1350-500 = 850 (I thought all of my taxes would come back. Damn debt.)

I’ll probably have that paid off by then, anyway.

Tomorrow I’m paying 200 bones, unless that Valentines day field trip is on; if it is, I’m paying them 150.

So either 1150 or 1200.

Tomorrow…

You better be a good day; I won’t let you not.

Rummy will be played;

So, I’m totally not resting or studying, and I’m definitely not going to eat a big breakfast tomorrow before school. I have Physical Education first, so I think I’m going to pull out my writing notebook and write away. I don’t really feel like participating in the boring activities planned for us. Perhaps, if my teacher doesn’t let me do whatever, I’ll still do it anyway. I’m not one to listen to what people tell me to do, anyway. I really don’t want to take the physics one, either. I really hate how they give you such a long time for short tests.

 This is going to be such a drag.

Hand that pen over to me, poetaster!

Even people who haven’t met me have something to say; Apparently I’m going to kill people, I hate any immigrants, and I’m suicidal.

These are things I didn’t know about myself.

Oh wait… they aren’t true.

I might hate people, but I don’t want to kill them.

I hate people.  Obviously I hate immigrants, but they aren’t the only ones.

If I was going to kill myself, I would have a long time ago.

I’ve felt what someone’s suicide can do to you– I’d never want to put that pain on anyone. Plus, I’d rather try to fix whatever is broken than kill myself because of it. I also have a bunch of things I need to do before I die.

 Perhaps, you are right– I am mental.

I think for myself.

I’m just glad you don’t know the truth.

What would you say then?

<insert known happenings>

Song with a mission

Well, I came home and checked the mailbox– “The Poetry of Robert Frost” was waiting for me. It’s rather amazing.

I’ve only read about twenty poems or so out of there, but Frost is amazing. I’m sure I’ve read a lot of what is in there online and whatnot, since this is the collection of all of his poetry.  I think I’m going to buy some more collections– I love Dickinson and Bukowski. There is also some collection that’s like 43$ of modern and contemporary poets that I’ll buy after I’m not in debt anymore.

I just ordered some Plath and some collection of 101 poems.  I really should stop buying stuff when I don’t have money– oh well. I don’t care. Poetry matters a lot to me– almost more than anything else.

Misbehavior

The problem lies not with what I say or do; I am the problem.

Some problems can’t be fixed, like mistakes printed out on paper; you can cross them out or write corrections, but they are still there.

I like to be honest, and I don’t feel like lying; so, I won’t.

Ian’s birthday

I had crab bisque, Prime rib, 2 lobster tails, a chocolate mousse cake slice, and a donut.

Leaking?

Oh man. Well, I totally couldn’t get my contacts in this morning after I showered. I ran out of my bedroom after getting dressed and didn’t have any time to grab any snacks. So, I got to the bus stop and got on the bus. Everything was fine, I listened to some Blindside and then some girl comes and sits next to me squishing me into the side of it. I felt very uncomfortable. First of all, the girl smelled. Secondly, she touched me. C, I didn’t have any food.

 So, I put on some Postal Service and tried to block out all other thoughts in my mind to go to some happy place. There was never a happy place in my brain, though. It’s flooded; I barely escaped on the ark.

School arrived at my bus! Well, I strolled off all gangster with my hood up and my music all pumping. Over the course of the day I needed food very badly. I couldn’t do anything, but sit. Well, I did write some. I had to go back to the doctors right after. I launched a bowl of cereal down my esophagus. After that, I had work. I just wrote in between customers. There wasn’t that many breaks, though. The customers piled up even after I turned my light off.

Not all customers are “hospy,” in the words of my stepmom. Anyway, this customer had a half of a gallon of milk. She swore it was leaking. I shook it, turned it upside-down, you name it I probably didn’t do it. With my superior dairy skills, I concluded that the bottle of milk was fine. Life’s not that easy. “I want another one.” Well, I’ll give you another one, just bend over. Kyle was kind enough to go run and grab one, but we just put the other one back on the shelf.  Yeah, the poem I wrote “Leaking” was made right after I got that one.

Word is that my manager is being transferred. I hope whoever else we get is alright. Perhaps, I should apply.

Speaking of words, I have more than 450 poems on my site now. Just imagine, if I put everything I’ve ever written and not burned on there. I almost erased and burned all of my work not too long ago, though.

I don’t think it would make too much of a difference. If I’m always getting better, I’d rather not remember the past. Or maybe, it’s a stepping stone to proving my worth as a writer. Wednesday was like the worse day ever. I don’t even feel like writing about how my contacts kept messing with me or the depression attack I had.

I wonder, if anything I have is good enough to publish.

 

An ending out of nowhere

“I love you,” he blurted out to her. “I always have and I always will regardless of your opinion or anyone else’s for that matter.” The blood dripped onto the ground, like an icicle slicing through the snow underneath. “Everything I’ve ever said, all I’ve ever done; everything was for you.” He grabbed the gun pointed at his stomach and turned it around at Kyle’s heart and pulled the trigger. As he pushed Kyle to the ground, he felt the coldness of the open wound and said “Life wouldn’t be worth living without you.” The thump of his body on the hard ground broke the fear but brought tears to everyone’s eyes, for the unwanted, dark, and lonely young man had died.