Blue eyes.

You never said this was going to be easy
You said it would be hard
Hard, hard as stone
Hard as the wall we crash into
None of this makes sense
But we still feel the weight
Of the building blocks we glue together
That tear us apart
But we think
We speak with our minds
We toss our words across the bricks
And catch them like fireflies in our fingers
We hold them gently
And with love against our hearts
Our fireflies light up
And we see sparkles in each other's eyes
And we feel the connection, the bond, the love
Seeping through the cracks
We feel our hands
We feel our love.

One of the brightest stars.

Floating like drifting
Drifting away further
We look to them
And they pass us by
Headed toward the sky
We scream and shout
But they never turn around
Wandering toward beauty
Toward heavenly blue
But never faith
Sketched in my face
Left with a trace
A thin line
What seems real to them
Just a fantastic mirage
Worth the fall
At least for their naïve ears
We look to them with wet eyes
But they just pass us by.

King of the rodeo.

My hair falls down from my bun. It falls from my bun and it is becoming messed up, but this time I do not care, I do not mind. I am fine and I am happy. Do you hear that? Do you?

I am happy.

Because the hair falls out of its place atop my head from all the movement, all the dancing. The music has never felt so loud, so amazing, so intense, so relaxing, so beautiful. So wondrous. So dangerous, so calm, so earthlike and real and all those mushy gushy things. The music, at last, is me, as I am it.

I shake my head as I dance as I laugh and laugh and laugh. I know I am supposed to be doing my biology homework, because my big, thick green-covered book is in front of me on the desk, but that does not matter as it has always, always mattered in the past, too, too much. It's there now and there always and I will get to it, but now, I must dance.

I shake my head as I dance as I laugh and laugh and laugh. I know my brother is at his desk right next to me. I know he can see. I know he can hear. I know he can witness my sillyness and wonderful, childlike, simple play that seems just too stupid to be. He has not known me as she has not known me as they have not known me to be like this. Not for months, not for years, not since he broke my heart and the other left.

But I listen here and now and always and in my sleep, I listen and listen to the songs he sings for me with words of passion and joyful bliss. I feel my mind spinning in circles of repitition, but that just makes me giggle so, so much, and laugh and sign and dance. Love and be loved.

I am finally happy and I finally know it. The light is dim and it feels cool and warm and never too hot and suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, everything is just exactly right, just exactly perfect. I am king of the rodeo, king of my rodeo. Such a confident, lovely rodeo with such laughter and hugging and warmth so cool that it tingles my toes. The closeness and loving talk makes me never want to leave, never never never never. I will never leave this rodeo, my rodeo; king of my rodeo.

And I hear her words, I hear them now. They are soft and they are sweet and they are so harmonious and suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, my ears will hear no other noise; the music and her words, those words, her loving words.

And I know that this is not the end. Nothing is the end.

Disappear.

Disappear
Before my hands reach for you
And I discover you’re not really there
Disappear
Into the air
Make the night so thin
So black again
Disappear
Into the life you lead
I’ll sink into mine with pieces too broken to function
Disappear before I say another word
Before you make yourself real
Before you let me feel
Hold me now, hold me tonight
Disappear after one touch
Let me have that much
Kiss me once, my dear
And then disappear.

Wisemen.

The song starts as it always does. As do the rest. We know who it is. We know the style. But much more, we know the song.

Maybe it does not have to start at number one. Maybe the album can begin at the end or in the middle. We will sure let it, and we know that. We pick up where we leave off, and leave off where we pick up, and pick up all over again. Like a cycle. Like a cycle I know well, I hear well, I see well. Like a cycle that is my air. And I hope you know that I need this air to breathe. To live.

The inside of your car is a bit dirty. Maybe not that dirty, but there's dust on the dashboard. But I love that. I love the dust. It is a beautiful part of you.

I know that this song in particular is not our song, the song we will dance to. Maybe it is significant to neither of us. Maybe we are just kidding ourselves. But I know I love it, and I know I need it. I wonder what you're thinking and I wish I could match it up with my mind, since we are so alike in so many ways.

The sound comes through the stereo speakers and you turn it up loud. My legs are crossed on the passenger seat. My memory does not let me look at my appearance, just yours. Only yours. Always yours.

We sing along because we know the lyrics; ah, we know them well. This song means you to me, and I hope it does the same to you. It becomes reversed throughout the next few months--in retrospect, that is. The sunrise. The sunrise will fade, but will not come back again.

