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she who had mud on her hands. has blood on hers now. she who had the tiniest of hands. they are all grown now. now with the pain in her bruised wrists, and the tension that tingles up her arms, she is alone. and they said she had such strong arms for a little girl. not strong enough. and her lungs that were not altered, could not give air to scream. and with the pillows in her face. she was not blinded, but she couldn’t see. couldn’t breathe. and she might have said no. she might not have not known. it was her fault. all her fault.

she kissed him goodbye.

once in her pink dress, her mother braided the white flowers in her hair. and they might have been beautiful, but it’s hard to see now, through the thorns in her brow. she was not a martyr, but did not deserve this. she was a flash for photographs. she was splash in the ocean. she is now jumping on the ice. and it will not break. and she is dreaming of the sun, of the running water. in all her life, she has not seen the water this still.

she would want you to hold her. but she doesn’t trust you.

and she was lying in bed. and above her, she had a canopy. and there was fabric hanging down. covering her body from the people who had no idea. and there was a nightmare she remembered. and she never dreamed she could sleep again. and she didn’t know why, but she couldn’t feel her body. the blankets were floating and her heart didn’t beat. and she was not there. not there for you to see. not there for herself to feel.

and she who had mud on her hands, will be washing them clean. one day at a time, praying for a day when they will look pure again. and she doesn’t believe, because they will not come clean, not in her mind. and now they hurt. and now she has blood on her hands.

and i’m sorry, beautiful.

it’s 3am i must be lonely:

what you doing, alyssa?
sleeping. why are you calling?
why not?
because you called me two days ago telling me you hate me.
yes i do hate you. i hate you. i’m just calling to make sure you didn’t make me look bad.
i didn’t. don’t talk to me, i’m hanging up.
no. if you hang up i will make your life a living hell, you know i can.
okay, i’m being threatened and it’s 3:03.
so, yeah, what you doing?
sleeping.
why? i can’t even believe you, i hate you. i mean i should never talk to you again.
then why are you?
i hate you.
okay?
i’m not supposed to talk to you, cause you slapped me in the face.
thank you for forgiving me.
i don’t. i just love you.
thanks.
i love you, i love you, i love you alyssa. but not in the romeo and juliet i want to kill myself way. i just love you.
whatever. goodnight.
don’t go. i want you to come over. but i don’t want you giving me the seductive looks. we can just hang out.
i don’t know what you’re talking about. we can never be just friends. i’m hanging up.
don’t go.
i have to.
i’ll call you back.
yeah call me when you’re sober. and god knows thats not gonna happen.
i love you.
night.

and then someone completely different called 2 minutes later.

alyssa? what are you doing?
well, i guess i was sleeping.
you know, i really hate you. you’re such a disapointment. thats why i deleted you out of my phone, so i wouldn’t drunk dial you.
i’m sorry?
you always let me down. it’s my birthday today.
oh happy birthday.
no you don’t get to say that now. you disapoint me. you had all day. you really disapoint me.
sorry?
why do you sound tired?
it’s 3am.
well then, go to sleep. you disapoint me so much.
goodnight, i guess.
________

and the lesson for everyone is that sometimes if you don’t choose wisely who you let your heart love, or who you let your mouth kiss, you might one day be woken up at 3am, by two different people, telling you how much you suck.

somewhere, i mess up. and i disapoint. and it is my fault they drunk dial me, and it is my fault they want to screw me.
and they always end up hating me.

the end.

Can’t you call? Take it back?
Tell me you love me. That’s all I ask.
Too much to do. Too much to say.
I’m not gonna lie. I don’t feel that way.
What will it take to make you see?
I’ve never wanted anything. But you’re special to me.
I don’t want to see you. I can’t stand your face.
You can’t make me want to stay in this place.
What about love? Did you feel it there?
You’ve got nothing on me. There’s nothing here.
This might be the hardest thing I’ve ever said.
I now love you more than I ever had.
But you’re gone, I hate today.
Let me smile. I can make it okay.
Not here. We’re not doing this.
I made my case, we lost that’s it.
But there’s so many things I’ll need to remember.
There’s too many things. I can’t make them better.
I don’t care. I don’t want you to forget.
Please don’t lie, don’t tell me you quit.
You’re boring me with you’re roaring fits.
Had I loved you. It’s gone to shit.
Please take it back. Take it back.
Just be sorry. Come on I asked.
Not today, its not okay.
Don’t hold on. We’re not that way.
Tomorrow is new, so let’s pretend.
I never loved you.
That’s the end.

