Not Happy, Not Happy At All.

Enough said. Fricken christ, boys are so tactless and stupid! I mean, seriously, why would you even pretend to show interest and be super kind and as gorgeous as you are if you don't really have a thing for me?

I just keep getting my heart ripped out.

LongLost.

I'm feeling these
long lost feelings.
The vague imprint
of it,
still in my memory.

Withered Butterflies,
that flutter again.
The pounding of
my quiet heart,
shaking my whole
world up.

What have
you done
to me?

- - -

So this insight of new boys, one new boy. :)

Broken Ties Leave Me Open to Discussion.

Well, since it's pretty much official now, I'll just come straight out and say it.

Mike and I have indeed broken up. It wasn't like a huge drama story, I didn't cry for days on end, nor am I/did I bash him and all his friends. No, it was quiet, mutual, and best of all, relatively painless. Most people will probably find out over Facebook.

I'm not saying that I'm happy about it. But I will say that I truly feel that it was the best thing that could happen. For both him and myself. No more worrying, no more fighting, no more misunderstandings, do nothings, or lonliness.

So, now that I'm single, I can focus on myself and what I need to do for a little while. Not that I don't already have my sights set on someone else. ;)

More later.

FrostBite.

Can't rid the chill
from my bones.
I think my heart
is freezing over.
What will it take
to thaw the
frostbitten marrow?
Please say you'll
love me,
because only the
meaning warms
my fingertips.

- - -

In light of the minus 30 and lower weather.

Inhale, Exhale. Angst, Awaaaay!!

So I realize that the past few weeks most of my posts have been angry rants, more or less about my boyfriend, my life, and god knows what else I've found to cry about.

Let me just say this: I don't know what's going to happen yet. I feel like the only way to get through this whole thing is to think things through, calmly and rationally. I'm not going to make any brash moves, but that isn't to say that Michael and I won't break up. I want to say that it's all his fault, that he doesn't give me enough of himself, enough time, enough things.

But I know, and it's really deeply rooted in me, that everything that has led up to this point has been all my fault. But I'm not going to say I'm sorry, because I can't be sorry for who I am.

Anyways, enough of the pity party.

Sometime soon, probably after the Chirstmas Holiday, I'm going to put up some more prose. Looking back, I've realized that I haven't written too much lately, so I'm gonna hunker down and get to that. I can see my dream of becoming an accomplished writer, very slowly slipping out of sight. Sad face. So I gotta get back on track and keep up my writing.

So stay tuned for some actually decent prose.

Narcissism.

Lost in worthless
babble.
Can't halt the
noise that
cascades like
falling ribbons
of water.

Tired of listening
to pointless sorries.
Tired of concluding
that I'm the only one
who views
with unclouded
vision.

No tunnel sight
for me,
I grasp it all.

So sick of
being
knowing
seeing
The Narcissist.

_ _ _

Okay, not really sure if this peice even makes any sense, but I love the way it just completely emulates teenage society. Flawed and beautiful, but we choose not to see the flaws, think only of ourselves, keep talking even though there's nothing to say. And aren't we all like that? We've all got a bit of Narcissism in us, I think.

Grr. Thanks to Kendra, Brandi, Catherine, Jenna, and Michael. You've spurred my angry, evocative side.

Now you're gonna get the horns.

Boys Who Whink They're Men But Are Not Really Men Who Are Actually Worse Than Girls Are Really Stupid.

Like, fricken god.

You'd think that when a guy's been saying "I love you so much," for freaking eight months, they'd actually mean it. I'm so sick and tired of feeling like I'm being lied to all the time. I'm sick and tired of being out of the loop and I'm so fucking tired of trying to tell him what I'm thinking, how I'm feeling. I'm tired of saying sorry, because of course, it always my fault. Cough, sarcasm, cough.

Maybe it is all my fault, that this relationship is very slowly slipping down the clogged drain. The high of lust and desire can only hold up the foundations of love for so long, and even though I'm sure I love him, I'm not sure if I do for the right reasons.

Well, fuck it all, isn't that just a blast of reality?

Maybe its the people we know that rip us apart and send us bounding in different directions. Like stupid Jenna. Stupid Ellie. Stupid Matt, who has girls chasing after him, who has people screaming at him at every point of his life; he can never do right. And then I try to protect him, becasue I'm passionate about fairness and the understanding of other's points. But then I'm in the wrong.

Like, what the hell? Why can I never be right? Am I simply to argumentative? Too moody/emotional? Too disarming, too set on the way that things are? Maybe some of us can never be happy.

Anyways, whatever. If it's time for this to end, then it will end. And if not, then it won't. I just have to try and give it my all, prove to him that I still love him, make him understand that I'll fight for and against what I love.

These Cold Days Bring Change.

It's true. The month of December, although only three days in, has brought on a few new things with. The cold blistery days mean no more late evening walks, no more leaving the house without a toque and gloves, no more sunny days. Just grey, chilling, and stressful.

All of a sudden and in a rush, I've found myself worrying about what to get this person and that person, I'm worrying about getting time off work to visit with friends and family, what to do with my ever changing relationship with my boyfriend.

So, an update of some of the good things that have happened during the Chirtsmas season so far:

1. Joplin has finally given birth to seven wonderful, healthy puppies. Four girls and three boys. Most have her gorgeous brindle fur, but two of them are more caramell in color, taking after the traditional Pug in them. One of them is a little deformed; she's got a head that's a little too big for her body and you can already tell she's gonna have real bulgy eyes. She has been heralded as Helmet. Poor thing.

2. I've finally gotten a haircut! My hair, which I had allowed to grow out over the past three months, was about shoulder length. I kept my chin length bangs, but hacked all the rest off to about an inch. My ears have never been colder.

