sdneirf?

You said to be impulsive.

"I hate people," I tell you. "and I hate when they come to my house. Especially kids. Go away children--you are violent and will drink all my water! Away!"

No, there is no water storage and honestly, they were here to work on an AP literature production of Dora the Explorer in relation to The Handmaid's Tale by Margarete Atwood. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"These kids are here for the show! what show? The Ballad of Mariah's failure, of course! And they drink more water than an elephant! I haven't the funds to restock!"

You told me water is free, but nothing comes cheap in this life, baby.

Get these kids out of here, she yelled but I can't let them loose in the rain; they'll melt because they are fake and unreal and I think in my imagination. Is this impulsive enough for you?

I didn't know hallucinations could drive but one is behind the wheel of a BMW. Wow, they are wealthy delusions! Can I convey to you, possibly, how insane I am, or how crazy you drive me with dwarves and Bilbo Baggans? I'm reading that book now to maybe get a feel of you, but the closest I come is cherry chapstick running me $3.99 a pack. Fuck this.

Now water is tragically pouring from the sky so I think I'll fill their empty water bottles with it! Ingenious! I am not on drugs, except your approval; the thing I get high off the most. No, I am drumming with the captain I think I have a crush on. Hey wait--I'm Gay and Moira lives within my blood, trickling lesbian literature and feminist rights of love. He was black but wet from the rain and now the cars have lined up to buy my new water, stolen from the clouds. I have all the wealth currently.

I hope the dwarves are not driving, how absurd would that be? Dwarves can't drive! Or if they are, at least sit them on a pillow, maybe some phonebooks so they can see. My eyes are not black nor blank so maybe I could be your audience? They have consumed all my lemonade and now I am lemonadeless. When life gives you lemons, you paint blue poster boards with them. Hurry, the kids are cartwheeling--give them fingerpaints or death!

Talk to me, Anna, like you did last night. Your defeated silence is absolute torture and resigns me to converse with these vivid fairytale people. Please, kill me with your gold, little devil, and take mercy on this impulsiveness I'm poorly attempting to adopt. Lindsey is not here, so will you be my Krystal? Be my pop-up Sex website when I'm trying to study history and hush me when I cry because I was Jealous of your Leonardo Dicaprio doll the entire time. I'm vein, but it's vital you understand how sick I can make myself. I feinted today and sleep is something I am deprived of, marijuana is something I yearn for, but you are something I'm craving and I'll do anything to taste you.

That was not a pun. It was an anti-pun. It was bitter remorse for not doing to you what you did to me so you could maybe relive it as much as I do. Yes, I will follow you into the dark, into the city, and into the shower if you asked me. Anything you want---I'm there. I'd fly to Chicago tonight if I thought it would rewrite what we've done so the ending could be happy and not the repeat of what happened last year. I love you, I love you, I love you. But you're in love with the Joker.

straight chicks are the devil. And I bite my lip because the cut on my finger stings when i use it to press the keys. If you're going to preach about obsession, find a different audience because I won't heed your warning or advice. This is so typical, and it's Krystal all over again. Anna, you're a cancer and I need you to cut this out! I cant talk to you about missed opportunities in the showers we had, and the time we wasted. Nor can I discuss your gentlemen problems because honestly, I wish you'd proclaim lesbianism and ask me to marry you. that would be worth a trip to Boston.

You've said the unforgivable word, but I find it in my heart to forgive you.

"I intended in the best 'coming from someone who's had her tongue in your vag' way" you said, and I could hear it in your voice, the sounds you make when you talk and stuff. Those little things that really turn me on. Then i rambled on stupid stuff that I used to say to Krystal. hurtful stuff. painful stuff.

Leave me alone! You dont respond the way I want you too so I light up another cigarette and tonight, I'll try to forget you, Anna Gaca.

cocaine reds and purples

I think you are insatiable. I think you do this on purpose. Finally, I think you enjoy this distance because with space between, you don't have to face it. That's a coward move, and I don't appreciate your concern. I know mockery when I hear it.

Mamba, baby, and it's only 79 cents, I call you, what would you like from Walgreens? Though I haven't any money, I still walk out with a Monster energy drink and no one chases after me. They let me go as I let Grace when she slipped two redbulls in her purse.

I sliced open my finger, because you surprised me by covering my eyes with your firms hands while I was cutting the Skor box. Thanks for that, Not that blood makes me vomit or anything, really, I swear, I'm fine. That bandaid was unnecessary. If I'd fainted, I could've gone home, but then we'd have to spend time together which is completely irrational to suppose, my dear. Why would we want to be alone? Being in open areas allows us to pretend. We can continue our facade of platonic love, when I know you feel more, and I'm telling you, so do I.

I had to Ctrl+Alt+Del that message because it spammed my computer and wasted my typing because my eyes were trained on the keyboard. Applause, do you hear it? It's for an encore of the show you're putting on, and, buddy, it isn't impressive. In case you weren't aware, that was mockery at its finest.

If you pull out your comb one more time and try to brush your unruly sex-driven hair, I will cut your arm. That's absolutely true, because if I hit a vein, you'll die and I would attend your funeral. It would be tragic, but I could handle it. I lost your carpool, and I can lose you too and so you are indispensable, but I love you all the same.

I could understand her urge to ease the pain. We all felt it, myself included surprisingly. I tried not to blame her for cutting herself; it's a disease, I said, her mind wasn't straight. That's what I responded when people asked their nosy questions. My heart knows the truth. She knew what she was doing. She could not withstand this life and so she made a decision and killed herself. The reason, I think, that her suicide was so shocking for the adults is that she was too smart for her own good. She did not cut on her wrists, where scars were visible. Instead, the blade would slice her upper thigh and I would trail behind with petroleum jelly to help protect her battle wounds. I never said a word. I never passed any judgement. When I told her I was officially gay, the cuts became deeper, wider, and I felt responsible. She cut at her legs, where skirts could shield them, and the only time a knife grazed her left arm was when she deliberately punctured a vein and bled to death a week ago. They had no warning, those people with their delusions, no preparation or foreshadowing. But I suspected it months before I was informed. Being the enemy, however, what did I have to prove? She might still be alive if I had motivation? No, She would still be resting in her coffin, only I would be right next to her. My eyes closed in the same fashion, and my homecoming dress from freshman year ruffled around me in an attempt to look less doll-like. I miss her smell already.

