This Girl, She's Got It Now

Writer's Block: Take Your Chances

Sun, 22 Mar 2009 18:18:43 GMT

Do you think people deserve second chances?

Submitted By drea12301994

Yes, they do. A /second/ chance. But after the first, they sometiems think that they can get away with anything. You need to limit your chances to only two before you get your ass kicked my emotional suffocation.

From A Million Miles Away

Sun, 12 Oct 2008 22:58:57 GMT

I'm on someone else's laptop, cuz they shut off our internet.

Let me catch you up.

We're losing our houses.
We had to give my sister's birthday present back to Target just to afford shampoo and shit.
We are, as Eddy Murphy would say, "Under welllfareeeee."
We are dirt broke.
We are unemployed.
We are out of relatives to ask for money.
We aren't getting any better.
We are not moving to Texas anymore, because we really don't have as much money as my dad thought we did.
I am being eaten by mosquitos.
We lost our cable/internet/phone, again.

So there.
Confessions over.

Grenade Jumper

Sat, 11 Oct 2008 23:48:57 GMT

Listening to sweet remixes and shit that NO ONE has heard by Fall Out Boy.
And hidden tracks and shit, its off that bit torrent I downloaded. I failed to listen to the rest of it, but now I am and it sounds really fucking rad. A lot of the remixes are techno-ey and I LOVE it. Specially the Dance, Dance one.
Its all sneaky and fucking radddddd.
I can't say anything else.
I don't even think you can find it on YouTube.
They're amazing.

But I have noticed I've neglected my blogging, and I guess its because there are so many things that I could talk about, I just give up on trying to pick.
And its not as if people really read this other than one girl (cutxoutxinsanity) and I'm coming to the slow realization that she owns.
Well, I'm assuming that she reads this. I could be wrong, but she friended me, so I don't know how else she'd find me.
Hang on...

*dies from Patrick Stumph saying 'love'*

Yep, that's right folks, a Stumph-gasm. =o

But anyways, back to...

THIS REMIX IS FUCKED UP. =D RADDD.

Okay, sorry, sorry! On topic!
I've been thinking of a solution to this, and no, I haven't figured it out.
So I'll type what's on my mind and see where it gets me and if I ever shut up.
And I'm thinking about typing my internal fights on here, which I have between the Sweet Helena and the Asshole Helena, and yes, I often write them out.
I just sniffed a lighter, and now I'm light-headed.
Not on purpose, dont worry.
So I'm moving to Texas still. For a second I was hopeful that I wouldn't have to.
Well, kinda.
I mean, I don't want to leave my friends and everything I know, because I don't want to leave my knowledge about Michigan or Detroit, which is my one and only love, and he has never failed to dazzle me. Nor my knowledge of my school, and all the people, and drama, I'm just so attached to it and I never noticed it until now. I ADORE Lama! She's a huge part of my life! I ADORE my seat behind Lauren Stieve in seminar! I ADORE my gym teachers...
Was Fellowship of the Nerd on another album? Because its on my mixtape but its also on the unreleased tracks I didn't burn...
Sorry, thoughts stray away.
This isn't even FOB singing now...o.o
Wait, there's Patrick...
OMG HE STRAYED FROM PITCH! PATRICK ISN'T GOD! HE'S NORMAL! YESSS!
But this is pretty old...and he still sounds pretty good...
Sorry, accoustic of Grand Theft Autumn.

But yeah. I am so attached to my knowledge and I just don't want to give that up. I'm so afraid of losing all the rep I've been dealt. And it losing me. Will I just be a ghost of this town? Will I just end up an evaporated once-was?
OMG A MARCHING BAND OF WHERE IS YOUR BOY! IT EXISTS AND SOUNDS GOOD!
KICK-ASS!
Rocking out to marching bands? Quite nerdy.
But yeah. I really don't want to give it up. I'm possesive. But at the same time, I'm so TIRED of this TOWN. I can't STAND the scenery. IM NOT NORMAL, so why does Dearborn reflect that? I don't go to the mall, stop expecting me to. I can't stand it! I'm the expressive kind of person where I need people to know things, or else I feel claustrophobic. I don't like the same scenery, same thing to wake up to over and over.

*slowly dies* PATRICK STUMPH WITH A LISP! XD OMGOMGOMG. *dies*
Bah, my dad yelled at me.
...
*replays*
*dies laughing*

Bah, bee right back, Ashlee called.

EPICCC

Sat, 04 Oct 2008 01:06:24 GMT

OMG EPIC PICTURE ASHLEE

Sat, 04 Oct 2008 01:03:27 GMT

NATIONAL RYDON DAY

Wed, 01 Oct 2008 04:00:02 GMT

From Quizilla ((its not showing up, so I'm linking it here)) Fic: Bound By Words Chapter 1

Tue, 30 Sep 2008 03:47:29 GMT

As any other morning in my life, my hand wandered freely, pen in hand, all over the back of last night's math assignment.

