love. cry. numb, birds and bees.

Message. Walk. Laugh. Ferris Wheel. Terrified. Grasp. Walk. Giggle. Rides. Glide. Stop. Sit. Lean. Love. It all reminds me of you. These words that are ordinary but so magical to me. They all hit me like a semi truck going 105mi on the highway. It was fast but I loved it. I loved this feeling. You were nothing special that was everything to me. I brought you up when it wasn't appropriate. My tongue loved your name. It ached to speak it once more. Nothing was better then you. Even when I was upset with you it was perfect. You were the only one who made me laugh while I was crying. Who cared about what I didn't say rather then the junk spilling like saliva out of my mouth. You didn't care about what they though and neither did I. I never focused on what other people thought or said because, I was only fixated on you.
Tears. Scream. Ice Cream. The Notebook. Poetry. Lost. Hopeless. Without. It was over. We just ended it. For no reason. I missed you everyday and you didn't even know it. They taunted me. Told me you wanted me back. I was obsessed with the idea. Just to find out they were lies. All of them fed like starving dogs on my pain. They laughed when I was humiliated. You always told me it was okay. But you never stopped them. Never told them to lay off. Never said we as "a thing" ever existed. I hated you. I hated myself. I hated them. Everything about you, I wanted to confront. Why did you always wear sweat shirts? Why did you only hang out with them? Why did you never text me back? Why her? I cried. A lot.
Numb. Nothing. Painless. Lost. Empty.
Everything about you I'd put up a blockade. A wall. So you could never hurt me again. You smiled at me once, twice, three times. The wall got lower and lower. Now I'm scared. Petrified you will hurt me again. Scared of what I'm getting myself into. Nervous of falling to hard to fast. I don't want to repeat previous mistakes. But I can't stay away from you. You draw me to you like a mosquito to a UV light. Once I get near you I'm destroyed. But maybe. This time you could be the flower and I could be the bee.

Skittles and an english project

It all started because of a stupid english project. I dreaded it, you were dull to me. The normal jock type. You never looked at me. Never wanted to know me. I hated you for that. I just wanted you to see me like no one else has. I researched you. You made me laugh. I laughed so hard I cried. I didn't know what this feeling was. I liked it. It scared me. Then I presented my poster of you to the class. You smiled at me. Bright. My cheeks turned hot pink. I glided my teeth against my lower lip, and looked down to the warn out carpet. The bell rang. It was over. This feeling, I was sure would soon leave me. It didn't. You messaged me. Once a week. Five times a week. Once a day. Twelve times a day. I loved it. I wrapped myself around the thought of you. Then just when I thought you were my Leanardo, you ruined it. You threw my feelings on the ground and stomped on them with your baseball cleats. It's been awhile and now your lingering back into my life. I'm scared. I don't want to cry anymore. I no longer want to need you. Except for some reason I can never stop.

random!!

My Ipod is blasting dont stop believin' by the Glee cast, and I'm pretty much just jammin out down here in my basement at 10:20 PM. My mouth tastes gross. I can taste the resedue of puffy Cheetohs on my tounge and I want to brush my teeth, 1043 times. It's nice and cool down here for being 80 some degrees outside. To bad my rooms on the top floor. I hate sleeping in my bed when it's hot. The blankets and sheets stick to the sweat on my body caused by the blankets and sheets. My pillow never lays just right and I almost feel like it's going to soffocate me in it's death trap of heat. So of course I wear the lightest things to bed, so not to get to overheated. Then mother nature decides to be her annoying self and makes it absolutly freezing in my room by about 4 in the morning. Hence why I wake up, wrapped in my lovely ball of red swuede comforter. Mornings suck too. Especially when you didn't get enough sleep the night before which is about, 104% of the time for me. I mean once I get everything done whether it be homework, work, new shows on, dinner, cleaning my room, doing the laundry, taking a shower, ect. it takes up the majority of my night. So having to wake up at 6:45 just plain sucks. I'm counting down the days 'till summer. Except I'm going to miss school. I see everyone everyday. In the summer all the people who signed your yearbook with their numbers on the bottom with a cute little call me note attached, never return your texts. So you spend the whole summer with the same people. Which isn't bad, but a change would be nice. I do have a biology book shrieking my name right now, duty calls.

