arghhh.
basically i suck at getting on my personal lj account ever as of late. umm but nobody probably cares anyway so, it's all good, yes?
let's see. i'm depressed again and i hate life today. everything sucks and i'm not looking forward to graduation or next year. on top of it all, the majority of my friends seem to think it's fun to be jerks to me on a daily basis. yayyyylife, not.
on the little upside of things, i saw slumdog millionaire and decided that it's the best move that ever existed ever. cause it just kinda is.
also, we're starting poetry in creative writing. our first assignment was a letter to a family member beginning with "i can't tell you". i got really into it, and i'm actually very proud of it. let me know what you think, if you have the time?
I can’t tell you.
I can’t tell you that sometimes it feels like I’m nothing to you.
I want to believe that it’s not true. It’s not true.
You love me, because every year you send me cards.
On my birthday
and Christmas
and Valentine’s Day
and Easter and
Halloween.
You love me because you call me every Sunday and talk to me. Thirty minutes on average, always the same strained conversation.
Always I love you. Always be careful. Always the same, because I can’t talk to you.
I can’t tell you.
I can’t tell you who my friends are. You know their names. You know that I go to Josh’s house sometimes. You know that I went on vacation with Jessica and Rachel.
You don’t know that I’m failing Chemistry.
You don’t know that I write stories every day, you’ve never read them.
You don’t know what my favorite food it, don’t know what movie I saw last, and god forbid if I actually tell you how I’m feeling.
Hi sweetie, how are you?
Horrible.
Depressed.
Confused.
Upset.
Fine.
Why can't you talk to me? Why can't you tell me how you feel?
Tell me that you miss me.
Tell me that you wish it wasn’t this way.
Tell me that you wish you saw me more often.
Tell me that you wish you were here more.
You were there more.
Tell me that you’re proud of me.
Tell me why you left, or why she left. Tell me the truth. Just tell me something, something that isn’t small talk. Tell me how you feel.
Tell me that you love me.
Tell me that you’re sorry.
Just tell me.
Please, Dad. Tell me.
Because I can’t tell you.
let's see. i'm depressed again and i hate life today. everything sucks and i'm not looking forward to graduation or next year. on top of it all, the majority of my friends seem to think it's fun to be jerks to me on a daily basis. yayyyylife, not.
on the little upside of things, i saw slumdog millionaire and decided that it's the best move that ever existed ever. cause it just kinda is.
also, we're starting poetry in creative writing. our first assignment was a letter to a family member beginning with "i can't tell you". i got really into it, and i'm actually very proud of it. let me know what you think, if you have the time?
I can’t tell you.
I can’t tell you that sometimes it feels like I’m nothing to you.
I want to believe that it’s not true. It’s not true.
You love me, because every year you send me cards.
On my birthday
and Christmas
and Valentine’s Day
and Easter and
Halloween.
You love me because you call me every Sunday and talk to me. Thirty minutes on average, always the same strained conversation.
Always I love you. Always be careful. Always the same, because I can’t talk to you.
I can’t tell you.
I can’t tell you who my friends are. You know their names. You know that I go to Josh’s house sometimes. You know that I went on vacation with Jessica and Rachel.
You don’t know that I’m failing Chemistry.
You don’t know that I write stories every day, you’ve never read them.
You don’t know what my favorite food it, don’t know what movie I saw last, and god forbid if I actually tell you how I’m feeling.
Hi sweetie, how are you?
Horrible.
Depressed.
Confused.
Upset.
Fine.
Why can't you talk to me? Why can't you tell me how you feel?
Tell me that you miss me.
Tell me that you wish it wasn’t this way.
Tell me that you wish you saw me more often.
Tell me that you wish you were here more.
You were there more.
Tell me that you’re proud of me.
Tell me why you left, or why she left. Tell me the truth. Just tell me something, something that isn’t small talk. Tell me how you feel.
Tell me that you love me.
Tell me that you’re sorry.
Just tell me.
Please, Dad. Tell me.
Because I can’t tell you.