Slut

It never occurred to me that anyone could ever think I was a slut. I guess all this time I've just been terribly wrong. Teenagers these days are brutal. Apparently, I can be a virgin and still be a slut. But how?...

I don't kiss random guys.

I don't sleep around.

...unless you count that time that I was so wasted I blacked out and woke up half naked in bed with two guys...

I don't flirt with everything that has testosterone.

...not intentionally at least...

And who the hell made up that rule that only sluts wear lipstick?!

Where am I going with all of this? I guess what I'm trying to say is that looks are deceiving, but teenagers don't seem to know that. I guess it never occurred to anyone that the reason all my friend are guys is because girls are too bitchy. And has anyone stopped to think that I don't flirt intentionally? Or to consider the fact that I don't intentionally lead on their crushes? That I have low self-esteem and I just need male approval?!

... Oh God, maybe I am a slut.

I Want Your Love

There are lots of things people do for money. They sell their hair. Give away their kids. Work strange hours. Have sex. Just about anything. And while I'm pretty enough to be a call-girl, I've got too big of a consience and too much love for my boyfriend. So I babysit. I watch kids. Any day of the week. as long as I'm awake. It's pretty good money. And kids are simply hilarious!

I guess you're all wondering what the hell I'm trying to say. I'm wondering what the hell I'm tryna say. Remember my first blog? I think I touched on how I would try not to blog if I had nothing to say. But I need to vent. I just have nothing to vent about. And that's just it. I have nothing to say because I'm feeling nothing. Absolutely nothing. Well I'm hungry and tired, but I have no emotions.

So what the hell is wrong with me? So what if I'm not feeling anything. But au cotrair my readers, that's when I'm at the most risk. it's when I feel nothing that I realize how much I don't fit in. How much I need to cut. How much I need to starve myself. Because I need SOMETHING. Anything. I wish I could feel things like hurt or love or pain. pretty much anything.

Oh wait. I feel it. An emotion. It's. I don't know what it is... I guess I can call it longing. Longing. It has an emptiness to the word in itself. Like me. I'm empty. As empty as a beer bottle after a game of football. I'm empty and needy. I've been trying to fill that need with everything from food to self-torture to conjuring up a life that doesn't exist. But now I realize that all that I'm longing for is love. Were to find it is another mystery.

Ana

I leaned on her shoulder, crying silently at first, but after a measure my silent cry turned to a raucous wail. I'd had enough of everyone's wounding venomous words. I could hold it in no longer. And she held me there as long as I needed her to. She did not demand anything of me. She only took what I had to give. Never more. But also never less. I called out her name in the dark of night and she heard my cry. She anwsered swiftly. Ana ran to my side. Removed all the excess until all there was, all there is, all i want, is she and me. Until I am in her, and she in me. In my head she rests now. She whispers quietly into my ear. Ana lulls me with her lullaby, making promises of tomorrow in my head. She sings to me, "I am your butter and your bread; the voice that's in your head. I will take you in and fill you up with a lack of being fed. I will give you happiness. All you have to lay at my feet is the very thing that keeps you alive. You will die for me, my love. We are one mind. Where one of us lives, the other perishes." And as I listen to death's song, I smile. Ana, whom promised to give me everything, has left me nothing. Nothing but a skeleton. I am happy. She loves me.

Can You Guess What I'm Talking About?

Let me love you in ways I don't know how to.
Let me hover in your stormcloud.
Let me control it.
Allow me to send it away.
Let me wash away those feelings
That make muddy your dreams.
Allow me to wreak sweet havoc in your troubled mind.
Let me give to you what you've been longing for.

These are the promises that it speaks to me.
Promises that I know it cannot keep.
So why do I swoon
Every time a new one is made?
Because although it speaks sweet nothings,
It speaks at least something to my heart.
It's the child of my heart.
It gives me what I'm longing for.

