September 2007

A big thanks to everyone who called to comfort me, to calm my nerves and anxiety over the stresses of commencing the 'grand finale'. Had I written this on Tuesday after school, it would have been d r i p p i n g with sarcasm; however, just twenty four hours laser I find myself illuminated.
I thought I needed to be comforted with all the right words, to have someone find a way to tell me that I'd be okay. Nobody's diction was well-selected enough for my likes, though.
The lack of ease - the encounter with reality - shook off my summer skin.

Now I'm back to who I've always been,
sitting on the fence of mediocrity.
Independant.
I don't need you, although I miss you. That's not changing, I don't need to justify the devoid feeling you've left me with, but we'll be back to how we were before long. And I sure as hell don't need you. I'm bigger than that, I'm my mother's daughter, through and through, good and bad. Suck it, bitches

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Materialistically Satisfied, never satiated.

Image
Bright Eyes discography in my possession, chronologically: letting off the happiness every day and every night fevers and mirrors there is no beginning to the story lifted, or, the story is in the soil, keep your ear to the ground lua i'm wide awake it's morning take it easy (love nothing) noise floor four winds cassadaga
Read more

Our generation holds themselves higher than our parents' held the bible.

Image
We allow ourselves to be corrupted by society. We allow ourselves to become lost in the internet. We allow ourselves to have such an excess of narcissism that we spend hours choosing what to reveal about ourselves on facebook in order to create an impression of someone we wish to be, and not at all who we are. We keep digital records of our daily events and feelings, because writing with pen and paper is so passe. We must smoke cigarettes as to occupy our hands, which may otherwise display some sort of truth, the truth of uncertainty. We must develop a reputation of consistency to form personas behind which we hide. We become uncomfortable without a connection; no cellphone, no internet, no safety net. We must illuminate the spaces in between one another with televisions, silver screens, the glow from the text message you just sent to the person you were thinking about while you were with someone else. We cannot be in silence or darkness, unless it is a specifically rebellious lifestyl...
Read more

Lover's Lane

Image
She's the kind of girl who lives romantic. Red lipstick, little black dress. Curls and pearls. Super slim cigarettes, Dry martinis and vodka water. White carpet, white teeth. Leather bound books, rotary telephone. Typewriter, typewriter, typewriter. Personalized stationary, personalized pen. Perfect cursive, wet black ink. Polite shoes, yoga mat. She's the kind of girl who lives nomadic. Plaid sweatshirt, blue jeans. Sneakers and coffee. Cheap smokes and chain smoking, Wind-blown hair, notes on napkins. Water-logged book, back pocket. Mascara Tea lights, Belle and Sebastian. Beer and scratch tickets. French cursing, untying. Bubble gum and wrappers.
Read more