3. I've decided to stretch out my ears. Not like, super huge or anything, but to about a zero gauge. That's approximately six milimeters across.

Anyways, I'll tell you more about all this at a later date. Chow!

Boredom Equals Feeling Sorry For Yourself.

When ever someone is bored, they're always like "Oh, woe on me, I'm so bored." Whine, whine, whine.

I'm not saying that I don't do this, nor am I saying that this is necessarily bad. All it is is that if you're godamn bored, stop whining to me about it and finding something to do. God frickin damn, go jack off somewhere if you're so inclined. I don't give a crap.

Bottom line is: Be bored if you want to, but keep it to yourself.

First Impressions.

Man, are these things ever hard to shake. It's difficult, especially in High School, to not be afraid of what you think of people. Everyone finds it hard to make new friends, and there are the few who make it look easy, and even fewer still who actually do find it easy.

Do me a favor. Go up to someone that maybe you've heard bad things about. Maybe you kind of know them, but have never really taken the time to understand what makes them tick. Maybe you share a class, maybe you see them around all the time, maybe none of your friends like them.

All that dosen't matter. People need to let go of social image and love a little more. Break out and hang with the smokers for a day, with the preps who hang in the library, with the kid that sits on his own every lunch hour.

You'd be surprised what you find, and who knows, you might just find yourself with more people to smile at.

Girls are Too Subtle.

Or maybe boys are just dumbshits. Who really knows?

Like, a girl will drop a hint, and the guy will be like "Uh? Engrish??".

Isn't that the way it's been since Adam and Eve?

ReConnecting.

Ah, I had a good day today! Want to know why? Lots of you are probably like, "Uh, no. I don't even like this blog!"

Whatever. Don't care. You're ruining my good vibe!

Anyways, on with the story. So for the longest time, I was out of touch with a very good friend of mine. I don't wanna relay her whole story, because that's unfair to her, but I'll sumarize.

Basically, another really good friend (We'll call her F2, for simplicity's sake) got really mad at her. Over some stupid boy. Let's keep in mind that I was absent during this time frame, living out my life somewhere else. So, when I got back, after a year of being gone, I asked F2 what F1 was up to. She told me how they weren't friends anymore, and that they weren't going to forgive each other. F2 is very stubborn, and I had little to no say in the matter.

What was I supposed to do? Choose between best friends? Yeah, something like that.

I dunno, I guess because I'd known F2 longer, I took her side for a little while. But I started to miss the third member of our Three Musketeers. I said nothing about it, not really.

As time passed slowly before us, myself and F2 stayed very close as we entered high school. We made a ton of new friends, some of which stayed with us, others that drifted away. I met two of the best friends I'd ever known in Grade ten, I met my boyfriend. A lot of stuff happened, a lot of people came and went. Maybe F2 never thought about it, but I never forgot F1. She had a very special place in my heart. Wow, that's corny.

Recently, I reconnected with F1. We got to talking, laughing, having fun. I realized exactly how much I missed her. And then I sort of started to wonder why F2 had gotten custody over me in this Friendship-Divorce. I want equal visitation rights, goddammit! I want to be able to be friends with whomever the hell I want, and not have anyone get pissed at me. I almost wish things would go back to the way they were in grade eight, I wish they would just freaking make up already. But then I think that everything happens for a reason, and maybe I'm supposed to be the person who brings them back together.

I dunno, I was just very happy to see my long lost friend.

So, to do something different for the sake of something different, I want you to tell me about this. What do you think about re-connecting with people you haven't spoken to in years? Better yet, why did you ever stop talking/seeing them? Are you happy that you've met up with them again? Have you got any interesting stories you can share on the matter? I want to hear what you guys have to say.

Conforming to Non-Conformity.

Just think about that title for a moment. Let it simmer. Doesn't that just make your brain want to explode? Saying something like this is really similiar to saying that no one has their own individual thoughts on ethics and morals, because we all believe what certain aspects of society tell us to believe. Hell, it's fricken the same thing!

Think about this: Communism. We say, here in Canada/America: "The way the Koreans run their country is wrong and cruel! It goes against all human rights!"

This is of course referring to North Korea and it's seemingly corrupt communist government. Now, I'm not saying that what goes on over there is right or that I believe in it. I'm saying that we only think it's wrong because that's what our society, a man-made construct, leads us to believe.

Everything you think, all of your opinions and thoughts, it's all rooted back to the kind of collective community you live in. We think differently than those that live in a different country because of cultural and societal differences, but who's to say that one is right and the other is not? You can't ever get away from what's been bred into you, and you can't escape biased opinion.

Back to the conformity thing. Ever notice that non-comformity is conformity within itself? You're conforming to not following the norm. You're still placing yourself within a particular group, and one that is in fact so popular and so large, that is actually worse to be a non-conformist in a way. Wow, that was a long sentence. Smack me the next time I do that.

So, does this mean that eventually we will get to a point where people are going to go to extremes to be different from the rest of all them non-conformists? Hell, they already are! Look at stretching your ears three inches, tattooing your entire body, putting dermal anchors that look like spikes into your skull! People will continue to search for new ways to not conform to the non-conformists, who will start to be regular conformists. And so on. It's a vicious cycle, man. A vicious cycle.

I think I'm gonna go lie down now. My brain hurts from all this jibberish like thinking.

Toodles.

The Shock Effect.

Do you know how much fun the Shock Effect can be? You would assuming you know what such a thing is. I think I've just accidentally coined the phrase, but basically, the Shock Effect is where you say or do something that makes ripples. It makes everybody around go, "Whoa!"

Here's an example:

A conversation between a teacher and his AP European History class. The teacher calls all his guitars woman, and the class asks why.

