I cant fucking stand turkeys, so I eat them.

I knew quitting smoking would be a bad idea. Now I realize why my mother never even attempted. I have not slept for more than three hours since I started this battle two days ago.

When I closed my eyes, I saw her sitting cross-legged in front of me on the balcony of our Houston condominium. I gestured down the street, where someone had left their blinds open and their TV on.

“Other people need to sleep to the television too, I guess. It’s not just you.”

She laughs and turns to look while I stare at her—how her hair flows when her heads turns, how her body stretches provocatively and how the pajamas she borrowed from me accentuate every curve of her body. I wanted her so badly, I could feel my body temperature rising.

“Remember when you were kicking me off your bed and I knocked that shitty TV over? And you fell asleep on your living room floor because you were addicted to it.” We both laughed and fell into a comfortable silence.

“I’m glad we’re friends again, Krystal, and that you came to Houston with me. After everything that’s happened—it’s nice to know someone will be there when you really need them.”

She smiles because she never talks in my hallucinations. In real life, if she talks to me, it’s to yell or insult me or somehow hurt my feelings. That’s why my mind keeps her silent, I think.

I opened my eyes, a good idea since they’re swelling up with tears. When my sleeve wipes them, the fabric grazes my skin and it feels hard and cruel. It scratches me, bringing a new onslaught of delusions.

This one is more like my dream every night.

I sit on the same balcony I imagined she one did. My cigarette is almost finished, and the cherry is the brightest thing for miles once the morning fog settles in. It’s almost five in the morning. Doors are shutting from houses below the eleventh floor, where I watch. Little kids are waving goodbye to their mommies and daddies. A car rolls by with tinted windows and a base I’m sure is loud enough that even my house back home can feel. It sends vibrations through my body and makes me shiver, though there’s only a tiny breeze surrounding.

I look up at the clouds that are slowly fading away and in them, I can see her face. Her teeth, how insecure she was of them because the front ones are less straight than the rest, are white as the walls in this stuffy company apartment. Her skin is as tan as it was after the many beach trips we took instead of going to school. The best part about her is that she is smiling at me. She looks friendly, inviting. So, I stand up. My cigarette falls from my hand, almost in shock, that I’m seeing Krystal in the sky, and even worse, she’s being friendly. She gestures for me to take her hand, and I know she’s far away, but I step onto the railing and climb to the ledge anyways.

I let the air encase me and I revel in the excitement of being in her warm arms again, of being in her favor. I take a step forward and falter, because there’s no more ledge. She’s almost pleading with me now to join her, but, again, she’s silent so she uses her eyes; those damn copper coins I can’t avoid, lie, or stand firm against. I nod, and shrug in a careless way, before jumping to reach her outstretched fingers.

Then her face disappears, I wake up in panic, and realize how close the street below is coming to my face. I hit the ground before my screams leave my throat and I die. But my last thought is always that she didn’t mean to kill me because she loves me.

Writing this is a horrible idea. Talking about it is worse, true, but if this gets recognized as my life, my secret will be out. Talk about your walk-in closet—mine has everything I need. I’ve lived in that closet for about two years now.

I built it when I kissed Lucy at her sixteenth birthday party. That was a lifetime ago, but still detrimental to the forming of my decaying heterosexuality.

However, this story doesn’t start at the beginning. It cant. Nope, this sordid teenage saga begins with a great American symbol for the end of the childhood and the start of a new frightening journey: Graduation.

rewind.

When I close my eyes
It's Sophomore year. I can share smiles with Krystal without questioning my sexuality. I can kiss and do naughty things with boys I only just met the night before.
I can talk a big game about weed and weasel my way out of actually smoking it with so-called acquaintances. I can fail Biology and know that someday I'll actually repeat it. I can pretend to have a hangover because I took an acting class in fourth grade where I was the alcoholic housewife. I can kiss any of the girls at Lucy's party because they're all my best friends and we'll be together forever.

And then I open my eyes. And I'm here. Senior year. I can think of Krystal having sex with Josh and it makes me want to cry. I lost the best boyfriend I'll ever have because of my issues with Bishop Moore and how fucking dramatic I am. I don't want to talk about weed beause I realize how immature that state of mind is. If Ifail a subject this year, there's no time to repeat beause we're graduating in June,but it's not like you can fail our of Edgewater, though I'm sure I could do it if I wanted. I drink and I call their cellphones in tears because I haven't any real friends. Big Surprise. I can't kiss girls without falling in love with them. I have attatchment issues now more than ever. And I lost all my friends in the worst way possible. It took one day.

Not even one day, it took two texts. just a few key words to completely change everything I ever wanted or needed or dreamed or experienced.

The guard season is over, I'm stuck in texas, and god, I hate my fucking life.

Oh, here it goes!

The Mad Hatter makes a triumphant return with the epic new idea of riding in cars with boys and parking in the church of the middle school i was thrown out of in October 2004. Novel, right?

