Dad, please ask me questions.

If you really knew me, you would know you have no idea who I really am.
You would know I like Jack Nicholson enough to risk my eternal glory.
I don't watch rated-R movies to upset you, there's just something about the mans face.
Sorry, Brody Berry is not my type and sometimes I stutter.
Believe it or not, I respect what you say.
I look up to you enough to know you are starting to get gray hair and sometimes you get sad.
We both do.
You hate moms job as much as I do, but she went to college longer so don't even think of bringing it up.
We know she's always right.
If you really knew me you would know I worry about you sometimes.
I worry one day you'll realize you deserve so much better than the love you were never given and leave nothing but the unsuccessful peace you could never bring into our home.
Trust me dad, you're a catch.
My Zupas manager told me so.
But please don't leave, I need someone to change my lightbulb.
I like music just as much as you.
But I can't stand listening to another song about whiskey. Or woman. Or heartbreak. Or red solo cups.
So please turn the radio down.
Turn the radio down and lets talk.
Ask me questions and pretend you are interested in what I have to say, despite my answers.
Ok, don't ask.
But for once I am going to tell you anyway.
I dress the way I do because I was never pretty enough to be a cheerleader and I have spunk.
I think about brains because I am fascinated with what brains think about.
What they create.
What they produce.
What they destroy.
And sometimes, I wonder what they taste like.
I don't collect bugs anymore because I don't want to curse them with the same fate I've been given, permanence.
I like asparagus but am a vegan because I'm tired of feeling heavy.
I want to fly with the birds, not eat them, so stop looking at me like that.
Stop looking at me like I disappoint you.
Like I think I know it all.
Stop looking at me like you wish I were someone else.
Someone that will be content.
And reserved. And happy. And a role model to their siblings. And secure. And brave. And ok. And normal.
Because dad, I am not.
I am not normal and I do not believe in what you do.
Stop looking at me with disgust because I do not bring you eternal father with me to school.
God has been nothing to me but an acquaintance I occasionally visit when I am told.
Like a sick grandmother in the hospital.
Difference is, I will switch the flowers I brought grandma when they die with pretty, yellow daisies.
The skeletons in your closet invite mine over for Thanksgiving dinner, every year.
That's right, they are related.
Clearly different, but relatable.
So please relate with me and help me make my bones pretty like yours.
The skeletons in my closet want to be shiny and clean too.
I stay up late at night just to do it and sometimes I crave peanut butter.
I wash my hands a little too much because I am scared of catching it.
Catching Basketballs and Baseballs and footballs and soccerballs and a cold.
I've always been uncoordinated and a little too fragile.
I'm sorry.
I'm Attracted to boys who are nothing like you because I am too much like mom
And I am not going to pretend it could work.
I am always too cold and right now, right now I'd rather be in my room.
Just because I like it.
I am your daughter and I love you.
My name is Brelynn.
But now the kids in my English class know more about me than you ever will.
I didn't grow up in their arms, I don't even know half their names.
So please dad, ask me questions.

She packed a bag, a vintage record.
Friends stopped.
Hold her dark hair,
For Maxwell is their little girl
and I'm in heaven.

Humans have moved up on my favorite species list.

I would like to thank you.
Thank you for having such pretty hair and letting me stare at it.
Thank you for the poem. I wish it meant more, but it was nice.
Thank you for being civil, sitting next to me, wearing a sweater made of tolerance and cotton.
Thank you for standing pigeon-toed while you play.
Holding myself on tip-toes has always made me feel light, but then again I don't have your talent resting on my shoulders, weighing me down.
I hope you were comfortable.
Thank you for walking past me and not saying hello.
I'm not being sarcastic, I need to focus.
Thank you for eating a dandelion with me and enjoying life through simplicity,
a meow can mean so much,
or nothing at all, depending on who you are talking to.
Thank you for over analyzing things yet being comfortable enough to make-out.
This isn't making much sense to me either,
but thank you for listening anyway.
Thank you for teaching me what to be, and what not to be, and that is not a question.
The only question is if I love you or not, but I appreciate you all the same.
Thank you for having more to yourself than just God.
You took whatever it is from whoever it was and did something with it.
You made things,
you made yourself.
You took that heart and created a piece that made mine stop.
Only to be revived by that voice so angelic, you must be a God.
But you are not and I am happy about that.
We are so close to perfection my dear. But you, you are real.
You took those knees and made her laugh.
Those red blood cells opened your eyes,
To the world.
and to them.
And to that rolli-polli bug you were so close to stepping on, but caught yourself.
You see skylines and garbage cans and sunsets and roads and me.
You see me and I thank you for that.
Curiosity runs through you, so please sneeze on me.
I'd like some of that and I don't mind catching a cold.
Those elbows of yours are smart.
Thank you for protecting them from scrapes and bruises.
Thank you for not taking the risk of going outside, and staying indoors with me all day.
After all, we are warm and so close to love darling.
So thank you.
Thank you for being human with me.
Meow.

