Maybe she's just trying to have fawn?

you know something.

sometimes i wish no one was good at anything. and we were all the same.
or.. or i was just the best at everything.
either will do.

the irony did not escape me.
-sarah.
i knew you would be gone fur a while.

hey; welcome.

the other day, i was sitting on the bus. and i was thinking; as usual. except for i was thinking about something out of the usual. i was thinking about other humans. and i know that is vague, but that is what i was thinking about. there was a sign that said, stolen chocolate lab. and it had the information and description listed below. i thought, why would someone want to steal a chocolate lab? that never really happens. people just don't steal dogs, only on movies they do that. like air bud. was the dog really stolen, or were the owners just mistaken? did they not want to admit that they dog could have just run away? i wonder who the owner's were. i considered calling them, and telling them i think i might have their dog. and then i would meet them; but that would be rude, because i don't really have their dog. i guess that would also be a lie. i wonder if the owners had little kids. and the dog and the kids were best chums. also, i was thinking about a boy in my neighborhood. his mom and me are friends. she said, you know i think the problem he has is he thinks too much. and too deep. but he said he though you were cool. then that got my thinking; me and that boy are the same. i think too much. and too deep; and then when i say something, people don't know how to respond, because it's too deep for them. or they just don't understand. i wanted to walk up to that boy and say, "hey, you know something. you and me got the same problem. we think too much." probably at this point he would conclude i have some physiological problems. but i just want him to know we are the same. but i can never do that, because i have to walk home with this girl from my neighborhood. and the boy walks in front of us. sometimes i wonder if he is listening to what we are saying.
and on a quick note.
on friday, i had fun. and it was real fun; fun that i haven't had for a long long time. when i came home, i just sat on my bed and thought about the night. how it all played out. i was so happy. i asked this boy if we were in love.
i think he heard, but pretended not to.
that was a smart move.
- soon, i will write a real blog post. probably. 
sarah. 

september10.

my name is sarah thueson and this is how i see the world and this is how i think. i am fifteen years old, and i go to high school. which is hard. mostly because i forgot how to make friends. and because i feel my skin has somehow become itchy. like a full body sweater, that is itchy. i like having pencils with a flat eraser though; i guess i like that about school. it's september now. fall. almost winter. almost time to wear scarves. fall makes me happy. it makes me happy to wake up, mostly because i sleep with my window open, so when i wake up, its freezing and smells like morning time. and i  wear a blanket around my shoulders. i just really like fall. plus, i think fall would be the best season to write a book in. i thought about becoming friends with some of my teachers, maybe with my art teacher; mrs. shepard or shep. is what i call her. but then i remembered i don't know how to make friends. mostly i just feel shy, and depressed. and timid. mostly  i think i may be insecure. i hate that thought. so i try and not think it. which is not going so well. i think, i  think too much. maybe its just time to stop thinking, and stand back, and watch. watch the time pass, the day end. the world make history. it's time to watch. but just watching scares me. because i don't know how to do that and i don't like to try new things. so. that's that. a kid friend (i like to say that. because it's true. we're kids, and we're friends.) a kid friend of mine, Bryce, committed suicide two weeks before school started. i guess he was scared to start school. maybe that's why. i wish i knew. i wish i knew everything. but i think it might be bad to wish so much. i will try to stop wishing. and thinking. but i just really like to think about Bryce. but then i get very sad. but i still think about him. he deserves to be thought about. he really does. but when i was thinking about Bryce on friday i got really sad. the saddest i've been for a very long time. sometimes i like to be sad. like right today. some kids were laughing in class. not me. i wasn't laughing. today i wanted to be sad. so on friday when i was thinking about Bryce, and when i got very sad; i went to "bed." at 5 pm. i just stayed there, cried till 11 pm. not like a hurt cry. but a panicky cry. one that has no end. that's why i cried for so long.  i wanted to make myself some tea, but i was too scared to go upstairs and get it, because then my mom might ask me to talk about "things." and i don't like to to talk about "things." also, today at school. i wanted to tell this boy to go to hell. i almost did. but i decided not to. i can't remember why i decided not to. but that was that. 

ps. i sleep with my lights on. and when i wake up it's around three in the morning and then, i get up. and turn them off. i don't know why i do this. i just do. 

i don't know why im telling you this.

pps. i think tomorrow i will wear my red hat to school. i hope that the popular girls will hate me because i wear hats to school. and because only boys do that. i would like that for some reason.

