There is not much that she knows about life
17 and young
beauty with trace
Mother and father
Split without grace.

A mother of poverty
a father of sovereignty
a daughter of catastrophe.

Split at the hips
and torn at the lips
the words she speaks no more.

She lays as the doormat
laid out to rest
under the words of her family's distress.

A mother of no concentration
a father of no communication
a daughter of her own creation

A father of obsession
organization
dedication
to nothing but a spotless house.

She stay in her bed
fear of making such mess
"Daddy don't yell."
turns to
"Daddy, don't leave."

Split from the hips
and torn at the lips
the words she speaks no more

The life she knew
with and the way she grew
alone in her own self's mind.
No me and you
No we makes 2.
there will only be
me minus you.

She carries her bags
scars on her wrists
she carries her worries
and her sorrows and woe.
She carries her bags
On the boulevard of broken dreams.

But here's her smile. (Smiles)
And here's how many people (shows paper with names)
advising her to be an actor.

Room Banner

this is my room
where dreams will be dreamt
comfort will be exceeded
sex will be had
homework will be done
cuddling will be acquired
movies will be watched
laughs will be brusted
Sleepovers will remain unslept
music will be blared
And in my room
Love shall be shared.

All I could do was sit around the house.

I replayed the situation that had just happened multiple times in my head at a million miles per hour, and each time the position I was in kept on getting duller and duller until the point where the thought of it now doesn't even seem like a memory, but more of a scene in a movie.

I haven't spoken much since then. I haven't really had a reason.

"I just don't see how this is all my fault." I screamed back into my fathers face, our faces both consisting of the same shade of red.

The time that had grown to be nothing but a steady repeat on a day to day basis was becoming more of a drain than privilege. I had found myself in an infinite loop of getting up, surviving, and ending my day with sleep. My eyes were growing bags from pure exhaustion, but somehow I couldn't bring myself to sleeping for an entire night. Some people had suggested that this was caused by the over welming amount of stress that was placed on me every day, and others just thought that I was up on the computer to late. Both were correct, but the second suggestion was popular belief.

I had grown to accept the weaknesses that had come upon me. As the days went on and the year or so I spent with my father after the 4 month divorce that I was put in the middle of was finally finished, I had no other choice. I had found this talent within me to listen to every word that I ever told myself; if I said I wasn't going to care, I made damn well sure not an ounce of tears was spent on that situation.

I had figured out at an early age that there were things in life that I couldn't change, but only be forced to accept on the behaves that things weren't in my line of judgement, and that the only thing that I could do was watch each and every horrible thing happen, and wish I could interject and maybe safe someone from themselves, but I never could. I always found myself curled up in a blanket, hugging all 5 of my teddy bears and wishing for all the loud noises to stop.

They never did stop.

"Why can't you just shut up and do as I say and everything would be fine."

"Because I am a human being and choose not to be stepped on by you just because you're bigger than me."

It was 5th grade when I had realized that I was nothing more to my peers but a doormat to their selfish life styles. Every single bully was a bird on my shoulder, and I let them be there and waited for each one of them to take their turns shitting on me. It was the only thing I could do. I was small, I was weak, and I was easily out spoken. All the bullies had created this amazing plan on how to get me back no matter what come back I had. After so many failed attempts you learn to just give up. I sat there in the corner of the class room through out every recess.

There was a point and time when everything inside of me clicked and I realized that I was beautiful, that I was special, that I was perfect just the way I was, and I wasn't going to take any more bull shit from anyone. I spent hours among hours, just sitting in my room devising so many comebacks and smart all remarks to every word that all those Tom, Dick, and Harry's were out there, and from that point on, I was a changed person.

"I haven't changed, you're the one thats changed. I haven't done anything different from the time that your mother moved out."

"Really? Cause when mom moved out, I used to laugh in this house, now all that we do is this. We look at each other and chose to point out the flaws that we have to make us feel better, and we do this until we're blue in the face because neither one of us wants to accept that the other is right."

The Boucher's (the family that I was brought up into) were never the easiest people to deal with, and I had certainly become no exception. Although I had the patience and the moral standards to sit there and listen to a persons' point of view and realize when I have done wrong, but I will never give up in a conversation if every word that the opposing person is telling me makes no more sense than ketchup in the mustard bottle.

I will and have fought to the death until my side is heard, listened to, thought about, understood, and then counter acted upon or an agree has been made that both parties can deal with. I'm not the average teenager, I am not one that wants to go out until 12 and party with people I don't know and have sex wildly through out the day, I am a calm, cool, and collected person with my morals and values set in place. All I ask for is to be treated like an adult, and to be spoken to ask such.

