Okay, that's it. I swear! WORLD, stop telling me to get over it! I am not going to get over it any time soon. I am not going to forget and move on. I am not going to walk away. I am not going pretend I don't love him anymore. I thought I could. I thought I could set a date, and after that, all would end. I wouldn't miss him any more. Well, crazy thing, I was wrong. I still miss him, I still think about him constantly, I still want him back, and I still love him! It doesn't matter that he broke my heart into a thousand teeny tiny pieces, that he lied to me, that he broke his promises, and that he moved on to some freshmen within two weeks. It doesn't even matter that he doesn't love me anymore! I DO. And until I stop, adding to the problem by asking me when it will happen, and telling me I need to, and constantly mentioning his name WILL NOT HELP! So cut it out. Cuz I'm slow, damnit!

The days for me have been a blurr of noises, colors, and emotions.
Nothing has been clear, or vivid.
Nothing has made sence.
I've been losing all that I stand on,
And I remain, helpless to stop the maddness,
Watching it crumble from beneath my feet.
Dust rises, and ashes fly.
My blue eyes have been grey, from all the smoke they have seen.
Anger and confusion has been building like a tsunami inside of me,
And I can feel the water rising in my chest,
Quickly drowning me.
Desperate to escape this prison,
I make a mad dash for the surface,
And hope to find some air there.
What I find is you,
Back again, just in time.
Like a super hero,
With a cape and a lasso,
And you yank me back out of the darkness.
You tell me you've been worried,
And you drown me again in music,
Like the old days, before things got complicated.
My friend, you saved me.
Again.
And now, I am wandering slowly back toward my imaginitive reality.

Note to Self

A-HA!
Did I just see you smile?
No freakin' way!
You can still do it.
Let me take this moment to say...
Told ya so!
See, life's not so bad, is it?
Yes, he broke your heart.
But It's not over.
You've still got a lot to do.
A lot to see.
And you've got a group of friends who would walk through the fire for you.
Who love you.
And you would be LOST without them.
Keep writing!
Keep singing!
Keep dreaming!
KEEP LOVING!
Remember that you are reckless,
That you are NOT crazy.
(well, not certifiable, anyway)
And you are not gonna be alone for the rest of your life.
Cheer up, lil miss sunshine.
The world is a good place.

Finding the Edge

There is a town off of Route 70, and it sits quietly between two big cities, and the ocean. Tourists from miles around flock to the coast to spend their summers on the white beaches, and sink away into the famed Jersey lifestyle, where blue waves crash on the shore, and the smell of salt water and magnolia drift on the warm, dense air like that's where it was hung. But no one can really understand it's beauty unless you experience it from the inside. In this town, there is a house. A little green house, to be exact. Years ago, it rested on sand. It was the perfect place, just far enough away from the shore that the traffic from the tourists didn't clog the road, but close enough that you could see the fireworks from the boardwalk every tuesday and wednesday night all summer long. It was a safe haven from the outside world, and the harsh persistance of reality. Now, in this house, there was this girl. She was small for her age, and full of wonder. It was the one place she could always count on, when her world was constantly shifting, and taking on new forms. She had memorized, by age four, every square inch of that house. She knew it like the back of her hand, and retraced it's shape and content every night before she fell asleep. She knew where her toys were kept, and how they were always there, in the same place, nomatter how long she had been away. She knew where her grandmother kept her secret stash of after-dinner mints, that she knew she was allowed to sneak every now and then, as long as her mother never found out. She knew where the teddy bear sticker was stuck to the wall, at the highest point she could reach, and she knew exactly how many pencils were in the junk drawer. She knew all the secrets, all the kinks, little details about every item in that house, and every item on the outside. She even knew where to leave the carrots that she fed to the rabbit that lived in the vacant field across the street. It was the one place in the world that she felt no fear. With time, everything changes. Everything becomes less magical and perfect that it once seemed. Now, the streets of that town are narrower. The buildings are grayer. And the ocean is saltier. Everyone rushes, and yells, and beeps their carhorns.That house is faded. Not as bright as it used to be. And that little girl is being forced into the dark age of reason and reality. Someone took her grandmother away from her, and now, there is no one to share secrets with. No one to tell her stories about the Pineys, and the Jersey Devil, no one to sneak late night after-dinner mints with. Someone came in and moved everything around. They threw away the couch, and the coffee table. They emptied out the junk drawer. They repainted, and retiled, and undid everything. Nothing looks the same now. And nothing feels as safe. She can't stay where she is, because she never felt accepted there, and she can't go home, because she isn't even sure that exists anymore. She still goes back to that town, to that house. Late at night, when she is drifting off to sleep, she can sometimes hear the childish laughter of a little girl that once lived there. A little girl with blonde hair, and deep blue eyes. Now, she is just a ghost, stuck in a time she refuses to let go of. The sound of her tiny footfalls echo off the tiled floor, and her fingerprints recover every inch. I should tell her that things have changed. That if she were to look closely, and move on, that she would see nothing is how it used to be. But she seems so happy, so oblivious, and I remember how I felt when her soul was inside of me. So, I smile while I listen to her whisper stories into the invisible ears of the haunted walls, and I watch as she stares listlessly into the night from her special tree in the front yard . I let her be, and close my eyes as the memories engulf me. Someday, I will let go of that child. Someday, I will allow her to grow up, and face the facts. But not now. She is too young. And still has so much to see.

That's a Rap

This is the end of the road.
I won't sit here and miss you any longer.
I played my part,
I tried desperately to get you back,
And you walk by me as if you never knew me.
You don't know my name, and you sure as hell never loved me.
So screw you. You're a jackass, and you're wasting my time.
Time that I could be giving to someone who wants it.
You're damn straight, I'm angry.
A step beyond, if you wanna get technical about it.
But it doesn't matter to me anymore.
You are a !@#$%^&*()^%%%$@#@#!#@%!
And if you walk out in front of a train tomorrow,
I might stop having the bus dream. :)

Been listening to too much Kimya Dawson...

You think I'm crazy, you think I'm insane,
Cuz I found Atlantis and dance in the rain.
And once you've known me, you won't be the same,
Cuz I made you rethink every rule you once made.
Admit that I scared you, that I was too fast,
That I was five years ahead while you were stuck in the past.
And once you were under, you almost; at long last;
Let go of the memories that were holding you back.
You saw life different, through blue listless eyes
And your jaded decorum was just a disguise
That I almost had you, when you realized
You were reconsidering the way you lived life.
You're scared to be happy, afraid to be healed,
Don't know what to do if this pain you can't feel,
The idea of eden seems almost unreal
And you refuse to be held tight by arms made of steel
That will never let go, and will keep you so safe,
Will force you away into a new hiding place
Where it is possible to travel through space,
And you would have loved it, I saw on your face.
But your pain is your comfort, your solice, your rock
Your edge is the landing you hit when you drop,
How ironic that I am the "walking paradox"
When you are the one whose start button says "stop"- ASH 2008