He's just not that into you

We climbed on. I have to admit, I was nervous. But I knew I'd be alright just because, you were there. It jolted. One, then two, more seats closer to the top. My legs shook. My intestines were training for the Olympics inside my stomach. Then another quick jolt and we were moving. Laughing. Everything about the way you spoke made me smile. Even when I thought, the cart was going to kill us, you still managed to make me laugh. You leaned forward, looking towards your friends. I screamed and clenched my hand to your leg. Once, twice, then after three grabs, you got the idea that I was scared. You held me, tight but secure. I loved every minute of it. Soon and fast the ride was over. We climbed off hand in hand walking around, being together. I've never been so happy, so sure it was real this time. Then a quiet walk home. It was dark, the street lamps were shining brightly, casting our shadows perfectly on the sidewalk. We talked. About everything and nothing. But it was, something, to me. Soon after, it stopped. The calls, the messages, the love. Then came the tears, ice cream, and the Notebook.
Why do feelings have to stop. Why can't they just keep feeling forever. They all say, "He doesn't deserve you...he just wasn't ready...there are other, better fish in the sea, he just couldn't handle an amazing girl like you..." Bullshit. It's all bullshit. They tell you things like that, so you don't think it's your fault. Instead it makes you want to compromise yourself, so he does deserve you, and can handle you. You change your morals, your clothes, your friends. Just to make one guy happy, who has probably already moved on.
I'm done with it. Done with the disappointment. Maybe if I completely hold back, I'll never get hurt...again.

"Being lonely ... being alone ... for many people ... sucks. I get it, I get it, I get it. But still I have to say that yes, my belief is that being with somebody who makes you feel shitty or doesn't honor the person you are is worse."

Daddy Dearest

"You didn't even know him...besides he wasn't a good father anyways..." Her words sting in my eyes, like the first sense of chlorine grasping your pupils. My lips were dry. I could taste the sticky substance that used to be my, berry bliss lip balm. I was choking on words. There was so much I wanted to scream at her, that it was all bunching into a blob, lodging into my throat, waiting to be first. A tear was my first reaction. Instead of letting her see me so weak, I walked to the bathroom. Closing the door behind me and, just letting it all go. It was strenuous not letting the sobs break free from my chest. As each tear came cascading down my cheeks; I blocked them with a wad of toilet paper. After about five minutes I came out, but only to return to the bedroom. Where she couldn't hurt me anymore.
It has almost been 14 years since he's passed away. My father. The man that gave anything and everything just to make me feel happy, safe, and loved. It doesn't feel like 14 years. Sometimes I'll catch myself crying as if it were yesterday. I remember it like it was yesterday, like a bad dream.
I woke up at his girlfriends house. Usually her daughter was sleeping in the bed next to mine, that night she was gone. So I got up, opened what at the time seemed to be a huge wooden door, and tip-toed to the living room. I remember the carpet was a light creme color, and it was soft underneath my cold toes. The TV was screeching. Screaming in pain for someone to turn it off. I just stared at it for a few seconds, cocking my head to the side, and wrinkling my eyebrows. I presumed, and walked to the kitchen. The main light was on dim giving an ere blue glow to the room. There was a half spilt cup laying on it's side on the monstrous counter. I touched a single drop of liquid, and walked down the dark hallway towards their room. I hated the dark, everything about it made me want to cry, and run. Instead I kept going, creeping down the hallway, just so I didn't wake anyone. I let my three year old hand clasp the doorknob, slowly turning it. Inch by inch. Finally it swung. Revealing everything normal. Except they were gone. The blankets were tasseled in a ball. I don't remember why, but I ran fast into the living room. I threw myself against the main door, hugging my knees to my chest. Soon there was a knock. I bolted upright, only to see her neighbors, smiling down at me. I remember they made me watch Tom and Jerry reruns for a good hour before, my aunt Julie picked me up. I woke up the next morning at my grandma, Rose's house. When I saw my family they were all huddled in my grandma's living room. Crying. Their heads turned to me. They made a path between my mom and me. When I got to her she told me, "Kaila, sweetie, daddy's gone." Somehow I just knew.
So when people make fun of me, or tell me I didn't know my father. I get so furious, that I feel my muscles will snap, from tensing so much. So when she told me I didn't know my father. That's when I wrote my first published poem.
Thanks dad
I love you

