Rice Paper

Remembering the start.
I am a nostalgic piece of rice paper floating.
Can anyone aid me,
Eerie and transparent on the brisk, fog cradled air?
Perhaps this numbness is temporary
And a bird will pick me up and show me where to go from here.
Perhaps a strangers hand will give me a quick, sharp tear.
Even in my disorientation, maybe the stranger will
Regard me with pity, and tell which half of myself is correct.





I have been discarded.
He wants to take it back but I am hesitant.
My pain was irrelevant last night.
A half of me misses him and needs him.
A half of me can not forgive him.

I am so lost.
I am torn.

Everything I Say Is Wrong

He always asks me to never stop loving him.

Irrational.
Pointless.
Unnecessary.

I tell him, finally, that I love him very much but would he please stop talking like that.
I said,
Why waste our limited time together
worrying about things that are merely hypothetical.
My halted love is merely a speculation of the future.
It is putting pressure on the present.
On our relationship.
I tell him all of this in the most reassuring, not accusatory,
way possible.
I really tried so much to make it the most harmless it could be.

But everything I say is wrong.
And before I know it we are arguing.
And he is playing with my necklace and not looking in my eyes.
Smiling at my friend who is playing behind me.
Agreeing with every damn thing I say.

He says he is upset because I care about nothing.

Obviously I care because I'm attempting to reassure him that
his fears are groundless and they are wasting our time.

I suppose what he wants is a girlfriend who will always mope and
harp about the possible doom of everything she loves.
Constantly sludging around in a gloom.
This must be what he wants.

I do care so much about him.

But I refuse to create an eggshell path for my words.
Words are valuable and should be used carefully and wisely,
but they should not be limited.
They should not be confined.

In a nutshell, this whole situation is bullshit.
And this blog is the cushion for my frustration.

If there were a real cushion, it would be threadbare by now.

I wish he could trust me.
That's what this is all about.
His inability to trust me due to the many people who
screwed him over in the past.
I like to think that by now, he knows me well enough to trust in me.

Obviously, everything I say is wrong
and I am quite often mistaken.

Day of Silence?

Today, a good portion of my school
excersized their rights of silence.
They did this in support of the gays.

I am anti-homophobe.
Homophobia of any kind is ignorant and childish.
It is hateful.

I understand and support the right to protest
things that one disagrees with.

But why with silence?


Words are power.
They are louder than any silence will ever be,
except for, possibly, the silence that follows death.
I could defend a friend, a gay, or denounce an enemy
more powerfully with words than i could ever without them.

These protesters walked around my school
with "VOW OF SILENCE" papers taped to them.

T-Shirts were written on.

"VOS. End the harrasment."

"I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together."

"Straight but not narrow."


The last two were my favorites.

Believe it or not, I at first participated in the silence of my peers.
Many of my friends chose silence.
But merely an hour and a half after I had started,
I realized how opposed I was to it, personally.
Silence gives one nothing to do but think.

I quit soon after my true opinions unearthed themselves.

Later that day, I submitted my opinion on the inside of the door of a
bathroom stall. Ignorant, I know, but a spur of the moment action based on
my quick passion for the subject.
I wrote in blue sharpie.
Not dark blue.
Light aqua.
I wrote:

Vow Of Silence:

God created all people.
We are all his damn children.
Stop whining.


Looking back, I'm not satisfied with how I worded it.
But I do not regret putting it there
on that ugly, world map blue
door.
It was chipped anyway.

A New Acquaintance

I have recently been acquainted - for the first time - to the feeling of being left.

He tried.

In those rushed minutes imbetween classes.
Everyone else was moving quickly.
We two were slowed down.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong with you
or are you going to be quiet all day?"
I hate it when people don't reply with words.
After his shrug, the initial silence continued.

Approaching a corner, he quickly moved me close to the wall and we stopped there.
I think it was a split decision he made.

Looking back, the play of events is confusing because
he told me twice that he really loved me and when I told him that I knew he did
he said it: "I think we should break up."

The classic break up words of every movie and every book.
The genericness of the words are excused due to the fact that there is really
no other way to say it.
Unless you want to talk chemistry.
But I think chemistry is bullshit.
It ruined my GPA.

I said no.
He repeated himself.
I said no again.
That he could try, but it was not going to happen.
I kissed him on the cheek
and walked away with a bounce in my step.

At first I felt nothing.
I felt the same way I looked.
But then I didn't look the same.
From the back I did but from the front my face was contorting in slight ways.
My eyebrows slanted upward on the inside
and my eyes grew shiny.
I didn't realize how sad I was that he wanted to leave me
until I knew that the only reason I would be crying would be sadness.
Then it really came down on me.

I couldn't think of any reason big enough to end our relationship.
I leaned back against the world map blue of the tile wall with my hands on my knees
and my sights on the ground and really felt it.
I tried to memorize it.
Usually I am the inflictor of this feeling.
The inflictor of a feeling I have rarely felt because I have never been left.
The abandonment of my family does not count to me.
I didn't choose my family.
I choose my boyfriends.

