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    poetry


    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Thinking...

    A lover's curse is a see-through coffin.

    ...Created 2005-12-18 20:41:53

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Confused

    Goddammit, I'm only 13...practically 14, if you don't count the approximate two months I have till my birthday...and I'm already sick of love. I know, I know, having a boyfriend when you're 12 and he's 14 is not that healthy a relationship, and nothing big in the long run...but it meant something! And then getting another one just a few months later--one I didn't particularly like but went with out of pressure--doesn't make anything better. In fact, posting details of my love life on a writing site where anyone can read it doesn't make ANYthing better, but what do I care anymore...no one here knows me, to the world I am just another face, to you I may just be another writer in hopes of being published one day...or not at all...But the fact is that I'm at a loss of what to do, having so many confused feelings and such...I'm a loser, a freak, cold-hearted...I've no faith in humanity, and I impatiently await the day Nostradamus's end-of-the-world prophecy comes true...I know, I know, I'm unjust, ungrateful for what I have, I should be glad to be alive and have my health--though I'm a little sick--but I'm not...I've just had burden after burden piled on my back, and in my reserved manners, I've kept everyone--friends, family--from knowing, from giving anything away so they could try their feeble attempts at help...I may be a bit delusional--wasn't someone in my family schizophrenic, or just mental? I do not know...but then again, I don't know a lot of things about myself..and others, that in some way or another are linked to me...sometimes, I don't think I care either...Today is the first day of holiday break--formerly called "Christmas break" but it was about time the school board realized that not everyone celebrates Christmas, so they changed it to "holiday break" or "winter break"....but the point is that, I'm still in my pajamas, though it is 1:40 in the afternoon, and my eyes aren't completely open yet, and my mind is still drifting on the borderlines of sleep...There is no more ballet till the spring, and Tuesday will be my last piano lesson till the spring semester as well, so I haven't got much to look forward to for a while...except maybe this party I'll be attending Monday, but it's just a party...and anyways, HE won't come because of vacation...The muscles on my right leg just contracted, but I rarely felt the pain, just an uncomfortable tingling there...And why am I not writing all this is my diary? you ask...my diary is sick of hearing my complaints...I should probably go outside, feel the winter atmosphere..though in Florida, you can still wear tank-tops in the middle of December..

    ...Created 2005-12-17 12:45:36

    dotsJournal: winternessdots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Lazy

    Holiday break, woo-hoo....

    ...Created 2005-12-16 21:03:45

    dotsJournal: HIMdots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Yeay!!

    HIM
    is
    coming
    to
    Orlando.
    House of Blues
    November 3
    with
    Skindred
    and
    Finch.

    HIM
    is
    coming.
    HIM
    is
    coming.
    HIM
    is
    coming.
    HIM
    is
    coming.

    ...Created 2005-09-04 12:03:45

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Thinking...

    Und die Vögel singen nicht mehr...

    ...Created 2005-05-14 15:34:50

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Paranoid

    Looking back on my works, I realized how immature and simple my poetry is. I mean, the War in Heaven is a fascinating subject (though I believe none of it) but my poem on it was so...out-of-flow and rhyme-forced, and why did I even try to use old English? And "What Is That Noise?"--why would I even post stuff from elementary school? "Amour" could hardly be called a poem--I was upset over the break up with my ex, and just started ranting on and on and on in my diary about how much love sucked and blah blah blah, which completely contradicts my other entries, about how love is essential to life and et cetera, but we'll not even go to that. I just suddenly had this image in my head that it'd make a good poem, so I broke up the lines and called it free-verse. That's one of my worst poems.

    And now religion is affecting me so much, with all these Christians around me trying to get me to convert--"Oh, you don't go to church! You're going to Hell! But God is all-forgiving so it's not too late to convert! Join us! Join us or you shall be damned!" I don't WANT to convert! Why can't they just leave me alone? Why can't they just accept the fact that there ARE other religions out there besides Christianity? If God is all-forgiving and all-accepting, he'd surely take those "heathens" under his wings as well...if he IS up there. So all this is influencing my poetry...so far they're "Distinct" (which is about the witch trials and the Inquisition and the narrow-mindedness of Christians) and "Imposed on Disbelief" (the fact that God and Hell may not even exist, and the Church is trying to control everything, but in the end we'll be there ot witness its demise). I suddenly get inspirations to write anti-Christian poems...but I really don't want to, because it might upset some people on this site, and my two bestestestest friends ever are both Christians...I haven't shown my poetry to my other Satanic/pagan friends...I'm not sure they'd be into poetry...

    This is all driving me crazy. I'm so confused

    ...Created 2005-05-08 21:09:46

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Lonely

    Over the next few days, the outside world disappeared and I lived a dream of curtained light and muttered voices. I slept without sleeping, floating in a curious state somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. Strange things happened. The dimesions of my room lost control. The walls, the windows, the ceiling, the floor, everything shimmered like a dream. But it wasn't a dream. It was a fevered perception in which a thousand miles and an inch were the same. The world grew elastic. Angles and planes assumed alien qualities, turning themselves inside out. Colors formed and connected and then reformed in the shapeless light. I saw bloodreds and drifting greens and infinite blacks, shifting white flashes, searchlights, stars, and burning suns. I saw rogue shapes, shapes and colors that no one has ever seen. I saw kites of things in a ghost wind. My inner senses were deranged. The things that should have told me where I was and who I was stopped working. My limbs belonged to someone else, a long-armed giant, or a paralyzed fool with giant fingers stretching up to the sky. I wasn't ME. I was a little girl marooned on a desert island. I was a blood-drenched girl lying in a stone bunker. I was a teenage boy, a fisherman, scraping blindly through the underground mud looking for oysters. I was hot, cold, tired. I was ill. Sick. My body fought against me. It wouldn't do what it was told. Sometimes I couldn't move to save my life, and other times I couldn't STOP moving; twisting, turning, crawling, twitching, wrapping myself in sweat-soaked sheets, crying, crying, crying...

    ...Created 2004-10-11 21:13:18

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.


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    January 10 07
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