Its not as if I really cared about math class. I mean, I sat by the same fucking people and listened to the same fucking teacher drone fucking on and fucking on and fucking on. Fuck.

Needless to say I was bored out of my fucking mind.

So was Jon, I could tell. Normally his random state was all over the place, but currently his head lay across the table, frowning at wood.

"Hey Brendon?"

"Yes?" I turned my head to look at his sluggish self, prying my eyes away from the swirls I happened to be making.

"Who's the new kid?"

"Huh?" I asked, not understanding. Not that I really ever payed attention. I was notorious for not really paying attention to much of anything, except for the things that aren't really eye-catching or things you shouldn't really look at, like the sun. That would be why I have these damn red-rimmed glasses. Pushing them up my nose, I looked confusedly at Jon.

"The dude with the brown hair?" Mechanically his head turned to look at me as he motioned to the corner of the room.

"Hasn't he always been there?" I questioned, looking in the kids direction. My intentions were to quickly take a glance at him and look back to Jon, but instead I acted like a dumbshit and stared straight at him. And I dont know how awkward this was, but that boy had looks.

His hair was this sort of carmel-ey color, but lighter, almost like hazel but better, like the kind you really wanted to mess up. And I couldn’t fool anyone, those eyes were gorgeous. They were sort of hazel, but mixed with dark chocolate and green hues. His fingers ran through those locks out of what was an unreadable emotion.

“Brendon? Brendonnnnn?” Jon tried to recapture my attention in the background. “Hey, gayass.”

“What?” I responded, forcing myself to look at him. This, of course, sent him into a raging fit of laughter, because I actually responded to the name ‘gayass’.

I don’t know if I exactly brandish it, but I’m sexually confused. I mean, its not that I don’t like girls or that I don’t enjoy a poster or two of a curvy woman in nothing but tree branches, its just that if a guy is hotter than me, I admit that he’s sexy, unlike other guys who get all jealous. And I don’t limit my heart to only girls, if a guy is a really good close friend and holds some sort of companion-like qualities, theres no reason I find that I cant love him.

Not that I’ve ever fallen in love with a guy, that is. I mean, sure little crushes here and there, but nothing serious ever.

And in Jon’s eyes, it was needless to say that I was breaking bisexuality.

It is also needless to say that the kid across the room could turn any straight guy gay.

“You are such an idiot.” John shook his head pitifully at me.

“Why?”

“You were totally checking him out.”

“I was so not!” my voice raised a few hundred notches and Jon smiled.

“Dude, you are so desperate, you are so desperate!” and he laughed while doing some awkwardly eye-catching dance while pointing and taunting, “You think he’s sexxyyyy, you think he’s sexxyyy, you want to raaaappeee him, while he is sleeeeeeping!”

“Will you shut up!” my voice was an urgent whisper on repeat, but I was cut off by the teacher.

“Alright, hold up last night’s homework.” And he prepared to check it in.

Jon hid his face in his arms on the desk, laughing continuously as I rather fed-up raised both Jon and my papers.

The boy across the room held his hand up and looked shyly at Mr. Freier.

“Yes?”

“I-I don’t have my homework, sir.”

“Ah, yes, youre the new kid, correct? Youre, uh…” and he scanned a piece of paper on his desk. “Mr. Ross.”

The boy nodded, straightening up until his posture regained it’s perfection.

“Well, I’ll have to get your materials ready. Meanwhile, why don’t you get on up here and tell us a bit about you, hm?”

Through his lightly tinted lips he sighed, causing me to look away and at the head of the room.

It was amazing, the second he got up there he became Mr. Cool.

“My name is Ryan, uh,” he thought, “I moved here from a city just above though I was born here in Vegas. Er, I play the guitar-“

At this one of the popular and plastic girls gave a suggestive ‘oo’-ing sound and raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Thanks,” his smile was amazing as he flashed it in her direction. “Er, I’m 16 years old, I like to street and club dance, and I’m single.”

The applause radiated and showered the boy in all his glory. I, meanwhile, rolled my eyes. Great, the last thing I need, another guy that’s better than me to stand over my shoulder and make personal rude commentary on every move I make.

When class ended I swept my books off the table and smacked Jon in the back of the head, waking him from his sleep.

“Lets go,” I urged, looking off in a random direction, quite pissed.

“Whats you’re problem?” he asked, standing up with his things and reading my expression.

“I don’t have a problem,” and I jerked him by the back of his collar out the door.

“God, Brendon, cool it!” His attempts to calm me didn’t work very well. Its not that I was mad at the Ryan kid, I was just mad that before I even got to talk to him (not that I was planning to) the popular people ate him up in a second.

He was probably popular at his other school, too. He probably got all the girls there. He probably lives in this great big house and has two ideal American parents and has 2 little sisters who worship him. He’s probably rich, too.

