A poem for thoughts

What can i say
to get you to say
what i long to hear?
Where can i go
To see your show
To see your face appear?
What do i have to do
To get you
To want to draw me near?
What do i have to be
To get you to be
Someone who loves me?
Oh, i want you to love me,
Just even to like
Really pay attention to me.
To look in my eyes
Hear what i have to say
Or better yet not talk at all
I’ll hear your words,
Watch your lips,
And see your laugh;
Fill me with delight.
Please, be somebody who loves me


Coming back

This summer i went to summer camp. It was the best week of my life. No parents. Only the youth, the pastors, God and me. It wasn’t perfect. If it were then the time of God wouldn’t have seemed so perfect-which is why Caber was there. Caber was the devil’s way into my heart. I loved Caber. It wasn’t Caber’s fault, it was mine for loving him. However, it was also at camp that God rid me of those feelings. All gone(: when it was time to leave everyone i swore that i’d never be the same girl i used to be. Last year i was completely caught up. To the world, i was leading to perfection. My group of friends, future cheer captain, future Musical lead, AP student, college bound, military boyfriend, it was painful. I was caught up in myself. And yes, my worlld crashed. Until camp, then my mind and heart was made right. After camp, my life was perfect. It was amazing. But, Les Mis. Eponine the character is everything God instructed me not to be. I sunk back into her world-challenging, hopless, lovesick, loser, in pain, too mature, too sad a story. God called me to be innocent again. I failed. I put him on a shelf. And when the show was over, it didn’t stop there because next was homecoming Queen elections. I’ve always desired popularity and it was at my doorstep. I didn’t get it. Why? Probably cause God punished me. I wasn’t living his way. I haven’t been. I can’t remember the last time i actually let myself sink myself into his presence and to let him consume me. I got a taste of that just 10 minutes ago. I want it. I desire it. I’m ready to return. I want to be his again. I’m through with this life. I’m so sick of this depression. I’m tired of cutting myself, well actually not of cutting myself but just rather tired of hurting. Tired fighting. I wanna be done. I wanna come back. I wanna be who i used to be. I wanna live for God again


Life is a test, a trust, and a temporary assignment. This statement is valid and may be applied to my life in many ways. For instance, Mrs. Privett applied the statement to the accident with Dax and us as a class dealing with it. Another way the sentence applies to me is in my social life. My social life is a mess; the situation I’ve been put in with just everything around me fails me daily. Do you know how hard it is to have your parents involved with every single moment of your life? And when you try to pull away they threaten to cut you off from everything they provide you with. Do you know what it feels like to have everyone that you consider close to you your parent’s student? There’s a sort of code- an unspoken rule. How kids yell at their parents, go to school to get away from their parents, join activities to get away from their parents, I am most unfortunate; I am unlucky. I have no where to go where they have no control over me. I’m trapped. I’m caged. I’m doomed.



So on Saturday the cheerleaders went to a cornmaze. There happened to be cowboy. I didn’t think he was tom cruise but he was alright. When all the girls began to talk of getting his number i jumped to it, knowing that i could do it no problem. Sandi forced me to give it to her and she promised she wouldn’t talk to him. Obviously, she lied because they’ve been talking nonstop. All day the first day him and i talked. It wasn’t sweet or anything. He called me beautiful, but that’s it. With all my trust issues i held back from feeling..anything. today we got to school and Sandi’s bragging of the marine that’s gonna come see her on saturday. At first, i was hurt. I was. I’m tired of guys calling me beautiful because it doesn’t mean anything. I’d rather a guy call me beautiful because he feels that i am rather than just saying i am without the feelings and intent behind it. Nobody likes me. I’ve been told i’m beautiful but i know the truth. I know the truth. I’m ugly, there’s no denying it. When i got the chance to catch my breath i was fine. I am fine. I hate the fact that he played me, wasn’t honest with me. But oh well. Doesn’t matter now. I’m back where i began. Forever alone. Hey, at least it’s been three days now(: it’s not my record, but i like days that i don’t have to. However, i’m becoming heavy hearted again. I feel it calling my name. Am i becoming addicted? If so, oh well. As long as i’m not caught then i don’t mind


