Internal Pain All Over External Rhyme (11/18)

Walmart says they have specials but I want something really special I want something no one’s offered before I want it to be awesome and not just normal but beyond normal next to normal. I mean really cool like my head is exploding from something I can’t see and I cannot think I can’t type fast enough to keep up with coffee whizzing there’s no emotion it’s just fingers flying but fingers are soo dumb  like me I’m so dumb.

My head aches my whole body aches its like internal pain all over external rhyme struggle in time with the music don’t fight don’t breathe just find your place in my head but in my mind but in my soul souls aren’t real. I don’t believe you just said that. Or did you? Maybe I’m crazy and I made it all up and nothing’s real so then why does my head ache???? I wish I knew what I was saying why do I always screw up I just make the stupidest mistakes but I make them over and over and over again and again and fucking every single time like let me be free from my mistakes from me. From. Me! just let me see the sky once without any clouds so that the birds won’t choke on the smog that pollutes their heads my heads, all of your fucking hearts that bleed from leaves dripping dying forting and falling in Halloween and pumpkins rotting and I can’t spell! I hate it! All of it! Everything smells.

I’m empty I’m hungry and I’m so full I want to barf up everything a finger down my throat a finger down my mind purge binge purge clean out all the shit the closet the everything in my worlds that sucks just throw it all up and see my ribs show through my paper skin pale white and scarlet and cut deep deeper deep so that it’s so deep and I smell I die of old people decaying abstractness that sounds like MGMT a band a sight and I hunger for thirst for knowledge but not the knowledge of your kind . Not of you but I of me of myself of just how to be. I need survival guide. And I need to be thin skinny bones. Paper bones are what I need but fat I’m so fat and I can’t express that I am so fat it shows like green goo and pigs sand slime and skinny is not me but it should be. But not me, not yet, and not never ever I will remain so fat because I deserve it. I hope my heart implode so that the black tunnel vision turns yellow for one second at least.

Sharp Lead Jammed in Your Wrist (11/10)

I want to wish on 11-11 because I want Paul to ask me out. I love him. I think I don’t actually love him maybe but it’s a little close. At least affection. At least happiness. And that’s all that matters, right? What’s wrong with being happy and nothing more? For there exists nothing beyond happy. There’s only us, trying to survive in a miserable moody world and if being happy but loveless is enough to get by…

Schocko chocolate heart pounded screaming, lightning flashing techno beating. Fly swatting and mucus running and bones and blood and glop green dripping smelling sharp led jammed in your wrist and it’s not Halloween. It’s just here and now, your own personal hell.

If you were here you;d be home now. I love Paul (maybe). I do not give myself over. I do scream, I do not dream, but I am always anchored here. Or maybe I do dream… or do not dream… No try. Was that a write-o or a typo or subconscious? Is there a difference? We’re all mistakes.

Everyone’s Freaking Out About Nothing (11/10)

Rain pours down wash me away I want to be gone from the face of everything my face your soul your heart and open hands and everyone’s freaking out about nothing but everything’s something so why not pick something why pick nothing when nothing matters you’re making everything matter I don’t want it to matter I want to be free alone. Alone is free and you are nothing to me because I can’t be anything to you. Why don’t we all try to share happiness? There’s not enough to go around but why don’t we give a little bit to everyone and then we’ll all be short but maybe it would at least be a little even.

Don’t talk to me I know you don’t care or if you do you shouldn’t because I don’t I care about nothing nothing so why why scream shout dance in slow motion because fast is too hard to keep track of I want to scream but my eyelids they’re so heavy I meant to be slow it’s too just sit down oh my gosh I want to fall asleep and never ever be awakened by my doubts or my soul fluttering out when I sneeze it doesn’t mean enough to me I just want to be able to spew out in pain hate free my own internal hell and I have to live it out every day.

I feel tears and they don’t careen or fall or crash around they just sit there behind closed eyelashes and when no one knocks they never fall out I wish you could be my somebody but you’re too lost in being my own nothing and you’re nobody and nobody ever becomes somebody because opposites don’t attract they just sit there and stare off into a vacant snowdrift and nothing will always stay nothing alone sitting there at the end of the earth.

Purple Person (11/3)

It’s cold today. Whoa. Man.

And I bleached my hair and now it’s purple. And my nails are purple. And we’re talking about falling asleep in class. Which I could totally do all the time. Because I’m tired.

