FINALLY,

I know what school is. It's a portal I enter every day that sucks me into the past 2 years of my life as I reminisce by myself in bad memories and get all choked up and have my stomach churn so much I almost feel like it'll come out of my nose.



This:

"I don't know, maybe I'm just afraid..."

Maybe I am. Maybe I'm consumed in a black fog of fear all the time. I'm not sure how long I can bring myself to take this anymore. Everybody is pointing out my flaws, lately. You're NOT the most perfect shining angel either. I have my flaws and so do you. Everybody has flaws, and I learned that from the best. I just want to list off all the things that makes me a good person. Everything that makes me trust worthy and nice. I can't bring myself to do that, either. I want to write a huge blog and just tell all of you how I feel, but, you guessed it.. I can't bring myself to do that either.






I should bring myself a good day. That's what I need.

I'm not worthy of anything anymore. Not even a mere smirk on my face when something bad, but funny happens. I am no longer allowed to laugh at chaos in my brain without looking like a loon. I am usually judged upon my actions that I perform every single day by the same group of people. You're right, maybe I'm not the smartest person ever, unlike you. Maybe I'm not a scholar and maybe I will have to take an extra math class because of those 3 college credits I wasn't smart enough to be given. But let me tell you something, you cannot criticize me like you're a teacher, you can't pick out my vocabulary and you can not tell me who to be. You can sit back and shut the fuck up before I fucking do it for you. ALL OF YOU. GET OFF MY FUCKING DICK ABOUT EVERYTHING. It's always about how I talk or how I phrase things or "Kayla, you're just not trying your hardest." You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I try my hardest every day to be accepted by you. Maybe one day I will. Maybe I'll meet up to your standards and you'll actually love me for who I really am. Probably when I'm dead will I ever meet up to your standards. Thanks a heap ladies and gentlemen, I love you too.

"on the little league
field we traded virginities
like baseball cards."

"In his face, I stabbed him"

I just got a call from "P" which means "Private" and I was in the middle of a sentence after I accidentally called my friend and asked if my boyfriend was there. It was an old woman, but I didn't know that until she said, "Oh, sorry this must be the wrong number." I wanted to say, "It's okay!" but I didn't for some reason, and I just switched to the other line. That's going to bother me really bad. I didn't want to be mean. All I wanted to say was, "It's okay!"
I was thinking on the way home today, it was kind of rainy and gloomy. I was thinking that whenever you step on the grass and stuff when it's raining, you're stepping on SO MANY WORMS. They were all over the sidewalk like this one time I was at my friends house. They were all in the grass, too! And I saw them and I felt squishing. But I don't know if that was the grass or the worms. So I just stepped on the cement sidewalk the whole way home, even on the skinny part where I had to balance even though I didn't want to.
I liked today a little bit. I felt alone and I liked it for the first time.

Today, I rode past my old house in Renton.
It was occupied with a lovely family, a mom, a dad, and a beautiful blonde haired blue eyed son.
He had everything I never had in that house, a trampoline, a nice shed, a nice bike and an un-cracked window.
I only wish that it could have been like that for me. Maybe I'm being too selfish. Maybe I'm being a bitch again. Maybe I'm saying that since I never had the greatest childhood in that house, neither should the boy. But that's all a lie. I hope and wish that boy has everything I never had, great memories. I hope he grows up in that house just like I did. I hope he lives in my room. That was such a nice big room. I hope he has his friends come over and trash his room like I did with my friends. I hope he talks to my friend acrossed the street and have good times with him like I did. I wish him the best. I wish his mom and dad the best, because that house was built by my great grandfather's bare hands and I hope they respect it. I can't believe somebody lives there, I never thought it would happen until I saw them all enjoying fresh squeezed lemonade on the porch. As much as I hated that house, I miss it. I wish I were them.

Crack

So, every time I either hold my breath and tense my stomach or when I sneeze a bone somewhere in my body pops a little bit. I was testing it today [which I know isn't going to help me in this scary situation] and it felt like maybe it was going to crack so much that it would puncture one of my organs. I'm scared. If I bleed to death, I love you.


I over analyze everything.

Choice

There's this book/zine that I'm currently reading, It's not as good as I thought it would be and It's really kind of confusing.. but I like it. I like the ideas they write about, and the different words that they use, but sometimes they can be annoying. Maybe I need to read it when it's quiet because the teacher's voices are getting into my mind when I'm reading and then I don't understand what I'm reading. Maybe I need a sponge room so I can read. I actually like reading, I enjoy it a lot. I just get very antsy and I can't finish anything that I get dis-interested in. Don't judge me. I also like comic books. I don't like superhero comic books unless it's Spider man fighting crime with Mary-Jane latched onto his side like a damsel in distress. He's the exception because I like the movies and I like Marvel Zombies. I just like zombies. I wish they actually existed, but I don't. Zombies are the people without cigarettes downtown on Sunday's.


YEAH.

It's clear

everything is, lately. The sky, the flowers, my head and imagination. I'm no longer scared to think to myself. I'm no longer scared to sing out loud and I'm finally no longer scared of anybody. My eyes are clear. They've been fogged up for the past 2 something years. I finally see who you are, and you and you and you! And I'm absolutely in love with what I'm seeing.