I squeezed in a size five charcoal sleeveless dress this morning and realized how much weight I gained. Maybe I eat in sadness, while she tore her body.;A tight fit. I wore my school shoes because mother always preached there was only one reason to buy black leather shoes, and private school was it. I would've worn black socks, but they were dirty from band practice again. Laundry was never my style. I pleated my hair and dutifully trudged to the crowd of mourners, trying to imagine I wasn't a prisoner finally leaving death row.

Funerals are not worth the words. They are boring, dreary, and very melodramatic, not to mention quiet. The folks will attempt to ignore the fact that she violently killed herself and they had failed to notice before it was too late. No, that's not appropriate or necessary to say aloud, though I will, once I regain the ability to speak. I thought of her reaction to that; she'd be pissed, and angrily would mutter that the purpose of suicide was to draw attention. Yes, my best friend would fume at this charade and then she'd put them in her place. An ironic choice of words, because after the gentlemen in his robe finished his nonstop sermon about God loving his lost souls, we buried my best friend and essentially put her in her place. It made me laugh during the eulogy. I was the victim of uncanny glares and stars of offense. As if I care. She was going to live through me now, her mind intertwined with mine, so it was time to adopt the bad-ass attitude. Those old bitches could fuck themselves. I was back in town; it felt good to swear, and sound like her in my head, but could I say out loud?

I realized why I left this place after the funeral; because we have one breakfast diner, family owned, and their hash-brows are exceedingly shitty and unbearable. She would never eat here and now I understand why. Not only that, but it was packed by a sea of black clothe this morning, fresh from the cemetery, and that was the ENTIRE town, save one.

"Nothing's gonna harm you...
A Christian in every sense, obviously this is news. Atheists can be the future, but Catholicism will always be there. I could not prevent this, and why would I want to? If God is her way of unwinding, while I light up a cancer stick, then I suppose it's the better of the evil.

The blueprint stains cover a tattoo paid for in bitterness and pain. The blood, it drops like the rain on the window when the wipers stopped working the smoke started bellowing. When the little girls in their princess costumes are reminded they can do anything they set their mind to. Do we need another seven months like this? Take your pole and shove it somewhere safe, then grab your boyfriend, try to kiss him, but he laughs at Anger which is irony at it's finest. Walk up the stairwell trudging towards defeat and torturous civility, and I'm there. Surprise?

I will save the boxes withholding the truth because it stabs more than you cannot imagine in that conceited skull of yours. What Would Anna Do? She would not have done that to herself, like I should not have. Lucy said I'm strong, but Lucy's got enough on her plate because Jessie and Joe couldn't wait and the drama didn't abate just because I went away. These kids are lost in the privileges they possess and I want to kill you all.

I cried again, when Jacob saw me and I thought he was going to take me away, but he didn't. And Danielle's little brother, while she was busy with Kerry, and Theresa was in love with Gabi and I'm jealous because I could've had that with Belle if she'd let me, let her, let US.

They sang to me in Perkins, and the spitballs on the mirror play judge to the nonexistent smiles and cigarettes hurriedly inhaled out front while they had their talk. The food was satisfactory, but the fun was higher and wider than the book I should've been reading for AP Literature.

I'm not a fan of your storybook life. I chose what happened.

...not while I'm around..."

Around, I'm, Not, While,

You eluded me for almost seven months. You avoided me, hid from me, and teased me with your absence. I resorted to other methods of your purpose, using and abusing, throwing away the waste like garbage, which it technically could be defined as. It was a horrible frame, there was terrible quality, and honestly, I was embarrassed when I showed people and the looks on their faces understood that I was only compensating for the loss of you and your handy companionship. I missed you digital camera.

There are stains on the back of my T-shirt from oil and moldy backseats after french fries, mops, and overheating engines. The rain was inviting and refreshing when I walked home in untied forest converse and Bishop moore Hornets shorts. The game is scheduled, but tonight was a waste, though the pizza behind was satisfactory. My standards are too high, I tell myself, and inside I agree.

I explained myself in full but I cant understand why I should be treated like the plague. I did everything for you. Why shouldnt I be proud for being the best friend I could? It wasn't good enough for you, but I learned about best friends. They suck. and I hate you. Can I not go one fucking blog without writing about how you left me? It was fucking March. GET OUT OF MY HEAD!! Im sick of this, either talk to me or leave my brain alone because this constant reminder of where you're at, and where I've landed myself is enough to insert suicidal thoughts, which you would call "dramatic and" I would retort "reality" because you couldn't handle the life I've lived; am living, bitch. You'd die. and you fucking know it.

Everytime I think of you, I remember how much I loved you, and how much I still, to this day, after everything that's happened, feel for you in the bottom of ym heart. I know what love feels like. and When i think of you, it makes me want to vomit because I can't take it. Once I'm done recalling how much I cared, I turn to thoughts of how you didnt.
What kind of person would completely abandom their so-called best friend, when you knew how I felt, the day BEFORE I GOT FUCKING EXPELLED! This is what I get for everything I did for you? Fuck you, and Fuck anything you ever said or will say. You wont be captain and You'll be miserable your whole life.