Teacher: "All my guitars are women because I touch them and play them on a regular basis. I don't want to be intimate with a man!"

This in itself is the shock effect. You know what they say, ripples just keep going.

The entire class giggles meschieviously. A girl in the front row, who looks a bit like a punk and has her feet propped up on the desk says this:

"So, does that mean that my guitar has to be male, because I like to touch men?"

Because most AP students are so inexpicably modest (AKA, huge keeners/never had any fun), the entire class gasps and turns to look at her, shocked and more than likely appalled.

Pow. You get a shock. It's actually very amusing to put this little bit of psychology into work. Try it for yourself, especially if people know you to normally be very quiet and modest, and see what happens. When the time is right, just burst out and say something outrageous and completely innappropriate for the situation. Obviously be careful, because you don't want to barge in on a serious conversation and shout "PENIS!!" at the top of your lungs. People will be pissed with you.

But in a lighthearted atmosphere, it's the Shock Effect that makes people pop from the crowd.

The Clamors of Family.

Even now, as I'm sitting here writing this, screaming and shouting jumps up from all sides. Blegh, I think I'm far too mature for my cousins. They still do that thing were when we all get together, we all have to be together and play together. I don't do kids games anymore. I don't chase, I don't tussle, and I sure as hell don't do the whole make believe thing. Funny, coming from a writer, isn't it?

I wish I still could. A part of me really wants to dive right in, grab a pillow and smack em all around a bit. I'm just too mature for all that. It's like being the big fish in a little puddle. They're all so entranced by their fantasies, and somehow I've forgotten what it was like to lose myself in the twines of my own imagination, I can't ever let my mind stray too far. Not anymore, anyways.

Anyways.

The Whims of My Heart.

"You're twisted, but utterly whimsical. Did you know that?"

"No. What's this all about?"

"I don't know, it's just the way I feel in my heart."

"Your heart makes you say that?"

"No, you make me say that, because you're so perverse, and so aribitrary. Maybe you're just sadistic, I don't know."

"Maybe you're a masochist."

"Maybe."

"Well, make up your mind. Is it your heart or I that makes you say such things?"

"It's my heart, but only because you've got yourself twined so tightly around it."

- - -

Taadaa! Dialogue at it's finest and it's worst! Maybe I should write a play. Or maybe not. Ahh, the whims of a writer's heart. The need to be recognized is there, but there's also the unwant to be type-casted, or worse! To become the next Stephanie Meyer! Oh, what's a talent to do?

Okay, enough with the ego. I'm quite proud of this peice, actually. I wanted do something with a character who struggles with emotions. And then, after they've finished struggling with emotions, they get to struggle with telling people about those emotions. Ahh, I love characterization. Be on the lookout for more of this.

The Porcelain Peices.

Half of the Porelain Bowl.
I've been Broken for so Long.
I've Forgotten what it was like
to be Whole.

My other Half.
Placed together and Restored,
Inadverdently,
Surprisingly,
we still fit Together.

Found a way,
to Love Again.

- - -

A long time ago, back when I first started dating Mike, a good friend asked what it was like to be in love. I sort of brushed off the question, laughed, went on a rant about how teenagers could never find real love because we were always looking for it. I don't know if that's what I believe anymore, and I think that was partially the inspriation for this poem.

I don't think that anyone can find love if they're looking for it. It's gotta come and smash you in the face, knock the breath out of you, and press you into the pavement. It has to yell and shout to grab your attention, until it finally breaks you in half and says triumphantly, "Ha! Now you can't run away anymore, cause I've got you in a stranglehold!"

That's what being in love is like, I think. It's an accident, real love is, where everybody is shrugging their shoulders and saying "I don't know how, it just happened!"

Isn't that the way of all the best things?

Metal, But Not The Music Kind.

Okay, so anyone who knows me would probably tell you that I'm prone to do things things without thinking about it, I love to be following a different stream than the norm, and if you tell me not to do something just because you don't like it, I'm gonna do it just to prove something to you. People who don't know or don't know me very well will tell you thinks like I'm slowly and very litterally becoming a metal head, I'm a total bitch and something like a badass, and that it always looks like I have an image to uphold.

Okay, so maybe all of these things have a bit of truth. When I want to do something, I might ask you your opinion, but I most likely have already made up my mind and don't care. Sorry. I do love to be different from the norm, and I think that's mostly because it's like a breath of fresh air. If everyone is exactly the image that Society shows us we should be, we might as well just call ourselves Lemmings and jump off the next damn cliff we see. And NEVER, EVER tell me that something I love is something you hate, because I will bite your head off. And I will punch a hole in my face to prove it to you.

Maybe I'm addicted. I like metal. I find it attractive, classy if done the right way, and an amazing form of self-expression. We live in a world that pounds us with thirty second messages about image 24/7, so isn't it only natural that myself and my generation (Generation Y, in case you were wondering) retaliate against this? Yes, piercings are incredibly, insanely, almost to the point of not being cool anymore, popular. But it's only because young people feel the need to break away from the clones. I love having peircings, it makes me feel like an individual in a school full of Abercrombie and Finch, American Eagle wearing preps. I don't want to be like that.

Yes, I can and will be a bitch if I have to be. If you get in my face and start snarling at me, I garantee that I'm not only gonna snarl back, but I'll bare my teeth and bite. Don't raise hair if you don't wanna fight is all I'm saying, really. I'm a non-violent person. Really I am. I don't start fights, I don't cause mischeif, I don't make trouble on purpose. That suff just finds me sometimes, and you can't always run away.