So yes, fine, Jacob and I did it. I call him Axel in my mind. We had sex, big-fucking-deal. I wanted to. Why? because I did! Because I got tired of Lucy and Jessie and everyone putting their stake on him whilst I stood, a mile away at Edgewater with nothing to do. Lucy was using him. Jessie was ignoring him. Krystal hated him and everyone else just tolerated him. Equally, everyone hates Danielle. So, was it such a bad thing? Danielle gets the picture, so Jacob gets what he wants. They're all completely ignoring both he and I, so I get what I want. Why does it feel like I lost more than I gained when I never had them to lose in the first place?

And Sir Asshole-of-Scotland began to text me. Ha! What a joke! everything he said? went in one ear and our the other. Maybe it would hurt if the things he said came from someone who mattered----but he's nothing and I bet he's proud of himself. Pathetic.

And i hear I made Danielle cry. I feel guilty, really I do, but there's no reason for it. No, i did NOT sleep with him in order to piss her off. As if someone like her could ever make me do anything i didn't want to do. Sure, i mentioned to Emma and Kaleigh that I was glad it was going to hurt Danielle. And I said they should tell her, because if she's going to obsessively stalk somebody, she needs to hear about this, but that does not under any circumstance prove that Danielle was a key factor in this decision.

What was it he said? "Nobody here has any respect for you"

HA HA!!!!!! Who's the man who can't get the band to follow? Who's the boy who's been begging his girlfriend for sex when he doesn't even know her middle name? And lastly, why would he want to know explicit details of Jacob's sex life? Emma better watch out, if I were her, I'd be worried for the sexuality of my so-called "boyfriend."

Final point: If I ever care for the respect of the black and gold brigade, I'll be sure to keep that in mind, Bob, thanks for opening my eyes!

I hope this message finds you well.

Dear Bishop Moore,

I know I said I wouldn't write, but you've practically begged for my involvement with this slew of unexplained expulsions. You see, I withdrew before it became the 'cool' thing to do. I began the trend, so give me some credit, please. I question why L.W. and her cowboy-boot wearing bitch were suspended for an excess of hashish, while I was on the curb for texting about a possible drug deal. You got my buddy Joe this week and could you have picked a weaker man? He's not as strong as me and he's suicidal without you. Doesn't honesty count for something? He's bitter, and angry, yet miserable, and upset. There's nothing I can do for him. It's not my job to bring your ex-students under my wing and give my advice. He isn't learning a lesson, ya'know, just like I never did. You're hurting him. I want to commend you on breaking the spirit of a boy who could've made you proud.

And while we're on the subject---what could possess you to expel Meghan "Perfect'' Morgan?! Out of all the popular, rich, spoiled kids atyour school, you pick the one with the most promising future. She was going to make you famous. She's got plans for her life and Bishop Moore was going to be a part of it. Your loss. And I guess she'll learn that in therapy.

You see, we all had stock in something before you kicked us out. Joe was band, the woodwind section specifically, Meghan's was academics, she was third in her class for Christ's sake, and mine was my friends, who you turned against me and I lost them the day before I was expelled. We all hurt and we all had different degrees of wrongdoing, do we all deserve the same punishment? How did this come about? 23 students forced to withdraw? You poor, sad, pathetic establishment. You'll be sorry this ever went down.

If you like Obsession...

It appears she's having sex now with Tubby McMohawk. I hope he wasn't on top. This weakens my desire for her. It's a catastrophe, I said, how one burnt cancer stick can change the mood and leave me stranded at Walgreen's when shit! work starts in five minutes...I work at CVS.

I wish i could abandon my vices, but first I have to find them. I don't really need to stare at her picture anymore, it's embedded whether I like it or not. And the funny thing is, It hadn't have been March it would've been November. I'm not exactly proud, but he's luckier than I was. Jessie left school for Joe, while I wasn't worth a text and I still never am. Lucy's crying her heart out while for me, it was a 'sorry but you brought this on yourself'.' Doesnt anybody realize that he did worse than me, but they feel worse for him?

inconceivable. Now my cousin's getting hickey's from my girlfriend and my ex-boyfriends pants are bunched by her bed., could this year get any stranger? The perfect specimen of a teenage daughter was expelled from Bishop Moore on Friday and it's impossible to comprehend. What exactly deserves expulsion? Abandonment? Who are they holding responsible?

I did not invent the yellow-brick road

There are cults for neon orange shoelaces and in a former life, I might've been keen to pledge. A man in his greasy hot dog bun approached me and asked me for the time, but I had none to give. And there is a killer thriller black line strip down the side of my bangs, or at least there would be, if it didn't permeate and take of three quarters instead. I have this dream with a wall of mirrors and it keeps getting bigger and more distorted. I call it my future. Reinstated as the fairy princess, expulsion-expert and entrepreneur, I flew to Paris and was back before the Sabbath candles were blown out by Rabbi Joel. No, I was not taking a stab at Jews because baking is easier than knifing, if that makes conniving sense, it doesn't.

