April 8, 2010 at 6:12 am (Uncategorized)

I don’t like the new way I cry. It splashes my glasses.


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April 8, 2010 at 3:17 am (Uncategorized)

When I drive at night, and there are just enough cars, and the lights flow like a drowsy river, I feel at home.

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April 8, 2010 at 3:13 am (Uncategorized)

I don’t feel at home with either of my parents. I feel at home on the freeways and the highways, sitting in a passenger seat with my eyes fixed on the blurred trees and high walls, on the ocean and on the mountains, on the desert and the rocks. I’m safe behind the glass. My parents never fought on long drives.

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April 7, 2010 at 8:50 am (Uncategorized)

I like to pretend that I can write well, but I can not, so I will stop trying.

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April 7, 2010 at 8:48 am (Uncategorized)

I think it finally hit me that she died and how much she meant to me and now I don’t like living very much.

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April 7, 2010 at 8:47 am (Uncategorized)

I cry differently now.

Before it made sense. I would feel empty and hurt and my eyes would water, my breath would get raspy and then slowly the tears would work there way out and down and it would be quiet. Eventually my sobs would get louder and the tears would fall harder and I would throw my face into a pillow so no one could hear and it would leave wet spots.

Now it’s different. Now I feel broken and cold and dead until suddenly the tears flood out of my eyes harder then they should because my eyes were very dry a moment before. But it is all very quiet. I just let it happen. In a few seconds it ends and I can feel dead again.

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April 6, 2010 at 2:12 pm (Uncategorized)

Living on autopilot is the thing I hate most about living.
I don’t know what turns it on, or how to turn it off, but I know it is always there, waiting for someone to push the button. To other people, I would probably describe it as depression, but it isn’t. I fought that, or at least some version of that, already and it wasn’t like this. Depression hurts more. it’s like having someone beat you down and spit on your face and tell you that you are worthless every day, right before you wake up. Every morning you have to wake up and decide whether or not it is worth it to get up again, and it isn’t, but mom says that you’ll be late for school and you missed too many days already, so you go.
Autopilot is different. Autopilot is having your brain on, and your body on, but without feeling awake. You are tired, and weak, but you move anyway, doing what needs to get done. You can laugh at jokes and smile, and you mean it, but you never feel the same when the silence takes over again. Your heart hurts, like you want to cry and have someone hug you and tell you everything is okay, but everything seems fine and your face holds the same blank expression you had in the morning when you were staring at yourself in the mirror and thinking you looked dead. You don’t eat and you drink less and you always feel too cold, no matter what you have on.
Autopilot is your body coasting on what it has left until it has nothing left, and when nothing is left you want to cry. Not to make a scene and shout and wail, but just cry. Your breathing goes bad and your eyes feel heavy and then you want it to happen, but it never does. You are probably dehydrated and your eyes stay dry. Eventually, you will get so tired that you drift to sleep on a couch and you will wake up with your heart hurting even more, and your face looking even more dead, and no one will notice anything.

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January 4, 2010 at 8:10 am (Uncategorized)

Today I read your poems and remembered why I thought I loved you.
You are beautiful and I am...

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Fourth Confession

September 28, 2009 at 7:15 am (Uncategorized)

On some days you seem perfect.
Then I show you some quote,
or some drawing,
and you don't get it,
and I realize,
in the end,
I was never meant for you.

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The Sentiment is Lost

September 3, 2009 at 8:30 am (Uncategorized)

I'm not mad anymore.
You are just an idiot.

To clarify,
Genuine sadness isn't to be met with smiles.

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