Got back from Florida last Tuesday, and I swear, the teachers are trying to kill us with work: my speech on child pornography is due May 23, 400 word essay on Winston Churchill due May 19, computer test May 24, fieldguide due May 22, and a whole lot of other stuff that I've forgotten because my mind only holds so much info, and projects are not top on my list of stuff, really. I mean, I'm strict about my grades, but I have more things to think about. I've got so much memory used up that I'll be in my room, put something down, turn around and forget where I put it. Then I have to dig all over my room to find it again, which I occassionally don't do until the next day. Which is really bad if I lose my cold medicine. *deep breath* All that said, how's everything doing in the best place on Net, Elftown? Ya'll busy, or chillin' for the last few weeks of school?

You know, I sat down a couple days ago and realized that the people I think really understand me can be counted on one hand, and that the peers who understand me are nill, zip, nada, nonexistent? If I wasn't so busy being upset about other things, I might really feel crappy. I'm sick and tired of being upset, or sad, or lonely, it really sucks. But I am, and I feel alone in my glass bubble. If I have time, I'll post my poem on here. Maybe someone will understand.

You Lose


lie through your teeth
like i'll really believe
what you say now.
yeah, so i'm dumb
you oughta know where i'm coming from
you got busted bad.
that was a big mistake
i didn't think you'd take
a chance like that.
my worst fear
was that you'd get too near
and put a hole in my head.
you really make me laugh,
like i'd even believe half
of that crap you just fed me.
you wasted it all
did you think i would fall
back into your trap?
and i thought you were smart
yeah you broke my heart
but you just lost.


Written by [Your Favorite Stranger]


Little girls, beware of [1a2b3c]. This poem is for him. He tried to play me again, but this time I knew what was going on. Don't let a man play you, don't give him what he wants in exchange for pretty lies. You're worth more. Don't talk to him. You might hear of him soon. Then you'll know.

You ever wish you could just stop the day, sleep for about a week, then maybe go out and tackle the world? You ever wish you could sleep, forever, never having to die, but never having to face reality either? We think living forever would be such a great deal, that immortality would really be awesome, but in actuality, it would suck, real bad. Someday, I'll beat the world, I'll beat reality and earn the right to my own little world, full of my ideas and dreams, where being crazy is a good thing, because it means your not scared to go all out. Someday, I'll want to be awake, and alive, and doing all this great stuff. But right now, I plan. I sleep. I dream. When I wake up, all my plans and dreams will come into play, and you'll see just how crazy I am. Crazy enough to try and change the world.

Messed around with the horses today, as soon as I got back from church. Red is my baby boy, I was playin with him today. He's way smarter than Sierra, and he's way nicer. She can be so skittish sometimes, and Mum says it's just that she's a Thoroughbred (sp?). Red has the most beautiful eyes too, like soulful, and full of feeling. He's my boy! We did the Friendly Game, the Porcupine Game, and the Yoyo Game, for anyone hwo knows Parelli. He does way better than Sierra. I just love playing with him, brushing him, getting all dirty, watching him roll around, jogging with him. He's the horse I feel safe around, I need something that's not as high strung as I am. Something safe.

Well, I have friend from my ppl here now, finally. Nick's right here, thank goodness. One of the Posse on ET, imagine it! He needs to build on his house though, make it bigger, more interesting. He has a lot of interesting stuff he could tell, stuff about him, heck, he could put his poem up there! Although it's really more amusing than anything else.... I started writing today in church, a poam about how I was feeling the other night when I was crying and talking to God. It's so weird how he talks right in my head, and it's just like you know, talking to myself in my head. Sometimes I wonder if it's me or really God, but it doesn't matter either way, because it's either him giving me good advice, or me giving me good advice, and I can work with that either way. Sometimes it's hard to feel that he's even there, cause, I mean, I can't feel him holding me, I can't hear his voice with my ears, I can't see him, his actual person with my eyes. Sometimes, no, all the time, I wish I could. Oh well, we have to go by faith, not by sight, which totally sucks.