I hope Corbin gets in. I mean, I don’t want him to because I’ll miss him so bad because he’s hilarious, but he deserves it, so I hope he gets his reward for being everything he deserves to be.

What if someone didn’t notice that I was missing. Or had been hitting on my site (but not romantically) and then someone found out it was me, which would destroy the OCD anonymously but make it more fun to talk about, but only if embarrassment wasn’t a factor.

Ms. Colella, do you miss me? Do you understand me? More than anyone else, I bet. Time flies when you have cancer. I wish it didn’t but time goes faster in the middle of your sniffling, stifling spiral when everyone agrees that nothing about you matters anymore but it still matters to you. So you try so hard to keep on treading water but it can’t be so down.

The Watcher

What do I do? I watch people.

I know you may get more fame.

More people wave to you.

Maybe you get paid more

For being people’s friend.

But what do you really know?

You are fake.

You see only what they all see.

But I would like to think

That I see more.

So, while you’ll be crying that she died

At the funeral I wasn’t invited to

I’ll be the one on her answering machine

The last call to her before she died

Because I watched her,

I saw it coming,

And I knew.

I’m Gay Today (10/27)

Ok. So… what should I talk about today…….. Well, I just had fast food chicken nuggets. They leave that nasty artificial little chemical aftertaste on your tongue. I can feel the metallic coat on my taste buds. And that sinking in my stomach from all the added hormones… ew! >_<

Anyway. So yah. Parrots. I really don’t have anything to talk about today. I just can’t think straight. Actually, I’m thinking straighter than normal. But not too straight.

How are you today? I’m gay. Instead of good, get it? So homosexuality will get positive connotations. Well yah. Was that offensive?

I hope Jellybean doesn’t hate me. I’m such a bitch to her. Tuna bitch, off pitch, share your loser ugly witch. Oh well. Again, My mood is so apathetic right now I don’t care.

Man, I have NO respect for privacy.

Hmmm…. What happened today? I met a man and a plan and a canal Panama. Just kidding. I got a 95 in AP Gov. That’s what I did. Yes! Booyah!

Rusted hug

You said you’d give me a hug

But you gave me a gun

And when I tried to run

You gave me a tug

You pulled on my wrist

And wouldn’t let me go

And held me closer

than I would’ve liked.

And you said that you loved me

Though I do recall

That your words weren’t that at all

They were “Please, never flee.”

And I stayed by your side

Through trouble and pain

But I think that your crying

Was as fake as that hug

That was a gun

To shoot at the sun

Through the rain.

Somebody is Nobody

How should I know who I am

When I can’t even see myself without staring in a mirror?

How should I know what I’m thinking?

I never said I could read minds.

And I know that I should be doing something,

But I did something earlier today.

They all told me that someday I’d be somebody,

But they weren’t specific enough.

They told me to make the good choices

But it all looked the same to me.

They said I never bothered trying,

But I just never had the time.

If they told me I was gullible,

They were wrong. I called it trust.

They called me an underachiever

But I always found it enough to get by.

So much do to, so much time… (10/23)

I need to work on stuff that I should be working on. So much stuff to do, so much time… but I don’t want to do them. So little desire.

I like riding-on-bus conversations. Just those little dialogue snapshots between Monday and Teusday and how can I remember to write eu instead of eu instead of ue…. I always spell Teusday… No, Teusday – NO! TUESDAY! – wrong. Anyway.

But like I was saying. I can’t help but procrastinate my duty to the world and myself. I’m getting visions of the ocean now, all blue and fish and I just realized how all I ever talk about in these little monologues is me. I’m so selfish, apparently. But I mean, this is my internal time to puke up me from the inside out. Man am I dyslexic. Haha.

But I fear I’m growing fatter than a boy who wants to become a man. Fat ego. I wish I knew what I wanted – it would make it so much easier to endure. And to obtain. I like how we can read our handwriting, though, when no one else can, because we know what we wanted to say. I kinda wish I could just zone out of whatever. Chanel surf or something. Static on chanel 1. Blue lines here. Black bars on 2… and 7! ZOMG!

And who dunnit? I wanna know! I wanna know! Who killed Mr. Body? Who hid the body? No body? Somebody had to have killed Mr. Body’s body!

So would that mean his souls is still here then?

Ugh. There’s so much stuff I should be doing! Aaaaah! But I just can’t! Idiot! I just like wasting time doing nothing too much. That’s why I love bus drives – you do nothing. You just sit there, getting somewhere but with someone else making all the choices for you and driving you there.