Its not as if I had a shot at saving him. Then again, maybe its really just damnation and I think its saving him.

“Wait!” someone called from behind me. Out of natural response, I turned around, staring angrily. Until I saw who it was.

“You forgot this in the class room. You are Brendon Urie, right?”

My homework with the doodles on the back lay in his hand, and all I could do was stare at him.

And all he could do was stare back.

Jon interrupted, breaking the trance. “Yes, he’s Brendon. Youre the new kid…er…Ryan?”

“Um, yeah, that’s me.” He smiled, looking from me to his feet.

At this point, I’m pretty sure I’ve scared the poor boy. But what do I do when pure gorgeousness stands before me? I can’t look away, that’s a disgrace to its wonderfulness.

And anyways, this boy is way beyond me. He’s already got a line of girls waiting to show him a damn good time. I’m just the kid that never gets a say.

I pushed the glasses up my face to distract me, but it didn’t quite work. I figured Jon could be my translator.

“Well, although Brendon’s being a gayass and not speaking, he thanks you.” And Jon took the paper with a nod.

Ryan laughed, that smile showing up again. “Alright, no problem.” And he vanished in a crowd of people.

“Dude, you are so desperate.” Jon shook his head.
“I am not!” I snapped back, and the argument lasted all the way out the door.

This is one of my fanfictions off of another site. If you're interested in reading it, just message. =)

Someone's A Little Pissy..

Mon, 29 Sep 2008 05:11:26 GMT

I adore this picture.
We all know someone majorly fucked up.
Ryannn.
And Bren's face is too amazing.

SORRY MIMI

Mon, 29 Sep 2008 04:44:08 GMT

I kinda fell asleep on you over the phone.
So, yeah, and then I woke up and I decided that I was gonna type.
I'd call you back but I'm afraid that your aunt might not appreciate it too much.
By the way, the poetry was awesome.

...wow...

Sat, 27 Sep 2008 15:14:26 GMT

Attempt At Late Night Poetry---------xxRussian Roulette

Sat, 27 Sep 2008 05:53:22 GMT

Scream your pain away
There's a sway in this wind that won't blow
Save my skies from turning grey
Look in your eyes, see the blue
Forever, forever.
Hurtful words will take this down a notch
The thoughts make me lose control of my mouth
Here I go again, dying for nothing again
Are we all meant to pretend or all we are just blind?
The blood in your veins is well alive
If you've got a pulse, you've got a chance
One in five, it could be you
Pray to God and hope he's not there
Leave your death wish at the tone, please
Bang your head to the base, please
If we're selling our soul to the screams then we're not paying attention
Quick, while I'm not thinking, pass me the gun
You're only saved if you want to be
The image of your eyes dimming makes me smile
Finger on the trigger for my love, my love
Forever, forever.

Now Walk It Out

Sun, 21 Sep 2008 03:43:47 GMT

I'm starting to miss rap.
I practiced walkin' it out today, and I forgot how fun that shit is to dance to.
The only friends who will ever be able to do it with me are Shakeyria, Mimi, and Rayanne.
Mimi is one of the most gangsta white girl I've ever met, at least I can picture her dancing.

Along with poplock&dropit. Good stuff.

OMG IM INSPIRED.

Sat, 20 Sep 2008 14:20:36 GMT

Oh My Gerard, why didn't I think of this earlier?
I NEED TO WRITE A STORY ON RONNIE RADKE.
OMGOMGOMG. Amazing. He's such an amazing person.
Not a good person neccessarily, but an interesting person. And I guess when I look at him, I see where he's coming from.
Do you know what its like to be dependant on a sin?
Didn't think so. So don't judge him.

BTW, CRAIG IS SHIT. HE SOUNDS LIKE A FUCKING LAB RAT.
HelenaHellrazor<3

Seriously, I know the world really hates Ronnie, but with out him, ETF SUCKS. The guy squeaks at the end of his words and his screaming is AWFUL. He can growl but seriously? SOMEONE SHOOT THAT GUY.
I have respect, but its just not Escape The Fate without the guy who really did attemp to escape the fate.
Alright, anarchy bitches. =3

The Quiz Answers I Put In For Ryan (Between Him And Bren-Bitch)

Sat, 13 Sep 2008 00:23:51 GMT

Lasting

This is probably the best kind of love - it's the one where, despite the others flaws, you respect and love them for who they are, and it's the exact same for why they love you in return. Sure, you may have some bumps along the way...but that's only natural in this life. This is the one you should keep for a long, long time.

My Quiz Results

Sat, 13 Sep 2008 00:19:47 GMT

The Mod-Miser

You, my good person, are very greedy and demanding! you seem to see value in material possessions alone, and feel that nothing else is worth your time! You dream about new dvd players and plasma tv's. You probably watch mtv cribs and pick out which house you would rather have! you dream of the high life! making it big in the financial realm and doing whatever it takes to get what you want! i'd even go as far as to say that you are a borderline megalomaniac!
Feel free to message me if you think this answer is wrong, or just want to say hi!
good luck with life!

