Solitude.
Don't get me wrong, it's nice and peaceful sometimes. Times when I enjoy being alone as much, or more, than I enjoy being around people.

Plus, I'm not too nice to people these days.
I don't know what's happened.
It's not like I don't know I hurt people's feelings.
But I take them into consideration afterwards.
But by then, they've moved on, and I'm left to think that I can't take that second back. I can't take those words back.

I've become bitter, mostly.
though, I still enjoy myself quite a lot.
I don't blame anyone but myself.


All I want is to get lost in a book.
In some one else's life.
Problems
social barriers
love life
and internal conflicts.

It's odd to think,

that I'll be singing a love song I wrote about you, in front of you.
And I doubt that you notice that I stare.
Eye contact is my enemy.
Because when I'm looking at you, not only do I feel asphyxiated,
but I feel like your gaze is unlocking me, and I feel loose.
I feel free.
I feel bare,
your hands are in your own pockets,
keeping your arms busy,
and you're not there to blanket me.

I MISS ELISABETH.
I wonder if she knows what a sunspot is..
I'm pretty sure she does, but she lets me call her that anyway :)

I find an intensely focused brain incredibly attractive.
The thought of someone explaining things like computer programming, or quadratic equations during sex is just..gorgeous.

The first time I wrote that sentence,
instead of 'sex' I wrote 'intercourse'
How lame is that?
Sex is such a great word.

random musings

“Insecurities are about as useful as trying to put the pin back in the grenade.”

The show will be super..? I have no idea what my feelings on the show are. Maybe I should just take away the '..?' and just put an '!'

The show will be super!

That feels good.


So. I do this thing, where whenever I'm into someone, I tell whoever I can. And I haven't told anyone anything as of recently. It's refreshing.
It's not that I like bottling things up, or hiding things.
But I'm just having an ickle laugh to myself over my own teenage dramas.

She sits,
not alone in her thoughts,
but accompanied by another of herself.
Another of one that she is, and at times,
is not.

I think I'll keep my knowledge to myself for awhile.
Why not be up front? Why let my anger boil and writhe inside me?

No one has ever made me feel as cheap and used and unloved and unwanted as you just did.

the sun vs. the law

I've never been the best significant other.
People have no trouble falling out of love with me.
When it comes down to it, I'm just too easy to out-shine.

But I'm accepting, eventually,in every situation.
It's pathetic, really.

I fell in love with fourteen teenagers from Florida.


Jules' games
never being able to eat
doing yoga in the bathroom
the band
my secret shame is Cory's too
drawing Jordan
Cory's guitar is difficult
watching the boys wipe-out
89 foot slip n' slides
orange vs. purple
my bra stolen every night
calling with vegan recipes at 3am
not remembering what day it is
realizing it's 4:20am
vandalizing Mason
"Yo' not just ballin', yo' PAINT-ballin'"
the lap game
chair-forts
death metal
the drama team
1,2,3,4,5 suckers
it's CATURDAY!!!
"Dan's BEEN ready.."
Tonight's Trivia
MUD
tennis-ball wars
Turkey with Turkey Gravy
"You smell so TATE"
"I AM MASON"



I almost made it out without crying.

need/want

I may be running away,
but who says that's so wrong?

I let myself slip into a deep funk.
But I'm not the only one who wants me gone.

How can something as trivial as another person's hoodie,
make me feel so beautiful?

Wait, wait..I seduced you?

I didn't know I was capable.


"You're like a junkie..who hates needles."

Yeah, I know I'm quiet,
but yeh know, it's not exactly like I can be LOUD
when in the middle of a sleeping neighborhood.

I honestly think I did that out of spite.
He was on his date, and Amber was with him.


Shame on me?

facebook picture comments

In this situation, B=boy, G=girl and Kc is just Kc Stone.


B: I like this picture. Like, a whole lot!

Kc: Awwwwwwwwwww I liiiiiike this picture! More than you do!!!!!!!!!!!!

B: No...you really don't Kc, I absolutely love this picture, Jessi looks beautiful in it. It's super rockin. There's nothing you can say that's going to change that. I will love this picture forever more than you.

G: You haven't even seen the others!

B: She's a very pretty girl (=

This to that.

"How's it going?"
Were the first words out of his mouth.
Instantly, my mind exploded with
"What is the incessant IT you keep referring to?!"

It,
Like a dog.
Like an object.
Like and infant before it's named.

Can you imagine two people running around their suburban home,
two years later,
still happily married,
and still calling that infant IT.
"Dear, have you seen IT? It's time for him to get ready for a party."
"Oh yes, it's a costume party, right? What's IT going as?"
"A clown."

But I only mention the incessance of IT,
because the day before,
he'd asked me a similar question.
"How's it coming along?"

Has my mind lost pieces I need to collect?
Any normal person would come to the conclusion
he was referring to our unfinished science project.
But not me. No.
My mind went to that poor child.

So, I'm stuck.
"How's it going?"
How's IT..going.

"I'm sure IT's fine."
Is my final reply.
Kill me.
I'd like to die.