I shouldn't listen.... but I must. The people.

What are you doing? Nice to see you. No Reed, I don't need your help anymore. Mommy. $12.42. Please. No. Paper or plastic. Here, hold my hand. Honk. Steps. Welcome to Orange Leaf. No he leaves next week. Uhhhhh, what's good again? Noooooo. Thank you. No, like we really need to talk about it. I'm totally sure. Hurry and order please. Ding. A car passing. Steps. Steps. Open. Close. Engine. Yay! Lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways, lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways. Colby we are so proud of you! Yes, wellll I don't know. More please.

Cats & Dogs

friend·ship/ˈfrendˌSHip/
Noun:
The emotions or conduct of friends; the state of being friends.
A relationship between friends.

Anyone know where I can get one of these eh?

Me and/or Evil Kitten: I don't want this friendship anymore.

You and/or Kitten 2: Why??

Me and/or Evil Kitten: Because I can't keep up with the games, and I am tired. I don't hate you silly, that's only the cat in the movie.

I just need the break you and him never took.

Ouch, it's too tired to be tired.

I'd go to college out of state but my shoulder is asleep under my little sisters head and I don't want to wake her.
It tingles.
The tingles keep me from sleep on purpose, I think.
I think, they want me to think.
To think of numbers and hair and gifts.
Gifts I've been given and things I want.
Beanie Babies, life, books and sex.
I've been taught sex is a gift but please tell Santa I'd rather have a new camera.
I want a new camera and I want the future.
I'm not ready for sex.
I want the future right now and I want asparagus, burnt asparagus.
I want poetry hips.
The kind of hips that look good in the jeans that say, "hey, she can write."
I want people to realize she is fake and a little too much like everyone else.
But she's better at it.
She looks better in my personality than I do, so I give her unneeded permission to display it.
She has the hips for it.
I want to speak Arabic, but only for the time being.
I want a tragedy thrust upon Mitt Romney, so he too can drop out.
Please don't agree with that, it's sick.
I want your innocence preserved.
I want to sleep right now so I stop nourishing what I cannot have.
I need to put down my phone and stop reading about Cordelia Botkins human cakes.
I need to stop enjoying reading it.
I need to stop enjoying my envy.
But I'll agree with her, I can't stop.
It tastes too good.
My sister just woke up, but the tingling won't stop.
In state college it is.

I wish today was the 2nd Thursday of the month.

Sometimes I think about you.
What your blood tastes like and how old you were when you got your first haircut.
Sometimes I think about her, too.
Uncomfortable for all of us, especially her if she knows she is the one we are discussing.
Yes, you.
But I am not going to take it back.
Your skin looks like porcelain and I would like to kiss you.
Not for pleasure,
I just want to count the bumps on your tongue with my own.
I'm intrigued.
I'm not attracted to her, I'm not attracted to him,
I'm attracted to them.
I'm attracted to the fact they can be that selfless with one another and not wear shoes all at the same time.
I'm attracted to the lie the new boy just told us, in an attempt to save himself.
I'm attracted to the legs in those shorts.
My heart just skipped a beat when I thought about his capability to kill.
Out of fear or amazement, I am not quite sure,
But I'm attracted to him all the same.
Mr. Darcy will always own my heart, aside from Sundays, and every other Thursday.
On Sundays it belongs to his servants, appearing once on screen and never in writing.
I'm attracted to them, I can relate to them.
They are no one.
I am no one.
We are no one, and I'm attracted to that.
Every other Thursday, my heart is in Jeffery Dahmers hands...and mouth.
I am flattered by the enjoyment he feels.
He likes the way it tastes and I'm attracted to that.
I'm attracted to what I want, what I see, and who I am.
I'm attracted to humans,
Just not enough.
But please don't let that stop you from letting my tongue count the number of bumps on yours.
I really do think you are cute.