And then you FUCKING TOLD YOUR MOM THE BIGGEST SECRET I HAVE! I fucking hate you. I hate you for invading my thoughts and my actions and my memory and my brain and my nose and my skin and everything that's supposed to be just mine. You ruined me, but, no it's okay, as long as you're able to move on, and you're happy with the backstabbing lying bitch you've become. I'll see you tomorrow night. Now I finally feel how you feel about me. Are you fucking satisfied now?

Fluer de fuck you.

"I'll Cover you...

So the boy from her purple pants called during my economics paper and I thought he was a creeper ready to rape me. But he'll be in Orlando come October and that definitely wont be the case because his feelings are reserved for the same person that I hold in my heart. The definition of "It's Complicated..."

There's a casual khaki parade to prepare for, but I showed up in the smelly old band uniform, bibers buttoned and jacket zipped, ready to go, with a collar creasing into my neck and giving me an extra chin; just what I wanted for Senior celebration day!

Well, at least we have an extra three minutes to get caught walking off campus with. That'll be extra nice and awesome, now I can die from nicotine withdrawal like my good friend, who's name will be nameless since nameless really hasn't got a name, I swear!

The Gravitation Environmental Impact of a Lab with my partner, Chase, can turn your brain and make you wish for regular Chemistry re-take. I can pull at the shirt, but basically, if it's too small it wont fit...maybe I should transfer to Bishop Moore though I swore I would never utter than sin again, I can't help but wish for her happiness and perhaps mine as well.

Awkward phone calls will make me feel worse than answering incorrectly in the class I cannot stand because math is not my strong section. I'd rather file paper work or cut myself with spiral notebooks in my AP Literature class. I'm proud of him and his secret society, while I have to fit in this one we actually recognize. I'd rather run around in capes and kill the babies of saints, wouldn't anyone in my predicament? Of course, we covered our tracks by saying we were collecting donations for the Edgewater high school Band Drive, pretty clever, eh?

Yeah, we made our point when that bitch forgot to answer the door and her one-eared dog tried to eat me, The token white girl pulled out a piece of raw Tuba and away went the beast because like Ross Ward, we all hated The Tuba of Disgrace, in a Low-Brass Disaster almost always. Scratch that, not almost, just ALWAYS.

I don't know this people, but they seem to know who I am because they giggled once they saw how long the overalls fell, over my arched sneakers, made for uncomfortable marching failure. Even Jere the Bear had something to say with Tarick on his heels, as always, because with one, comes the other, and that's a package deal. Like Gage and Anna and their impending happiness which I suppose I'm hoping for since she's straight and that's a turn-off either way. That just might be the funniest joke we ever had because it's all I remember to this day. It's been seven months, apt time to get the fuck over it, when I was once immature.

Maybe I'm your poster child for "should've been held back a grade" but she's reaching my level and captain of the black and gold brigade, not for long, since Collage is mine, at least I hope, Keeger promised in June. Three miles won't get you far, but I'm sure you'll learn your lesson, kid. There's push-ups and planks, just take your pick while I sit on my ass and devour fresh grapes, cause a successful bus ride takes quiet time to learn the stakes, before you make mistakes in the halftime show we learn to hate.

So when I'm falling asleep in my bed, I'm curious as to what Made Milwaukee Famous and how you live with yourself when you know I hold a power like no other, like the one you had last year but you abused and you had it coming, bitch.

Forget me not, because look what happened? I ended up here, on top. And I've never forgotten and it's never faded, how you treated me last march. Get ready to suffer cause it's straight from the heart, I do this because I love you, still love you, and absolutely hate that fact to death.

...When your heart has expired."

"I know it's crazy to think that your ever coming back
but just maybe you might be on your way.
I know I'm stronger without you ever coming back
I'd take weak me with you anyday."

Sink or Die

"I know you think that I shouldn't still love you, I'll tell you that.
But if I didn't say it, well I'd still have felt it, where's the sense in that?
I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder or return to where we've been.
I know I left too much mess and destruction to come back again
and I caused nothing but trouble, I understand if you cant talk to me again"

You ex-boyfriend is dating an Irish girl because he fell in love with Scotland this summer. I'm single and heartbroken, interested in chicks, Anna, and the boy I lost my virginity too. Of course, I'm still ragingly in love with you, but you don't approve and I understand you more now that I've read the first two novels in the Twilight Series. You are my Bella, Belle, though we know that's not your nature. quit acting like Rosalia and except my gaping proposal, I may not talk to you, but it's always open, like my door, my heart, my mind, and my mouth as I watch you make the biggest mistake of your life with that red-haired wannabe rocker fat ass. I' m ten times the companion he can even imagine and you know it. People don't change, time just passes by, and you are the same Krystal you were back in Sophomore Biology, helping me torture Mrs. Bonanno. I can tell that your previous vision of me and my alluringness has faded, but mine is still up for you and it's waiting. Come home, baby, I miss you.

The National Convention is waiting, But government is pushed aside when the mind is consumed with you and the smell of your skin. I bought petroleum jelly because I hear it heals the cuts, but I guess we'll see won't we? or actually, we wont see because that's the point of the cream. I love you, I want you, I need you, but you don't return the favor so I fuckin hate you and if I die, it's all your fault.

Two layers, please.

This phone might ring while I'm in the shower, so leave a message I'll never check. Am I to ignore the crowd because I don't agree with them? They spit on my grave and I should answer, there's no logic in that. I will not be your project and the source of your rising confidence, No, I will not. Tackled through the passenger seat window, breaking the Ipod in regret, and remembering how he passed me a bag in the hallway. I think the mirror broke because I threw my shoe at it, but it could've fallen down from ancient nails. When that mind consuming rage radiates through my skin, I cant control it and I'll apologize in advance for the money in damages I'm sure to cost. I'm a liability and not worth insuring, I know.

