Time to Ellipse; Children

It's just really hard for me to have you read what I write. You know that?
It's hard because you limit what I can say. There's so many things I think about; so many things that are the raw truth, so many things that are repeated and removed and I just want to say them.
But most of them are scary, and bad. But it's how I feel; and to have you read them, and have you thinking about me makes me nervous.
You probably think I'm some 
overly-dramatic-attention-seeker-girl. Well, maybe that's not a bad thing, and maybe I am. But I just want you to know, that what I'm sharing isn't seeking attention. It's me, and it's how I feel and think. And you know, every single one of these.. writings.. I call them, I was crying when I wrote them. Keep in mind, that most of the things I say when I cry are my true feelings and what I actually want.
And I never re-read the things I write, when I cry.
It hurts me too much.




12.12.12
You could build concrete homes under my back; the arch I've formed is so deep.
But, would you build me something if I wanted you to?
even from concrete.

You know; I think about you. More than any girl should think about a boy. But; its because I miss how everything used to be. I miss you. I miss you so hard I cry for you; and for your dear character. But I'm just a silly 15 year old girl.
I've never come so close to love; and now you've disappeared and I can't breathe.
and I walk to where we meet, 
where your death was confirmed.
I'll meet you there.
But till then, cry for me?
Pray for me?
I would like to Marry Christmas.



12. 16. 12
I'm mad at you more than I'm not.
and that's not ok anymore.

and it's Christmas-time-around-this-part and I think about dying.
and how I'm just here. and when I'm gone.
that will be just that.
and Christmas would continue.
and the end of the world will still end.
and I'll still have not attended a new year's party.
because like all other holiday's I have something bitter bundled in my heart, held against that holiday.
bitterness for new years: it's a new year. And I have to continue living.

but it's not what you think. Majority of the time I don't actually hate life.
I just hate where I am in my life; especially because there's only so much a single human can take of her daily dose of disappointment.


12.17.12
You know what. You're pretty dumb.
and I pretty much hate you.
as well as New Year's.
I hate that too.



12.19.12
And for the first time it sounds like hallelujah.
for the first time.
and I'll miss you someday.
I'm not walking away.
I'm just hearing what you say.
for the first time it sounds like hallelujah.
for the time I'm singing hallelujah,
for the first time.


12.21.12
I wanted to call you; and ask you if it's been hard for you too.
has it though? Has is been hard?
i need to know I'm not the only one who is struggling,
and you're the only one I can image who feels what I feel too.
It's so out of control, lately, especially lately.
my family's crying while I'm screaming at them.
crying child, crying child.
screaming Broken heart.
I can image how it looks, from their view. Their sister screaming at high frequencies, screaming.
Not screaming words, but screaming sounds.
when someone is so... beyond words..
That's exactly what happens.
no words come out when they scream; and that's possibly the scariest thing about it.
my little brother, who's 3.
screamed louder than I, told me to stop.
he can barely talk. but he told me to stop.
so I did.

she falls to the ground and cries.out of complete bitterness.
she hates herself.
the child looking up, watching Broken heart, hurt.


12._ _ .12
 there's a low roar resting in my head tonight. -hush child. you'll wake the neighbors.


she looked up; cried.
and then fell.
-s

Place your Bids here.

boys & girls; this is hell.
The life we all lead, with our black jeans and black testimonies; testimonies of each other. How we spite the current situation and wish for something better. & better. &better. & better. Hell is where you hold my hand and tell me it's cold. No, not my hand but how our love is cold. I shrug and nod; I know when our love has run dry and cold; just like you and me. How we have become old and rough. Rough. & Rough. Rough & &. How your love for me has washed away and my love for you never sat at the shore; but only in the thistle of my heart. Hell isn't some damnation that one exalt human deserves; no. Hell is where every human creature belongs; because I believe that's where we were all born. We will all be due to reach our potential; and when that potential is never met where do we return? Where do we start? We are thrown down in the deep sea and declare hell.
Hell is defined as the current state of being; never progressing never moving. The modern dependence, of made decisions and disfigured thoughts; yes. The modern dependence of you and me and the life we lead. Lead to no where but unknown.
so, boys and girls.
we are hell.