It really is a shame Romance is dead, you and I had so much potential.

They always get to me.

I can't just pick one movie.  I love them too much.  They make me feel things.  But my over all top five of all time consist of:
    
          -The Shining
          -The original, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
          -E.T.
          -What's Up Doc?
          -Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind



Although my pick of the week is going to the 2005 version of "Pride and Prejudice." I'm a sucker for the good love stories, which is odd.

Ah Jealousy. We meet yet again.

The Madness Vase
Andrea Gibson


"The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables.
Said if I could get down thirteen turnips a day
I would be grounded, rooted."
 
"The first psycho therapist told me to spend
three hours each day sitting in a dark closet
with my eyes closed and ears plugged.
I tried it once but couldn’t stop thinking
about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet."
 
"The yogi told me to stretch everything but the truth." 
 
"The trauma said, “Don’t write these poems.
Nobody wants to hear you cry
about the grief inside your bones.”

"My bones said, “Write the poems.”


I want to play with my words.  I want things to make sense and make connections in a way that inspires, and speaks to people.
I want to say what I want to say, without saying it.
I've got this poem going all the way.

Fly my pretties. No wait, Come Back.

I sleep.

A long, dark passage lays before him.

Confidently, James Dean takes the regular route through my ear.

Same as so many times before.

Unconsciously, I curse myself for not building defense mechanisms.

You know,

Bullets and stuff.

Yes, I am against war, but this is different.

After treading part of the way, loneliness blocks his path.

He sends an urgent SOS to Chewbacca, explaining his need of company.

The beast is there in 5 minutes tops.

They break the wall instantly.

I sleep.

Together they go, eventually coming across exactly what they are looking for.

There, in the Frontal Lobe of my brain they find,

My Cage of Dreams.

I sleep.

Carefully, and ever so quietly, James Dean picks the lock,

Who know he had a brain to match those good looks.

He opens the cage and lets them soar.

My thoughts, my memories and my dreams all up for grabs.

The mission is complete.

God thanks the man and his friend for their hard work and sends them on their way.

I sleep.

My dreams race. My thoughts bounce and my memories fly.

One by one they realize there is so much more out there, than just my head.

One by one they move. Out of my frontal lobe, and down the long, dark passage.

One by one they trickle into the unknown.
Into the world.

It's morning and I wake up.
I get ready and head for school.
Unknowingly, I trip on the memory of my 1st field trip as I make my way out the door.
It's too damaged to ever come back.
A man lights a smoke, inhaling my dream to sing on his way to work.
This is the last time, he promises himself.
At lunch she eats alone.
Between the turkey and mustard, my thought to sit with her is stuck.
I keep walking, I can't be late.
And that name of that song by that band I listened to when I cried is in your mouth.
Inhaled by that breath you just in-took because your sister is dying.
I am so sorry,
I lost my thought to comfort you.
But please keep the song, it made me feel better once.
My perfect, finger painted memories find a place they feel safe.
Dispersing themselves in the minds of kindergarteners, sitting on the rug barefoot.
They know they'll be put to good use here.
It's almost lunch time and they are hungry.
My 5th grade vocabulary list is pushing up daises with the woman who lived down the street.
That woman who lived alone, only going out to get Groceries and fix the light post when it was broken.
Her husband left long ago, and she was used to it.
My Vocabulary is keeping her company.

You.
You were there.
I think I saw you in my dreams.
But you weren't wearing that tie, And your hair was perfectly untidy.
I shake my head.
Clearing my mind and forcing you out.
Forcing you out of my frontal lobe, pushing you down the long, dark passage.
Out, into the world.
Into the world and onto my paper.
Jumbling you into my math problem.
I remember the quadratic formula and finish the equation.
Of course I remember the formula.

I only lock-up what I'm afraid to show the world.
My mind cages up the important things to protect them.

So I thank you James Dean.
Thank you Chewbacca and God for helping me realize they were only thoughts.
Fragments of my imagination that are unimportant and irrelevant.
Thoughts, Dreams and Memories, unimportant and meant to be forgotten.
Thank you for helping me get rid of them.

