Because you're worth it

- A - says:
so whats happening with the boy scene?
- N - says:
it sucks
- A - says:
no one nice's around?
- N - says:
I suddenly realised that i've waited so long so the boy im waiting for might as well be worth it
- A - says:
dont worry someone pretty great will come along and even if he isnt pretty great.. you need to kiss all the fish blah blah... in the meantimes.. fuck that shit just chill with your girlfriends and enjoy your single life cause when your 30 and married on the brink of having kids and under stress youll wonder why you were looking for a guy at 17 anyway
- N - says:
hahahhahahhaa I knoww!! but 17 is when you're young and feel beautiful and you're real somehow and I dont want to waste it
- A - says:
you're not wasting it! just because you dont subject yourself to ONE guy doesnt mean your not making great use of your youth! look around you, everyone in a relationship wants to be single.. everyone just want to have fun and feel nice.. some people definition of this "fun" is being sluts.. but for the smart ones like us .. happiness is just when you laugh at something random and realise that at THAT very moment your happy and know that a lot of girls would kill to be in your place . so smile baby. you have a great life
- N - says:
I saw it that way but sometimes I want to be somebody elses', someone who exclusively cares for me..lets face it..my girlfriends have other girlfriends..so its different. plus, to be honest, im suffering from make out withdrawal and a smart 'guy' perspective
- A - says:
haha dont worry, some one great will come along he'll find you. i promise
- N - says:
So I'll wait? start working on world peace and global warming and why boys are cheats and liars in the meantime, do the whole princess in the tower jazz, grow my hair
- A - says:
no you dont HAVE to wait! you have to have fun and forget about wasting your time waiting for a BOY! even if he is perfect he doesnt deserve you! so just chill. hell come he might go . but its all about the experience and learning and living... until obviously that dreaded day come when your married and your life is just history
- N - says:
wow..marriage sounds like hell..so, i'll live
- A - says:
good
- A - says:
and when the time does come for you to be married. il tell you how awesome it can be til then just feel great about everything. its your life chill
- N - says:
How diplomatic
- A - says:
it more than fair right now baby, its brilliant. you just need to look at it in a different angle
- N - says:
changing ground and perspective..yeah.. I kinda stopped living for a bit, turned into Tourist, laughed at the others in their cages, didnt bother escaping mine
- N - says:
I realise now that that's stupid
- A - says:
very
- A - says:
but maybe its not.
- A - says:
live life the way you want.. if being "out of it" makes you happy then be it.. if your hapy waiting then wait! but if your smart then live for yourself , NOT some silly little heartbreaker
- N - says:
I'm with you
- N - says:
I think I expect too much though, of the world and of myself
- N - says:
and im scared I wont live up to it so I decide not to do anything at all, why take the risk if all i'll face is disappointment?
- A - says:
cause then youll know how to fix it. youll learn . youll grow . take a risk.. the only thing youll regret is not doing what you wanted to
- A - says:
you're already on the right track
- N - says:
its filled with diversions
- A - says:
the track doesnt have to be straight. the diversions are just a part of it
- N - says:
it doesnt end and its crowded. sometimes it would be so much easier to just sit down and watch
- A - says:
so sit down and watch . take your break get back up when your ready. its your dream. your path. your life! it goes whichever way you want it to . shapes into whatever the hell you want. u just need to master the trick of getting it
- N - says:
the trick? the trick.
- A - says:
the trick is different for everyone. the same trick doesnt apply to everyones lives. its just the way YOU do things, with your own touch in it. get what you want bottomline. think it , have it
- N - says:
the secret.
- A - says:
there is no secret baby. it all in you . theres no specific secret! you just need to figure out yourself and the only person who can help you with that it YOU! cause you know yourself the best. even though sometimes your confused and you feel like your watching yourself from the sidelines. its still you that has all control. when your on the sidelines your telling your body what to do. youv reached a point from where its possilbe for you to see things in a different angle. use it wisely cause its a good thing
- N - says:
it could be a curse. but then again, oil changes colour in the sun
- A - says:
you can be whatever you want to be. dont let yourself be judged by society. make your own lines set your own limits , draw your own nirvana , conquer your own fears and master happiness. do all that and youl never think twice about how your life is.
- N - says:
that would make me god
- A - says:
pretty much , your own god. but it isnt hard. trust me.

