Treasons and Territories:

Gun shoots.
Gun sounds.
Sounds of cries.
Sounds from town.
Town of people.
Town of territories.
Territories that limit.
Territories that are blind.
Blind men cry.
Blind men make messes.
Messes of greed.
Messes of life.
Life that is cold.
Life is tangled.
Tangled are our souls.
Tangled night speeches.
Speeches based of loneliness.
Speeches of dry words.
Words of sorrow.
Words of desolation.
Desolation we experience.
Desolation we crave.
Cravings we listen to.
Cravings we leave.
Leave this country.
Leave me be.
Be humble.
Be strict.
Strict situations.
Strict habits.
Habits of pushing.
Habits of denying.
Denying the goodness.
Denying our dependence.
Dependence on stereotypes.
Dependence from benefits.
Benefits of smoking.
Benefits of worry.
Worry about the future.
Worry for our souls.
Souls of times.
Souls owned by demons.
Demons put into words.
Demons turned to Friends.
Friends with solitude.
Friends in common figure.
Figure for the future.
Figure of infinite.
Future…
Infinite… 

Act ll Scene: dissatisfaction

You talk like you know me. You speak my name and roll your deep breath in and out; acting like you understand what I am. How I became to be, "that girl". You pretend to know the territories of my limits and the difficulties that are tied right along. You present yourself as if you sympathized me, as if you cared; even though you think I'm nothing worth of sympathy. Darling; I see your heart and your naked body, and I know your intent. You shift your eyes and your weight; hoping I wouldn't notice.
I noticed.
You take me for granted; as well as everyone else. But everyone else aren't strangers to me, they can take me for granted because they already know I'm not much. You're a stranger though. And you take me for granted and I don't understand why. Maybe I'm just offended by the idea that now strangers are forgetting me; even when they never knew me.
You label me and my thoughts.
You use me and my thoughts; and claim my feelings as your own. And people love you for it. They love the way you think and act; and write. They love your strange figure. Why do they love you; and never me?
Hell, I made you. And you get the glory.
It's okay though; you might as well continue being me. Everyone loves you (me) while I'll stay quiet and timid; I'll tell no one about this.
You must know though,
I am your limits.
I own your territory.
And I am the difficulties tied to you.

And I will stay away and hidden from you.
Because I am better than you (me)
-all the thanks.

-sarah

Quiet cigarettes; due to you.

You remember how one time I said I was different, and yet, not beautiful? I'm not here to confront you about me being wrong or misjudging my abilities; and beauty. But the thing is; you are just as beautiful as I am different; and I want you to know that. This is different; this time. And I'm not going to let myself feel like I'm am less than what I am. Because you know something world; I have value.
Value me.
Value my stubborn mind and sense of self awareness. Value my loss of words; especially when I'm talking to you and you're telling me I'm what you need. Value the time when I look down in embarrassment and my glasses slide down my face. Value how I sigh and write poetry and live with anxiety.
Tell me you need me; just one more time.
Just for my satisfaction.
I'm here and I'm alive; and doing the manageable, so the rest of you kids can stand aside while I make music come out my ears and sing songs with my hands. Stand aside and don't tell me I can't be beautiful.
Tell me I'm good at poetry and good at being rough.
Smile at me when I tell you I'm in love with your voice; while calling you late at night. Smile when I make you drive me home and you hold my hand; while you teach me how to drive your car.
I smile when I tell you we're just friends and you say, "sure" because you know that's what I need; but not what you want. I only tell you that over the phone; so you won't see my face, when I have to lie to you. When I lie and tell you I only want you as a friend. You're just too beautiful to play around with; too beautiful for me to fiddle with. I'm not here to play hide and seek with you. I'm here to play hide and seek with myself. I'm here to find myself before I can find you. I told you, I need to learn to stand and even walk, on my feet and hands before I learn to walk on your feet. I need time to not care about anyone; expect for me.
But somehow I find myself caring for you more than myself. Some how I can't remember a time when I've felt so whole. I've never felt complete. This is different and seemingly unfair. Unfair: because I'm too scared to do anything that I'm not familiar with.
That's why I didn't invite you into my house.
That's why I blush so much in front of you.
That's why I feel so fragile and wonderful with you.
Unfair: because I already know the end result.
I already know how I seem to never forget myself.
But, I love the idea of you.
I love your image you place in my head. The one that finally makes me feel needed.
Oh, you are such a glorious image. But that's all I love; and care for. The image in my head; and possibly how I finally am different, to you, and not just myself. And I am beautiful.  And beauty is a deceitful temptation. You are a deceitful temptation.
You are what I've always wanted to be.
and maybe I just love you for that reason; only.
You are raw and beautiful.
We throw each other around in these "playful" jokes and quiet luck. We are playful. We are wonderful.
But I'm here to confront you, about me being right.
I'm always right.
I still just really want you to know that.