P.S. If it isn't too much to ask, please tell your fingers to press the keyboard lightly.
The lyrics to my future greatest hit is just beneath them.
Eh, never mind.
I'll just turn on the radio.

Good Morning Vodka and Simply Lemonade, it is my turn.

I was going to change.
The inches falling from my waist would have donated themselves to my hair length.
I needed more time.
I was going to be happy.
When I stumbled upon you years from now I'd be wearing a blue dress, accessorizing a good-looking, young democrat.
Picking each item I wear carefully.
Knowing that my new and improved self should be on the lookout.
Knowing one day I would open the door to find an ugly old box. An old box infected with you. Crawling with attendance schools and duck ponds and nice smells and Seinfield and lies.
Lies.
I told so many lies.
To you. To her. To the neighbor down the street. To the bishop. To my family. To the Librarian, yes I really do have a 4th period class and no I should not be in here playing chess.
I am sorry, but please don't tell me to be quiet. Just listen.
I had dreams.
I had dreams we laughed, we danced and we were silly.
We played.
Playfully we enjoyed each other.
Each others faces, and lips, and toes, and comfort foods, and music icons, and hair.
Then, I remember you are an insomniac and you don't dream.
You don't dream,
And you don't care.
I'm sorry, let me rephrase that.
You don't dream,
And you don't care...about me.
You care about God.
You didn't give me enough time.
You were going to be gone for 2 years.
I was going to change.
I'm sorry, I lost the custody battle.
I fought for you, I really did.
But it put up such a fight.
And now you belong 100% to my past.
It's for the best.
The judge is right, "I'm not equipped for the job."
But hey, welcome home.

If you need me, I'll be in search of a good-looking, young, democrat.

The word of the day is Oracular.
(aw-RAK-yuh-ler)

Definition: Ambiguous; obscure.

Am I or are the others crazy?
-Albert Einstein

Courageously, anonymous.

Emotions run up and down my zipper as I let my fingers transfer my discomfort into the jacket that's supposed to keep me warm.
I shiver.
As I press the end button the line dies, along with what you and I had,
If we had anything.
I like to pretend we did.
I hop on my train of thought. Glancing out the window, thinking of the memories we've shared.
The train moves along, gaining distance. Each chug pulling us, desperate passengers farther. Farther away from home...reality....truth.
Exactly like what you did to me.
Our friendship started beautifully.
You let me sit first class.
First class on your train. Well, your train of thought, you trained me to love.
We laughed and danced with the others, sometimes laughing at the others.
You made me feel special.
He made me feel special.
They made me feel special.
He looked my way once, maybe twice before his greedy hand slid into yours. Leaving me, on this train. This train of thought filled with nothing but strangers in pretty clothes.
But I knew you, or at least I thought I did, so I waited. Waited for you to introduce me as a friend, take me by the hand, and teach me your ways. Putting pretty pearls around my neck, so I too, could be first class material.
Over time my thoughts led me elsewhere. My disappointment molded itself...it molded me.
I found myself in a cozy, confided boxcar, with nothing but
a book
a boy with curly hair serenaded by James Mercer and
a pair of boots.
My train is blooming. My thoughts bouncing off each wall, coloring my brain with ideas only R2-D2 can understand. (Sorry Mr. Wonka, you were close...I hope we can still be friends.)
My train and I are happy.
And now here you come. Your pearls replaced with a new, uncaring lifestyle; iPod in hand.
I barricade the door.
I can't lose this too.
But you're too pretty and I can't hold you back.
Go ahead.
Take my fucking interests, dreams, and desires.
I zip up my emotions for the last time, permanently leaving them in my jacket.
I give you my train of thought.
Please just let me off here,
R2-D2 and I have decided to take a taxi.

Truly, I am sorry. Thank you for making me a better person.

The inevitable...?

I'm scared of ending up like you.
I'm scared I'll fall out of love with the one that will do anything to save what we once had, or maybe never did.
I'm scared I'll let the job I don't even like hurt those I "love."
I'm scared I'll have ugly paw hands like you.
I'm scared someone else will raise my children, eh I wont risk it; no kids for me.
I'm scared I will lose myself in a tan, bleached blonde, professional body.
I'm scared I will get mad enough to be remembered. And when my child's best friends younger sister thinks of me, she will fear the same thing I once did.
I'm scared of being short like you.
I'm scared I will have to get an operation on my neck because my goiter is so "ugly." I'll have to wear turtlenecks in the blowup pool with the neighborhood kids. Ha, who am I kidding. I'm to busy to go outside.
But even indoors, I must cover that ugly, infected deformity...naturally.
I'm scared I won't see how beautiful I truly am.
She is so beautiful.
I'm scared I'll find comfort in every bed that isn't mine.
I'm scared of becoming like you.
Hell, I'm scared of you.
I'm...scared.