Twice In One Day

Well I've kinda been neglecting you so I'll post about something I was talking about with one of my chicas. There's this quote from Robert Fulgham that says, "When we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join them in mutual weirdness and call it love--true love." I really think he hit on something there. And not only does it apply to love, but pretty much relationships in general. How many of us hate the girl at school who has everything?

And then all of that got me thinking of how the subject of normality is so controversial... I know it's a jump from that quote, but what the hell does that word even mean? What in the world is normal? Most of us teenagers are so caught up in fitting in, when in looking at it objectively, we would realize that we all do. Think about it. No one is perfect. We all have our own little quirks and hang-ups. We're all freaks in our own way. All of us. The girl that pretends to be perfect, the one who seems to know everything, is always the girl with almost no friends. She's always the one who can be in a crowd of people, all singing her praises, and feel like there is not one person she can trust. That's because a lot of the times the fact that we're copmpletely crazy is what attracts people to us.

Though I'm not one to give advice, none of us are as alone as we think. There's always someone out there who feels our pain. I believe that ainthe end, mutaul weirdness is what makes our hearts and mind feel at home. Hell, the very idea that someone could be normal is a conspiracy! What sets us apart binds us together. Up until a few days ago I had no idea what that meant. But now I think I've got it. The cookie-cutter example of normality does not exist. And in reality, we're all just floating around looking for something or someone that makes us feel like we belong, whether it be a lover ort a friend. What makes our hearts warm is knowing that there's someone out there whose freakiness is compatible with ours.

So in light of all of that, if you still have some weird need to be normal just phrase it this way. Anyone that has no problems has a problem. They're one in a million... Quite frankly, they're zero in a million. Beauty lies with The beauty in a rainbow lies in the different colors so different, but yet the same in that they are each unique. If you have a want to call yourself normal, think of this. We're all freaks. So being a freak is perfectly normal. Rest. You're not alone.

See How Strange I Am?

I've been doing really good with the whole not cuting thing. And the other night when I got the urge to do some 'artwork', I stopped myself and examined the why. I wrote it out in my journal. I gave it thought but I also let it be raw. I needed to justify the things I did. I needed to remind myself that I had a reason. That I wasn't just kukoo-bananas. And after it all, I didn't need to cut. So here's what I wrote:

S.C.F.

I carve his initials into my wrist. He is my forbidden love. I have to hide. But this is my way of giving myself to him. And of letting our secret subtly into the open. He doesn't see it that way. I suppose he thinks it's quite rediculous. I agree with him. But when I see the blood, its as if every memory I have with him is channeled. They are like ribbons, now intertwined with the red in my head. So that every time I see blood streaming helplessly yet unashemedly down my arm, I will see his face; feel his touch. His lips against mine. The tingling sensation I feel when our tongues dance. Our skin touching. Even the rush of fear the time I smacked him. Different yet all the same because of the link my blood has allowed me to create.

S.C.F

With these three letters I sentence myself to a lifetime of torment. A branding that will ever remind me of my secret love. It is the only way I am able to express my love for him--or anything else for that matter. The only way that leaves everyone else out. And so I have come to crave it. Blood. That and anything that goes along with it that let's me express my feelings, both mental and physical. The sting. The rush. The throbbing. I crave all of it. I see it in my dreams. I smell it when I close my eyes.

S.C.F.

Those three letters that will be there... Forever... A tattoo of sort.

I'm Still Breathing But I've Been Dead For A While

... I love making titles. It's fun! This one's from a Katy Perry song and it's sooooo true. I feel like all the life's been sucked out of me but by some chance, I'm still here. The question is: Is there life after love? I guess there is. I mean it's a helluva lot harder but I'm still here.


Not much has changed. I'm still grounded and will be for the forseeable future. I may never get my phone and computer back, but I'm okay with that now. This week has been pretty okay. I got to hang out with my friends all week. And although I didn't get to *talk* to him, I got to see my boyfriend... The only thing is that I miss my online friends... So Peach and Ahmed and Kathykinz, if you happen to read this, I'm still alive babes :)