The Key to Everyone

Honesty, to me, is the key to every relationship, small or big, insignificant or important. It's what makes people come together. Trust is what makes you lean into someone, knowing they won't let you fall, like those games that we all played when we were little with our friends. It's what allows you to curl up on your bed, feet pressed up against the wall, pouring your heart out to that best friend, or to laugh so hard with them that your stomach hurts. Or vise versa. It allows you to scream at someone without feeling tense. Honesty is a key to other people. Without that, people never get to know each other.I can honestly say I'm honest with every person I meet. Some people I might tell less to, but it's all the truth. Minus white lies, but everyone does that... right? At least, I hope so. White lies are necessary, just not for the big stuff.

I have a feeling this is a Shel Silverstein poem. Why? Because Shel Silverstein books are always black and white, and the drawing looks like it's in pen, like always, and it's sketched out, not perfect. I love his poems, they're funny and simple, and not so heavy (unlike my own writing, ha ha). My dad got me a Shel Silverstein book when I was little, and it's still on my shelf. I just might pull it out tonight...

A message to HER: I'm honest, and even if you're not, I'm going to continue to be honest with you. Because that's what you're supposed to do. If you can't come around and tell me why you hate me, then I'm sorry for you. Sometimes, the truth just hurts. See ya.

Chamelean

The people I most love in my life are the people that I've originally hated when I first met them (not counting family, I love them always!). Weird, but true.

It happens when someone's bold, or laughing in front of me when I think they're laughing at me. Or if I think they're in love with themselves. And then afterwards, when I'm thinking about it later... I realize how wrong I am. Because that boldness? That's confidence. And the laughing? They're actually incredibly funny, so much that you have to keep yourself from laughing at everything that comes out of their mouths. And being in love with yourself... well, they have amazing self-esteem, so much they're willing to wear their hearts on their sleeves, and say what needs to be said. When I think about all of this, I start to think about how wrong I can be about someone. What do you know? Someone I first meet that I think is annoying... actually becomes one of my best friends :) My personality is somewhat like Remy from This Lullaby in a way... without the boldness (ha, ha). So far, I've misjudged (counts on fingers) at least nine people that I can think of right now. And here I am, always talking about judging people being a bad thing, when I do it all the time (hides face in shame). Have you ever misjudged someone as a bad person, when it turns out that they're really good?

A Perfect Pair

I feel like I've known these new friends of mine for years, all of us huddled around one big table in class. Every one of us is completely different, but we all fit together perfectly, like a puzzle.
The girl next to me, curly-haired, tall, and skinny, is like an old soul, someone who sees potential in everything and everyone around her, reaching out to take you in. She's kind of serious, kind of quirky, and she's one of the most real people I've ever met.
There's another girl across from me, dark-haired with a bubbly personality and a wide smile. She's the kind of girl who gets her nails done prefessionally and carrys around metallic-colored purses, with her dark cat-eye makeup. But she's also stubborn and sarcastic, nowhere near sweet. More like me.
And then the girl diagonal from me, the quietest of all of us, is the one I'm most fascinated with. Her appearance is striking, with bright red skinny jeans and jet black hair that clashes with her fale white skin. She's very thin, as well as tall, almost as if she were a model. But she's hidden and shy, and hates how she looks. She feels as if people are constantly looking at her, like she was ugly. But she's just the opposite. Her eyes are wide and a dark brown, and her skin is smooth, and her features are well defined and suited for her face. Today was the first time she spoke to me, but then again, actions speak louder than words, right?
All four of us, huddled around our one big table, were meant to be. Somehow, it all works out.

Dark Brown Locks

Out in the rain, in thick, wet sheets that make the hairs on your arms stand up, he leans over the porch, staring out into the dark, cold afternoon. His face is unusually flushed from the cold, and his hands are intertwined in one another, as he leans foward, staring out into that dark, cold afternoon. His hair is matted down and dark, a lot longer than usual, the strands drooping in his eyes, but he doesn't fix them. His eyes are heavy, lined with memories, on that dark rainy afternoon, and he doesn't want anybody to know they're there, but I can see through that, all his pain, hidden behind dark locks of deep brown hair. That's what he doesn't know.

Still Here

I've been thinking about a lot of things lately.
(...She looks motherly, yet like she's still breathtaking. That is beauty. It's not something you can apply to your face...)

