Royals

I've never seen a diamond in the flesh. I cut my teeth on wedding rings in the movies. And I'm not proud of my address in the torn up town, no post code envy. My friends and I, we've cracked the code. We count our dollars on the train to the party. And everyone who knows us knows that we're fine with this; we didn't come from money. But every song's like gold teeth, grey goose, trippin' in the bathroom. Blood stains, ball gowns, trashin' the hotel room. We don't care; we're driving cadillacs in our dreams. But everybody's like crystal, Maybach, diamonds on your time piece, jet planes, islands, tigers on a gold leash. We don't care; we aren't caught up in your love affair. And we'll never be royals, it don't run in our blood. That kind of lux just ain't for us; we crave a different kind of buzz. Let me be your ruler. You can call me Queen Bee. And baby, I'll rule, I'll rule. Let me live that fantasy. We're bigger than we ever dreamed and I'm in love with being queen. Life is game without a care; we aren't caught up in your love affair.

Delusion, Scott

"I think that today was just about having today. And I think we are one of those couples with a long story when people ask how we found each other. I will see (him) every now and then, and then maybe one year (he'll) be will somebody and the next year I'll be with somebody, and it's gonna take a long time. And then it's perfect. I'm in no rush."

At Least Not For Me

"Though sympathy can't alter facts, it can make them more bearable."

It bothers me when I read through your current stuff. The "We should hang, unless you don't want to," the "fucked up" shit, all of that stuff that brands you as a loser. And yet...

What an idiot I am. Here I am, thinking everything's all over and done with, and then I scroll through old pictures. Like an idiot. And I see you, smiling that fucking smile that I swear I would kill to see again. So innocently happy and content and the fact that I put it on your face made it even better. And then I see a picture of me on that day at the carnival and I sigh because it was so long ago and so far gone. I'm not saying I still like you. I mean, I have feelings for you but not how they were. It's more like I just want to know what you think of me, to know that you'll be who you were. I need closure. And then, I swear, I'll move on. Totally and completely. Because even now, knowing I don't love you like I used to, I still think about you every day. And that's okay I guess. But seeing that old picture made me miss you and even like you a little bit. But that's just it. I liked him. The boy in the picture. Not you now. And if there's one thing I'm certain of, it's that the 13 year old boy with the spiky hair, the blue ink covered hands, the shy smile, the innocence and insecurity that I so loved, is gone. And I just don't think he's coming back. Not anymore. At least not for me. 

Thirteen Reasons Why

It's not me, it's you. And here's why I've been able to come to terms with the fact that we are nothing, not friends or even acquaintances.

1. You're fearful. So am I, but I am traditional. You make the move. No exceptions.

2. You're ignorant. Oh, man. This could count for about five reasons. But you are. And it sickens me.

3. You're a brain-washed Catholic, and it makes you judgmental and very close-minded.

4. You're one of those homophobes who think God never planned them and they're an abomination. Nice theory.

5. You're so Republican that I get nauseous. But here's the funny thing: in a political debate, you could never hold your own. You only know what your father or friends have spewed back at you.

6. You're racist. To almost all cultures, but I've seen and heard what you and your family say about mine and, although people have made me self-conscious to admit being 25% Mexican, it's made me who I am. And helped get me a scholarship. So there.

7. You're misogynistic. Oh, how your sexism infuriates me. The "make me a sandwich" thing was about funny for five seconds for a group of thirteen year old boys. Grow up. I may be a Mexican woman, but in terms of knowledge, I could floor you. And I'm already far more successful than you, as a caucasian boy, will ever be. So what does that say, my friend?

8. Reasons 3-7 make you seem incredibly stupid in my eyes. And while in 8th grade your stupidity was merely in terms of schoolwork and I found it slightly endearing, I now find that you have used your stupidity to be a follower. That just doesn't fly.

9. Reasons 3-7 also make you far more immature than a boy your age should be. My other male friends laugh at stories of you, at your ignorance, and it makes me realize how far behind you are.

10. You're lazy. I don't know of a single situation where laziness is attractive.

11. You're becoming your family. I used to defend you or agree with my mom when she would say you were the one person in that fucked up family who had their head on straight. Now, I throw in the counter-argument. She's wrong. I was wrong. You are what you are. You are your father's son. 

12. When I see posts or messages that you've put out on the Internet, I actually have been disgusted and embarrassed. I imagine if we were still dating and I saw those things. I'd turn away. And maybe that's why I left you three (four?) times. Because I saw in you what I couldn't see when you left me. That you're everything I hate in our generation. That we couldn't ever work because you epitomize what irritates me! You're like the human version of the Fox News Network. I can't love that.