I had a sequin belt but I lost it to the cause, with those emo peace shirts and so-called 'break' scene that's still a scene so they're still scene kids, right? We're supposed to knuckle them in their brows, which reminds me of the wax I bought, but it's sitting upstairs since it isn't pleasant and altogether too difficult. I died by a rifle and for once, you were sorry, I wish it happened for real.

Once Upon an Age, with wrecked Gingerbreads and cars he drove to the rail, I saw him on a cross, trying to prevail. But as always with chicks and automobiles, He ended up under the wheels, and I never saw him again, I guess, the End, I guess.

I am the bitch of living, and I have a cardboard thinking cap to prove it.

oh that smarts!

Anne Frankenstein and Gavin Degraw married and I was their baby. Then a wizard left me on the doorstep of 3438 Fairway Lane because he didn't want me to grow up famous; in another secret magical world, I am a celebrity.

Late for first period again after skipping election day. Obama won and the assembly was too senior for my tastes so I went to the dog park and smoked before Kelly picked me up. The walk to CVS was cold and windy and I didn't have my ipod for once. My jeans are not hemmed so I've been walking on the back and my left toe has black hair dye on it from a home kit that really fucked up my bangs.

It's evident the taco half of this establishment takes precedence, I said. Then she smiled and ordered succulent shrimp scampi. Rich was still Rich today and he scared the bejesus out of me when he questioned my taste of chicago shirt. Tevin Campbell got involved too after 8:00 and it's buzzing my eardrums now. It's a Goofy lifetime, man, and Florida is a bad state to be in gay in. I gave a guy a nickel today because he asked for sense and that's all his was worth at the time. Then he showed me up by buying a beer and toasting in my five-cent honor. There are nicotine squares, crumbs in my backpack, and sparkly glitter stuck to my old moleskine because white-out apparently does not dry like rubber cement---Should've had a V8.

You know what today is right? Remember, remember the fifth of november, the gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.

she mentioned, 'You're safe here', and I guess i offended her when I laughed. I took photoes the day I got expelled so i could never forget. I look at myself now and I know I wont. Ever.

"Open up your eyes take a look at me
If the picture fits in your memory
I've been dreaming by the rythym like the beat of a heart
And i won't stop until I start to stand out
Some people settle for the typical things
Living all their lives waiting in the wings
It ain't a question of 'if', just a matter of time
Before I move to the front of the line

And once you're watching every move that I make
You gotta believe that I got what it takes

To stand out
Above the crowd
Even if I gotta shout out loud
'Til mine is the only face you see
Gonna stand out
'til you notice me"

today is the day I started all this shit. Five years ago, I was kicked out of the buildings with hallways and bars and detentions, and little grey lockers I had my name and my pictures in. There were teachers who could cry almost as hard as me, and books I wrote threats in the year before so why would it matter the October of my 8th grade graduation I ask you?

I'm super sick. I am sweltering in 49 degree weather. I am freezing when the fire is smoking and my nose is running like an avalanche. I have no cell phone---it's been stolen. I have no life in other words. I have no sweater and all my so-called friends are a bunch of fucking liars.

But I have Mikael. and Chris. and Emma, Kaleigh, sometimes Lucy as well, I guess.

but I feel helpless and worthless and I have to wonder why all my shit is always being jacked.

I should not be surprised, it's October 28th, you know.

It's the bitch of living.

"There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold and she's buying a stairway to heaven. And when she gets there she knows if the stores are all closed with a word she can get what she came for.

There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure cause you know sometimes words have two meanings. In a tree by the brook there's a songbird who sings sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.

There's a feeling I get when I look to the west and my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees and the voices of those who stand looking.

And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune, then the piper will lead us to reason. And a new day will dawn for those who stand long and the forest will echo with laughter

If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now, it's just a spring clean for the may queen.Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run there's still time to change the road you re on.

Your head is humming and it wont go, in case you don't know, the pipers calling you to join him. Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow? And did you know, your stairway lies on the whispering wind.

And it makes me wonder."

---Stairway to heaven, Led Zeppelin

There's a small sliver of hope for happiness all the way in Colonial. I want it, I want it, I want it soooo bad. I'll be the Meruca, crying and whining for an Oompa Loompa and I'll pay you in hard work if it means I can march with your guard.

I'd go to Boston for you. I would follow you there, I almost did the first time, kiddo, when you went to Chicago instead. There's no "R" in ejected or "fuck you" but I'm sure you've gotten my point.

I'm not a divorce. I do not pretend. I am not a nervous wreck and I am never lost for words. The cat gets whipped for biting my tongue and the horses know better no matter the weather to never kick the bucket at me. I don't put effort in the way that I look because I'm confident no matter what I wear. I am outgoing, fun, exciting, witty, and intelligent. I keep my distance from people who I think will hurt me. I separate myself from painful situations and I never EVER get stressed. I am the new, re-newed, and re-written Mariah and my middle name now stands for "Bitch."

