Sorry, but it's too true...


[Kissing is a habbit
Fucking is a game
guys get all the pleasure
girls get all the pain
the guy says he loves you
you believe its true
your stomache starts to swell
he says, Fuck you
1 hour of pleasure
9 months of pain
3 days in the hospital
A baby without a name
The baby is a bastard
The mother is a whore
This never would have happened
If the rubber had not torn]

Sorry guys, but it's really true, a lot of the time. Especially

"[Kissing is a habbit
Fucking is a game
guys get all the pleasure
girls get all the pain
the guy says he loves you
you believe its true"

I'm feeling oh-so-sexist tonight, can ya tell? Sorry for all you guys who aren't like this, I know all my friends aren't, just something that's true that makes me madder than...smell.

Apartment Walls
by Stephanie Powell, Age 14
I wrote the story
of our relationship
on the apartment walls
of the old apartment
after you had left.
In the kitchen
I wrote about
all our good dates.
In the sabinets
I wrote about the bad ones.
In my room
I wrote all my flaws
and all the good things
you ever said were me.
When I got to your room
I lost myself.
And in red paint
I wrote "fuck you"
all over everything.
In the bathroom
I wrote about my overdose.
In the living room
I made a list of every movie
we ever rented.
And in the guest room
I wrote how stupid I had been
With your friends
in town to stay.
I wrote how cruel you were.
On the front door
I wrote goodbye.
I packed up my shit
and left it all behind.
And i bet by now
the landlord has painted
it all back to white.
Leaving us with no history.

I love this.

"People with big eyes have such a gift."

Baby, don't cry
I'm sorry it was all a lie
Baby, don't cry
All you gotta do is try
Baby, don't cry
You'll get through it by and by
Baby, don't cry
I wish I could heal you
  broken heart
Pick up all the pieces, give you a
  brand new start
Baby, don't cry
I wish it was never torn apart
Baby, don't cry
I know it's been hard to begin
  again
But baby, you'll never regret it.
Please baby
Baby don't cry

...My mum wrote this for me. I don't know if you guys can understand the importance that has for me, but it's really special to me.

I saw a boy today. I know, I see many boys, every day. But he was special, somehow. He was walking on the road. And that made him special. Not because he was walking on the road, neccesarily, but because of the way he was walking on the road. Or maybe it was just him. He looked up as we passed, looked me in the eyes with a nervous, confused look, and waved. Like he was nervous and it was an unconscious reaction. I watched him until we got to my house, then I watched him walking past my house. He played with sticks, and leaves along the way, taking his time. He looked behind him a lot. I wondered if he was running away from an abusive house. Or maybe walking to a friend's. I wanted to yell, "Hey, are you ok?" I should have. Maybe he wasn't. It might have made a difference. Oh well.

"Lyn will cutt him...and he will cry...oh yes...he will cry for psycho-analizing you all willy nilly...I will cut him soo bad, he's gonna wish i never cut him soo bad.."

*sigh* I love my Lyn...she makes me happy. She's my only friend who says stuff like that. And it makes me happy.

Beautiful one, why do you weep?
For life.
Why do you weep for life?
Because it is sad.

¿El hermoso, por qué usted llora? 
Para la vida. 
¿Por qué usted llora para la vida? 
Porque es triste.

Quello bello, perchè piangete? 
Per vita. 
Perchè piangete per vita? 
Poiché è triste.

She dances on tiptoes to the song, one arm on an invisible shoulder, one holding an invisible hand. Her eyes closed, an almost-smile on her face, she gracefully places a foot forward, then back, to the side, then to the other side. They laugh at her, maybe because they know how to dance, maybe because she looks funny out there dancing with no one. But she doesn’t know. It wouldn’t matter if she did. She’s in another place...

She stands on tiptoes because her dancing partner is so tall. Neither of them know exactly how to dance, but they simply move to the music in a way that seems right, at least to them. Both are half-smiling, aware that they may look ridiculous in pajamas and jeans, but also aware that it doesn’t matter, because the world has shrunk down to a bubble containing them and the music they dance to. She moves her hand from his shoulder to his hair, and runs it through the fluffy brown softness. As his smile widens, so does hers, and they end up grinning at each other, grinning so widely they have to laugh to give the muscles a rest. Still dancing, she tentatively lays her head on his chest. She feels him sigh happily, then rest his head on hers. She smiles, amazed that such small gestures can affect her heart so much. They sway now, every so often taking step to the side, both so content just with the moment, and praying that they get the chance to do this again.

A tear-stained paper lies crumpled on the floor,
But the problems written on it are no more:
Loneliness, suicide, and different kinds of hate;
Cussing, and smoking, and lust on every date;
Disrespect, arguments, and things you shouldn’t see;
Unforgiveness, selfishness, being who they want you to be.
All of these, a grocery list, of heavy, burdening sins,
Everything was dropped tonight when they let Jesus in.
Let Him in to clean that room where their temptations lay.
Let Him in to dry the tears and clean the guilt away.
For some, the words came hard that night, for some words came fast,
But all of them, each single one, had burdens that they cast.
And so now, the little words scrawled tightly on that list
Are really quite irrelevant because they ceased to exist.
This doesn’t mean they’re perfect, or that they’ll never fall,
It simply means God’s heard their cry, and they won’t have to carry it all.

Grocery List of Sins

Written by [Your Favorite Stranger]

"She tried to mess with me and stuff," he said in a soft voice. "But I was like, Whoa, no way, chill out! I'm not telling you this to make you jealous or anything, I just want you to know I won't cheat on you, I'll be faithful."
  A thrill of joy had gone through her at that. The way he said it, like he wanted to please her, and he was trying to reassure her that he cared, it just made her happy. She was speechless, so she just smiled on her end of the phone, and said, "You know what? I love you."