"Well then why don't you just leave. You seem so willing to do so, so why don't you just go?"

"You've said this to me 3 times already and I've always chosen you."

My father has a bastardly way of making his 'point' proven.

I kid you not, my father has told me that he doesn't want to walk me down the isle at my wedding because I wanted to spend the weekend at my mothers.

"Well one more time can't hurt."

"Well it looks like this time it's going to hurt because I'm tired of all of your bullshit and the way that you act like a constant 5 year old with nothing better to do with his time than to piss people off. Seriously there, i've been dealing with you for this long, but there are to many rules, to much things I have to worry about, yet not enough to worry about."

My father has a nasty habit of having no faith in me.

I have all 80's and above in my classes. Most nights I stay home and do nothing but watch TV or spend a few hours on the computer chatting with my friends, or doing some homework. I clean up after myself to a considerable amount (i leave socks on the ground occasionally). I have a well rounded and strong head and have a strong belief in some matters, but you can persway me if you have a valid argument.

My father is convinced that I'm a drug addict, I have sex with everything that moves, I drink and party every night of my life, and I never try in school.

It's really a wonderful thing to come home to and know that your father is doing nothing more than waiting for the moment that you fail at everything you do, and prove him completely right.

"Things change Vall."
"Would you shut up about that. I said that one time to you because I wanted to get on birth control so I could regulate my period and lose my virginity to the man that I love, of which whom I have been with for 8 months and I still feel like it is the first day that I met him. I'm gonna grow up is what I meant by saying that, not that I'm gonna fail in life."

This is where I blanked out. Everything else in this conversation is blur to me. All that I remember was walking out of that house with boxes of my stuff and heading over to my mom's house, hoping for a sanctuary to be waiting for me there. Praying for some sort of emotional relief.

I never did find that.

"Do you have any faith in me?"
*silence*

"Like, at all?"
*silence*

I slammed the door on the way out. The only thing my head was screaming was 'ass wipe', and all I wanted to do was go back there and knock him square in the jaw.

But at that moment I realized that no amount of come backs, or intelligent words, or out smarting would make this situation go away. My father was my biggest bully. My father was the bully I had spent all those months upon months planning for, and I still wasn't prepared for him.

I've told myself I don't care.

Believe me I have.

But even with all those words, and all that talent I have of making myself not care; thinking about this all, just makes my eyes well up as I realize that my father was the boss level on my mario game, and I couldn't beat him, even with 1000 tries under my belt.

"do you have any faith in me?"

*silence*

It wasn't a yes, but im sure that's what he meant.

I love being able to tell where I have been, because of the marks that I have left.

On a brand new white laptop, you will find some ugly brown marks

Where the hands have landed, and the fingers have pressed

More than a million times, and no less.

On a brand new white laptop, you will see some pieces of goo

Where the tape has been removed, but the stick has not

and the pieces of dust collect.

On a brand new white laptop, you will see some things on the front.

A book mark for truth, and a sticker of a cartoon

All describing the owner's true loves.

On a brand new white laptop, you will see it contains more files.

It will bring you through the heart of the user

and carry you through her obsessesion.

You will find her true colors, and find her true loves

For writing and stalking funny pictures

you will find that there will be more to this owner

than just a smile and a hug.

On a brand new white laptop, you will find it is more like a friend

something that needed through the day,

something needed to keep you calm.

It is something that you can vent to and laugh at

And be social without really moving.

And if you look really closely,

you will notice that this brand new white laptop

is more like me and you.

It is created in a blank,

white as a sheet of paper,

Over time the pictures will be added

the homework will be finished

the friends will be facebooked

and the orders will be made.

There are things about this brand new white laptop

that you and I still don't know

but all it would take was a few days,

a little bit of patients

and maybe a manual

to finally figure out is true colors.

And even on this brand new white laptop

there will always be someone that is bringing it down

And judging it by the way that it looks.

and this will teach you something

something we need to realize

if we all took the time

and we all looked past the white exterior,

we could easily find the true potential,

hidden within its lids.

Somehow I have this weird sort of writers block.

I have no problem writing, I just can't write what I need to.

I hate these kinds of days.

He's really something else.

I guess you could say that he is the honey to my bee.

He is the sugar to my candy.

He is the stem to my flower

He is the swear to my outraged mother.

He is my everything to my nothing.

but with each day that crosses

And with each minute that is spared,

I wish to be with nothing more

Than the heart that beats within.

It's growing to a steady love

A bond of which, so strong

Its growing more than once planned

and it's something more amazing that once thought.

It's hard to figure,

And its hard to see

if you are not me.

but listen close,

And lend me your ear

For I have something to hear.

