Seven MinutesI had never been to a party that wasn't being thrown by one of my friends. But Lilly and I were kinda friends. We had a class together, but that was the only time we talked. When she invited me to her birthday party, I wasn't sure if I wanted to go. She was one of the more popular kids, but she was so nice. My two close friends, Kristal and Hayley, were also kind of friends with her, so they also got invited. We all decided that there was probably going to be a lot of popular, mean kids there, so if we all went, we had to stay by each other the whole night.
In a way, going to that party was a big mistake.
On the other hand, it was the smartest thing I've ever done.
On the night of her birthday, I arrived at Lilly's house with Hayley and Kristal. Lilly answered the door, her black hair in tight curls and sparkly eyeshadow on.
"Hey Layla! Hayley! Kristal! You guys made it!" she exclaimed cheerfully. We followed her inside and took off our shoes. I handed her my card and looked around the
SleepConsciousness is tired. It has been a long day.
He is thankful for his final coffee break, even if caffeine isn't what he wants right now.
Draining a glass of milk he glances at the clock,
Not much more work will get done today. May as well call it a night.
Haphazardly he bundles the remaining sheaves
Of scattered thoughts into drawers and filing cabinets;
He performs the usual closing time routine.
A quick brush of the white paving stones outside,
A wipe of the facade.
He closes and lashes the shutters
He shuts down the terminals
And turns off the light.
Only then does the subconscious emerge.
Lighting a candle,
He opens in its flickering light his briefcase
And releases the dreams.
Love's Expiration DateShelf life is defined as, "the length of time a particular product is given before it is deemed unsuitable for one to consume or use." As usual I took this concept a little further and applied it to relationships. Because, according to The Beatles and Hallmark, all we need is love.
Or is there more?
I'd definitely say my life is saturated with much more than just love itself. I double dip in an array of adjectives and nouns as I please. It's not that I'm a complete cynic; it's just that I haven't had the "aha!" moment yet. In the romantic sense that is. I have some of the greatest platonic supports in my life. Giant pillars be damned. What is love for? I enjoy the idea of feeling warm and safe, but if that was it then we'd all own Snuggies. So what's the kicker here? Is this instinct primal or something bigger?
At eighteen years young I have accepted the fact that I don't know all the answers. My crossword puzzles always have gaping holes, and my mind is a nice reflection of them. I th
confessionsI know you and I both hate the concept
and this is not a love letter
upon giving this to you, I will
vomit in eternal embarrassment
and regret giving it to you for the rest of my life, but
I have to do it.
You hate me.
To your knowledge,
I hate you back.
You are selfish and
You make assumptions about me
based only on the information
you gleam from my conversations
in the classroom
and you make it clear that you have
no intentions of correcting them
You are infuriating.
I don't love you
because this is not a love letter
But I like you.
You are beautiful,
with your short,
that distract from your intelligence.
You are a galaxy of
black night hair
twinkling star eyes
pale moon skin
and a bunch of other
bad space imagery to
simply fucking gorgeous
And your face
with a contemptuous sneer that is
always for me
just pulls me in.
But I don't
I Hate YouYou're annoying,
You're a jerk.
You're a douchebag,
You're not cool.
You're not awesome like you think you are,
You no respect for anyone,
You treated me like crap.
You're a dick to my friends,
You're not a total badass.
You make wanna cry,
And punch you in the face.
You don't care about anyone,
Except for yourself.
You're just straight up mean,
And I hate you.
AlmostI almost cried today.
I almost felt that familiar pang of loneliness and
It almost seized control of my heart again.
It almost threw me back into that darkness,
That abyss of nothingness
I have become acquainted with on several occasions.
I almost fell to my knees today.
I almost needed to feel the comfort of touch
So I almost crossed my arms over my middle and held myself.
I almost laid my face into the space between my knees
Screaming and sobbing;
I almost released every emotion I ever had
Emitting a geyser of regret, fouled by desperation.
I almost rolled my body onto my cold hardwood floor.
I almost placed my hand upon the beautiful design
And wished something soft and warm was beneath it.
I almost pushed myself unto my hands and knees
And crawled into the bathroom.
I almost got into the shower, without bothering to undress
Letting the hot water hide my salty tears.
I almost inhaled
Letting the steam fill my lungs and calm me a bit.
I almost changed into warm dry clothes
The Broken BoyHe looked in the mirror as he so often does, letting his gaze trail over his droopy eyelids, the sagging left corner of his mouth, the thin white lines branching across his cheeks. Gray fluff barely covered the papery skin that glided over his skull, and he fingered a piece. His hands, marred by the scarring between his fingers where webs once lay, were too awkward and big and clumsy, and a clump of hair released itself.
A low guttural noise squeezed out of his throat. His knobby fingers, creaking and groaning at the joints, brushed at his neck, and he wished he could let the words out, if only once. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many eloquent sentences and beautiful paragraphs, a thousand speeches and a million stories, but as soon as he opened his malformed mouth, beast-like sounds emerged. They were twisted and half-strangled, the syllables tripping over one another and melting to each other and searing until the letters, the meanings, were all screwed up.