Sleeping with my eyes wide open

The TV's bright picture, reflects vibrantly against the posters and, frames hanging on my walls. The voices pierce my ears, waiting for me to turn over and watch. I can't sleep. Left, right, stomach, back, I flip. Never getting comfortable. My back hurts, my eyes are heavy and I need this. I haven't slept well in almost a week. I threw my red suede comforter to my right and slowly made my way to my carpet. Stepping on clothes, magazines, and what ever else lives on my carpet, I turned the TV off. Bad mistake. I was lost in the darkness engulfing my room. Immediatly I became alarmed and scared. I sprinted. Hoping to land on my bed. Instead, I slipped on a magazine, lost my balance, fell on a hanger, and hit my head on my amp. I let out a groan. Oh how I hate sleepless nights. I slowly climbed to my feet and, turned my TV back on. I sat on the edge of my bed, giving my pillow a few fluffs. I was finally comfortable. Drifting into an easy slumber; thoughts of him took over my mind. I woke up once more. This time my comforter was on the floor, my second pillow was thrown against my bathroom door, and I was out of breath. Another groan escaped my mouth. Determined to get sleep, I plugged in my Ipod. Soft, suthing, music traveled out of my enormous black speakers, just so quietly. Then, it hit our playlist. I immediatly bolted out of bed and, ripped my Ipod from it's chord. Angrily, I fluffed my pillows once more and went to bed unsatisfied. 5:36 AM. I woke up once more, pleading my eyes for more sleep. I tossed and turned knowing I had to be up in a short while. I couldn't take this. I couldn't take endless thoughts of you. 7:20. Woke up late, once again, you throw me off. Shoot me.

Full House, headaches, and New York City

My dream has always been to work for Seventeen Magazine. Well after writing to them in the beginning of March, they finally sent me a response. They gave me great advice. One thing in there though was, "...consider going to college in New York City." I want to be prepared to go to college but I so badly want to just go back a few years. I don't think I'm ready to make decisions that well end up setting me down one path or another. I know I've been making choices my whole life. Just none that have been so extreme. I think the reason I'm scared to go to college is because, that would leave my mom at home alone; and I am VERY clingy towards always being close to my mom. Tonight she wants to go to the college fair. I'm dreading it. I don't want to grow up. When I was younger I always dreamt about finally getting to the High School, being a senior, and going to college. Now I want to go back to the first grade, when all I thought about was what time Full House was on. Don't get me wrong I'm excited to do what I love everyday. But what if something goes wrong? Or I don't get the job I really dream about? How will my life be? I've been thinking about all of this so much I have a headache. I want to scream, cry, maybe even pull out my hair. Anything to get over this nagging pressure, of making choices, that will make me someone in the future. I wish I was born and raised in New York, so going to college there wouldn't seem like a big deal. Then I almost feel like an idiot. I hear a lot of buzz about people getting out of Albert Lea, far out of Albert Lea. Their excited. Why aren't I excited? Why is it that I am so scared to leave home, go to college, get married, have sex, have children, and grow old, and nobody else seems to be? Maybe I was just born to be afraid of exciting things. Or just more prepared then the others.

What if, no thanks:)

My IHome is blarring through the speakers that are way to old to even function without making some wierd squeeking noise. I wanted them to work. Just for this song, for these three minutes and forty two seconds. But it doesn't. It squeeks and rattles, and makes a terribly annoying noise to the point where I just give up. I've been doing that a lot lately. Giving up. Not being patient or understanding with things and situations. I just blow it off. Somehow there is this feeling I get of guilt. But then sometimes it feels good. Like I don't have to care about all the little nothings anymore. All the little dramas that don't matter. Then I do the "what if" scenerio. "What if he would have changed....What if that was a good ending....What if...What if...What if."

Please don't swat me no more

I was always the confident one. The one who didn't care what was going on, or what people thought of me. Until I met you. I soon took more then an hour to get ready in the morning. I tried on ninety outfits before deciding with the one I had on first. I bought vanilla chapstick. I went all out for you. Then it was over. Like the end of a good book, like the defeat of a close match, like the end of your favorite song, it was over. I thought I was fine. I only cried everyday for about a month, when we stopped speaking. Until you sat right behind me and I couldn't resist. Every time you put your foot up on my seat, I shivered. I acted annoyed but secretly I wanted more, more then you would offer. Then came time for a switch. Again devastated because you weren't there. Having to see you with her, laughing, wrestling, driving. It kills me. Cliche I know. But it litteraly does. I can't breathe when you walk by, my lungs fill with lust, then my heart shatters. It spills into my eyes so I can't blink, cascades down my legs into my feet so I soon become imobilized.
Why sometimes does fate decide to only have one player in a game for two? Did I do something wrong in a past life? I don't think it's fair that I sit here, hoping, wishing, praying, watching, needing, while you kick back not even knowing anythings going on. I purpously walk past you, nudge you, smirk at you, but nothing. You brush it off like an annoying bug lurking on your shoulder. I'm done. I'm done being brushed off. I need this so bad, it hurts. It's all I focus on. I can't concentrate. Not even now while I'm trying to write this.

