Dear Mom,

Whenever you had something to say to me, you’d write me a letter. Leave it on my pillow and forget to sign it, ‘with love’. When you’d call, I could tell you would rather be talking to my answering machine.
I know that people change but there’s only so much you can take after they continually disappoint.
And I probably sound schizophrenic because my thoughts aren’t flowing from my heart through my pen the way I would like, but I hope you understand what I’m screaming.
I’m emotionally distant. You’ve robbed me of my potential and traded it in for your narcotics. Your boyfriend replaced me, and before you ran off- you took my trust because I can’t trust anybody, after you.

I can’t reach out to anyone because my arms don’t remember what it feels like to be held.

So they’re cemented in a constant position, pushing pain, do you hear me?

Maybe this is my fault

I probably shouldn’t have expected too much from a woman who dyes her hair different color and has more piercings than I can count on my fingers.

You never told me you loved me, so it was wrong of me to jump to conclusions.
And I’m not asking for you to come back, I’m perfectly stable without you.
I’ve raised myself and don’t need your pity but mom, I want you to know that I’m strong.
I want you to know that I’m on the right path and maybe if you knew me better, you’d be proud.
I don’t know if you remember, but I can still recall the day that you left and said you would come back.

Mom, I waited for you.

I waited by that damn door—religiously.
When you left, it was a stab to my heart and with the years an infection developed from this hole that you carved, years ago.
I don’t miss you; I miss the thought of you.
I’m envious of others and maybe you’ve made me a bit cynical.
If actions speak louder than words, mom, your actions spoke louder than anything you’ve ever said to me.
And the day that you came back, you expected me to accept you
But instead I treated you like dirt and beat you with my cold heart until you ran away, again.
What was I supposed to do? How could I let some stranger who calls herself my ‘mother’ into my life? A life she was never a part of.
I don’t even know who you are anymore.
If you loved me, why didn’t you show it?
I’m sorry
I’m sorry that I haven’t gotten over this and I’m sorry I’m holding onto this grudge
But maybe I’m too stubborn at only 16 to admit that maybe I’m the one who’s wrong.
I’ll admit.
I started writing this letter a long time ago.
For years I’ve been writing “I hate you- get lost”.
But today I’m trying to write, “Come back, please”.
I want you to tell me what my first word was- even though you don’t remember

I want you to tell me that you never felt better than when you brought me home from the hospital, because it was the first time you were whole.

This letter isn’t meant to make you feel bad and I’m writing it consciously knowing that guilt runs through your veins like porcelain ready to shatter in your stomach.
Stop saying you regret how you raised me because I don’t regret what you made me.
Let go of all the mistakes that we made and let that take us somewhere
Maybe we can get there someday.
And I’ll tell you that when I think of my childhood, I think of your freckles.
If the first step to getting there is telling you “I love you”, I will carve it in Braille on your pillow so it’s the first thing you feel in the morning.
I will pull my umbilical cord out of my stomach and tie it to your wrist so when you feel lost, you have something to pull on- mom, I promise to stop walking as soon as I put this pen down, as long as you promise to realize a daughter is more than just a noun.
My arms are open and waiting and I’ll walk more than halfway if you promise you will meet me there someday.

The first slam I've ever written-- AND shown someone.

I was wondering if someone could explain to me the meaning of this word. One that’s over-rated, over used and over heard.
I’m sure they’d prefer to give me a synonym.
To the bent meaning, eminence and structure of this word.
This word, love.
Burdens me with confusion.
Wondering if it’s a mere illusion, a delusional aspect of life that can be viewed upon something that makes everything right or has you up all night.
Wonder what’s on that significant others mind at the exact time.

Has you writing poems that rhyme with corny titles like, “Be Mine” or “You’re One of a Kind”.

But, yet no one can truly define this word: love.

No one can explain to me that, love is an intimacy that can’t be defined by literacy- occasionally lyrically.

But it still isn’t really specific with the true exquisite passion when you feel this word.

That this word- “love” is so indescribable, undeniable.

That, what you’re left with is indefinable.

So I came to the conclusion that this word: “love”- could not be real.

That it was solely infatuation that you temporarily feel.

So I-- shove aside this momentary distraction of examining loves reaction.

My mind was fully set.

But then, you happened.

It started off slow.

It felt really incredible.

Falling with the inevitable.

But- it was more than just the physical, it was the chemical.

You never being ideal, it was what I though I’d need.

Like, I need to breathe the vapor.

Inhale at the skyline.

That. . . it was our relation. . .

Out of every selection- I had found heaven and perfection in an individual such as yourself.

Making me feel all the emotions that I never knew could be felt.

I guess this word will remain- Undescribed-

And undefined, too.

But I honestly don’t mind spending my time trying to find this word with you.

<3

It's not me, It's you.