^mythoughtprocessinwhichilivein.

andilikeit.

my heart is solemn this day, and forever days ahead.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft star-shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

-Mary Elizabeth Frye.

check mate.

i dare you to ask me how hard core i mosh pitted.

i dare you to ask me how i danced when i was mosh pitting. 

i dare you to ask me if i care that you think im a douche. 

i'veflippedyouoffmultipletimebehindyourback,youknow. 

i'mshaftingyou,youknow.

ah, the glory.

There is so much more to lose when my love is real.

dude,same. 

dear God, watch over him.

tuesday, august 7, 2012

9:05 pm. 

i heard, i heard the news. my mom made me promise not to freak out, that i would talk about it. it was hard to promise something i didn't know how i would react to. 

my body went numb. and hot. my fingers were trembling. my eyes had a sheet thrown in front of them, i couldn't see. 

"how?"     "how?"       is all i wanted to know. "how" is all i could say.  

dad answered. 

i bit my lip. no. that is not true, you're lying. i fought back the tears, i fought so hard, i couldn't swallow because of the sick lump in my throat. i hated that lump. i hated everything. i hated that picture above the mantel. i hated the piece of plastic i had been chewing on for the last half hour. i hated the news. i hated the way my hands looked when the color had drained out of them. crying, i managed to whimper, 

"can we go back." "i just want to go back and be with everyone. i want to go the meeting... will they wait for me?"

i was two hours away from my home, two silent, dead, hours away from the meeting. i need to go. i had to. 

"dad, can we just go?"

"sarah, we need to figure this out, we will leave, but you might not make it back in time for the meeting." 

- my mom answered.

"ok, lets go now. lets go now." 

my mom and dad talked, talked over the situation, talked about the rest of the family, who to tell, who to keep the information from. they talked about which car to take, the fastest way home. i grabbed my single bag, threw it in the car, and waited. 

we drove. we drove, while my mom tried to make conversation with me, but i was crying. i felt ashamed i was crying. i didn't want to talk when i was crying, so i didn't. two hours. hating every minute waisted. waisted on bloody stop lights, on slow drivers. waisted on all the construction, on all the people cutting us off. i wanted to reach out the window, giving the world the finger, yelling, "you don't even know what's going on, you don't know what's just happened." i wanted everyone gone. i hated everything. i hated that little sound that was being made by the silent CD player. i hated the bumpy road, i hated my tears.

the car stopped. i got out and ran. i ran for her. the crowd of people walking stared, but they knew who i was after. it was almost too dark to see faces, but they were all familiar, i knew them, for i had grown up with them. i reached her, grabbing her around the neck, crying and gasping, "i just drove all the way from mid-way to be here." 

she knew who i was. 

we cried, holding each other, rocking back and fourth. people passing, understanding. we didn't care about the stares, because they knew our pain. they're pain, was shared and fed by our pain. 

holing each other we walked. we walked to his house, the house that me, and her, and him played video games at, just last Saturday. her and me, in our sweats. but he didn't care. 

the crowd of people gathered around his house, many holding hands. the ones who could, sang, "I am a child of God." tribute to him. i just sobbed. my voice seemed broken and inappropriate. she sang though, she sang to him. he was closer to her, than me. 

we gathered back, at her house, and wrote letters, tender words and memories. we painted a mural. full of everything about him. groups left, and one by one the house was left still. i refused to return home, i needed and wanted to be here with her. we prayed with her family. asking God, to bless him, and his family. blessing us, with comfort. 

we went down stairs, we talked and share more memories, regrets, possibilities. we shared it all. soon, it was 2 am. the time for sleep is now. we laid down, the pounding, sickening, throbbing headache took hours to leave. i had become physically ill with shock of this cruel realization.  

"pray for us?"     she asked. 