High.

Low now. Low? Everything opposite of happy and joyful and fun and sweet and good. I hear it now, the lyrics. I hear the words beg for that back, for what they had, what we had. We were the only two, and we were there.

But we're not.

This is not your car, and the only dust where I am is dirty dust, a rotting kind of dust. There is nothing of you here. No car. No music. No stereo. No smile. No insight. No love.

Not yours anyway.

But I need it. Can't you see that I need it? I need you and that silver car. I need to be in the front seat, sitting cross-legged, talking to you through our voices that sing, hearing the sound of our hearts beating in the speakers. The notes and keys. The sound. The words. The love.

I cannot live without you. You took it, just like that. Away from me. Gone.


And now it's hard to believe you remember me.


I will always be in the passenger seat of that car, listening to our music, with you. Forever.

Hands On Deck.

I don't really know what to say to you. I don't really know how to talk to you. Have I ever known? Have I forgotten?

We say goodbye just after we say hello, and it makes me wonder if there was anything in between. Maybe our voices are machines. I do not like the way they operate.

"Please try again later," it says, just like a Magic Eight Ball. "Please try again later," but I know I won't.

Because I don't know how to talk to you. Every word every time is just like another breath, just like another step. The sneakers are making my toes hurt.

And I wonder if the pointless steps will ever lead me somewhere worth going, some place of my heart's destination. I close my eyes and dream about my shoes leading me through the dirt scattered around your house.

The phone rings and I answer it. And I answer it and I know that we will say goodbye. And we say goodbye just after we say hello.

And I wonder if there was ever anything in between.

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs.

Thanks for the memories.

-Fall Out Boy




I remember. It has been six months, but I remember. Just like it was yesterday. Like it was today, and I am still living this. Do you remember? Do you remember and think of these things that invade my mind? Do you?

Here we sit and I am in history and you are sitting behind me. I am very aware that you are sitting behind me. I am very aware of the fact that you can see me. You can see the back of my head, and you can see my hair, and you can see the side of my face, and you can see the expressions I make. You can see the way I hold my body in my seat, and the way I flick my pen down hard on my paper, and the way I doodle on my history notes. Can you see that I am nervous?

Because I am. I am nervous.

Sometimes I look back at you. It is a moment when it is all very obvious, and I know that, but I cannot help myself, I cannot stop myself from glancing backwards, because I know that you're there. I know you're watching me.

Sometimes I see it in my eyes. Sometimes you are a mirror and I stare into it and see a reflection of what I feel. Sometimes I see it in your eyes.

I know you remember.

It was the last day of freshman year at school. Early June, and it really did feel like it. I was tired that morning and did not want to go to school, because I knew I didn't have to. No one was making me, no one cared. But I had promised you.

I had promised you.

So I woke myself up at early early A.M. I stumbled out to my brother's beat up Chevy Blazer and we drove to school in silence, though I was playing my iPod. I was listening to Kings Of Leon, and I brought my red Gucci purse. I was wearing my brand new black dress and silver flip-flops that were already worn down from previous months.

I waited for fifteen minutes for you to arrive, and when you did, I was not even sure why I was there. But I was, and that was all I knew. I was there, and you were there.

We were there.

You led me down to the field, which I did not know as well as you did. You led me into the grass, and I followed you into the grass. My feet were getting wet because the huge, thick lawn had not been recently mowed, and weeds tangled up to my ankles. It was eight-thirty in the morning, and the air was still wet with dew. It felt nice, but had effected my feet with squishy wetness. My shoes squeaked as we walked, and I know that I blushed because I was embarrassed.

As we walked, you held my hand. It was strange, but only strange to me because it was not strange. I liked it, though I was scared, and I knew it right then. Then, in that moment when you held my hand and we walked and my feet were wet and no one was at school, I knew that I loved you. I knew then and every day before that and every day after that.

That day was too long because it was too short, much, much too short. My mind knows it well by now. I recount and I replay, and I replay and I recount, because I know that I simply cannot let this go. It is hard and I convince myself with others that I am stronger that stone, and perhaps I am right. Maybe I am stone....