13. And lastly, this one actually makes me sad. When I wrote out numbers 1-13, I thought, "There's no way I can think of thirteen reasons. I used to love you. I used to dream of you every night, think of you every single day, want you, need you. There's no way I could think of thirteen things I hate. Five max." But I could. I didn't even have to take time to think about each one. In fact, the reasons sprang to my mind so fast I had to quickly jot them down so I wouldn't leave one out. I'm just upset that you turned into them. You were so good, so undeniably good. You had been beaten down and had a little coy smile and spiked out hair and were cute, but you had no idea. You were the insecure one. You thought it was crazy that I could ever like you. You were meek and still afraid of what the future holds and you were you. Now, you're a stranger and I don't like you. You're not even a stranger I would like to know. You're someone I walk past on the street, obnoxiously screaming with your friends, high on weed and drunk off of excessive amounts of alcohol, and I just think douchebag. I've learned to not feel good about your old promises. You never fulfill them. I hope someday you can come back. Not for me. But maybe for some nice girl who can turn you around. Who knows, maybe she'll be Catholic? And maybe you won't be embarrassed to bring her near your family. And maybe you won't duck and hide every time she comes around. And maybe you won't avoid her eye. And maybe you won't run away from her if you see her around town. And maybe you won't become your father and will love her and treat her right. But that's not where you're headed right now. And I hate it. I hate who you've become.

Depend Upon?

I, strange to say, slept without dreaming. Despair has its own calms. For life be, after all, only a waitin' for somethin' else than what we're doin', and death be all that we can rightly depend on.

Thanks, Mom

"When I was younger, I told my mother, 'One day, I'm gonna make you proud.' Now that I'm older, it's so much harder to say those words out loud."

Why can't you just let me fucking be? I'm satisfied with myself when I don't give in to my gluttonous side. Mental problem? Really? I know what I look like naked. I know that I don't have a "perfect" body. So fuck you. You don't know anything. Nothing at all. It's not a mental problem that I can see that there are problems with my body, that it's gross and too muscular in some places, too skinny in others, and fucking fat in most. I know that my legs are short, my thighs large, my hips too wide, my stomach too soft, my arms too thin, my boobs too small. I know this. So don't tell me I have "a mental problem" and don't see myself correctly. You'll find yourself in the outside of my life. Again. Don't make me push you completely out of my life. I'll do it. Already I'm planning on not speaking to you for a while. At least for the day. It's 9 AM so you successfully ruined my morning without provocation. I walk inside after my calming morning ritual and I'm greeted by you telling me I have a mental problem, peanut butter and jelly is just as horrible for me as everything else, lean cuisine has tons of sodium, and I cost you a fortune. So my "chemically imbalanced" brain only heard a few things from that conversation: you said I have mental issues merely to hurt me, because if you thought it was totally true, you wouldn't say it to my face. Or would you? You would. Despicable. Also I'm stupid for thinking I can try to eat healthy and the one thing I like that is an indulgence calorie-wise (because I know PB&J has a lot of calories), but I thought was healthy, is also not good enough to eat. So you definitely didn't help there. You make me not want to eat anything especially those TWO DOLLAR LEAN CUISINES THAT COST YOU A FUCKING FORTUNE. God fucking damn. Do I ask for anything more than a cereal and low calorie food? No. Do I smoke pot in the bathroom and rely on my little sister to keep a secret? No. I pay for all of my own shit, even the things parents are supposed to provide or at least help out with. Like, oh I dont know, clothes, haircuts, underwear, to name a fucking few. So thanks for the pep talk, mom. You've successfully made me feel like a fat, unstable lump of shit. Thanks! I can always count on you to feel better about myself. Always. From the very beginnings of my youth you've helped to shape me into the insecure, quiet, self-conscious, angry, resentful, self-hating woman I am today. Three cheers for the best mom ever!

What It Was

We were young. We were never growing old, and the glitter was still gold, the way it used to be. It was love; it was easy just to smile. It was easy for a while, the way it used to be. Look at you, you've got the life and the pretty house. But you must still think about the way it used to be. Is it real? She doesn't love you like I do. Can we just go back to the way it used to be? Look at us, just look what we've become. Just a shell of what was once the way it used to be. Even stars they fade and colors turn to gray. I miss yesterday and the way it used to be. And I can't turn back time even if I tried. I miss you tonight and I miss the way it used to be.