"sure."

i prayed, my best prayer.

we laid there, every hour or so, asking the other if they were yet asleep. hours passed and sleep took place. the night was over, but the nightmare continues. 

in memory of bryce. 

God be with you till we meet again.  

my heart is solemn and empty this day. and forever days ahead. 

the greens from your eyes have melted away.

solemn and reverent,
we speak.
our eyes, touch.
our hands fumble.
is this what you call love?
the dark springs,
the warm falls.
our warmth fades.
our skin became like prunes.
desolation, and pity
shot the stars down.
my collar bone,
collected the stars.
feeding them; with my
crocodile tears.
during the mid-night,
we swam in the lake.
with all beauty
your silver voice,
fills the moon with color.
tall grass, and dry days.
we communicate.

kart-wheels and summer kids. this is not me.

your mind is equivalent to butter. it's just there. i open my cupboard looking for something to fill my empty stomach. no bread. no flour. no vanilla extract. just the empty cupboard to fill the empty space. however, the butter, sitting on the bottom shelf, is continuously looked over. as if it doesn't exist.
and that, my homie, is why your mind is equivalent to butter.

farewell. kids.

sleep well.

sarah.

my knuckles crack and i shutter in return.

they'll sharpen their teeth,, on your neck.

i was young when i left home.

during the young nights, i would gaze upon my soul. and search it, only finding empty journals and gray cats. quite often, the further i searched, the more i hurt. the more i was confused. the more i would stumble upon the truth. and dark rooms. the truth would swim in the deep end of my soul. never in the shallow. often, i would have to rescue the truth, from drowning, over and over. until. one day. i made a silent vow, to never, deeply, soul search. i tied the truth to a brick. clutching the truth, letting the brick drag, i threw him. i threw the truth into the deep end. with a final heartbreak, the truth drowned. and sunk. 

it stayed, buried in water, breathing itself in and out, and i thought, the truth would stay there for forever. 

but i broke my silent vow.

...

.

i opened my heart, climbed inside. found my soul. and accepted a tour..    the truth learned to swim. and was floating at the top. shuttering. i left it there while the memories cried.  the heart ache and pain i have caused, made me feel impaired. blood and the smell of death, filled my soul. and i felt like a fool. my soul is worn down, and has a stench. outside in black letters, it states, foreclosed. the metal has rusted and the water has rotted. my eyes filled with salty tears, for i knew. what i had done. the time for change. has arrived. and the anxiety that comes with it. has begun. 

i never wrote a letter to my home. 

sarah.

im not the type to wear patriotic things.

One time;  I heard that blind men, can still see beauty.But i didn't believe it; I was young then. Now i question this. Quite honestly, I don't know. There is something beautiful about an other human's eye. And with some people, you can focus upon their eyes, see straight past their heart, and look upon their soul. I know this to be true; I have peered through an eye, and seen a soul. And it was beautiful. But what if that eye was blind? How could I look past their heart and see a soul, because i think their heart has to fill their empty eyes, but what if hearts aren't translucent? So then what? I would be left with some shadow filled eyes and a squished heart. .     Would the soul be blind too, if the eye was blind? Maybe not. Maybe, their soul would see for them. Perhaps, their soul would whisper vision into the heart, which would fill the eyes.M aybe, the soul is what sees;and the eyes are what feels.

I think, souls are what tell the eyes of true beauty; and the eyes obey. And see what is beautiful. 

You have once again met my expectations. 

to disappoint. 

sarah.

yesterday. i cried. and i think i have never loved something more than. yesterday.

its summer right right now. and when people, especially freaky teenagers, think of summer, they create this summer romance story that people would usually base a movie off of. well. it's never going to happen. so put those dreams back to sleep. i barley even like summer. all my "friends" are gone. everyone has a life, and so the kids like me, who so happen to have no life. are just left to stay home and become best friends with their moms. i'm not saying that it's a bad thing. but you know, it's your mom. i feel like i am at some disadvantage. poor me. everyone has exciting things to look forward to. mostly i just look forward to when it's late at night, and i can sleep. or cry. or read. or just pretend to sleep. i look forward to to the night time.