Right about now.
Someone show some kindness.

I scramble for words.
My mouth open wide,
wanting to spout
and rant
and inquire
about his
"It" factor.

"Sorry," I say,
"I'm a little out of sorts today."
"That's okay." A smile.

I cringe inside.
Don't even get me started on THAT.

In a simple musing,

I'm not inspired, per se
I don't get inspired easily.
And usually, when I write
it's some measly
little rhyming thing
that never satisfies.

But to satisfy and appetite that's mental
I guess that's work for the muses.

But what is a muse?
And what is it's use?

Often portrayed as a gree-esque lady.
Can't you just picture them all?

All toga-ed up,
Gathered somewhere in the clouds,
Boasting of all their triumphs out loud,

"Ever heard of a little thing called Beethoven's 9th?
All me, honey."
"No shit? Well, I pride myself most on that darling little Mona-girl.
Oh, you know, the painting?"

But women such as this,
couldn't be that deep.
I have a feeling that people in general a very shallow.

But, none-the-less, I have a theory.

A muse is in a musing.
A moment that some great energy passes through the mind,
like when you're hit in the head with a big rubber ball?
You seem to lose all thought for a time.
And you feel something that isn't quite unconciousness,
and yet, you don't feel awake.

The in-between is the ticket.
Like, you're in two seperate worlds simultaneously.
Or, just another world all together.
Not another Earth,
or an alternate,
but simply a state of being.

Just being.
Floating in your own mind.
Not confined to the heaviness of your body.

Inspiration.
It's got to come from somewhere.
Not that we'll ever know.
Believe you me,
we'll come up with some excuse like religion or a higher being,
And discredit ourselves, and our own abilities.

Such is life.
Stuff and non-sense.
Bits and pieces.

Unfinished.
Unwritten.
Unsatisfying.

I have no idea what I want.

And, really, regardless of popular belief, including my own at times, I'm okay with that. (:

Oh, my mother.

I love her.

She brought me Easter a day late, because we didn't really celebrate this year, and I said I missed Easter when I was little.
So she showed up after work with a large choco-bunny and signature Cadbury Creme Eggs, Peeps, and mini hard candy eggs shells we used to have every easter.

And the cherry on top?
She hid them all in my little computer room.

I'm only sleeping.

"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just tired."

The perfect excuse.


I've been a little overly lethargic lately, come to think of it. I don't mind being tired. Being in a constant dream-like state is a-ok by me. I tend to be less afraid of myself when I'm tired, because frankly, I don't care.

And, on days that I've been exhausted, I tend to learn a lesson of some kind. Something very good, very strange, or very bad happens. But I'm never left wanting in the end.

Something has changed within me,

Something is not the same.
I'm done with playing by the rules
of someone else's game.

Too late for second guessing,
Too late to go back to sleep.
It's time to trust my instincts,
close my eyes and leap.

It's time to try
Defying Gravity.
I think I'll try
Defying Gravity.
Kiss me goodbye
I'm Defying Gravity.

I'm through accepting limits
'Cause someone says they're so.
Some things I cannot change,
But 'til I try I'll never know.

Too long I've been afraid of
losing love I guess I've lost.
Well if that's love
It comes at much too high a cost.

I'd sooner buy
Defying Gravity.
Kiss me goodbye
I'm Defying Gravity.
I think I'll try
Defying Gravity.
And you won't bring me down.




Oh, Kurt. Oh Chris Colfer. Why do you have to be gay?
It's not like I wouldn't grow a penis for you. I would.
It's just..can't you make an acception? Just once?
If I ever meet you, I think I'll cry. Hell, I know I'll cry.
I've already planned what I'm going to say to you.
So 'giddy-up future, here I come.

I've realised just how many notebooks I have. And I write in all of them. In fact, somedays I write in all of them. I just have so much to say, but I have such a bad memory that I have to write it down anywhere I can. My hand, an assignment, a stray piece of paper lying around.

I once wrote on the desk..at the time I thought it was very important stuff. And it turned into a pretty nice poem, if you ask me. But it took awhile of hiding it from my grandmother before I got it off. There's still a mark there from pressing too hard with the pen. I run my hand over it sometimes to have a laugh.

It's almost as if I leave little pieces of myself everywhere on purpose. Like, if I died in my sleep tonight, I know that they would find something I wrote, and decide to share it with the world. Or something like that.

I ate a cookie today.

I say I'm giving up sugary things for lent. But, be the first to know, I'm giving up speaking unless spoken to, I'm giving up talking about myself for the most part, I'm giving up feeling like a bottomless pit at the end of the day because I can't keep anything about anything to myself. Filling conversation with gossip, gossip in general for that matter.

The point is, I want to become the me in my head. I don't want to hate myself inside because I have no self-control and an abundance of bad habits. I guess you could say I want to appear less selfish, though I am doing this for personal reasons and that in turn is "selfish".

All I'll ever want is acceptance, from myself, and from you.

Harold and Maude say:

Get together regardless of your age, race, creed, color or national origin. Thank you."

