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amanderp
12 April 2010 @ 11:25 pm
In no particular order, (later) reasons why, and an ever-growing number:
Also, from this I have learned that I have no type, but I really do like light skin/dark hair, curls, and red heads. (And older women, but that was a given)

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amanderp
20 January 2007 @ 12:16 am
Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because it was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracey
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him and A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracey smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And th kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
He called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year Father Tracey died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his father and mother never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because it was the thing to do
And at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring loudly

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen.
 
 
Current Mood: blank
 
 
 
amanderp
09 May 2006 @ 10:52 pm
"If you've ever been depressed, then maybe you know where I'm coming from. It’s like one minute you’re fine, and the next minute something happens that makes you think -- i mean really think -- and then you’re totally empty. The only thoughts that are in your head are negative and it makes you feel totally alone, like you don't mean anything to anyone. All you want to do is tell someone how you feel, but you don't want their pity, and even if you could tell someone, nothing would come out right. You don't want to laugh or smile, or whine, or argue, or even be stubborn or difficult, you just want to go to bed and cry and hope this feeling passes, and sometimes it does, but it always seems to come back. You think that all your friends hate you and only talk to you because they feel bad for you. You know complete strangers judge you just because of how you look and how you act, and when you think about how you’re not as beautiful as the crowd that surrounds you, it makes you feel even worse. And of the two people that are supposed to love you the most in the world, one left you, and the other has to scream at you sometimes because they get angry and upset too. You feel like you will probably search your whole life for that one person that you can totally trust that you can love forever, who will never ever hurt you, but you know somewhere deep down that you'll probably never find him. He probably doesn’t even exist, so you just give up, you want so desperately to be alone, but at the same time you fear it so much. You know how it feels to know that you’re a bad person, to let your friends down and always be selfish, isolated, self conscious, bitter, whiny, and obsessive. You listen to what everyone else has to say, but you never tell them how YOU feel, because that would mean revealing part of yourself, and you just can't do that; you can't let anyone really know you. And your opinion wouldn't matter to them anyway, and most of all if you took the time to sit down and try to get all your feelings out for the first time in your life, it would be completely overwhelming and if anyone ever listened to all of that, they would have to agree with you 100 percent."
 
 
Current Mood: confused
 
 
 
amanderp
29 January 2006 @ 01:02 pm
Quis hic locus, quae regio, quae mundi plaga?