Appealing Nature or Not

I had to compose a poem for English and frankly I've never felt so horrible because it sucked and rhymed like an old Dr. Seuss book and I'm tired of writing like a douche. If that makes sense, congratulations, but there's nothing in my life I would even imagine explaining to the kids in my AP Literature class who don't know my name and certainly don't know me. honestly. I wrote a Current Event Article about Teachers in Texas carrying guns, but really I'm not surprised because it's about time. No more students blowing up the schools, now it's the teacher's turn. Power to 'em! Maybe we can start that here in Edgewater and if I'm lucky, Mr. Lingelbach will shoot me instead of force me through another goddamn lecture with the tension intense because Paul sits right near me and I'm recently single. Now that I can handle the work, either way, but it's Math and Useless and simply a GPA booster because I get a chord at graduation for being in Roe Kappa, though I know I just spelled it wrong, did I mention I'm an idiot too? And it appears that I take guard too seriously because I ask them not to just sit there and sweat in the sun, I want them to actually earn the burning sensation on your cheeks and the pounding in your heart as you work your ass off in the rays. So there was nine, but now it's four, and that's all fine, cause less is more. I really could not care any less. Nope. Really.

I text Anna and wish things I shouldn't wish and I won't say it here because for an objective outsider it might not yet be completely obvious what I feel, felt, did or didn't do with little Miss Anna the Devil. But she's 100% different from Belle, that I can tell with sureness and gladness that she actually liked me. She even taught me the beauty of run-on sentences in the best piece of poetry ever written that was true story, with a plot, and angry tone and just-so-Anna, i want to lock in my file and preserve it forever.

I apologize, but there's no picture today because no panoramic image could convey the way this day turned out. I'm Audi, but I'm pissed and if you're reading this, leave me alone tomorrow.

The Legend of Ambiguity Charm

"It's the ambiguous meal--we're not sure
if it's lunch or
dinner"

February 31 2007

It's almost too easy to seal your life in a tiny white envelope. Address it to Ambiguity, who's obsessed with golden arch nail polish and this certain brand of cherry chapstick. The city is Chicago, but sometime's it Hartford, Connecticut, depending on my mood. It's charming, she says, like a Madeline hat in a thrift store down the gay district. periodically throughout evening such a these, I tend to scream erratically in order to break the silence; a sound that is unbearable. This twix taste like a crayon and I make a point to not be one, though I understand the battle from one friend to another. You go girl, cause that boy doesn't know what he's missing, and my best friend moved, too. You'll never get over it, I promise. I don't have the strength to keep her here. Orlando is simply bleak. My life is contained in a whiffel ball, holed with Economics assignments and two-week old summer reading essays I placed on his desk as nonchalantly as I could muster. I can basically say that I am "fornication under consent of the king" 'ed. Everytime I see that man, he's crying, and Thomas Morris taught me a lesson. Word is Precious, he said, but I'm not sure which words he meant or how long it takes for them to become so holy. The living are learning to die, and the dead have learned to live already, he said, you're friends who leave you will learn and so will you in their wake. I walked away with a $50 bill in my shoe and a pencil in my hand. I burned a hole in my book like the hole in my arm. Wanna know how I got these scars on my left arm? You see, I had a best friend. And she was beautiful, but impressionable. One night, I decide that I'm going to show off a little bit, so I pour some drinks. Things get out of hand, real quick. To show my invincibility, I said "Hey guys---watch this!" and thrust the cigarettes from my lips into the arm. I pushed deep and the next morning, found about six layers of skin missing in that one spot with simply no memory. Why so serious? Well Bishop Moore thought it was a joint and you'd think I'd learn a lesson, but that's asking way to much from Ambiguity Me. If your heard it--it's a lie. If you saw it--illusion. Learn the rules and the seven stepping stones for Ambiguity in order to understand. My moleskin has this passage it reads:

"The shitty thing about this city is that the wind blows out my smokes. It lets the cherry burn stale so I must re-light, effort i would not have wasted in the city of my own. Home. I miss having one."