I Do =)

August Rush

‘August’, I plead, watching the days slip through my frost-bitten fingers, cold and unfeeling, stealing me of my warmth, ‘Don’t go’.
‘Don’t rush’, I beg, in a powerless attempt to protect my heart beneath her heels, ‘Keep it safe’.
August laughs, bitter and derisive.
‘Time’s a bitch. She shows no sympathy for the weak.’
‘I’m not weak’, I oppose, tiredly. ‘I just can’t..don’t want to face it.’
‘Be brave, my child’
Oho! How comforting.
‘I’m scared. With your departure arrives change.’
‘The only thing permanent is change.’
How fucking tranquillizing.
I choose my next words carefully, posing for callous.
‘When you leave, I’ll be forced to fight loss and heartbreak and impending exams and renewed memories and tears and growing older. Stay. Please?’
I’m a bad poser.
August can’t stop moving.
I feel sick.
I expected sun with a touch of dead leaf and inner peace.
Hah.
‘I can’t’, she says, frustration etched into her laugh lines.
‘Why not’? I push sulkily, the winds of change forcing me forward with each breath I take.
‘It doesn’t work like that. Life, remember?’
‘Life’s a bitch too’? I press, eagerly almost, waiting for the raw sweet taste of gossip to melt in my mouth.
August smirks, ‘You make it, you tell me’.
I’m starting to get jittery. Life keeps forgetting to let me live. I don’t like it very much.
‘She’s going away---my interpreter, my weakness, my strength, my glimpse of what’s real. Freeze, for me?'

August is starting to fade.
Bitch.
‘I won’t be able to survive without her.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Please stay?’
Stay
Stay
Stay
Don’t go.
Stay bitch.
No.
I grab what’s closest to me. Mirror Mirror on the Wall..
Fragments of broken glass,

January
February
March
April
May
June
July
Blood, heat and the smell of burnt leaves

Bye-bye August
Come again.

Self Defense, I swear.

Paint Box

Sometimes, I think I could sleep My Life away.
Sometimes, I almost know it.
But then I feel guilty because that would mean, by society's definition, that I have wasted it.
Young, smart, talented, beautiful blah blah blah she made nothing of her life.
I Did, you presumptious bastard, I built castles in the air!
Doesn't count. LALALALALALAALALALALALLAA

If I die now, today, at 17 and 141 days, what would I leave behind?
People would remember me--family, friends, people, I'll concede to that. But would they remember me, or just their idea of me?
The thought depresses me.
I know i'm a dot in the greater scheme of things and all that jazz, but a figment of imagination?
Ouch.
Wanna know the worst part?
All I've done is live.
Being alive?
That's a different story altogether.
I pity me, even though, I'd hate you if you did.

If I were a colour, I'd be lavender with shades of black and the occasional flash of red.
Or maybe i'm a dirty slate grey that the other colours fail to recognise and accept into the inner cirle.
Or pink with a hint of pale green and a dash of baby blue.
Or clashes of orange and red outlines with thin lines of brown.
Or magenta-esque with spots of off white.
Or plain yellow.
I am glass.
Reflective, transparent, absorbent with no personality of her own.
But, with a cutting egde.

I have this theory, that your hair mirrors your personality.
As a child you have beautiful soft cherubic curls reaking of innocence and naivety.
As you grow older, the curls harden, they become cynical and course, malleable with an edge. Sometimes your hair become almost whip like, or messy and unmanageable, a tangle of lost translations.
Twisted.
You can disguise your hair, you know.
Straighten it, perm it, suffocate it with masses of serum and gel and heat and matted colour and strands of pink and red and blonde hair dye.
It's so easy to disguise you.
It's so easy to change your personality.