dreadful dizzy dangerous disgusting disapproving daydreams

Dreams. I can't even bare a glance your way. Everytime I try I feel my stomach churn. My emotions overcome me and I can't breathe. I don't even want to. All I want is steal more glances your way but I can't. Your forbidden. Maybe that's why my thoughts crave you. That's why I can't think at all. I don't want to think because it's endless thinking of you. I can't stop myself. But I don't want to. I love that i need you this way. But then I remember I'm suppose to hate you. All of my contradicting thoughts make my head hurt or maybe it's the furious butterflies bruising my stomach. Dark purple little dents develop across my interior. I feel it with every breath I take in so sharply. There are about twenty kids surrounding us. Yet I only see you, i only hear you. Your laugh, your voice, it haunts my thoughts. My mind pushes my body towards you. The closer I feel the further you walk away from me. Soon I'm falling and I can't stop. Until I'm crying, pleading for you. Then it's black. I awake.
What is a dream? It's intense. It's exciting. It's vivid. But sometimes terrifying. What do dreams even me? Is there a significance to them? I feel as though it's your sub conscience way of telling you somethings up. Either with mixed messages or something so easy as you should go to the bathroom right now.
It scares me wondering what my dreams mean. Do I secretly want what I dream about? Should I persue the person who I'm dreaming about?
All of these thoughts race through my head on top of the fact I have a pretty heavy dream to deal with. It gives me a headache and I just want to stop. Until I go to class and your right there. Staring at me. And I can no longer escape what I tried so hardly to forget. You smile. I cringe. I can't help it the lop sided butterfly feeling is definitly not my style. I don't even know why people like this feeling or why they think it's butterflies. It makes me want to throw up, because it feels like unsteady frogs leeping around in the pit of my stomach. I loathe this feeling but I never want it to stop. Maybe it doesn't have to.

Bloom

My fingers glide through each page almost faster then I can read them. I'm so overloaded with emotions I need to read what's going to happen. She kisses him the, "Wrong" boy for her. I want to scream, laugh, and cry all at the same time. Goosebumps rise throughout my body. My breath quickens, the more I need her to kiss him. My eyes water at the pure thought of how extatic she is. This girl who has never felt love because her mother abandoned he, her father is never home, she is an only child, and her friends don't realize the real truth of it all. Until this kiss. As I study the page my mind races.
My father died, I am an only child, a lot of the time my friends never know, so where is my kiss? These books are so amazing but then so annoying. Every book I read gives me false hope. False advertising somewhat. They introduce a girl similar to me that meets a mysterious boy falls in love has one fight but still ends up with love. It's sickening.
I do everything these girls do. I'm quirky like them, shy like them, I even think like them and I'm still waiting for Brad Pitt with a paper bag lunch to walk through period three.
A lot of people say it exhists but you just look in all the wrong places. Bull. Some people are just the lucky ones, the exception to the rule. And have you ever seen the exceptions? Skinny, gorgeous, and perfect. The right girl, the girl every high school boy lusts over. Can't society mix it up a bit, and give all the plain jane girls like me a chance?
It's hard writing in a blog what exact emotion I'm talking about. Not even a poem of mine would sum it up, but what do they even sum up lately anyways?
I guess what I'm trying to say is keep reading about all of these girls and maybe you will turn into one.

innocent little beatings

There were over 30,000 children under the age of 4 abused last year. Either sexually, emotionally, physically, or mentally. Help with the awarness of child abuse.


Fetal position, in the bed she lays,
twirling her finger in her birds nest.
Cuticles are torn, hangnails approaching.
Nails are bitten below stress level.

Her beaten plush dog beneath her shakes,
configuring if he will stay or go.
One more night of lint supper wont hurt.
Tremble; hearing his boots approach the door.