I've been thinking a lot about my family, and the women in my family especially. I just wish I could have known them longer (or at all), talked to them about her life. Because it's not the same hearing stories without their own points of view, and insight. Isn't it wierd, that people go through their lives keeping secrets, or memories, and never getting around to sharing them?

I've been thinking about me personally, about my writing. I mean, seriously, I want to be a writer so badly, that when I hear someone tell me otherwise, I just want to scream.

I've been thinking about friends, and what it means to be one.

I've been thinking about love, and what it means to love someone. It's all so vague. Do I treat my family and friends well, or not?

I've been thinking about the "Real World", and how I can make it a place that doesn't give me wrinkles when I'm old. I don't want to tell people otherwise when I'm older; I really think that work and life can be beautiful if that's what you want to make it.

I need to study

to talk

to read

to write

to hug someone

to cry.

Yet, I'm still not doing any of those things. I'm still thinking.

Bitter Serendipity

Some days aren't good, or bad, but a mixture of both. Today wasn't a completly bad day, but it also wasn't perfect. These are the days that leave me wondering: which one is it?Two periods before we got out of school, one of my sort-of-friends smiles at me, and says, "You know, you look so pretty with your hair up, and that color shirt. Because of both those things, you look twice as pretty as usual." I swear, I couldn't stop smiling. Because nobody knows that I'm self-consious about my hair being up, that I think I don't look good. Like it a message to me, that yes, I actually do look good the way I am. Isn't it funny how we don't see ourselves how others see us, and that the way others see us are a lot better than our own perspective?
When I got home, it felt actually nice out, so I sat on the porch and just closed my eyes, pretending that I was actually sitting on the beach, and not at my house with the snow still on the ground. And then, after that, I went in and... I don't know. I felt pulled in two directions, with this decision that I had to make that second. I'm not great at split-second thinking, and I constantly go back and forth with what I might want, so this automatically overwhelmed me. Then, he came over, and I just felt mortified, as I stood there, practically crying. I was yelled at, and then when everyone left, I just sat on the porch in silence, staring straight ahead.
But after that, something pulled me to coming back inside. I dunno, call it a gut feeling, but my little kitten was at the door, waiting for me. Like she just knew.
So... I picked her up (her automatically purring, her warm body vibrating against my chest) and took her into my room, to sit down and play with her. I put my decoration pillows on the floor and piled them up like big towers, and lifted up my comforter so she could explore inside it. All the while she kept nuzzling me and following me around. I'm a huge softy when it comes to animals, so she just put me in a better mood.
I love cats. They just look so lithe, and lanky, and elegant.

So, what do you think? Overall, it felt okay, this day. But now I'll stop talking about it. I don't want to miss another second of the still-light, ocean-feeling day.

Sticky Notes in A Bathroom Stall

Yeah, this title has significance. I've always wanted to take a pad of colorful Post-Its and cover a bathroom stall in my school with them. With messages. Little blurbs here and there. Just to leave my mark in a way that nobody else would know was done by me, you know?
I was tagged by Cassidy (The saga of Another American Tweenager) to play Would You Rather? And it's funny, 'cause I love what ifs. It's, like, another language I'm fluent in :) So, here I go...

Fabulous dancer or amazing singer? Singer. I'd love to scream some rage into a microphone, if I knew how to.
Potato or carrot? Potatoes are my favorite food, so a potato.
Window or a door? Window. There are endless possibilities you can do with a door. Open it. Look out it. Smash it. They, like I said before, are keys to other people, and that is incredible.
Glue gun or a roll of duct tape? Well, duct tape smells nasty, so a glue gun.
Guitar or drums? I'd rather be a guitar, because they make "the heart fly away, sharing the music of magical love".
Spoiled brat or a homeless person? Spoiled brat.
Truck driver or sailor? Sailor. The ocean is something I couldn't live without.
Dog or cat? Cat, because they're sly, lanky, and have an option to sun bathe all day long. Lithe and elegant creatures.
Motorcycle or car? Car. Well, a truck actually.
Super popular but cliche person or an unpopular but better person? Unpopular, quirky, and a mystery any day. Shallow girls turn into dust when high school's over, in my opinion.
Tooth or toenail? Toenail. They can be painted. True personality.
Stuffed animal or action figure? I'd rather be a stuffed animal, because bear hugs in the middle of the night when someone's scared are always nice.
Cell phone or credit card? Cell phone. I love gossip, even though I don't spread it.
Famous actress or artist? Artist. No question.