Oh boy, I'm so going to be branded a lesbian. It's gonna be beacause of that poem I wrote for Katelyn too. Gosh darn. Why can I not just keep things to myself? It's probably gonna freak her out, not make her feel better. *sigh* Alright, I'll tell what it was about. I wrote a poem to Katelyn about how she's not ugly, she's not a freak, not a loser. I said she's beautiful, she's different yeah, but we all are, she's not a loser, the people who call her losers are. Geezers. I hope she even understood it. Ironic that we often give our talent to those who read it once, either don't understand or misinterpret, then forget about it. Oh well. C'est la vie. She is beautiful though. Short, dark brown hair often pulled up into a high ponytail, and light, caramel skin, except for the dark brown birthmark on her leg, which is interesting and sexy in itself. She has brown eyes, not faded, but like chocolate. Her face hasn't any real distinct features, but it's not plain. She's smiling almost always, and laughing. Sarcasm is her form of comedy. She thinks she's overweight, but she's not, she's not too skinny though, you can't see her ribs when she stretches, but she's got a flat stomach, a slim frame, and her legs are not huge as she thinks. She worries that her boyfriend will break up with her, because she doesn't fit in, because she's not pretty, but all I can do is offer the age-old "Well, if he does that, he doesn't deserve you anyway," which really doesn't do much when you like a boy. Now that I've gotten that out. I'm not a lesbian, not at all, I just feel like I have to tell someone when they're beautiful, especially if they think they're not. Does that make any sense?

Do you ever just sit and study someone, anyone, male or female, not with any lustfulness, just look to find their own beauty? Everyone has their beauty, and all it takes to see that beauty is to look and find it and enjoy it. Maybe you won't even tell them you think they're beautiful, but you think it, and you're appalled when they say otherwise. Because you can see it, and they can't. I don't mean you look at them and want them in any manner, just you see and appreciate the beauty. Guys can be beautiful too, not the same way as girls, but they can be, without being gay. Some people, the beauty is obvious, you don't have to look very hard. They are the ones who are looked at much by others, but you don't look at them as much, because their beauty isn't hard to find. You look at others to find their beauty, and when you find it, you enjoy it, you revel in it, you smile, because they are beautiful.

I can pretend I'm somewhere else. I picture it in my mind, tell myself that's where I am, and add action. It'll kinda take you away, take you there, somewhere deep inside your head. It's a good place, it's the place you go when you're asleep, but you're not. Well, not even really asleep, Sasha had a word for it. Like sinking into your consciousness, but you can come back. I wonder what it would be like to get stuck there.

Ahhh, concerts!!! There's just something about them that really makes me happy! Doesn't matter who I'm seeing, just being out there, front and center, screaming, clapping my hands, getting beer spilled on me, it's awesome! If you've never been to a concert, you have to go! I'm not gonna say we're all one big family, but I mean, you're so close to all those people, you can't really be prudy and try not to touch shoulders. And when everyone starts singing and you can hear them all, and you're singing too, it's just like whoa! All of us are singing the same exact song! It really rocks.

You don’t know me,
You don’t know how I feel.
You don’t know how it hurts,
How everything reminds me
Of the one who broke my heart.
Do you ever get the feeling
That you just want to sleep?
“To die; to sleep;
To sleep; perchance to dream: aye there’s the rub.”
You don’t know me,
You don’t know how I feel.
You don’t know what I think,
How I fight in my head;
For I am as one divided,
Two parts in one,
Each yelling at the other.
I always wonder if perhaps I am insane:
What normal people are opposites of themselves?
You don’t know me,
You don’t know how I feel.
You can’t see what I keep inside,
All the salty tears that corrode my hard rock surface,
All the frightened that beats against my strong walls.
You don’t know that love and anger and hurt
Mixed together can blow me up.
Maybe it’ll just take one more thing,
And I’ll lose it.

You Don't Know Me

Written By [Your Favorite Stranger]

You make me want to cut,
Just slice the veins wide open,
And watch with closing eyes
As the blood drips from my fingers.
You make me want to scream,
So loud I’ll break my voice,
And make poeple cover their ears
If they come to see what’s wrong.
You make me want to cry,
Drown eveyrthing in tears.
Just sob until I’m all dried up
And my eyes are red and swollen.
You make me want to fight,
Scream and yell and punch and hurt.
Hit everything I see.
Just strike out at everyone.
You make me want to break things,
Just throw them at the wall.
Tear things apart into tiny pieces,
Smash glass into shards on the floor.
You make me want to get high;
Smake some weed and forget about you.
Take some pills, take a trip,
Get shot up and get away.
You make me want to hurt you,
Just break you up inside.
Cut you open, tear you apart.
Give you all these scars.
You make me want to hate you,
See the fire in my eyes?
You make me want to hate you...
But I can’t.

You Make Me Want To

Written By [Your Favorite Stranger]