Now i've cut my bangs and painted my nails, so I'm brand new and ready for shipping. handle with care because this is a fragile package and is there anybody ready to glue the peices back together, I doubt it sincerely.
Kill me in my baseball T and CVS uniform, because I'd rather die doing something I hate than while I'm actually enjoying myself. it's strung and euphoric cause I only got a 980 while a 1270 is what I got on my real one last November with actors unimaginable.

"A little gossip.
a little chat.
a little talk of this and that.
I'll tell him all the troubles I've had
and since he doesnt hear,
at least he won't feel bad"

The Bloody SAT cd

These kids and their tails, like monkeys on the branch, forcing holes in the windows from chairs and desks. His arm was bleeding, but there was fabric available and I was going to dye it anyways, so at least I saved money on red paint. I don't want to see your face anymore, but the swirls on my T-shirt resemble you and all the fucked up shit you did. It's like the mighty have not only fallen, but broken a few bones and been humiliated on the way down. You created this tension, but I'm glad for it. It gives me something to cut with this boy scout knife I found at a garage sale at no charge because I sipped it in my pocket before the old man knew it. "Sneaky is getting thievery past the elderly."

Rachel. Her name is Rachel and she's a beautiful half Asian, quarter white, and quarter Spanish baby. I think she's almost, what, four months old. Her mother was an inspiration for me in Law and I once bought weed from her dad before selling it back to him and tonight he settled the debt by purchasing cigarettes for me. I would've gone to the game, but the lake called, and I can't hang up on a friend that close, not when Denny's is open and My invitation got lost in the mail, apparently. This isn't a life I dream of, but something I can write for, I suppose.

Mikael is a rockstar. Playing his passion and throwing his emotion into lyrics and words in conversations we have while driving. When we agree, it's harmony, and I feel as though finally I am understood. But if things go bad, and I start to feel uncomfortable, I'm brought back to bus rides upfront and kissing while on the phone with my real boyfriend because I was just using him to get close to Belle, Literally.

There's baggage to fill a 747 transcontinental flight with this girl and this band, and this future, and there's no one I know who's willing to carry it in the long term. Not even Mikael, or Chris. And maybe it's a girl who can handle it better, but not Anna. She's too young.

She's small and young, but mature and absolutely astonishing to me in every way she does or doesn't do her purpose in life, but she's still 16 and I feel like a little kid, begging for her attentions.

And when there's werewolves and vampires spinning in your head, with football games and old school rivalries fueling the pain, nothing can be done and blankly you will stare into your computer screen with the music from the day that made you rethink your life and realize that you are dead.

Dear Bishop Moore,

I haven't written in a few entries because I believed we might be seeing each other soon. I was wrong. And I'm never writing to you again.

As Never,
Mariah.

Hymen me.

In English, let's say we miss the bunk bed travesty, though I put the basement ordeal out of my mind when I think of your body and mine, started to collide until I chickened out. My fault, I digress, but I was nervous and you grew since the last time we fucked, so I was bleeding. I never wished for blue balls to occur and now you say it never happened, but boy your memory of our sexual encounters are imprecise and always implicating that I was the instigator. Liar. When we speak, the everlasting bump on my head itches and I shiver to imagine your ceiling fan if it had been on full speed when it gracefully knocked my guts all over the top bunk's sheets. sorry for that, but your boxers stayed clean and so did I, because of Patrick and his eighth grade sense of humor. I'm still holding that grudge because The womanhood i possessed faded and you barely got to climax. No fair.

The grass is a light mauve where I stand, and you're on my front porch again, skateboard in hand, giving me hugs and telling me it's alright. We never would've lasted since the sex was all we knew, and when two people lose their virginity's to each other, I think a lesbian is born somewhere in the U.S.

I'm proud to have been with you, the fox of the hunt. But I loved my spot with Paul and now it's all been lost. If I cling to your majesty, parties, and jokes, please don't shrug me off because the thing about our relationship---it never seems to truly be over. You never really left, even when I kicked you out, swore at you, hit you, and hated you. We came together again and you saved me, Jacob Crisco, once in Lee Middle and now at Edgewater, I'm forever in your debt.
On the third hand, there's a horny vampire in a book I'm reading, reminding her to invade my dreams, and a rifle routine has learned to relax me while we can eavesdrop of Bishop Moore's excuse for a halftime show. I stick my hand down my throat while Mujeur tells me to cut it out. I am ashamed but glad I did it because Mrs Kane and mom talked but I refuse to return to hell now that I've gotten out.

I'm going to graduate from here with Rho Kappa chords on my neck and a diploma in my hand, stamped with stamps i cant imagine and walking away to a future of passion because I'm going to make something of myself, and I'll lie in my pasture every night, where the grass is just green and the weeds are just right.

disunderstandable

Filled with cigarette smoke, cars on empty tanks, and little girls with lice, my day was ultimately uneventful. If I contract that rash she has down there, I swear I'll kill myself and it would be a nice excuse to do it. They're a stubborn family, but can I blame them? She's the toughest girl I know and she reminds me of myself when I was trailing after Belle. Johnny Cash assembled a victory for my tears around noon and I almost fought a middle school teacher. In my defense, her attitude really was whack. There's this part of me that was exhausted but feeling edgy and anxious when I got home and sure enough, Edgewater called and I hate them even more, if that's possible. Their rules are unclear and procedures obscure, this will surely be the worst year of my life but I can't admit it. Honestly, I had loads of fun today but I could not enjoy it. I have nothing here and I want to go home. Home, Home. The Home I belong in.

I'm leaving this kidney stone alone and twisting this ankle to crawl an adventurous escape, full of daring and chivalry. My shins are purple from bruises and blows, while my arms have more holes than Camp Green Lake. I've avoided even seeing him since Thursday and I've pretty much succeeded, whether that's good or bad. My math class changed to never see his face and if I regret it, too late anyways so deal, like everything else in my life.