—

we can learn from the mistakes we made in high school, and if we can’t learn, then maybe we should go back to high school and make them there. we are too important to make those stupid mistakes again in real life.

when i was in highschool i went out with this boy. we went to panera, i bought my own food, because i had never gone on a date, and didn’t know what to do. i was so nervous, i didn’t talk to him, i slouched, i sat on my hands, i felt cold, i felt like maybe i wore the wrong outfit, because now that i could see my reflection in the panera window’s, i looked fat. he was a nice guy, and everything he said seemed dripping with similarity to me. he was pretty, he was weird, he was intelligent, he played the drums, which for some reason was hot at the time, and he was a lot like me.

i was a mess. so nervous it was oozing off my face. i don’t think that even if he wanted to believe we were compatible, that he could have. when we parted ways, an awkward hug took the place of a goodbye, and the phone call that he promised never came. obviously. i blew it.

this was 6 years ago, so it’s not like if i knew the rules of a good date that we would still be together today, but thats not the point. the point is that i wanted a second chance. i wanted to prove to him that i didn’t suck. that really we had things to talk about, but that i was distracted by his navy blue eyes, and the fact that he had red hair and still looked really good. he smelled like boy.

i waited for a call. i wanted to talk to him. convince him that i could be good for him. that all i needed was a second chance. i whined to myself, and got sad, and imagined that if he only knew, he would love me. i sulked for maybe a week. replayed everything that i should have done. i was just like, “at least we could be friends, i mean we have so much to talk about.”

then it hit me. i don’t get a second chance.

i might get a second chance on a paper, thats why the teacher asks for rough drafts. i might get to watch a movie again, and say, “hey, i like it better this time.” i might even get to kick my dog in the face, and still enjoy her love on a regular basis. but you don’t get to play with people like that. people are thinking, feeling, processing individuals with power over their ideas. they know what they want, you don’t have to tell them.

you don’t get to argue with someone when it comes to their emotions. you don’t get to convince them that you’re the one. they’ll know when they know. if you wear cruddy jeans on an interview, does the employer call you back and say, “come back in a suit and tie buddy, and we’ll try this again.”? no.

when it comes to first impressions, you don’t get a second chance.

and then for your own well-being, you don’t get to process your emotions with that person, you have to do like i did, and process alone. you don’t get to call that person up and beg to be given another chance, you have to be strong, weakness is not something that anyone should have to take on for you. unless you already are in love. but we’re not talking love, we’re talking first impressions.

after the date at panera, do you think that i would go back to that spot and screw up again? no, i knew the rules, i knew what he wanted from me, the unknown was no longer unknown and i was not nervous. if i got to go back i would have the complete list of things to talk about, to ask about, to be. i would succeed. he would love me!

but no my friends, i will never get a second chance with that boy. and to tell you the truth, i don’t really want one. i see him about once a year, so six times since the date, if you’re counting, and he hugs me, and we chat, and it’s good conversation, and then he asks for my number and never calls me. some things, no matter how coincidental or how many conclusions you can draw up, are not meant to be. and you know, i do think that it was my fault. not because i suck, or that i was too nervous to make a good first impression, but because HE KNEW he didn’t want me. and i can’t argue with another person’s knowledge about me. i’m not allowed to.

second chances, where you think they could be deserved are actually NEVER deserved. second chances are grace. you don’t get to ask for them, you don’t get to ask for something that doesn’t belong to you, and this redhead was not jesus. he didn’t feel the need to pass out the second chance card.

second chances are never deserved.