 -one day I'll probably just come out and say what I'm actually trying to say.
I am a mess.

-s

My dears:

Settle down; and back off.

You're Menial & so Am I.

I suppose I should write something about the new year and all; some type of resolution. But I don't have any; not this year. No, not for me and my circumstances. I sometimes just think that I'm exalt to normal human behavior because I don't think or feel all that normal. Saying I was disappointed that the world didn't end would be be saying the least. I honestly thought my life was over; over last month. & I swore to myself, to calm my nerves, that I was ready to meet my maker. That He would accept me with open arms, accept me in my form. So that's why I don't have any resolutions; and also because I'm nervous for this year.  I just really don't want to keep living.
Not like this; at least.
After what happened to Bryce.... sometimes I wish he didn't do that, because it's given me so many ideas. & plus, I feel like if I "be better" this year then I'm not going to be able to write any more, like the kind of writing I'm doing right now. Not like right, right now; but "right now" in general. (and most things I write, and enjoy, I don't share with you. I just can't imagine you would understand.) It has felt so good to be able to create those things & feel like they are raw and beautiful; the way I wish I was. It almost feels okay to let myself feel so... so inhumane.
I get too anxious, and panicked when I think about changing. It's just too hard and scary and I don't know what's ahead of me. I can't even see what's above me or behind me. Because I also get anxiety from thinking about my past. So I just get stuck in my present state. Never moving, never progressing, never going backwards. Nothing. I am experiencing nothing.
Everyday of my life.
And if I change, my emotion goes away. My sadness and hurt and pain. It all goes away, with my medication. But that's not okay; for me. It's not okay because I find my hurt and sorrow and write honest things. I write exactly how I feel and how I experience nothing. And it helps me sort through myself and .. my nothingness. I need something I can depend on, something that will always be there for me. And humanity have proved wrong in that need; so I depend on my sadness and helplessness. Because they are my friends and they are always there.
specifically for me.

If my world ended there's few things I would miss. Very few. And I find that the saddest part. It's sad because I have nothing to hold dear in my heart; right now. Nothing. I don't look forward to anything and only remember regrets; and times when I was who I wanted to be.
No; I don't like who I am. Not this year, not the last.
I have no one to turn to; no human who understands me, completely. Except for God, and I've put him on hold lately. I just don't understand why He gave me so many hard things in one year. So many things that so many people don't know about. Even people who know me the best; I've kept a handful of significant things to myself. And it's scary for me to think no one really knows me; and even scarier to know I'm never going to let anyone really know me. It would be too difficult. And if I died, no one would say correct things at my funeral. I guess you could say "I'm angry with God." But that's not it; I don't feel angry. I just feel hurt and sad and even betrayed, in a small way. So. I continue with my nothingness in complete and utter lonesomeness.
great.
I'm just losing so many friends.


Things I experienced this year:
can't tell.
can't tell.
anxiety disorder.
depression.
destruction.
unexpected death.
exploration into art & writing.
times when I forgot I'm sad.
disappointment and wounds.
acceptance; from small places.
finding peace with being alone.

Things I will miss (if the world ended.)
writing.
english class.
reading.
christmas oranges.

goals I set in my head but dismiss away:
learn to cope.
learn to express hardship.
advice others and help them through similar trials.
make friends; feel accepted into society.
find love for myself.
*as a side note. I've truly come to realize how hard it is to depend on your opinion of yourself, and yourself only. I've done this for years; because people honestly don't matter to me. They are faulty creatures who, like myself, are selfish and greedy and hurt other humans. And I decided to only care about what I think of myself; which is a hard thing to do. Because I know myself better than anyone knows me; obviously. I'm sure you all are in the same situation. But that creates contradiction because I know my true thought and actions and desires. I know what I want and when I lie and who I care for. I know it all. And I know I'm not a good person. So then it's hard to find confidence when you know who you are.
that's hard.

books I've started and never finished:
I'd rather not discuss this.