It was an hour and a half before my mom would be pulling up to the parking lot, and we walked to 7-11, just because we did and we wanted to. You bought me a soda that was much too big, because I was not paying attention and grabbed the one that was not the one I wanted. I could not see the cans of soda behind the glass doors, because all I could see were the flitters of butterfly wings scraping against my side. I hated it, and I loved it, and I was blind.

You bought me Reeces Pieces. I ate half of them as we were riding in the car to drop you off at your house. I knew even then that I would be spending most of my summer there. I knew even then. When I got home, it took me an hour just to eat the rest of the candy, because I was much too nervous. You should have known me, and you should have known what I was like, and you should have known why.

You should have known.

Because I knew. I knew.

Such great heights.

Everything looks perfect from far away.

-The Postal Service.




So maybe I’ve dreamed of you too far, too long. So maybe I’ve pictured you coming in different forms. Yes, I have seen you come to me; yes, I have seen your anatomy. I have been intoxicated by your voice and drunk off your smell. I have changed your eye color. Your hair always seems to never change. Of course, what could I make it, after all? We’ve gone to different places and said different things. Our convictions and prerogatives are always the same. And I know that that’s what is linking us together. That’s our bond. That’s our connection. This is my dream.

An angry blade.

Slipping away but grasping the edge
Tightening around it
So strong, weakening
A drop past the edge of the line
Suddenly running
Let's run
I scream at you
At me, at me I want to yell
Nothing working
Running farther
Want to be faster
Weights in my legs
Cannot carry me further
Stop
And I stop.

Best unsaid.

Your eyes observe
Last you till November
Seeing through every cloth
Every thick layer of makeup
The rain drops
And you can see it
See water when the ground is dry
See the heavy, heavy circles
You speak
You speak out loud
But you've never talked
And you never talk
And I don't see you changing your ways
But you whisper
You focus in on the color
And I wonder how you still see the background
No one's looking but us
Those Goosebumps on your skin
They are raised with texture
And you do not shiver
I'll come and wait with you for November
Standing wet in the rain.

We walk.

I walk. I walk around school and sometimes feel as if I walk around town, but I never do. I never walk around town. It is never so.

And then I think. I think that I betray my mind. I frown because I tell myself that I want to do this and that and everything and be me and someone else. I want to be them. Here and there. Over yonder.

I wonder why no one says the word "yonder" anymore. I see that yonder is wonder with a y. I laugh, but not quite.

Because I'm walking around school. It seems like it is taking me two minutes or two hours or forever to get to my best friend waiting for me at our shared locker. I can see her. I see her in her unique outfit, her hair perfectly in place, her face just as beautiful as ever. I see her sparkle.

I wonder why it takes so long to walk from the D quad to the B quad. My feet swish and my mind wishes and I pretend I am somewhere and nowhere I have been.

I am at school though. My socks are heavy with dampness from the puddles seeping into and through my black boots. It smells of wet dirt and saturated hair and hairspray that has unwoven itself from my hair as the wetness mingles with it. It smells of rain. The hairspray smell is strong to my nose, and I hold back a smile. This is a sweet aroma to my senses.

I am wet and I shiver. I am unhappy because of the frost and the cold and the chill. But this is just where I want to be.

Hard sun.

Imagine.

Imagine all the people living for today.

-John Lennon


You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.

-John Lennon





I looked down below me. The air looked thin and the water deep. What was I doing here? Committing a sin, or righting all these wrongs? I heard voices calling at me. But they were all too far away.

My shoes were sitting next to me on the ground. I looked at them and noticed just how tattered and worn they were. They looked old and dirty and abused. I wanted to name them and call them by that name. I wanted to make it personal. Since, after all, this was personal. This was very personal.

My stomach turned, and I felt sick. I sat down for a minute, backing away from the ruthless corner of earth; the ground that threatened to tear me apart. I heard myself whimper and whine, but I did not feel it. I did not feel my body and my senses. I did not feel the rumble. I did not feel the scream.

I inched closer to the edge. Closer. Closer. Closer. Closer. Closer.

My feet dangled over the ground, and rocks and pebbles scattered away from me, plummeting to a sky of water with depths only known to bodiless souls.

I frowned, but I smiled. I laughed, but I cried. I screamed. But none of it sounded. I was quiet. I was still. I was dead.

I was soon to be peaceful. Peaceful again. Peaceful at last.

For some reason, as I was standing, I was remarkably aware of the dirt and how it felt beneath my feet. I concluded that it was no more cutting off than connecting. I would be one with the earth now. I would be part of nature. I would be where I belonged.