You're a [-liar-], and you know where [-liars-] go, right? They go to court.

Fudge. I am [\/tired\/]. So freakin' tired. You know, it's one thing to be physically tired, but try physically and

mentally

Black curatins over stormy windows,
Sad boys crying in their hands,
Secret places abandoned when secrets die,
A surprise not going as planned.
White walls with nothing on them,
Songs so beautiful and sad,
A moon that's full of memories,
People who're sick gone bad.
Stuffed animals with no one to hold them,
A butterfly with ruined wings,
Someone who dies unknown,
Heart-rending songs beautiful people sing.
Broken hearts from infidelity,
Eyes older than age,
Stories with bittersweet endings,
Books missing a page.
When people who love aren't loved back,
Crying in the rain,
Reaching for someone who's not there,
One of your friends being in pain.
Curling in a ball and crying,
Leaving love behind,
When beautiful things get ruined,
Things you just can't find.

Blue Between Black and White

Written by [Your Favorite Stranger]

The day she walked away,
They say it broke her heart that day,
They say she knew she couldn't stay,
And let him use her heart for play.
He begged her please: she answered nay,
The day she walked away.
The life she led was by his way,
Everything for him, it was okay
To hurt for love, she'd always say.
She would do just as she may,
But one bad move, her heart he'd flay --
Until the day she walked away.
His solid touch held dejection at bay,
Her worship of him kept them from a fray,
In the cool of the night, they lay
Wrapped up in each other, and sometimes she'd pray
That they'd be as hidden as a needle in the hay.
But not on the day she walked away.
The day she walked away.
They say it broke her heart that day.
They say she knew she couldn't stay
And let him use her heart for play.
So now she's alone and sits on the quay
Since the day she walked away.

The Day She Walked Away

Written by [Your Favorite Stranger]

They say let go,
Like it's really that easy,
Like it's just a relaxation of muscles,
Like it's just as easy as forgetting.
Hah, forgetting's not easy,
Forgetting's as hard as letting go,
But it is easier, in a way.
Let go.
I laugh cynically.
I can forgive, but I can't forget.
I can hold tight to hardship,
But
I can't let go.
Or is it,
I won't let go.
Why should I?
Would it be easier?
Would it be better for me?
Would it help me win?
I don't really think it matters,
It's not like I want to go back.
Not like I want him back.
Surprised?
I sometimes wish for what we had,
But I would never go back.
No, not ever.
Yes, I loved him, maybe I still do,
What's that got to do with it?
No, don't answer -- it's bull -- and I don't want to hear it.
So what do I have to hold?
What do I have to hold...
You're kinda funny, you know?
I can hold my grief.
Oh bloody...no, shh, be QUIET!
Grief is not pain,
It hurts, but not intolerably,
More...intimately than anything else, really.
It's something when there's nothing.
You think it's bad, don't you?
No, don't answer, I already know you do.
Oh well.
I'm doing just fine, aren't I?
No, don't answer that either.
I am. I know it.
And let's say, hypothetically, I'm not.
I will be.
Yes, I will.
I will win.
Yes, I will.
Remember that:
I WILL WIN.
With or without your pathetic excuse for help.
And my grief will clap for me when I do.
It's there to hold me when I'm alone.
It's there period.
Oh, I'm masochistic?
Are you sadistic?
Well, you're certainly not helpful.
You do not try.
I glare coldly.
Don't lie to me.
It's bull, and I will not put up with it.
I think we're about done.
Yes, I do-- I'm looking at the clock.
I stand up and say concedingly
You're only good for one thing,
And that's to make me mad enough to tell the truth.
So, I will hold my grief close
-- I smirk --
And see you later.

Sessions with Mr. TIPPs

Written by [Your Favorite Stranger]

TIPPs stands for Terrible Inner Psychologist Person. The 's' is just because I want to.

The moon shines brightly onto a bed through the clean windows in a upstairs bedroom. A girl sits cross-legged on the bed. She holds her wrist in her hand, carressing the small, white scars in an affectionate, dreamy manner.

Darkness, a friend, not an enemy,
Nothing for me to fear out here,
Because I am stronger than everything that lurks in the shadows:
I am the shadows.
A queer sort of justice,
Evildoers dead will be found,
Pit life is all I need.
I feed on the blood of those who are evil
Though I am evil myself.
Ah yes, I am damned,
Bound to walk, to kill, to hide in darkness
For longer than my natural life.
But maybe, I'm not so damned,
Maybe, just as a mortal human,
I have the choice to be saved, to be good.
Is it possible?
How can it be?
I kill to live,
Though I'm never alive.
I judge those who are like me,
Though they do what they do not out of necessity,
But out of greed, out of malice.
So? Does that make me different?
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
Could God forgive me this?
He knows I want to be a saint, though I am a killer.

Lestat
J. M. Kent

posted by J. M. Kent @ 11:16 AM  1 comments 
Sunday, October 30, 2005

You Were

You were my breath, you were my water,
You were my life, you were all that mattered.
You were my comfort, you were my dream,
You were my love, you were all I would need.
You were my sky, you were my sea,
You were my rain, you were there for me.
You were my bed, you were my friend,
You were my music that would never end.
You were my chocolate, you were my kiss,
You were my angel, you were my bliss.
You were my smile, you were my wings,
You were my laughter, you were my king.
You were my warmth, you were my joy,
You were my hug, you were my boy.
You were my pillow, you broke my shell,
You always caught me when I fell.
You were my heaven, you were my hug,
You were my moon, you were from above.
You were all these things and more,
You were everything I could wish for.
You loved me for being me,
I was who you wished to see.
Now you're gone, like everything else.
Can I live, without myself?