I Shattered The Mirror, But All I Saw Was Me

I told someone the truth, but I’m still lost.
I’m found in between this heaven and hell of lies.
I’m that girl built of black and white.
The girl of contradictions, the girl I’d love you to hate.
Everyone’s just another shit talker these days.

She read this. Her. And I’m glad she did. I’m happy she understands me a little more than before. Yesterday, we had this talk where it all just spilled out. I talked to her about most of my overdramatized shit. Don’t worry, you’re still my main audience of none. I’m still my only therapist, unless you count the notes  blaring out of my speakers or the words spewing from these hideous fingers.

I ran somewhere that I can’t even find.

Why do I still feel so secluded in these four walls? Didn’t I tell her all my secrets, or am I still pretending? I went to far. So far, where I’ve lost my own train of thought. Where I don’t know the location of the line; the line between lies and truth. I’m still singing this lie, though I know you’re not listening. I’m spewing out smiles without moving my lips. My fingers are melting my heart into ink.

I tried out for the solo part in A Cappella club. But this voice is just as ugly as this face and soul. I’m in the background as always. Trapped behind the smiles of my peers and my eyes. Can you look into these eyes and tell me how I feel? Because I don’t know who this face is anymore.

I lost you somewhere along the way.

You’re face was all that kept my heart beating. It was the blackness behind my eyelids. Then one day I closed my eyes, and I didn’t see you. All I saw was your lie. The mask of skin you put on for us. The mask of skin I put on for you. Every word we cursed afterwards, and every letter I erased. Do we have that much in common that we don’t know who the other is? I think we forgot what we were once. When mother was god, and relationships were an eternity away.

What happened to “when we grow older”?

“The last courtesy I give
Get the horses for your mistress
There is a cliff, with sky high peaks
Make your way to the very brim of it
Stop it from every showing
Repair the misery.”

I Shattered The Mirror, But All I Saw Was Me

I Used To Say I Didn’t Care What You Thought, Then You Told Me

Is there anyone in this world that is truly who they are? Not just another filtered song so they could get played more. If one of you people out there can actually tell me that you are exactly who you are, inside and out, I’ll praise you, worship your existence, and ask you how.

How do you stay true to yourself when this whole world is too truthful for it’s own good?

Everyone says exactly what they think they want, “the truth”. But is truth really even what truth is supposed to be anymore? I mean, most of us just tell lies to each other to please the other when internally we’re saying exactly what you think. Maybe if I weren’t so weak, I could be one of the people who actually tell the truth and can hear the pure, unfiltered truth. But I can’t.

Everyone tells me what they think and then? I just come onto this very site to say how they’ve all done me wrong; how every single one is horrible; how maybe one day I’ll be up to their standards. But no. Just no.

It’s impossible for me to ever be at there standards, while staying myself. I can’t, I try to just say to myself that I don’t need their approval like I tell all my friends. But I lie, another one of my flaws that everyone can see right to. I want my mom to approve of me being who I am; love me for being this ugly, horrible, lower that imperfect, lower than human, little girl that I truly am.

Why can’t I be her? You know what I mean, that perfect girl that we lie to ourselves about and say doesn’t exist. But I’ve seen her. She actually goes to my school. Her and everyone of her perfect clones of friends. And me, I’m just that girl that can’t even buy a simple necklace that my mom approves of. It’s either too “punk” or “gothic” or it’s simply not up to par. Well, what am I supposed to do besides look disappointed when the one necklace I’ve been dreaming of getting for my bithday for around a year just isn’t good enough, just like me. I can’t help it if my taste doesn’t match. And I’m sorry if I can’t just “turn that frown upsidedown” and fake a smile anymore.

Why can’t she just respect my personal choice? Or at least respect it for a brief moment for my birthday? It would make another year easier. But oh no, life isn’t life if we were all happy. Is it wrong for me to feel so unappreciated? Maybe it’s just the fucked up emo bitch in me, but I feel like everyone in my life is just waiting for me to die. They’re all just waiting for me to disappear so they won’t ever have to hear a complaint from me or put up with my constant neediness. Well, I’ll apologize again for existing. For you not getting your perfect clone of your first perfect daughter. No, you didn’t get her sister. You got a failure, a daughter you wish you’d have known you were going to have. So you could’ve just had an abortion instead.

Don’t you see now? The ugliness in me. The ugliness no one should have to weigh down their soul other than me.

It’s just me;; Just me like always, trapped inside this mind of mine.

“And baby don’t follow their lead
‘Cause you’ll never know
Just how the story ends, or how the story goes
And you are so confused
And baby it’s just like you
To say anything else.”

I Used To Say I Didn’t Care What You Thought, Then You Told Me

Built Me To Fake A Smile&&Built You To Break It Down

Okay, so school actually just started this week. Nothing’s really too bad. My spanish teacher is probably now borderline homicidal due to our lack of intelligence. But you know, that’s what happens when you teach my class! I have to wake up at godly hours in the morning for tomorrow just because my school’s going to be on one of the early morning talk shows. How can I wake up at five o’ clock in the morning if I go to sleep at four o’ clock. Goddd, retardos! For some reason I have become completely infatuated with that word. Retardos… hahaha, wow.

So, how was your week? If anyone actually reads that without me nagging to them on AIM about reading my rants because no one gives a shit about my like, I am nearly certain the horsemen will begin their ride from the sky and thunder will strike the Earth; therefore ending all existance of humans. Anyway, for once I’m not in that much of a fucked up, PMS-ish, emo mood today. I do have a bit of a rant, as always. But it’s just a baby rant, so don’t run away just yet.