someone always asks me, "hows life." {this person shall not be called by their correct name. let's just call them,   "you."} i never know how to respond to that question because quite frankly. i don't know. i hardly even know what the word life means. sure, i understand that people grow old during life, and that you get broken bones during life. yes,  i know that. but what really is life? is it a chance to prove yourself to the world, to an other human? is it something were you go on a quest to fine "love."      the thing i know most about life is that it is short. even the word {life} itself only has four letters. that proves how short life is. {even the word short is longer than the word life.} and all i have planed for my short life is that i will graduate high school. and i will go on a mission. everything else, is a blur. a blur full of scary opportunities. opportunities that i don't deserve, and don't want to work for. its like when you're in the car, and you're looking out the window, everything seems to blend together, and you hardly realize what your missing and passing. but the destination is clear. you know where you're going, you know what it looks like. but your journey is blurry until you have already passed it. that's the worst part about life. figuring it all out. some people say that it's the best part, the adventure, and possibilities. but really. i just find myself getting anxiety about it in the night. i want my life to be like a map. telling me exactly where and what to do. it would say, four yards left after graduating high school.  follow the yellow brick road until you fall upon an apartment. 26 steps past falling in love. arrive in the mission field. fly 78 miles west to dying of cancer. bam. there you have it folks. your life.      that's what i want. and probably that's what i need. i need a map. full of directions and compasses. i really need it bad. so i'm living my life. my little highland city life. full of boring summer days, where the wind is too windy. and where i keep losing my permit. where i pretend to sleep. but im not fooling anyone, not even myself. im living it. becoming best friends with the woman who raised me. and i can't tell if i'm living a good or bad life. i sell myself short. and i expect little of myself. because, i don't want to have dreams that will never be fulfilled. i'm never going to become an astronaut. i won't and can't shoot for the stars. because, what if i point my gun up there, and i shoot. and i kill a star. and it falls down. dead. what if i slip off the moon. and fall down. dead. so "you". i don't know. i don't know how "life is." i think i will never know. i couldn't even give it a one word description. and if i tried. it would be inaccurate. so please. once im through living my map-less life. then you can ask me everyday, "how's life?"    "how was life."   and i will answer. and honestly too. i would say, "you". life was hard. and i made too many mistakes and i kept losing my map. {but in reality, i never had a map.} but i did it. and here is my one word description.  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ."

so bare with me here. ask me questions i can answer like, who's your favorite baseball team? or do you like the fall?

and then, i will say,         "what's your favorite baseball team?
the red socks? 
ok. i like the red socks.
 and yes. "you". i do like the fall."

sarah janelle. 

its nothing.

my heart has a forecloser sign, out front. 

wounded i am.

it's just too much now. 







 sarah.

i tend to think that post with big words and long titles are the best. but mostly they're just too much.

im damp with sunshine and am covered in grass stains. the wind braids my hair, into a tangled weave as i count the rings in a tree. --thirty seven, thirty eight-- you rest by the pond, reading alice in wonderland to me. the weeds write poetry and sing empty songs while the dragon flies play tag. our shoulders are collecting freckles and our fingers learn sign language. my lace socks have been acquainted with dirt and old things. but that's the way i like them. the souls of your shoes have worn through, and your toes sometimes stick out. -- seventy two, seventy three-- your brown eyes call the mountains and the humming birds. they call the wild things to play. foxs' head tilts crooked while their ears are slanted back. the rolling hills and the lean brown grass stops swaying to listen to alice's adventure. i've chipped away my green nail polish and bite at my fingers. the sun retires. but we have not. even the moon has stopped moving to listen to our memories fade. we count the consolations and star gaze far. we make up stories for the stars while they intently listen. in return, they tell us stories. the man in the moon smiles, and the fisher boy, who lives on the moon, fishes. we use the crickets as our melody, and write our secret songs. the fire flies chat and the frogs croak. pointing to the sky, i say something intriguing. you come up with a logical reply. --four hundred and forever.--

the thoughts of summer have their own kind of magic to them, i believe. 






i think. i am a fool. and a bitter one. 
sarah janelle.