SIDE PROJECT

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 15:43:42 GMT

HOLY FUCKING SHIT.
THIS IS SO THEM.
PANIC AT THE DISCO MUST HAVE THIS AS A SIDE PROJECT. THE BACK-UP VOCALS, THE LEAD SINGER, AND THE LYRICS ALL SCREAM PANIC.
THIS IS WHAT I CALL THE RESURECTION OF THE RED ROSE VEST.
Aint it beautiful?

This one is just snippets of songs that were supposedly on the scrapped album, including Nearly Witches.
Please Panic, if you love us, you'll give us more.

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 02:50:09 GMT

OMGGGG.
PANIC AT THE DISCO IS FEVER!
Has anyone heard the FOB Decaydance mixtape?
One of the songs on there I am SURE is by Panic ((it sounds JUST LIKE Brendon)) and its WAYYY closer to Fever than anything I've heard from them in a long while.
Its the song before I Kissed A Boy, I dunno what track it is.
10 Maybe?
I think they call it The Paul Revere Jumpsuit Apparatus.
Fucked up, eh?
I'unno. The track before that was a remix of Northern Downpour, and the person singing in that song I was SURE was Brendon.
Anyone got specifics?

No, No, No, No, No. You Dont Get It Here. Let Me Break It Down For The Slow Learners.

Sat, 16 Aug 2008 06:38:13 GMT

I love this font. It's very...typewriter, wouldn't you agree?
So I finished up with a nice little puppeteer/roleplay with my good close homie Ashlee ((lurv)), and my mom was yelling downstairs ((she's gone now, I don't know when or why she left but she did along with my siblings)), and it sparked a deep train of thought. Which led me gravitationally towards the laptop, to LJ, and eventually to this rant.

When you think 'child abuse', you think parents who 'hit' their kids. Correction; first off there are FOUR kinds of abuse. There is sexual, emotional, physical, and mental. Neglect is also a considered form of abuse, though it is pleaded in most common child abuse cases and is often bypassed. Anyone can say that they're neglected because they're parents aren't always home or something, and my correction there is neglect is only abusive to the point where it harms you; no food, poor living conditions, no aid or supervision for extesive periods of time.
Many people also plead physical abuse, which is not when a parent simply hits their child. Most children think that because mommy slapped them around a few times, they've been abused. What do I say to that? Sorry to be a hard-ass ((*coughcough*like Gabe Saporta*coughcough*)), but shut the fuck up, y'damn crybaby. But I will rant about that later, and it is the possesive point to this rant.
Obviously sexual abuse is forcible acts of sexual contact. This is less pleaded because its hard to pin down, normally it is related to a parent requesting or forcing the child to touch or come in contact with them in a sexual way. What more is there to say, really, I mean there's no more or less to sexual abuse.
Mental and emotional abuse have been confused, mixed up, and left out when speaking about abuse. The difference in my belief is, emotional abuse is quite common but is deffined as abuse when it goes too far. It is the constant bruising of the child's emotions, yelling at them so much with such hard words that it drives them to extremes, like severe depression. It is NOT when your parents say that you are Satanic because you listen to screamo, or when they say you're weird for whatever reason, or because they shove some sort of imposing belief or practice or intirest down your throat. It is when they yell at you constantly, telling you how you don't deserve air, how you ruin their life, how you should die. This is the most LOADED form of abuse, because kids after they hear this they start to think, "Oh well my parents hate me, they make me depressed all the time. They're emotionally abusing me." I swear, I will kindly kick your ass if you do that. I almost regret informing you guys about this, because I know that's what people will do. Its when you walk in your house and the first thing you hear is, "You loaded piece of shit, go clean your filthy-ass room, right now. You damn lazy bitch, I hope you fucking suffocate in all that mess, I hope you fucking drown in it." Diagnose yourself.
Mental is different, it is more along the lines of brainwash and is one of the least common forms. It is where the adult introduces an innapropriate practice, such as locking a child in its room all its life literally, Satanism, canibalism, murder, rape, sexual activities. It is literally making the child mental.
See the difference?

