"I'm fine mom."
"Stop trying to lose weight Vicki. You already look anorexic."
"Mom, I'm feeling nauseous."
"Vicki, just eat the food."
"I'm not hungry."
"Vicki-"
"OMG STFFUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!" says vicki's brain in utter desparation. DAMN. SERIOUSLY!?
"I am going to lie down."
"But Vicki, you're not going to lose weight by-"
"IM NOT TRYING TO LOSE WEIGHT OKAY DAMMIT?! I've gotten straight A's for the past 5 flucking years so I deserve just a BIT OF TIME TO RELAX. I swear, you have never listened to what I have said for the last 5 freakin years. You are my MOM you should care a bit about what I have to say." shouts Vicki at her obviously deluded mother.
*walks away*
-end scene-
Thats how I ended up in front of the computer again, blogging. I figure this is more of a public journal than a blog now that I think about it. In approximately ...say 5 minutes. My parents and relatives will be breathing down my neck to eat cake. SHIT DAMNIT. I'm 96 pounds and GAINING. If I eat any mawr cake, I will chop off my leg. Im like Liyeri, cept MORE EXTREME. I diet, I dont SKIP meals. Thats just ew. Agh.
My stupid brother has his stupid birthday again and I am back into the group with the bunch of guys (ah, my mini-harem) and then there is Rayne. Rayne was the one who forced his way into the group in the first place. If he doesnt go, our whole group does. We are replacing him with Ashton. Ashton is my buddy. Rayne is the mental torturer who needs to channel his angry energy, positively. And I say that meaning, he needs to not violently try to kill everyone in his warpath. I can take him on and whoop his arse, or at least die trying. No matter what, I want to be in that group with Mike, Ashton, and Matt. My bfs are just too much. Bfs not meaning boyfriends because to apply to me, that is not PLURAL. My bfs are too under-extravagant and under-working, and Imma get distracted.
I dont like my family nor do I hate them. MY MOM THINKS MY DRY SKIN IS A RESULT OF RAZOR BUMPS. I swear she is going to be the last of me. She just comment on my typing. My mom is seriously the most BIAS, HYPOCRITICAL mom you will ever meet or have the torture of meeting. She will make snide comments and question every single freakin thing that you do. And when you try to run away, she drags you back. She is like an intensely lame version of me. Imagine me without my track skills, my awesome cooking skills (she cooks by eying ingredients), my knack for school, my social abilities (HERS ARE WORSE), and my computer skills. An intensely critisisive, nagging(which I am sure is not for my own good because one of her main arguements is "me-time" and results in debates I usually end up winning and her saying that I debate "like an old, chatty woman"), and continuingly growing more forgetful Mom. I can handle her better than my little brother who just stands around going "eh." I love my mom, but I cant stand her. And yes, I am quoting kevin's poem.
Knowing me, you'd think I'd write more. So I will. Even though I sound like a mushy valley girl. I will write. There are so many epic fails in the pineapple/melon/jackfruit pile that I should put them up. Matt not knowing me and rhen are spamming his address. Greek error messages. THE RAIN. Us rickrolling matt. HAHA. we rickrolled you too.
This is how poets IM:
i will go blog and obsess over all that has gone wrong in my life and hope that someday, I will have forgotten most of the humility and pride-shanking that you did in that short period of time. The things that I may never say, because a wounded lion never cries for it's ego is too big. As a pineapple cannot speak, I cannot scream. All I can do, is shed silent tears as the world goes on and my universe temporarily stops. For no one ever shall hinder my tears which claw at my heart slowly inside from the things never meant to be said and the things that cannot. There are so many possiblilities on this earth and I had chosen that one. Maybe it was an accident, but maybe it was fated that I fall again silently. And that is why I close that door in that chapter in life. Though many shall pull at the doorknob, none shall pass the threshold because that door is duct taped, super-glued, and welded shut from the world. I try hard to forget and I do not need more people knocking on my duct taped, superglued, welded door of horrible events. It was certainly nothing to be proud of. There cannot and shall never be a repeat of this. Because, then I will break. Everytime I look at my wall, across from my computer. I can see their faces, slowly grinning. Why did I ever wallpaper my wall with these pained memories? I made a mistake. I cannot bring myself to tear it down. For it is proof that I was once standing there, in the city of lights, right next to him and my dream could have and should have been kilt. But I was a coward and much of one too. I ran away. Never to speak of it again. And I chose. I chose to never forget, but never remember. The walls still echo my tears of the shy, timid girl i was last year and shall forever stay locked in that room with the ducttaped, superglued, welded door. I can still hear her voice telling my story to an anonymous audience and never letting go. There were lights, smiles, tears, and anger. Kicks, screams and things we cannot take back. Some things were never meants to be spoken. There was a frail little girl named Vicki who could never grasp the aspect of true happiness so she created a place for all the painful tears to fall and that place is here, behing the locked and shut door where no one is to step foot and Vicki is still telling her story to no one, to me. Inside my heart, when I sleep it repeats, like a broken record. I can still hear her story, telling me to pretend again and become someone else. Never let your guard down for the hunt is always on. A lion never screams when it is wounded. It cries. Silently, it cries. It cries for what it could have done to avoid this. It cries for it's life. And at the last moment, it whimpers and falls, like every other animal in the world, it falls. And it's last thoughts will still linger for a while before it's "life" leaves it's body. And the pain slowly numbs. Someday, the pain will disappear and I will have let go of everything. Someday, I will say what I could not have said with the courage I have thrown aside. Someday, I will not be alone and I will be somewhere else with people who care. Someday, I will show them all. But for now, the door has creaked a bit open, letting a sliver of truth dominate. This is the one time I will ever open this door and revisit my past. There is nothing lonlier than lies. Understand.
The skies were so blue that day.
That is how I poet. Have I lost my sentimentality? Not really. that is not more of a poem than just writing. How nostalgic. I dont like nostalgic so this has been killed. What you have just read is confidentail. If it is ever restated, I will come after you and I will break down. Of all the things that are left unsaid, dont speak. I need more blog topics. My posts are getting longer.
And I hide in my room,
my alias is me.
Who am I?
I am the light reflected off your eyes
The rain on the windshield
The once forgotten, and always.
The eternal ranting in your ear
The moments that you hold dear
The memories that they have smeared
The always falling tears
Always thrown back to the rear
The personality that they have seared
Through the many years
The reality that is always near
The hope that is never sincere
Though I always persevere
I am never here, am I?
The present has appeared
and it is ephermal.
Ephermally yours,
Juliet VanSchulear
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