i’m sure you’re wondering what you might be able to learn from this. if you haven’t learned anything already, then i guess nothing. but maybe you can see that all i am trying to get across to you is how to be content in a life, where you can’t always get what you want, and when it comes to second chances, maybe we should just let go. if they call us back, they call us back, and if maybe we decide to call them, and they tell us no, we should take that no and go.

i’m sure everyone has a story where they were denied a second chance, even when it seemed so right. i’m sure there are those who have denied the second chance, and probably felt guilty. or good. whatever.

i hope you know that i just worry about you. and i want you to know what i know. it’s not, “why guys love bitches” or “he’s just not that into you,” it’s “love yourself.”

because, insecurity is not vulnerability. men and women alike, don’t like annoying, “please give me a second chance” “i hate myself” “i can’t let go” insecure drama kings/queens.

and just so you know that is not a personality trait.

it’s a flaw.

“And I don’t know
This could break my heart or save me
Nothing’s real
Until you let go completely
So here I go with all my thoughts I’ve been saving
So here I go with all my fears weighing on me
Three months and I’m still sober
Picked all my weeds but kept the flowers
But I know it’s never really over”

yeah i just quoted kelly clarkson.

i don’t know of what else to say. sometimes american idol’s say it better and more cryptic than i ever could.

i’m gonna write some rhyming lines and lets see what sense they make. i need a word to start with, a word. one world. ah, yes.

true to your colors they’ve shown like a rainbow.
i might be the only one with the proof out there to know.
and they say, the boy’s black and white, never grey.
and together we walked. our separate ways.
fight til the end, never saved either of us.
and you cry so loud, what’s to become of this?
the way the heroes come and go, we’ll never know.
my friend, it’s not too late to leave, just go.
i could wait forever is what i fear.
the ball is in your court, so keep it there.
i might stay standing for one more play.
please, don’t look back when you walk away.
i will miss you this time around.
it’s hard to leave, if ever, i’ve found.
it’s like i’m waiting for the final blow.
when it comes? you won’t even know.

word vomit. i enjoy it. especially when it rhymes.

“You must have control of the authorship of your own destiny. The pen that writes your life story must be held in your own hand.”
–Irene C. Kassorla

i spend a lot of time hating a girl. well, hating three girls. because these three girls torture me.

in my story, they fall into these categories: the athlete. the brain. the personality. i guess that would make me the beauty. i would like to think that i would not be “the beauty” but maybe the personality? in the story i’m not. even if i was, i’m not. i don’t get to choose my category. the beauty doesnt win. she fails math. she’s the girl who gets the volleyball dropped on her head. she’s the girl no one likes, cause she has nothing to say. i’m not that in my life. but i am in the story.

it makes me kind of want to write myself a new story. but it seems like it’s not time. like i put too much of myself into this story. this story that wasn’t even written by a mastermind. that wasn’t even written with my best intentions in hand. i am the beauty. and no one wants the beauty, especially when i’m not the most beautiful girl in the world or even close. i can’t win this way. i’ll never win. and now i’m just a girl writing about how i let someone else write for me.

the most confusing part of this? why do i waste my time hating the other three parts of the puzzle, instead of hating the one who created it?

i am so sick of being told to my face that i am not the things that i know i am. i’m so sick, of being tortured with the three. in my head, everday i sit down and i think of the three. the three that really are only those three things.

the athlete never has anything good to say, she doesn’t like to read, and is to addicted to freaking out on a regular basis because of mass testosterone injections. the brain is driven, stuck up, and rich. she spends her time looking down her nose, because thats all she knows. the personality will laugh at anything, pretend for anybody, and stand down to no one. she is liked by many, because she’s your all time bff, but she doesn’t really like you.

this is where i fail: they are all beauty. they all have a gleam in their eyes. all of them have green eyes actually. i am not original. especially if i am the only thing that they have in common.

maybe i’ve spent so much time hating them, that i forgot to walk away. to attach myself to a different story that fits me. that lets me be everything i’ve already been.

it’s like i worked so hard, and giving up isn’t as easy as i thought. i thought that in the story it would come out with a twist. that i was the best. i was everything. and the audience would see, and say, “i’m so glad they didn’t kill her off in the first chapter like it seemed they were going to.”

