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November 2011

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Jan. 18th, 2010

(no subject)

I've been waiting a long, long time
to find
What I've been hearing of in fairy tales
most of my life
But I'm beginning to think that this thing
called love is lie
Created by the lonely just to get them by

But I see you, I see your light
I can feel you
And you feel so right
It's like nothing I've ever seen before
I don't want to let this pass me by

I FUCKING HATE TRYING TO WRITE SONGS

FUCK YOU WHY COULDN'T I HAVE JUST BEEN A SOFTBALL PLAYER

Jan. 16th, 2010

(no subject)

Sometimes I feel like speaking out to no one. Telling no one that I'm going insane on the inside. Telling no one that I'm a lust-collector and a soul eater. Sometimes I come here, hoping that speaking out to no one will help me write a song, but I don't think it will. The music is gone. I'm scared I'll never get it back. I'm miserable without it.

I had a song and the my internet cut out and I lost it.
FML.

I've yet again lost the music.

Dec. 25th, 2009

(no subject)

March 5, 2008 - Wednesday 5:08 PM

distance

The rules have changed
It's the end of the game
Every time I try to love, it all ends up the same

You haven't got a clue girl
About this world
You haven't got a clue
About my memories

Around and around, running me aground
I've got another lover
But you're the best that I've found

A million miles, a thousand beautiful smiles
Yours is the first and last I wanna see
A thousand lovers, a hundred knives
I could let all of them go, except your life
Between a thousand worlds and a million lives
Id travel a million miles
Just to see your smile

Too late to save
A hundred loves
You are the first
That I find me thinking of

Can't help it that I want you
Thought it may be wrong
Can't help it that I want you
But I knew in my heart I couldn't have waited this long

Like a thousand artisans sculpting for the gods
Though my love to you
May be suspect to fraud

A million miles
A thousand lies
A hundred lovers
But your still the only one.

Ben Holley wrote this about me almost two years ago and I'm sick of having to find it to read it, so here it is.

Dec. 23rd, 2009

(no subject)

I still can't write.
I'm still miserable and pathetic.

Plus clingy, needy, alone, detached, upset, irritated, under appreciated, and so much more.

And I can't even tell you. Do you even care, you cold-faced, soft-spoken, no words BOY!? Do you think about other people, or just yourself? Is YOU the first that comes to mind? YOU YOU YOU? Or do you just FORGET?
Maybe I'm overreacting.

It's not like anyone reads this or listens anyway.
Why do I bother.

That was rhetorical.

Nov. 24th, 2009

(no subject)

I am so sick of not writing. I'm sick of this block, whatever it can be called. I'm sick of being too exhausted to be creative. I'm sick of this shit. I'm sick of worrying and ups and down and I'm so over it I could scream. You keep calling me, but I do NOT want to talk to you. I've been on the fence since the beginning over whether or not I should contact you or talk to you, and I have officially decided that I can't. I WON'T. I won't put either of us through this bullshit. This is ridiculous and I want to be rid of it and over it. You need the same.

I want to write. I am tired of complaining and bitching, and wondering WHY. I want to write songs every day like I used to. I want to stop being afraid to sing out. I want to write short stories and have friends in my characters. I want to stop feeling alone and looking for companionship in everything. Characters gave me friendship, better than any person in this life. It's so pathetic.

I want to relax. I just want to sit down, take a breath, and truly not have ANYTHING to fret over. I don't want to push it away or put ANYTHING on hold. I want to succeed! I want this to be over and I want to reach my journey.

And I want my B key to work.

I am so angry on the inside that I could break something. It's taking everything I have to keep from destroying everything I see. But I know this will pass. But these fits of rage are intense and insane and will be relieved when I can finally release everything that's been pent up inside.

I want out.

Nov. 1st, 2009

(no subject)

I'm sitting here, past midnight, looking over old pictures. I want to write a song about it, but I can't. All of it is just too much. How everything changed from one way to being completely different and flipped around is baffling, and it still doesn't seem real at times. Yes, everything now is wonderful, there is no doubt about that. But sometimes, I just wonder where I'd be, who I'd be, without you. If you hadn't come around, who would I be? In a sense, when i say you, when I address you, you could be a couple different people. Maybe I'm asking everyone in general, or maybe I just can't decide where my life changed paths. Maybe it was both times, both of you. But who would I be? Would I be happy? Would I be happier than I am now. I mean, what is now?
Now is a transition. I'm transitioning from who I was and where I was, to who I will be and where I am headed. I'm in limbo. I have no time for my art or my heart, and my soul is suffering. It's suffocating. Maybe that's why I sometimes think about the way things used to be, because back then, I had my art, I had my expression, I had my outlet. I didn't have to worry about spelling it out, or all of it being understood, or listened to, or criticized. I could just let go to you, internet, and everyone who surfs it, for all of you may judge me and I will never know.
Or maybe, no one will judge me because I am speaking to no one. Simply to empty space.
Sometimes I wish I could tell you how I'm really feeling. Most times, I don't even know how to explain it, and even when I try, it comes out wrong. But you, I feel like you'd listen. Then again, you is not singular in this instance; it could be for more than one or many, both being one in the same.
I want to tell you everything, but only sometimes. Most times, I worry there is nothing to tell, or at least, not enough. I'm quite certain you would care, that you would listen, and that you'd roll it around and mold it in your brain to gain some form of understanding, but how could you understand it if I don't? I know how, because you know me. You know me better than I know me. Now I'm speaking to one person, but that person isn't listening. Isn't reading. Isn't really this. Won't be reading this. And I don't think they'll ever know, or understand what I feel now. Maybe you will find it superfluous. You has officially become non-singular again.
Here I sit, hoping that within all this writing, a song with be born, but it seems impossible. My whole mind is so clouded with all these questions, these simply, vague questions that I feel are not worthy enough to ask, or I feel as though I need to find a proper time; a proper time being that their subject hath been provoked to such a tense state that such vague and possibly superfluous information in your eyes be initiated into interest. I address you, in the singular, though you will never read this. I'm not sure anyone I have ever addressed here has ever happened to stumble upon it. Maybe that is a good thing, but I do not believe so. I believe that I say all these things, put them out in public as I do, to reach out; to stimulate the imagination of those being address to make them feel as if I am actually talking to them. Make them wonder and think if it's them. Give them thoughts and words and strings of the two to ponder. Alas, they do not read this, for they do not seek truth. They do not seek at all; not for my thoughts or feelings, for those things must be laid out neatly for them to be mentally attainable to those which they pertain to.
I really ought to tell you. Only some days do I wish for you to know. Some thoughts do I feel the need to tell you, but I know you are not there. It is not your place nor mine. You being singular.
At times, I do feel so lost. It is not that I do not know my way or destination, but I am uncertain of the outcomes of my actions; my safe travel rests in the hands of others, other who I daresay I won't hastily trust. I fear demise by the hands of the uncaring or unsafe.
So many things ignited inside my heart and soul, and you who know me best are not there. Yes, you would listen, but I cannot tell you.
I cannot tell you.