Our love is kind

our love is wise

our love could break open doors.

Our love is meek

our love is weird,

our love is one for the books.

Its hard to understand

and its hard to believe

that I have met my soul mate so soon

Our love is kind

and our love is rare

But its the one most search for.

I shall keep you close

and keep you safe

for with you I feel no less

And if for some reason some day

you choose you leave me here

i shall sit there where you left me

and wait for you to come back

I'll be sitting on the corner

and I'll be waiting for you

Because I know that some day,

we'll be back to where we started.

Each day grows new

and each day feels like we're new

There is nothing ever the same

and nothing ever boring

and your voice,

shall never be more calming.

It is 12:30 and you are tired

but I can't seem to find my sleep

It is 12:30 and you have asked me,

and I say "wait for me"

You want me to meet you

beyond the factors of dream

and there i shall meet you,

and hold you with love.

There I shall meet you,

in this pillows of my love.

Just so much

There are miles, upon miles of empty road way of which I mind has been craving to fill with stories, poems, essays, and just plan breath taking sentences that will stick with me for as long as I live.

But I can't seem to put my finger on how to say any of these things.

My mind is buzzing with so many words, so many feelings, so many emotions and stories that its grown to be something that is hard to comprehend. There is nothing that I would love to do more than to sit down and write all day, about every inch of thought that crawls into my head, so I can forever remember how I felt at the exact moment that I wrote it. I want to be able to write how I'm feeling, exactly when I feel it because when I do, I feel free. There is a part of me that finds its way to the top of a mountain that over looks a valley of which has never been seen before. There is a part of me that craves to have that weight lifted off of my shoulders, that needs to have to have that outlit.. then there's that side that just wants to forget it all. Just wants to forget everything so that when someone asked me what happened, I will be able to say that I don't remember, but all that I knew was that it happened..

There is a part of me that wants to let go of it all, and that part is stronger than the will to write.

Things Just Got Confusing.

It's a weird feeling.

It's almost as if everything that I have been taught in my life has been based on nothing but a lie.

Well maybe not a lie, but on a strong opinion from the eye of the bad guy.

I've never really thought that there was much about to the world than the opinion past my fathers, or at least, that's how I was brought up.

I was brought up to believe that there was probably nothing more to the world than there is in the small town that I live in, and I had grown accustomed to the repetitive day to day schedule that I had created.

Get up - 6:30

Eat breakfast -6:45

Walk to bathroom - 6:50

Start doing hair - 6:51

Done hair - 7:30

Get school bag - 7:31

Make bed - 7:33

Put on outdoor clothing - 7:34

Get into car - 7:35

Drive to school - 7:36

Arrive in school - 7:40

Walk to class - 7:41

Arrive at class - 7:45

Bell rings - 7:55

Hell begins - 8:00

Team time - 8:02

Block 1 - 8:30

block 2 - 9:50

Walk to block 3 - 11:12

Lunch - 11:15

Block 3 - 12:05

Block 4 - 1:24

Bell rings - 2:45

Get home - 3:00

Lay down in bed - 3:10

Eat dinner - 5:30

Take a shower - 8:30

Get out of shower - 8:40

Boyfriend calls - 9:00

Go to sleep - 10:00

Repeat.

I am like clock work.

And form this, there is not much of a change. On the weekends there are a few added things, what with the assortment of friends and family, as well as finding the time to be with my other half. There is not to much change, nor is there to much excitement in my life. Everything is planned out for me and I am destined to be whatever it is that I am supposed to be, and nothing is expected, more or less of me. I am at a dull mutual stance, and I am content with the life I live.

As well as bored.

I guess its hard for me to realize that things in my life will change and not according to plan. I wasn't prepared for this, and I was never taught the basic life skills that one needs to be able to survive in this hell hole of a world, and most of the time i blame this all on my father.

He has made the habit of cramping me up into a small hole and making sure that my brain gets no bigger, or smaller. That I do everything on que and on time at all times and to the exact inch of what he wants me to do. But this has created a barrier for me.

Some day I will walk into the first place that I call my own and not know how to do a thing. How to make a meal, how to do the laundry, how to make a bed right, how to vacuum, how to do anything with my life besides walking into the house and laying on my bed and waiting for everything to be done for me. As much as this sounds like some sort of paradise for most teenagers, I can't stand it. There is nothing that I want more from life than to know what I am doing with it. I don't want to know what it feels like to be in a place where I have no idea what to do, what needs to be done so I can survive.

I just.

I don't know how I'm going to survive when I'm on my own.

And I'm scared.

I'm here to say things that have been on my mind for a while, that I have been mustering up in the back of my head just waiting for the right time for them to come out and become the air that I breathe. But even now as I am sitting here and ready to say everything that I want, I can't seem to find the words..