Well, my friend and I had a little challenge last night. She said that she thinks it’s impossible for me to write a something bad. So, I wrote her a bad poem… and she liked it! And therefore, I am holding a poll to convince her it’s horrible.

Cue the poem…

[No title]
Car wash
For Trees

Flush a toilet
It goes flush
Can’t find a toilet
Pee in a bush
Or on a Bush works too.


So, wasn’t it dreadful? Pathetic? A sad excuse for a poem? Well, so far I have: 2 votes for good;; 1 vote for bad.

Anyway, now to close up this entry… drum roll, por favor! [See I don’t know what my Spanish teacher is talking about! I can sooooo speak Spanish!] Cue lights, camera… RANT! Remember, I’ll give you a bit of a vacation without my bitching with my baby rant.

Well, I’ve just gotten so annoyed with my friend. I mean, her boyfriend is a complete jerk to her and she just keeps forgiving him and believing him. Helloooo! He’s not even that great of a liar. Maybe I’m just completely insensitive and a monster inside-and-out, but I just don’t see any of it. Worst of all? This case of cooties has spread into an epidemic! My best friend has even caught it! I guess I’m just jealous in a weird, screwwed up way. Not jealous of who they have, just of what. I mean, I had one completely head-over-heels crush. That was probably the worst time in my life. The starry-eyes and the cliche questioning of, “Does he like me?”, “Am I good enough?” and all that complete crap. Maybe I’m just bitter, but that hurt like hell when I looked into the eyes and finally realized. No, you’re NOT good enough for him. No, you’re NOT who he likes. No, he does NOT think you’re pretty. And no, he’s NOT at all who you believe and wish he was.

I guess it’s just not even worth it all. I will admit that maybe deep down inside I still do miss those bats in my stomache everytime I saw him online; and I guess from time to time I still do miss feeling like maybe in some weird, impossible twist of fate… he might just like me back. That little school girl feeling made me feel so tall and great that the fall out [of love] was worse than physically falling. Love just isn’t worth the effort anymore. If everyone was really meant for that happy ending, wouldn’t I have a Prince Charming too? Or am I just that disgusting to cause him to run away from his own Damsel in Distress?

Make believe places where the good girl gets her perfect Sixteen Candles wish will push you off that suicidal diving-board cliff.

“I’ve been jumping from the tops of buildings
For the thrill of the fall ignoring sound advice
And any thought of consequence
My bones have shattered
My pride is shattered
And in the midst of this self inflicted pain
I can see my beautiful rescue

I’m falling more in love with every single word I withhold
I’m falling more in love with every single word you say
I’m falling head over heals for you.”

Built Me To Fake A Smile&&Built You To Break It Down

If You Were You… I’m Sure I Would Hate You.

Well, I actually just got back from the retreat for school. It was pretty nice. No hairs on the bed or pillows; the food wasn’t poisoned; a bathroom for our room; and of course nice roomates are a plus too. Oh and I actually achieved a goal of writing a poem/song that didn’t start, end, or have any death in it! It’s called, Just The Right Dose (All I Want To Hear). I know, i know you’re wondering if I’m so happy what could I possibly have to rant about ALREADY?

Have you ever felt like you mean absolutely nothing to your friends? Like the only reason they talk to you is because they’re supposed to since they’re your friends. But it shouldn’t be a duty to talk or be friends with someone, should it? Tell me I’m being overdramatic; tell me something I don’t expect.

But why is it I feel like I’m just the back-up listener, if anything to them at all? It’s like if they need help, they come to me because I’m the one who doesn’t get in trouble and will actually care. And then once someone says, “okay, I guess I’ll listen.” I’m dumped faster than the moldy sushi you dropped under the table three months ago?

I thought best friends meant “I’ll be here for you, always.” I guess it’s more like, pretend best friends means “I’ll say I’m here, but you weren’t ever worth shit to me.” Is that just the unsaid, obvious definition when someone says, “you’re my best friend”? What happened to the fine line between best friends and friends? What happened to recognizing when someone if just a friend, not a best friend? Maybe it’s just the expectation that anyone you talk to thinks of you as their “best friend” that has shielded the ability to differ the two. This has everyone trying to keep there friends and therefore pretending to be a best friend by saying what they think they should say. I guess I am at fault for this too. Faking a smile for their face and saying I will always agree.

Where did the truth go? I remember just two years ago I was saying to my “best friend” that I hated her for always insulting me and putting me down infront of others to make her look cool and raise her confidence. I mean, look what happened to mine! But now it brings the fact that I’m always expected to just forgive her after a day or two. What if I’m not ready to just forget all the damage she’s done to me? What if I want What if I need to stay bitter? Don’t I deserve that for everytime she said my shirt made me look fat, for everytime she said my teeth were yellow, for the times she called me “snake lips” because my lips were chapped and peeling?

They say words can only hurt you if you let them, but I’m not strong. And I won’t say I am. I can’t just turn my head and ignore everytime she started a mock-fest about me. It’s stings. No, it doesn’t just sting. It hurts like a fucking bitch.

Maybe it’s good she lies to me and badly pretends to be my best friend, but why do I have to continue to act like an actual best friend?! Where did all the truly nice people go? Why do they always turn out hating me? Am I that horrible?

Empty promises of hearts and wonderland, I see through you; no, I won’t run with you.

“You are weathered and worn
Your petals soft and torn
The fading color
You have bent your shoulders
To hold the weight of the world
You will surely shatter.”

If You Were You… I’m Sure I Would Hate You.