Last night my parents began to really get into the football game. And damn, it wasa good game! But billy mackintosh turned around to see who was screeching. I thought i was gonna die. The look on his face said it all. It’s bad enough that joe’s been spreading rumors about me to the football team. However, i’m slow to anger. I’ve just been acting like i never heard it. Just been naive. There’s nothing else i can do. He’ll deny it and any argument of mine will be invalid considering my history. I thought he could be a guy i could really connect with. A guy that would believe me. Apparently not. He seemed different. But only because i forgot that no guy is different. They’re all the same. Some are just more open than others. Doesn’t matter



when the year started, i promised myself that i would be the best captain the girls could ever have. I decide that i’d go all out. I wanted to be their spiritual mentors, their big sister, their instructor that had all the answers, their teacher that they could ask anything, their coach that would push them to their max and even help them go beyond. I’ve tried so hard to be all those things but apparently, i can’t. Mom says that i’m completely out of it. that i don’t know what a captain is. that a captain doesn’t really mean much. well that’s not the way i remember. when i started, captain ran practice, captain conditioned, warmed up, pushed the girls, wrote routines, did everything and the coach supervised. the coach answered the captain’s questions, and introduced new ideas to the captain. Made the captain better. But the captain was in charge and the captain ran the show. times have definetly changed. we may appear to be a cheer team but what we really are is pathetic. In ten years i won’t remember so much whether i had fun or not, but whether or not i loved it, hated it, which for me all depends on how good the team is. i’m competetive. i have pride issues. i want to be the best and want to be able to take pride on my team. Anybody that just plays around will never be good at anything. It’s like helping a flyer conquer their fear and be better, do cooler tricks, be a better flyer. Without pushing, they’ll just look stupid. My mom doesn’t care. Why? Cause my mom’s not a cheerleader. Then why is my mom the cheer coach? Cause for once in her life she gets to be part of the ‘cheer group’ which is stereotypically the ‘popular’ or ‘cool kids’ and she’s a loser. i’m sure that she’s at some time said how she wishes that the cool kids could be the nice, good kids as well. Mom’s dream is coming alive. Mom’s so giving and christianly that she actually cares more for the good quiet girl to be on our team than the super talented amazing, slightly outspoken girl. I’m a fighter and my parents don’t seem to understand that. I’m so tired of being short because nobody treats for my age. They treat me for my size. No one respects me, looks up to me. Everybody is so blind. If they couldn’t see me, i hope they’d understand my maturity. i grew up too fast. my entire life, my closest friends were years older than me. I’ve been a highschooler since elementary school, stuck in a child’s brain. but i’ve always been too far advanced in maturity. I’ve always also learned from my father. My dad is amazing because not only does he strive for perfection but achieves perfection everytime. I’ve adopted this skill and applied it to my every action. When at times i get silly and let loose i’ll care less and do stupid lame jobs but in everything i do i have always wanted to be perfect. I don’t know how mom’s married to dad becuase they’re SO opposite! i strive for perfection and work my hardest which is why it irritates me when people mess up. Just the other day we were making posters and the middle schoolers were continuously messing up. the run through kept getting wrinkled and it was stressing me out that the sign would be all wrinkled, dirty, and anything less than perfect. when the middle schoolers were done with their words to paint they left. everytime i checked up on them while they were painting i saw that they were ALWAYS leaning on the paper and screwing up. I’d panic to rush and solve the issue. the little girls don’t understand why i care so much, and they don’t have to. i’ve explained it to them before but it doesn’t matter. still, mom holds it over my head like a weight how the girls left cause i kept nagging them. What’s wrong with finding perfection absolutely necessary? Everything we do has to be done at a middleschool level. putting junior highers at a varsity level is supposed to make them better. all it’s doing is slowing down the older kids. the sixth graders this year are suprisingly fully prepared to be pushed and to be the best but my idea of pushing means for them to work hard, play little and look amazing. Mom doesn’t like the way i push so i get in trouble for that. i can’t tell you how many times this year dad has had to say ” you no longer get to talk to them, your teammates”. i never listen, i believe that i’m doing a good job. i always consider criticism apply is on a reasonable level but ultimately never stop being me. Being able to spot out potential in a person has always been one of my gifts. i was born with it. To day it’s the most frustrating thing in the world for me when i see idleness. laziness. when people don’t reach potential. when they’re anything less than perfect. why wouldn’t a person want to be the best? why wouldn’t they want to achieve greatness. I’d understand if it were a subject such as math or any structured academic area because anybody can be great in such a structured field. the concept is simple and robotic. 