Except one thing. I am the prodigal daughter. I am the one who took the bread and asked for more, or laughed as they roasted my side, and I'm ready to take what's mine. Bishop Moore is in my grasp, trickling through the spaces between my fingers as Mommy Barnash asks if Lindsey's happy. She's not and if she were here, my life would be serene. I could handle life ten times more if we could reunite and forget the losers in our lives.

Live in Orlando, there's a show for poverty and breast cancer, whatever, to raise awareness, or anything else subjective. I was loved the same and watched Hannah Montana with infected children all morning, with plans to re-attend the establishment of so-called learning. This is why my life is to a point where death is simply inviting.

The wind was blowing my nostrils closed and my exhaled smoke all wiry through the car with children in it. Know better than to open your mouth around adults you cant comprehend because their accents are off and opinions are insecure. I did not miss anyone today. I missed myself. I got eagle eyes following my every step and if I trip it's over, back to basics, and going home, though I heard from Bon Jovi that it's easier when you comply. I can't go home. I say I cant go back. And I don't care where you've been, buddy, but quit bragging how awesome your hometown is and try to actually produce something real for once. Though i bought your song on itunes if only to die with it's falling chords.

I have sweat to emit and curly hair to knot and check for lice, so I am an ostrich with the head in the sand, etc.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Bishop Moore,

I wore your colors proudly. I smiled with loyalty, defended your constant evasiveness, and kept myself delighted with your array of activity cocaine. I got high off your simple pleasures like gourmet food from Aramark, Lockers inside a classroom with an insightful teacher, and lights on at every corner. Bishop Moore Catholic High School is not a dark place, that's for damn sure, but my eyes are finally adjusting to the quality of light in Edgewater, so I'm not sure it's worth coming home to you. This picture is the only one I have as proof that I once wore a uniform---and you can't even see the skirt. Well enough, because it was too short either way, but the point is that I could not stand you. To some degree, The feeling has not abated, but only calmed down a tiny bit. I'm not over it, and I pledge my revenge, but I can be your friend and remain civil. You can't do the same. This time--it's your fault.

As Always,
Mariah.

Forgive me Lingelbach.

I have my headphones in because I'm trying to ignore you. I've got a heart on the sand in Iraqi land, and if I can't cope, please cut me a slice and try to understand. Of the two evils, I suppose this is the lesser, though it's the worst I could imagine. I've lost my edge, if I ever had it, and I know now that everything good will someday end and that's part of life. Because if everything was always good, we wouldn't need a God to pray to and that's where the money is, evidently. Yes, I've got those sticky digits and I set them loose in your donation basket, forgive me for I'm a loser and winning was never the trend either way. There's this superstition about 11:11 and I blame it for the reason my life is a horrible conflict of suck and blow, because I wished for tranquility. Because I begged for peace and for help with that cheesy one-liner I said when she knocked on my door the first night. She was tempting my empty bed and I don't think there's anyone to accuse for what I am because I know I was born this way. So call it coming out, call it anything you'd like, but I think I'm gay. Actually, I'm pretty sure I am interested in the female persuasion. So shoot me. A dagger through my eye, and a knife to the clitoris, I'll take it for someone who shares the passion I have yet to muster and have reciprocated. There's an hour til the hour and I'm shaking fingers to breasts, the bones protruding through my chest, and mom banging on the door with a softball bat signed by a football player for the Jacksonville Jaguars in 2000. Dry as the Lake I know for sure I once saw in my head that day in the desert on a football field lacking water from sprinklers installed with my tax money, my nerves are pulsing like veins and you can see them through my skin, blue like the water I wish would pour, but never will because, let's face it, that's too much to ask for, right? Edgewater's the Devil, and it won't rain in Hell, so the heat is what I get used to with the dark people around being my executors, though aren't I supposed to be in charge? There's a loophole clause allowing me to write this because flag burning is legal but short shorts will send you home the fourth time with that D.J. junior lady barking her insanities and telling us how she must compensate for a failed marriage and children that hate her at twenty-three, a spite like Belle will always have for me, my kin, my kind, and my mind, but I couldn't give less of a piccolo player's cute blond hair. The horoscope she hordes will read tomorrow morning: The environmental wizard's ideals on Ron Paul are sure to fuck you over, so back off because he's not your type, hence he possesses male genitalia and that's such a turn-off. I'll placate the caring lover, the one who's wounded worst, and I'll do my best to make it clear how I don't expect retribution and how I think she should go for it with the effort of a raging beast I know she has in her because lord knows, I messed around with that monster all hours of the night and gave sweat and moans to the beautiful terror. and that's how I operate, but we're different people and I can't help with problems I don't estimate correctly. Probability and Statistics is teaching me that and I smile with each lesson I attribute to the real world and the inner working of a party I never knew existed until this very day I switched lunch periods and the grass was truly green. Now, I write this blog instead of an essay on Adam Smith because free enterprise is less appealing than texts of an orgasmic nature and questions of sexuality prose. I've resigned myself to reading Twilight against my better judgement after finding The Host was the greatest piece of fiction literature ever created and the person who introduced me to it is now a long-shot crush, with gorgeous red hair and a body to shoot an archer through the eye. I have a thing for red heads, I guess, which makes me laugh and lose my concentration so I fall down fourteen steps of almost white carpet strewn with broken hangers collapsed in the closet and relocated to the bedroom floor, ready to tumble my balance in all ideas of direction, surprise. We're sleeping on my couch, getting off a picture high, and passing out before the big game we're no longer apart of. And it's amusing because none of my best friends go to school with me. Lindsey is in Connecticut, the worst state of the fifty, Mikael has already graduated, Jacob remains at Bishop Moore, and Chris is in some Baptist Academy near Hunter's Creek, and, Anna, as we know, is still in Naperville where I would give my pinky to be, even if it meant never sipping tea poshly again. For sure, I will dress as an Aborigine and toss those crates over the boat for a cause I'm certain won't die. Because in the end, Rebellions settle disputes and I'm trying my best to deal.