I've always loved the water. The beautiful shades faded in and out and in and out and in and in and in. I watched in silence. The world was silent now. And I listened. I listened.

"I love you," I whispered.

"I love you.

"I will always love you." I smiled.

"My heart is yours. Forever."

Let me sign.

I was damned by the light coming
All over as she
Spoke with a voice that
Disrupted the sky
She said, "Walk on over, yeah, to this bit of shade
I will wrap you in my arms."
And she said, "Let me sign."



"Why are you doing this?" they ask me.

"What?"

"Why?" they repeat. "Why are you doing this? Over and over and over."

I shake my head. I cannot answer. I cannot answer because I cannot conclude why I feel this way. I look at them with eyes too educated and too understanding. I look at them with sad eyes, sad because they do not see the hurt in them. I try to show them. They will not see.

None of them know. None of them will know. I sit in my room all night, every night. I sit and cry. I listen to the music I do not listen to during the day. I hear the things I do not hear when I know every face can see my own.

What if I did? I ask myself. What if I listened to the music during the day? And what if I heard and said and felt the things I feel when people can see? What would happen then, huh? What would happen then?

What would happen then?

That is what I am afraid of. That is what keeps me up nights. That is what distracts me in classrooms as I sit and listen but to not hear the things teachers tell me, the things that really should be what I know now, instead of the black square I see.

I look at them and wonder how they're real. I wonder and wonder and I ask myself and I ponder. In fact, I think about these things more than anyone would guess. It is a sickness. It is a disease. And I am a victim.

I am scared. I am frightened. I am terrified. I am horrified. I am so scared of this world, and my mind.

I do not like me. I do not like who they tell me to be. I do not like who I tell myself to be. I do not like it. I like them. I want to be them. I want to know them. I want to see them. I want to see myself in them.

The worst part is that I cannot escape. I cannot fight against it. The feeling is a vibe. The vibe is strong. The vibe is a power. The power controls. It controls me, and I do not know how to get away. I am frightened and scared and very confused.

I am losing myself.

Angel from Montgomery.

Tears slip down
Soft lips
Icicles melting further away
Further away
I'm counting
On my fingertips, and you
You
You watch me with wide eyes
As I sing my song
And I cry
I cry
I cry because it hurts me
Like no pain has reached me
I fall and I surrender
Because I cannot stand to see her
That face
Oh, it bothers me so
Icicles melt
They melt further away
Turn into fire
Turn into pain
I count on my fingertips
As my mind slips
As my tears drip
As I hold my breath
And I feel.

Hello.

Hello. I'm the lie, living for you so you can hide. Don't cry.


-Evanescence.

Complication.

Dizzy up the girl.

-The Goo Goo Dolls.




Spin, spin, spin.

Spin.

Spin.

I'm getting a little too dizzy now. Okay, stop. Stop, I tell you. Stop, I say. But you just say spin, spin, spin. And there I go and there I go and you will not cease and you will not let me stop. Let me breathe, let me think. My head will fall off soon. I'm being pulled. Pulled into a spin.

Things, these things. These things I do not understand. Too many letters and too many words and I cannot determine any of them. Which one is my own? And I cannot understand. And I cannot comprehend. And I cannot think, no, I cannot think.

Getting too dizzy.

I'm with you.

Reach out and touch me.

-Hilary Duff.


I am sitting on the swing with earbuds perched in my ears. That's where they are as that's where they've always been. As I swing, I wonder if I could ever meet someone who speaks Music just as I do. Maybe not so much in the music notes and instruments; pianos, guitars, saxaphones..... But someone who will listen to the music and someone who will listen to the words.... Listen to the words....

Then I wonder if anyone would ever listen to the words I say....

My iPod is asleep in my back pocket, tucked nicely inbetween the cold seat of the swing and the soft pressure of my body. I wonder why none of my favorite artists and none of my favorite bands have visited me in the last hour. I realize that I have forgotten to turn my iPod on. And then I forgot to laugh.

Maybe it's just the quiet. Quiet, quiet, quiet. Shall we listen to ourselves for a while? That may be too much for me.

You approach me. I take that back. You have been standing next to me, watching me swing, for quite some time. I wonder how long, but then I tell myself that that matters the least. For I have been waiting for you as you have been waiting for me. We wait, and we wait for each other, and we wait for ourselves.

