i want to slit my wrists but i don’t know how to do it without dying , and if you die , what’s the point ? because then you can’t watch them bleed . life is so fucking beautiful sometimes , but the kind of beautiful that’s sometimes unreal and grotesque , like a supermodel who deprived herself of one too many meals or a painting that’s been replicated one time too many and is grainy and faded with age and artificiality . it’s ironic and wonderful and hideously delightful , and it all depends how wasted you are if you want to see reality at its finest . i’m looking for someone right now , but i don’t know who . or i know who , but i don’t know why , because the worst kind of rejection is the one where you have no plea bargain , and nobody cares to hear you argue your case , so you stand before the judge , hands dropped to your sides in a show of submission before anybody who cares to try and pin the blame on you . and you shout “I’m innocent!” but they already have you painted in their minds as the guilty party , the defendant , and the condescending smiles irritate you to tears that they see as an admission of remorse . those damn condescending smiles . the freezing hot smiles , like when you touch a stove and for a minute you begin to wonder why something that boils water can be so cold , until your reflexes kick in with jarring effect and you pull your hand away and remind yourself to never look in that direction again .

it’s time to start anew . i’ll throw out the past , delete these feelings from my memory , and maybe some others that i don’t particularly like . i don’t really know why i bother , but i also don’t know why i bother trying to work them out instead of just ignoring them , because i know it never works out. and while we’re on this topic , i don’t know why you bother trying . you’re nothing more to me than an example of what not to become , along with most of the people that used to mean something to me . this past year has more been a lesson in loss , with some betrayal thrown in for added effect . right now i’m too overwhelmed with everything to start to fix what’s wrong , so ... that’s it . it’s gone . it’s not going to bother me when people call me things or say i’m doing things that I’m not , because confronting multiple people is too big a task to take on . it’s not going to bother me when i’m not really home alone but i may as well be . i'll shut my eyes to infidelity and my ears to derision , because they’re both things that i don’t deserve . from now on , i’ll focus more on what makes me happy instead of what makes me angry , and i’ll realize that speculation is bound to happen , even when i’ve done all i can to prevent it , and that i’ll be put down for attempts at consolation no matter what it is i’m saying . so i don’t know . i don’t know what the different is between my poetry and my prose anymore , and i’m not really trying to classify it , so i don’t ... care , really . i’m not giving up . i’m not giving in . i’m just giving everybody what i can , and trying to keep myself as happy as i try to keep everybody around me . we’ll see what happens .

this road goes on for miles and miles , and i thought it was only 1500 feet to the park , but this is way longer . the scenery fades behind me ( fades to black ) and i watch through my rearview mirror ( watching my world disappear ) . and i’m driving and driving and driving and i’m late like always but i’m carefree as fuck , thinking , what’s five minutes more ? and i wish you were here so i could hold your hand because it’s not as big a deal as it seems sometimes , at least not right now . so then i start to realize that i’m writing in run-ons , and i hate run-ons , but i kind of like writing this because it is so representative of the mood i’m in and these thoughts that don’t stop . my head is spinning , but damn , it’s beautiful , and my tangled hair is the last thing on my mind tonight because tonight , i’m letting it all go . you know ? i’m done with dealing with shit , because you’re only young once , why all the drama ? just take my hand , because it’s not the approval i’m after . it’s all you , baby . i just want to roll the windows down because you like it just as much as i do and drive for miles and miles … or maybe just the 1500 feet to the park , so we can sit like we used to and forget all our worries because when i’m with you , they all disappear . if i had that effect on you , you’d never want to leave me , so i arm myself with distractions and turn this car around . after all , ten minutes is nothing . nobody will mind , and i can start this night off right .

