Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
The Beautiful People
Make me a hero again,
Adorn me with capes and medals and then,
send me off to a diffrent land,
where people will need me once again.
Create me anew, and make me clay,
where i can bake in the sun and lay,
turn back again to oragange tan,
create to where i began.
Form me first, to a mother new,
Take my sleep for a baby in blue,
and enlarge my breast,
to sheild my heart,
to have it take with child's stride in parts.
And transform me then,
to something diffrent and,
take me from my huamn form.
Dress me up, and dress me down,
and take me and my forlorn.
Poke at my sides,
as i pretend to die,
and get it all down in writing.
Film it,
document it.
capture it in pictures.
put it on a magazine, all for the readers.
Just please don't let me be human.
Don't let me be human.
And never let me be happy.
Adorn me with capes and medals and then,
send me off to a diffrent land,
where people will need me once again.
Create me anew, and make me clay,
where i can bake in the sun and lay,
turn back again to oragange tan,
create to where i began.
Form me first, to a mother new,
Take my sleep for a baby in blue,
and enlarge my breast,
to sheild my heart,
to have it take with child's stride in parts.
And transform me then,
to something diffrent and,
take me from my huamn form.
Dress me up, and dress me down,
and take me and my forlorn.
Poke at my sides,
as i pretend to die,
and get it all down in writing.
Film it,
document it.
capture it in pictures.
put it on a magazine, all for the readers.
Just please don't let me be human.
Don't let me be human.
And never let me be happy.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Little Girls
It's just like the dentist.
Just relax.
It hurts for a little it, but then the pain goes away and everything is normal.
Maybe they'll even give you a sticker for beeing a good girl.
A very, good little girl.
And then maybe you won't have to come back again.
Becasue they fixed you good.
And maybe it's like school.
You have to go through several hours of torture,
but in the end its all for the better.
And when your bad, and not good,
you get punished.
Severly.
But if your good you don't ever have to go back,
because they teach you good.
But maybe it's like riding a bike.
It hurts to keep going,
but you get stronger when you push over the pain.
And you get to the top of the hill and smile.
But sometimes you fall and skin your knees
and lose a tooth,
and paint the cement red.
But if your good you can ride over the hills and down into the valies
and over mountians and under trenches.
Because someone taught you good.
But maybe it's like...maybe it's like life.
Un-sure of what is beyond the next door,
and un-easy with leaving where you are.
un-certained of the train's destination,
but you go on anyway.
And maybe you'll regret the choicese you've made.
But you won't if someon eloved you good.
Little girls are good.
Suger, spice everything nice.
But as we progress through age, and little girls are baked into young ladies... the recipe changes.
Young women are
sugar, spice, everything nice,
self hatred, self neglagted, falsifier, liar, actor, procrastonator, loyal, gullible, sour, blonde food dyre, and blue eye contacts. A push bra or two, and just a pinch of supression.
And everyone always goes by the recepie.
and eveyone is made into gingerbread copies,
and everyone loves the tate.
the taste of fake.
Little girls aren't made this way.
But with enoguh minipulation we can make them.
Just relax.
It hurts for a little it, but then the pain goes away and everything is normal.
Maybe they'll even give you a sticker for beeing a good girl.
A very, good little girl.
And then maybe you won't have to come back again.
Becasue they fixed you good.
And maybe it's like school.
You have to go through several hours of torture,
but in the end its all for the better.
And when your bad, and not good,
you get punished.
Severly.
But if your good you don't ever have to go back,
because they teach you good.
But maybe it's like riding a bike.
It hurts to keep going,
but you get stronger when you push over the pain.
And you get to the top of the hill and smile.
But sometimes you fall and skin your knees
and lose a tooth,
and paint the cement red.
But if your good you can ride over the hills and down into the valies
and over mountians and under trenches.
Because someone taught you good.
But maybe it's like...maybe it's like life.
Un-sure of what is beyond the next door,
and un-easy with leaving where you are.
un-certained of the train's destination,
but you go on anyway.