I've got a sure stairway to heaven, do you think? Do they think I want this? Oh who knows? I've got Economics, Government, and an awesome rock box for AP Environmental with no sense of accomplishment because it has been ordained to suck ass.

kill me with those apples, stab me please with your kiwi, I will allow this food fight torture in this thing I call my head. Pick me up now and then drop me I just need to find a bed, I'm will fuck your living brains out or just choose to die instead. It's the bitch of living. As it were, she's speaking creole and I can't translate a word. Now my phone will collapse in vibrate as they lock the parking gate, I know you're good in life girl and you know I think that's great. It's the bitch of living. Inventing your own words. It's the bitch of living and getting shot down like the birds. Does she see my suicide? Will she give a shit? Maybe when I'm dead. Please ready me a casket, I think I'll prove her worth. This cant be it...Oh god, what a bitch.

I'll stop a fucking war for you.

so when I looked in the mirror this morning, I saw the person I didn't want to become. The girl who cares for meaningless reminders alluding to an enjoyable, or less pleasant, existence at a riddiculous highschool with children who never learned to share. The captain who cant get off her vices, let alone attend an entire week of school. The little baby who needs to get over stuff, and let the trivial trials of almost normal occurances slip past because in the real world, they never matter.

I guess the mirror taught me something. Because I realized I am that girl. I will always be that girl. There is no reason for me to pretend. I try all the time, but I am the epic failure of the better part of College Park.

They stole my makeup. I'm whining like a three-yr-old but I dont give a shit. It was my idea first, they saw it and called it theirs. That is fucking stealing. If it were a paper, it would be plagerism and punishable by law. Thats wrong. There's nothing I can do about it and while that black eye heals I hope you think of me and get as pissed as I am tonight. I hope you cut your goddamn wrists like you did when you hated your moms boyfriend, how you were when Jordan could get his dick hard enough to fuck you, and when you realized that I wasn't the best thing in the world for you. You want to discuss secrets? I'll write a fucking book about you. With your name, your address, and everything you ever told me, honey. I'll start a fucking war for you. I'll stop one, if I have to. Anything to make you feel the way I do. You could use a healthy dose of reality and pain.

Half my problem is is melodramatization. If I didn't already know that, I would be dressing up in my white polo shirt and plaid grey skirt every morning instead of dirty jeans and wrinkled tees.

so shoot me, I'm finished with your accusations through texting, your open theivery of things you know will hurt me, and words you flip out like last nights garbage, full aware that it will kill me. Because I have No self-esteem. and I cant get over it. Or you, really.

please, just give me back my life, my mind, and my thoughts and I swear we'll call it even. I'm sorry I pulled your hair.

Normal Adolescent Behavior

Somehow she manages to take the most boring pictures with a vibrant camera lens. And she'll mess with her makeup, toss around that hair, grit those cocaine stained teeth at me, as if I'm the reason she can't get off. I'll wear too much and be a raccoon, nocturnal and obsessed with things that shine. Thats why I'm attracted to girls, no lie, they sparkle with feminine glory, no doubt. My junk, consists of love and passion, intertwined, as I'm trying to relive you with me in those rainbow sheets. Headfirst sliding into orlando's pool, covered in paint and sweat and something else we won't mention, but it's milky and white, and fuck, a tad bit blue as well.We were a family, I know we were. We stopped the sex after we got our morals, and the drinking was over, the smoking was done, yet I still had a beer in my hand, and cigarettes stuffed between my fore and middle finger. Take your stupid pictures, I haven't a care and you have nothing I want, my dear. Put them on your websites, I promise not to tell a soul or tag you as the latest cross-county bag of slut, which you are and always were and most likely always will be.Darling, don't cry. I can't stand to see that face and that mascara trailing down like little ants scurrying in their lines. You are an ant, to me at least, and if I get the chance, you can be assured, I will step on you with all the force of my broken foot laced in a new green converse shoe. Here's the best part, she wrote better at thirteen than I do at seventeen and I hate her for it with all the love I despise of her.