*sigh* Alright. Here's my other side of the rant.
Physical abuse. Its not where the child is hit but beaten. I am a victim, and here is my story;
-PART 1-

I can't remember what I did, I don't even care what I did, all I know was that it was wrong. I was about 8 or 9 at the time, so I wasn't old enough to know what was happening yet. Please excuse the patchiness in this tale, it happened about 5 years ago.
I sobbed. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I didn't know why any of it was happening, and in that state I didn't really have the capability to think. My eyes were closed but I knew what was happening, I used my other senses instead. I could smell the swirls of beer in the air, meaning I knew my mom had been drinking as usual. I could hear her yelling at me, telling me to shut the fuck up. Asking me if I really wanted to scream. Telling me what she would do to me if I screamed. I could also hear my heart pounding in my ears, blood rushing throughout my brusing body. I could feel her left hand over my mouth, pressing down so that I couldn't breathe. I know it was intended for me not to make any noise, I wasn't supposed to scream or yell when she hit me. She didn't like it when I did. It covered my nose as well, and I tried to yell to her, "Mom, stop, I can't breathe! Can't breathe!" but it was muffled and she took it as screaming, so she held down harder, leaning all her weight onto it. At the same time she was hitting me. No, not hitting me. Beating me. Hitting was an understatement. It wasn't a few hits inbetween words, it was constant blows and punches and slaps, everywhere she could. I couldn't do anything, I lay limp, though my hands pried at her grip over my face. Tears rolled off my cheeks as I could feel my lungs tugging in the fight for air. My eyes caught flashes of her enraged face struggling as she layed down her strength on my small body, and I slowly lost consiousness. In the few seconds left that I could sense my surroundings, she threw me against the rough old couch, and I didn't move. Didn't dare. I don't think I could though, I don't think I had the strength. Soon enough I drifted to sleep.
Wake up call. My eyes opened to my mom again, plummeting the palm of her hand into the side of my head. She was telling me to go make my baby brother a bottle of milk. I wormed away and did just that, pouring the rather disgusting formula in the bottle and putting it in the trashy microwave. My kitchen, for one, was a fucking mess. Beer bottles and cans scattered everywhere. Budweiser more than likely. Food on plates all over the counters, all of which were used by my mom. My siblings and I lived of bologna sandwiches, no plate. The fridge was basically empty. When I arrived, she took it and then told me to go get his baby blanket, the blue teddy bear one, in a hurry. I rushed, but when I returned it was too late. She yelled at me and then sprayed the steaming hot milk on my face, and as funny as it may seem in a scene on a movie, it wasn't anything I was going to laugh about. I screamed, which pissed her off. She grabbed a sandal, and tackled me to the ground. I was small, er, am small, so its not too much of a task. She started smacking me in the face with it, and told me not to scream, and that this was what I got. I lie there for a while, until she told me to go to my room because my dad was coming home. I waited in my room for about 2 hours, curled up in the corner where my bed met the wall in the corner of the room. My room was like a separate world. The bedsheets were from my lovely Aunt Lillian, who actually lived downstairs in the second floor. They heard but they wouldn't say anything, we lived in a poor neighborhood. When my dad knocked on my door I tried not to say anything, so my breath came out as kind of a whimper. He gasped when he saw me. It may sound like it was fucking funny but it wasn't. I had shoe prints on my face, scratches on my neck and cheeks, and my lip was as-always bloody. I'll never forget the look on his face when he found out what my mother had been doing to me. Haunting.
I skipped school for the next 3 days until the marks went away.

-PART 2-

I get things now.
I'm 11 and I know what abuse is, I learned about it in school. Now I know that its not okay. But now that I'm older and stronger, though I don't quite fight back, I can take punches easier. I've built up a pain tolerance like a fucker. It starts getting bad around Halloween, where she's been punching and slapping me out of existence. I stand back up, because I refuse to give her satisfaction. After these years I've lost my good judgement and common sense, because the fights taught me to hold strong no matter what. She gets pissed, asking me if I'm still okay, if I can still stand. She goes for the uncalled for and grabs this metal chair. Its this metal structured Barbie-clothed chair that I've had since about 3 Christmases ago. She throws it at me and it pins me against a wall, and I slump down it and she picks me up by the collar and slaps me across the floor, where I lay, slipping in and out of consiousness. She was yelling, telling me that I deserve to die. That she was going to kill me. She leaves me alone for a little, then says we're going to the park. Keep in mind we've been fighting since nine in the afternoon and it was midnight. I was scared, but I went anyways. She was taking me to the park down the block so she could kill me, and she drove around to look for a clear spot. When we stopped finally, I wouldn't go. I held tight to the leather seating in the green Durango and she couldn't get me out. We were breaking morning, so she drove me to my dad's. That was when he had to take me to the hospital.