And maybe you'll regret the choicese you've made.
But you won't if someon eloved you good.
Little girls are good.
Suger, spice everything nice.
But as we progress through age, and little girls are baked into young ladies... the recipe changes.
Young women are
sugar, spice, everything nice,
self hatred, self neglagted, falsifier, liar, actor, procrastonator, loyal, gullible, sour, blonde food dyre, and blue eye contacts. A push bra or two, and just a pinch of supression.
And everyone always goes by the recepie.
and eveyone is made into gingerbread copies,
and everyone loves the tate.
the taste of fake.
Little girls aren't made this way.
But with enoguh minipulation we can make them.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Pretty People: Sal and Jessica (I am we)
It's hard to give someone one person when your two. And it’s hard to give them both and have them be afraid.
It's hard enough being the girl that's too tall. Too dorky. Too obsessed with Pokemon and portal. It's hard to be "that" girl, that gets her backpack stolen and sits alone at lunch, plus or minus a few equally awkward friends.
But it's really heard, to be that girl…and someone else deep inside.
Sometimes she comes out to play.
All the time actually.
She is better than the girl I am. Meek, timid, afraid of social norms Jessica.
Her name is Sal.
No not short for Sally, just Sal. She doesn't need nick-names or labels to define her like I do.
She's very cold. Tundra cold. From her skin to her heart and down to her toes.
But yet, she is kind to me...sometimes.
She always speaks her mind, when I silence mine.
And she fights for what she believes in and argues until she wins, while I sit and hide behind her.
And she sometimes fights me.
"Why aren't you drawing? If you don't draw, then I can't write!"
"What's wrong with you!"
"LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!!!!"
But sometimes she's silent.
...
And it scares me more than when she talks.
But no matter what she'll always be my friend.
She's been my friend since we were both seven.
There's a difference between imaginary friends, and who you really are.
Who you want to be.
And who you are when no one's looking.
That's the problem though: Sal comes out when people are looking. Sal comes when people aren't.
I can't even tell who I am anymore.
Sal...
Jessica...
No one.
But I don’t hate her for taking over me sometimes...
I love her, maybe.
No, wait...
I can't deplete her from my mind.
She controls that part of me maybe.
Because I can't bring myself to think about it sometimes.
It's like Frankenstein.
No that she's a monster.
Please don't tell her that she's a monster.
That I am a monster.
But like Frankenstein.
We create something that is made for our own personal needs, and then it develops feelings, and needs, and wants, and dreams...and it gets out of hand...and you need to silence it, but you can't.
Sometimes I'm the Frankenstein.
No one understands us.
No one gets us.
I wish it were just her.
Maybe.
She's strong.
When she writes she can move boulders,
And when she works hard she can move mountains!
She can create universes...
Maybe even more personalities.
And then I want to be myself again.
Because she knows everything and I don't. And I don't know what's worse: To know everything and be left disappointed because there is nothing really out there for you to continue on for, or to not know anything and be in the dark. To be behind the mask of a girl who is a little insane and pulling all the strings.
It's like hell.
Sometimes.
Sal pretends like she is me, that she really is a person outside of me
And I don't exist at all.
And maybe that's for the best.
But sometimes...sometimes its like heaven.
Heaven when she doesn't talk as much, or as loud.
And I can be a person. Maybe outside of Sal.
That she doesn't exist at all.
And maybe that's for the best too.
Because in a way it's dark and light and fuzzy all around the edges.
I mean...
Are there more?
Pretty people are made of Ugly experiences.
I am not one of those people.
I am Sal.
I am Jessica.
I am...She is…We are...
We are not what you see.
I am we.
Jessica and Sal. 15 years old. January 9th 2012.
It's hard enough being the girl that's too tall. Too dorky. Too obsessed with Pokemon and portal. It's hard to be "that" girl, that gets her backpack stolen and sits alone at lunch, plus or minus a few equally awkward friends.
But it's really heard, to be that girl…and someone else deep inside.
Sometimes she comes out to play.