When Axle was all tripped out on roses, I was there. When he cut his wrist while crying by the dumpsters behind the bowling alley, I wrapped the scars. When we were in the movie theatre and Queerman had a panic attack and they stopped the film, turned on the lights, and almost called the paramedics, when in reality he was just shocked by something I said to him about sex...the next night, when he lost his virginity and wanted to kill himself for pounding into a girl like an animal. When the tall drunk girl almost died because I let her drink too much even though I knew people with diabetes can't do that. When the slut of 2009 moved. To Conneticut and left me here where we got seventh place and we've yet to talk, though I have dreams about it constantly.When Lu was on stage and inspired to help her brother get off drugs because she hated it so much she did it with Chris every weekend while I was in Chicago. Or how JessiKem mananged to hid from me from two months that she had been arrested for stealing earrings from Claire's. How much I was in love with Belle, How i tried to conceal it, and how every day during free period I would explain to Megan Morgan, the prodigy and delightful heiress, that no matter what, I could never date the irresistable "Kevin."Those were the best days of my life, but it's all fucked up now. Lu and JessiKem were supposed to be best friends, but ever since Joe broke up with Lu and dated JessiKem before dumping her and going back out with Lu, they're on the fritz. and Even Krystal had issues when she stole Josh from JessiKem who liked him first, and they're still dating, but Krystal's ex, Bob is now dating Emma, who's Kaleigh's best friend, and she's the only one I hang out with now and then. Or we could go into last year, How Jacob kissed Lucy and then told me he wanted me and then kissed Jessie the very next day. Or even Mikael, who liked all four of us and changed his mind constantly about being gay. Jeremiah, who he dated, who also dated Jessica, who I happen to have an enormous crush on. It's confusing and insane, and I cant remember how I ever lived through it.Maybe I didn't and I'm now coming off the best high of my life. I can only hope as much.

Excludes Prescriptions, Alcohol, Gift Cards, Lottery, Money Orders, Postage Stamps, Pre-paid cards and Tobacco Products.

They are lettering material and I am composing tarmac. Hell yes, I find irresistibleness with girls. No, I'm not lesbian; I'm straight as the yardstick he slapped me with when I told him I thought he smelled bizarre. There were boys with boy effects and boy language and boy procedures and I enjoyed them. Boy odor, boy chortle, and boy smirk. I enjoyed those six months-- "the boy months of 2008"

here is no girl I'm in love with--I just think they're pretty, is all. Women have a way with articulation, with imagery, and splendor like never understood by men. Men try to inscribe it, but Shakespeare hadn't an accommodating inkling. He never met the incomparable Anna Gaca.

Out of six-hundred twenty-five-- three-hundred forty-two actually reveal being in love with female counterparts. This is not a suggestion. This is unpolluted happenstance because I am not in love with a girl and I will marry when I grow up---not to a girl. Well, maybe if a girl was ever like the girl I met in Chicago. It's peculiar...she's not even the same girl as back in July. Or at least, in my mentality, she's dissimilar. Pedestal, pedostool, either way, she's up there, but that doesn't mean I'm in love with her! Boys are adequate for now, thank-you.
But one day---NO. I am not in love with girls, I have a high regard for their tenderness. I just emulate the untainted delicateness, the general elegant curse they plant into everything around them. Girls are just pleasing, no matter what, and they always will appeal to me, but I am not in love with girls!

I dreamt I walked athwart Lake Michigan, but Michigan wasn't on the other side, Los Angeles was, and I was pissed for trying to contact Chicago and failing epically. Like I said; the distinction between concrete and asphalt, the peak of stairs in a six-story building. Word, you’re killing me. You’re piercing and sharpening and making it bleed. These jade underlines and scarlet squiggly lines are driving me insane. I heard that word is valued. I agree. But how long until they get that way? They can’t just go on the page and instantly they are magically precious. There has to be something—an incantation, maybe? So something I’m missing. If you figure it out, call me Al. I’ll be at the bottom of lake Michigan, holding onto the oxygen tank for dear life, and still searching for the Emerald City underwater.

It’s an ornery day full of strange occurrences, so please excuse the sheer mariahness of a covert operation.

Sour skittles

I now have three feet and the balls to say that crocs are the ugliest shoe-thing to ever have been produced, I hate them like I hate your smile, your nose-twitching, and your ability to make me laugh when I'm about to kill a man, or woman, or whichever is more convenient, really.

That felt nice to scrape off my tongue. "He hasn't got taste buds yet, silly," she giggled, and I just sat to pout for an extra hour while the kid was changed, fed, and burped. I wish I was given that much attention for crying and bitching about life.

I had one shot, one chance, one opportunity, to seize everything I ever wanted. I tried to capture it, but I let it slip. I filled out an early decision application (the one where you check saying that if you get accepted you will go no matter what) to the WRONG college. In my defense, it has the same name, but a different location, address, symbol, etc.

I meant it for Columbia College Chicago.
it went to Columbia College in South Carolina...

...This is why you need a prescription for the dosage of Oxy i swallowed before my shift.
It isn't outrageous, I swear, though I wish it were so maybe for once I could obtain your level of perception, just once.

My list of girls I gave you? was false because you are number one and always will be no matter what and who I meet.
you will be graceful in the mind of mariah. Always.

And in a perfect world, Krystal would be my best friend, I would be at Bishop Moore, but Anna and I would be planning to move in together in chicago at columbia once the semester started. and Krystal would visit, and I would visit her in whatever college she decided on, i guess. the future is all too murky where i swim, and the alternative universes are driving my brain inside itself. cor.