Time in & Time out.

oh but it's so much more than that.
It's how you end up with mascara covering your skin. Coating you with deep streaks of winter winds; my rugged and bitter winter winds; con-caved into your deep, deep olive skin. Keeping you warm and apprehensive. Creating nesting homes for me; where I sit cross legged and paint myself with stereotypes & beauty. Building up my durable brick garden; where we sit cross legged and blow that tar into that sky.
Bury: bury: bury us down. Bury me down; carry me down and count the atoms in my eyes.
Baby. Bury me so deep; so dark, that I can count the atoms in my own eyes. Where I can play my dark, silly games; where I can paint beautiful stories from memory.
Baby: it's how my clothes hang off my body and my skin has sunk. How my fingers are stiff with thoughts; how I limp and scream for attention. This is how my cry has turned into poetry where you write down every vowel of sound; double checking for accuracy. For reasons the public are kept from, because you have a cruel knowledge of me & and the language I speak when I cry. Your knowledge has power over my common figure. How I must present for your benefit, your profit. Oh how I loath you & your delicate and deliberate way of advancement. Oh how I hate you:
but babe; why do I keep crawling back to the nesting home I've made? Why do I lodge with you? I'll pick a flower, from my brick garden, which will be prettier than I am; I promise. And I won't progress, just for you. But it's time I do business alone. 
Thank you and goodnight.

promise promise.
i will.

memior to 400 B.C.

 * mmmk, well this will be the third time I've posted this; and then deleted it.
but turns out I don't care anymore.
because these are my real feelings. and I just don't have anything else to entertain you with.



you know, when I write, nothing really comes out. nothing escapes my head.
you know: it's hard for me to constantly be thinking. Thinking about you, & how to make things sound beautiful. and you know, sometimes they really do sound beautiful; but only in my head. Then I think, great; I can be beautiful.. let me just store this beauty for when I actually need it.
when I never need it; it's always there.
when I need it; it's always escaped.
the hard thing is; beauty isn't common. It's not the common way to write, or sing; or love.
it's not the common fall weather we all experience.
beauty comes from difference.
cold difference.
I'm different.
but not beautiful.
& if you think I just talking about physical beauty:  kid, grow up.
it will always, I will always, go deeper than that.
ahh, yes. now you may want to go re-read everything I've ever said. Everything I've ever meant.
this is about how I fight with everyone I love.
& if  I haven't fought with you;  I promise: I don't love you.
this is about my image; some image everyone loves to label me with.
this is about how I'm only 15.
& my mom says I'm dealing with "grown-up" casualties. kids; I'm not a simple human being.
I am complex; and different.
but not beautiful.
& &  now you have some image of me;   that I think I'm better because "I'm different" and that I secretly think  I'm better because difference is interesting:  kid, grow up.

you know something.
it's just not really fair. how I've been.
how I've been.
with you.
but something has changed. something so little; so fragile; I'm afraid to even address it.
I just want to let it stay awhile; let it rot awhile.
and before it dies; which it always dies.
this time; I will pat it on the head, and declare life.
I will close my eyes and accept mercy.
& it and i will trust each other once more.

soul; have you returned?
 refer to:  http://highdreamsforus.blogspot.com/2012/05/fine.html
for further information.


you know, with my broken heart; and you're strong figure.
we make a good team.

if you think I'm addressing you; it's probably not you.
because it goes deeper than that.

,,

to educate me; I would be pleased (act ll)

please rock my head, quietly pat my face.
shake your pride; and dear,
dear; define the dark for
me.
show me you're dark soul
the one wrapped in deep sweaters.
the one to defy.
one to scorn.
create me vile works of art;
ones entitled to the name of the devil.
hear my dry mind; think of hard reasons.
hear; my dear, hear my heels
click against the wood.
take the texture of shame
straighten your back.
brush your hair.
clean your shirt.
tie your shoes.
leash your thoughts.
my dear,
leash me.
label me kindly.
scorn my child.
hold my child.
comfort my child.
i am your child.

one time, i was told artists were insane; their single purpose.
create art.
sometimes; i tell myself. writing is art. but only if you're good.
i need insanity.

to educate me, I would be pleased.