I have said before that I have grown descenitized to the feeling of missing you - I lied.

I have not become descenitied because every time a love song comes on, my phone vibrates, or I look around my room, I find that pit in my stomach growing deeper and deeper. I say this because I need to be strong, but I can't be strong anymore.

I give a shit. I've given a shit. I've always given a shit.

I always will give a shit and I never want to say anything that will make you think that I ever stopped giving a shit.

and I'm sorry if you ever thought I did..

I found myself reaching off to the distance - I thought you were standing there.

I'm tired of being tough.. I want to cry because I miss you, and I want to smile because I love you. I want to fall to the ground with the pain of the distance, and I want to count the tears I shed missing your eyes.

I want to be back home in your eyes, and back in my bed that is your arms.

I grabbed onto your leather coat

"Please don't do this."

he looked away realizing the pain.

I clenched on with both hands.

The tear that was welling, fell.

"Please don't leave me."

He looked at me.

He saw the sorrow.

A tear fell.

His.

Then mine.

He looked away again.

Placed his bag in the back of his truck.

Beat up and dirty.

He shook me off.

"Please don't. Not now."

He looked at the car door.

Then at me.

My tear fell.

His were dry.

"Babe, no please."
He places his hand on the door handel.

He hesitated.

I sniffled.

Open.

Sit.

Shut.

Glance.

Key.

Turn.

Gas.

Falling to my knees.

I sobbed.

"Please!"

I screamed.

I watched him go.

No hesitation.

It was gone.

And even when he was gone, the dust had settled, and my tears were gone, I was still kneeling there and hoping that I would see the glow of his brake. Hear the tires coming closer. See his head lights in the distance. Feel his hands around my body. But he was gone; and even as I knew he wasn't going to turn back around, I would have been content with a flash of his break, or maybe even a slow down. But - he was gone.

And even hours later I was still kneeling in the on the gravel. I was still waiting. Hoping that somehow, somewhere, he would be regretting.

I've stood in the rain.

Once or twice.

I look outside the window.

Rain.

The rain fell.

Harder than before.

I crawled under my blanket.

hot chocolate.

Warmth.

Perfect.

...

Lonely.

My birthday is in 16 days and I still don't know what to do for it. I'm debating to have a sleep over with all of my really close friends or have a really big party with a bunch of my friends. The only problem that I can think of is Tim. He's not really the most social person in the world and I know for a fact that if I have a bunch of my friends over that he's going to be an awkward little butterfly and probably give me 17 million reasons why he can't come with me to celebrate my birthday, or basically just tell me that he would rather it be me and him to celebrate it. To bad he's gonna have to deal with it because he's coming to my birthday party, weither he likes it or not.

There is never a worse pain.

This is coming from a girl who hasn't talked to her boyfriend in 2 days and can't call her boyfriend since his mother isn't happy with you, and also, he's grounded so he only gets to call when his mom is out of the house.

Its a horrible way to live, and when I missed all 10 of his calls, I cried for 40 minutes straight doing nothing but trying to get in contact with him so I can hear his voice, the sweet serenity of his voice that keeps me calm.

I apologized more than enough times for missing his calls, I've never felt so bad for missing his calls but can you blame me? I haven't heard from him in days and when he finally calls, i'm to busy in the other room doing something else to answer the freaken phone. I still feel like crying. I've never felt more like dying than I did that night. Its a horrible feeling that i never want to experience again; so i'm keeping my phone on me at all times from now on, dead or not. If it's charing, then i'm sitting right by it. Never again will I miss another phone call from him. Never.

Today is a mehh day

I feel good on the inside because I woke up in a good mood because my dad wasn't there to bug the shit out of me, and I got all my new clothes and they seem to all fit me well, well its more of a loose fit (like I like it) but its amazing. I wish that I would have gotten some of these things in XL, but i hate getting clothes like that, makes me feel weird on the inside. I'm considering sending it back to them to get a bigger version, or them to just give us back the money that we spent on it.

I'm in bio right now, and honestly I'm bored. We're talking about cereal and how some are good for you.. apparently captain crunch is the worst for you, not like I like it anyways.

Storing the Baggage (Short Story)

The clouds had set in for the night. The moon was hiding its face behind them becoming the shy little kid that I had remembered back in the day.

It was only a few hours before when I had arrived in the city of Bangor, Maine and I finally felt at home. The air was crisp and smelt of sulfur, as well as pine and some car exhaust. It wasn’t the exact place that I had called home, but it was about 4 hours away, which had satisfied me enough.