So in the end,
breakup: failed.
Relationship: hurt but intact.

I am angry.
I am livid at his quickness to punk out.
If he thinks our miniscule quarrels are a big enough deal to leave me
I don't know how he expects to last past the threshold of high school with me.

I also thank him for awakening me to the pain of being let go.
Though I'm sure the pain itself is much worse than that of what I felt in those quick moments ensuing his attempt,
seeing as my severing was not completed, I do now have a small taste of
what it ultimately must sting like to be left.

Alaina has grown.
Three cheers for her.

Sickness

Being sick is just about the most terrible thing
a body could go through.

A drain to the mind as well as the body, you find yourself
in a vegetative state.
Generally useless to everyone and anyone.
Knowing of how purposeless your sickly existence is
does not help you in the least.
It merely drives you to continue in your miserable way,
the moldy squash,
without change.

Typing on this keyboard has never been so tiring as it is now.
My fingers feel as if some elf or gnome has tied resistance rubber to each of my joints
and lightly coated each letter key in rubber cement.
My legs are numb.

I can honestly vouch for those silly people who claim to get high off of cough syrup.
This method of snatching an altered reality is indeed factual.
Unfortunately, I am so not in the mood for a high.
It wouldn't be so bad if I couldn't still feel that underlying ache.
As if some horrible power is squeezing my bones.
I can hear them creaking and moaning.

Ibuprofen is useless.
Even in overdoses.

Letter For A Liar

Justin.

Just wanted to congratulate you on succesfully disconnecting, pissing off and/or single handedly destroying your relationships with all the people who ever stood up for you when no one else did.
Three cheers for you. How's it feel? I bet you're soaring.

You may feel as if you are in a secure spot, seeing as you still have certain people on your "side". But if you'll think back a ways, the people on your "side" are the only one's in this whole mixup who ever snuck around and played the backstabbing game with you. In a way this could be good in that you now have an entourage of fellow decievers to share your games with. It could also be bad because you are easily swayed by what others say. Obviously. And they must surely see this. Think about what that means.

You believe just about anything you hear. You don't think about whether or not the person telling you things would have a reason to hurt you or the person they're talking about.
Did you ever think that whoever said those things about Dillon talking shit about you did it because he or she was mad at Dillon and
wanted to witness repurcussions for made up actions so he wouldn't have to confront Dillon or do anything himself? Did you ever think that you were the one who was getting played?
If you hear something about a friend, someone you actually care about, if there's anyone in this world that you've ever actually cared about, the first thing any fucking regular person would do is TALK TO THE GOD DAMN FRIEND.
Did your ability to have a mature conversation die with your ability to handle anything the right way?
SO MANY PEOPLE have been there for you and listened to you and NOT BELIEVED ANY OF THE SHIT OTHERS
SAID ABOUT YOU. So many people stayed by your side when no one else did. And you failed to do the same.
This might prove that we, the ones who were at one point your real friends, were stupid in ever putting our faith in you.
Maybe we should have listened to what everyone was saying about you.
Your lack of faith in people is pathetic. And your lack of confrontational skills is just as pathetic.

I try to think of a single time in which you SUCCESFULLY confronted someone with your actual point.
Gave someone the complete and honest truth without confusing anyone. You claim to be good at this but in fact
you suck the hugest, fattest ass at it.
Usually what you do is feed what's on your mind to the friends who you know will gossip about it and wait for it to
travel along the grapevine until the person you originally wanted to hear about it finally does.
In a way, you and all your current friends are pawns to one another.
They use you and you use them. And you each decieve yourselves.

You do not take people, use them for what you need at the time and then throw them away.
Reread that sentence and tell me what it sounds like.
Does it sound to you like something an asshole would do?
MAYBE BECAUSE IT IS.
You are an asshole.
A very misguided, sad and lost asshole.
But you still are one.

We would all still be here for you if you were to come around and snap out of this bullshit state you've been in.
We know you're smart enough to know what's going on if you actually open your eyes and try to see it.
But you don't.

What you've done to Brandon, me, and numerous others is not okay.
We pretty much can't stand you for it and think that you have a lot of things coming to you.
You really fucked up.
But this was necessary.
This whole letter.
If not to make you feel like shit, to make us feel better.
Or both.
If this letter fails to hurt you, simply tell someone loud and clear, send it through the grapevine
you've become so addicted to and someone will be sent immediately to kick you squarely in the balls.

Quite sincerely,
Alaina

Becoming Inaudible

I dreamed I died.
My lungs were polluted by one of my best friends
and I could feel my blood slowing with my heartbeat
and my legs going numb and my breathing slowing,
becoming inaudible.
Something saved me.
I can't remember what, though.
And I also can't remember who I was with.

When I woke up in the morning,
I visited the guilty best friend like I do every morning.
Or at least every once in a while during the times
my friend goes away.