Some kids are orphans and some are fosterkids. Some have single parents, some only have grandparents, some only have older sibilings. Most everyone has a guardian and everyone has an authoritive figure. God created society that way. there’s no way around it, there’s ALWAYS going to be someone to tell you/me what to do. But not all parents are involved in a kid’s life. Some parents are their kid’s director, their sports coach, their math teacher, their pastor, their teacher in some way. but my parents are too involved. I don’t appreciate them enough but how can i when they’re ruining my life? by them being SO involved with my life, i’ve never had a proper opportunity to be directed, be taught, be coached by any other person. My dad’s my theatre teacher and director, my mom’s my cheer coach. My parents are involved with 70% of my life. It’s driving me insane. I want to be miss popular, i want to have friends, i want to have it all. But everytime that i push for excellence, perhaps that means taking an extremely honest route with my peer, cast mate, teacher. i always try to be respectful, and i never hold the necessary back. but then my parents over react and think that i’ve offended the other person in some way. so i’ll go appologize full-heartedly and that person flips cause they don’t have a bloody clue what i’m talking about. they’re totally cool, totally chill and we never had a problem. who’s the idiot? me. why? cause my parents gave me advice and i listened to them. straight up. they’re losers. they were never popular, they never had many friends in highschool, my mom was bullied, she was the week one. i’ll NEVER be labled as week. i will alwasy be strong. i will always fight. justice must always be served. i’ll never back down. however, i’ll always admit when i’m wrong. i’ll fight till you can absolutely prove me wrong. Otherwise, i will fight. My parents obviously don’t know this. they think i’m quiet or something. they want to be the perfect good girl. i’m not perfect and i’m not good. i am evil. i am destructive. i break everything i touch. i’m fat and i’m ugly and i want to shatter every mirror i see. I’ve never been beautiful i’ve just always been lied to. Dad always tells me i’m perfect. I tried to tell him how socially inept i am and he again attempted to persuade me into believing how ‘perfect i am’. I’m not perfect. I’ve always wanted to be but i must just come to realize that i in fact have nothing to be prideful about. i’m fat. i’m ugly. my family is poor. i’m not smart. i’m not talented in any way. i’m useless. i always do everything wrong. i’m a loser. i have no friends. nobody wants me anyways. i’ll only be loved by creepers and weirdos. No handsome prince for me. only a pimp. i have the worst luck. i give up. i give up. William Shakespeare said “Expectation is the root of all heartache.” The more i live, the more these words prove true. I expect perfection and fail. I expect respect by title, age, rank, talent. i expect what i see others had. i have none. i fail myself and it depresses me. My parents think i don’t care about them nor appreciate them. They’ve been on this high horse lately. the more i stretch my legs as an adult and yearn for independence the more they wadle me into a baby blanket. i’ll never be free. am i disabled that i need my parents? i don’t believe so. i’m so tired of my parents. they bully me everywhere we go. i can never be me. i’m happiest when i’m not with them. they are not family any longer. we have genetic relation but they’re not my family. i shouldn’t care for them how can i not? they live for me. my heart aches when i think of how much they love me because i can’t stand them. Mom and dad went to Vegas last weekend and my life was a haven. The freedom of doing whatever i wanted was bliss. And guess what, my life didn’t fall apart. Why do my parents feel the need to be so involved? It’s only hurting me. I wish they’d live for themselves at last. i wish they’d live out their own dreams and goals and let me be a side responsibility. I feel like i’m in a cage and can’t break free. that if i talk to them they’ll be hurt. i told them about some melo drama that happened and my parents were so stirred up. Everybody on the cheer team got dragged into the situation. Mom took the older girls into a private conference to discuss their opinions on me. Unanimous was the vote admitting to my cruel character. apparently i’m mean. i never wanted to be mean. i want people to grow up and appreciate me for pushing them. i hoped that pushed them would assist something great in their lives. I hate my life so much i wish it would just end. I cut myself everytime that my parents and i argue because i’m always so hurt. i hate fighting with them. they tell i’m power hungry but they’re the control freaks. they even have to know my social networking passwords. they feel as if they have to know everything about me. they nothing about me. Dad clearly thinks i’m immature and stupid. Mom clearly thinks i’m inconsiderate and irresponsible. i’m about ready to give up. i’m so tired of being spread so thin anyways. i hate cheering now. my first year, i loved it. i hated the political corruptness but i loved cheer alot. i wouldn’t have continued if my parents weren’t the coaches. which they told me after i’d already quit. my mom loves coaching the team but i hate her being my coach. my life was fine with her minimal input. i’m trying to distance myself and they keep pulling my jail chain harder. Tonight, i was silence, i can be broken but tonight was not severe as it has been in the past. still, i’m lost. i give up. if lily’s so perfect then fucking make her captain. i’m through. take me out, i quit. oh, how i wish i could quit. my parents would be disappointed and my heart would break. i’m cornered. idk what to do. all i know is that i hate myself. i won’t kill myself because it’s selfish but nothing holds me back from desiring rape and murder. perhaps i’ll take a walk. hopefully, the right insanely horny and blood thirsty man will happen to be there. perhaps i won’t have to live in this world anymore. no more SAT, no more responsibilities, no more worries, no more parents, no more depression, no more past. Heaven would be my new life. Heaven would be amazing. Even when i was a little grade school girl i decided that i wanted to kill myself. Who needs earth, i decided, when i’d have streets of gold and a perfect world. I want everything. I have dreams, hopes. My parents are trying to silence me. i’ve been broken-for tonight. they’re my bullies. i want a psychologist, but what would your immediate opinion be of a girl who needs psychological help? No one ever listens to me anyways. I’m invisible, it’s a fact. i could disappear and no one would ever care. i could die. and life would go on. that’s it. the solution. death. i just want to die. but i won’t. i’ll go downstairs, get the ice cream, eat the entire thing and fall asleep watching movies, absorbed in another world. in another life that isn’t mine. that way i won’t have to think about it. someday i’ll have to face the fact that i will never have another boyfriend. do i forgive kevin and beg him back? can i trust him? he’s already broken it twice. ugh. idk. i don’t even care anymore. i’m done thinking as of right now. i’m got tons more to say but my brain’s so tired and crammed. it’s like traffic on the 91 on a holiday weekend in the afternoon. i need to melo out i suppose. i need to stop caring. or care more? idk i give up


