alecto - your little bluejay (pollytrance) wrote,
alecto - your little bluejay
pollytrance

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This Poem Sucks.

I'm still here, still sitting back and watching life pass me by. Jeanette called me today-- that was some dope shit. She sounded very excited, oh yeah! It's been proposed that since I graduate not this Wednesday, but next Wednesday... (well, graduation in a sense, I don't get my diploma till June but I don't have to be here to do skool-work or attend BHS because my credits are done) that not this weekend but the next weekend, I am going down to LA to visit the Los Angelians. They seem to be looking forward to it, which pleases me, and I'm looking forward to it too, because I'm at that stage. Three years in the Creative Writing class has got me looking at things a little differently. I'm losing any talent that I previously possessed for writing..

I'm at the stage in the hero's journey where I must die and be reborn because my present stage of life has become sterile and unsatisfying-- one problem... where the hell do I go? I see no beginnings, all endings, and I need to take some sort of journey.

I CAN'T EVEN TYPE RIGHT!! Maybe I should just let my fingers do what they want and what they were doing and then see what comes of it. Maybe they are messages from my subconscious that I shouldn't be oppressing. Next entry will be totally unedited and then posted, and I'm going to see whether or not my sub-conscious is trying to get through to me, and if so, what it's saying. I can't wait. I need something new.

When I lived back in my old house I never wanted anything new. I was happy where I was. Why do the things that make you feel satisfied and whole get torn away from you right as you start to enjoy them?

Oh, yeah, and though I'm looking for a journey, any kind, metaphorical or otherwise, I probably won't be able to make the real one down to LA. "You never take trips like that by yourself, Katie. You have a lot of things coming up, I don't think it's a good idea." Says my mother. It seems every time something comes along that is even in the slightest way pleasing, she has to crush it under her skepticism and closed mind. I don't think I'm ever going to be-- or even going to be ALLOWED to be-- happy, in any sense.

I think you can train your body to do things, even if you don't want them to, just because you do it so much. Even so, your body has no memory. You forget how things feel, no matter how hard you try to hang on to that sort of thing. Your mind knows that you either liked the feeling or hated it, but your body never actually remembers how it feels.

Thinking back on it, I don't remember that getting my stomach pumped could have felt all that bad... but my mind tells me it was a terrible experience, and if I'm going to try anything, don't try it with pills, because there's a chance that something will get in your way, some idiot will try to save you, and you'll have to get it pumped again.

I hate being afraid, bored, alone. I hate feeling hate, anger, and jealousy. I hate hopelessness and feeling so overwhelmed that you can't move. And you can argue that my life is a lot easier than other peoples' and I'm just a spoiled brat... but feelings are feelings. Who is anyone, even me, to say that my heart doesn't feel the same pain as a kid who is starving to death, maybe, with their real parents, in Somalia or some other country where they are starving.

To tell you the truth, I don't even like feelings. Not even the good ones.

Love, even if it's good, hurts.
Happiness fades.
Sweetness sours.

Fucking pop-up banner ads come from nowhere making you want to murder someone. It's even hard to cry anymore. And all I want to do is be alone, so I can stop smiling, and worrying people, and all of that other crap that I do.

Even with everything everyone has said and done for me, my heart has been burnt so black that nothing NOTHING can revive it. The only thing left to do is let it dissolve back into the earth.

Even the prettiest of flowers still bloom best out of shit.

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