For the Anonymous:

I had something beautiful planned to write for you; but none of that matters now.
And interestingly enough, I know you don't love me; Hell, you've never loved me.
You've never blinked twice about me.
But I'm still going on watching you and biting my nails when I think about kissing you. and most of the time I'm not this straight forward but I'm scared you've forgotten everything I told you.

and I'm afraid I've forgotten everything you said in reply.

but I keep shrugging and blowing that smoke and tar into the air wondering about the night sky and the virgin Mary; along with the non-sense I call poetry. Even though I know the only time I've ever written poetry is when I'm crying.
But I never care to write that sad thing down.

And now that everything has fallen apart and my fingers are twisted into knots over you; I still think about how we met in December; and about how everyone wants to meet in December so they can have something romantic to their name.
I say that's all damned.

And everything is so confusing and I'm feeling so anxious about my poorly thought-out future and about how the days are getting hot.
and how my cheeks turn pink.
and how I can't eat.
I can't sleep.
I can't think.
I can't find a job either..

and how I cut my hair again.
short.


and how this day is hard as Hell.


-------------------------------

It was because all her raw flesh
had disappeared.
and because she had played all
the mind games, after drinking
the alcohol and the bottle was
strung around her neck; like a
trophy she had received.
She was drunk with damnation.
and she appeared as she felt.

She was Hell.

Her eyes painted black and her
cheeks rosed with reverence.
The bones in her fingers
turned away and shied in
the dark.
Her hair, white with
intelligence, mad as her mind.
Significance meant nothing.
Her lips and personality, both,
stolen and scarred with stereotypes.

Tell me love?
-she asked herself.
Are you as beautiful as you feel?

Cradling the whiskey and the sex
she nodded.
She knew she was beautiful;
and that was all that mattered.


I'm tired and terrible.

-sarah.
xxoxoo

dare God:

I envy you and the rest of the world.
-s.

I'll post something better.
But; much later.

My sister & the Saddest things.

--I just want to put a few things out here--

Bicycling through the streets; my jacket tied around my waist, headphones in my ears listening to a rap song that shouldn't be listened to, but I don't care today because it's a little warmer than it's been for the past 10 hundred years and I'm feeling it in my hair and crawling through my bones; finding little nicks and knacks that should have been dusted by now, but haven't been because it's just starting to get warm enough for me to venture deep inside my roots and do the spring cleaning. I have those types of shoes that I can't help but feel bad in and I think about how a boy might be driving by and see me; riding on my girl-bike, listening to my boy-rap; wearing my bad-kid shoes; looking like I have passion running through my wrists and disappointment in my ankles; because that's exactly what I have. It's one of those times where I've almost forgot about everything that's been playing inside my gut, tormenting my liver and kidney stones; getting those feelings that I sometimes think about, and I release a little too many  hormones and can't help but smile because I'm funny and I'm the cool-kid-on-my-block; hell I'm the cool-kid-on-my-state. And I know what you're thinking, because you're probably thinking the same thing as I am, but neither of us want to admit it so we continue shifting our weight and sighing out; pretending we own apartments and cars, and things that make us beautiful. Sometimes we even go as far to pretend we have those apartments where the tables are simple, and probably metal, and we have cool antique things around, here and there; mugs and coffee makers, maybe an animal skin on the wall- and some brick on the wall too. The kind of apartment where the plates don't match and the pots and pans are green from rust but we still like to cook with them anyway; because we just have to rinse them out in our dark sink full of questionable dishes from Lord knows how long ago; but it's doesn't smell or bother us because we have half-dead flowers hanging out the window. I have that watch that isn't nice to look at but I like to peer down upon it so it looks like I have better things to be doing instead of chatting with you, but we both know I have nowhere to go, nowhere to be, and nothing to pretend I'm late for; but I still look down anyway and roll my breath in and out, deeper even, hoping you will understand I like being without you more than being with you. Of course you don't understand, and I didn't expect you to anyway, yet you're still talking while I'm planning my route to travel on my bike later; hoping to receive some forgetfulness and an unpunctual appetite where I'll probably stop at some super-indie-cafe down the street and sit alone at my window table and once again pretend I have places to be and people to see; but I take my time because I know my body has sunk in and my eyes are losing their color- I'm still wearing my bad-kid-kicks and singing along to my music as loud and I feel comfortable, which isn't very loud, but I'm singing and learning the depth of my dyslexia; feeling dumb again, because I like to tell myself I have a lot of things wrong but really I make things go wrong to give myself excuses of why I'm usually distant and hazed over. My grey nail-polish is chipped and my socks have holes in them; and so do my shirts but I still don't care, and if people ask I pretend I didn't hear them or I tell them it has been there since I was born; and they look at me and I shrug because I don't care much for their opinions; but sometimes I get nervous and apologize more than what was actually needed. Eventually I end up riding through the streets counting the cigarette-butts and the lost jackets and the shoes tied onto the telephone wires; imagining wonderful scenarios where most of them I end up with bleach blond hair and I'm the President of the United States of America. I have my bad-kicks up on the desk; tooth-pick in my mouth and the country is up in flames; while my secretary is knocking on the door screaming for me to do something; but I somehow find enjoyment in the lack of power and desire I have to make things right, while slowly the screen is being zoomed in on my face and the background of utter disfigurement is out of focus; and the little, but faithful audience soon realizes this has all been an analogy for my heart; and how it will go up in flame,  while I play my pride card and win all the money.