When my mama prays, she prays her best prayer. I'm on my knees, and they hurt real bad, because my mama's best prayers are always long. Sometimes she scrunches her face when she feels stuff from her heart. I look over to my dad, he nods when my mama says something real nice; or when she prays that this nation will be alright. My dad has brown hair; but now it's turning a little gray at the edges. His eyes are wrinkly and he always breathes heavy when we pray. He always looks so old when my mama prays. Maybe it's because he loves her so much; that the rest of his love, is gone. Or maybe he misses his brother. His twin brother. His dead brother. I guess he thinks about his brother when my mama prays. That probably makes his face look real tired; but I know his heart never stops lovin'. Sometimes my daddy peeks back at me; and then he snaps his fingers or smashed his eyes very tight; his way of telling me to close my eyes. I look down instead; I just look down with my eyes, not my head, because then it looks like I'm closing my eyes, when I'm not. 
I keep my eyes open when my mama prays. I stare straight ahead and look out the windows. I blink and breathe and sigh; for the other humans who feel sad, like me. But I figured, God would understand. 
My mama tells me that God knows everything about me. He knows about how I think, even about my longings. About me and everything.
One time after she told me how God knows me personally, just like she always does, I said back to her, "Yes mama, you like to tell me that. But the thing is, I don't know Him."
I think that broke her heart, because then she went to her room; and shut the door.
She was there for a long, long time.
But shouldn't God know that I get nervous to close my eyes and sit still for a long time. Shouldn't He know that I'm scared to not see anything, and only hear my mama's voice echo in my head.
"Please bless us, God, bless us that we will all be well and bless our hearts that we will be humble and not prideful. Bless our neighbors and our community; please especially bless this nation, that it will prosper and that we will be guided by wisdom."
My daddy nods.
I look straight.
Yes, God should know me, 
and everything,
so sometimes I whisper, in my best whisper, to myself, "God if you know me,,just let it be ok that I keep my eyes open,, and make my daddy not look so tired anymore." Then I say, "Sorry God, sorry for being a bad human soul." 
All while my mama keeps praying and my daddy keep nodding.
and I keep breathing and sighing.


-sarah.

the and's & ends of life. and. and.

There's been too many times when I've wanted to say something. but rather than opening my mouth; I bite my tongue till it bleeds. And if you think this is just an expression; that is where you are at fault. Yes, yes. This does happen to me.
It's ok.

so. Here's a toast; 
A toast to everyone else who bites their tongue, rather than speaking.
Here's to all the girls who have a swift attachment to their split ends and to their raggedy hair.
Here's to all the families on food stamps, God bless your souls.
and I do mean it.
I mean it hard.
Here's to who ever uses dry reasons and loves the dry seasons; as well as the dry hearts and dry minds.
Here's to my dad; who looks up ballets and to his politics; and how he shyly, every so shyly, asked me if I would like to watch a movie, The Dead Poets Society, with him.
Here's to how I nodded and agreed.
Here's to my politics.
Here's to people who fill their lungs, black, with tar; here's to your addiction. Here's to your source of happiness. Here's to your yellow teeth and dark rings around your eyes.
There, there. I know; I know. It hurts and you know it's wrong.
But the pleasure it consistently, and never fails to bring; 
is, and always will be, worth it.
Here's to that pleasure. 

this one is for myself.
Here's to me.
and my low ACT score; and how I blushed when I saw it.
Here's to Mitt. Yes, Mitt as in Mitt Romney.
Good game pal. Good game.
Here's to all of you who speak French; and how for those few moments I truly do fall in love with you; when you speak your silly little French language. Because I decided that's what love feels like.
Love feels like listening to someone speak French while you smile at them; not from admiration. No hardly, from admiration; but because you love to listen to their voice when they speak their silly, silly French language.  
Here's to all the girls out there; who don't realize how charming you truly truly are. Girls, dears. You're worth it. i.e. Katie Kokol.
hell, here's one for Katherine Jane. And to how her middle name is not actually Jane but I still love it just as much I love her.
Here's to her strong and beautiful personality. Here's to her demure soul and to her little hands that make every girl jealous and wish to have hands like Katie Kokol. Here's to her surety in herself; and to her ability to write and make things sound beautiful. Here's to her fall season and to her counting and complaining.
Here's to her.
My dear. 
Here's to you.
Here's to you; who stand by my side and make me strong. Here's to you and your faith in me and my hardships. Here's to you and your persistence in helping, always helping, me.
Here's to you tess.
Here's to you mom.

Here's to all you, crack heads.
and to your drugs.
enjoy those bad boys.
Here's to the sad books written in the sad fall weather that make you sad and everything around you feel, and seem, over terribly sad. Here's to anyone who is writing a book in this sad fall weather.
Here's to you and your accomplishments. 
Here's to you and your mean, penumbra, harsh thoughts but ever greater; here's to all you and your mean, penumbra, harsh thoughts, that you explore and twist and turn into bucolic things. 
Here's to all you who live in the bungalow of your heart; and manage to never let your thoughts escape.
while yet, exploring them in your free time. 