Anyways, this is just a rant, really. I'm tired of people judging me based on the way I look and the way I act. Family, friends, classmates, teachers, co-workers. I get judged all the time, and more often than not, it's in a negative way. That bothers me because it feels like some of these people don't take the time to actually get to know me. Instead thay judge based on the cover of the book, because it saves them time and effort.

I'm a strong believer and finding out as much as I can about a person. I will ask you about everything from your morals and ethics to your favorite food and color. There is no other way to learn about someone. There's no other way to know someone, and no other way to love. You gotta work at it, and that's all. I pride myself on knowing people from all walks of life. I'm really happy to say that when someone needs me, I'm there for them. I'll talk. About you, about me, about anything. But I'm better at listening, and that's something that's rare these days.

Maybe that's all I'm really trying to say. I just want people to listen more. Not even to me, but just in general. If you're listening instead of always talking about how you have this problem or that problem, then this world would be a much better place. And I garantee that you'll find yourself with much more than handfuls of love.

Life and Times.

Okay, so just a real quick update. We are currently two days into National Novel Writing Month, and I am sitting at approxiamtely 5000 words so far. Yay for being a keener!

I have discovered this wonderful new band called Florence and The Machine. If you haven't already, check them out, cause they're pretty rad.

That's all for now!

Silent Halls: Short Bit of Prose.

The hallway was silent. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, teddy (rightfully named cinnamon, for his color) in hand, standing in the dark. He could see his bedroom light far at the other end; he knew it would only take him a few seconds to get there. But the dark from where he was to where he wanted to be was really quite suffocating.

He was too frightened to dash back to his bedroom, where he should be at this very moment, but too terrified to try and wander back down the stairs, in search of a place of solace from the madness of the evening’s events. He just wanted somewhere to hide.

Just an hour ago, there was nothing but noise, escalating from all sides, rising and falling with his mother’s screams, his father’s drunken grumbles, the sounds of broken glass. Everyone had forgotten about him, but it happened so often that he thought little of it anymore.

He’d crossed the hallway to his bedroom many times before. He’d walked, from the base of the top stair straight to the comforts of his proverbial palace. It was very different this time, surreal almost.

His mother had, he supposed, fallen asleep on the floor of the kitchen, in a big pool of strawberry juice. Father had stumbled his way up the stairs, threw up in the bathroom, and fallen into the soft memory ridden sheets of the parent’s bedroom.

The boy had hidden downstairs, waited until silence fell. Waited until the lights went off, and climbed the stairs. The door to Mother and Father’s room was astray, left wide open for all to see the man that had only managed to half crawl into bed before falling asleep. And now he was scared, far too scared to dash past the bedroom door (which lay between the top of the stairs and his own room).

His father was a dark figurehead in his life. A gruesome man that drifted in and out of the boy’s life, in segments of a few days, or sometimes weeks. He was grumpy, and mean, and he hit hard. When he was gone, the boy was never scared. Everybody smiled when Father was gone. Even Mother, who was always so, so distracted.

He took a tiny, creaking step. Winced. His heart was thrumming violently in his chest, creating the bass beat to his orchestra of fear. The hallway was still silent. The kind of silence that is stuffy and makes you feel as though you’re drowning in it. The kind of silence that makes your ears ring and amplifies every single tiny noise.

He clutched Cinnamon the bear closed to his chest, the familiar, homey smell making him feel better.

A little more confidence now, he dashed as quickly as he could across the hallway, making a barrage of noise as he went. As he got to the entrance of his bedroom, his heart close to bursting with adrenaline, he smiled.

He’d done it. He turned to give the hallway one last, triumphant look, and realized that he’d dropped Cinnamon at the top of the stairs.

- - -

Just a short little burst of inspiration that I had. With NaNoWriMo coming up in four days, some practise is better than no practise. Till later!

Parental Units: Obsolete After 16 Years?

GAH!! I hate them.

They're like vellum records. Oh no, wait, everybody loves vellum records, so parents cannot be like them. Hmm, parents are more like.... pants that go up past your chest, computers that take a half an hour to load a page, and vaccums that don't do what they're supposed to.

Yes, I understand that they're only trying to do what's best for me. They're trying to be the best they can for me. I understand that, and I love them for it. But GOD. Just back up and give me some space.

National Novel Writing Month.

Hey all, some exciting news for all them wannabe writers (Not me, obviously.) out there! November is National Novel Writing Month! Yay!

I'm super excited for NaNoWriMo this year, because for the first time, I will actually be partaking in it. Even at the thought, all of these little feelings are meshing inside of my belly and making me queasy. I'm excited, nervous, curious, lost, hesitant, eager. All at the same time.

Ever since the first time I'd heard about NaMoWriMo (back in 2006), I've wanted to do it. I've always stopped myself, because I just thought I wouldn't be able to come up with an idea, or maybe I'd start and then give and feel guilty for the rest of the year. But, I dunno, I think I finally just said "Aww, screw it, I'm gonna do it for the sake of doing it."

And that's exactly what I'm going to do. Just gonna jump right in, take the plunge if you will, and POW! Maybe I'll get something out of it.

Okay, for all those interested in NaNoWriMo, here is the website: http://www.nanowrimo.org/.

Go check it out, and sign up if you're willing to plunge into sleepless nights, too much caffeine, and a quest for 50,000 words!

Stealing Street Lights is A Crime; Who Knew?

No kidding right? Yeah, that's what I said when the cops showed up at our house, ten to eight, asking for the person who last drove the white Neon parked in our drive way.

Hmm, well let me think about that. The last person to drive the vehicle was Mother-Figure. And what did Mother-Figure do that might get the authorities to come banging on our door? It's sort of a long story.