WHOOOO IT'S FOURRRRR TWENTYYYYY !
he said he didn’t like them , but i told him they were the most beautiful eyes i’d ever seen . i always used to stare into them , switching lanes unintentionally because i was focused on the passenger seat , singing lyrics to early 90’s songs on the mix cd we both had a copy of ( and so did the following people : … ) . he had that thing with his eyes , and i with my hands , but he never hesitated for one second to turn and look at me , and never blinked when he did , so as to not lose that connection we felt ( i got to have faith , the faith , the faith ) .they were plain brown … shit brown … but it wasn’t the color that made them ( or him ) beautiful . when you looked into them , you could see the tortured emotion that was never expressed in the indifferent shrugs and the dissatisfaction in sitting on couches alone . you could see years of built up repression ; the tears that never made it down those cheeks , the tight fists never thrown , the outstretched arms that remained at his side , hands in pockets , instead of reaching out for her ( whoever she was ) . sometimes i felt like i knew him , but i always knew i probably never truly would .

susalex.
dear journal,
alex has been really cool today . if i told you this was killing me , would you stop ? go go gadget arms . i want to taste your flesh . i have eaten large amounts of chocolate since 12:24 last night . it's not like we finish each others' sentences . TOENAILS . hi kids , we're home early . i'm drunk . not SO drunk , just drunk , times 100,000 . tom dancing and singing (you gotta work it) . hearrrrrrrrt . 1464 consecutive hours of hanging out , six of which , every day , were on the telephone . stop raping my journal . susan = books . it sucks cock . george michael's faith . swimming to the deerfield boat (are we just kidding ?) . free gas . stone cold strawberry milkshakes . marriage may 3, 2003 . HAPPY 420 2003 !!!! credit card ? you got it ! it's the faaaather . what a nice leg . love ice i mmmm cream . DANCE BREAK . QUADRAPALEGIC DANCE BREAK . i wish mr . fagen shared your enthusiasm for dancing . EVER !!!!! hi painter . stepmom . janitor . HUGE COCK . you always know how to make me smile . stop slobbering on me . crazy / beautiful . it's impossible to have too many inside jokes . NOOOOOO ! aleaf , because you were named after ... a leaf . pull my hair (ooh baby) . why don't you have hipbones ? my favorite book is comic books . WATER . greeyelloRED. DON'T YOU HATE PANTS ? huuuuuuuuh . what about public schools ? what ABOUT public schools ? HURRICANE . let's cut off our legs . NOTHING CAN STOP US THEN (except stairs) . mmm free sunglasses . mr . benavides (best joke ever) . donuts ... i've been sidetracked . you missed my mouth completely ... you obviously don't know what you're doing . i can take a hint .

she's the one that nobody wants and nobody wants to be .
the lonely poet , the lovely disaster ,
the beautifully tragic , beautiful manic
depressed , suddenly smiling wonder .
the one who'll take your breath away ,
day after day ,
until she takes her own .
she's the one nobody can forget until the day she's gone ,
when everybody will
weep over lunch ,
mourn over dinner ,
and have moved on before they have said their good nights .
weaving in and out of crowds ,
weaving stories and casting spells ,
mysteriously cold ,
but heartfelt if you don't look too close .
that's the way she works .
keeping her distance to allow you to admire her from afar ,
believe what she shows you ,
unquestioningly accept the lies and removed deceit .
don't blink , though ,
because you'd hate to miss her

good-bye .

you stupid fucking cunt . i haven’t even opened my mouth yet and already , you’re turning with spiteful whispers for things you don’t know about . sometimes i let my mind wander and i wonder what you would do if i walked up to you and stabbed you ( in the back , to throw a little poetic justice in ) . i wonder if you’d still sit there , smirking , saying things you know i’ll hear about or hear myself because i can see you trying to glance at me without letting me see you . utter something hateful as your last dying words . i don’t think you would be so strong without your cheerleaders at your side , encouraging your slight smile , and those harsh words you never seemed incapable of expressing . you are nothing anymore . don’t you understand ? count your blessings , and you’ll still have enough fingers left over to count the times you’ve turned on me . then when you turn it all around , backtrack , to pick up the things you’ve abandoned in your urgency to dispose of all that means nothing to you , you’ll realize it’s gone . scattered by the wind , or perhaps by your careless actions that also mean nothing to you . maybe that’s when the gravity of what you’ve done will hit you . when you realize you have nothing to care about anymore .

punches are being thrown

right                    and                    left

until the only way out is to















sink to the floor

                         front row center

crouched, hands covered faces

to protect the only i

dentifying		feature to others

and when the Saints come marching in,

you’ll slipinlineunnoticedtoblendin

w i p i n g o f f 

the Sinful lipstick that was always too crimson

( blood red even )

to match the stains on your hands

from instigating fights and blaming it on other

from pouncing when backs are turned



and t h r o w i n g the 

blade into the bushes

instead of into backs for once.