Walking down the Main Street, I had realized that I wasn’t quite sure where I was. I checked my watch and read 8:57, it was almost 9, which meant that it was way to late for me to be outside on my own. I looked around to find any sign of life, nothing. I was really alone in a place that I had only been once or twice in my childhood with my father. I had found myself growing frightened as the time grew on.

I tightened my jacket around my body as a gust of wind hit my body. Winter was about to set it. If I wasn’t going to be able to find myself in the mixture of all these streets, then maybe I could call someone to see if I could find my way by that way. I pulled out my phone and unlocked it. I dialed my fathers number and waiting to for the rings to begin. Ring, pause. Ring, pause. Ring, pause.

“Do I know you?” his sarcastic voice carried from his phone to mine.

“Hi Dad.” I said with a slight giggle. He was always the one in the family to make some sort of lame joke for no reason.

“What’s up kiddo?”

“I’m kind of lost right now, I only called to see if you could provide me with the comfort of knowing where I am.”

“I’d love to help, but there’s the probably that lies ahead of us that I’m way over here and you’re way over there.” I giggled yet again at my fathers smart ass remarks.

“ I know that Dad, I just wanted to hear your voice so that I would feel at least a bit..” A scream was heard from the end of the phone my father was at.

“Vallerie?” he waited for an answer. “Vallerie!” he repeated. He heard nothing but the sound of my covered screams and a gunshot. He looked at his phone and read ‘Call ended.’

Vallerie Boucher. 1994 – 2019

The year was 2020. A call was made to 911

“911, what’s your emergency.”

“Yes. My name is James Boucher. I was at my storage compartment at the local storage unit cleaning throughout my stuff,” he paused to take a breath; he mustered up the tears that were about to fall.

“Sir, stay with us. Now repeat it from the start, what’s the problem?”

He started over “My daughter was killed last year in Bangor, Maine. I live in Madawaska, Maine. The man killed her when I was on the phone with her and they never found her body or the man that killed her.”

“Yes sir, I’m aware of the case.”

“I just found her body lying in my storage compartment.”

Teenage Logic

I'm going to hate my body (even though its beautiful) because all the popular people do the same. I'm going to call other people pretty but never accept a compliment myself. I'm going to lather my face in expensive make up and cover up till I feel like I am just as ugly on the outside than I feel I should be on the inside. Then i'm going to have sex with a bunch of people that I don't care about because all the pretty and popular people are whores, so maybe I have to do that too & since that I'm growing up, im not going to listen to my parents and do a shit ton of drugs and drink my ass off every night; it seems like a waste of time but thats alright because all the cool people are there, and maybe if they see me there they will think the same thing as me. I will shop for all my clothes at really expensive places and do my hair like I was going to the prom too to put more work on myself and make myself struggle in the morning.

And just to put the cherry on top of the ice cream, i'm going to pass by every mirror and fix my hair because I think i'm never good enough for anyone..

Sounds like a god damn fucking bitching ass plan.

He's never in a good mood in the morning.

He has the tendency to piss me off at times, but I guess thats all just normal. He is my father, and I think in some weird way he's supposed to do that kinda stuff. But still, he pisses me off.

For the first time in my life (well, its happend before, I just want to emphasize the amazement that I have for this) someone agrees with me that my father is a nazi. It was a step up, and it was an improvement, finally I didn't think that I was crazy. It made me feel good inside an somehow with that piece of information I was then content with all the things that he was doing. I found it easier to listen to him and easier to be in a 'whatever' mood when it came to him. I didn't understand why it was like this, I think that it was the contentness of knowing that I wasn't crazy for the first time in my life (living with someone that tells you that your father is amazing and perfectly right in every way, made me feel better)

I feel like saying something

But I just don't know what it is, and I'm having a hard time to comprehend exactly why everything is so complicated. My head is everywhere and everything seems to be everywhere. I feel like I'm just going throughout my life dragging my feet just to see the next day, even though it's probably going to be something that I won't want to see. Even though I'm at a content with everything in my life, I still keep the thought of death close in my head, and no one really knows that.

Watching sex and the city

It makes me think of him. It's hard to be able to fathom that you're sounder apart and this show makes me feel like we can go somewhere.
I love him, and this show reminds me of that.

Poem form.

Love is the purest of the flowers

The delicate of the roses

The yellow in the sun

And the red in a rose.

There is love in the air

The autumn experts would say.

There is love in the air,

As the leaves fell down from up the way.

Love is the spell

The haunting of yesterday

The carrying of the thoughts

And the mystery of the heart.

Sitting in front of the class.

This was supposed to be the day where I take over the entire creative writing class, but instead I'm here sitting infront of the class writing on my blog to make myself seem professional. We all know that I'm not, but its still for the illusion.

