I'm a private girl with a messy mind.
&I like to know who is sharing in my thoughts.
It's a secret affair, darling.
(Do you think I should I give you a key?)
LiveJournal for "Softly," he said, "I will mangle your mind.".
|Monday, December 5th, 2005|
I'm a private girl with a messy mind.
&I like to know who is sharing in my thoughts.
It's a secret affair, darling.
(Do you think I should I give you a key?)
|Tuesday, October 28th, 2003|
I'm still sporatically getting e-mails asking about my new location or why I haven't posted recently. So once again...
I've moved. This journal is now closed.
I won't post my new location here, since it would defeat the reason I left this place. But if you leave a comment somewhere on here, I'll get back to you. xx
|Sunday, September 7th, 2003|
This journal is closed
If you want to join me at the new journal, e-mail or leave a comment.
It's been great.
|Monday, August 25th, 2003|
I could feel her eyes on me. They were dark, full of caution.
She knew that I held her secrets in the palm of my hand, and what I did with them was out of her control. Her fists were clutched so tightly, that little half cresents of blood were forming at the fleshy part of her palm. She was scared.
The man with the shiny badge was asking me a string of questions.
Did I see the fight? Was this the man? Was I hurt? Was she hurt? Did he want me to arrest him? Did I know what happened? Are you sure this was all a false alarm?
I looked at the girl I was once jealous of.
The girl whose life I had envied for years, was standing beside me - pleading with her eyes that I protect her. That I make this all go away.
I returned my gaze to the uniformed man, and shook my head.
No, I didn't see a fight. No, this was not the man who nearly strangled my best friend in the parking lot. No, I wasn't hurt. No, she wasn't hurt. No, please don't arrest this innocent man. No, because nothing happened. Yes, this was all a false alarm. The woman who called you must have been insane. Please, just let us go home. Nothing happened. I swear.
The officer narrowed his eyes into mine, and gave me a doubtful smile.
He uncuffed my best friend's boyfriend, and looked into my eyes once more. Searching for my lies.
I quickly looked away.
"You know," he said, "sometimes you think you're doing the right thing, but really you're doing the wrong. I've seen a lot of situations like these. In five years, she'll probably be dead."
Since that night, I've been unable to maintain eye contact.
Since that night, my best friend has had a baby with a boy who leaves bruises where no one can see. She's weaker now, bearing the weight too many bruises on her bones.
(Since that night, I've realized that I lost my chance to save you.
That I've sent you to your grave.)
|Thursday, August 21st, 2003|
You are all familiar with bits of her. You each hold a piece within.
She is the girl who cut herself to feel real, and winces still when anyone touches her wrist.
The girl who loves the thought of life, but is scared to truly live.
The girl who laughs a little too loudly at the jokes she doesn't get.
The girl who acts on impulse and has no room for regret.
The girl who needs someone to love her, because she cannot love herself.
The girl who drags you outside to dance with her every time it rains.
The girl who sucks at math, but loves English.
The girl who gained weight to see if you would still love her.
The girl who wasn't surprised when you didn't.
The girl who wishes desperately that she could be five again.
The girl who fears the words she knows are at the tip of your tongue.
The girl who hates popping bones, but loves popping bubble wrap.
The girl who is afraid to tell you how she really feels, but knows she can't keep it hidden much longer.
The girl who sometimes pretends not to see you, because she prefers to be alone.
The girl who loves the sound of laughter.
The girl who builds walls to prevent getting hurt.
The girl who would do anything to make you smile, and lives for the happiness of those around her.
The girl who often just gets in the car to see how far she can go, who runs away thinking if she goes far enough, her problems might not catch up.
The girl who laughs to hide the pain, who laughs to fill the space.
The girl who hasn't got it figured out just yet, and wonders if she ever will.
The girl who obsesses over tiny things, and ignores the important ones.
The girl who sits in the back of your class and never says a word, who spent her lunches hiding away in the art room.
The girl who doesn't speak, because she doesn't know what to say.