It's starts with myself, Gwyn (Younger sister), and Mother-Figure driving down town. The winding road is relatively packed down with traffic (Five in the afternoon, beginning of rush hour), the sky is a hazy grey. Monotone slush and polluted snow wash away the last remnants of summer. It's cold, damp, and depressing; we make the trip light hearted and full of jokery. I'm smiling, Gwyn is smiling, Mom's singing along to The Doors, even though it's an unhappy day. When it's just us girls, everything is fun.

Mom notices as we drive down St. Albert Trail, that a street light (green means go, read means stop!) has been bashed of the post. It's sitting there, in a pile of slush, on the corner of a sidewalk. Well being as high on life and hilarious as she normally is, Mom suggests we grab it on the way back. The following conversation ensues. I start.

"Um, can't you get fined for that?"

"I dunno! Think you can?"

"Well, isn't it technically property of The City of Edmonton?"

"Pff. Who's gonna catch us? Huh? You're only sixteen once!"

So we go about our merry way, each of us jokingly speculating on what we would do with the street light if we did take it, where we would display into the house, ect. ect. I had absolutely no idea that Mom was being serious.

On the way back, we all rigidly notice that the street light (this is only something like forty five minutes later) is still on the corner. Mother-Figure flashes me a devillish smile and pulls into the nearest parking lot. I was hesitant at first, knowing very well that we could get into some serious trouble, but as soon as I'm out of the car and running with her towards the stupid thing, I'm smiling like a half drunken idiot.

It wouldn't fit in the trunk, so we chucked the thing in the back seat with Gwyn (More like the other way around actually, the street light was as long as the car is wide.) and drove off, laughing at our cleverness.

We hit the mall. We get take out for dinner, buy a sexy new jacket for me, new shoes and shirt for Mom, sunglasses for Gwyn. I almost convince Mother-Figure to pay for a haircut for me. Everything is good.

We get home, start serving dinner, and there's a ring at the door. My mom jokingly screams, "AHH, IT'S THE POLICE!!" I run to open the door and, lo and behold, it's the police. The smile plastered across my face instantly disappears. The following conversation ensues:

"Good evening, darling." *british accent*

"Uh.."

My mom comes to the door. I become very concientious of the large street light sitting in the middle of the living room.

Mom: "Oh."

"Who was the last person to drive the car in the front, ma'am?"

"Um, I was."

"And, did you take something that maybe you shouldn't have taken?"

Pause. "Maaaybe."

"Why did you take that?"

"Because it looked cool?"

"Cool enough for a criminal record, ma'am?"

"I didn't realize I was stealing it!"

The conversation continues in this fashion for some time. I listened as I cowered fearfully in the kitchen.

Luckily, no one was charged or arrested, but they did take the light away. Mother-Figure was very disappointed.

AND the moral of the story is: Stealing a Street Light is a Crime. No kidding. ;)

I wish I'd gotten pictures, but the police took it away before I could snap any.

Till next time!

Feeling Better.

The Tremors of the
Early Morning
still etched into
my mind.

Skin to Skin,
you Love Me,
as ugly as I am
Inside and Out.

Even though yesterday,
like a Razor's Edge,
still Sharp in
my mind.

I'm
Feeling
Better.

- - -

Well, well. This peice could mean any multitude of things, couldn't it? I will say that it does have quite a large sexual connotation, but then again, what dosen't these days?

Wow, I'm Really Bad At Ihis.

I'm really terrible at keeping a blog aren't I? Okay, since I promised this like almost two weeks ago, the next post will be a piece of poetry. Pinky swear!

Anyways, I'm currently grounded, and thus will be confined completely and utterly to the house. As such, I'll have no social life for the next two weeks, so this SHOULD get updated regularly. We shall see how much tenacity Deana Freitas really has.

Dusting Off The Internet.

Okay. For all those who want to kill me for not updating since I got back from NewFound Land (Kristen, I'm sorry! Don't hurt me! ;P), I am terribly sorry. When everyday is the same as the last, as if rewinding the tape and then pressing play, there's no point in writing. I guess after NewFound Land I just gave up on blogging.

BUT NOW I'M BACK!!! And you'll be quite pleased to know that I come with a plethora of new poetry and even the first two chapters of my next endeavor into the writing world. I know, I deserve a standing ovation, but I will just humbly bow my head. ;P

So, quick update on what's been happening in my life, in the form of a list:

1. Yay for being back in school! I'm feeling pretty good about the school year so far, and being a month or so in, I can honestly say that this year is by far the best. High School = WAY better than Junior High. Whoo, Grade Eleven!

2. Michael and I are *GASP* still together. I do really still love him, even though time for just us is sort of limited; Him playing football, working a job, and doing his KUNG FU thing, and Myself working a job, trying to maintain a social life and keeping up with with Math, European History, Science, and Japanese (Thinking of dropping Multi Media). Either way, once it settles down, it'll be all good.

3. Goddamn, I'm talented. If you've ever met me, then you should know that I play the guitar. If this is news to you, well, you just ripped a hole in my heart. Anyways, I've finally learned to sing AND play at the same time! Taaa daaaa! Yeah, it's still sort of a working process, and so far the only song I now (not even in its entirety) is 'All I Have To Do is Dream', by the Everly Brothers. Next one on my list is 'Michelle', by The Beatles.

4. Just recently got a job at Safeway. I'm working as a Courtesy Clerk, making 10.20 an hour. YOSH!

Yeah, that pretty much sums up the last three or so months of my life, in a very broad and general way (with absolutely no personal details).

Anyways, the next post will be later tonight. I'll be posting up some poetry, cause I haven't in a while.

Later.

The NewFound Land Journals, Entry 7.

It rained today. I've never experienced rain that felt or smelled so clean. I wanted to go outside and lay down and just feel it pitter patter pour all over me. I love the rain.