Yes; most defiantly here's to you.

Here's to Justin Vernon; because every time i hear you sing, something deep with in me is being sung to. And sometimes; if I'm in a sad enough mood, I feel my own heart. That feeling when I'm so sad, so engulfed in despair and ultimate guilt that I physically feel my heart hurt; yes Justin, you do this to me. and I love you only in those moments. 
Here's to the word talisman, noun, \ˈta-ləs-mən, -ləz-\ meaning: a good luck charm. 
Here's to how you're my good luck charm; and how you will never even know.
Here's to how you'll never know me; or my personality. fully.
but how I know you, and your ability to charm me and have me smitten over you and how I have a perfect image of who you are; whether it is true, I do not care to be informed, because my perfect image of you can never be inured because you're my last admiration and I promised to not let it fade. No, not this time.
And if you so happen to ask me, who my secret admiration is for; I will shrug, because there's no way your opinion, whether it be good or bad, will affect my view on this person.
Here's to me and my hypocrisy.
Yes. here's to that.
Here's to the rest of 'em. to the rest of you. 
to the rest of time.
Here's to you; if you didn't fall under any of the previous categories in which I toasted to.
Here's to you.
Here's to you and your blandness.


one last toast.
Here's to my mistakes. to my worries. to my shyness and timid ways that limit me and my abilities. Here's to my abilities. Oh, how I would love to develop my abilities and get past  how scared I get.
Here's to how scared I get. How I get scared to succeed or progress. How I have bad dreams where everyone at school makes me cry; and how I get scared to go to school the next day. Here's to how I get scared to be myself; and feel happy. or even accept that fact that I can still feel happy. Here's to how I long to feel loved and needed. Oh yes, here's to my longing. Here's to self pity. How I love to lull myself to sleep in my pity; because pity is comfort.
proven fact; from sarah thueson.
Here's to how I regret many things I never said; or never did. That could've made someone's day easier, but yet; I remembered myself and cried in my pity.
Here's to how I'm pitying myself right now.

Here's to my most and sincere apology. 
my dears.
forgive me.

Here's to you and your blandness.
Here's to me and my self pity.
Here's to the rest of 'em.
and the rest of time.

-she huffed and she puffed.
and she blew herself down.
sarah janelle.

brood (n) - to think alone.

dear god; bless this nation.
and watch over me.
and my family. 

acorss these states we must go.

for all those lost souls out there; this is goes out to you. 

guidepost for a solemn life.
1. when there's snow on the ground, and the dog is barking. and you hate this day. 
suck on your bottom lip. sometimes it hurts after sucking for so long; but it's guaranteed to hurt more than what you feel.
2. learn how to spell well. and speak grammatically. there's nothing better than speaking English correctly when you feel mad. (best to do in public to show everyone you're right and they're wrong.)
3. cut you're nails. cut them so short it hurts to type, or to bite. cut them so short you hate everything about them. 
4. open your window when it's winter. and have the heater running at the same time.
5. ---- call me and i'll tell you 5, and 6.
6.
7. stay in order. it proves you can do one thing right.
8. keep to yourself. keep to yourself when it comes to anything. and everything. keep to yourself when people ask you who you are.
reply and say. i don't know. they won't understand; but they will leave you to be. 
9. be honest in your thoughts. and write your thoughts down. don't be afraid if you sound like a bad human being - because in all reality. that's exactly who you are. so why try and pretend you're something when you're not.
chew on that for awhile.
10. look up, 100 most beautiful words in the English lanuage. 
use them.
11. always end on a sad note.

and sometimes say, dear God, help me.




just to inform you. i made a list of real humans.
you're not on there.
neither am i.
i only put one human on that list.
his name is, they boy who sits behind nathan in our math class.
he's tall. and plain. and linky. 
so naturally. i love this human more than anyone else i know.

alabama, arkansas, i do love my ma and pa.

sometimes. when people are trying to explain something to me. i don't even listen. i just pretend that i listen; which to me, is the same concept. because it's ok to pretend listen when you don't actually care. that's called being a friend. and friends talk to much i think. sometimes; i just want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them, and say, why do you talk so much. and then release them and leave. - that's my best quality. just walking away. 

one time i walked up to this kid and asked him if he does weed.
he shrugged and nodded.
i said. that's disappointing. and that means you're an idiot.
then i walked away.
(we're still friends so it's ok.)
 