Yes, I'm pissed off and most people irritate me. But if people weren't so ignorant, self-absorbed, and down right stupid, I wouldn't be so bitchy all the time.

My future house.

Writer's Block

Charlotte Withers, a typical insecure 17 year old high school outcast, leans against a tree trunk.
Uh, wait, this is an awful way to begin a story.
How about: An ordinary teen named Charlotte Withers may seem decent but appearances are treacherous. Char is insecure, angst-ridden, bizarre – all the symptoms of a modern-day Ishmael. (I hope someone caught that biblical reference. You know, how Ishmael was the son of Abraham and was cast out after the birth of Isaac? Yes? No . . .? Okay, I'm guessing it's a no.) Maybe I should throw in some archetypes into this hopeless mix. But what if no one even catches them? More allusions, perhaps? Is anyone even reading these blogs? Hello? . . .

That's what generally runs through my mind as I slam into a creative wall also known as a 'writer's block.' It can be frustrating; it can be depressing. Sometimes it forces me to reevaluate my talents as an aspiring writer. I wonder if there's an original idea in my wormy brain, hiding in the corner of the grungy basement of my mind. Or maybe I've exhausted my inventiveness and the only way to manage is to slightly obscure an existing thought. But it's unlikely I'll ever resort to such tomfoolery.

No matter how high or intimidating the mental 'block' may be, creativity thrives in the cavern of every mind – of both yours and mine. You just have to be motivated enough to poke and prod your way through the dark to discover it. That newfangled idea isn't going to conceal itself in obvious places like behind the bathroom door or under the bedsheets. No, it's a crafty one – a sly entity. It prefers unusual spots such as the crevice of a cracked linoleum tile or beneath the floorboards. Don't underestimate its aptitude. Once you come across it, however, it becomes a writer's ultimate pal. It is boundless; it is infinite. It gives and lends and forms ideas and permits you to use them.

When I collide with a writer's block, I tend to feel a sense of defeat. I mull around and ponder where my stories strayed, when the ideas stopped flowing. But the time and place are insignificant. Just write about anything. Compose an account of your day. Open a word document or whip out that ball-point pen and paper and jot down whimsical ideas. Observe your environment and chance upon inspiration. Jam out to music and heed the lyrics. Go for a stroll and think aloud. These walls, mental barricades, obstacles aren't there to keep you down; they're there to be broken by tenacious writers who are cognizant of their ability. This applies to life. If you desire something enough (and I mean, willing to reach the absolute limit), nothing will impede you. Thus is the glory of the dynamic human spirit. So just keep writing, just keep writing, just keep writing, writing, writing – and you're golden.

"Keep your head held high gorgeous. These people would kill to see you fall."

Have you ever had those moments where you doubt yourself and what you're capable of? I have felt as though everything I try to create or manufacture in my mind or on a piece of paper, is being compared to everyone else’s.

How is it fair to judge one piece of artwork from another and call it better, when the skill and dedication is the same? It makes me not want to let my mind wander and my pencil create lines because, honestly, I feel like the works I want to make won’t be as good as those who are considered “more artistic” than me. It’s my passion to go to school for writing and English so someday I can make a living off something I love, but there is a consistency of people who feel like it is their own personal duty to crush my dreams . . .

To everyone who thinks their art or creation isn’t worth it, I’m here to tell you that it’s beautiful.
Don’t give up your dream.
 

that awkward moment when . . .

you over-hear a joke in somebody else's conversation and laugh out loud. Does this happen to most people or is it just me? I do this all the time, and actually try to cough so I don't seem so pathetic.

I suppose I deserve the awkward stares I get from the confused people afterwards for being nosey. *sigh*
This one time I went to the gym and I'm practicing for a yoga presentation the next day when this Mexican lady walks in with her snotty little monsters. She brought her whole freaking family! I tried not to show my growing frustration, I mean it wasn't MY gym so who was I to kick them out?
Anyway, so I'm doing yoga and this creepy little boy is staring at me from across the gym. Not looking, staring. I shrug it off and resume listening to my ipod. I look up from downward facing dog to the creepy kid 6 inches away from my face. I had never been so scared by a 5 year old and once he left it started to sink in-- what had just happened and I couldn't help but giggle.
Just then his psychotic little sister RUNS from wall to wall SCREAMING like she was possessed by someone or on crack or god knows what.

The point IS, this diabolical little troll was running for about 15 minutes from corner to corner. I, being the mature young adult I am, started to CRACK UP after she ran back and forth about 3 times. So I'm sitting on my yoga mat laughing so hard I'm crying throughout the whole episode. The mom looked pissed and everybody else in the gym thinks I was on something, this thought made me laugh even more. Needless to say, they thought I'M the one with problems.
And when I walk past their house on my way home from school they sorta give me a strange look but it's ok. Shit happens.
This story really had no pupose whatsoever but whatever, it's not like anyone reads the shizz I post, but it DID make me realize that I should stop laughing at people sometimes. This is probably going to be the cause of my death- if my indecisiveness doesn't kill me first.