I promise a more substantial post tommorrow. We're going to Grandfalls to stock up on some stuff, cause we've got a whole slew of people coming in starting on wednesday. Yay, there's so many of them, that I'll have to give up my room.

The NewFound Land Journals, Entry 6.

I apologize for not writing yesterday. There was no point in writing when nothing interesting happened. Well, the pace is much slower here, so nothing ever really happens, but that's okay. It's probably the reason I love it so much.

It's quiet. The only thing you hear all day everyday is the wind brushing past the birch trees, and the water trickling through the brook situated right beside the house.You never hear a siren. You never hear a car, let alone see one. This is Millertown, population 100 old people.

In other news, I've been working my ass off. There's a big wedding somewhere in town next week, and we'll have approximately 16-19 guests starting on Wednesday. Nan wants the place in tip top shape, so I've been mopping and cleaning like mad. Next week, she and I will have to wax the floors. Fun.

I saw a squirrel today. I had gone outside on the back porch to shake out a mat when I saw him. He was munching on sunflower seeds from the birdfeeder, having scared all the grosbeaks and finches away. He stopped and stared. I stopped and stared. On impulse, I actually put the mat down and slowly made my way over to him, he just kept watching me. I got within two feed of him, before he finally got bored and scampered away. He was adorable, so I think I'll call him..Richard. If I see him again, I'll let you know.

So, other than that, nothing new or spectacular, but keep up with my blog anways!

The NewFound Land Journals, Entry 5.

I made a hashbrown casserole today. Though I can't cook very many things without first burning it or turning it into mulch, this was simple and actually turned out really well. For those who don't know, a hashbrown casserole is essentially hashbrowns, onions, sour cream, creme of mushroom, cornflake crumbs, and cheese. I know that sounds gross, but it is SOO TASTY!

I didn't do much work today. I was mostly in the kitchen, cutting up onion, washing pots, boiling eggs, that sort of stuff. I also did a ton of cleaning today. Unloading the dishwasher, reloading it. Clearing after dinner, wiping everything down. My nan is right when she says, "The mess never ends."

But otherwise, I'm still loving it here. :)

The NewFound Land Journals, Entry 4.

Today was another gorgeous day. The sun was shining, there was a slight breeze, the sky was blue and the water was clearer than anything I've ever seen.

Sometimes, I forget that I'm actually here to help maintain the inn, and I just feel really blessed to wake up and look out the window and see the lake. But I did do some work today. I helped finish the sanding in one of the rooms that's being renovated right now, I swept and mopped, did some weeding, and helped make dinner for the guests.

I think the highlight of the day was when my grandmother took me quading. Large machinery makes me sqeamish, so I just rode on the back while she tore it up. Yeah, I know! A grandmother! Anyways, I got to see the area surrounding Miller Town, which I really enjoyed. A lot of it is just forest, miles of wild forest that you couldn't navigate. Ever. But there are a few little hidden spots, like a chocolate egg in your shoe on Easter. My favorite one was the little rock hill. When you scramble up there, you get a beautiful veiw of the lake, and you can see any of the houses or powerlines. It really does make you feel small.

So, till tommorrow.

Oh, and a big shout-out to Kristen, a really good friend of mine. You are so lucky that you get to see this all the time, and you are such a great person. I hope you never change, I hope you know that I feel truly blessed to have you as a friend.. I miss you so much. Mental Hugs!

Another day has come and gone without you, Michael. I miss you so much, can't wait to see you again. Love you. :)

The Butterfly Ring.

Butterfly Ring, butterfly ring.
Sprout them and take Wing,
take Me back to Him,
upon your Stainless Steel back.

Butterfly Ring, butterfly ring.
How high can you Sing?
Do you think He can hear you,
can He hear Me,
Crying for Him?

Butterfly Ring, butterfly ring.
I Clutch at you, and
the Chain from which You hang.
And I Pray, and Hope, and Scream
for Fear that He
Forgets Me.

* * *
Yay for randoms blurbs of inspiration that make no sense, even to me! I actually like this one, even though I'm not sure what I'm trying to say here.

The NewFound Land Journals, Entry 3.

I slept seventeen hours. I counted.

I didn't wake till around two o'clock, Newfie time, which actually isn't too bad. That's like eleven in the morning in Edmonton.

But that's beside the point. The point of this particular entry is that this place is so amazing. This is how much I love it: When I marry, I want it to happen right here, in Miller Town.

The air is so clean and moist. That was the first thing I noticed when I first stepped outside. I stood there for perhaps ten minutes, just breathing in the air. Yes, I'm aware of how stupid that is. The trees here are wild, and many of the roads are dirt and overgrown with shrubbery. The skyscrapers of this place are mountains (hills, compared to B.C) and thirty foot tall trees. I love it here, and I know that Mike would too.

I miss him so much already. And all throughout the day, he was the only thing I could think about. My hand kept flying back up to my neck, where the chain and ring he gave me for our three month landmark hangs. It's actually not until the twelfth, but he gave it to me early. I love it so much, I haven't taken it off since he gave it to me, nor do I plan to. I'll have to get him something while I'm here, something that he'll love.

The NewFound Land Journals, Entry 2.

So, let me recap the incredibly long and tedious journey I had to endure to make to the Maritimes. 12:00 o'clock midnight, I said goodbye to my Mother, Stepfather, and Love of my life, and passed through the security at the airport alone. Several times, I just felt like sitting down and crying, or I wanted to start pounding my head against a wall and scream at the top of my lungs, "What am I doing, what am I doing, WHAT AM I DOING?!!" I guess the best way to explain this behaviour would be like this: I've already spent a majority of my summer away from Michael. And now I'm leaving again for THREE WEEKS. I feel so bad about leaving him all alone for the month of July, which I could have blissfully spent buried in his arms. But nonetheless, this chance will never come again, and I couldn't bare to miss it.