Did you know that i'm doing all of this stuff to end up in your blog? but i dont.
and i wont.

The curtain called, I'm out.

Constantly Risking Absurdity*

Hey, rie, the alarm is on.

yeah, i noticed.



Iambic in your marching,
formal with a white laced glove,
artistically stained with deep maroon blood.

At once, I found a path uncovered,
a life I strive to lose,
a game I did not participate,
a choice I failed to choose.

Tried to save this page for you, tried to be as strong.

I feel closer to the sky than you, because the Lexus is raised and I'm tilted on our axis. There were more than three fights today. Over something as ridiculous as a Bishop Moore uniform, after I paid for the gas myself. Sad songs remind me of how horrible of a 24-hours I've had. Worst than the day I was expelled.

Hopefully, it'll get easier. But I made the mistake of applying to the wrong Columbia College---kill me.

LondonInkSpot: Tu, ma chèrie, es overattaché à les petites choses qui n'ont pas d'importance.

you think I don't know that by now?

They need to stop talking about me. I'm not this morning's gossip. So, I drank. I might've hit the pipe, and "yer darn right" I kissed both of those boys since they were as trashed as I was. I also didn't get caught, but this is the price I pay. I wasn't trying to be mean to Emma, but, fuck she told. I told her I was sorry. But I've fought with Kathy, Mary, Diane, Guard, Kaleigh, Emma, and Joe today. Not to mention mother dearest.

The ultimate social experiment is a course to discover why in the world I care.
I haven't spoken to Anna in awhile and it sorta bothers me, but I was lying to her either way
it was a joke, to me, but she might be pissed, I doubt it.

"The DA is dressed to the nines
in the mirror he practices all his lines
to his closing argument
twelve hearts beat in favor
I'm guessing that he read the morning paper

the headlines read 'the man hangs!'
but the jury doesn't

and everyone's looking for relief
United States verses disbelief
mothers cast tears on both sides of the aisle

Case Open, Case shut
but you could pay to close it like a casket
baby boy can't lift his head up
isn't it tragic?

he glances at his peers sitting seven to twelve
stacked on one to six the gallery is hushed--
boys in three pieces dream of grand standing in bravado
still he sleeps in a cell not withstanding what we all know
hang on a rope with bated breathe
whichever you prefer

the foreman reached the verdict:
'in the above entitled actions we find the defendant...

guilty, guilty. guilty.'"




*this title has been stolen but the words are my invention.

Eurhythmics 2

I boarded my flight this morning with trepidation.

Hangover? check.
No-Bite nailpolish? check.
feelings of eminent failure? check.
AP Environmental Exam review workbook? check.

excitment for fulfilling an ultimate dream, fantasy, whatever?

......

guess i forgot that shit at home, cause if mom finds out before my ass is in seat C26, I will never leave my hospital bed, let alone the airport. From under the corkscrew plays loudly, drowning out all of the safety reminders and demonstrations by the flight attendents. I feel like Kevin from HomeAlone 2, i could be on the wrong plane, god dammit!

But it takes off without a stitch, and I relax measurably. The glasses come on, the gloves are off, and a coke is experiencing extreme turbulence since the weather in chicago is nothing like that in sunny-ass florida.

Of course Rogue Wave is on the soundtrack for Nick and Nora's infinite playlist, use your head! You have concert tickets and you are busy the day I fly in---I know that and I'm not surprised, you are a very popular girl and it was rude of me to decide that you would have to be free the second I was within train distance. Forgive me.

It's a good thing you did have plans, because I didn't go to Chicago, and I probably won't. I never left this fucking city, and I'm scared I never will. Yes, I will eat my fritos covered in an explosion of twisty flavor of the Honey BBQ persuasion. I will listen to my Sweeney Todd songs on repeat and I will toss a rifle with a cracked thumb, because my name is Mariah and I do whatever the fuck I want.

I will write this blog instead of completing the ginormous pile of homework haunting in my closet. I will be jealous and imagine you, here, with me, to sort of ease the way. Maybe I'll lie about something else stupid. Honesty is not my policy, sweetie, and I'm sure one of us will want out of this before it even starts. I will attempt to get inot the signing-dancing-let's-do-overdue-make-up-vocabularly mood, but I wont make you any promises, love.

I was not drunk, but I was halfway there, I guess. Tolerence fades when the habit dies because Paul made it.

So I vulnerable to Shawn's tactics....Scott's too, and if any other guys had been there---fuck, I woud've gotten with them too. Why is it that when I decide I'm interested in girls...I actually have options in guys.

I'm working on Homecoming.
I'm going to go cry now.

tiny dancer.

Piano concerto in music appreciation. remember that every good boy deserves fudge and that faces are blank when the notes are whole, or half, or even quarter. ta ta ti-ti ta is no longer acceptable. Use your body percussion to let the music control since the flags are locked in the Tuba graveyard. Count the beats, It's measure forty-two with 2/4 unfortunately, and I'm completely lost as she hands me a tambourine. Fuck my life, I never signed up for this class.