Hopefully I finally take over, because I had a lot that I wanted to do, and nothing is going on. I guess i'll read over the lesson plan while waiting.

Sitting here in study hall at my high school, i realize that I could be doing something else with my time, but this blog has become something so addicting for me. It's such an amazing thing that I discovered here, just being able to say whatever I want whenever I want and don't have to worry about anyone judging me because only 2 of my friends know about this. Well 2 friends and my creative writing teacher, but I really don't mind because she knows a lot about whats going on in my life.

Thank god for Blogger.com.

I Guess I'm Just A Little Worried.

I was texting one of my friends last night and I accidentally fell asleep. I have been trying to get in contact with her ever since because she seemed to have something wrong with her. Now her boyfriend is in school and he seems to be in a bad mood as well. I have been texting her non-stop to try to have her text me back, and still nothing yet. I hope that there is nothing wrong, or at least that she isn't mad at me.

I'm scared that I may have done something, or worse, that something happened between her and her boyfriend. She even said herself that she was on the verge of crying and she didn't know why, and here I was falling asleep on her. She's been there for me when i needed her, and now when she needed me, I was no where to be found; sleeping.

I feel awful about this all.

I hope that she texts me soon. I'm really worried.

Not having a call from him or a single message from him telling me that he loves me is really starting to get to me. I fear more and more each day that passes that he is growing further and further apart from me. I don't want to lose him. I can't lose him, yet it feels like I have.
I wish he was doing more to let me know he's still here for me, but I'm not sure that is really possible. He was never the kind to go out of his way; he was more of the 'you should know that' kind, and I hated it. I wanted to be reminded over and over.
I just, want something. Anything.

Why My Father Is the Worst Roommate Ever.

• His Cleaning Habits.
• His impulse to tell you what to do, when to do it and expect you to do it within a fraction of a second.
• His obsessive why he will never let you grow up.
• His Jesus obsession (Oh you want to hang a cross in my room? Ha. No.)
• His way of telling you the truth (fucking jackassish and retarded.)
• His way of running your life.
• He doesn't know how to punish people correctly.
• Honestly, he thinks he's funny, but he's really not.
• He is probably a pedo.
• I can't stand the way that he laughs.
• He talks to the TV
• He gives mea bed time, and i'm in trouble if I go over it by a minute.
• Making the bed in the morning is crucial if you feel like leaving the room.
• if you cant see all of the floor, your room is a mess.
• Watching the rest of your show before going to take a shower, Forget about it. Not happening.
• He has no problem telling you that you're 'getting big'
• You want to make choices, forget about it, he makes all the choices for you. Even if they don't pertain to you.

As much as people think that I'm over exaggerating when it comes to my father, I'm really not. He's the worst person to live with. I have so much more that I could put on my list, but it would take more than a million words to fully have you understand.

This Is Him.

This is the boy that I keep talking about.
He may not seem like much and he may not be the most polite, or have the best control over his anger issues. He may walk out on me from time to time again, and he may say things that aren't really right for that moment, but to me, he's perfect.

He may not be taller than me, and he may not be cleaner than me. He sometimes doesn't make the right choices and he has a tendency to lie to me about things that don't matter, but to me, he's perfect.

To you he may just seem like a boy, to you he may seem like nothing more. To you this picture is just another, one you will forget again. To you this boy is just a boy, one that needs to grow and mature. To you this pictures is nothing more than a boy laying on natures floor. To you this person hasn't effected your mind, hasn't carved your heart, hasn't molded your brain, hasn't allowed you to grow, and hasn't spoken a word to you. But to me, he's everything

To me this is a man, a man with more than he can handle. This is a man that I love so dear, one I plan to keep near. This is a boy with a sensible heart with nothing but a goal of tomorrow. to me this boy isn't just another, this boy I plan forever. To me this is a boy who effected my mind, has carved my heart, has molded my brain, has allowed me to grow and has spoken so many words its hard for you to know.

To you this boy is a picture, and to you that's really nothing.

But to me this boy is a picture, and to me that's really something.

I Realize That It Appears I Blog A Lot.

I just have a lot on my mind.

We Have Become.

This is what we have become,

A dastard way for our lovings shun.

This is what we have become,

A hidden secret, a mother has won.

This is what we have become,

a moonlit dinner, you and I are one.

This is what we have become,

a shimmer in makeup, a glimmer of fun.

This is what we have become,

a shy we once held, my fingers have grown numb.

This is what we have become,

But writing this I feel so dumb.

This is what we have become,

you and me, forever one.

Perma-Frost.