Okay, I'm doing this differently, but I'm tagging everyone that reads this. So here you go :)

Now, I decided to create my own questions for a tag. Here they are, you can all copy and paste them and tag whoever.
1. What is your all-time favorite song and why? What makes it so amazing?
2. Have you ever been in love? What do you think makes someone in love with someone else?
3. Have you ever thought/dreamt about someone and saw them the next day somewhere random?
4. Where is your haven?
5. Do you believe in fate/karma?
6. If you were to get a tattoo, what would it be of and why?
7. Have you ever lit a candle to wish for something?
8. What is the craziest thing you've ever eaten? (It can be ANYTHING.)
9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
10. What will you do differently with your life than what your own parents did?

Black Watchdogs

Because when one leaves...... they all seem to follow. Just a month or two ago I had at least fifty turkeys huddled in the trees above my window. They looked like big black owls, they were that big, looming over my house. And then, all together, they left, leaving the branches waving behind them.

Lost in Time

Snow is like a time machine. Or a fossil, waiting to be discovered. But if you wait too long, a gust of wind will come and cover everything over again, as if nothing had happened there. Memories, sparkly and soft as powder, flying around the chilly tight air, resting somewhere new. Taking their stories with them.It's so interseting, all those footprints that leave remains of the past in the snow, those memories that could never have been seen in the summer. Like austronauts footprints on the moon; to those indents in the moon, it's still 1969. Or your dog's footprints from earlier this morning, his little scurries left behind him for the rest of the day.
Isn't it perfect and scary and amazing all at once?

Hey, You

Every time I'm walking down the hall, I keep seeing two faces in my mind.
The first one is easy to identify, like the back of my hand would be. I've heard this voice so many times, it's incredible I still blush around him. Bright blue eyes -intense- like my own, and rosy cheeks that get pink when he laughes, and a head of light brown hair that looks a tint blonde and red in the sunlight. He's the quiter one in his family, the one who watches everything while the rest of the world goes on around him. But he always smiles at me when he sees me in the hall, sometimes just saying my name, other times walking right up to me to talk (or ask for gum). He's the kind of guy you'd be willing to wait for out in the freezing rain if he asked you to. The kind of guy that would turn anyone's world upside down, the arms you'd want to fall into if you just needed someone. And it would all be worth it.
But the other face, the other lingering pair of eyes in the crowds that catch my own with a lurching feeling in my stomach, is a boy that is like a mismatched pair of sneakers clashing with a dress. Different. A musician, and a writer, a lover of all music (who happens to worship Green Day, too). His dark eyes are deep and intense, catching my own occasionally, and he has a full head of dark dark brown hair, and pale skin. The desk drummer, is basically what he is. Last year we sat together because of my other friend (who's loud), and at one point he just looked at me and started talking. He was nice, but just so serious, as in passionate and deep about everything. A person just like me.
Two faces. Two pairs of lingering eyes. One girl.

One.

Tell Me

"You know, you're different than most girls. You don't care about makeup and guys all that mush. But you're still... passionate, you know? You still care about the important things, the things that mean something to you. You might not care that you're not like everyone else, but something's gotta bother you. You're human. It's not possible to be chill all the time. I know you got more to you than you let me see, but that's okay.When the time is right, I just know you'll hand me over the key. But it's alright waiting. Waiting is nice. Always something to look forard to." ~ from my own book I've been writing lately

Candy Necklaces

Which do you think is better?

A. Traditional high school experience. Football games. Prom and a cute guy. SCHOOL SPIRIT!!! Happy-go-lucky.

or

B. Do what you want.

I guess I'm kinda in denial. I don't know. Something inside me says, "Just do what everyone else is doing. Go to prom. Participate during school spirit weeks. You'll never get it back."

But another voice inside my head, one a bit quieter is saying, "You're better off doing what your comfortable doing. Show the world just how much you're willing to stay true to yourself. Scare people."

It's just...

which one is right?

In Your Dreams

So lift up my chin

and streak my face with red,

then ask me what's said

and what's never said.

My life lies

behind

blue eyes.

Catch me

in your dreams.

