| If I had the guts.... |
[Feb. 2nd, 2006|09:19 pm] |
It's the same goddamned thing all over again.
Why did I think it'd be different? Why did I think things would change? What the hell is wrong with me that I can't fucking get it through my head that she really doesn't care?
Am I just like fucking stupid or something?
She's a selfish bitch. She's always been a goddamned selfish fucking bitch who doesn't give a damn about me.
That's never going to change.
What do I have to do to get her to fucking notice me and care about me?
I've tried. I used to try in decent ways, getting good grades and all that, but did she fucking care? of course not, she just
went back to her beer and drugs and boyfriends.
So I tried different ways to get her to care, and they worked for a while, but now she's just back to her old self again.
All she fucking cares about is drinking and drugs and her boyfriends.
Does she ever ask you how your day went? Does she ever talk to you about school or your friends? Did she care when you wrote the front page story? Did she care about your project? Does she even fucking listen to you talk?
No, everytime I try to tak to her she interrupts me. She doesn't even listen to me.
When does she call you? To come over for dinner, to go over and just chill? No, she calls you when she needs a ride.
That's the only fucking time you hear from her.
And she takes it for granted, she really does.
She doesn't care if I get pulled over and ticketed and my license gets taken away, of course not, she still has grandma to drive her around when I can't.
She doesn't fucking care about what happens to you as long as she's got a ride to the fucking liquor store.
She doesn't care at all.
I could drop out of school and become a fucking hitchhiking prostitute and she wouldn't fucking care.
I could get shot in the head and become a fucking retard and she wouldn't fucking care.
I could fucking die and she wouldn't care.
Oh, no, if I killed myself she'd care, because she's been through so much pain, much she'd still only be thinking of herself, she wouldn't even fucking read my suicide note if I left one.
Trying to be close to her was a mistake. A big fucking mistake. There's a reason I lve with my grandma, why I've lived ith her my whole life. There's a reason why Jovie is living here now, why Talena just fucking sits in her room all fucking anti-social and fucked up.
She's a fucking selfish bitch.
If she would let me talk for 2 seconds without interrupting me, maybe I could tell her that and maybe she would change. |
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| Conversations with the truth |
[Jan. 31st, 2006|11:25 am] |
I think school is what makes people forget what they really want, it makes them think that life is about doing what's uniform and "acceptable" and you forget about yourself and what you believe.
You can teach someone something, but until they see it for themselves and understand it for themselves, you've done nothing for them except give them something to memeorize.
I used to write poetry.
I wrote poetry that was elegant and heartfelt and real.
I read Whitman and Frost and Hughes and I understood what they were saying.
I understood poetry and I loved it very much.
And then I went to school.
And I learned that poetry is a formula.
Pentamic diameter or some other thing created to equalize.
That's all it is.
Anyone can write poetry, as long as you remember the formula.
That's not how it's supposed to be.
It should be real and emotional and sometimes wrong.
It should flow freely from the writer and hold a meaning so profound that when you get it, when you really understand what it's about, it's like a door has been opened and you can see the universe and all the answers to every question you've ever had.
Poetry should be perfection.
Not a learned perfection.
It should be...
Real.
I went to school and learned that I had filled my head with words that did not fit into the formula.
It did not matter that I felt these things, that these words held meaning for me, or that I had something to say.
All that mattered was that I obtained the grade that said I was accepted by society.
"You're ready, you can go on now and live a life full of doubts and questions and unhappiness.
Congratulations, you've succeeded in throwing out truth and meaning.
You've shown that you are able. You can be the same as everyone else and live in a world that is equal but miserable."
I used to write poetry because I had something to say. I wanted to write something that meant something. I wanted to write so I could look back and say "I believed in this, I wanted this, I dreamed of this, I suffered because of this, I loved because of this, I had hope because of this. This is me."
When I grew up, I wanted to be reminded of me. I wanted to look back and say "this is what I was and I loved every minute of it." Not "that was who I was and I'm ashamed of it."
I used to write poetry, but throughout high school I began to hate it.
I learned about the meaning of poems, how to explicate a poem to understand it. I learned how to forget what I understood and what I thought it was about and look at the books meaning. I learned to ignore my heart and listen to the book.
"Feeling. Not thinking, not questioning nor reasoning."
I am what I am, not devil nor saint.
I am a dream, a wish, a hope, a love.
I am true and pure.
I am the snow covered landscape,
Silent and untouched.
I am a feeling.
Not thought, question or reason.
I found that poem written in the margins of a very old english textbook at the library.
The poem is perfection.
The poem is not about perfection, the poem is perfection.
The poem is not about a woman, the poem IS a woman.
The poem is not about the winter, the poem IS the winter.
Ms. Todd taught me that and I will never forget it.
The way she taught us was with Algebra.
The meaning of the poem is "x" and the poem is the equation.
x = something.
x does not equal possibilities.
x is the answer.
"The poem is about Whitmans life."
No.
x = Whitmans life
The poem is Whitmans life.
I used to write poetry. |
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| Simply amazing and incredibly wonderful |
[Jan. 14th, 2006|06:32 pm] |
| [ | What I'm feelin... |
| |  excited | ] |
| [ | Stuck in my head... |
| | Alyssa's REAL 80's mix | ] |
But now I have to give up smoking. Figures. But I made a promise, I still have 2 and a half packs to go through, that was the deal, I get my part and then i finish all packs that I have and after they're done, I stop smoking. Easy enough.
So yeah, I'm back from New York and terribly depressed. I mean...this is so stupid. I think I've figured out what to do about my credits. I need 2 in math and 2 in science. Plus electives. I will start taking vocational training and that will count for all my electives. Plus the other classes I'm taking. So, since I failed the second semester of chem and algebra, I can just take those and they'll work well enough to count for my last 4 credits and them I can move to rochester!
I need to go to Walmart. |
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| New york new york |
[Jan. 10th, 2006|11:58 am] |
| [ | What I'm feelin... |
| |  sad | ] |
| [ | Stuck in my head... |
| | SNL | ] |
Rawr.
I go home tomorrow.
*tear*...*sniff*...*sob*
I don't want to go home. But, I mean, it's just like I said the other night, the next time I'm here, it'll be permanent.
I'm gonna cry tomorrow.
I'm gonna cry all the way home.
Then I'm gonna cry all night when I get home.
How sad. |
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lula_grove's journal