The clock on the wall of my school library was stuck at 8:50, and all at once, me and that clock had a lot more in common than I had thought. We were both stuck in the same spot and didn't know how to move ahead. Just, stuck. It had seemed that everything around me had stopped for a moment; even the water in the water bottle that was on the table I was at wasn't even moving an inch, there was a pure stillness in the air, almost eerie.

I moved my back pack to the side and looked around to see if there was anything moving. Nothing - well nothing besides the hand of Mrs. Lavoie, the librarian. She was writing something, i'm not sure what it was. She was just as still as the rest of the library. All the seats around me were so still. They looked almost lonely.

The stillness in the air continued steadily. The fastest things that were moving were my slightly frozen fingers along the keys on my laptop. There was something happening here, and I wasn't going to waste this time of stillness for something other than telling a story.

My foot fell to the ground the the crosses postion they were in on my chair. I grunted in slight pain as the echo ran through the library and out the door like a book snatcher on the loose. I placed my head on the table and held in my aggravated remarks towards myself for making such a scene (not that anyone was there to see it) and attracting so much attention to myself.

The clock was still frozen, but I'm sure it was right. Somewhere in the world it had to be 8:50. I wanted something to happen to make me realize that everything that was happening was still, still; and I got it. Mr. Lavoie got up from her computer, walked to her desk, grabbed something, then walked to the back room.

At least I knew I wasn't going insane.

We Sleep to Dream, and Live.

I find that it is the hardest to write in the day time. Your mind is to fresh and is probably still waking up from the sleep it has endured. Its a strange thing, how the mind resets its self over the course of a night. Sleep becomes a sort of 'forgetting' serum of a sort; to help you with the things you have experienced the last few 20 something or so hours. It really is odd.

This makes me think, are there things that we have experienced in our lives that we have always wanted to do, but forgotten about because of sleep, and how much do we actually forget over our sleep. What does our brain determine as good and bad, what to remember and what to forget? And as time goes on, who says that we haven't done many things that are on our bucket list that we have just, forgotten?

Some people might say that we only forget the things that we want to forget, if it was important we would remember it, but how would we know if we didn't remember?

And amongst with sleep, what if everyone's lives is just a dream, just preparing us for the real thing when we wake up? What if every single one of our lives and the people that we know in it was just a figment of some person that we is asleep somewhere in a hospital bed, and this is how he keeps his insane mind going while he/she lies helpless.

What is the meaning of all this that we are living through. Google keeps telling me its 46, but it feels like there something more, like there something waiting for us out there in the middle of the 46-50 range. Something like, 47.

Never mind.

I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up.
Never mind. I love you. <3

Honest.

I keep saying in my head 'i give the fuck up' when my body never follows through with anything.
I'm not sure if this means the best is yet to come, but i am nothing but hopeful for the future us. I have faith in us and what we are going to become. Honest.

Tomorrows A New Day.

So I guess throughout everything today, my hypothesis was right. It was a good day, and nothing stood in my way of being happy about hearing from my man. Not even french (which I barely even paid attention to anyways).

I've got nothing to do now but sleep away the rest of the day and wait for the pain of another school day to arise to me. Hopefully I'll have the urge and will to write tomorrow during creative writing, but knowing me I won't, I have algebra homework to do and its only half way done. All that I know is that I have a lot of thinking to do and a lot of it needs to be written down as soon as possible (before I lose the ideas that is)

Well tomorrows a new day, i can't wait to see if I'll hear from Tim again. I miss his voice..

My way of thinking, is fucked up.

I don't to sound like a heartless bitch, but honestly she just bugs me. Its not the fact that she is mentally disabled or the fact that she walks funny, its the best that because of all of this she expects to get some sort of prized possession of guilt from everyone just because she was born that way. I don't want to say that I don't feel bad for the girl, I really do, I just don't know why she has to rub it in my face every single time that I see her (not that I see her a lot, but you know what I mean). There are just things that we have to get over and become bigger than ourselves to be able to live a rich and full life, and honestly I don't know if she can do that all on her own. I'm not saying that she is in capable, because she is more than capable because I know that she is a tough and smart cookie, but there is just something about her that I can't seem to put my finger on, but she just makes my feel all weird inside, and out of full honesty, I don't want that to change. I have a lot of goodness in my heart and a little bit of fury within me for a completely innocent person seems like a good way to be able to even the score out for my confused little heart. I mean, if that makes sense....

it doesn't does it?

Fear Not What's Been Thought.

It took taking away everything that I had to realize that I had everything I needed in your voice.

The voice that you carry beautifully through the phone holds the ability to be able to feel content with my life, and scared for the sacred thing that we share. This thing I call 'love'.