I stare at you as I let my swing stop. My feet do not drag, nor do they swing. They fall and drift away as the ride slows and slows and it's like you're carrying me already. Immobility does not matter once we are both still, and we stare and we stare, and we stare.

I do not question, I answer.

You hold out your hand. There is no hesitation. I take it with will. I take it, though I do not know this hand. I have never held this hand in my life. I do not know if it is dirty or clean. I do not know the color. What I do know, though, is that my own hand is starting to mold perfectly into yours. Was I expecting otherwise?

I do not question.

I smell your scent for the first time. I decide I like it. It seems to be worth my while, at least here and now. Here and now is where we are. We, us, together. I take another breath and let you fill my senses.

Name, I can feel you thinking. But I do not want to question and I do not want to answer. Your name, as my name, has letters, each one starting with a capital.

You take my hand away from yours. I go with it because I know that it's all right here. You put your arm, instead, around my waist and hug me and hold me there as we walk through the empty park, the empty lot, the empty space, the empty space, the empty space...

We drift.

I decide here and now and there and forever that I like the way you hold me; I like the way your skin feels against mine. I like you and you like me, and I like you liking me. Maybe it's the other way around. Our motives are connected.

You speak. You do not ask me my name. You do not ask me my age. You do not ask me where I come from or why I am here or where I am supposed to be. You do not ask me that.

"Where?" you ask me.

"On an adventure," I answer you. And I answer you.

Let go.

So let go. So let go. Jump in. Well, what'cha waiting for? It's all right, 'cause there's beauty in the breakdown.

-Frou Frou


Is there really beauty in the breakdown? I wonder. I sit and listen and wonder. Am I right in thinking that they mean what I assume they mean? What I think they mean? What I feel they mean?

I'm terrified of one day having that breakdown. Then again, I look at what the word today means to me, and I pretty much hear this song. Of course, you'd have to hear it for full affect. It could be an amazing, thrilling, wonderful song.

It could be a frightening song.

Personally, I feel both. Thrill. Excitement. Adrenaline. Rush. Wind. Love.

Fear.

Day okay.

What makes a person happy? That's what I want to know.

It's cool that everyone usually has days that are just awesome. Like, nothing even really ever happens to make them awesome. Winning the lottery is extremely rare after all. But days that are normal are usually days that are happy, and for that, we are all extremely lucky.

But it just SUCKS that we all take advantage of that. Because when we have really bad days, all we can think about are the good ones.

I've decided to--if I follow through with it--name all of my blogs after songs. "We live in a beautiful world" was a line from Don't Panic by Coldplay. Mirror In The Bathroom is by The English Beat. This one is Day OK by a band you've never heard of, Spiral Beach. They happen to be one of my favorite bands, actually.

And, yeah, I know I spelled "okay" differently than how it's spelled in the song title. Spelling "okay" like "OK" bothers me greatly. You can skip on the taunting and teasing, because I am already aware of how weird I am.

Mirror in the bathroom.

What is beauty, really? I think I might be afraid to find that answer. Is it really only skin deep? I mean, we all run around telling each other that anything can be beautiful, and that it's all the way you look at it. But is that true? Are we just kidding ourselves?

But who am I to be so negative on that outlook, right? Do I sound like a pessimist? Maybe to you.

It's just so hard, though. I look in the mirror most days and don't really like what I see. I wear a mask. But, is there anyone who doesn't?

You know what's even more difficult? To live in a world where everything you see is all just so comforting to your eyes. You want to keep staring, more and more. You want to take in every angle. But staring is harmful. Staring is dangerous. When you look too long, you see what they are, and you see what you're not. I see boys I want to have and girls I want to be. Who knows....Maybe perfection really is ideal. It is sick, though, isn't it?

Through all of this, how do I find the me that I feel comfortable with?

We live in a beautiful world.

We live in a world where we are not good enough. Everything we do, we can always do better. Just thinking about school is one example: Adults grading you on how smart, knowledgable, and intelligent you are. In a way, the system kind of seems like a ranking system to me. You get an "F," so you're stupid and obviously fail at life. You get an "A," so you're smart and clearly better than everyone else. But is that really how life works?

It makes me sad that a "B" student can feel like an "F" student, just because there was that possibility of getting the golden-starred "A." Do you really have to be the top to be good enough?