Little Bit, or not, I said I'd sleep with him if worst came my way, and there's no time like the present, so I ignore that he has a girlfriend and try to imagine what our other friends will say. I live unhealthily vicariously through their misery and that's a weakness I'm working on. As well as procrastination, which is what I'm doing now, but at least it's a useful stimulate to save my sanity, or what's left from last March. So, yes I have prove that Josh wasn't here but there was Chris and Mikael and Jake, Jacob, Jordan, and Nick-Nick. I have to distinguish between the one who hurt me and the one I treated badly because the bus rides for band were way to encouraging without the squeals of delight for following yet another trend set by my friends. No i am not jealous so shut your fucking mouth and wipe that smile off, I hope you drown in your spit and cry the blood I dreamed of stealing from your rock-hard body I touched and caressed in secret then and still in secret today because I never told anybody and I don't think you did either. Thanks for that because I wasn't attempting to be a slut, she had that covered but I don't hold it against her, it's not my bag to carry. Offended? You bet your Bishop Moore diploma and graduation robe I am. If you want her, take her, cause I don't need this anymore. Oh god, his instant message gives me frenzies of the spine, while his texts are making me sigh from irritation. There's this unsnazzy CVS jazzy music reverberating through the cell phone I can't afford so let me taste the fruit of the womb, voluntarily from that Mary-chick in that book that starts with B. I'll never read it again, i swear, though I know it by heart anyways. So thanks, again, BM, I guess, but I really should go write that paper on my bud, Adam Smith.

"I tried to be perfect It just wasn’t worth it Nothing could ever be so wrong It’s hard to believe me It never gets easy I guess I knew that all along If you believe it’s in my soul I’d say all the words that I know Just to see if it would show That I'm trying to let you know That I’m better off on my own."

The Magical Handbag of hate

The skyline fades a broken frown upon all the company I stole today. From the early light with the dogs in sight, to the unfamiliar cigarette at the end of the night. My flip up phone has been diseased with triple thumbing curse because my texts portray thoughts i can't speak and surely shouldn't text. "Like last summer, remember?" he asks, as if I could forget. When his hair was long and turned me on and all I wanted was sex. But that same time, he was texting my best friends and they were thinking along the same lines. So we all got played and it happened again with the most unlikely character on the drumline, carrying a base and an attitude worthy of wrist-cutting, which I saw him do sometimes. For awhile it was three, but my priorities lie with her, so I ditched them and fell in love with a girl who would've killed me if only she had the heart. I'd love to murdered by the woman I dream of; It's erotic and painful, like pretending we're just friends. But Mikael caught me once and I think Jacob saved my life. I have a thing for dark unruly hair and an exaggerated outlook on life. I wasn't scared for his future because I figured he could handle it; that's what we said when we stopped being friends, and its what I apologized when we made amends. But that day he helped me skip school was the day we'd speak for the last time and God above, I wish we'd been saying something important.

"Hey Ry, you wanna turn arou--"

Cut off and unconscious, I think I heard said urgently. Oh my god, my head is on fire and pounding like I've been run over by an elephant. Shit, my whole body aches and I taste metallic blood on my tongue. I don't know what happened. My eyelids feel like cement as I urge them open and then close them as quick as I did. There was lots of flashing light and it immediately went to my migraine. I tried to lift my arm and cover myself, but it's trapped down and I cant seem to move it no matter how I try. My legs are numb and tingling, I think something sharp has impaled one of my knees, and anything under them is enfeeble. I can't wiggle my toes or stretch my cafes because it's like they're no longer part of my body; I can't even see them, they're covered in debris. I start to wonder what the effects of Ecstasy are in moving vehicles, because I think we may be stopped, but for me we're speeding down. I want to talk and say something but I refuse to re-open my eyes and my throat is scratchy like the first time I downed a fifth of vodka and how I puked directly after. Is there anyone to even talk to? Well, of course, Mikael just was asking me a question. And someone was telling someone else that I was out, but I'm trying to say I'm awake. Maybe it'll help if I can see who I'm supposed to be talking to. I shift the part of my thighs I cant still control and there's sharp pain. Instinctively, my eyes jerk alive and I watch thin lines on my legs open and press blood out as substantial shards of glass are deeper thrusts through skin layers of mine. Oh my God. My arms are strapped to my side--the seat belt, i think. The windows in front of me and to my side are shattered without an inch remaining and there's a black man in a uniform touching my face, using some tools on the car door. We got in a car crash and the complete absolute terrifying shock finally hits me. I jerk and flail about, trying to free myself. "Hold still or this won't work, honey. You need to be still for me if you want to stop hurting" someone I couldn't see was cooing behind my ear. I relaxed simultaneously and whispered only one thing, "Mikael?"

I will die in this story, too because Mikael and I have planned to die together. My coffin will be pink but the dress will be green and no one will cry because it'll be our party and we say so. I once told little Chris that if Paul and I ever broke up, it would be my extreme desire to fuck him, especially after I discovered my attraction after the events of my birthday. It's not a relationship love, but he's like my best friend and I would do anything for him. And hes extremely good-looking. How can I help it!? I truly have almost no more close girl friends. Anna will always be close, Meagan is amazing to have around, Kathy is great, and there's a couple kids in Band at Edgewater. I'm ignoring the BM kids cause they don't count; except for my cousin who always makes time for me except this past Saturday--whatever--There's Mikael and Chris and Lindsey and Jacob. Mikael is graduated, Chris is in Kissimmee, Lindsey moved to Connecticut and Jacob attends the Fag academy right now and is lost to the cause. Please someone enlighten them so I don't have to anymore. I only wonder who would show up to the wake if I did and what they would have to say. So do me a favor and pop open a bottle if someone i survive the grave

"Tell me why cant you see it's not the way

When we all fall down, it will be too late
Tell me why there's no reason we can't change.
When we all fall down, who will take the blame?"

