Did we all fall down?

June 30, 2009

I was listening to “Desert Song” by My Chemical Romance and that song completely renewed my love for them. I like The Black Parade and Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge, but those two albums just aren’t the same as I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love. Raw emotion is spilled into each song, and Gerard’s voice sounds amazing. He sounds angry and well… unhappy; if that’s what it takes to write a sad song then My Chem do a pretty good job. (Especially in “Early Sunsets Over Monroeville” which is definitely one of my favorites.)

Sometimes I like lying on the disgusting carpeted floor in my room. I’m either listening to music or thinking. When I heard the sound of the E minor cord on guitar I knew it could be none other than “Desert Song”. Gerard’s voice sounding deep comes in letting each word drag on. And let me just say, the word “morgue” never sounded so appealing until I heard this song. No, it isn’t just because Gerard was singing it, but he sort of romanticized death in this song. He sounded wonderfully pained if that doesn’t sound too confusing.

Well after all, we’ll lie another day
And through it all, we’ll find some other way
To carry on through cartilage and fluid
Well did you come to stare or wash away the blood?

later going on to

From the lights to the pavement
From the van to the floor
From backstage to the doctors
From the earth to the morgue,
Morgue,
Morgue,
Morgue.

There isn’t a meaning to this post, I was only sharing my opinion.

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Maybe I am bitter

June 30, 2009

I’m going to complain, so if you don’t want to hear me bitch and moan then don’t bother reading this post. Oh, and don’t bother commenting on how ‘it’s okay’, because I’m sick of seeing my face in the mirror.

My curly hair is driving me to insanity. I am trying to live with it but it just isn’t working. I don’t want my curls to be known as ‘cute’. I want to cut all my hair away. I still crave that flowy straight or wavy hair. I don’t want to have to straighten my hair like every other black woman does. Why haven’t they noticed it looks fake? To them, my hair is ‘nappy’. What the hell is that?! Even my own father doesn’t like my hair. No, he hasn’t said anything. But that’s what guys do, right? Well how come when I gave in and straightened my hair he finally said it looked nice? It’s effed up, I know. I am lucky that I actually have curly hair because some people just have fuzz (but that’s just luck because my mother has naturally straight hair while my father doesn’t).

Why must my mother keep telling me, “Love your curls, hon.” Mom, I understand you like my curls and a few other people might as well. Though, my point is if I don’t feel good about my hair then I am not going by someone else’s word. I want to feel that I’m beautiful, not just cute or pretty. Beautiful, gorgeous. Why is that so hard? To me, it’s harder to believe someone who is close to you rather than some complete stranger.

This morning I tried on a bunch of different t-shirts, tyring to find one where it was a little bit loose, yet still fitted. Let me just say, I think I need new clothes. And not just shirts, but a few pairs of shorts or even a skirt would be nice. I’m tired of walking into a store with fifty dollars and spending it all on one item. Another problem of mine is that I don’t have a whole boat load of money to spend. Some people’s parents can chip in, but money is tight right now.

Arrgh! People keep correcting my posture. They say I slump. Well, if you aren’t too pleased with how you are looking, you might do the same.
When I look in the mirror I press my cheeks close to my bones. They aren’t really what you could call fat, but my face is too damn round to have squishy cheeks. Why must those pin-thin models get that great bone structure in their face? I feel so envious, so jealous. I do know I am wasting my time being unhappy, but if I can’t have the flowy straight hair and the bony face then I suppose I will just wish and hope. Hmph.


I want to scream at the top of my lungs.

June 25, 2009

I can’t stop smiling. I want to scream and punch things like a mad woman, but I can’t. Instead, I’ll just smile and run in circles while listening to Taking Back Sunday.

Last night I said to my mother, “I would do anything to see Taking Back Sunday again.” “Well, hon, it’s over. You can’t be mad about it,” she replied. My mother had it wrong. I wasn’t mad, I was extremely sad. I wanted to have a good cry over it. Really, I should be lucky I even saw Taking Back Sunday at all. Instead, I moped about not being close to the stage or to put it this way, I couldn’t see the stage at all. All I heard was my voice next to Adam Lazzara’s voice. It was like watching a YouTube video.

I sat on the bus today, God knows how hot it was. The humidity was stiffling, and I could just barely breathe. I flipped on my phone and pulled up the interent. I immeadiately checked my email, hoping there would be something worth reading. I opened one my mother had sent me. My jaw dropped. Taking Back Sunday were coming back to Kansas City September 4th with Blink-182 and Weezer. To top that off, tickets were only twenty dollars.

I turned to my friend and grabbed her arms and shook her wildly. “GUESS WHAT?! TAKING BACK SUNDAY ARE COMING BACK TO KANSAS CITY!!!” I yelled, hopping up and down in my seat. “Phoenixx, calm down,” she said to me, but I couldn’t. My stomach was way too excited to simply calm down. I knew instantly that this was going to be a damn good bus ride home.

Nothing mattered. All I cared about at that moment were tickets. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs with joy and race up my front porch. I wanted to kick at things violently because no one knew what I was feeling. I felt amazing.

I later found out the twenty dollar tickets sold out, BUT thirty five dollar tickets were still available. So of course I bought them. Nothing matters. Though Taking Back Sunday do matter, and I want to live in the moment of their performance because I know it will be stunning.


Redhead Magnet

June 24, 2009

Today I thought would be a regular day. Wake up at 6:00 AM, go to summer school until 12:20 PM, get home at 1:10 PM, you get the idea. Instead, I was cheered up by a trip to Urban Outfitters.