The girl who laughs in sad movies.
The girl who is in love with the night, because she's adapted to the darkness.
The girl who can never make up her mind, and is always five minutes late.
The girl who laughs nonstop when her best friend says things like, "diggity dank" or "banana split homies."
The girl who would do anything to prevent you from getting hurt.
The girl who always has a book in front of her face.
The girl who tries to distance herself from people who are less than genuine, and embraces honesty.
The girl who always seems to shock people when she says, "fuck," because she 'seems like such an innocent' girl.
The girl who secretly watches you from afar, too afraid to go close.
The girl who you call your best friend, but you barely even know.
The girl who would rather die than let you see her cry.
The girl who is incredibly stubborn, and rarely admits defeat.
The girl who still plays in the snow, and finds comfort in the rain.
The girl who puts everything on hold to help you in any way she can.
The girl who can be really selfish with her feelings.
The girl who refuses to see you as anything but perfect.
The girl who looks for the beauty in everything.
The girl who dreams of a life much different from this one.
The girl with stars in her eyes, and tears on her cheeks.
Do you know that girl?
|Monday, August 11th, 2003|
I have so little to say these days, and so much time to say it.
Fill me up. Empty me out.
I had a dream last night, and I was afraid to show you.
What happens when these walls come crashing down? When you run away?
I'm getting ready to push you out of my life. Not because I don't care about you, darling. But because I'm in love.
Be my drug. My everything. Be my nothing.
I can't need you.
|Sunday, August 10th, 2003|
It was back when I missed the larger picture. When I was so consumed by you and me and we.
When I believed you'd never hit me again, and you believed I would never speak my mind.
That I would never stand up for myself.
I fooled you didn't I? I think I fooled myself.
Please don't make this harder than it should be.
Keep your distance and we'll both be fine.
|Wednesday, July 9th, 2003|
I leave random notes for strangers nearly everywhere I go.
I spill random bits of my heart onto napkins and matchboxes, then seal them with a kiss.
(I'm hoping that you'll put the pieces together someday.)
I just want you to know who I am.
|Wednesday, June 25th, 2003|
I've been trying to find a way to explain you for
the longest time.I wanted to tell my friends how
amazing you were. Of the way you actually looked
into my eyes as you spoke. How your laughter left
my head spinning and heart racing. Of how I
felt this growing need to protect you from the
world and anything that might possibly get in your
way. That I'm not a violent person, but I would kill
just to see you smile (even if it was for one directed
at someone else.)
I kept trying to find the words to sum you up.
To make them understand.
But..there simply weren't enough.
I scoured dictionaries searching for the perfect
description. Trying to find a sentence that was beautiful
enough to contain you.
Weeks later, and I'm still coming up empty.
I don't think there are words for you.
(You felt like home.)
|Sunday, June 22nd, 2003|
I miss the days of holding up fingers to tell
my age, and not even being able to count yet. I miss
bonding over shared crayons. And when the hardest part of
my day was consoling friends over flushed goldfish, or being
forced into a time out because of the mud covering my dress and
dead leaves tangled in my hair.
But overnight, it seems that I've run out of
fingers. That no one knows how to share anymore.
Now instead of goldfish and front teeth, my
friends are losing their hearts and families.
And suddenly I'm afraid that no pinky swears
of forever friends or ice cream sandwiches are going
to be enough to save them. Ever again.
But if you need someone to push you on the
swings, or roll down hills with as your world is
breaking apart...I'll be there. And if the
nightmares keep you awake tonight, I'll tuck you in.
Because you're my friend.
And I love you.
And this is all I know to do.
(Lil sheeps gonna be okay.
She's got that something.)
|Wednesday, June 11th, 2003|
She sat there, alone in the night, wishing it would all end for the millionth time. Wondering if she would ever have the courage and which was the stronger act. "To be or not to be." But then laughter vibrated through her window and she watched the neighborhood children catching fireflies. Sticking the lights on their bodies, and giggling as they glowed.
