I love you to death. And part of loving a person is caring when they're sad.
Another part is helping them up. And sometimes they feel like you're pushing them down. But I have to try.
So here goes-
I have never been a person who shared their boy muck with anyone. Too many mean, laughing faces from when I was a child. I just don't do that.
That doesn't mean I don't understand what you're doing.
So- you know this boy. You LOVE this boy. So you pull a pre-teen. To impress him, you go out of your way to look normal. Look like every other girl out there, to the boy who you want to notice you.
Because every girl is pretty. Every girl has friends. Every girl laughs and wears pretty clothes. The person you're showing to him just can't stand up to the others. The real pretty-girls.
But you're forgetting something.
You are a beautiful person. If this boy saw you through my eyes, he would notice you. If you let him. But you're scared to, in case he doesn't like it. You would rather him see a fake, made-up, cold hearted girl he only sort of knows?
Grow up. Man up. Don't play princess. You know, grown-ups date. They strip, jump off a cliff, and hold hands on the way down. Or they fall. Sometimes thay fall, naked and humiliated. But hey. You're stuck in your little tower, expecting him to climb the ivy you most considerately glittered and thorned.
Then there's this other thing you've got going on.
I've been chatting with Him, and it seems God is offended. You're using His name to feel sorry for yourself. He gave you all these nice things, and you throw them away. He gave you this boy, and you ignore him cause you're scared. Shoot, he's probably helping me out, writing this letter (I'm certainly asking Him to) and you probably wont take this to heart.
I know you want to sing His name in praise. Why are you dragging it through the mud first?
And it's all over this boy. Hell, I like this boy, he's good for you. And I'm going to be sad, when you finally get him and you can't enjoy it from all the blood you spilled on your way.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
I didn't do anything today
cause I suck.
I guess I could try doing something. I bet I could love it and care about it. I bet I could hang myself up on my success. I bet I could be "acceptable".
That's it, though, acceptable.
I guess I might eventually be
...acceptable at everything.
if I give it my all.
I guess I wouldn't stink at anything. I would have just given my all for a fifth-place trophy though.
awesome. acceptable.
...cause simply "acceptable" people rule the world...
I guess I could try doing something. I bet I could love it and care about it. I bet I could hang myself up on my success. I bet I could be "acceptable".
That's it, though, acceptable.
I guess I might eventually be
...acceptable at everything.
if I give it my all.
I guess I wouldn't stink at anything. I would have just given my all for a fifth-place trophy though.
awesome. acceptable.
...cause simply "acceptable" people rule the world...
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
leericks.
Splitting up is breaking down
we're disintegrating
I don't think that you recall how
we started-
now we're breaking-
down.
I can be your memories
and you can be my brain
cause you need help remembering
and I need help-
staying-
sane.
we're disintegrating
I don't think that you recall how
we started-
now we're breaking-
down.
I can be your memories
and you can be my brain
cause you need help remembering
and I need help-
staying-
sane.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
nitpicking makes you uncool.
You know you need to grow up when
Today I tried to convince my brother that
He was writing a nice story but
It was very immaginative... alas
I never used to say to myself
I hated it when people said
They were just listening to someone else's voice in their head when they went
I could understand it, so why did I say
THAT'S CALLED A PLOTHOLE
.
!
:
;
...
-
"
?
!
Today I tried to convince my brother that
He was writing a nice story but
It was very immaginative... alas
I never used to say to myself
I hated it when people said
They were just listening to someone else's voice in their head when they went
I could understand it, so why did I say
THAT'S CALLED A PLOTHOLE
.
!
:
;
...
-
"
?
!
Saturday, May 1, 2010
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