When your best friend becomes your worst enemy…

My dad has always been my dad and i grew up living and breathing to impress him. After i got a little older i distanced myself from both my parents, but i always knew in my heart that my dad was always my hero. My mom always talks about him like the savior of the universe and he always became more important to me. I never wanted to hurt him. We didn’t always agree sometimes, and i really thought that when i began to see things his way, or to attempt and get along with him that i was suddenly becoming way more mature. I thought that finally i was growing into a mature adult for agreeing with my parents. But lately, it doesn’t matter where my loyalty lies, he has been disagreeing with me on every point for which seems no other reason other than to yell at somebody. I poured my heart and soul into what he means to me and he criticized the words i wrote for him. I’ll bet he really didn’t even care to read it. Whenever Bryson’s around, mom begins to adapt to him and always yells at me, she grows a little more selfish. When this process takes place, i begin to long for the moments i have with my dad so that finally i’ll be understood, and won’t get in trouble so much. Someone will finally take my side in these arguments. But recently, it doesn’t matter what the situation is- he’s not on my side anymore. A few weeks ago my dad lectured me about not watching the DVD given to the leads, and basically not being prepared for rehearsal. After that i studied the movie; wrote down all my blocking, noted my script- i was very prepared. But when we finally get to rehearsal i guess i over stepped my boundaries. I knew all too well …well everything. I wanted to teach Marius and everyone Eponine interacted with as much as i knew. I really wanted to impress Dad since i was hyper off coffee tonight and really didn’t want to get yelled at. I put my best foot forward and he bit it off, raw and bloody. My heart’s quite wounded. Nobody else in rehearsal bothered to watch, i’ll bet. Nobody else bothered to play director and cared to know their blocking before it’s taught. So what’d i do wrong? I studied, i learned, i knew, i did my part. I did what he asked and more. I voiced my opinions too loud? I apologize for speaking my mind-it’s called ethics. Later i worked with Barbra on my placement, and after she attempting to drag energy out of me she stopped and asked me “Where’s your passion?” I responded ” I don’t know, maybe music, theatre, friends, reading…” “No, i mean you’ve waited your whole life for this part. This is your dream role, remember?” she replied. I understood and saught out where that passion used to be. I found that passion, that dream i used to have; it was bleeding, it was hurt, it was abused, suffering as if someone had jumped it, raped it, shot it a few times and left it there for dead. The depths of my heart were hurt. Are hurt. Barbra gave me a half hour therapy session about how what my Dad’s going through, and the stress he’s under isn’t my fault. That yes, he vented on me and it’s only cause i’m his kid, but how i need to get back to playing Eponine. It wasn’t enough to make me cry, but i would have if i wanted to enough. I hate crying. And him taking something out on anyone, is both selfish and immature. Kinda like Kevin breaking up with me; selfish and immature. Idk why i let myself trust men; i always end up with a few more scars and bruises than i’d intended. Unfortunately, i can’t trust my own father anymore, apparently. When a daughter can’t trust her father anymore, life shouldn’t proceed. It must, though, and it will. Life must go on. Idk how i can change to make this all work out. I am me, and i don’t want to change. I know that who i am and what i believe is right. I’m not perfect, but at least i try to be. 