And she realized that though she was alone, she wasn't. That everyone is alone sooner or later, and that there will always be moments when another body will keep hers warm. That all tears shed won't always mean heartache, and that laughter can warm the coldest heart and fill the loudest silence. She finally understood that while she thought she was silly and awkward and invisible, one day someone might direct a smile her way. And all of these things brought her joy.
She understood that just because her parents didn't love her and her friends found her impossible..that didn't mean she wasn't worth it. Because she was.
And someday someone would realize that.
She realized that Death wasn't purposefully trying to steal the people she loved, only trying to show her that she was still breathing and that she was still capable of caring. That she was still alive and had time to change the world.
It rained, and she stuck her hand out the window, letting the water run through her fingers. Cleansing her.
And she knew that someday it would all be okay. Someday..it would be worth it.
So now she's just waiting.
I'm crossing my fingers that her wait won't be too long.
|Tuesday, June 10th, 2003|
It's when you look into his eyes and are afraid to blink because you don't want to miss a moment.
It's when you reach out to hug him one last time, for an
embrace that will have to last the rest of your life.
The emptiness that you feel, and realizing that you never..
You never asked why he always rubbed the scar on his chin when he was nervous - how he got it. What 'thirteen-ohoh' really meant.
Or what he was thinking about when he stared at the ground
with that lopsided smile of his.
He never got to know why you were so offended that one time that he pinkyswore to stop and then didn't, or how you beat yourself up over forgetting his birthday. (Because he thought you just didn't care.) He'll never know that you heard the dreams he whispered when he thought you were asleep. Or that you were in love with the way he crinkled his nose when he was trying not to laugh.
And as he's walking away and your fingertips are beginning to slide out of his hand..and soon you're going to have to let go..your heart stops for a moment. And you can't breathe.
And as you watch him get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, rivers begin to map out new routes on your cheeks and you're not sure if you're even on the road anymore.
But still you drive on, because there's nowhere you want to be but curled up in the safety of your own bed, burying tears into your pillow.
Do you still think of me when you hear little girls laughing? You always teased that my laugh was so childlike and reminded you of stars, but these days it only sounds fake and rusty.
I miss you. And I don't know how to find you again.
|Tuesday, May 27th, 2003|
The grass does not grow on my mother's grave.
It's the only one in the cemetary that is bare, always.
I spend my days - my nights laying beside her dirty bed, talking to her.
Pouring my heart into the vase that holds her flowers. Nurturing them.
When I place my hand on the frozen ground, I sometimes feel a pulsating warmth
She may be gone, but my mother's heart still beats.
And I know that she hears me when I speak.
She's the only one who can.
|Thursday, March 6th, 2003|
I'm not a religious girl.
They shake their heads at me as I stumble in their dark.
But you see, that's okay.
Their churches and hypocritical sermons have never filled my heart with love. With hope.
They've only brought me pain. Heartache and endless liquid sadness.
I find my faith in crashing waves. In fireflies dancing rythmically in the twilight. And forever and always..you.
I don't need a book to tell me right from wrong. My heart has a mind of its own, and always finds the way.
But don't think that I'm not aware of your frowns and the names you call me when my back is turned.
I hear your words before they drip from your tongue. (Judge not, right?)
And really, I'm not saying I don't believe in God(s).
Some childish part of me will always cling to the idea of higher beings. It's a pretty thought.
But my gods are not necessarily your God. And I don't pretend to believe that these daytime fantasies, are anything more than just that.
As a little girl, I was convinced I was half-goddess (daughter of Apollo). I smiled smugly as children approached me, because I knew if they weren't nice, my grandfather (Zeus)..would strike them down. As I got older, I was disappointed to discover I was only mortal.