God damn it, I should've asked Thomas Morris' middle name!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Bishop Moore,

I have nothing to lose because all is already lost. Thank-you for showing me what it's like to have nothing. A catholic kid turned Atheist Teenage beat poet, so named by a previous lesbian lover. What do you think about that? That's right, you had a flaming lesbian (well, another one) in your school for about a year and never realized it. Well, maybe Durgin, did. Am I seeming slightly sporadic? Are my words wittingly wrong? Give me some paper, I need something stationary as the cups runneth over with too much grime on the converse I wear to work, to school, to play and practice. Keepin' it real at public school and missing you to death, drowning in the lakes created by Fay as Gustav approaches. I love you Bishop Moore. You completed me. ha! I could never love you--Fuck you! And Fuck your ugly-ass new golden shirts the color of something I puked when I overdosed on Tylenol tablets in the sixth grade. I'm not a misplaced teen and I don't need you to find me in your purse. I'm not your goddamn keys so leave me be to rot in hell in public school. You have to live for the things you've lost, not in spite of them, but shit, I'm doing both and you're to blame. Write me off, I'll reappear, tie me up, I'll unravel your knots. Try to tell me I'm worthless, but I'll take the lead just watch me. I'll make it happen and you won't be there. Just another member of the audience, applauding how well the performance was. Bitch, you wont even be there. And i wont give you a refund either.

As Always,
Mariah.

The Author Disaster of Epic Proportions

The guard is shot to hell, but it's well and fine cause it isn't mine or anyone else's fault, but theirs. I'll take the blame for lost glances and frantic spinning but the behavior issues are uncalled for, I suppose, though I did it when Lucy was in charge. I am the Captain, The Author of this work, I am the one they whine to, the one they call "jerk". The one thing I won't stand for, the move I cannot counter, is blatant disregard, the way they discard my orders and demands. My authority withstands, and soon they'll learn. Even the stubborn. I'll show them. I am The captain, the writer for this page, the star of this performance, the one who's held responsible for the actions of the children. Not adults; not yet. Not 'til I get some respect. I love guard. I love girls. But this is something new. And there's only a few of them but they're fueling this poem. I know it sucks and bollocks, I have nothing more to say.


There's more in a day that refuses to fade cause Paul and I almost broke up. And he's working out tonight while I fight with my guard and turn the wrong way during left haste. At least I nailed about face, but my mind was in another place, driving with him in the truck and listening to the Insane Clown Posse. I've had sex on that backseat, twice, and each time it was exciting, but apparently not enough. I guess we'll try to work it out but that's why everything after lunch sucked.

Stepfather will escape again, to Jacksonville this time, He's gone by 4:30 am and I say good riddance like Green Day with a guitar I'm pawning on Saturday for a garage sale to pay the phone bills. If it weren't for thrift stores, I could cover it with a check, but the dresses were cute and reminded me of Anna so I took a chance. I don't care anymore. What do ya know, I forgot to think of Krystal today and maybe that's fine, but now she's on my mind and the song I dedicate to her is playing from the Itunes account I had to cancel for lack of credit card. I was told to get Limewire but I cant afford a virus cause my life is on this wireless. His eighteen-wheeler is tireless and he's yet to pack a bag, but I've said my goodbye's and I know I won't cry since I'll be lost in sleep, thank god. I could use some, I do believe.

"And don't deny, one day you'll need me.

All my life I been looking for the answers

To the questions you never asked
And we never planned on this disaster,

when will I let it go?"

A Rose By Any Other Name...

I was never sure who was to play Romeo. Maybe I'd like to try Juliet out? Not literally, of course. But she was up on that god damn balcony and my knee was sore from guard, so hell no, I was not going to climb a ten foot wall. and even worse--what would her father have done if he found me? I'd be slaughtered by the Capulet Mafia, and Romeo should end more gallantly than that daresay. Don't you think? Why would anyone, even if they were not in love with being in love, risk their life for someone they barely even glanced at before they kissed? I mean, nowadays, you kiss and no biggie. Shit, you screw and its no biggie, so long as there's no baby. But thats not possible for the kind of relationship I was aiming at. So fuck me, I brought a bullhorn and begged Juliet to get her ass downstairs and sneak out the front door. She wouldn't. And can you believe that after a year I'm still kneeling down here waiting, though she forgot about me long ago. If this is love, I quit. Now I understand why it's called a tragedy. I gotta hand it to him--Shakespeare knew his shit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four score and seven years ago, Mom brought home a new dresser. Wood-finished and plenty, it shined against the navy paint and posters plastered on my walls. It has six drawers and I haven't got enough clothes to fill it's meager space that I yearned for almost two weeks ago. I guess I'm going shopping with the money for cell phone bills. So if you cant get hold of me, check Goodwill on Antique Row.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Bishop Moore,