after night after night of thinking about it , i think i've realized why it's so hard to let you go . it's not me - it's you . you make every girl feel so beautiful , so loved , so desired , that when that's not how you see them anymore , that's what they're used to . i can't really fall asleep without calling you anymore . even if you're not saying those same sweet words , your voice still triggers memories of days when you were . you really know how to treat a girl . love 'em and leave 'em , right ? except you should really work on the "leaving them" part . somehow you can't let go either . you need somebody to love , somebody to care for , because that's what you know how to do , and do well . then you chase them , after weeks of fighting , and they come back to you . but it's never quite the same after the first time around . then one day it ends . you either find someone new or come to terms with yourself and ... that's it . and you leave them . you leave them with midnight phone calls , trying to find deeper meaning in "sweet dreams", or with candles that can never again be looked at , much less lit , without evoking a soft , vague longing for this intangible quality that can never be regained . or , worse still , you leave them wanting you when they know they shouldn't , so they fulfill their unmet needs with scribbles at 2 a.m. on a wrinkled piece of notebook paper torn out of a history notebook , wishing that the paper would belong in there , in history , and it would take weeks of studying before they could begin to remember any of the tragic details . but they can . without so much as glancing at this once-white sheet , now covered , front and back , in blue words and cross-outs where words failed to meet poetic standards . they know which syllable , exactly , that your voice faltered on , and the last word they were able to utter straight-faced before they began to give in to the stream of tears cutting off the stream of bitter , hurt words they had rehearsed the entire three mile drive to your apartment . they know which red light they almost ran because that was where the bomb was dropped on them , and the make , model , and color of the car they almost hit turning into your neighborhood , anxious to get out the words they had thrown together and memorized in an attempt to get them all out tearless , standing strong and unaffected in front of you , with those faded numbers on your door as a focal point in the background . they'd recognize the scent of the perfume of the woman that walked by as they knocked on your door , or the color t-shirt of the little boy following behind her . in-CRE-dibly . again . palmetto and lyons . gold 2002 nissan altima . 120 . ralph lauren "romance" (how's that for irony ?) . dark blue with dark orange stains on it from the popsible in their hand . fuck you .

Award winning poetry . haha .
The topic was unity :

Untie the bonds tightly wrapped around them.
Binding ropes, shackles and chaines,
All carefully, deliberately knotted, word for word.
In sickness (but I booked this business trip months ago)
And in health (you watch them, I'll watch the game),
Till death do they part, averting their eyes,
Avoiding the other woman in their bedroom.
It's not for them that they remain one,
But for their three perfect, innocent, wide-eyed excuses.
They live their life blink by blink,
Teaching their most precious possessions not of unconditional love,
But of the black contract that ruined her life,
Unifying the better and the worse,
(the latter more prominent),
In a glowing example of society's demise.

The sunlight reflecting off her chocolate hair gave it a hint of gold; natural highlights that she despised. He lifted a hand and brushed her hair out of her face, and as she smiled, leaned in and lightly kissed her forehead. “You’re the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispered, and she couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re going to be late, though. Can I see you tomorrow?” he asked. She agreed, and they parted with outstretched hands and airborne kisses, like they always did; grasping for each other as they walked each step in opposite directions. She, headed for home before she was discovered to not be in her room, and he, to places she’d never even think he would be going. He never quite knew how observant she was. He never knew she realized that a different song played when he was on the phone or when he just didn’t hear it ring, and his shower excuse soon became as flimsy as his grasp on her hand as she turned to leave. She began averting her eyes when he tried to look into them, even though he never read her as well as he prided himself on being able to, while her mind brewed feverishly with ideas under her composed exterior. Her eyes became dull as she began to accept what she knew to be true, and she lost a little piece of herself every time he told her he loved her. It never rang quite true. The resounding echo always carried an off-key note, while the perfume lingered in the air, never smelling quite as sweet to her as to him. They smiled, they laughed, but the connection they had was lost. She saw it through, denying it to others, and analyzing every sentence, every word, every syllable he uttered. She saw it in his accented goodbyes when he would hang up the phone because she was going to bed and he was … not tired yet. They never recaptured that glow they used to emit, the puppy-love period they had not even begun to tap. Often, friends would blink twice when seeing them together, forgetting they were a couple, and whisper furiously behind turned backs; behind her back. Slowly, while she saw her life crumbling but relinquished her ability to care, her hair lost the shine achieved with sun, and she became grateful. Misrepresentation grew tiring, and the dismal smile never quite matched the glittering hair. Actions became mechanical, and the love made was never quite love, nor had it ever been. Her sense of living through this deteriorated, leaving her with a sense of inadequacy and loneliness. She stayed. Her reason was simple, although nobody understood her logic. She stayed because she was happier living a lie than she would have been facing the truth.