All the time actually.
She is better than the girl I am. Meek, timid, afraid of social norms Jessica.
Her name is Sal.
No not short for Sally, just Sal. She doesn't need nick-names or labels to define her like I do.
She's very cold. Tundra cold. From her skin to her heart and down to her toes.
But yet, she is kind to me...sometimes.
She always speaks her mind, when I silence mine.
And she fights for what she believes in and argues until she wins, while I sit and hide behind her.
And she sometimes fights me.
"Why aren't you drawing? If you don't draw, then I can't write!"
"What's wrong with you!"
"LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!!!!"
But sometimes she's silent.
...
And it scares me more than when she talks.
But no matter what she'll always be my friend.
She's been my friend since we were both seven.
There's a difference between imaginary friends, and who you really are.
Who you want to be.
And who you are when no one's looking.
That's the problem though: Sal comes out when people are looking. Sal comes when people aren't.
I can't even tell who I am anymore.
Sal...
Jessica...
No one.
But I don’t hate her for taking over me sometimes...
I love her, maybe.
No, wait...
I can't deplete her from my mind.
She controls that part of me maybe.
Because I can't bring myself to think about it sometimes.
It's like Frankenstein.
No that she's a monster.
Please don't tell her that she's a monster.
That I am a monster.
But like Frankenstein.
We create something that is made for our own personal needs, and then it develops feelings, and needs, and wants, and dreams...and it gets out of hand...and you need to silence it, but you can't.
Sometimes I'm the Frankenstein.
No one understands us.
No one gets us.
I wish it were just her.
Maybe.
She's strong.
When she writes she can move boulders,
And when she works hard she can move mountains!
She can create universes...
Maybe even more personalities.
And then I want to be myself again.
Because she knows everything and I don't. And I don't know what's worse: To know everything and be left disappointed because there is nothing really out there for you to continue on for, or to not know anything and be in the dark. To be behind the mask of a girl who is a little insane and pulling all the strings.
It's like hell.
Sometimes.
Sal pretends like she is me, that she really is a person outside of me
And I don't exist at all.
And maybe that's for the best.
But sometimes...sometimes its like heaven.
Heaven when she doesn't talk as much, or as loud.
And I can be a person. Maybe outside of Sal.
That she doesn't exist at all.
And maybe that's for the best too.
Because in a way it's dark and light and fuzzy all around the edges.
I mean...
Are there more?
Pretty people are made of Ugly experiences.
I am not one of those people.
I am Sal.
I am Jessica.
I am...She is…We are...
We are not what you see.
I am we.
Jessica and Sal. 15 years old. January 9th 2012.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Young children
A very young boy,
and an even younger girl,
Don't know that life is like
chewing on a string of pearls.
They're so innocent,
so damn nieve,
That we tell them lies,
and raise them blind.
We say "what you wish,
is what you'll recieve".
We leave out the work
and we take away need for dreams.
We give them their desires,
without hesitation,
we sing a song of lies,
with a beautiful presentation.
They'll never know...no.
That he'll grow up and lose his hair,
she'll stop eating, but he won't care.
After her nine months of being fat,
she said she had enoguh of that.
He'll live in a cubical,
his wife will be minimal,
and smiles will be no existant.
A young boy,
an even younger girl,
don't know what the world
is really about to do.
to them.
to me.
to you.
and an even younger girl,
Don't know that life is like
chewing on a string of pearls.
They're so innocent,
so damn nieve,
That we tell them lies,
and raise them blind.
We say "what you wish,
is what you'll recieve".
We leave out the work
and we take away need for dreams.
We give them their desires,
without hesitation,
we sing a song of lies,
with a beautiful presentation.
They'll never know...no.
That he'll grow up and lose his hair,
she'll stop eating, but he won't care.
After her nine months of being fat,
she said she had enoguh of that.
He'll live in a cubical,
his wife will be minimal,
and smiles will be no existant.
A young boy,
an even younger girl,
don't know what the world
is really about to do.
to them.
to me.
to you.
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