an other time. some kid was flipping me off. ^ same kid.
i like him.
i said. Im not going to flip you off back. im better than that.
then i walked away.
(still friends.)
 
last night i was fighting with my dad. really hard.
and both our faces were getting red. and mad.
then i walked away.

today. my teacher was trying to yell at me. and i didn't care what she had to say. especially because she already signed my transer slip.
so i walked away.
-examples of sarah's best quality.
and ones that have occurred since friday night.

plus, i find it interesting that everyone in this WHOLE world is fake.
in one way or another. 
everyone at school pretends to be happy and normal and dumb-heads. why. though. why pretend. who are we all pretending for? i just think that there must be some award that will be passed out to the best pretend person. and everyone pretends not to know about it; even though everyone is running firm in this competition.
whatevereveryone.

plus. i already won. four years in a row. and my parents give me a pat on the head because i keep bringing home pretend awards.
examples.
grades.
"friends"
attitude.
surety.
whatevereveryone.

on a side note.
this is a poem. i wrote.

 ----
--screw---
---you---
----
suckthat.

no but really.
here.

the hearth of your heart
is shallow and cold.
while the moon paints;
you shutter,
your limp body.

nights encloses around you,
wolves tell their stories.
crying crying crying.
the quiet child speaks.
crying crying crying.

problems evolve. 
we are stunned. but not dead.
not dead. not.
dead.
the victor has no companion.
only the deep shades of blue.

time does not speak.
not dead. not dead.
the wind say their prayers.
the night sketches nightmares 
out for you.

crying crying crying.
dying dying dying.
your brow deepens.
while the call from hell reaches
your landline.

and the night has it's own nightmares.



there.there.
sarah.


You're a damn good read
I think we'd all agree
that there is not a word in any verse 
that you do not exceed

So all I think that's left to say
Is you're not half bad, hell, you're okay
To me

ok, ok. i know what you're thinking.

you: you know something, you're pretty.
really pretty.
me: i'm a girl.
girls are pretty.
you: no, you're more than just a girl.
i blinked. 
and stopped the thoughts that you were fond of me.
-thanks, you're pretty too.







here's the thing. 
you can call me, the-girl-with-ten-fingers-and-likes-nothing.

and i'll tell you we should be in love. 
and that's how our life will start.
we will buy a dog, and name him sandwich. you will have to promise me you won't die. 
and i will promise to die. 
i'll write sad songs with no meaning, and hum them to you while you are in the garage fixing our bikes. 
we'll hold hands and dig big holes.
i'll put away the dishes and wash my hair. we can count the seconds pass while searching for our love.
but we will find our love, because we just stored it away for the winter. 
my hands wont get dry, because you'll hold them to your face while you tell of your dead brother. 
we'll have children and name the west and forest. and if they are girls, we'll teach them how to be lady like. and we will be hypocrites.
our dog, sandwich will die. and you'll bury him deep deep into the soil, and in the summer i will plant flowers over his body. 
our children will leave us, and we will fill books of regrets and continue our steady belief in hypocrisy.
slowly, my hands will be dry; and full of old skin. slowly i will die. and you will bury me deep deep into the soil. and you'll plant flowers over my body. 
you'll bind the books of my regrets, with a strong strong leather and promise to never die. 
you continue hum my old songs while you're in the garage fixing our old bikes. 
you'll put away the dishes, and our love for the winter; and build pretty fires.
you'll keep your promise, just like you said. because you knew, dying isn't a matter of breathing.
it's a matter of living. and living was our life style.

we have a new perspective.

you told me that we could be in love.

i told you that i wanted you to love me.

we agreed on love.

you asked me if i like hugs. 

i said, i dont know. 

i said, you probably love hugs.

and fall time.

and hot chocolate.

and cold noses.

but not cold noses when they get runny. 

you probably love hearing people laugh.

or when someone are smiling so big you can hear it in their voice over the phone. 

you said, exactly, how did you know.

 i just said everything i like. 

we like the same stuff.

we are one human. 

hey, i need your attention.

heads up.
im changing my blog:
loveandpoemsduringthisfallweather.blogspot.com
funny how i think people read this  thing.

after the pen ink is everywhere.

 

and the gun shoots.

my eyes blink.

my knuckles crack.

my heart is drained.

i lost my love.

i lost my way.

i lost my trust.

i've lost you; even.

i've lost my voice.

i lost myself.

my heater is running.

my head is hurting.

my braids are tangled.

the medication is gone. 

and all i can unmanageably say.

is nothing.