So, the plane took me all the way to Toronto. I watched the sun peek up over the clouds, and then I contemplated how peaceful and completely surreal the Earth was when it was masked with them, and the only thing you can see are the pastel colors of the sky as dawn wakes up the world. It's so beautiful, and it really does make you forget all your worries.

So the plane landed at exactly 6:26 am (I checked.), and I had to hang around the terminal until 10:00, which was when the plane going from Toronto to Deer Lake started boarding. I felt so lost and out of place, with so many people moving this way and that, and everyone in a rush. In the end, I sat myself down and just watched the people go by. I desperately wanted to sleep, but my Mother had forwarned me about the dangers involved and I was paranoid. So I watched the people go by. I watched them rush off to flights, look after little ones, argue, and pretty much destroy what it means to be fashionable, trendy, or even just aware of what you look like and how you're presenting yourself. Toronto, this is a message to you! You may host shows like 'Canada's Next Top Model,' but some of you really need to look in a mirror BEFORE you leave the house.

At 10:30, I was boarding for Deer Lake. I was much more relaxed this time (it helps to have a window seat), and almost as soon as I plopped into my seat, I was out. I slept the entire way there, I was so exhausted. I met up with my grandparents at the tiniest terminal I've ever seen and we got in the car and just started to drive. Miller Town is about a two and a half hour drive from Deer Lake.

I've never seen anywhere so beautiful, aside from British Columbia. Green, green, green. It all looks so untouched, so preserved. There are trees growing any which way they want, some as huge as the ones that line Flagstone in St.Albert. The wild shrubs and sunshine yellow flowers that line he road just make it all the better.

And the INN! My Grandparent's bed and breakfast, called Lakeveiw Inn, is a huge victorian style house. It hase ten bedrooms, four bathrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and the most beautiful deck that wraps the whole way around the house. And he rest of the property is just astounding as well. Everything is so well maintained, sooo beautiful.

I don't even do the place justice. But either way, I'm excited to see where this trip will take me, what I'll see and learn, the people I'll meet along the way. I'm actually excited to be away from everyone back at home, although I do miss Michael. I'm not kidding when I say I love him.

Stayed tuned!

P.S, A link to the website for the Inn: http://www.lakeviewinn.ca/

The NewFound Land Journals, Entry 1.

Tommorrow, and exactly 12:00 midnight, I will board a plane. I'm heading to the Maritimes for three weeks, to work for my grandparents at their little Bed and Breakfast. Seeing as I've never been east before, hell, I've barely even been out of Alberta, I thought that I would take this rare oppurtunity to share it. I will write an entry for everyday that I spend in NewFound Land, along with continuing to share some of my writing.

Wish me luck.

Children of the Gardens.

I swallow the Seeds
from Your Garden, and
I watch the Flowers Grow
inside My Belly.

And then
I will Rip open my Throat
and watch the Petals and
Roots and Stems and Leaves
grow into Likeness of You.

And I will cherish them,
even though my Own Garden
will Wither and the Beauty
that was once Abundant
will droop and then
Disapear.

But I will have
the beautiful Pixie-Flowers
that are like you.

* * *

I got inspired to write this at very close to four in the morning. But then again, what else is new? My writing just seems to come alive when I'm tired, maybe it's because my brain is over worked and everything I write comes out confused and muddled, but somehow it works and makes sense, and is almost brilliant. Anyways, this was really inspired by an absolutely phenomenal, brilliant writer that goes by the name of 'Ohsostarryeyed' on DeviantART.com. She must be quite close to my age, or perhaps a year or two older, but she litterally baffled me with her talent. She writes nearly everyday, and each piece is not just a poem, it's a masterpiece. Skill wise, vocabulary wise, and idea wise, she just flies over my head. That's something that's very hard to admit, because we writers have quite large egos. A link to her profile, so you can see yourself: http://ohsostarryeyed.deviantart.com/

Between Dreams.

Standing Between Dreams,
Don't know how,
how you Put Up with me.
Don't know how,
how I got So Lucky.

When I'm in your arms,
it's like Standing Between Dreams.
Between the Ocean and
the Shoreline.
Between the Sky and
the Stars.

When I'm with you,
nobody else even Registers
in My Mind.

Don't know how,
how I can tell you,
Just how much
I love you.

You're Something else,
and you know,
you know I love You So.

* * *

This was originally the second poem in a three part set. They're all about the same subject, but the only real link in each of the pieces was the line 'Standing Between Dreams'. I was really interested in the concept behind that phrase at the time each poem was written. The phrase was actually derived from an album call 'In Between Dreams', by Jack Johnson, whom a friend of mine introduced me to. He's a great musicion. But in the end, the only work of the three I thought was worth sharing was this one, so it's now an individual work.

NeverLost.

Connected, attached.
Distant, seperated.

What are words,
when you know the truth?
What are words,
when you can see with your
own Disbelieving Eyes?

Lost, missing.
Misshapen, distorted.

We are connected,
Strung together by
Fate itself.

We are Never Lost,
Never Seperated,
Never Alone,
Always One.

* * *

This one is a lot older. I wrote it in the first semester of this previous school year, while I was supposed to be paying attention in Social. It was really inspired by the Smashing Pumpkins song 'NeverLost', which I think talks a lot about how you can't be lost when you're in love, because you see everything so clearly. You'll always know where you are. It was a subject that I wanted to touch on, but I was never really sure what I was trying to say.

My MICHAELangelo.

Only been without you
five long, Blank Canvas days.
The whole of Painted Summer
is sprawled before me.
But I can't see the colors.