I love my cat. She’s so fluffy and soft and warm. On the inside. She has a plush heart. I have a stone heart. No. Let’s say a styrofoam heart. Stone’s too cliche. Uggh! Dyslexia AGAIN!

Why do I freaking switch up letters so much? Is it because I’m writing too fast? Is it because I didn’t used to be dyslexic but I made myself dyslexic? I know I wasn’t when I learned to read. Maybe it’s because I’m using pen.

A dove sits on a tree. Snow falls on his head. Sprinkles and showers and dark comedy that, like monologues, doesn’t really make sense.

I have a B in GoPo! Probably, I think. Government and Politics. AP. Super hard. But I suck. I hate weekends. Too much time to be doing stuff. I hate doing stuff. The week is good because it’s all routine.

Donut Party! Also, I bet you think I’m a lazy, parasitic bum. Why, yes. Yes I am. You’d be correct in that assumption. But it’s more interesting to watch 3 boys jump from the high dive at once than 2. Splash! And watching is easier than doing. Although I must admit, falling is pretty easy. Me and gravity are friends. And Depression. Well, we’re not friends exactly, but we go to the same school. That kind of thing. Cheese puff!

I am a soft lilac baby hand crunched under ingrown teeth. And I see spirals and feet and bears at lunch that aren’t there. I’m so tired. I could totally just sleep my life away. The good thing about bad habits is that new ones are easy to form, so I can just form good habits to replace them. On the mal side, I hate myself. I don’t recall what I was talking about, but it makes my stomach growl.

What if I ruined my life? Man, that would suck. How about Paradise City? It’d be pretty sweet, huh? Stop calling things at me! I’m working! At nothing. Just to see my own inky voice.

How long will uncertainty last? I don’t know.

If I shut my eyes I do get some visions mental pictures of Mr. Belvin batting his eyes or Eliza laughing or Johnny jumping or me, slouched in my seat across the room, always messing with my tie-dye and afro and ugly and laughing and faking happy not annoyance. I can kinda hear my low voice, too, but not so much. But yah.

State fair tomorrow. Should be cool. Or sketchy. Or depressing. Or end badly. I mean, one of those has to be true. Maybe I’ll a fried stick on a cob and shove it in somebody’s ear and shut them up so they have corndog stuck through their head and the guy washing cars waves at me with buck teeth and innocent me laughs. I’m not guilty, just for the record to show. I wouldn’t ever smash someone’s head on a corndog. Cardboard at worst.

Shoot ‘em up. Shoot ‘em up. Bang Bang.

Yah. Red black orange green. I can measure ME! on a car going 64 mph. The measurement was 1 gold star and a pina colada. That’s what I’m worth. That and a nail fial and a file and a fail. You’re a failure. Not you, I was talking to my dog.

And I assume my assumptions are terrible, right? I can’t be wrong. Ha! I’m always right. Now to sleep under a cold bed that I’m not sure is mine. Zzzzzzzzz. Marching home. Zzzzzzzzz.

The Music In My Mind (10/22)

What if I planted a flowerpot underground? I can picture the little dust babies growing up like weeds, and the turkeys would pick worms off them.

I think abstract thoughts make sense to abstract people. Everyone’s brain is different, so what is real and what makes sense is different for everyone. I mean, brains are abstract too, right? Quite mysterious. And dreams, too, which are also exact. We have science, we have math, we have religion, but we still don’t understand our minds.

It’s so hard to be unfiltered. You either have to be high, drunk, sick, or super tired to really make the filters come down. I mean, otherwise your subconscious is still trying to formulate your abstract core self into something semi-coherent that your brain can understand… hmm. I thought the brain was abstract, so wouldn’t it understand the abstractness? Maybe the mind is abstract but the brain is whole. Wholly whole.

Oh well. Cranberries. Haha, sauce. Cranberry sauce. And The Cranberries are a good band.

Makes me think of when I tried to learn to play guitar, but that didn’t work out too well. Scootch over. There wasn’t room for music in my brain. No, in my mind. No. There was music in my mind but my brain filter stopped it. It wasn’t the right degree of abstractness to get through. Too many details and rules and patterns. Skills to be learned. I just couldn’t flow with it because it wasn’t natural to me. Because this brain work – the keys and chords and strings and scales – didn’t fit the music in my mind.