-PART 3-

I'd like to think I'm mature nowadays. It was only a few months ago, when I was at my mom's house. By now my parents were divorced and my mom had supervised custody of me, though she got it unsupervised because we don't exactly follow the law in my family. She was fighting with me about a phone charger.
You heard my words.
A phone charger.
Bullshit, right? But she tried to hit me. And you know what? By now I'm old enough, I'm to a point where I don't cry, where I just won't let emotions bother me, where all sense is out the window and I just don't give a fuck. I swatted her hand away. She acted like she usually did, asking me if I wanted to hit her.
Why is it that every time I fight with someone, the first thing out of their mouth is, "Hit me." Do they think I won't? Do they think I'm not strong enough?
For a while, I stared at her, clenching my jaw. She provoked me, and then tried again. I swatted her hand away again, and again, and again. You could call it building up anger. I wasn't an angry person, I just got annoyed. I tried to piss myself off, so I waited. You can say I was scared, but say what you will. You don't know what it's like in that position, and if you do, side with me. That was the very day I blacked my momma's eye, and fuck was it the best moment of my life ((seriously)) next to the Projekt Rev show. Seriously, bitch fight. It was sad, because it was another fight where there was no winner and someone had to break it up ((my dad)). After a bunch of just punches and slaps, she headed for a knife. She was asking me if I wanted to hit her, now that she was armed. My sister told me to run, but I stood there, smirking a little. "I would love to hit you again, ma'am." She neared me, knife in my face, asking if I wanted to hit her. Telling me she was gonna 'fucking kill' me. I stared at her rather than the life and said, "Go ahead. In the heart, so its over and done with."
Her hand lingered, but she put it away before calling my dad and telling him to come get me before she killed me. I was rather proud of myself, I got out of it unscratched and she didn't.

Nowadays I get small cliche glimpses into the past, where I'll sit down and think. And it'll lead me back to days like these. I zone out, and this is what I think about. The thing was, in the roleplay, there was some abuse going on, and I wanted to make sure how much it destroyed a person. How cliche yet...intricate it can sometimes be.
I see my mom often stil, even if I'm not fond of her. I'll never forget what happened, of course not. I won't pity myself, but I will defend myself when they say there's nothing wrong with me, when they say that I've got a good life, when they say that I've got nothing. Give me SOME credit.
I almost regret writing this, because it kinda...hm...gloaty? I guess. But I had an urge. =)
Because people just don't care when they hear a kid has been abused. The only thing they do is cover their own ass and stay out of it.
Please, understand that a few hits may bruise your body, but constant beating scars your memory forever.
Not a day goes by that I don't sit down and all of a sudden see a flashback of my mom's face when she's beating me, s'what I'm thinking about when I zone out. Im thinking of that, and how painless it could be to die.
Dont undermine it.

This has been a very pointless rant.
I am hH and I aproove this message.

Writer's Block: Six-Word Story

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 22:14:26 GMT

Hemingway was once challenged to write a story in only six words. His response? “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” He is believed to have called it his greatest literary work ever. Can you write a story in six words?

Submitted By femspectre

View 506 Answers

Hey, I was tempted to answer this.

"She waved 'hello' rags, goodbye riches."

It sucks, I know, but I think it could make some sense if you read it over a few times. =)

I Rant About Things That Piss Me Off

Mon, 28 Jul 2008 21:22:49 GMT

Alright, gotta concentrate on typing. Resisting the urge to sing.
But, failing.
So hang on...

Okay.
I put on Coconut Juice, which is extremely hard to resist, and I'm arguing with Jude, but I can try. >=(

Alright. Hate to be a Miley, but 10 Things That Piss Me Off.

Rated from ten to one, one being the biggest piss-off.

10) Homophobia
Grow up, damn it. That's all I have to say.

9) The Way Music Is Now
I'm sorry, because I listen to a lot of crappy bands nowadays, and a lot of other people do as well. Creativity is what makes music what it is. My appreciation doesn't go to softcore, because lets face it, every song sounds the same. I love you, Dashboard Confessional, but you know, whiny teenage thoughts with the kid up in his bedroom with the acousic guitar across his lap and the tears in his eyes with the lights down low and pictures of his ex-girlfriend who dumped his ass because she felt like she was dating another chick? Age, damnit. I give kudos, TONS to Ludo, My Chem, Panic At The Disco, not so much Fall Out Boy, but because their lyrics are amazing and their songs dont sound consistently the same, I like them. Y'know. The last thing people should ever do is fake liking a band. Why? Because its just stupid to the people who really care about the music. Think before you download.

8) Bragging.
GROW UP. I know its all I've said, but it seems like I'm mature here, and I'm never the mature one in any situation. Ever. Which is sad, because bragging is just a way to get attention. I know I'm attention seeking at times, but you know, please don't do it around other people. Expecially when you're lying.

7) Harsh Parenting
You know, there's borders. I think that a lot of parents cross those, and I don't mean they won't let you date the cute guy 3 years older than you, or they won't let you out late, or they won't let you drape yourself in the color black, or they don't like you listening to certain kinds of music, or they want to take you to church or places early in the morning, or you can't stay on the phone all day. Seriously, when you hear it, they just care and that's reasonable thinking. I'm talking no going anywhere by yourself, you're forced to clean while they sit on their ass, you have to do things that prevent you from actually being a kid. I'm not saying that I've particularly been through that, but I don't like it. NOR DO I ENJOY when people with perfectly good lives complain about meaningless shit.