no one really cares. it’s a dumb story anyway. hardly a best seller.

i don’t know where to go from here, but i guess i don’t get to be a part of the ending to this one. it’s just hard trying to leave without emotion. anytime i start to hate the way the story unfolds i realize the love is still there. and i can’t leave. i’ll try.

chapter 18.

and the beauty wasn’t told to leave this time. she wasn’t forced to engage in the battle of trivial pursuit with the brain, a friend counting contest with the personality, or the 50 yard dash with the athlete. this time she left on her own. she got her things, walked to the front door and put her hand on the brass knob. she smiled with only her lips, as she remembered the first time she entered. when everything seemed so far away, so new, so exciting, the first time she knew that this was going to be her dream. and as she opened the door, and let the new air brush past her face, she wondered if this meant she was quitting, if it meant that yet again she was forced to let her dream go. and then she looked further out, she could see the ocean. she hadn’t seen the ocean in so long, she smiled with her teeth, and spoke softly. “god, it looks like diamonds from here.”

here’s to the girl of your dreams.

the end.
(my end- the story continues for all those who care to still read.)

i don’t write for anyone. only myself.
normally my thoughts are never directed at one person or situation. i mix everything up, so that its more abstract then anything.
the love of my life always refers to anyone. not someone in particular.
i dont write because i know a certain someone will read it, and it’s a way of communicating… i write because it’s what i’m feeling.
i don’t try and have communication over blogs.
thousands of people read this, i don’t know if it’s been one person a thousand times over, or if it is a thousand people one time.
if i’m happy, i probably won’t be writing.
i dont comment back to anyone, cuz i often times have nothing to say. i’m bad at that.
i love words. i hate people. and those that love me. you’re sweet.

i wrote this because someone asked me today if i wrote about him in an entry. the truth is, i might have, but he was probably three people in one. thats the beauty of writing. you can say whatever you want. and thats the beauty of people. always thinking this one is about them.

…are nothing i care about.

walking beside me. asking for my opinion. strong face. strong lines. something more than what you see. and you ask for my reason. my reason for breathing. i tell you it’s nothing. i’m just floating. you smile and say you agree. what are you doing with life? you smile, again. maybe it’s luck. everything happens for a reason.

you smile with your eyes.

if the blue eyes compared to the dark soul that is my love, i might be more nervous. if you were taller, i might be weaker. if you were the love of my life, it might make sense to me how wonderful you are.

so you say, “take it.” and i say, “i can’t.” but i take it, because i can’t not. and you smile. so i smile back. boys like my smile. so i know that i got you. i can see it in your eyes. you now want to do whatever you can to see me smile again. you are going to want to rescue me.

and i stop. thats why i loved him. because he didn’t care. he didnt jump in front of cars for me. he didn’t make me care for him back. i just did. and i thought about why i loved this man. this man who couldn’t even save himself, let alone me. i loved him cause he never tried. and he was too dumb to realize that i loved him for nothing he wasn’t. he was a walking disaster and i would have gladly followed him down. and then i would have laughed when he commented on how high he had climbed.

and there you are. i don’t love you in that way, right now. but i could, eventually. it takes years to love. and i’m not ready to settle. i’m still floating. floating on bad luck. bad luck that will take you away from me. then your good luck will keep you there. away from me. but can i try? see it out? maybe you could like me. maybe we can’t tell right now. maybe it doesn’t matter. maybe you could be. for me? i wish the future made sense. maybe there are other things in life. maybe you are the most beautiful man i’ve seen close up. maybe.

and i ask you. who are we making jealous right now? we smile. no one cares. it’s just you and me. and we’re just talking.

so i read in seventeen magazine, back when i was around fifteen, that when you feel depressed due to your life sucking, write out the problems you are having, and then write down reasons why they can also be good. so for everyone, right now, this is me writing myself happy:

i just starting taking these pills that are currently making me loopy, insane, itchy, anxious, and depressed… but they have also greatly increased the size of my boobs!!