oh man . if you know me , this journal should reflect my mood . I DROVE AN ESCALADE TODAY . IT WAS AMAZING . i was in a park , driving the car of my dreams , with a really good looking boy at my side (even if he wears shorts shorter than my skirt ...) . and i picked up like seven boys even if i couldn't talk to them because i was driving a boy's car who was sitting next to me . oh my God . go test drive an escalade . you will be amazed at how pathetic and horrible your own car is in comparison , even though i love my soda bottle car . i think i am changing the name from the reefermobile to the cokemobile because even though i don't do coke haha , there is a coke bottle attached to my car . plus it's close enough to reefermobile . anyway , freakin escalades are amazing . they come with BUTLERS and i am not exaggerating . oh man . i like died . amazing .

*~even though the engine was a little shaky and the gasoline needle was below empty , i had everything i needed to keep me going sitting in the seat next to me , keeping me from driving my usual arm-out-the-window , seat-back , pimped-out style . the wind rushing in the open window had my hair flying all over , and nearly drowned out the ‘i want to love you and treat you right’ that was playing , and i wanted to shut the windows and turn it up until i blew my last speaker and take your hands and just make you realize that there is logic behind the order of the songs on the mix cds and the songs that are playing when you’re in my car and the songs on in the background when i'm expecting a call from you . just pay a little closer attention . maybe if you weren’t so focused on kissing my forehead and cheek and clavicle , you’d catch a few of the subtle hints and i wouldn’t have to come right out and say things . but come on . can i really complain ?~*

i don’t think you understand the extent to which i’m mackin it / driving with the seat back and takin a black ass and slappin it /
i keep my phone on silent because the ring was makin me crazy / and i meet so many hot boys that my memory’s becoming hazy /
you may think i’m lazy / but i just don’t give a shit /
and you may want to get with me , but i’m not turning tricks /
so get back in your caprice or drive away in your cadillac / because to get with me , you have to have a little more than all of that /
get a couple more houses , but don’t bother if you’re not black / and realize that once i’m gone , i’m never coming back /
i have too many options to bother with you if you’re poor / and understand that less than a hundred grand and i’ll be walking out the door / so vacation to las vegas or go and sell some drugs / because i give a little extra points if you’re black and you’re a thug /
and all you stupid white boys with your army haircuts and tight pants / get back in your mercedes and leave the club , cause you can’t dance / but all the rest of you , if you meet the requirements / leave me a message and maybe i’ll call you cause i’m finished with my rant .


hahahaha . i loooove black boys . <33

** a tribe called quest - 1nce again , the aphrodite remix **


hey , yo , i got to put some action on paper . make sure the verses jump up and spread out like the raver . the only tip i got for a waiter is watch the doorknob , hit me where the dirty dog should have bit me . that was my train of thought , but for so long i fought , now i'm at a level supreme to the devil , so turn up the bass and lay low on the treble , we be the real MC's , and you dead , bring the shovel . revitalize , the vital Tribe , the ladies sweat the style like the squirrels sweat the nuts . you know a fella's good for the moola , don't smoke no woola , read the name , call me slick tip the ruler .

this is the year that i come in and just devastate . my style is great , ask your peoples , can i dominate ? my rhymes are harder than last night's erection . don't play me close, i'll have this mic up in your rear section . my shit is lovely simply meaning that my joint is tight , amping up the mic , making sure production's tight . sometimes i might catch a severe case of writer's block , but by the end of the day you'll be on my jock . my name's malik , my hobby's putting MC's to the test , and if you front i'll put my foot up in your friggin chest . freestyle fanatic, and never will it ever stop . your crew is loose, you might just want to call the cops .

mmm i am sooo excited . merry christmas to me . hahaha <33