The Plains of Carolina, North

There are no hills in Florida, yet Chase and I can brag and boast of our ungodly snowboarding skill. He brought in a picture, while I relayed some memories, and its a conspiracy because he knew Lucy when she was a child and that freaked me out some. The sound and sense of the world explains that no matter what, I'll be at school on Tuesday. And either way, I'll score high enough on the SAT to get a 90 grand grant for the College I spent the summer at. I'll step out of the attempt at poetic prose and tell you that i took Fiction Writing I, Poetry Workshop, and Marketing Goes to the Movies this past July. Next summer, I will take Fiction Writing II, Backstage Production, and Theory of Music (or Unarmed Stage Combat).

Anarchy took that last class this past session and I got to see him hug his mommy, while we teased in absurd british accents. There's this draw I have to music she listened to and now it doesnt sound so bad at all and I buy it on Itunes when it could be free on limewire. There was an Epiphany last night, not like a dream, but an actual revelation and it reminded me of all those fucking people I'm trying my best to forget. I woke before it ended so I'll never know. I'll swallow my cinnamon flavored guitar shaped mints from Hard Rock Cafe and try to forget the Prom I went through. You cant eat your enemies, Mariah, just hush, love, hush, and wait for the revenge to come. I'm waiting.

After 11:01pm this evening, CVS will have fully paid for the debt I owe to the bank and maybe something extra to buy myself something nice. I did do the thrift store thing and I enjoyed it thoroughly much. Granted, we stopped at Kmart and Ross, but I had to get those jeans or I think I might've died. I even got a dress and some dress code shorts. I'll be damned to be sent home again for violation when I've spent an equivalent to eleven years in elite Private education, with a uniform painted on and smile forced by an electric cattle prod and God. Thank God for Mikael, he talked me into the 24.00 overshirt thingie which is probably why I have no money for cigarettes. I smoked one of mom's last night and I am reduced to this. I rearranged my room and now I truly see the mess, though I dont feel like cleaning it up yet. I aspired to photograph the way my room looks like a disaster currently, but I left my camera under Mikael's passanger seat when we made passionate love in the heat. Of course I'm lying, but it's a nice story and hell, it rhymed. It's too late for faith and I need to jump in the shower soon, and maybe I'll stand still for long enough to wake up and grow up and maybe buy a clue.

Dear Bishop Moore,

So it's the weekend, but I saw Kelly Bee's album on senior year with golden shirts and re-sewed skirts, that ought not be hemmed even for the comfort of sinking the cotton in this upgraded Florida stimulated heat. The temperature is rising, and so are their blouses, exposing their midrifts and I enjoy it like all the boys, admiring from where I was, pretending to be looking at the sky, making up my mind that I know where I stand and I'm proud. Easy enough, they took no notice maybe since Gabi and Theresa, the school has begun to accept different types of people, as long as they dont claim catholisicm. Believe me, I dont, though I know you tried so hard. I never took your damn communion, and I never will. God is a superstituion, and Bishop Moore is a flase Prophet. You abandoned me and God saw it. Now you fucked, cause he's going to whip out some ancient Jew whoopass on your souls. Then i might be believe. I don't envy you. I feel sorry for you, and Belle, and Lucy and Jessie and Joe and the tangled webs they weave. Here's what you did to my friend; you killed them, you ruined the people i helped bring out, the people everyone loved. Jessie dated Josh, who's dating Krystal, who dated Bob, who dated Lucy, who dated Joe, who is now dating Jessie. And this is what they have done to themselves and I dont feel one sliver of sorry. I lost my friends, you lost a devoted follower, and in the end, we all lost our dignity because everyone has done shit to be ashamed of. Especially you, BM, because the issue with me on colorguard was low and I swear I'll write it one day.

As Always,

Mariah.

Driving without bullets

"The History of the world, my love.
is those below serving those up
above. How gratifying for once to know
that those above will serve those
down below!"

Arriving overdone, used, and content with the cycle we've depended on since last March, I had to sign to keep this package. It's vicious and horrible, but they don't even know they're a part of it. I wonder how insane you need to be to ignore your impending doom. I'll be the official videographer, but I'm not wearing the yellow shorts! That's going to far because black and gold are not my colors anymore, would it be rude to announce my loyalty by wearing red and white? I might take on the bandanna, because that's part of the football game style, however the face paint is out of the question and I don't think Barker will let me hang out with you, so I'll bring Mikael and Chris for support, hoping and begging it looks like I'm fine.

There's two posts in one day because I needed to do this now. Sweeney Todd is an odd way to describe it, but I feel like Johanna, sans Anthony the singing sailor and his long-ish girly hair.

Are you interested in the ride we take, like her? Don't think it's safe, I can assure you, it ain't. Demons and monsters attack 'round ev'ry corner and in the end we learn to respect the french-ish foreigner. With tattoos shaped the mockery I was made and a decision kept to assuage the pain, the shades are spotted and drapes are stained, in the house I learned was my domain. Usage on the frontier is coming to a halt, while her low-neck cleavage abruptly stops because she was ever only an A cup anyways, and the shame of the thoughts made me drop and do twenty for myself and the discipline I've attempted to gain. Power failure's and epic falls, landing on the sweaty grass of blood and jerseys, the wind will drag your six-foot-poll and the gloves you bought are sure to unravel, because gravity acts on things that go up and it's novel to imagine they wont come down. The sound of the music, the glare of the screen, and the history of ambiguity all add up to the experience of "we." As if we'd known how sorry we'd be, once we learned that she was the key, and the door was locked, nothing to see, so how can I possibly compete?It's fair and share when you think of the ground, pounded on with abstract nouns, strung together like beads from the show, gold and painted by celebrated artist we'll never pay to view in a gallery. It's not our actions that show who we are, it's the thoughts we mention and those we do not. And if it's not to last, then who am I to say? I can't do anything but write and complain, Belle, I wish we could be together now, at last. But nothing you could do would rearrange the past. I'm feeling your skin and inhaling the scent of the urges I felt and repressed. Alms! Alms! for a miserable girl, fornicating with the air of desire and despair. Only two dollars for a gander over yonder where we've discovered the heart and sealed it in a bulletproof glass encasement. I want to bomb the terraces of your lost promises and make you cry the tears I lost in the cause. For the greater good, I've held my tongue and it's sour with backwash and bittersweet memories I burned the night she left me forever and all, back to France in her Castle of Beasts, devoured by her BMW and perfect lives led by feasts and indulged weaknesses, I let slide and overlooked because I felt more for you than I ever should've and that was my fault, but you had a hand in it. You pumped water into my lungs and held my nose while I drowned and suffocated in your so-called love.