Aug. 22nd, 2009

(no subject)

every morning i wake up
check my phone
i'm looking for a text that says
you're on your way home

and every night i wait
for the right time
to tell you goodnight
oh
i won't let you hear me cry

just a few polaroids
and your old tee-shirt
i'm living on phone calls
but it doesn't hurt

weekends and holidays
i'll take you any days
because it still amazes me
how the boy i love became the
man of my dreams

we met in the summer and
it was more than perfect
we were both young
and i know we won't forget it

we stayed making mistakes
and never put on the breaks
and even though we say goodbye
i know i'm not the only one who cries

just a few polaroids
and your old tee-shirt
i'm living on phone calls
but it doesn't hurt

weekends and holidays
i'll take you any days
because it still amazes me
how the boy i love became the
man of my dreams

i know you're off growing up
and when you come home
it won't be so tough
but you're doing what you have to do
and i'll do the same to keep up with you


just a few polaroids
and your old tee-shirt
i'm living on phone calls
but it doesn't hurt

weekends and holidays
i'll take you any days
because it still amazes me
how the boy i love became the
man of my dreams

sometimes it's still hard to believe
but the boy i love became the
man of my dreams

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

Aug. 20th, 2009

(no subject)

Summer's ending and I feel
the warm air
rushing away
It's fading quickly
and I'm holding tight on to every day
I'm getting ready and I know
what I ought to say
but I'm not ready
no, no
I'm not ready

Who says that summer love can't last?
It's been a whirlwind and I'm ready to lose my past
My heart is shaking
and my knees are caving in

I'm not ready to fade away
away, away, away
I'm not ready to lose these moments
I want to stay

Summer loves has never been
quite my expertise
I'm beginning to think this all
would be a breeze
If we could keep us just as we've been
oh please

I'm not ready
no, no
I'm not ready

Who says that summer love can't last?
It's been a whirlwind and I'm ready to lose my past
My heart is shaking
and my knees are caving in

I'm not ready to fade away
away, away, away
I'm not ready to lose these moments
I want to stay

These times we've spent together
I've never felt more like myself
You seem to make me so complete
and I don't want anyone else
I'm not ready
for anyone else

Who says that summer love can't last?
It's been a whirlwind and I'm ready to lose my past
My heart is shaking
and my knees are caving in

I'm not ready to fade away
away, away, away
I'm not ready to lose these moments
I want to stay

So please promise me you'll
stay

Jul. 9th, 2009

(no subject)

As of this moment, I'm feeling at peace with the fact that I'm a fucking whale.

sike

I hate this. I hate curves and the term "thick," and the number 5, and huge thighs, and no butt, and a wide shape, and a 26 inch waist.
I hate eating, brownies, mac & cheese, pizza, fat-pinching, bikinis, shorts tans, jogging, closed-toed shoes, grease, acne, tough gag-reflex, common sense, nutrition facts, procrastination, depression, secrets, lonely nights, regrets, loneliness in general, echoes in my mind, underestimation, overestimation, deafness, pancakes, bread, carbs, sugar, sucralose, aspartame, fizzie drinks (which includes sodas), caffine, water weight, numbers over 119, lack of drivers' license, fear, inhibition, chlorine, thighs touching, aching, spine problems, confusion, unanswered questions, un-askable questions, bedtimes, insomnia (which does not exist!), heat, humidity, meaty calves, scars, vocal deterioration, lack of britishness, sand, dirt, mayonnaise, crisco, morons, music in which they scream, pick-up trucks, sheep (people), bad acting, candy, overdrafting, illness, uncertainty, redundancy, inability to skip meals, food in general, 16c, lack of knowledge, no college money, falling in love, playing the field, jealousy, being anything but a size 2 and below, and MOST OF ALL, having all this hate, when all I want to do is love.

(no subject)

I want to write a love song.

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