S.P.E.W.

Wow. I'm a little tired of Scott, of Tanner, of Ex's in general. Of memories resurfacing about how things fall apart. I'm tired of men, of mankind. I'm tired. I try so hard to keep it together, but sometimes it feels like bulimia; you try and keep it all together, to create this good appearance, and it backfires.... literally. Eventually it just all explodes out of you, causing a real mess. I've thought about bulimia quite a bit lately. I've contemplated being bulimic. It sounds pretty easy. It's seems like a pretty simple recipe.

3 cups low self esteem
2 cups unhealthy comparison
7 heaping spoonfuls of schoolwork
1 lb. chopped stress
2 tbs. of my own expectations
2 tsp. the expectations of others.

Combine ingredients in a large human soul, bake at an average lifestyle for 20 years, and voila! I'm skinny! My family wouldn't comment on my weight anymore, I'd get more dates, I wouldn't feel so fat in dance class, and my thighs wouldn't jiggle uncomfortably. I'd never fear shopping for jeans again!
Seems like a pretty cool equation, right?
Girl+Food=Fat, but Girl+Food-Food=Not Fat.

Then I think about the x factor in that equation. Let me show you what happens when you multiply this equation by x. It's simple algebra, really.
(Girl+Food-Food)x=malnutrition, tooth decay, permanent throat damage from regurgitated stomach acid, etc.
Yeah, that etc. is an algebraic function.

There's always that 'x' factor in life. That thing that just keeps you from completing something. You're on the edge of victory, of glory, of accomplishment, of disaster, and it pulls you back, or trips you at the finish line. Take it for what you will.

I wish I had more self-confidence. I wish I was more honest about who I was. I don't know that I'm completely my honest self right now, because I'm utterly sleep deprived and emotionally strained, but I'd like to think that the sad and worn out parts of me are just as honest and the cheerful and loving ones.

Sometimes I'd like a little more recognition. Someone to just come up to me, genuinely, out of the blue, no-nonsense and no angle, and just tell me they love me. Not because I'm sad, or because I look or sound like I need it, but because they care. 100% they just love me. They're not trying to gain my affection, or a pat on the back, or a compliment in return. They just care about me.
I guess I should do that for other people, then.

The truth is, sometimes all that the bulimic people need is a hug.

Estrella

 Reclining on my somewhat-nicely made top bunk bed,
 I'm looking at a poster, tacked up on the wall next to me.
It's a poster from NASA of photos taken by the
Hubble Space Telescope.

Eighty-one different photos of light being transmitted from a
Billion Trillion miles away. I feel a little awe-struck that the human
Race has managed to capture these resplendent creations of
God, and we barely recognize that it's Him.

There is one photo in particular that keeps yanking my eyes
Back to it. Innumerable stars are beaming in this photo. They
Appear as minuscule yellow and white dots in a two-inch square.
It's like watching a million fireflies in a jam jar,

Or like taking a cross-section of a firework.
It's unfortunate and strange to me that these infinite bursts of
Photons are contained by a flat box with thin, yellow walls.
But they're not contained, really.

They're free. They are eruptions of light in unconfined and
Infinite space. Clearly, their light has no limit, because their
explosion of light was powerful enough to travel across the
Universe and find it's way onto my bedroom wall.

I'm yearning to join them.
My heart is pounding and all I want is to run to the edge of the
Earth, and with one flying leap, hurl myself into the black
Abyss of Space and explode into unrestrainable light.

There is a pull in my chest to combust into a
Thousand gigantic beams of blindingly Golden and Breathtaking
light and illuminate the surrounding Darkness.
To Emit light is not strong enough. No, this has to be something
Powerful, something with enough force to ricochet and repercuss.

And maybe, If I explode large enough,
My own light will find its way onto a piece of my
Bedroom wall.

Do I Get a Nickname?

"A heart disrupted frees the mind".

Let's play "Would You Rather..."
Would you rather give Obama a back massage, or lose a leg?

I'd rather kiss Satan than make the top bunk.
But for some reason, I find that I'm making the top bunk most mornings.
Ah well, C'est la vie.

Would you rather have a sound heart or a sound mind?

Just a simple question.
Apparently they're mutually exclusive events.

...................................................................................................................................................................

I remember clearly the day that I started biting my nails. It's a bad habit that I'm still trying to kick to this very day.
I was 8 or 9, and I remember our family had just knelt down in the living room to say family prayers for the night. As we proceeded to get settled into the worn out carpet, I remember my mother reprimanding my brother, the middle child, and telling him to stop biting his nails.
Now, to a 9-year-old, anything your older brother does is cool. When your mother disapproves, it's twice as cool. So, I gave it a whirl. I started biting my nails and it was a habit that never completely went away.
It didn't really help that my piano teacher told me to keep my nails short. It just justified my behavior.
Now I bite my nails when I'm nervous and not thinking about it. Like in a test, or something.
Sometimes I wonder if  I want to stop biting my nails.

...................................................................................................................................................................

How's your garden? I'm curious if your flowers have bloomed yet.

Um.

