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...the bitch went nuts. she stabbed my basketball, and the speakers to my stereo... [05 Oct 2008|11:54am]
[ mood | hungry ]

My boyfriend and I are taking a mental health day. His mother is cooking lanaga. So we'll go over there and grub on some good filipino cuisine, then we're going to see "Blindness." I'm happy to have an unscheduled day off of work.

1 raised voices ;raise yr voice

a funeral and break-up afternoon [25 Sep 2006|02:45am]
[ mood | nervous ]

The First

If I had stood a chance,
I swear I never would have left.
Now all of your faces are just wincing at
me as I distort myself all the more
for overcompensation.
I will pour myself into a glass
so that you can drink me deep.
You can mull it over tomorrow,
as I will be a part of you.

The Last

Everything inside of me tells me
all at once
"get out, just go,"
but I don't.
I never do.
I just sit and tap my fingers on things
and chew on pencils.
That's all I ever do
So as I anxiously crawl more and more
toward the edge of the seat of algebra,
I don't worry at all that I might come crashing down.
I don't worry,
so much that when it happens,
it happens to be a total shock,
like electricity
or a sudden death.
The ground below me is hard
and unwelcoming
and made up of linoleum and dirt.
I became one, though,
with the squares of black and white and grey,
fading in
like camouflage.
And I wonder if they miss me.
And I wonder if they miss me.
And I wonder if they miss me
at all.

And in Between

As the ground moves below my self,
my body and I are separated
Our centers are fixed,
but we are shaken, like leaves in the wind,
All at once together and apart.

Isn't art supposed to be about passion? Because, honestly, I am a writer, and I am not at all passionate about anything lately. I feel like I'm losing something.

raise yr voice

[17 Feb 2005|09:23pm]
FUCK YOU!!! you know who you are, and i hate you. a lot. i hope you burn in hell, you stupid bitch.
raise yr voice

[02 Jan 2005|10:29pm]

First with your hands and then with your mouth. A downpour of sweat, damp cotton clouds. I was a fool, You were my friend. We made it happen.

You took off your clothes, left on the light. You stood there so brave. You used to be shy. Each feature improved, each movement refined and eyes like a showroom.

Now they are spreading out the blankets on the beach. That weatherman is a liar. He said it would be raining but it is clear and blue as far as I can see.

Left by the lamp, right next to the bed, on a cartoon cat pad you scratched with a pen, "Everything is as it has always been. This never happened. Don't take it so bad it is nothing you did. It is just once something dies you can't make it live. You are a beautiful boy. You're a sweet little kid but I am a woman." So I laid back down and wrapped myself up in the sheet. And I must have looked like a ghost because something frightened me and since then I've been so good at vanishing.

Now I do as I please and I lie through my teeth. Someone might get hurt but it won't be me. I should probably feel cheap but I just feel free and a little bit empty. No it isn't so hard to get close to me. There will be no arguments. We will always agree. And I will try and be kind when I ask you to leave. We will both take it easy. But if you stay too long inside my memory, I will trap you in a song tied to a melody and I will keep you there so you can't bother me.
1 raised voices ;raise yr voice

[07 Mar 2004|12:40am]

comment to be added.
47 raised voices ;raise yr voice

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