Theory and observation only get you so far--the opinions behind them are biased but I promise not to persuade you to this side of the yard. I give my solemn vow that as long as these lungs contract with air, I will show up tomorrow, for every single period and no method of trickery will get me off that god damn campus. I'm still obsessed with violins and today I shared their wealth with a friend who isn't a friend and really, never was, I realize.

McDonald's lost my faith today---I got jipped a burger and fries which is probably a good thing since I almost puked with the heat and the cigarettes together.

Mono is one, but Non is eight, and there are composites with prime and suddenly 80 + 4= 81. That doesnt make sense, should I have divided the exponets? is that even possible? She's talking me through relaxing, but i need more than a 1300 in order to get a nice free eL ride to Chicago. Fuck my life, if I'm not there I'll Die. November 17th can't come fast enough and Mom is still unawares. Jack's Obsession can't compare, Mariah has an addiction, and it's insatiable. I'm one letter away from truancy and I feel like shit for missing English, again.

Open house was closed house for me. Mom is on the ritz, So when I came to get my calculator, I found the wine stashed under the mattress. Jake got the job at CVS so I guess we're coworkers now. But I miss Danielle...and kate's signature is pretty, like her. Handwriting can be reflective, I suppose. mine look like shit haha

I'm playing this string quartet too loud for the neighbors to ignore, and sirens are screaming for an escaped convict, I'm locking the doors, the window, and the alcohol cabinet before I go to sleep. My nightmares give me an insight to what could have been if Paul had fallen for Anna, and visa-versa.

Everyone is stressing for this test, I'm not, so I bet I'll fail.


if it bleeds, it leads, so I get to be captain this year.

pretty baby

fifty-two times four, plus fifty-two divided by two and then times by four, again. That's how many JuJuBees are in a box; I counted while I hide from my mother in the thorny bushes beside our house on the golfcourse. I waited for two hours at least and those men with their ranger flags gave me dirty looks for smoking on the fence--hey, it's public property and I was here first, man!

No, I won't mind filling your tank, you need 30$ more than I do. I'll pay for the cigarettes, too, because we both need those very badly. Drinks? Sure, I'm thirsty, as well. The smoke makes my throat raspy and we tend to cough sporadically throughout the day. That's what one of my teachers said yesterday "your attendence is sporadic for a leadership member" So I skipped the day after and now I'm feeling that wasn't the smartest idea I've had in a while. Open House is tomorrow and I get my new schedule---fucked up like my grades and the so-called 'issue' with an ex-boyfriend who can barely stand to look at me, but everyone says he wishes he could.

The beach will be sandy, I'll hate it--it'll be hot, I'll sweat and have to wear a stupid bikini with fleur-de-lis' on it around jacob, his best friend. Homecoming sounds more exciting, but I'll still go with jake because he asked me to and I owe travis a day to hang out...i've ditched them since Paul broke up with me. I draw the line at homecoming. I'm not going. I'd rather pluck my eyebrows with bitcher knives. srsly.

Hillbilly day sounds like something I did in pre-school. Twin Day was an activity we had for eighth grade week at St. Charles. Retro Day? Why---that was Bishop Moore's Homecoming theme...last year. Way to keep up, Edgewater, epic fail, as always. The only day I'll do is red and white party---those sound inviting. It'll almost be like black and gold day, but obviously with different colors.

My rasberry bars are beeping and suddenly, I'm a cookster! Happy six months, pretty baby.

"There's a light on in Chicago
and I know I should be home.
All the colors of the streetlights;
they remind of the pick-up truck
out in front of your neighbors house.

You want apologies
girl you might hold your breathe
until your breathing stops. Forever
the only thing you'll get
is this curse on your lips
I hope they taste of me. Forever."

For centuries, we've strummed a new invention. Go ahead and make it lovely, with your lovely smile, lovely clothes, and lovely ideas. We'll notice if things happen, but if they don't, we'll just forget.

Beat poets will beat on, in the city, in the suburbs, and even in Florida where rain can melt the dreams of rifle nailing in the front porch of grass so green you'd think I made it myself. I didn't. Diane was at Baby's and Kathy called me crying. I haven't dealt with this sort of friendship since my own demise last march and I'm not running to hit repeat.
Arizona has forced my signature and now the Sunlight's faded on some teeth I tried to bleach. Next time, use a brush, or borrow mine because tangles can fuck you're mind.

I see the meaning of life.
To die with something...with love, or without it. To live for something...for love or life, or neither.
A crash of obstacles is only going to kill you. Take the test and sharpen your pencils--they won't let you during the exam. If life were an SAT I think I'd barely break 900. My ACT score would be not adequate, I foresee some complications. I'm not forgiven for your issues, I did pray, that once.