6) Aging.
xD I know I'm an idiot. Its more of a fear for me, but the thought that one day we can't do anything at all, we'll be too old. And coming from a person like me who plans to do it all, imobilization is as good as death. And I'm not afraid of death, I really wouldn't care if I died right now.
...
Alright, still alive. But yeah, sometimes when I think about it, it just kind of like is a punishment. And every year, its death closing in on you.

5) Dissapointment
Half way through.
Dissapointment is my least favorite word ever. Why? Because I LIVE to please other people. I'm like, the world's whore or something. When people say they're dissapointed in me, I want to shoot myself. I really, really do. No joke, no metaphore. I really sincerely do.

4)Overly Religious People
Alright, this is more vice-versa. They normally hate me. And I guess you can't exactly love them back though, even if it is very elementary. I love religion, I really do. I think its amazing and powerful and intricate and just one of the greatest pleasures in life. You see, its not that I think it's stupid, not that I hate religion itself. Its more like something I just can't afford. I don't have the time to sit down and devote time to God, so its better to assure myself with science ((plus its more definite, like life's condom or something)). I love religion, but people that are religious just figure that because I don't believe in God, I'm a horrible Satanist. No. It doesn't even make sense that way.

3) Child Abuse
Almost thereeee.

I have nothing to say.

2)People Who Lie To Better Their Image
This irks me beyond compare.
I'm not gentle.
No I don't mean I don't like the action of lying, I mean I don't like the individual people. Because then everything out of their mouth is some sort of extended shit. And yeah, I have a few friends who happen to do that, but I can't help but try to ignore it, because half the time I don't want to believe they're lying.

1)......
......
....
...
..
.

I won't tell you what I hate the most.
Its not personal or anything, its justtt.....
Pathetic?
Desperate?
Y'know. As it is. As I am.

I'm Sick And Tired of Being Sick And Tired

Fri, 18 Jul 2008 02:35:56 GMT

There was a rant here, but I relocated it. )=
Sorry, nonexistent fans.

Untitled- Prologue

Tue, 15 Jul 2008 17:04:28 GMT

Hello. My name is Lily-Ann Jenna Gemini Cayes. My eyes are green. My hair is mahogany red. My age is 16. I was last seen on March 25, 2008 in Manhattan, New York. I am described as a vibrant, bratty, and arrogant teen. If you have seen me, please call 1-800-THE-LOST.

"Stick your tongue out,"
Lily-Ann agreed, opening wide as she fidgeted in her swivelly chair.
"Are oo shur 'is ith 'anitary?" she mumbled as he stuck a popsickle in there and pressed her tongue down, looking at her throat by the dim glow of his cheap keychain flashlight.
"No, I'm not, but you wanted a doctor, right?"
"Ahh geh tho." and she sulked.
When he pulled away, L.A. gently closed her mouth, looking into the corner of the dark Victorian appartment.
"You look fine," the young man diagnosed so knowledgebly, jotting something down in a notebook.
"I wasn't worried," and she shrugged, sliding off the chair.
With his index finger, he pushed his thick dorky frames up his nose and raised an eyebrow, "Dont be so confident. There are plenty of diseases for you to contract."
She stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowed.
"Thanks."
He pursed his lips and stood up, walking over to the door.
"Y'know," her hands slipped into her pockets of her long dark brown jacket. "I'm kinda glad I'm too broke to afford a real doctor."
"No, you're lucky your pain-in-the-ass friend studdied meds since the sixth grade. And besides, I'm just as good if not better than any bullshit 70 year old." Naturally, Aaron's corrections were correct, but weren't they always? He was the only guy that really ever matured after puberty.
"Well, that too, of course." she began nervously shuffling her feet against the polished wood floors, making a sort of squeaky noise.
"So, I guess this is...goodbye?" Aaron looked so awkward, questioning through the glasses that made him look 24. For a second both of them took a moment to bask in the awkward cliche-ness of the statement.
L.A. struggled, because in truth, she didn't quite know. She had known Aaron for practically forever, since she discovered Converse and he discovered hair gel and good music, and that dates way back. But he understood why she was doing what she was doing at least, that she had to leave the city or she'd be found by whoever does those gay little missing person searches.
I'm not missing.
You see, she was under an impression of literal terms. Because in her mind, she wasn't missing. How could she be missing? When there was nothing to miss. No parents, no possesions, no activities. The only friend she was missing was Aaron, and he was only a friend. Therefore, technically, she wasn't 'missing'.
"W-well, I dunno." and her reply sparked a small awkward silence. "I-I'll come back," she nodded in promise, "Once I change my name, fix this hair, get a spray tan, advance in height, buy colored contacts, and grow a larger ass."
He scoffed, not really laughing. Truthfully, he always did that, chuckled like a man beyond his real ages, in an intelligent way of course.
"I may not still be here," he looked up at her matter-of-factly.
She paused, shocked. "Where are you going?"
He grinned guiltily, "College?"

