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.