I don't know, resolutions are maybe over rated; maybe. But I feel too much of a pressure to throw them out in the world with determination and hope, even. But that's not me; that's not me right now at least. I'm too weak to do that and too weird. But I think the closest thing that's come to a "resolution" is to learn to think.

Let me explain.
The way I think is vital. It affects my actions and anxiety and deeds. It affects who I interact with and how to respond politely in situations where I want cry. If I learn to think; and take control of my thoughts, I will see things in a different way. And different is different enough from change that it's not change.
make sense?
difference is just different; temporary almost. Just not the regular routine or common thing.
change is permanent. Change is scary and hard and forced, almost. Change creates anxiety, but difference is manageable in my head. So if I learn to think differently, more positively then I won't get so anxious and nervous all the time.
So, sarah's resolutions:
think.


Happy New Year; I guess.
& I would like to apologize because I'm sure I've said this all before. As well as, I would like to apologize for being so.. hard; and sad. I'm trying to.. change and I'm trying. But only in the most menial way because that's how I force myself to cope. This year, I promise you won't even be able to tell when I'm sad; at least on this silly little blog that is for the benefit of myself.
and also in real life, no being sad in real life anymore. Only in my room where I'm alone.
Well kiddies.
Thanks for your time.
Always, apologetic:
-Sarah.

In my journal, on the front page I wrote:
To destroy you is no loss.
sincerely yours, for now,
sarah.
it helps me keep perspective.

-it's pretty weird how many Marilyn Monroe pictures I have.

Gather your cities.

These are the first days of fall. The wind,
at evening, smells of roads still to be traveled,
while the sound of leaves blowing across the lawns
is like an unsettled feeling in the blood,
the desire to get in a car and just keep driving.
A man and a dog descend their front steps.
The dog says, Let’s go downtown and get crazy drunk.
Let’s tip over all the trash cans we can find.
This is how dogs deal with the prospect of change.
But in his sense of the season, the man is struck
by the oppressiveness of his past, how his memories
which were shifting and fluid have grown more solid
until it seems he can see remembered faces
caught up among the dark places in the trees.
The dog says, Let’s pick up some girls and just
rip off their clothes. Let’s dig holes everywhere.
Above his house, the man notices wisps of cloud
crossing the face of the moon. Like in a movie,
he says to himself, a movie about a person
leaving on a journey. He looks down the street
to the hills outside of town and finds the cut
where the road heads north. He thinks of driving
on that road and the dusty smell of the car
heater, which hasn’t been used since last winter.
The dog says, Let’s go down to the diner and sniff
people’s legs. Let’s stuff ourselves on burgers.
In the man’s mind, the road is empty and dark.
Pine trees press down to the edge of the shoulder,
where the eyes of animals, fixed in his headlights,
shine like small cautions against the night.
Sometimes a passing truck makes his whole car shake.
The dog says, Let’s go to sleep. Let’s lie down
by the fire and put our tails over our noses.
But the man wants to drive all night, crossing
one state line after another, and never stop
until the sun creeps into his rearview mirror.
Then he’ll pull over and rest awhile before
starting again, and at dusk he’ll crest a hill
and there, filling a valley, will be the lights
of a city entirely new to him.
But the dog says, Let’s just go back inside.
Let’s not do anything tonight. So they
walk back up the sidewalk to the front steps.
How is it possible to want so many things
and still want nothing. The man wants to sleep
and wants to hit his head again and again
against a wall. Why is it all so difficult?
But the dog says, Let’s go make a sandwich.
Let’s make the tallest sandwich anyone’s ever seen.
And that’s what they do and that’s where the man’s
wife finds him, staring into the refrigerator
as if into the place where the answers are kept-
the ones telling why you get up in the morning
and how it is possible to sleep at night,
answers to what comes next and how to like it.

- All I have to say is, I didn't write this.
and when I can write like this; I'll let you know.
till then, au revoir

dark eyes, dark night.

I suppose I should say some words like, Merry Christmas Charlie Brown, or Happy Holidays and to all a good night; yeah yeah yeah.
All that, but I'm more concerned why people are so scared by the truth.
Why is honesty offensive?
I'll explain later, when I get everything figured out.
but it's late and my head hurts.
and also, I'm tired.
- s

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.