"beautiful".

it's a sad day when you type in the word "beautiful" into google images and are scarred by pictures of size two women with ginormous boobs.

the world is an unfair place.

i would have to weigh 250 pounds to have those knockers.

and that is the expectation.

so girls--we are all as ugly as hell.

well i've already looked at facebook...

bahahahahahahahaha. exams... i am such a procrastinator. there is nothing else to say.

a small and silly symbol.

my phone's battery is constantly dying even if i charge it. i am my phone.

dwindling.

I'm sorry I've lost my ability to please. I'm sorry I've given up. I'm sorry I'm never home. I'm sorry that I'm just not good enough. I'm sorry that they kept us down. I'm sorry that I'm fed up. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

upon a star

i wish i wish i wish
maybe spoken 100 times
the wish will
turn itself around
and become
my reality
my sanity
my vanity

if music be the food of love.

So beautiful, yet seemingly cliche to the average critic. So poignant, yet non-comprehendable for those who have never felt what this feels like. Soft sugar and butter running down my throat and filling my heart as it explodes with a sweet melody... although it does not match the so-so thoughts running through my head. And so I realize that the words I am singing are bigger than you and I combined... because it is the feeling we share that brings us together and makes something more.

If music be the food of love,
sing on till I am fill'd with joy;
for then my list'ning soul you move
with pleasures that can never cloy,
your eyes, your mien, your tongue declare
that you are music ev'rywhere.

Pleasures invade both eye and ear,
so fierce the transports are, they wound,
and all my senses feasted are,
tho' yet the treat is only sound.
Sure I must perish by our charms,
unless you save me in your arms.

time goes by, so slowly slowly. time goes by, so slowly slowly.

And the same hopeless banter goes on and on, running over my empty corpse with a truck of iron and molding my brain into what it should look like. Wanting it to end, but scared of what is to come next, I wait and linger, not beckoning time to go forward, but not setting the clock in reverse. Just sitting, staring, counting the individual ticks that make a splinter in my forehead everytime the resonating sound clicks on through my being. Fearing what it is to come, and running from what lies behind me. And so I sit in this twisted equilibrium of never knowing forward and reverse... just ticking.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.

watercolors.

whenever I feel above of all the shallow chatter and gossip that surrounds the teenage life, I am usually pms-y. this disturbs me. a lot. it's always when estrogen is dominating my every thought and movement that i draw away from a crowd, craving a book like "blue like jazz" or to talk about my dad. because i want there to be more than looking at pictures in a year book, and more than griping about not having a boyfriend. but the rest of the month... i am okay with shallow. i am okay with seeing through people... and i like to think that people can see through me. but they don't, and i can't see through anyone else... so why in the world do we act like people can see through us like a glass of water? why do we gossip? why do we shop every weekend? why do we spend so much time on myspace looking up sweeto bands to seem cooler to our "friends"? this does not in any way mean be mysterious and wear black and never talk about what you did over the weekend or boys or whatever... because that's life too. but how can we call oursevles individuals in Christ if all we ever do is partake in meaningless chatter that will never fill us? and why do i only realize these things now? its not that i don't care about being shallow the rest of the month... its just that i don't realize it until i take a step back from the crowd and look at the big picture. and i see watercolors. thin, pale tones that can cover the other with a single stroke. because they only last so long, and they only cover so much. and it's emberassing. so i challenge myself and the rest of you who read this to step up and be bold colors that fill a canvas and make up the beautiful picture that is God's creation. to fill ourselves with things that matter... so we can fill others around us.

How should I put this? Hm. Well, forensics has sucked out my soul and now I am done with everything because forensics is done. So I don't try with anything else. I am pathetic. I am about as useful as a wet blanket... and it scares me. What colleges will want me now??? Oh yeah. Calvin. There's always Calvin... and I am about the luckiest person in the world because I can say something like that.

There's always Calvin, when my hope fails.
When all is lost, and it's hard waking up.
Cause the ACT sucks, my algebra grade blows,
and if motivation was graded I'd have a D.
Plus.
Maybe.
So burgundy and gold will be my warm sweater,
when life is tough and it just won't get better. (mellodramatic... but could I really turn down "sweater" and "better"? No. And you couldn't either.)