You taught me well. Today, i received yet another dress code violation. My third of the school year and we've only gone four days. Aren't you proud of me? Not even at a private school and still can't look the part. Maybe I didn't learn a thing, perhaps I never will. But I was sent home and was able to finish up my summer reading for an AP class you never would've allowed me to enroll in. Now don't get ahead of yourself, I still have not written the essay, but I'm progressing. Would it surprise you to inform your administration that a phone call went home to my mother today from my AP Environmental teacher. He told her what a pleasure I am, how smart I seem, and she commented that I'm a lucky transfer from Bishop Moore. He was 'flabbergasted'. I think because how could someone like me last even two and three quarters of year there? I, too, am left shocked but I'll get over it. Will you? Will i ever stop hearing the drama? Can you quit sending home letters? Take me off your mailing list for Christ's sake! As Belle constantly told me during my time of greatest need; get over me. it's time to move on, Bishop Moore.

As Always,
Mariah.

Moleskine Lit Only By Fire

"I love the person I'm becoming." She said, but nobody else does. "It's like special flavors of soda-pop" I was told, "straight--with a twist!!"

~~~~~~~~~

Lindsey's jeep is in Orlando, but Lindsey's still in Connecticut. Krystal's captain at Bishop Moore but Krystal's become a bad person. Lindsey and I left for her but i guess i learned my lesson. Taylor Grace is Graceful and Taylor used to throw up. Taylor used to starve herself and never gave a fuck. Anna hates colorguard and never gets in trouble. Anna loves Bowie but despises double-bubble. Anna writes poetry and had this strange idea; bizarre and obscure. Anna is a red head, but dyes it blond sometimes. Anna hates her high school and tells me what it's like. Mikael,Chris, And I hung out the other night. She promised she wouldn't kill me. She said it'd be okay. They know what I went through. I'm still treated this way. I hate you for tricking me, teasing me, tempting me. I hate you for leaving me, loving me, hating me. Fuck you all. Fuck your music. Fuck your chapstick. Fuck your anger. Fuck your captain. Fuck your bed. I swear to God, I'm never fucking with you again.

And it takes only a few short lines with my spectacles in place to realize that everything in this notebook deserves to be burned. God-awful. Horrible. atrocity. Fuck Orlando, I hate this city. haha nice

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The senior religion teacher at Bishop Moore is now a buddy of mine on Facebook. Her daughter doesn't like me anymore, but I guess she's not to blame for growing up. We all will do it in the end and I've got Sweeney Todd's saga stuck on repeat in my mind with my voice trying to copy little Toby's singing praise about the magical elixir which smells like piss and frankly taste like private school, in my professional opinion. It's like cleaning your room when you have yet to see the mess. It's like watching movies I've only ever heard of in songs. Or maybe I'm hearing the songs wailing over the characters in the movies they overkill, I cant remember quite frankly. But I had the most miraculous epiphany the other night and it came in the form of a dream, my friend. Now, I wasn't prepared to fight this battle, since I was more than half asleep. I had on no armor, nothing but the sweaty pajamas I was rolling around in uncomfortably on the twin-sized bed I probably outgrew when I hit the fourth grade. Besides the point, but Mom's buying new dresser's and that'll brighten up my day. But this dream featured Belle and her entourage of admirers warning me not to believe her. I received a text reading "Hey call me later, we need to talk" and after a couple hours, I did, though Lucy begged me not to. And when I got on the phone, she said we should be friends again as if she'd felt that way since March, but I know she couldn't have. I mean, let's face it, I groveled in April and even wished her a happy birthday on the 30th. That wasn't enough, but this imaginary depiction of the fantasy I longed for was bubbling in my stomach and making me happy like I hadn't been since, honestly, the day we decided we'd make a friendship of this biology class torture. Nor since the day I taught her to inhale and not to mix her shots the way she did and had us lying on my front lawn dropping glass and slurring for Lucy to point out the Big dipper, or maybe it was the little one? But long story short, I was elated until I woke up and her irritated tone of "whatever" continuously reverberated throughout this thing I describe as a mind.