GSA maybe?

For a while now I have been contemplating something. I've been going back and forth on whether I should start a GSA (gay-straight alliance) club at my high school. I've actually been thinking about this since October. I want to do it. But I'm terrified of what might happen if I did. I guess I'm just too paranoid. I'd finally decided I would do it yesterday after talking to this kid but after much more thinking, I've chickened out. I mean, I can't really do it. Passion and Desire will only get you so far.
I don't know if I could handle all that pressure. It's a scary thought when you think about it. I wish my school had one, I wish I could be the one to start it.  But I don't know. I want this soo badly and I know in my heart that I CAN do this, I know it's the right thing to do.

It had finally seemed like I was determined to take the first step yesterday but after I thought about it- I don't know if I can. I have Anime club and I've always wanted to be in Literary club. I wana try to participate more in French club and join Recycling club. On top of that I'll have IB work and volunteering to look forward to. Not to mention I want to run for junior vice president. I just don't know if I can create this mighty and successful GSA I can perfectly envision in my head. I don't know if I can make this dream into reality. And what if it isn't successful?

   I don't like losing. It'd be a lot to take in :\
I wish someone would just give me the answers I'm looking for. Or better yet, I wish someone would just TELL me what to do.

Pre-Calculus, YES it is rocket science.

OK. This is one of my few strong dislikes. I absolutely hate, with a passion, all things numerical. honestly, I'm never going to find the cosine angle of the adjacent perimeter of the point-slope isosceles triangle. this is ridiculous. I'm purposely going to look for a career that involves NO mathematics whatsoever.
I'm never going to understand how someone can find even an ounce of joy from math. once you learn how to add, subtract, multiply and divide-- you're set. . . i realize I'm throwing a hissy fit over something that is inevitable but it just feels so damn nice to vent. i practically squirm at the mention of a calculator and cringe at a glance of a textbook.
                               
Math just seems like an annoyance to me, a bump in the road really. It seems like there's this elite math society somewhere out there. They all comprehend math and speak it like it's their first language. And I sit here, on the sidelines, bitter and jealous-- hoping that someday I could be just like them. When it comes time to doing the math I'm just about the most pessimistic hard-headed person I know. I'm sure it's as painful to watch me attempt at math as it would be to sever your hand. Typing two paragraphs about why I hate math has only reassured me of my belief-- math sucks. But maybe some good came out of it. I realized that even I have to admit when I see someone produce some elegant solution to a complex problem in a matter of seconds it leaves me so impressed, that I wish I understood more of it.

 

Somehow this reminds me of Ms. Gray :b

Sorry to break it to ya, BUT . . .

There IS indeed a such thing as a stupid question. Stupid questions are the ones you have not fully thought about yourself, the one’s you let bypass your inner wait-a-second-am-I-retarded? filter and fly straight out of your mouth without even having the courtesy to check in with common sense before taking off. That is all.

People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within.                         -Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

        

Grammer: You Know What I'm Saying?

So like, recently, I caught the end of a Mike Epps comedy special on my television set, you know what I'm saying? And like, at the end of the show, they were interviewing one of the persons in attendance that night, you know what I'm saying? This individual, while speaking to the cameraman, had the following to say:

"Yo! Mike Epps brought that shit tonight, you know what I'm saying?"

"Yo! He straight sold this bitch out, you know what I'm saying?"

Upon hearing the individual's question, I was forced to internalize whether or not I knew what he was saying, you know what I'm saying?

Now let's take a look at this video from Kenyon Martin — NBA superstar. He too, has a profound level of compassion, and this truth is highlighted in his desire to ensure that the interviewer "knows what he's saying." In fact, he asks the interviewer if he "knows what he's saying" 15 times in a 58 second interview!
Do people hear themselves when they talk?
this is almost as bad as having to listen to one of Miley Cyrus' interviews. The girl somehow manages to say 'like' and 'ya know?' in every other sentence. This leads me to wonder: What's wrong with America? And why can't anybody speak properly??

when someone compliments me:

'cus I am- you are- we are- exceptional yeah exceptional'

There's something magical about a Disney song. I'm not sure what it is exactly but (in my opinion) they're all absolutely special. I think they're brilliant pieces of art. I know most teenagers will probably think I'm ridiculous for believing this but hey it's my opinion. I like how a simple Hannah Montana song can cheer me up when I'm feeling blue. I like how a Camp Rock or High School Musical song can describe everything I'm feeling. I love how Selena Gomez can sing about love and put things into a new perspective. The theme song to that new show- Ant Farm is so inspirational and I think that this is precisely the sort of songs that children should be listening to. Not all that rap/hip-hop crap. Granted, there are good artists out there. I do have some more 'explicit' songs on my ipod but that isn't what I'm trying to get at. I'm not saying that my ipod is chalk full of Disney songs but there is more than. . . the average teenagers (maybe more than the average fifth graders too).