Many, if not all, have grown a fear, a dastardly little quiver against the word and blames it solely upon the people they have been with for the word being so terrifying. Towards a contrary belief, we only fear love, because we have not matured enough to love. We do not need to fear, or to manifest thing amazing thing I call love as a dark and demon-ish creature only venturing out of his cave every blue moon just to tear your heart into shred and leave the pieces at the bottom of your stomach, which will (ironically) feel like a pit. We cannot fear love, love is not the enemy; we only have ourselves to blame for the pain that we put our hearts through, for we choose to allow ourselves to fall in love with the bitch/bastard that breaks the thing we hold dear, our heart.

In a lump sum of what I am trying to explain, don't let the love be the reason you have fear, let the people you let in, the trust you hand out, and the love your share become the fear that makes us all so scared.

Never a rude awakening.

Throughout the past few days, craving to hear your voice in my ear had become something of a second nature to me, so much so that it was a quiet a dull roar in the back of my head and as the days went on, that roar became more and more subtle. Until you called this morning.

"Its so good to hear your voice" was the second thing that you said to me after you said hello. You had made my day just by calling me, and I had never been happier than the moment I saw your name pop up on my phone, considering that I was expecting it to be my annoying older cousin telling me something about her truck having amazing bass.

You are the best part of my day.

The adult becomes the child.

Since when was it not ohkay for teenagers to feel things about the lives that they are in, but its perfectly alright for parents (or guardiens) to bounce off the walls just because they have a lot on their mind.

It is currently 11:07 and I can't seem to fit myself into a comfortable position to be able to sleep. I keep tossing and turning with the thoughts of an unforgotten day. I keep pressing my head further into the pillow to some how forget that all of this is happening and drift off into a sleep that might never end, and it leaves me wondering if I would be forgotten as soon as the the unknown.

We, as humans, tend to keep the things that we are hiding away from society out of fear of rejection, but where does reality stop. When does become a teenager, meaning having to become less dramatic than your 47 year old father. When does staying up late writing about the things that are on your mind not become an excuse to the reason why you're still on your computer this late at night. When does walking away saying "you have a lot on your mind" become an acceptable phrase for a father to say as he storms away, angry again at the world.

When were the rolls in the house hold, completely mixed up? When did I become the adult and he become the teenaged girl who is harder to control than an infant with diarrhea. When was I told to grow up because my parents couldn't do it themselves..

When did I become invisible?

Letter to him.

I swear, I have listened to the song "Crazy Girl" so many times that my feet tape to the beat of it when i'm thinking of you in the middle of class and still as you read these words, it is probably playing on my iPod, or laptop somewhere in a study hall, somewhere in an alternate universe where all I have is time to think; about how things are so screwed up, and about how scared I am (we are) about everything that is going on, about all the words that were said, the steps that were taken, and the phases that we have experienced.

I still have your eyes glued into my head. The way that you look at me and have that sense of amazement and astonishment that somehow you have found me and made me yours, as if it were some sort of impossible task for someone as amazing as you to achieve. I would never go out there and say that I'm the hardest person to date, but I am the hardest person you will ever meet to fully put trust into someone. Anyone can just say that they love you, anyone can just say that they want forever, with 2 kids, a boy named something with marshall in it, and a girl named Katelyn Alaina Larocque; a dog named Luke, and a gold fish named zack, in a house that is 4 stories high with a garage below all of that (not to the side, took me a while to realize that).

I guess you could say over the past few days. I've lost my mind in the cravings of wanting you no where else but in the space in between my arms, and its times like this that I thank the Lord that I have TJ. His heart beat sounds to much like yours. Peaceful, gentle, and beating because of me.

I have faith in everything that we are. I have faith in the tales that we have made in the last 8 months, and the tales we will make in the next forever years. I have faith in us; that I will not yell at you if you walk in the house with dirty boots, and that you will take a shower before coming to bed. I have faith that one day we will become that couple that everyone wants to be. I have faith that you and me, are meant to be.

Now I don't have much to say about anything that happened the other night for I do believe that, that is partly my fault. Please don't tell yourself its not, please. I'm not letting you live through this with only a blame upon yourself. I will be here for you through everything that is going on even if I have to cry myself to sleep every night until I see you next, i don't care what the cost is for me, as long as you know I'm here.

I guess the point that I'm trying to make is that I love you. I love you now, I loved you then, and I intend on loving you for the rest of my life. You are the the perfection to my life, and even though you don't see yourself as much, that doesn't matter to me. Love isn't about loving a perfect person, its about accept an imperfect person, as perfect and you sir, are nothing short of my imperfect perfection.

I love you babe.

& I think I'll be able to sleep tonight better.
Again, I love you. Goodnight.