"I'm alive at Last and I'm full of Joy!" He screamed and I felt the same as he. And if i ever received a compact mirror, I'd steal it in my pocket with a watch the roofers stole in a previously written Blog for the sake of myself and only I. The Ambiguous meal occurs when my stomach rumbles for apology, revenge, and blatant sorrow. What started as joke became my life giving motto and encouraged a brand new mode of operations, commonly referred to as an M.O. regarding the dark and death, surrounded by grief, but for me, it's relief with this city on fire and Mischief (!) lurking like I did while she slept as soundly as the wind on a white leather couch I gave and delivered to a cousin's house on Vassar Street, where I lived for three months and was eventually kicked out, like I always am. Don't get used to anything good, or anything bad, because it changes like the mood swings she has on those days the stress rises and so do the bills and debt, I never attributed to but am held responsible for as a member of our so-called family. The cliques are formed and I've lost my own because he feels its time to part before Chicago. My city has betrayed me and is now the cause of my depression today, in case you could not tell, it's grey and droll like Orlando because it's raining and here comes Hurricane Hannah, bringing category worthy winds and whitecaps consuming this 100-year building constructed for golfers and judges in the distant decades back forty years past.

I ramble on this page and nobody ever reads it, so it's safe and mine like Anna was. Like Belle could have been. and like Bishop Moore is preserved in my memory, focusing on the positive because the negative brought me here and the dwelling stage has gotten old and moldy like an uncrustable I found under my bed in an attempt to clean up the mess I can't see. Mayer plays and wails of the place I'm trying to be, the person I'm doing everything I can to emulate. The best days were the ones I can't remember, nor even begin to explain. I forget the times I knew nothing more than the happy life i lived and the security of ignorance and naivety.

I might have thought of killing you. I might have written stories where you were dead and played out scenes in my mind of breaking in your skull, or shooting you in your head, with brains splattering all over the pavements below or the grass, depending on where I decided to kill you that day. but I didn't. they were empty threats and heavy bluffs, but no bullets to back it up and means to succeed, like everything else, my love.

a horse of an Edgewater color

Chicago's seven states away with the girl and the guy and the one she's trying so hard to lose her virginity to and no matter what I do, it can't physically be me because I'm a girl and it sucks. I read that poem in English and now find myself wearing a fairy costume for extra credit on the Tuesday follwing Labor Day.

There's this thing about balloons, when you inflate them and feel a tingly sensation in your cheeck and I hate it, but damn I love balloons. I get that tingly feeling even when I'm nowhere near whatever the material it is they make those things with--plastic? hell if i know, but I know one thing and that's history and Happy Birthday McCain, you are one old fuck, And I was going to vote for you until you made that Sarah-chick you're running mate. Now, when you die in office, that small-town Alaska governor is going to rule us? Like hell. It's time to Barack the vote, despite his color, and ignoring the fact that he's only been a senator for four years. If I hear one more time the so-called connection between Obama and Lincoln, proposed by Obama himself, I will endorse Nadore because he's obviously the only true candidate in this handicap race. America isn't ready for this--shit, Earth isn't ready for this campaign and it's lost but there's nothing I can do 'til June.

How do you explain to an Ap Literature teacher why you're miserable and why you were expelled from two different private Catholic Schools? This is not rhetorical, I really dont know, so if you happen to stumble across an answer, inform me via email, sincerely.

Dear Bishop Moore,

You were gorgeous today, with your lavish golden shirts, glimmering in the sun, and the tall palm trees metaphorically explaining to me that I could never measure up and now my chance is lost. I enjoyed the new look you've given the Band Hallway, paper and pictures gallore. Nice new skirts, by the way, I guess the girls are miserable there, too? See, here's the thing: Would I rather have been sitting in the band room listening to percussion make obnoxious noises after a difficult day in remedial classes wearing a hideous excuse for a uniform? No, I was completely content to sit in the car with Mikael, no AC, blasting out Bob Marley or Jimmy Cliff or whoever it was, jonesing for a smoke on campus and getting anxious at coming home again. I'm not being sarcastic for once. I was happy to be there with him in the car, just visiting, because Bishop Moore was never home and could never be again. I strategically avoided dress code violation, and I commend you for perfecting my charismatic skills with adults of the teacher proffession. She was enamored and pleased so I was saved from spending another day at home, where everything lingers sullenly, it's not the place I wish to spend time at. However, i was tardy for class and i blame you for failing to instil puntuality in you number one student; Mariah Frances Anderson. I was back today and yes it was hard, but Mikael was there, and I received more hugs than on my birthday because people remembered my name. So altogether, it wasn't a waste, and I bought new clothes for school afterwards because I'm not obliged to wear a conformity costume. Fuck the Hornets; Eagles fly HIGHER.

As Always,
Mariah.

"I wanna run through the halls of my high
school. I wanna scream at the
top of my lungs. I just found out
there's no such thing as the real world,
Just a lie you've got to live above"

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.