Lord forbid.

-s

victimize This.

Here. I'll give it to you bluntly.

I wish you'd love me.
and that I could love you.
I want you to know how talented I am.
and how beautiful I seem to be.
And sometimes I just think for one moment
about what it would be like if you thought
about me. But it's alright, you know.
It's alright that you don't think about me.
because sometimes I forget to think about you too.
Let's spit-shake on a relationship
and call it love?

sometimes it's nice to play the victim.
That's been my roll ever since I learned
to play.

-s
let's be busy and acknowledge each
others existence.

Verify: Include Date of Birth.

You know, it's funny what time can do. What it can do to people and minds; and how I've managed to manipulate and warp time into my hands. Right between each finger; and under my fingernails. Playing wild cards and dealing them out; each drunk and written with conspiracy. I rub out the practicality and sting of it all; cradling the familiar indents impressed into me. Creating painful spaces between you and me; and my fingers and fingernails. Licking my chapped and cracked bones, and lips; bleaching my blonde hair even blonder with the chemicals inhaled and pressed into my roots. Tired secrets and tired scenes; smeared on the outer most extent of my skin; pealing with pride and prudent pleasure. A pleasure so fascinating, I consider it before I consider the thoughts I think and the words I say. The kind of pleasure that promises you interest; the kind that possesses your darkest emotion; wrapping it with string and gold; and before you even realize you're experiencing it, it has vanished; only leaving you with questions and desire for more. Timid and unsure I crawl home with my heavy elbows and knobby knees; into my hardly involved bed. I count back and think; "I've forgot to measure the distance; yet I know how far I've gone, how far we've separated". How much I've changed; how my skin has molded into scales; my arms into unstable bones, gripping for mercy and time. My knuckles and static hair infatuated with the delivery of selection. Collecting my sweat and anxiety; labeling them, organizing them into files, stored away for the winter, only increasing their numbers. The heat and pressure of this all; weighing my shoulders, weighing my eyelids only increases while I continually count faces and tap my knees out of habit and release of cooped up brain chemicals. I'm different and time is unchanging. I'm changing and striping my money; while wishing for Lord knows what. It's funny what I blame on time; and how it's power hungry and I'm power drained. We are a beautiful team. I have a beautiful system.

Darling: teach me to write and I'll give you anything.
-s

Number #

Sad teenagers. So sad to be a part of this. - Jerem.
I've never realized how bad this world is.
I've never realized how bad I am.

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