Small Talk

(Apparently, this is a quote from The Cure in a song called Just Like Heaven, up in the picture above. Info from: WeHearit.)

Dear You, I guess you're pretty angry at yourself, right? People just don't get you like you wish they would. And honestly, you assume it's you that's the problem. You're the different one, the person people don't understand. Why don't you change? Right?... Wrong. You're very wrong. Because if you changed yourself to be like everyone else, then it would be a crime to your soul. Lying to your own face. Trying to be someone else would be disrespecting yourself. It's like insulting the person you really are inside, hating yourself to the core. That would be the ultimate form of self-hatred. But lucky you, you're still you and still angry. Take angry any day. You'll thank yourself in the long run. Love, Your Good Old Conscience

Eccentric...Different

People are weird. I am silent.
I'm so sorry for not blogging more, it's just... sometimes, I feel like I'm always saying the same things all the time. And lately, I haven't really had anything to say. But I will say this:
Eccentric means odd, peculiar. It's one of my vocab words this week, and I can't stop thinking about it. I mean, I feel like that's what I'm like in a way. Not how I look, but how I think and act. A lot of people my age don't get along with me (not agressively, or anything). It's more of a passive thing. If I'm talking to someone, and they don't like my personality, they'll smile too much or talk to me like I'm five, their voices too cheery and forced. If someone does like me, though, they'll stay quiet, or become slightly sarcastic with me, only showing genuine smiles now and then. Because I love sarcasm, and even if someone's being sarcastic with someone else, and not me, I might laugh to myself. Because, really, I love dark, evil humor.
So, yeah, I might be eccentric because I love 60's rock and antique finds and celtic things. Or because I believe that everything happens for a reason. Or because I like learning but hate school. Or that I hate perfect, cliche moments, and crave that cute quirkiness in a person. Maybe it's my face, or no, my facial expressions.
But, whatever it is, I have eccentric qualities. But I'm not eccentric. I just like eccentric things. Or different things. Wow, now I'm confused. Forget it, forget I said anything. There, I'm different. Period.

Jump

Today I was painting in art, blending my blues and whites together to make everything look smooth and softened in the light. And then I see the girl next to me, watching me, smiling. She had been doodling in her notebook, but now her pencil was on the table, and she and another girl close by were watching me blend my colors together, as I now moved to black, darkening things, moving along, my hand speaking a language that only it knew best.
"What?", I had said, smiling at her.
She shook her head, watching with big brown eyes as I made swift movements with the paintbrush, almost like painting little feathers, or clouds.
"You're fearless when it comes to painting. You don't seem to need to make sketches or plan ahead. You just trust yourself at that moment, and keep going. I don't do that, I don't think I could. I'm always going slow around the edges, getting the details just right. That's why I like watching you paint. You're just in the moment."
I didn't tell her this, or anyone, but kept smiling as I bent my head down again to my work. But secretly, I'm a perfectionest, with my hair and skin, as well as my writing and school work and art. I analyze everything, agonize if I'm doing something right. But, funny... I guess I don't look like that. It made me feel secure, confident, that everyone else thought I was cool, calm, and collected when it was just the opposite.
But I'm not going to tell anyone that. Instead, I'm going to really try to be fearless, and just jump.

Facade

Why is it that adults think the "smart, bubbly" kids are always the best ones to hang around with? Is it because they look socially acceptable by society? Or is it because everyone else does, so they must be good kids?
Because, really, adults must be blind. It's all about how someone looks, or talks, or dresses. We all take at least five seconds to make a judgement, just by habit, and most of the time, I'm always wrong. Because the girl in class that sits in front of me is the sweetest girl you'd ever meet, not materialistic, and stuck-up, like people think. Or what I automatically thought.
A girl in my class with a wreckless, rocker attitude is really just missunderstood, and that her parents aren't the greatest ones out there.
The girl with the big smile and good grades? She's just nasty, insulting people behind their backs and desperately trying to rebel against her mom (cliche, anyone?)
Another one, all cheery and happy, really has to put a mask on, because her parents are going through an ugly divorce that's just tearing her apart.
A girl down the street from me, is sweet as vomit, and has a truly ugly inside as well.
And that guy that smiles at me? He's just angry, but can't let it out.
It's all a lie, that if you look good and approachable, then you are. Because that's not true. Maybe those "punks" have to deal with something else entirely behind closed doors, that nobody could ever have thought of, or known. First impressions aren't always true.
Not even close.