Saddest Picture of the Century

I read that somewhere. It said "Saddest Picture of the Century", and above that advertisement was a man who had dark hair and dark, but warm eyes and an achingly kind smile spread across his face. A shark tooth necklace hung around his neck, and he was unshaven. Something about this picture sent a tremor through me. He just made me so happy inside, and I immediately got this good feeling about him. But why "saddest"? Of course I didn't want to know. I don't want to ruin the picture with some ugly and raw past about this man. But really, what is sadness?

Is it a painful smile spread across your face through a bad time?

Or is it the sharp movements of someone hurrying through a crowd?

Maybe it's not even that.

Maybe it's just us thinking.

Whoa

Sometimes I look in the mirror and just shock myself. I wonder who is that girl looking back at me? Sometimes I disgust myself, other times I don't . It all depends on what day you ask me. It shocks me to see the changes in my face, the sharpness of my cheekbones that I don't remember being there a year or two ago. Or the fact that every winter, my freckles fade more and more, and now I have to squint to really see them. I'm changing. And I'm not sure if I'm okay with it.

Spiked Adrenaline

There's something so chilling and exciting about being thirty feet up in the air, my sneakers pressed up against only the wild breezes that creep through your bones. Maybe it's because the only warmth and comfort is the person to your side, and you finally have an excuse to just hide in their shoulder. Or maybe it's the wonderful feeling of my teeth chattering in the cold. Whatever it is, I could be up in the air forever, living on only hope and the feelings of trust in the ride, and myself. I just have to do that. Trust.
Yesterday I met an author. She had stiff white hair in a funky pixie and warm pink lipstick and a kind smile. I was telling her about how much I wanted to write books, and she looked me right in the eye and said, "Well, I love writing, but the only negative is that you can't retire." And she laughed, leaving me puzzled.
Well now I get it.
She meant that she loves writing so much, and it's totally addicting. I want to feel that way someday when I'm older, too.
Q: Why are oldies songs only and always about love? Can someone please answer???!
Guess I had something to say today :)

Chex Mix and Pies

There's just something about that March that was so amazing. Was it the fact that I was carefree and just so bold? Or was it because I met two of the most incredible people out there, looking in at their worlds? Maybe it was because I didn't know things were gonna be amazing. Maybe it was the chilly air. Or the smell of his hair. Or my sneakers that I adored and yeah, ruined from wearing so much. I don't know. But I do know this: I can't stop thinking about that winter.

Come On

To You,

I don't want to be judged. Well, I guess I do. Judge me head-on. Let me scare you with what I'm capable of, what I know that you think I don't. Let me show you what I know, let me take your hand and let you escape into my world with me. Come on.

Is it that I'm different than the kind of girl you're used to? You know what girls I'm talking about, the ones that let you talk about other girls in front of them, and let you slip a hand around her waist, such an easy guesture. I don't hate them for being the way they are. But guess what? I'm just not one of those girls. So why are you trying to make me become one?

Or wait. Does it scare you that I'm so sure about myself? Maybe you've just never met a girl willing to turn your world upside down, not the other way around (cliche).

Welcome to my world.

~Me

P.S. Sorry for not posting my artowork like I said I would. My computer's acting funky on me at the moment.

...

To me, painting and art in general is another world for me to explore, to touch and make my own. I love just sitting around, the radio blasting in the background (for some reason when I draw, only tropical-y music is good. Or some classic rock), I feel nothing except my fingers warming up under the pressure against the paper. I don't feel worried. My brain's not going at a hundred miles an hour. All I care about is what I'm drawing or painting. I love the rich smell of the oil paints on my pallet and the presise line an ebony pencil can make. If I didn't have any love or skill to write, I think I would marry a paintbrush. Or even a pencil. I think that when you love something that much, that you'd be willing to do whatever it is for four hours straight, it has to be a good thing.
Right?

Space

Sometimes, I just wish I could take everything out of my room and start fresh again. I want to pull every trace of furniture out, rip down my curtains and photos on the walls, and paint everything white again. I'd like to leave the windows open all day on the coldest day of winter to let every trace of the past float out the window. Then, in a freezing room, I'd come in with a big sweatshirt and curl up on the floor, the tips of my fingers blue, wanting a second chance. Basically, all i really want is for my life to rewind two and a half years, then hit play. And live up the time of my life all over again.

Short hair, fillet-o-fish commercial, him, my oversized hoodies, the snow, gasoline, freezing cold fingers.
Yeah. That was my life. And I miss it so much.