snow is happiness

when it lies upon the ground,
spread lazily over cars and trees
and trampolines.
and i, in boots and a hand-made scarf
bound about like a puppy,
in the bright, light powder,
winter's sugar.

love is happiness
when you kiss a boy
on Valentine's and he whispers,
soft, barely audible, his moist breath
tickling the inside of my ear,
"i love you."

bad poetry is happiness
allowing me to release my all
onto the screen, so it no longer fills me
too full.
my magic pensieve.

today it did not snow

and that made me feel empty,
longing for soft white flakes that
fall around me in a twirl of light and cold.

i can't say
that today was very exciting
i wore pig slippers and skipped across the stage,
people smiled at me for being happy.
a reward for my joy.

eating pizza
everyday for the rest of this week
sounds appetizing and like something
i would like to do
if my metabilism was like nicole kidman's
and my pizza calorie free.

i want to go shopping
for my clothes are suddenly all boring--
i've worn them all before and i can think
of no other way to wear them; now, i am
lost for clever combinations that show off
my figure and my eyes.

in english tomorrow i shall presnet
a monologue based off kafka written from
the view of the lady in the fur.
i am scared, for she is not the usual
and going against the grain is not my strongpoint--
especially not in front of people.

unadalturated loathing
is a funny thing to sing about
but when they dance across the stage,
their voices combining with the cd player
i can feel my pulse quicken and my body wish to join
their frenzied prance across the stage.

another day in february

i was a zombie today--
i stayed up late and woke up early
late to bed, early to rise
makes a sleepy and crabby and achey

School
was not fun
for i had to run in weight training
and sit still in english, tearing apart the story
of a man turned into a bug.
i thought of myself as a bug and was scared--
i hope i never go insane.

Walking home
that boy used language i don't like
he knows i it, still he persists
until either i'm desentized or he
can say no other words.

Now i sit
here after school, craving pizza
and wishing for something warm and fatty to fill my belly.
it is hard to be a , sometimes.

i am done.

first post

i am writing the story of my life
the ins and outs of my daily existence
but truly, i do not want those i know
to know me as i really am.

so i write anonymously
like a teenager deep in angst
confused at life, its blank spaces and busy days
put it all together, a big fat bundle
and you get this, an attempt at self-explaining
to nobody.