Better Places

I sometimes wish that I was as athetic as her.
But I have two left feet, slow reflexes, and hands that stay firmly at my sides in protest against anything risky.
She runs gym class.
She acts like it's a second skin for her, walking around like she knows exactly what she's doing.
She doesn't blush, or cringe.
Or stay planted in one spot, too paralyzed to take a risk.
She tells people how she feels.
What she thinks.
What your place is.
And I hate her for that.
But then I think about who I'd like to be in this world, and who went against all odds and the accepted mold of society ...Green Day, The Grateful Dead, Lady Gaga, to name a few... and then I can't help but smile.
She doesn't have a funky haircut.
Or sarcasm.
Or enough will not to let jealousy taint her voice.
She can't write.
Or sing along to punk rock.
Or quote Led Zeppelin.
Or think as deeply as me.
I am not Sydney Carton (from A Tale of Two Cities).
No.
I'm someone in my own shoes, proudly wearing them on my feet.
And flaunting them.
I can't help but look at her head-on, knowing something that nobody else does.

Outside the Lines

I'd like to be many girls that I'm not. The girl with the bright personality, the boldness, or the sincere kindness. Or maybe the girl who's daring and not afraid of anything.
But you can't be all of them, though...

...Or can you?

I didn't know the answer to this a couple years ago when I started to wonder about this. To me, at the time, it was either this or that, black and white. Now, though, I understand that people are sometimes a little gray here and there. It's okay to go outside the lines. So, my answer is this: YEAH! You can be all those girls. Every one of us is. Now my soul will rest in peace.

Cracked Up to Be

I feel sorry for people. I feel sorry for girls that feel like they have to be thin and gorgeous otherwise their worlds will fall apart. I feel sorry for girls that have become so shallow and self-absorbed that they forget what's really important. I feel bad for girls that feel like they need a guy to support them at all times, even when they're cocky losers. I feel bad for those girls that forget how they got so bad. I feel bad for pretty girls, because sometimes, popularity's not as beautiful as people make it. It isn't as cracked up to be. I've seen pretty girls at their ugliest, and even while they claim to hate you, I feel bad for them. Because they don't hate me. They just hate what they've done, behind their beautiful, eyeliner-framed eyes, eyelashes fluttering to hide what they know. Because what they know and see and feel is something truly, unbelievably ugly.

Millions of Cutout Faces

Envying gazes,

Cutout faces;

Our lingering lies,

And broken amber eyes.

Her dull eyes faintly rest on the camera while flashing a beautiful smile, even as she thinks to herself, "I'm so stupid."

Feeding the Monster

Everyday we wake up to a society

That strives for perfection,

Driving ourselves deep into the ground,

Always sensing rejection.

The monster is our hero ine,

Taking over our souls,

Depriving us of living,

Gaining all control.

They've got the strings

Under their rein,

Parading all girls around like lifeless puppets,

Knowing they've got all to gain.

Theatrical eyeliner-rimmed eyes we've got,

Glossy waves of tumbling hair.

With the strings tied around us and their fingers, like a game,

They drive us deep into the ground, and don't really care.

It's nothing foreign,

The bitterness new,

Radiation exposed to the innocent

Living without a clue.

But lying in your bed, the tube laughing in your face,

You turn your head onto your pillow and close your heavy eyes,

Diving into shallow sleep,

Slipping away from the lies.