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.