That dream is the first I've ever had in which harm comes to me
instead of someone else.

I used to dream of the destruction of others
and my inability to stop it.
One scared me so badly that when I woke from bed in the hotel
my father and I were staying in, the first thing I did was
walk to the door, open it and stand outside in my t-shirt and underwear
to make sure that I wasn't dreaming anymore.
I was shaking.

Video Killed The Radio Star

Music is definitely traveling swiftly on a downard slope.
The rock of this time does not include the long solos, bountiful chord variations,
applaudable stage energy or full lyrics that the legendary rock of the past had.
Songs are shorter, less complicated and conformity is rampant.
Even the strugglers against conformity are conforming to the rest of the non-conformers.

The radio dissatisfies.
Fails to satiate my thirst for something that means anything.
A select few C.D.'s tickle my pickle.
Only one artist in particular can touch my soul.



Music gets me high.
Everytime.

Every once in a while, I'll listen to the sound of silence
in order to better appreciate my next run in with music.
The sound of silence awakens the sound of music.

The Chaos Effect

I put them in his hand.
His smile is always wide and clear.
I love it when he shows it to me.
I put them in his hand.

Sometimes I wonder how I came to this place.

It's that one fork in the road that changes everything.
Life is a tree.

You start at the trunk.
Move slowly upward until you meet your first fork.
Left handed or right handed maybe.
And slowly there are more and more forks in the tree.
Like roads.
First to overcome or cower under the fear of riding the bike.
Second to keep or remove the training wheels.
To go with dad or stay with mom after the divorce.

Later branches are a joint or a cigarette.
Possibly the denial of both.
To tie one's shoe at this intersection or the next.

That's the amazing thing.
The first intersection could hold a devestating car wreck in which you are
whisked away by the flipping truck and die almost instantly.
The second intersection could involve you getting gum on the bottom of your shoe.

The butterfly effect.
The Chaos Theory.

Life is a tree.

I put them in his hand and watched him smile.
I remembered how I came to this place.
My tree is beautiful.

Sporatic Breathing

The microscopic extraterrestrial behavioral patterns of the human race are the filling in the pie.
The index finger tugging at the skin beneath the thumb nail.
The tapping foot.
The wandering eyes.
The squinting.
The upper and lower teeth drawing the skin of the cheek imbetween.
The "ahem"'s and "mhmm"'s of the man on the subway in 21D across from you and two to the left.
The sporatic breathing.
The foggy windows in the passers-by preoccupied faces.

I enjoy the tapping of these lightly textured, black, buffed keyboard keys.
The itch on my ear reminds me that my ear exists and this is how I hear the conversation across from me.
Hidden from my view are the social instincts of my peers at work.
Hidden from my view by the computer moniters.
They think they're not flirting.

We all think we're not flirting.
This is a common deception that we use against our naiive children subconciouses
as a way to keep from feeling guilty.
You can't feel guilty about something you haven't done.
Lie to yourself and you'll never know you did it.
If confronted about it, your lie will be even better because you won't think it's a lie.

I often imagine myself telling the truth about something that hasn't happened.
If it's already happened, I can't imagine it. I can see right through myself.
But if it hasn't happened and still remains a virgin situation, strictly hypothetical,
I can imagine it all in my head
and hear my answer
and I think, so this is what I sound like when I'm being honest.
Then I put myself into a lie and say the same kind of thing I said as an honest girl.
It's like practice for my next show.
Curtain rises, girl lies, girl smiles nonchalantly and bows.
Scene.

Violet

We were reclined, entwined
Like two recumbent vines
Stretching across.
Winding, winding. Finding time
In which to listen to
Gravel grinding on a sleepy
Shore.
Spreading, blooming.
Thin spiderweb veins on the skin of the sky.
Shining, shining.
Dancing slow upon the violet velvet,
In love with the night.
Looking back,
Not wanting the sun to catch up.
We were molded, melted.
Two autumn candles whispering.
Singing silent songs to windy windows
From the sill where we watched.
Gazing at distant blue,
Entrancing hue,
Our place of play before the day.
Sleeping, dreaming.
Lights in the night, streaming.
Flown from the world to shimmer with the stars.
Shining, shining.
Dancing slow among them.
In love with the silken night.
Your skin,
Velvet.
Looking back,
Praying the sun will never catch up.

The Softest Kind

You fill my soul with music.
Serenade me
Penetrate
My heart with strangeness.
New sensations.
Manipulations.
The softest kind.
I left behind
The memories from when
I was blind.

Lock me in a chamber
Where I will remember
The coldest December
Before I was yours.
Every time it pours
I'm reminded of the doors
That I can not walk through
To leave and get to you.

And in your absence,
The merciless distance
Mocks our resistance.
I'm hearing it now.
I miss the sound
Of the touch of your lips
On my fingertips.

Crouch

Crouch

I am the ribbons.
Peeled from your sadistic wall.
Stripped in stripes and torn.
Reading lines inside your eyes.
Crouching inside like beetles.