She crouched into the corner of her un-kept bed.
Dreading the things that the teacher might have said.
She knew about the bruising before the bell had rung.
Now he looked at her indignant, clenching tight.

That's when he swung hard brazing her cheek.
Her round chubby face oozed with blood.
Lips were cracking, without water she felt weak.
Another blow, against his innocent five year old.

She knew not to scream or he would hit again.
Silenced, like a slumbering baby; so peaceful.
He threw her to the floor, his foot found her stomach.
One stomp, two stomp, three stomp, four.

This time she screamed. She hollered loud and clear.
Until he silenced her with a blow to the eye.
As she whimpered against her carpet he scowled;
Without food she would go for the rest of the week.

As the end of the week approached, she ate.
He knew, she could feel that he knew what she did.
Her skin craving to crawl off her body; pleads.
One look and she knows. It's over from here.

He takes her by the neck to the bathroom; stifling.
Banged her forehead against the cold toilet seat.
Jabbing his finger down her throat with force.
She loathes the feeling as it inches up her throat.

It fills the toilet to the rim, leaving access blood.
She sobs, as he kicks her in the chest forcefully.
No longer does she breathe, but she smiles.
She will now be happy, and away from the hate.

He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me?

I was at the highest of highs. Sitting in my computer chair, which contains now half the leather then what we bought it with, IM'ing you. I couldn't stop laughing. You had me so engrossed in such a silly keyboard I couldn't stop myself. You had said something cute and I bit my lip, thinking about what you looked like at that moment. It was now going on one in the morning. I should have been exhausted. I shouldn't have even been able to keep my eyes from shutting. But yourds were like close pins clasping my eyelids open fiercly. I just wanted to see you. Even if we couldn't speak. Even if we just sat there staring at one another. I needed you. My eyes needed your presence like pancakes need syrup, like Ipods need headphones, like a ferris wheel needs a boy and a girl holding each other at the top. It was desperation. Then a flash of light surged through my computer. I was anxious to read what you had said. Until I read it. You had just wanted to be friends. Which was fine until you stopped speaking to me.
Why do people use the terms, "I really like you, but I just want to be friends?" Why not just say how you feel so when you don't pick up your phone, don't IM, and don't wave in the hallways, no one is freaking out about it. They give you hope.
Something to hold onto, so maybe it wont be so bad.
It's just worse.
Everything about it sucks. I wish there was a creative adjective to use here but there's not. Sucks pretty much sums it up.
You sit there, checking your phone for a new text or a missed call. You sign into Facebook more then twenty times in two minutes hoping you have a new message or notification. You log into your Hotmail account for maybe a missed message there. Then finally your home phone, then MSN, all these things leading up to such an engrossed fascinating drama that you can't quit. Your obsessed.
So why don't they just say, "I'm not into you anymore."
That could work. Sure it would be heartbreaking. But you wouldn't have to deal with all the exhaustion of trying to still catch their attention.
Or maybe that's what they want. People like when they are liked. So maybe they want all of the attention or the power. So FYI, when you are no longer interested.
Don't pretend to be.

done

Have you ever been so frustrated, you can't even cry? Each sob that tries to come out of your throat gets caught. You want to bang your fists into the wall, anything to let it out, but you don't. You just sit here and type your blog. That's what I do anyways. I hate them. Hate is such a plain word though. I loathe them. There is nothing more I'd like to do then to just scream in their face until no sound would come. I would truly love that. Why do they think they can just treat her this way, my own mother. She's my best friend. I see the hurt in her eyes. Every time they speak there is a twinge of a knife that just keeps shoving deeper beneath her skin. I loathe it. When they speak each hair on the back of my neck stands up, as if I'm plunging down an ere roller coaster. Their rhythmic gashes of hate whipping at us from each direction, hitting a nerve every time that makes me want to break. I don't even know how to end this blog. All I know is I can't even write anymore.

Adults should have sex

I listen to my mom ramble on about all these amazing memories she has from when she was in High School. I sulk, envious of the joy she has just remembering them again. Why do we try to rush adult hood? Teens who are pregnant, drinking, having sex, saving all their time doing one thing. What do they have to tell their children about? I come to school everyday and the new gossip is who is having sex with whom, who got drunk this weekend, whose pregnant, and usually telling these stories are the kids who just sat at home and observed it all over the weekend. Why do we want to experience all the things meant for certain ages so young? Maybe that's why some adults are so boring, because they did all the adult things when they were my age. I just seem to not be following the band wagon here.
Then I think what's the point of sex in high school? After a few months the couple is destroyed, and now everyone in the entire school knows that they had sex. For me sex is a personal thing shared with one person who you are completly comitted to. I don't want everyone, even people I don't know, knowing that I've lost the V-card. So why do it? Do you think you're going to get married? Because 7% of High School relationships result in marriage, and 5% of those get divorced. So why not wait?
I guess I'm still sitting here the minority.