Why?

Why do I continue to do this to myself. I think I'm masochistic. I think I like torturing myself looking at all of these messages. I need you. But you needed that night.

Today was so repetitive. But in the mean time I found myself smiling at the littlest things. I smiled at the trees because I see little flowers budding. I smiled at this rusty fence because I remember this time I rode my skateboard down the hill and my skateboard got caught on the sidewalk because it was sticking up and I fell and crashed into it. I was smiling because of the music that was playing and how pathetic my obsession with bagels are. And then I started laughing because I walked past this house that used to have this little pit bull puppy, and I haven't seen it for years and I finally did and it developed into a full grown dog! It was so cute and bigger and better than ever! I laughed because I finally couldn't take it anymore and I started singing out loud like I always wanted to. Some decrepit old guy heard me and nodded his head and gave me a thumbs up. I hope that's a sign of good luck, and a good night's sleep.. I could use that. I smiled because It's so nice outside and I got to go out in just a flannel just like old times. I hugged my big dog named Macy today. She was so cute and smelled like summer.

*Please note: I went onto your blog. Your pathetic blog. After I was done, I clicked on the "Stumble!" button and got this: http://www.pagetutor.com/idiot/idiot.html I think that says somethin'. PRESS IT DIPSHIT.

It's so entertaining to see you crumble under pressure. Thinking everybody around you likes you for who you are. I love seeing you crash and burn! I could watch this all fucking day.


I'm laughing so hard I'm crying.
That is the one and only emotion you will ever get out of me.
Is hysterical laughter.






HAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHA

I'm in the position now, where I don't want to believe all of your bullshit.. but I feel like if I don't I'll be a slum. Slum's are not something you want to be in, because it keeps you from telling secrets to your best friend and it keeps you from kissing your boyfriend on the lips.

Writing in cursive is really hard, because I keep smelling my fingers that smell like camel wides. I don't like the smell of cigarettes. It makes me sick, why do I keep smoking? Why do WE keep smoking? Nobody understands how hard it is to quit.

What if you had to quit what you loved the most? Like drawing, or sewing, or painting or sucking your thumb. There's nowhere to turn to after wards. There's nobody to turn to, now. Everyone hates me, but I hate you.

I lied

because I remembered how much of a twit you were back then. And how you shouldn't miss it, because all of it was shit.

I felt like sharing.

apparently

I complain too much.
I'm not writing here anymore.
G'bye.

SIMPLY

I SIMPLY CANNOT TELL YOU ANYTHING. AS YOU ARE DOING THE SAME TO ME.
It's only fair.
I'm keeping a lot inside for you, and you're holding more back than I expected.
I can only tell you sugar coated messages in hopes of saving a little speck of a relationship we have going.
It looks like right about now, we're losing it all. It's all falling apart like the pages to the letters from 3-fucking-years-ago.
I'm listening to the music you made fun of, and I COULD CARE LESS.
"I CANNOT EXPRESS TO YOU THE DEPTHS IN WHICH I DO NOT CARE"
I feel like that. Haha, I do though.
It's merely a pit in my stomach that I can't ignore anymore. Trust isn't a word we can just vomit onto the floor anymore. It can't just lay there without getting cleaned up anymore. It needs to be cleaned up, mopped, and have that oat stuff lie on top of it all day long. To soak up all of the fibs we've told to each other and all of the hidden words behind those 5 measly letters.
I extended that sentence because the words won't come out. I had it all planned out in my head. Of what I was going to say to you. But I can't. You can't, obviously.
When I sat there, I watched the streetlights pass my eyes and burn my retinas only for a second. I was deep in thought and got interrupted by a wave of unnecessary laughter. I'm sorry if this is offending, it's only the truth. I feel this way. You can't make fun of me, you can't fight with me about this. It's my feelings and I have no other way of expressing it. This is the thing I typed into the search bar. And this is where I am.

But, I'm not telling you that..

her

I want to feel my very best. Like I can complete everything, and know that I am better than you in every aspect of life. I don't mean to sound controlling or weird or anything, but you think you are THE COOLEST thing that has happened to Pittsburgh. When really, you're just like the others. You walk with no confidence, you slouch, and you smell like cats. I hate cats. Seriously, stop thinking you walk with such poise to your contorted posture. Because in real life, you're ugly and have nothing intelligent to say. You think you do, but your nails are bitten and I've been trying to stop biting mine because yours are absolutely hideous.

You think you know every word in the dictionary when you barely know any of the words in the books you're reading. I never said that I read every day of my life like you do, because you have no life, but I'm just saying.. have some sense, dude. I absolutely hate you.


Yknow, I don't even know who I'm talking about.
I'm so behind in this class, and all I'm doing it personally blogging when I should be creating a website about my boring school life.

I want to look like her:

It seems that no sleep last night has made me more alive than dead.
Maybe less sleep equals more energy.
Maybe everybody has been thinking oppositely. [When i tried typing "oppositely", i typed "poopositely"]
I'm alive.