Oh, cult films. I have stumbled across yet another. And fallen in love. Madly, deeply, I tell you! If you haven't seen Harold and Maude..DO IT. It's one of the most innovative, unique, thought-provoking, and touching things I've seen in a very, very long time.

Gone Rogue.

You ever wonder why we take such good care of our teeth? I mean, maybe the reason they deteriorate is because they were meant to fall out that quickly. Maybe we weren't actually meant to last this long, hm? I mean, we certainly take an awful lot of work. We're kind of fragile creatures. But we got more intelligent over the years, like a robot that built up knowledge and will now take over the world. Ironic, no?

I find it kinda funny,

I find it kinda sad,
That dreams in which I'm dying
are the best I've ever had.



The songs "Mad World" and "Wonderwall" will never be the same to me.
All I know is that I don't live in doubt. I live in bewliderment.

Dear Mr. Drew,

I thought it best to start my very first blog out, with one of my favorite moments captured on camera.

July 12th, 2009. Columbia, Missouri. On the corner of Walnut and Eighth. A crowd of restless teenagers await the appearance of one Christofer Drew, commonly known as his solo project refers to him, as Never Shout Never. Some sit on the pavement, some stand, some wander aimlessly from group to group, some talk, some listen. There's a thick tension suspended in the air. Eyes dart back and forth, heads turn over shoulders when footsteps are heard, sighs of dissapointment escape when the feet that make them belong to yet another teenager looking to join in on the growing impatience. Cut to a front view of the tourbus they gather around, tall and loomingly black, it casts a shadow twice it's size. Zoom in on two girls to the right of the gas-guzzler. One is tall and dark-skinned with heavy eyeliner and long flowing black hair. She watches her friend, the other, less exotic looking of the two, who leans limply against the side of the tourbus with her eyes closed. Her pale skin is tinted pink from the adrenaline of music pumping through her veins and other bodies smashing against her. Her body is exhausted, but her thoughts refuse to slow to a comprehensible speed. She opens her eyes, puffy and red-rimmed, as she's been crying, to meet her companion's. Giving her a warm smile her friend jiggles the camera in her hands. She smiles back, but only half-heartedly. She closes her eyes once more. Behind her eyelids she sees herself. She sees herself and her inspiration. She can't press herself to think of things to say. What do you say to one of your heroes, she wonders? Ask about the weather? Ask about family? No. Never get too personal, she warns herself. If you were famous, would you want everyone poking around in your personal life?

Her eyes snap open as outcries of "It's him!" and "He's here!" and the ever-so-popular "Oh my god!" break loose. She pushes herself slowly off of the toubus and turns herself fully to face the compacted crowd, now swarming around one body. He doesn't look frantic at all, he moves casually from person to person, making sure to ask each person a question or comment on how sweet they are to him. Hugs all around.

Her once speedy thoughts reach a peaking point, and she stands dumbly away from the crowd. She clutches her friends hand as she moves forward, slipping deeper into the mass. She's standing next to him. She doesn't want to hound him like everyone else seems to be doing. She wants to let her turn come naturally. She lets the crowd thin. There are less and less grabby and shouty fans. She taps him lightly on the shoulder. He turns to her with a wide smile. Perfect teeth. Ping! Says her brain. Good teeth are the way to a girls heart..

Forcing herself to focus, she tells him of how she's followed his career. The words slowly form from half-thoughts. She easily carries a conversation about ukulele and the tour so far. He asks her if she'd like a picture, forgetting she's already gotten one, most likely from being hounded all night. She says yes, she'd like one of them hugging, if that would be alright. His head tilts as he says, "Come here!" and proceeds to embrace her. Tears spring into her eyes. And she unwillingly lets herself fall into him. Thinking this hug would be just as short and non-chalant as the rest were, she starts to let go. His arms tighten their grasp around her back and waist and she gives in to the embrace. Forgetting that everyone is still watching him, and now her for that matter. He stands her back up and reaches into his pocket. Fishing out a dollar bill he asks for her myspace url, and that he'd like to hear some of her music. She clumsily scrawls out her lenghthy url and hands it back to him. She says thank you and reluctantly turns away from his smiling face. She slips into the back silently, feeling the slightest bit drowsy. A content exhaustion. The ride home is quiet, apart from a few questions her friend's mother asks her about the concert. She answers all of them in short sentences, dreamily gazing out the window. Though, she's not seeing what is right in front of her, nor hearing directly what's being said. She's seeing her own arms wrapped around his green blazer, and hearing him talk to her as she leans into him. Realizing the car has come to a stop, she thanks her friend and her mother off-hand for the ride. When she floats through her front door she kisses her mother on the cheek, tells her it was wonderful, but she'll tell her all about it in the morning. Finally, slipping into her own bed, without even bothering to dress herself in pjs or brush her teeth, she lets all of the crying and worrying and dancing and singing and talking and shouting and energy that came from the nights events sink in. As her weary eyes look out into the black stillness of her empty room, she thinks, I'll have to write it all down tomorrow...