Driving, singing, sipping, believing

It's wierd. How one minute of your life your happy, there's that one person. They're new. They make you feel so amazing with every little thing they say to you, and every action that happens with their body errupts a new kind of happiness in you. Just driving around with them for hours on end is enough. Blasting music, singing at the top of your lungs, laughing, and sharing secrets. It's perfect. You could never imagine a better life. Deep down you both feel the connection. Then one day it just stops. For no reason in particular. They stop texting you, you stop hanging out, it all just stops. There is a vacant whole that was once filled with amazing memories, you both shared. Now it's empty. Some songs are hard to listen to. You can't help but think if they listen to the same song and feel the same way. You can't drink certain beverages without remembering how you stopped at the park to throw away the extra nothings at the bottom of the cup. Sometimes its hard to even pick up your phone. The pure thought that the one text message alert you have wont be from them. It's irritating, and it hurts. You don't know exactly how to talk about it in a way to make the hurting stop. I don't really think you can. There will always be a part of you that pangs for that feeling again. You wont get it back without the pressence of them. Sometimes it makes us stronger, other times it makes you upset. Most of the time the upset takes over. But then there is a part of you that just hopes it will get better, but prays it wont always be this way.

Good morning, no thanks

"Because tonight will be the night that I will fall for you over again..." blares against my tin stand sounding that slumber is over and it's time to wake up. The vibrations from my phone shake the stand creating an annoying buzzing catastrophe. I grumble. Yank the phone from my charger, turn it off and let it slide from my hand falling on a pair of jeans. I throw the covers over my head. They're fresh from the dryer warm. My toes curl as I stretch my legs further and further outward. Yawns erupt, from my not yet brushed mouth. I reach over my mattress stretching my abdominal muscles stretching them like an over used rubber band. I shake my hair free from a half fallen out pony tail and swing my legs over the edge of my bed. I sit groggily. The sun is shining. I roll my eyes. I hate morning. The cold air greets me with a slap on the face when I open my bedroom door. I step into the bathroom beginning a normal routine. As the cold water from the shower head thrusts upon my scalp it dawns on me. It's Saturday.

Shallow America

They stare. In the magazines they laughing, popular, and skinny. Next page. Kissing, loving, and skinny. See a pattern? These magazines portray an image, that not every girl in America can live up to. Girls of all ages stare. Idolizing the girls before them. Then to the bathroom they travel. They stare at themselves, critiquing. "What if my butt was as round as Kim Kardasians?" "Do boys really like lips like Angelina Jolies?" "If I lost a few pounds, would I have a boyfriend." These questions racing through their minds. Then what? Do they get angry and cry, or throw up that last fry they ate? Maybe they don't even eat at all. America is shallow. In 2008 over 5.8 percent of Americans were bulimic. For what? Are bosses, boyfriends, girlfriends, parents so shallow that one person would feel the need to vomit everything they have eaten to the point of exhaustion? What will it take to prove to the world that outer beauty is nothing. Your apperance may reflect who you are on the inside. But eating foods you enjoy does not chatagorize you in any way. If you or someone you know suffers from any kind of eating disorders there are people who will help.

love is like a song

Night life. The dark mysterious, arousing night, is the only time I can sit and think. Think about how every song on shuffle reminds me of you.

"How long will I be waiting,
To be with you again
Gonna tell you that I love you,
In the best way that I can.
I can't take a day without you here,
You're the light that makes my darkness disappear."
The song drowns on and I picture it. We were gliding so carefully in each others grasp. Then I click next.

"And I saw
Pictures in my head
And I swear I saw you opening up, again
Cuz I would be heavenly
if baby you'd just rescue me, now."
I was screaming now. Shouting the lyrics by Matt Nathanson so loudly I could feel my body shake. I felt so alive. Then I pressed next when I soon remembered you.