On an opposite note: what is Quinton’s problem with me? It was a bit uncalled for for him to say “Where’s Alex?” when he working with me. Sure, i don’t know him so things are still slightly awkward around him and i, but that comment was unneccessary. How’s that supposed to make me feel? Am i not pretty enough, good enough, too bitchy, too slutty, too young, too immature, too fat to be his Eponine? Idk. But that alone hurt as well. Idk what i did but try to get to know him better. Maybe he doesn’t like me. Maybe he hates me. That’s not my problem. I just want to get to know the guy. Apparently, i don’t anymore. I don’t care. I don’t really care about anything anymore. I don’t feel like dying either though. I feel like… like getting high i suppose. Not in the way that i’m depressed and i want to feel good, but that i just don’t want to feel the bad anymore. My father’s new found view of me and how he treats me is a piercing feeling. Family is supposed to be there for you no matter what. My brother got up one day and left. He was my hero and he abandoned me. Heart broken. Who’s left? Mom and Dad. I tried to get closer to mom. That went horribly. And when i broke down crying over my soiled relationship with my mom, Daddy held me. Daddy held me when Nick Dudek, when Kevin Nguyen and when mommy broke my heart. Well right now my daddy’s breaking my heart. Who’s here to hold me now? nobody. Nobody’s here for me


Skyping and an occassion

so i’m skyping Kevin and all the while my mind is speaking in constant repetition- 

"Get back at him" "How can you get back at him?" "Hurt him back" "Make the boy suffer"

I think i have issues….>< 

Part of my mind wants to tell him about this new fancy boyfriend i’ve got that’s hotter than the sexiest man in America, smarter than Einstein, more popular that Justin Beiber, and richer than Bill Gates. But then i realize that nobody would believe that somebody so perfect would be interested in a girl like me…

The other part of my brain wants to spill my heart and soul to him. I want to randomly yell at him for the wrong he’s done then tell him about all of my personal issues…about Royce… the guy is twelve years old. What’s my problem?! I want to tell him about Brennon, about Royce, about himself, about Caber and the rest of the shit in my life. How because my brother’s home my mother’s taken on his own selfish personality and point of view. I missed my Dad sooo bad! But when i finally see him again, he began to criticize me in every which direction. I wrote my dad a frikken novel in his birthday/father’s day cards and he replied nothing more than how his wife makes him who he is. Can’t he just take a compliment. He liked Bryson’s card better. Bryson only signed it, from what i understand. I poured my heart and soul into the words i wrote. I almost want to rip them into a million pieces. What i did was worthless; it meant nothing. 

What a suprise. My heart was broken that night. Again..


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