"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.