If a chameleon is constantly changing colour, does it have an original colour, or does its own voice and paint get so over-ridden by change and cameoflage that it loses it?
I wouldn't know, would I?

Don't mind me.
Funerals can do strange things to a person.

Take That

I've wasted so much time spinning silken threads of camouflage and deceit that they have danced themselves around me, closer and closer, like in the first blush of love, carefully then callously till they bind me in their grip---a Mummy of our generation.

I ache to turn my back on it, but I can't. If I did, it would be like stepping out of a painting with the Real Me caught in the time warp while only an impression walks away.

'Cheater', you'd hiss convulsively.

Maybe, maybe.

'I might grow into the impression though', I'd tell you defensively.

'You won't', you'd say, much too fast for my liking, 'You'd only be a shell of yourself, devoid of emotion and masks and the drama that you feed on, your addiction.'

My addiction is beginning to tighten its chokehold around me. It has me paralysed and the only reason I can see is because I have learnt to close my eyes.

'You won't be able to function without it', you'd mutter prophetically, 'You'll waste away with nothing to hold on to.'

Shedding skin doesn't hurt, does it?

'No one wants to talk to a shadow', you'd taunt, 'You're in the midst of it all, a main character, a beautiful one a wild one. Why leave?'

Why indeed?

Then it hits me.

'You're jealous.', I'd gasp in wonderment, ' You've lost the choice.'

I choose.

The Mummy moans.

You fall back into the silken threads of camouflage and deceit that at one time, seduced you into thinking they were real.

I'm limping, running, soaring away. Breaking free.

You, you can't even see.

Take a Bow

“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” – Prof. Albus Dumbledore

"Why? Why won't he let me touch him?"
"Uhh..what dyu mean?"
"Everytime I get within human distance of him he acts like he's been burnt! I mean, what the hell man, it's like i'm Rouge from X freakin Men!"
"She's hot."
"Oooo I know with the sexy white stripe n all but shoo we're digressing..."
"Burnt?"
"Yeah! He ..I don't know..he jumps back, moves away..why can't we just..hug..and be friends? Or something."
"You want to hug and be friends?" *rolls eyes*
"Yeaaa..."
"And play football with him and get whacked on the back with a 'yo ssupp dude' and go drinking together and watch porn together and wear those dirtty jeans that hang below your..."
"Whoaa..I don't want to be a boy-esque friend."
"But that's what you will be na, now that he's done with you."
"Stop it."
"......" *stares blankly into space and hums 'Thick as Thieves' under breath*
"I leaned forward to hug him and..he pushed me away. Like he couldn't stand the sight of me. Like he didn't want to get his hands dirty. It hurt."
"You hurt him."
"Yea but not intentionally, that just...happened."
"So did this."
"I hate you. I hate him."
"No, you don't."
"I know."
"......"
"He acts like I don't exist. we pass each other every single day and I don't exist"
"Ouch."
"When that happens, I don't feel Real somehow. I'm so used to leaning into him, having him hold me, listening to him breathe.. It's not even like he ignores me. I'm just Not There. Maybe I never was. Maybe I just made it all up in my head."
"But you're here. And i'm talking to you."
"Sometimes, I feel like the rest of the worlds' imaginary friend. It's ironic how one person can change the way you see yourself."
"How does him opinion matter anyway?"
"I wish I knew. When I see him, I.."
"Yeeeeaaas?" *nods encouragingly*
"I feel invisible."
"Get used to it."
"I can't."
"What do you want?"
"I...I want him to acknowledge me."
"You want him to nod his head in your general direction?"
"No."
"A wave of the hand as manner of greeting?"
"No."
"A smile, a hug, a jog around the block, star spangled banners, sex on toast?"
"NO."
"Why not? Huh? Huh?"
"Because i'm not one of Them." *spits out word*
"Now you are."
"Don't."
"What did you expect?"
"Nothing."
"Good. 'Cause that's exactly what you got."

It's just words. It doesn't have to be someone I know you know. Stop. It's not him.