But every now and then when the sun burns my skin..I can't help but smile.
|Tuesday, March 4th, 2003|
[ "I'm not a woman who believes in love," she murmured to the man sitting beside her, "but part of me knows that I'll always be waiting on him. No matter where I am, or what I may be doing with my life; however fulfilled or empty it may be..I'll be waiting on him. And he will consume my thoughts until death." She paused, and languidly tapped the ash from her cigarette. "What exactly I'm waiting for him to do- whether it's to race into my arms or spit in my face, I'm not certain. " She smiled then, "But maybe we never really know what we're waiting for until we're finished." ]
|Sunday, March 2nd, 2003|
I'm a bit paranoid now, I suppose.
And I'm a little more cautious of who has access to my world.
So due to a sudden concern for privacy, I felt the need to erase people.
I tried to only part with those of you who I didn't really know, trust, or relate with.
It's all about entertainment. It's all about admiration/respect.
& It wasn't personal, but you see..it really was.
I'm sorry. (It's only a livejournal, afterall.)
So goodbye. (Maybe we'll meet again.)
|Thursday, February 27th, 2003|
It was one of those frustration-filled nights. The kind where she had to swallow thirty tiny, white pills before she could even think about sleeping. Where she tossed and tossed in a lucid notquitedreamlike state, as her thoughts spiraled in a million different directions.
Slowly she began to feel herself sinking. Evaporating.
Her heartbeats began to slow, and she could feel the night setting into her bones.
It took all of the strength she could muster to smile, but she did it. Knowingly.
You see, she understood that she was dying. She welcomed it.
(And I think that for a moment death lingered in her. Making her its prey.)
But then red and orange light poured into her eyes, blinding her. Driving her out of the night. And she awoke to them standing over her. "We almost lost you, darling." They said, with concern-filled voices.
Only they didn't realize that they had. They'd lost her ..without ever really having her.
She began to crave the nothingness she had felt when her life had ended.
The blankness of it all.
She belonged to that darkness. It was her home.
So she began to live in the moon. Afraid of blue skies and sunny smiles.
Of course, you would never notice if you weren't paying attention. She laughed when it was appropriate, and nodded her head at the proper times. But her thoughts were always filled with anger and secret hells. When you looked into her black eyes, there was only a dull reflection. A waivering girl.
She was dead inside.
She was simply not there.
(But maybe she never truly had been.)
|Monday, February 24th, 2003|
Wintery nights filled with scratchy raw throats and decadent sistersouls. She braids my hair weaving in daisies and stars, pretending to send innocence to my faded heart-shaped soul through dirty-coloured strands of hair. Restoring me.
We lay on gleaming ceramic floors giggling madly, watching the spinningspinning ground collide with rolling ceilings while creating solutions to non-problematic problems. The point is: there is no point. We don't believe in hidden meaning philosophies and between-line conspiracies. The confusion is in speaking the truth - embracing honesty. It's something you only learn from living a lie. (Living in paintings is never quite as glamorous as it seems.)
She dances around, twirling electric pink ribbons and midnight lace, shouting lyrics and quoting Nietzsche in off-key, high-pitched screams. Panting loudly. She tires easily these days, paying the price for perfect reflections. Somedays you can see her heart pounding against her ribs but it doesn't stop her from doing pirouettes and grand jete's (pas de bourre-releve' - is her version of walking anyway). She's become stronger and she's become my fuel.
This willow-y girl breaks all of the rules in the most graceful way possible, and I know I've found the only person in this mad-deflating world who gets me. (She's true.)
We whisper secrets while holding seances in pillow-filled, claw-foot bathtubs. Crystal candles flicker and we hold hands as we laugh and speak to our invisible guests. It's the only time we dissolve our elitist barriers - to include otherworldly creatures. (They are the only beings to which we feel we can relate.)
The lethargic fairyboy who once read to me tales of mermaids and snow queens..but now only tells me of beasts and suffering - joins us on our roadtrip escapades to ghost town diners and jazzy-smokey deja vu filled bars. We scribble notes for future visitors on crimson lip-stained cocktail napkins, calling for love&peace, and maybe a little hope in our dreary-doomed world.
The boy is different from us now, and we can feel the entrance of Ghost of Friendship Past tugging on our sleeves. Too many fratjerks and bleach-blond teases have made him empty promises. And he no longer relates to our phantasma-esque existence.