In Rainbows+Road Trip=Just plain happiness.

My 4 favorites.

Thank you for the inspiration.

Howdy Partner, Do you have a Valentine?

3:15- "Well hi there sir.  Can't say I do.  How about yourself?"
4:00- Pick up the kids from school.
4:12- The sink drops its last drip.
4:29- Nothing.
4:47- "Can I have fries with that?"
5:14- The last page lifts with an unsatisfied, satisfied turn.
5:59-"Eat it honey, it's good for you."
6:13- 7(x-14)-54.6= #imscrewed.
6:32- Nothing.
6:44- He hits her.
6:50-The door closes.
6:55-An old woman rummages through the bin for dinner, wrapped up in the false hope she is sure Obama will bring her, trying to keep warm.  Things will change.
7:09-The girls eyes become wet, realizing she lost more than just her virginity as the bastard blows a kiss her way.
7:32- A dotted line is signed in black ink.  Giving a home to a "happy"marriage with an unknown 5 year expiration date, she still thinks the ring does more than sit on his icy hand.... he's different now.
7:53- Nothing.
8:08- A mother aborts her long and gone first loves child.
8:10- It dies.
8:59- "Ouch."
9:32- Nothing.
9:44-She embraces disloyalty like an old friend, as the taste of smoke, with a hint of chocolate tickles her preoccupied tongue.
10:01- They don't answer.
10:37-Nothing.


I fall asleep thinking of how cruel this world is.... allowing my phone to share my favorite pillow with me just this once, in case you decide to text me back.  What kind of selfish creature am I?


We are sick.... Please get out of my head.

#whataday.

Thinking of You.

I'm thinking of you. I'm thinking of you like cheese thinks of macaroni. Like feet think of tile. Like a girl thinks of love. Like a tick thinks of a tock and a door with it's lock. Like Marilyn Monroe. I'm thinking of you like monsters think of scaring little kids. Like those scared kids think of nothing...and everything. Like the addicts think of all that they shouldn't want, but so desperately need. I'm thinking of you like plates think of eating. Like teachers think of reading. Like paint. I'm thinking of you.

The word of the Day is Exoteric.
(ek-suh-TER-ik)

Definition: Suitable for or communicated to the general public.

The Doppelganger we all have.

Music Monday

Song: Big Man-Boy & Bear

Thank you David for the wonderful swap today.  I enjoy this game we play.

Until next time,

Me.

The word of the day is filiopietistic. (fill-ee-oh-pahy-i-TIS-tik)

Definition: Having to do with, or characterized by great, often excessive, reverence for ancestors or tradition.

Love is...

Love.  I feel it is very ironic that our first topic assigned is this.  It is...well everything.  It is the thing that destroys, fulfills, changes and reflects humans.  It is the thing we let take over our lives.  Twisting our emotions through its fingers, kissing our soul ever so quietly, letting us feel just enough to crave more.  Leaving us with an addiction, like the whore in all of our heads. Like the drink we will all gulp for, "the last time," Like the money we know we will someday win if we just try one more time.  But this addiction is different, it's beautiful.  The concept of love has always fascinated me, but it is also something I don't believe in.  Not because I have been through heartache, or my parents sisters' neighbor divorced her husband, I just find it impossible.  We are humans and we are a selfish species.  We have instincts, I feel we are very animalistic.  Putting someone above ourselves just because we feel deeply connected to them is...well like I said impossible.  We don't work that way.  But for those of you who have found a way to skip around it, hand in hand with your lover through a field of flowers, I am happy for you....I think.  If you need me I will be drunk, playing poker with the whores in my mind.

Have a good day.

Inroduction to the me you'll never know.

I go to Lone Peak High School.  I am a senior this year and like the color purple, deep purple.  This might be too much information but my first period class is Creative Writing.

Lebewohl.