

And I dare not venture to the shaking edge,

For it will swallow me up in a horrible crashing motion,

With a sucking sound and a wall of green.

Schoolchildren venture and wade,

Where the monsters cannot swim and glide.

But I can only stare from the top windows,

At the hulking beast that calls to me,

And I can only turn my back to the

Tendrils of sea-air,

The little fingers that urge me,

So alluringly,

Into the bigger arms of what

Threatens to eat me alive.

And leave my bones to the serpents.

Pennies From Heaven

It's awfully funny how those days that you've been dreading

Can become something lovely.

And today was one of those days,

It began with having to wake up.

I've had many an issue with this lately,

And then driving with somebody I'd be most apt to describe as

An annoying dick.

All offensiveness intended.

I was not looking forward to anything.

But now,

I am content,

Peachy-keen.

I'm glad my friends exist.

I'm glad they're my friends.

If they were anyone else's,

I'd be jealous.

But I do love them so much,

And we are all woven tightly together,

Each, one strand of an unbreakable rope,

Wound all together.

And I'm sure people claim to have the best friends ever,

Because face it, who doesn't want that?

But I honestly claim mine to be the best.

In my opinion,

Nobody beats my friends.

I hope they know that I think they're the best.

They certainly ought to.

And I'm excited and geeking out

Because I got a symbolism dictionary for Christmas,

And just bought a new book of poetry.

I'm itching to write.

To swim in poetry again.

I'm also in desperate need of another poetry geek to talk to.

It's very difficult to geek out by yourself.

And I may as well mention that I still miss you.

And sometimes, sadly, things remind me of you.

They always do, and it's strange.

I'm not fond of the feeling of missing someone I've never had.

But you don't possess people, of course,

There just isn't another term for that.

I once overheard a conversation where a girl was saying things like

"I've tried so hard to get him!"

"I do everything he wants and he still goes after her instead."

You don't own people.

You shouldn't own people.

Everybody is their own entity,

And I don't want to own him,

Not even close.

We couldn't even own each other,

No.

I just find it odd how I miss someone

Who was never that close.

That close.

I certainly wish we were that close, though.

How strange that would be.

I've imagined it a hundred and one times,

But my ideas are so frivolous and preposterous and glamorized.

They all end up like in the movies.

Sappy and silly,

Something no real person would ever say.

Oh, it's horrendous.

But it keeps me entertained.

And if just one of my little fictional scenarios ever came true...

I'd be utterly aghast.

How lovely.

I shouldn't rant about him so,

But being the teenage girl that I am,

I cannot help myself.

He's cute.

And I did indeed say it aloud several times before burying my face into my pillow at five in the morning,

And my best friend said to me,

"Now you actually sound like a teenager."

But oh,

He's adorable.

And I don't so much care what anyone has to say about that.

Here's a secret-type-thing.

I'm quite a jealous person.

I just thought you all should know.

I'm so jealous.

Of what,

I'm not exactly sure.

But I am.

Alas,

I'm tired and plan to sleep for a long, long time.

So I bid thee adieu.

When I dream,

It's of you.

Helter Skelter

I'm hungover on holiday cheer.

My head hurts and things look bleak.

After such a lovely weekend,

I can't see why I am not just bursting with

Love and good-will.

I'm pissed off and grumpy and

Seriously sleepy.

And I'm busy with filming for a projecting

That somehow doesn't seem so fun anymore.

Herding people into my house,

Filming them

And dealing with them,

(That'll be the worst part)

And then making it seem fun.

I am not thrilled in the slightest.

I am not thrilled

With in-cars

Waking up

School

School projects

And just being busy.

I'm all kinds of whack right now,

And the stress of whatever all of this crap is

Is making me feel downright miserable.

I can honestly say I'd like to sleep

And not wake up for a long while.

Not die or anything, just sleep.

And have it be peaceful.

Not full of strange dreams

And short hours.

I haven't written anything

Save one lousy poem.

I am so bothered by all of this stupidity

And shit

And lists of things to be done

And all of the craziness

And I'd so like to just lock myself up in

A room with some blankets

And my new guitar

And a notebook and pens

And never come out.

I'd like to never see another person.

I never liked them that much anyway.

And I feel like a hug would be nice.

But horrible,

Because then I would either maul the person or cry.

And I'm not sure which would be worse.

Being the utterly pathetic person I am,

I also miss him.

I'd like to say, for the record,

That's it's pretty lame to miss someone that won't miss you,

And someone who you shouldn't miss.

It's lame to pretend.

It's stupid to wish.

And I'm done.

I'm going to bed.

And if I could only sleep stress off,

Oh man,

Would I sleep.

I'm currently hating everything.

What a horrible feeling.

Goodnight and adieu.

I love you.

Merry, Merry Christmas.

(I broke tradition and didn't use a song title!)

But.

Merry, Merry, Happy Happy

Christmas.

And yes,

A lovely New Year, too.

And I hope you all were simply delighted with your festivities and whatnot,

And I hope your families didn't drive you insane,

And that you got what you wanted,

Whether it was hope, joy, snow, family,

Or maybe an Xbox or something.

My family.

Is the best ever.

I absolutely love spending Christmas with them.

No joke, either.

They're just a hilarious bunch of nutjobs,

I think I have the only family that makes inappropriate penis jokes on Christmas.

I also think I have the only grandma who walks around in a santa hat with "cranberry juice" in one hand.

We're a jolly bunch of weirdos, I assure you.

And it's simply fantastic that we get to spend an entire day together being nuts.

I love the holidays.

And guess what!

Another Christmas tomorrow! :D

With the less psychotic side of the family,

After an in-car.

Yeah, the latter I'm not so thrilled about,

But.

So be it.

It'll all be worth it.

And I'm going to be really snooty and mention what I received from "Santa"...

Gibson

Les Paul

Standard.

That is one heck of a guitar.

Now,

I just need to figure out exactly how you get the amp to not sound like a dying thing.

I'm very bad with electronics...

Also.

I now have a unicorn pillow pet.

Yes.

And so I hope you all had fun,

Ate a bunch of food,

Laughed an awful lot,

Hugged a bunch of your family,

And then sang some merry carols.

Peace on Earth,

Good will towards all.

Goodnight, on this beautiful white Christmas.