"Holy shit!" her eyes widened. "Where? How? When?"
"I don't know. Either a good law school or a medical school. Next year I tap into my savings, so that should cover it if I use student loans." he replied, lopsided smile.
"Thats amazing," and she wondered if she really meant it. Sure it was terrific that he was off to get a life, because he skipped a grade of highschool ((the boy was way too smart)) but she couldn't. She was a dropout, of course, hit the road. But that's a long story.
"I'll be back before a year. Half of one, maybe." she reassured, frowning and shrugging in that casual way.
"So..." he bit the inside of his cheek, "It is goodbye."
"Only for now," and we sort of just looked at each other, his hazel-honey fused eyes catching the light as they sparkled into my ordinary olive green ones ((and in her opinion, they weren't even the pretty shade)).
"My little Lily-Pop, out into the big bad world." he smirked. She stood calmly, grinning a little at the usage of her nickname.
Y'know that part about where she said she wasn't missing? Well, she changed her mind. The second she left Aaron's house, she realised something.
I'm missing.

Oh, Did I Tell You?

Sun, 13 Jul 2008 06:17:00 GMT

ALRIGHT.
SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME I'M NOT AS OUT OF TUNE AS I SEEM TO BE RIGHT NOW, BECAUSE I'M SO...SO...IN SHOCK THAT I COULD EASILY COMBUST.

What do I call it? Identity crisis? Flat out confusion? That point ((and no, I dont mean the tip of the orgasm. Pervs.))?
Y'see, Dr., and don't ask me how, but I just discovered that I am NOT as intiresting as I thought I was. It almost makes me want to get into something sinful just so that I feel worth people's time again. I just learned that a close friend ((maybe not in distance, but in heart)) had been abused WHILE SHE KNEW ME. And she didn't tell me, even if it didn't last long. She still hasn't told me. I found out through a secret ninjahhh source.
And I feel bad, because I just drank a fricken monster and although I ate, I still feel like puking/passing out.
I feel so...just...out of it. I thought people could trust me with things. I trust them with things. I thought that I wasn't exactly wearing my heart on my sleeve and now I kind of think that...I've been too open. And now I just think that maybe its time for me to shut up. Sad fact is, I think I've already told everyone everything.
Shitttttt.
Its kinda like your first fuck. You don't know what to about it. Hours have passed after it all and you're left with nothing to do but look for why you did it in the first place and you don't know how to talk about it to the person who it concerns because its just so damn awkward.
And the sad fact is, its like sleeping with a bunch of people at once! Because it concerns several of the human beings I've come to know. And you don't want to appologize about it, because that's just rude. And you don't want to not bring it up, because then you feel uncomfortable.
Its Exactly like your first fuck.
But yeah. I'm going to go now, because I feel like everything on my inside wants to be on my outside.
Fuck off, yeh fuckin' fuckfaced fucks.

EEP. Wrong Decision #1567893987653456789028765336835456328532539423276384544282047243567833352344154

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 04:37:00 GMT

Okay, so I wanted to go outside, right? And its kinda humid out and its midnight. And so I'm on my patio when I feel my leg itch and then I look down and theres a fricken mosquito right there.

I am terrified by bugs. Let me admit.

So I scream and grab the compy and phone and run inside.
And then it got inside. And now...I'm acting like theres a phsyco-killer in my living room.
Mosquitoes are the creepiest bugs next to spiders. They both involve inserting body parts into your skin. And I have a fear of needles, because they go through the skin.
I'm scared as hell. I'm like, about to cry. I am terrified. It was, like, chasing me around the table earlier, too. Just PLEASE, God, if you love me, you'll make it dissapear.

Cry, Babe, This Town Could Use Some Rain.

Sun, 06 Jul 2008 00:13:52 GMT

I feel a bit like shit.
I got back from running a 6:40 mile ((fairly alright for someone who has not run in a month)), and I ate before running. And now, I feel like puking. Well, I felt like puking, I'm alright now unless I move a lot.
And my throat is sore, and it was about 85 degrees out, and I'm coming up with excuse after excuse even if I don't believe in excuses.

It went great, but it took a toll. Therefore, I will definitely be practicing a mile every day, two miles if I'm feeling courageous.

It shows me how fat I am.

So I'm home alone, in my dad's pimp pants ((theyre pajama pants with money on them)) and a grey tank top, and my dad left me $20.

My mom got drunk, if you were wondering why I'm home alone again. On the 4^th of July. And she blamed the fireworks, my misbehaving siblings, the dirty dishes, and terrorism on me.
No. Joke.
So she called my dad, said that she couldn't handle me, that I was no longer aloud there, and my dad picked me up and now I'm here, motherless again. =3
I'm a happy child.