No beautiful Hazel-Greens,
like your Eyes.
No accute Yellow-Blondes,
Like your too-short Hair.
No sharp, deep, Crystalline Blues,
like your favorite Color.
Lost the Vibrancy,
like that which you
Etch into my Life.

A Broken Tile,
fallen from the ceiling.
You fit me back
into place.

Michaelangelo,
you Paint me,
as I Kiss your Heart.

* * *

Written for my baby, whom I miss more everyday. I love you.

For the CD.

Grooves,
on the Vellum Record.
Static,
on the Cassette Tape.
Skips,
on the CD.
Life,
a big Circular Downward spiral.
With Grooves like Ruts,
and Static like Misunderstandings.
But no Skips.

Got to live it
All Out,
Got to work
Through It,
Got to Jump to
The Beat.
Move through the Melody,
Sing all the Harmonies.

Color the World,
Color it Sad,
Color it Happy,
Color it with Sound.

Got to Make my
Own Music.

* * *

I'm not sure what brought on the inspiration for this one. But I'm always coming up with little Life analogies. In this case, Life is like a Cd. The inspiration for the title of this work was influenced by a friend of mine. I'm always saying "For the Record.." whenever I have an important point to make, and she always replies, "We live in modern times, Deana. It's for the Cd, not the record." God bless her and her randomness.

An Empty Throne, The King of Pop Dead.

Just recently I heard about the death of Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, as he was so rightfully titled. There is no doubt in my mind that for the longest time he was continually raising the bar for music videos, pop/dance culture, and music as a general divison. He really was the Elvis Presley of our time, the Christopher Columbus of dance and pop music, if you dared to go so far.

It upsets me that even after his death, many people still think of him as nothing but a joke. Okay, so you didn't like the guy. Maybe you never got over the allegations of sexual deviance. Thousands of people all over the world kicked him while he was down, and made him the butt of every joke possible. I watched a comedy show once, and now I can't remember the comedian's name, but one of the lines he said was, "If you forget the punchline of the joke, all you gotta say is Michael Jackson.' It seems incredibly profound now. Well, he's gone. So we can all do ourselves a favor and stop kicking him when he's down and out for good.

Being only sixteen, and I can't say that I grew up listening to him sky rocket to super stardom. I can't say that I've always absolutely loved every song he ever wrote and know all the words by heart. But what I can say, is that I know good music when I hear it. In my mind, Micheal Jackson is right up there with The Greats. I'm talking about The Beatles, Elvis Presley, Pink Floyd, the list goes on.

So Rest in Peace, Michael Jackson. You'll not soon be forgotten.

The Krash.

Serene, calm with Regal Posture.

Not quite as Graceful.

an Intellect, and Understanding

that reaches farther than

the Clouds that

cried Jagged White Dancers

in March.

Could never grasp,

what you saw in me.

Could never give up

the Friendship you've

Gifted Me.

Krash,

like Toppling Ladders.

Krash,

like being Razorblade Beautiful.

Krash,

like Grace that goes Awry.

Krash,

who has Always

been There for me.

* * *

This is a poem I wrote for a really good friend of mine. She means the world to me. Many of the references in the poem only she will understand, but nonetheless, one of my favorites.

The Bus Ride.

He was lost to the comforting tremors of the road, his head pressed up against the window pane. He watched as dusty roads and weather worn trees and hills that tumbled forever onwards rushed by. The beautiful, sacharine sky was masked with clouds. The summer sun, partially hidden by these, kissed the world in a hazy light.

He could feel his eyelids drooping, getting heavier with every moment that past. He knew it would be easier just to let them drop. But the landscape kept rushing by; he was afraid to miss it, it was so beautiful.

He kept fighting back the urge to sleep, and as he did, his eyes continued to sweep across the painted canvas of the earth. He loved this country, he didn't want to leave it. But he knew, for the sake of his family, he must.

* * *

This is just a short something I started working on while riding the bus to Calgary. I never really decided what it was about, or where it would have headed as a story idea, but I thought I'd share.

At 3:45 in the Morning, What is There to Say?

As the title suggests, it is very late at night. Or incredibly early, if you're that kind of person. I guess the only thing I really want to say is that I've wanted to start up a blog for a long time now. I never did until this point because I've always felt like I've just never had anything to say. It's not a misplaced statement either. Honestly, does any sixteen year old, especially in this day and age, really have something to say? Ask any of my friends and they might, with a lot of passion, say that YES, we do indeed have something to say. And then we rant about how much we hate this teacher, or how hot the new guy is, or maybe we'll just fuss about what we're going to wear tommorrow.

Yes, I know I'm just rambling. But it's late, and I'm tired. So therefore allowed to ramble.

The point that I'm trying to make is that even though all that stuff just mentioned seems like it's something to say and share with the world, it's not. All that is is meaningless things that only matter to maybe one person. You. Me. Whatever. That's what I've always thought.

I've always wanted to be heard, to have people listen to how I feel and what I think. Writing, art, music, photography. These are the things that I feel I can most express myself with. Now, with a little help to get past my insecurites about having nothing to say, I feel as though I have something to share.

And maybe you read this, and whatever comes after and you say, "This is nothing but worthless crap," and you never visit my blog again. That's all fine and dandy. Cause if what I'm writing is nothing but crap that's supposed to be in a septic tank somewhere, then I can honestly say that what you have to say isn't much better.

I have a voice. And even if half the stuff coming out of my mouth means nothing, it means something to me. That's what it means to be an individual, what it means to move against the flow and see that it goes somewhere better. It's the lesson that took me years to learn, and I've just told you so that you won't have to suffer through Junior High and Highschool to learn it yourself.

So avast! Ye scurvy dog!

Time to set sail.