I walked around the store looking for skirt since I didn’t own one. I ended up finding a skirt, a dress, a denim pair of shorts, and a “Cats” t-shirt (I used to watch that musical all the time when I was little). No, I didn’t buy all of those clothes, but I did try each of them on.

So I walked into the neatly arranged dressing rooms, topped off with Nylon Magazine. Guess what! I saw a redhead. He wasn’t really “a looker”, actually he reminded me a bit of Jeremy Davis from Paramore (look him up if you don’t know who he is!). He had red hair and a beard indeed, but what you don’t know is that he also had a nose ring.

The shorts and t-shirt just didn’t work. My legs looked strange in the shorts. Maybe it was the light, but I wasn’t in the mood to take that risk. Even with an undershirt on underneath, the t-shirt was way too long and had weird creases in it. The skirt was alright. I liked it, but I didn’t loved it; but it had pockets! I tried on the dress and fell in love. It was light weight and flowy, with thin horizontal stripes colored red, blue, and a cream shade of white. And might I say it looked fabulous with my purple converse?

I wandered the store a while longer looking for a regular rise pair of acid wash (grey and black, please!) cigarette style skinny jeans, with and ankle zipper. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find what I was looking for.
I grabbed a cute notebook which would be added to one of the various birthday items for my friend and a catalog. When I went to the register to pay, the redhead was there! I pushed my junk forward on the counter. “These catalogs are free, right?” I asked him. “Yeah,” he replied. He then added, “What if I told you they were a dollar and then you gave me a dollar?” I smiled and said, “That probably wouldn’t be very fair….” I finished, “But, I’d probably give you the dollar ’cause I’m kind of gullible.”

I now own a dress, which is a pretty rare sight. And to add to that, I will in fact wear it! Now, all I need is a Ron Weasley t-shirt to accompany my We The Kings “I Love Redheads” t-shirt.


The Sweet Guy

June 21, 2009

6/18/09

I sat in my house alone, we Sandy (who is practically mt grandmother) was there, but you get my drift. My eyelids fluttered and I took a nap for the first time this week. I remember waking up at some point and asking Sandy what day it was. I say odd things when I’m half asleep. My younger brother and two sisters were off at my actual grandparents house, so I thought I’d enjoy the quiet while it lasted.

When my mother got home I watched “Fight Club” for a little while. She then asked if I’d like to walk around the block or something. That sounded nice, and I needed something to wake me up a bit. My mom and I ventured into the fairly busy streets of Waldo. Though first we sat by a fountain.

So I did get to sit and simply think to myself. At summer school things are going in one ear and out the other because all I do is think. When I start to hear what the teacher is saying I turn to my friend Antoinette and ask, “What?!” We then shrug our shoulders and pretend to act like we know what the woman is talking about.

My mother and I looked at a coffee shop even though it closed, we checked the hours for next time. It felt weird yet relaxing to know that there weren’t any complaining or arguing little kids. For one night I was an “only child.” I skipped down the sidewalk in my new Emily The Strange tank top. (And it was appropriate for such a humid day.) I stepped into a shop called, The Sweet Guy. The place was set up neatly so everything looked cozy. They had chocolates, espressos, sorbet, and gelato. I reached into my pocket to remember I hadn’t brung any of my money.
As stupid as it may sound we walked all the way back to our house just to get money. But we also got my dad to agree to accompany us.

Back inside The Sweet Guy I sat and ate my chai tea flavored gelato. We all sat at the table peacefully. We talked about stuff like sherbert ice cream to voodoo dolls. I had a good time, and to make my night even better, a foxy redhead stepped in. I tried not to stare because he was gorgeous, so I didn’t get a great look at him. Though he was indeed “my type”. Long red hair, black t-shirt, and shorts that looked like they had once been skinny jeans. Anyways, cheers to a happy Thursday!


I Smiled

June 18, 2009

6/17/09

We sat in Dairy Queen
eating mouthfuls of our treats.
(Mine happened to be a Oreo Fudge Earthquake,
well something like that.
Yes I know, very fattening,
but I made sure to share with the rest of my siblings.)
He came and sat at the table next to us.
Big blue eyes with those long lashes
and those adorable chubby cheeks.
Blond hair and smiling.
I smiled back at him and he looked at back at all of us.
Four kids and two adults,
oh so many people.

We just sat there and smiled at each other for a while,
until my mother asked how old this cutie was.
The proud mom told us about two years old.
We then smiled some more.
His eyes big, staring in amazement.

It was soon time to leave Dairy Queen.
My stomach full,
I felt like an idiot smiling at this little boy,
but I kept grinning.
We stood up to leave and the little boy spoke,
“Bye kids.”
He made my day.


Girl of Lies

June 16, 2009

Dear Girl of Lies,
don’t lock the door,
touch my stuff,
or think about my brother.

Most importantly,
do not lay any of your fingers on my guitar.
Do not strum the strings,
you make me have to re-tune my guitar.
To put it simply,
I don’t like that.

Your arrogance is disgusting
and you love it.
I can’t believe those filthy things you say.
No, not quite vulgar,
but all of those white lies you tell.
They add up quickly.
Your hurtful words are not forgiven
nor forgotten.
I can’t believe you can sleep with the guilt
laying in your stomach, I know I couldn’t.

When you speak, I fake a smile.
I try at being nice, though you don’t understand.
You haven’t got the slightest idea how I am raised.
We are nice to each other in my house.
We don’t lie and we follow rules.
If that doesn’t work, you are spoken to.
With someone’s sharply intimidating looks,
you’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again.

Girl of Lies, I have advice,
don’t lie.