It was worse than Earth Science with Mr. Woodcock freshmen year and sitting next to that kid, Jacob Wood. Yes, those are their real names. I wouldn't lie about that. No, I would not because I find that liars tell lies about lies, but tell the truth about the truth. And truly? I hate that girls guts and I never want to see her again. That's the thing, I would enjoy nothing more than her to disappear off this earth so i could live in peace, but at the same time I want to drown in the memory of what we had and how strongly I loved her, how strongly I still love her even after everything she's put me through.

Dear Bishop Moore,

I'm sorry for what was said in my last letter to you. I didn't mean it, I swear. Please don't send the cops to my house thinking I'll blow up the school. I give you my word; I won't. Besides, that message on the girls bathroom wall was written after I left. So fair is fair, right? And when I offer my condolences for the aggravation I put you through, you know I'm not telling the truth. friends?

As Always,
Mariah.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you see, I think insanity is unavoidable by 17. For the previous 16 years you hid it really well. But once you're a year 'til legalization, it hits you. I realized how pointless it is to live on earth for almost 17 years and never have gone bungee jumping. Therefore, it's been added to my list of things to do. Not only that, but how dumb is homework? In the long run, I don't think it matters. Cleaning my room is the pits. Absolutely. I could do it in less than an hour if I set my mind to it, but why bother? In ten months I will be 18 and I can keep my room in whatever form of disarray I see fit. This is why I see their attempts to ground me and repo my cellular device comical. They have no power anymore, just like I didn't for sixteen years. Yes, turning eighteen is grand, but first I have to wait. TEN MONTHS of suffering. There better be a fucking god up there because if I die before June I'll need to hold someone responsible.

Paint me Chicago

Fay is Lame and I'm soaked to the bone from a hole in the ceiling, waiting for the winds to close school's doors. You can't see outside when the wind is this high and the rain just pours. Television melodrama; "you heard it here first." The sky turned orange, crying from the storm, and leaking on the thousand-dollar carpet I vacuum every Sunday; Drips and drops of water staining the white painted chandelier above. In the pot stationed underneath, it taps and splashes loudly over the news. Seems to be blue tarp time again, but nothing works better than plaster for greedy roofers re-shingling with stolen golden watches of mine.

Greatly sustained and motionless in a fire trap attic room. Through the bulletproof glass, that i swore by Sophomore year, of a dollhouse window, gandering the debris of leafy excess, ignited by a howling hail. There, the water flushes in, so I sleep downstairs, hearing mumbled updates in the living room through a wooden panel he punched his fist through that time she got drunk and they fought. Tomorrow at eight, the winds will be great and I might end up walking to school. The clouds up there are sure to fall as rain altitudes rise by the inches. Fay will leave us, but soon return again. Orlando is safe i guess. Surely safe to go to class on Monday and Thursday, when we all were drenched but not Tuesday and Friday, when the air was dry. Fuck it, it's in the past, and I've got summer assignments due next week.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks ago, it wasn't like this. Two weeks ago it was tame. Shit it'll almost two months ago and that's sad as sad can get. I went back to hell this past monday and saw my life survive the impact of a twelve-ton Eagle that fell from the second story of the Science building. Tough times at Edgewater High, but really, when is it ever easy?

I want to buzz with the hornets. I admit that to myself now. They sting like hell, they don't play fair, and they sold my ass to administration for a get-out-of-jail-free card, but I miss them with all my heart. The zombies strut by all wearing Guy Harvey which doesn't make sense to me at all. I swear to god, I plan to go psycho if i hear the word "expression" again. I get "Why go back there" a lot, but they dont understand. Everything is the same. The only thing that changes is the special effects and the idea of everyone being equal when everyone is clearly not. Hornets need a reality Check. Let me give it a shot.

Dear Bishop Moore,