okay that really has to stop there, i just start complaining and never stop. i need starbucks. too bad i have no money to get me any. i hate my life. sorry shouldn’t complain, mainly because well there are starving people in africa who never even heard of starbucks… <—that, my friend, is my superego talking, and right now it’s fighting with my id that wants to go steal somebody’s starbucks, to satisfy my need. my ego, the only rational part of my being, is telling both to calm down and stop fighting, and now i am anxiety ridden. thank you freud.

freud honey, sometimes a cigar, is just a cigar.

so my parents told me that smart people with good genes and money need to start creating more kids, so that we don’t end up ruled by retarded people. discuss. use information like black panthers, illegal aliens, trailer trash, mormons, and anyone from alabama or kentucky in your conversation and it will prove some point.

ooooh.

not having money makes you skinny, because you cant buy food. but apparently so does having too much money (the olsen twins, miss lohan, etc). i wish i was getting skinny cause i had too much money. that would be an issue worth having.

i think i want a skunk mink. a live, skunk mink.

i got to hold a lobster yesterday and give it a sharpie to squeeze. that was fun, until i saw it brutally murdered right in front of my eyes- i watched someone kill it, by cutting it lengthwise, right down the middle. good thing i didn’t have sex with the guy. it would have been harder to let go.

whatever it is, i don’t know.

during the day, my dad sits in the next room talking in his blackberry on conference calls. i tell him to get an iphone, so i can play with it. he doesn’t hear me. he is not a multi-tasker. my dad works hard for his money. he describes his job as making money for everyone else. after he interests the companies into buying his product, the salesmen sell it and take the paycheck. and to think if he never knocked up his girlfriend, his fifteen year plan into retirement might have actually happened.

i sometimes i wonder if my dad is happy. he has his days. kind of like these other people i know.

she’s twenty-five or so, she works as a resturant manager in the northwest suburbs of chicago. she will tell you that she thinks she deserves more money than what she is given. she thinks she is a good leader, if only because she knows how to raise her voice. she likes the idea of woman in leadership. she would vote for hillary, but would never check to see if she actually agrees with her as a candidate. she is a feminist, because thats what she thinks will take her mind off how lonely she is. she hates her job. she hates being small. she hates her life. but somehow it is what she wants, and it is what she will get, because she hasn’t tried to leave it. you don’t buy a condo in the suburbs as a single woman, unless you are trying to prove your independence, yet at the same time hoping someone impregnates you.

he drives a small chick car. it’s not a hybrid, but it gets good gas mileage. he is not green, but likes to appear that way. he likes to smoke and drink and have a good time. he likes to be able to walk to work, but will drive there anyway. he likes to feel free, but he knows he’s not. he spent his twenties partying, and now his thirties wishing he took more responsibilty. wishing he didn’t cheat on his girlfriend when he was 20. wishing he treated his body better. he will say he doesn’t regret. but you know he does. he has everything he’s wanted for so long. but he is alone, and his friends are married, and he is getting used to his life. and pretty soon, he won’t be able to change it, and he will be the same. fifty years old at a bar, telling twenty-year olds how beautiful they are.

they graduated college. spent four years, and thousands of their parents dollars. some might have loans they have to pay back, some are a little luckier. no one can move out of their parent’s house. no one has a job that pays them over ten dollars an hour. no one has a job in their field because no one wants a twenty-two year old. they feel like they spent their time wasted. that even trying to get a job for 35,000 a year is still not as good as taking a serving job. they are sad, because they don’t really matter. and the dream of never having to settle, is gone. and they may not be alone, they might have love, but they don’t have pride.

i didn’t go to college for five years. i told everyone that i wanted to know who i was before i tried to guess how i was going to make my money. when i knew myself better, i went back. and it’s strange, because now i am older than i should be. i live with my parents, i rely on them for shelter. i am not in love, but sometimes wonder what it would be like if i could change someone’s mind. i have friends, and they seem much more advanced. and i’m afraid.

i’m afraid of ending up like everyone else. with no purpose. no love. no dream of my own. i’m afraid that i will get to where i think i need to be, and still not be happy.
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