May 21

vulgar words are the only thoughts I have when someone says

"Happy Birthday"

Birthday. Birth day. Day of Birth.

shit.
excuse my language, please do.

But, If only that bitch-of-a day didn't exist. I wouldn't be here staring at my wrists. Yesterday, when I kneeled down to pray I was at a loss of words. I bent my neck and stared at my hands.  I opened my mouth and moths flew out, dancing around with my sorrow on their backs. This caused my stomach to drop, because those sorrow moths were what kept it up. All I could think to say was, I hate you. as I sat on my haunches like a prisoner of war being put to death.  I rubbed and rubbed and rubbed my bottom lip. Why did he save me? Why. Tell me. Did I really choose this? I forget that I'm holding my breath and I let it out like a sigh so forceful, it could bust through my chest.  Hate you? do I hate you? Shit, I don't even know you.  I look to my left and see the layer of dust on your book. The anger keeps filling me up. How long have I been kneeling like this? Motionless... In the silence. As a war breaks out in my head.  I'm so confused. I push my hair back as if it will stop the attack. The battle rages on....

"Happy Birthday"

happy birthday.

forgetting #2

three months. twenty two days.

That's how long I've been away from you.

three months. twenty two days.

                     So now I'm going to release three months and twenty one days worth of emotion out on you guys. ( the last day I'll keep to myself because I don't want to overwhelm you with three months and twenty TWO days. That would be a little overboard.)

Here we go then, three months and twenty one days worth of my life all in one little blog post (spoiler alert, it will probably be a poem):

I keep forgetting to button the last button on my shirt.

I keep forgetting to finish that book I started last summer.

I keep forgetting Mumford and Sons got popular

and I keep forgetting where to go for third period.

I keep forgetting how long I like my bread in the toaster

I keep forgetting that girl's name in my english class

I keep forgetting I don't like british accents as much as I thought I did

and I keep forgetting you don't love me.

You call me up every few months to tell me about a new girl, then you tell me I look like someone.... someone you think is pretty.... and my heart swells. curse you.

I keep forgetting how much I like facebook. 

I keep forgetting I hate cats

I keep forgetting I love cats

and I keep forgetting I have a cat...

I keep forgetting that my face automatically forms a smile when I'm dozing.

I keep forgetting I'm actually depressed (probably because my face is tricking me)

I keep forgetting to eat lunch and dinner.

and I keep forgetting my mom was actually in love with Martin Kokol once and that he wasn't just a sperm donor as I often wish he were. 

I cry so quietly, and yet you could probably hear the tears splattering on my shirt if you listened hard enough. But who am I kidding? You don't know what the L word is. curse you.

I keep forgetting what to say when someone says "thank-you" (are you allowed to just walk away?)

I keep forgetting that I want straight A's

I keep forgetting to brush my teeth

and I keep forgetting "no shirt, no shoes, no service"

I keep forgetting I can't draw worth a darn.

I keep forgetting to write in my journal everyday.

I keep forgetting what I wanted to blog about.

and I keep forgetting how breathtakingly beautiful you are.

I never realized how much I liked holding hands until you held mine. and I'm just curious, do you know the spot on my cheek where you kissed me still feels warm?

I keep forgetting the pact I made with myself to not smile until my braces came off.

I keep forgetting that I hate my long hair.

I keep forgetting others have a harder life than me.

and I keep forgetting you have a girlfriend who is actually your age and not a baby as I am.

The words that you say pound in my head. "I don't believe in love, but it's all I'm really looking for and I don't have faith in god, but he's all I really believe in." and I sit and I hurt because your words speak to me. Yet, all you see is a fifteen year old girl who thinks she's seen the world when you hear my poetry. So I'll just rip up what I felt and glue it all together into a big fake smile dripping with wet paint. Look at me I think, but no one does. My little craft tricks you well, So that when you see me all you think is SAINT. However, remember kids saint stands for Shut Anger Inside Neat and Tight the burden is heavy but the guilt is light.  I watch my future slip like the sand in my fingers. the crashing of waves drowns out all noise, too bad shutting things out doesn't always last. Because the question I have keeps forming, Are my problems chasing me, or am I just running with something that's been long in the past?

I guess it's time for sleep, if I even can. Sheesh I keep trying to determine if I'm hurt or just completely numb.... wait let's get real. I'm just a misanthrope.