I hope your God can hear me and I hope he knows his Old Testament. Because that goddamn book you put all your stupud faith into reads that you should forgive your brother not seven, but seven-hundred and seventy-seven times. Tell that to your diocesan duties. And while you're at it, let them know that i'm giving them a negative rating online. They dont deserve the eight grand a year and certainly didnt ever earn the praise they receive. "Here at Bishop Moore, we focus on strenghtening your bond with God." Yes, I'm sure the future homesless graduates will agree that putting theology over academics was the smartest way to go. Clearly, your administration received the same sort of "education." You want to know how i got these scars? Oh it's simple. Mrs. Bonanno told my Aunt that i was snorting cocaine in history class. She didn't like that. Not. One. Bit. And Mrs. Connell demanded notecards that i never ever finished. Nor did i once turn in a completed notebook. Keep up now, you entitled little bastard, you fucking jezebel whore of the catholic institution, you god damn cow cooked in McDonald's by the valedictorian of 1973. I recall perfectly. I was sitting in my math class. I received an extra bruise to my ego when Mrs. Moore took my phone, shit I can't remember how to spell her name. Look what you're methods have done to me! Have you ever seen my left arm? it's got real scars. burn marks. Do you remember when Mrs. Gonzalez called me into guidance and asked me if I put out a joint on my arm? She asked me where my mother was, who I was living with, what I was doing with my life, and why I felt the insistent need to drive my teachers insane. Are you still curious or do you need it spelled out for you? i was born to get expelled and I was raised to fight the catholic church. I'm not sorry. I never will be. I'm lucky. I was saved from your indoctrination before I became the robot you expected. I spent every lunch period and free period in the Dean's office my Sophomore year and listened to the teachers bitch, endured filthy stares from disgruntled deans, and organized shelves of yearbooks no one gives a shit about anymore. I did nothing but live the only life I have, and I was exhiled. You know, there was a time when I prayed to God every single day? I was into it. I was also only eight years old but i completely bought into the whole "he's watching you, better watch out!" like God is Santa Claus or something (i believed in him, too, 'til some eighth grader punched me and said he was dead.) See, that's the thing about little kids. They'll swallow up anything you tell them; i couldn't help that i believed your bullshit stories, excuse me, "tall tales that are symbolic of what really happened"---I was in second grade coming from a public school! It would take me seven years and about three months to return. While you're reading this letter, dial up Mrs. Agnew over at St. Charles and thank her for turning me into the person I've become. I'll bet my sanity that she doesn;t remember the day she abandoned me. I sure as fuck do. I honor that day ever year and it's been almost four years. October 28, 2004? does that ring a bell to anyone but me? Didn't think so. Now, god forbid it was a religious holiday! If it ever slipped my mind, I'd be damned to hell, right? just like I always forget when Easter was. I couldn't tell you how long lent is and Mary-fucking-saw-me-eat-meat-on-those-damn-fridays-you-were-not-supposed-to. Try to tell me what to eat? FUCK YOU! fuck you're stripes, fuck you're football team, fuck you're honors system, Fuck your band leadership, Fuck you're suspensions, saturday schools, and detentions. I may not have graduated from your establishment, but I made it out alive just in time. I hope Fay trashed Loretta and Lake Fareview drowns you're science/religion building until it perishes for forever. I hope the New Education building crumples from the foundation and smashes the glass of those Senior year pictures you insist on nailing to the wall. The only building I wish would remain is the cafeteria, because that's the only part worth the school is the food. So thank-you, Aramark. i love you, always will, and to you, Bishop Moore, i say goodbye and plan on seeing me in the future. I swear right now, when I'm a wealthy lady I will have your school demolished and I will build my mansion upon it. Don't think you're safe, St. Charles, the church goes, too. Sorry, it's just business.

As always,
Mariah.

-Expelled from Bishop Moore March 11, 2008 and relocated to Edgewater High School where I will spend the rest of my high school career working against you. You'll regret the choice you made just like I regret mine every single second I breathe.

=]
"So so what?
I'm still a rock star
I got my rock moves
And i don't need you
And guess what
I'm having more fun
And now that we're done
I'm gonna show you tonight
I'm alright, I'm just fine
And you're a tool
So so what?
I am a rockstar
I got my rock moves
And I don't want you tonight"