When he does speak for the first time in what feels like decades, it's only to argue with me that the sky is powder blue after I have proclaimed it to be redredred(!!) "If colour doesn't truly exist," I argue back (knowing all of the right buttons to push. Buttons to bring him back to us.) "how can you demand that I see it as blue?"
He frustratedly bites his lip, trying not to laugh..and for a moment I'm convinced he is Adonis.
We glare at one another for a momentlike eternity, feigning disgust ..until she giggles loudly and tugs on our hands. Clasping them together. "We'll create our own colours, my deardear friends," she says with a raspy voice.
With this said, he sighs rainbow prism(ed) clouds of foggy pure air, and tells me he'll paint a truly red sky for me someday. (And I know he will. After all, isn't he the one who stained the flower with his pure beauty? Perhaps she is Aphrodite, his devoted queen, and I am a spectator in their reincarnated lives.)
His promise is enough to end our bitter-minute war though, and I offer him a dandelion stalk as my thankyou/apology. Crossing palewhite fingers that it will bring life to his wilted eyes. It does, and they dance with the fiery passion that she and I had been missing. We'd been craving their heated return, much like I would assume heroin junkies crave their next fix.
He begins to speak passionately of his anti-war epiphanies and free-tibet manifestations. He weaves spells while staring into a starless velvet sky.. and everything is okay again.
(Do you understand?) You nod your head, but it only proves to me that you don't. Our nonsense isn't something you can comprehend.
(We're devilishly clever like that.)
Some of you expressed intense desires to join me in a new land.
I've buried the map in the most obvious of places, so hopefully someday soon you'll find it. (My sterling-petal(ed) world.)
((Find the vial that says 'drink me'__ then it's the first star to the right..or was it the left?))
Anon, my darlings, anon.
(I'm vacationing in the parallel.)
|Monday, January 27th, 2003|
"That was the year I discovered I was the sole survivor of my family.
I learned of their deaths, through family friends. Horrible, horrible stories." she mutters, handing me the fading photograph of smiling faces.
"It was the year I learned the difference between living and being alive.
But come, Anja. Let's talk of this no more."
|Friday, January 24th, 2003|
He's the most fantastic boy I've ever met.
He leaves traces of poetry on everything he touches, for the most beautiful poems are engraved into his fingertips. Dried paint, in hues of blue, is permanently embedded underneath his nails.
He's so elegant, with a graceful swan neck, and a laugh that is in perfect time with his heartbeat.
His ocean eyes that beg you to swim in them, count to eternity when he blinks.
In the middle of the night, he shakes his messy chocolate curls out, gasping for breath..as if to shake away the past. To push it all away.
He's fighting his demons.
He's trying to break free of a world he left behind in a past life. Regret consuming him.
(The couldhavebeen's are always more promising in the rearview mirror.)
He shrugs out of embraces, with an apology in his eyes.
('You can look, but don't touch.' - We share the same fear of fingeprints being left on our pale skin.)
At shows, his smooth voice floats over the ricocheting mess of noise that surrounds him.
Occasionally, it sounds a bit gritty, and I catch a faint smile gracing his lips.
He took up smoking years ago, hoping to one day achieve the perfect blend of ethereal and realistic.
His eyes always scan the crowds when he plays, searching her out. And the glow in them mirrors her when she finally appears.
I wanted to tell you of him. I wanted to share with you, the beauty of him, but to do so I would have to mention her.
The way she leaves traces of blood on everything she touches.
(Oily fingerprints ruining the whitest of satin.)
How dirt and shards of glass are embedded beneath her nails, forcing her to hide them away..hoping he won't notice.
Her laugh is rarely audible, and when she blinks her tears make their escape.
Their grand exit.
She has no story, she's a work in progess.
An incomplete final masterpiece.
I'm holding my breath that one day I'll be able to tell you of him. Of them.
It's going to be a beautiful story.
He's made it that way.
LiveJournal for "Softly," he said, "I will mangle your mind.".