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Wednesday, 12 May 2010

  • To Whom It May Concern

    I'm not okay. And I can't pretend to be. Is it a crime, that I miss our conversations, that I miss talking to you in the middle of the night, that the sound of a familiar voice stops me from breaking down in my bed night after night? I haven't slept in days. I miss my best friend. I've no clue if you do it on purpose, as some kind of revenge against my treatment of you, but you turn your back on my feelings everytime I try to talk. The moment I say something that you don't want to hear, it's "good night" or "good bye", without an explanation behind what I'm trying to say. I'm left tongue-tied, left to repress my thoughts and feelings until they finally overflow. I have every fucking right to be upset, to feel hurt, to feel used. I have every fucking right. I gave you everything, I can't ever have it back, and once again my trust is completely trashed. I'm a mess. Shouldn't you be the mess? You would think this would be the other way around, but I'm always the one left fucked over and alone. And I'm sure you love it. You got what you always wanted, and I can never have that again, because, god forbid I did the right thing, I let go. You don't realize how truly I loved you, how whole and intact my heart was. You have no clue. Do you even care? I'm guessing you don't. I'm nothing but a selfish child to you. I'm always so easily replaced. You told me time and time again that you never loved those girls, but I knew. I wasn't naive. I remember how they broke your heart. I remember the things you said and felt. And it must be wonderful, to be with your first love. I said I wanted you to be happy, and I got my wish. Good. Despite everything you said, my mother was right. Part of me will always love you, but part of you won't always love me. Eventually, I won't matter.

    I'll just disappear.

Monday, 28 September 2009

  • The city is simply perfect for me. Modern day jungles, rainforests of concrete noise pollution like the call of a thousand beasts, lulling me to sleep like the sweetest of lullabies. I just can't stand the silence.

Sunday, 27 September 2009

  • Today, I turned seventeen. And seventeen feels no different than sixteen. It will drag on and on just like sixteen did, just like fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve. Except I don't feel like a kid anymore. I feel ages older than I really am. Seventeen just haunts me with the promise of another year.  And, if I can survive these last twelve months, these last fifty-two weeks, these last three-hundred-sixty-five days of hell, then I'll reach the promise land. I just feel so trapt here. I get so sick of this house, of this town, these people and places, the same shit everyday, except for the few soul-saving days that I escape this personal hell to be free with the soul that makes me not so empty anymore. Those days, those preveiws of salvation, are all that it seems I can live for. I bury myself in books, in fictitious tales of lives I wish I could live. I daydream of freedom, I daydream of one day being truly content, on my own, of spreading my wings and seeing the world.

    I just want the fuck out of here. I want a life away from this house, from this town, from these people and places.
    I want to be free.

    I will be free.

Sunday, 09 August 2009

  • There are certain things that I am told that I don't know how to handle. I try to get a grasp on them, but they slip away, drifting in between understanding and confusion. They do not upset me, they only make me wonder how I should feel about them. People come to me to tell their secrets, to bare their souls, to rid themselves of sin. And I am a good listener, unbiased and open. I know what it's like to carry burdens on your shoulder. I know what it's like to have something to tell someone, anyone, just so that it's not your secret anymore. Because having at least one other person know is a small weight off your shoulders, and that secret no longer feels like it's crushing you.

    What has me upset about this particular secret is not the secret itself, but that the person who shared it with me has shared it with someone before me, someone who does not deserve the right to help lighten it's load. I thought that I was this girl's "best friend", the first person she would confide in, but I've found this isn't the case. And it upsets me because if I found myself in this situation, or a similar one at that, this girl would be the very first person I would confide in about it. It upsets me because no matter what I was doing, where I was, I would always make time to listen to anything that this friend had to say. And maybe I'm upset over nothing. But it is a heavy secret to keep. And she knows that I am trustworthy. And we've had many a conversation about this matter before, so why was I not the first person that she told? It's not like I flipped out at the news, it's not like the news itself upset me. I sat there and listened as she told me what had happened, and I asked her how she felt now that it had happened. I listened to everything that she had to say on the matter. And when the conversation was over, I knew that it was over, not to be spoken of again.

    But the other person she told is not as trustworthy as I, and hasn't been friends with this girl as long as I have, hasn't been there for her the way that I have. This girl is my best friend, through thick and thin. She has told me, and she has told others, that she would be dead without me. And I would probably be up shit-creek without her, as well. We are each others support system, and system of advice. She is the older sister that I never had. We have been through a lot together, as individuals and as friends.

    Maybe I'm just blowing things up. It just upsets me that I wasn't there for her, because she wouldn't let me be. She went to someone else about the matter before she came to me. And she only came to me when everything was resolved. But maybe she just didn't know how I would take it, maybe she didn't want to upset me, or maybe she was afraid that telling me would upset her.  I don't know.

    I try to be the best friend that I can, because I care deeply for the few good friends that I have.

Monday, 13 July 2009

  • If my father stopped treating me like a child for one fucking minute, I think I would die from shock. He needs to realize that I am going almost seven-teen, not seven.

    Jesus christ.

    I'm a big girl now, okay, daddy? It's fucking ridiculous. Excuse me for wanting to get out of this prison-cell house for a few god damn hours to actually enjoy myself every once in a while. Get the fuck over yourself. So I don't have the most perfect friends. Well, neither did you when you were my age. I've heard plenty of stories from your childhood, and I'm a saint compared to what you were like. And, sure, that's because I've never been caught. But, as far as anyone really knows, I'm a fucking angel compared to what you were like as a child. So get the fuck off my back. I don't know what you really want anymore. I try. I really fucking try. I just want to enjoy myself. I just want to live. Please. Just let me live. Just leave me alone. Please, give me some space.

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grindingOFteeth

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    • Name: grindingOFteeth
    • Gender: Female
    • Member Since: 6/19/2009

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About Me

  • ignorance is bliss no wise woman's failed to mention and surely some koan suggests 'neglect leads to perfection' but the more I turn my face from the crowd the more I feel my backs' increasingly compelled for the sake of escape, to turn a knife on itself, a knife of relief, from all the petty insight and finally I'll sleep, I'll sleep through the night. bored as fuck with this street corner-cover. study of a face in a figure. surveying this language as a game surveilence of this language as the plague. the dimension of persistence condemns. this portrait of karma, crafted in accident text book seduction, minus the text in the language of ghosts and so we ran, like the wolves were biting, the inhibitions of their prey kept them from screaming scratch my back and I will stab you in yours so I chose to live this life alone, without the teeth marks but I predict, I'll have to sink my fangs in someone else's heart to heal my own.

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