Prologue for your soul

My desk radiated high energy waves fueled by the perched desktop lamp above and the intimidation of failure. I will write this, said I to myself. With the keys under my nails and the Light bulb Blaring, I stroked effortlessly. No red or green underlines appeared. No suggestions for alternated words emerged.

That was because I had yet to type anything other than my name. I tap the U key so I may finished spelling the date; August 8th, 2008. The letter failed to reverberate on the screen three inches from the tip of my nose. I pressed it again. Again. Again and again. Then I became irritated. Easily, I Banged on the board, lifted the laptop, and grinned satisfyingly as it smashed against the wall opposite of me. Stupid Computer, I muttered, Fuck technology! Then I grabbed a ballpoint pen. Now I have it written.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So I saw Belle the other day. Surrounded by her admirers, laughing over inside jokes with my cousin, and deciding which shade of blonde would be best for the underlying of her dark straight locks.

I tried not to stare from behind the counter. My previous fantasies of seeing her again would not play like this. Rewind--She walks in, sees me, but i dont see her. She looks for a long time, forgetting why she came here in the first place. I'm behind the counter laughing and smiling genuinely at a joke a customer tells me as i bag their milk. She grins beside herself. She takes a step foreward and i notice her. We stare, and i forget that there are people in line. She still has her smile on. I dont know if I'm to take it as a peace offering or not.

"Can you help me find something?" she asks. Of course i can. I've only worked here since November. She probably doesnt remember that, i think, she probably tries to forget.

As i lead her down Aisle 7, she stops me by putting a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry" she whispers. I begind to cry. We embrace...and all is good again---

Okay, no that's not what really happened. Rewind again: I heard a bunch of loud girls walk in before i saw them. I was putting things away during another dull and boring shift. The group includes Lucy, my cousin, and a couple other girls who i've heard of but i dont know. They immediatly run over and seem almost too happy to see me. They redirect me down another aisle and chat. That's when i see her but her back is turned to me. It's Belle. Down Aisle 8. Looking at hair dye and my heart stops. literally. I take in a breathe and i feel faint. But then Lucy says something that makes me laugh. Kaleigh honks my nose and it's like that girl is just another customer. I think of Anna instead. What would she do? She would probably just ignore her, not even bother pretending to be nice or care. If Belle had done all that shit to Anna, she would have won the arguement a long time ago, and not still think about it to this day. She would be able to move on in her life more than i can. My thoughts filled with Anna and how she actually liked me for me, consumed me. And when i saw Belle, i shook my head. Cause she wasn't the same girl my fantasies had pictured and tortured me over since march, or April; the last time i saw her. She was too different. I used to see her as the brightest face in the crowd, how could someone not see her beauty? But now i know. I look at her like i would with any other customer. Plain, boring, anti-exotic. Not like Anna. "Do u have a CVS card?" i ask and that's that. I only make one mistake. I notice she's using a credit card. She never used to have one of those. So i see her face and it looks exhausted. literally. Bags under the eyes and all. Does she have a job now?

"How's being captain?" i casually question. I am completely ignored and she walks out the store flanked by the friends i used to share with her and an air of confidence i only ever saw in one other person; Anna.

So there was no huge apology. Nothing. No reunion of tears. But i dont want that anymore. Honestly, i just want her to go away. Or i'll go away. My five week repreive in Chicago was the best thing in the world for me.

It tested my relationship with Paul. It showed me who my true friends were, what my abilities were, where my talent lies, and what other kinds of people there are to befriend outside of orlando. I met some amazing people; Two in particular I will never forget. And one of them i shall add to my "People Who Truly changed my life" list. Oh boy, what an honor that is. She would probably laugh if i told her that. Shit, i'm laughing now about how stupid it sounds.

Quite frankly, there are only three people who have impact on my life and changed everything i once did. Nick, Krystal, and Anna. The End.