I think that children should appreciate their youth and not try to grow up so quickly. Disney songs, I believe, are the best influence-- on anybody. The messages that a Disney song possesses can do everybody some good. But I guess it isn't the 'cool' thing to do. What a shame. Well I'm nearly 17 and I'm pretty gosh darn proud to say that I will always like Disney. Any song that can change your mood in a matter of seconds is pretty amazing. Almost magical really.  

"I, I love you like a love song baby"

I love her. This ought to be declared the worlds catchiest song.

Not to sound pessimistic, . . . BUT. . .

So I have this silly dream. Ok-- the word 'dream' sounds a tad dramatic. So maybe I oughtta have used the word 'desire'. . . Nope that sounds just as corny. But you get the idea--

So Junior year I want to run for student government again. Last year I ran for class secretary against Adrienne Dzurick and let me tell you it was not fun. I was so paranoid and nervous I would lose. Next year I want to run for class vice president but I don't know if I can do it.

I'm in dire need of some motivation. I really want this but I don't know if I'm up for the competition.
That's all I wanted to say, a penny for my thoughts I guess?

*credit to Mar for inspiring this pointless tid bit of my thoughts.

Where's my stressball??!

I realize I'm blogging on this god-forsaken blog like a mad man but at this rate, I'm so bored I don't really care. I need to VENT!

I was just talking to a friend, Rimsha (are you happy now?) and we were just talking about stress. Lovely.
It's hard to believe that only 2 years ago I was looking into what high school I was interested in attending. But it's even harder to believe that in less than 2 years I would have already applied to college. Time's going by too fast! I feel like an old woman going through a midlife crisis and I'm only 16!

This is mad. I have like 8 colleges and universities picked out but that doesn't ease any stress. Add worrying about college onto PSATs, SATs, IB, AP classes, FLVS, dual enrollment, CAS hours and reading assignments! I've reached the point where I wana crawl into a dark corner of my house and rock myself to sleep. crying.

SEE, it's junk like THIS that I have silver (NOT GRAY!) hair. I'm content thinking that those 2 stupid SILVER hair strands are genetic and not a sign of aging. But if my life continues like this I'll end up having a freaking STREAK of SILVER (not gray, mind you!) hair. ugh!

Life would be a HELL lot simpler if I were dumb. Like Santaluces kids. I'm almost jealous of them. I'd be partying on weekends, hanging out and living out normal teenage years. But no, I just HAD to go and be some over achiever. Now I spend my summer days doing math, stressing over my future and falling asleep with books in my bed.

This crap better pay off. Those lucky S.O.B.'s better be working for ME someday. Cus to be honest, THIS is what I feel like doing sometimes.

simply put.

all hail the talking conch!

 

sounds like me when i'm dieting.

I don't know whether I'm amused or depressed. . .

THIS lovely little link is the core of my conflicting emotions:

http://scienceblogs.com/isisthescientist/2010/10/so_you_want_to_get_a_phd_in_en.php

Sure, it was entertaining. Until I realized how depressing it was as well. Unfortunately (for me), I was planning to persue a career in something that does not involve numbers, math or science. (yes, I know I'm closing the doors to lots of opportunity but) I'd rather spend my life herding sheep then doing math.

I was planning on majoring in English, or Literature, Journalism or Creative Writing. But this stupid video is making me question my dreams. Well, no. I love English-- it's just depressing to be reminded that IF I decide to do some long track career in this that I would be spending just as much time in school as a future lawyer or doctor would.

I'm not complaining but my happy go lucky perspective on this is slightly lower than it was 15 minutes ago, before I watched this video. I mean I wasn't expecting it to be a stroll in the park, but still. After watching this my facial expression sorta looked like this ---->   -____-

N.Y. legalizes gay marriage

After days contemplation and debate New York became the sixth and largest state in the U.S. to legalize gay marriage, breathing life into the national gay rights movement that had stalled over a nearly identical bill here two years ago.

This is fabulous! Change has to start somewhere, right? Today New York-- tomorrow Kansas! HA! Like THAT would ever happen. Well I for one am abolutely thrilled. Finally some justice! And now Neil Patrick Harris can get married  : )

"We always treat our homosexual brothers and sisters with respect, dignity and love" said a Catholic Bishop on Friday. I highly doubt that but hey, whatever he says- right? Well now he sorta has to respect it. Along with every other narrow minded-bible preaching-redneck in America. JUSTICE HAS BEEN SERVED.