I want you to know that I read your poem.
I think I understood,
And I'm sorry.
For lots of things.
Mostly, I'm sorry that
You caught the worst of my uncommunicativeness.

I'd like to see your garden sometime, if you don't mind.
Perhaps I could plant a new flower? A completely platonic but very nice flower?
It should bloom come spring.

Alright.... I'm coming to pick up my Italian book.

Please don't read the rest of this.
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You Sneak!!!! I told you not to read the rest of this!!!! Oh well.
Do you have any regrets? I'm curious. I'm not sure if I do. Regret I think is a mortal thing, something of this earth. I think it's something you choose, too. If I do have regrets, it's mostly on the ends of the spectrum. I regret either that we tried in the first place, or that it didn't work out, or maybe a little of both. But it was a learning experience. I learned that we are probably better suited as friends. Although, since we've been spending so much time on honesty planet lately, I have a confession. I feel a sense of relief. There was something missing, and it was, for lack of a better word, a little strenuous and tense. But there is still that little corner of opposition. It's the top-left corner, I think. I'll have to look into some repairs up there. It opposes all endings and change. It is determined to keep trying until all problems are solved and every question answered, goll-durn-it! Our rather interesting situation is not immune from that. This is not a plea to try again. I am simply explaining all aspects of my own standing, which I should have done better at before. I don't think the top-left corner is sufficiently strong enough to induce me to try again.
Now. Let's put this to rest, and say, "You know what? They're great, really. And I still care about them, but it just didn't work out." We can turn westward or eastward or whatever way we want, and still wish the best for each other, send each other Christmas cards, and when you get an iPhone, I'll send you a snapchat or something. It'll be funny, I promise.
That's all.

"A lovestruck Romeo, sings the streets of serenade
Laying everybody low with a love song that he made
Find a streetlight, steps out of the shade
Says something like, "You and me, babe, how about it?"

Juliet says, "Hey, it's Romeo, you nearly gave me a heart attack"
He's underneath the window, she's singing
Hey, la, my boyfriend's back"
You shouldn't come around here, singing up at people like that
Anyway what you gonna do about it?

Juliet, the dice was loaded from the start
And I bet and you exploded in my heart
And I forget, I forget the movie song
When you gonna realize, it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet?

Come up on different streets, they both were streets of shame
Both dirty, both mean, yes and the dream was just the same
And I dream your dream for you and now your dream is real
How can you look at me, as if I was just another one of your deals?

Well, you can fall for chains of silver, you can fall for chains of gold
You can fall for pretty strangers and the promises they hold
You promised me everything, you promised me thick and thin
Now you just say, "Oh, Romeo, yeah, you know
I used to have a scene with him"

Juliet, when we made love, you used to cry
You said, "I love you like the stars above, "I love you till I die"
There's a place for us, you know the movie song
When you gonna realize, it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet?

I can't do the talk like the talk on the TV
And I can't do a love song like the way it's meant to be
I can't do everything but I'd do anything for you
Can't do anything except be in love with you

And all I do is miss you and the way we used to be
All I do is keep the beat, the bad company
And all I do is kiss you, through the bars of a rhyme
Juliet, I'd do the stars with you any time

Juliet, when we made love, you used to cry
You said, "I love you like the stars above, I'll love you till I die"
There's a place for us, you know the movie song
When you gonna realize, it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet?

A lovestruck Romeo, he sings the streets of serenade
Laying everybody low with a love song that he made
Find a convenient streetlight, steps out of the shade
He says something like, "You and me, babe, how about it?""

"Romeo and Juliet" by The Killers

Melon-collie (hehe)

She stared at the darlings holding hands in front of her walking down the sidewalk, and she felt lonelier than ever. She wanted to write a heart-wrenching, hand-wringing, tear-jerking, earth-shattering poem about it, only she couldn't; it would be dishonest. Her feelings were not so violent. No, she was still upright, walking, healthy, happy, almost. There was simply a melancholic weight that had settled in the middle of her chest, and it sometimes made it hard to sleep. When that happened, a cup of hot, chamomile tea usually did the trick.  But sometimes, the blues struck her hard. Nothing saps happiness out a girl's heart faster than the blues. She felt lost. There seemed to be a thousand directions she could take, but none of them led to the horizon, and all seemed to end in a downward trajectory, plummeting straight to the earth. There were only two people in the world she wanted to talk to about it. The first, He was quiet. Well, maybe not quiet so much as vague. The other, well, he was the reason for the melancholy. She couldn't talk to him. It seemed that she would have to be patient with her introspection until she could find some answers.
This, however, made her sigh. It's hard to be half-way lonely for a very long time.

Enough

It's a little scary
To post something about
God.
Omnipotent
Just
Merciful
Kind....

It's intimidating because I can't even
Begin to scratch the surface on
This character.
There's some feelings of                      inadequacy
swirling around.
But then I recall a story within a story.

There was a woman who                      reached out
To touch the hem of His robe.
He turned around
and made her whole.

In this confusing world of virtual and real
Where it's so easy
For one to be wounded so
Deeply,
I sometimes forget that
All that is needed is for me to                reach out
And He will heal me.