Hey, look how it didn't go the way I planned and let's just resign ourselves to the evidence--I'm not going anywhere and you're never going to return.

My Belle, My Brown-Eyed Girl, My Tiny Dancer, and every other melody that reminds me of you; it's not my turn to crash and burn. I mastered that last March.

If the stands are slippery, neglect to moonwalk, I fear you'll trip to an early death, where I would cry and break my heart since we never did amend.

Tomorrow would've been important if you weren't such a prick. My mousey, the cattle, and sheep will cake and bake for treats or sweets not anywhere near Homecoming or Halloween or any other specific pagan tradition.

If time kills more than war, how man casualities can we spare?

An ode to Reality.

Nobody considers abuse to be tragic. Not in this day and age. Everyone suffers from it. Just different types. Physical Abuse is such a shame--should've called the cops. Verbal Abuse? Well, that's so---tolerated. Really, not exotic at all anymore.

Then you throw in those three letters in. They're nowhere near each other in the alphabet. Sort of...random, actually, when you think about it. Why does this one small word mean so much or even so little in some people's minds. Three letters that, when I was a kid, I was embarrassed to say. It was a giggling word, to whisper with your buddies, but you would never think it or even attempt to fathom what it meant.. S-E-X. Sexual Abuse is unspoken, it's not there if you don't see it. That is one hundred percent true.

People will sweep it under a thousand dollar faux rug from Kuwait, clap their hands, and completely toss it out of their mind. They'll vacuum it if it starts to re-emerge. As the stains begin to fade, maybe it'll get scrubbed. The cleaning crew will come in and do their job. But it won't erase. Unless it happened to them.

Telling the story isn't so easy. It's the reactions of the audience, I fear. What everyone fears.

Option One: They could think I'm lying--So I seem a deranged attention-seeking freak, I guess. I wish it weren't the truth. I really do. Option Two: They could cry and tell me they're sorry--the compassion would kill me. My skin would burn me alive. If only I were as lucky. I would receive sympathy hugs, mournful frowns, and the melancholy advice. Option Three: They could completely blow it off as society does. No big, I guess. She was only molested by her stepfather for two years straight; only forced and manipulated to be silent, afraid of truth and the ramifications, unable to tell what is right or wrong, and where one stands in-between.

At least she wasn't killed.

No, just completely ruined for life, I guess.

But we move on. Then we become unhappy and take prozac and then we get divorced and die alone. the end.

Smile.


C'mon baby, won't you lift your lips for me? Mama, this is the way I was born, I'm sorry you had to learn this way. If i could've told you differently---well, I probably wouldn't have. Forgive me, for I have sinned, and fuck I enjoyed it. More than I should have.

There are too many songs on Romeo and Juliet. Isn't a script, play, and history of exuberance enough justice for the supposed greatest theatrical idea of human existence? I could make you feel like that, but you're not interested, I guess and I understand. Around the same time your pole impaled my left palm, I noticed how stupid my sacrifice was...is. I won't apologize. It's not my style.

There is chapstick, honeydew, cherry, strawberry, vanilla, sugar cookie, pomegranate, oh my! I'm buried alive with stick for lips and only attempting to recreate yours on mine as if it wasn't just a fantasy or dream.

I walked into Hallmark the other night, dazed lost, and stoned on drugs with names of cars and their tires squealing brightly. "I LOVE HERE NOW! GET OUTTA MY HOUSE!" a homeless dwarf screams at the top of his miniscule lungs, I don't hear him, since my ears are perked on the clicking of those new Crush Camel Cigarettes, black pack, bad attitude, and kickin' ass to inhale happily, I can hear. A python, Mr. Giggles, slides over and explains that the Guns for Sale are fake and the real ones are kept at the Citgo gas Station next door. This irritates me.

"I have to shoot someone," I tell him, "I need a gun NOW. I cant go to Citgo."

My friend Jessie walks in, naked and sparkling like all pregnant mothers, but I don't even remember who the daddy is. I must not forget to question her, without letting her know I have the worst memory in the history of the world, my love. Mr. Giggles Giggles deceivingly and pulls a handgun out of his front jumper pocket, handing it to me. "Free of charge" he hackles, and slips away without a slim or sound of him. When A girl like that walks in, your first instinct is to shoot her, so I'm sorry Jessie, but at least the baby lived, what will his name be?

Frontier. His name is Frontier and I wonder if he'll lead the future, the babies of the next generation, after mine, who can actually make a difference. It is too late for us, I know, for me especially. We are lost. and So i lock the gun to my teeth, and glue my finger to the trigger.

Is this tragic enough? BOOM

"I wanted, I wanted you to stay
'cause I needed, I need to hear you say
that I love you. I have loved you all along.
I forgive you. I've Been away for far too long.
Keep breathing, 'cause I'm not leaving you anymore
Believe it, Hold on to me, never let me go."