"I live here on my knees as I
Try to make you see that you're
Everything I think I need here on the ground.
But you're neither friend nor foe though I
Can't seem to let you go.
The one thing that I still know is that you're keeping me down
You're keeping me down, yeah, yeah, yeah."
I stop; intrigued and listen. Then they form. The tears that have been brewing in my eyes for months, finally show up. I want them to keep falling. I have never wanted to cry so hard. When I start getting a headache I stop. The blood rushing right on top of my eyebrows stings. I lay down on the floor and press next.

"In your eyes
Let's sleep till the sun burns out
I'm melting in your eyes (I'm melting in your eyes)
Let's sleep till the sun burns out
I'm melting in your eyes."
As he whispers the next note, I hum. Eyes shut, heart racing, laying on my carpeted get away, humming. I didn't know what to do. Cry? Scream? Throw my clothes around a few times? I sat on my bed defeated. I couldn't do a thing. Because nothing that was in my room could equal the emotions I would have if you were here with me.

Next.
"But somewhere we went wrong
We were once so strong
Our love is like a song
You can't forget it."
I sang it in a whisper. Eyes were shut; relaxing. Have you ever been so calm you need to move one of your body parts because you're not sure you're even alive?

Tranquil: free from agitation of mind or spirit
I felt tranquil, almost as if you were the only one able to get my heart beating again.

These words are not my home

It hurts. Their words that fly like bullets cascading out of their mouths. They hurt. Do you ever feel like if you listen to the things they say you'll lose it? I want to lose it. Just get up and sprint out of here. Run so hard, so fast, I fly right over their irritating vocabulary. But I can't. I won't. I'm scared; why? How can just a few syllabols change the entire flow of my emotion? I tell myself, "Their not worth it. Just calm down. Their not worth it." Then they speak again. More bullets flying at my still figure. I cannot move. They have me drilled to the floor as their lashing words strike me again and again, like a tattered leather whip. I think about their words every day. What are they suppose to mean? How do I take it? But most of all, how could these individuals, these once caring individuals say such things? Maybe they're suppose to be here. Maybe they're suppose to help me grow a back bone. Or maybe they were suppose to be gone, before they came.

What is inside is discovered

It's here and I can't open it. My brain isn't making the connection to my hands to rip it up. So here it is lying in my hands. Still. My eyes wont tear away from it. It's like watching the scary part of the horror show when all you want to do is peel away. But here it lays. Clasped in my palms, the edge of the envelop starts to get warm as my palms begin to sweat. They're clamy and I hate it. I hate the feeling of sweat almost as much as I hate not being able to open this envelop. But what if they reject me? What if all of the preperations I had went through to get this one ready, fails? What would I say? The envelop shakes in my trembling hands. Deep breaths and short breaths pass the time and it still sits there in my hands. Open it. I'm screaming in my mind to just open it. But I don't. Then I second guess. My poem wasn't that great. I should have choosen another one. I should, I should, I should. Then the top tears. I'm doing it. I smile. It's happening it's opening I stop. I can't do it. I just can't. The blood rushes to my fingers, and they're hot again. And I hate it. One more piece is torn from the top. Adrenaline. Then another then another. It's opened. My hand slowly rests inside it's smooth interior and I feel it. I rub the pads of my fingers along the paper. It's gold. I rip it out of the envelop. I just can't wait and before I know it, it's opened fully exposed and I'm reading.

Dear Miss Kaila Beckner
Congradulations! You are now featured in the top ten of our. . .

I scream. Louder then I should have. Louder then my throat could take and I cough. But with the excrutiating cough I smile.

Yet again another envelop to be sent

Do you ever have that feeling where you are so ecstatic and overwhelmed by accomplishment that nothing can take it away? That's how I'm feeling right now. Most people don't understand the importance of this envelop but for me it's like having 1,000 Christmas's hit you all in a matter of five seconds; or realizing your parents are giving you extra money to buy all the new things you have been fantasizing over for the longest time. For me these envelops hold more significance then any kind of gift wrapped sweater or cardigan anyone has ever given me. These envelops are notifications from certain publishers notifying me my poetry will be in the top ten of their new book. How amazing it is to come home from an irritating day at school, walk through all the snow while soaking your feet in its ice trap, opening the mailbox to find that one thing that's so important you will remember it forever. Right now I'm waiting on my fourteenth poem to come back. The wait is like seeing all of your Christmas presents and waiting for days to open them. So far I haven't had a negative response from a publisher and lets hope I wont for number fourteen.