First post...
Hmm...so it's pretty funny when you can (almost) accurately sum yourself up by the contents of your pockets. Let's see...
-Forty-cent change card from the city bus
-One dollar
-Day of Silence explanation card
-Copy of a particularly amusing part of an IM with a boy I happen to like...it involved me wearing his boxers. That's all you need to know.
-Testing results from Latin State competition
-Two quarters
-Four inches of rainbow ribbon
So...to sum me up, I'm a poor, lovesick, GLBTQ-friendly Latin student.
..Yeah, sounds about right. ^_^;;
Oh, and..
Have you ever felt like you didn't want to talk to anyone? Not because you didn't think they had anything to offer, or because you just didn't feel like it, but because you didn't feel like you had anything to offer them? Because you felt like, if you started talking, they'd just interrupt with, "What are you doing?" or even worse, "Just stop." That's how I feel today. It's like I'm drowning, but I can only care enough to realize something needs to be done...but I can't do anything about it. Because, my brain says, why the hell should I? Maybe it'd be better that way.
I can't deal with the feminine pronouns today, or my given name, or anything that makes me feel any less like Michael. I need to get out of this house, but there's no way I can. It's raining, it's getting dark, and even if I wanted to go somewhere, my parents wouldn't let me. I might just go sit outside, but a part of me thinks I should stay online, because at least when I do, there's some sort of possibility that I'll get some comfort, some sympathy, from someone.
I wrote an emo poem two days ago, and yes, it's about someone specific. It's also pretty much about my need for physical attention. (Case in point: At the Latin competition last weekend, I randomly announced to my hotel roommates, "I need to get some action, before I jump someone ugly." Then I pondered making out with a freshman. Status: Critical.) But anyway...poem.
An empty feeling in my stomach
No my head
No myself
I feel lighter than air
His hands in my hair
But no
No cliche romance
No stupid rhymes
His hands are in his pockets
...But I want them in mine.
Instead he leans back
Hair in his face
Eyes on the ground
And I want him so much
And I don't know the reason
But I'd rather die
Than tell him
And hear
"No."
-Forty-cent change card from the city bus
-One dollar
-Day of Silence explanation card
-Copy of a particularly amusing part of an IM with a boy I happen to like...it involved me wearing his boxers. That's all you need to know.
-Testing results from Latin State competition
-Two quarters
-Four inches of rainbow ribbon
So...to sum me up, I'm a poor, lovesick, GLBTQ-friendly Latin student.
..Yeah, sounds about right. ^_^;;
Oh, and..
Have you ever felt like you didn't want to talk to anyone? Not because you didn't think they had anything to offer, or because you just didn't feel like it, but because you didn't feel like you had anything to offer them? Because you felt like, if you started talking, they'd just interrupt with, "What are you doing?" or even worse, "Just stop." That's how I feel today. It's like I'm drowning, but I can only care enough to realize something needs to be done...but I can't do anything about it. Because, my brain says, why the hell should I? Maybe it'd be better that way.
I can't deal with the feminine pronouns today, or my given name, or anything that makes me feel any less like Michael. I need to get out of this house, but there's no way I can. It's raining, it's getting dark, and even if I wanted to go somewhere, my parents wouldn't let me. I might just go sit outside, but a part of me thinks I should stay online, because at least when I do, there's some sort of possibility that I'll get some comfort, some sympathy, from someone.
I wrote an emo poem two days ago, and yes, it's about someone specific. It's also pretty much about my need for physical attention. (Case in point: At the Latin competition last weekend, I randomly announced to my hotel roommates, "I need to get some action, before I jump someone ugly." Then I pondered making out with a freshman. Status: Critical.) But anyway...poem.
An empty feeling in my stomach
No my head
No myself
I feel lighter than air
His hands in my hair
But no
No cliche romance
No stupid rhymes
His hands are in his pockets
...But I want them in mine.
Instead he leans back
Hair in his face
Eyes on the ground
And I want him so much
And I don't know the reason
But I'd rather die
Than tell him
And hear
"No."