Hard to accept

It's hard to think that it's been a year since i started to really accept everything that i allowed myself to be put through. It might not seem as big and scary to other people, but when it gets in depth when all of the facts are laid out on the table, it's easier to see why everything was so traumatizing with my relationship with Hero. I'm relieved that he hasn't tried to talk to me since i put my foot down, about how we could never be friends and how much he'd hurt me. I'm not sure he could ever understand the extent of the amount of bullshit that he put me through. But I still think that the hardest part is knowing that I put myself in that position, that at some point much earlier I should've gotten out of it. That I, the person who never wants to be a victim, victimized myself. Hard to fathom that I've done that. That I in essence hurt myself too.

Parts of the Rose

The stem

strong and brutal with it's daggers piercing the tips of many fingers

the petals

soft and inviting, drenched in color and calling your eyes

the center

the soul

the scent

the key ingredient to the magic of the flower

CSI?

Crime scene Bullshit. The phone is dusted and one perfect print turns up. The ME approaches the body and immediately sees the method of death or a clue. The Investigator practically sees a pin sized drop of blood from a mile away.

If only solving mysteries was that simple. If only solving life was that simple, can you imagine?

Approaching your lover and seeing what wrong with them? Having some futuristic computer program find the source of the issue within a minute or two?

Yeah Right.

Life is not a TV show that's for sure, Maybe if i start to write a script it will start to play out the way i'd like.

A girl can dream

Fake it till you make it

"I can't do that, I just can't!" I exclaimed, "Out of the question!"

"That's what you signed up for, not doing it is not an option!" the Director recanted.

Yes, i knew that that is exactly what I had signed up for but now, that the time was upon me, it seemed wholly impossible.

"No, No, No, No, NO! I will not kiss him! EVER!"

The Director storms off, not wanting to deal with me. I know I know I did sign up for this, I showcased myself exquisitely exactly to get this part, but I didn't realize how much this 3 second act would effect me. I have never done a stage kiss, and even though I don't really dislike my male counterpart I don't want to expose myself to him and the audience in that way. Is it because of my lack of confidence? Or my own perceived lack of my sensuality? I honestly don't know. Perhaps I really just don't want to. But the choices are do it, or be black listed and the latter is really not an option. So I suck it up. My false pride allows me to immediately apologize to the Director, even though it's likely he still loathes me. Here goes. Hot lights, Heavy costume, Tense hands, Close the eyes, and Pucker up.

buy me the moon

Won't you buy me the moon? Whose silvery light calls down to me shining in my ears how much it loves me.

Won't you buy me the moon? Who knew me before and longs for the touch of my bare feet on her skin.

Won't you buy me the moon? Her soft cool embrace squeezing me tighter as the days go by.

Won't you buy me the moon? So that I can keep her without ever wondering where she has gone.

Won't you buy me the moon? Whose haunting orb reflects in my eyes without asking permission.

Won't you buy me the moon? Her picture inspiring so many images in the cultures of man.

I want the moon to be mine, my heart dripping red onto her sweet pure cream surface, creating a pattern for the whole world to see.

Won't you be my moon so I can keep you forever? And when I have you forever,

you can Keep me.

I aspire to be as amazing as this

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7WTOhQM3f2Q

If you haven't read Francesca Lia Block

you really should

the elusive muse

what inspires people. like artists, writers, musicians, dancers? for me it can be something insanely simple. One image. One phrase, can spark a paragraph, a page, an entire story. How do so many authors continue books for hundreds even thousands of pages. It always seems like an unattainable goal for me, which is so disappointing. perhaps someday i'll get struck with that long lasting inspiration, I sure hope so

little taste of freedom

Confined by the localization of everything. Practically suffocated by the bright lights and recognition of the small city, with a hometown feel. Trapped by a schedule. But that was her life.

Get up, go to work, go to school, do homework, drive home, watch TV, sleep. That's it, just a pattern. She looked up at the mountains and west towards the coast longingly, wishing she cuold break this curse of familiarity and just go somewhere or do something different. Chin on hand with her head turned to the window. The slow droll of the professors voice invading her ears, she couldn't take it anymore, so she picked up her stuff and simply walked out without indication or sound. With a full tank of gas she just started to drive west. PCH seemed like the perfect pathway so she made a beeline for it hoping that she would get whatever it was that she was looking for. The city smell started to dissipate closer she got to the shore, it was replaced by the deep briny air. The scent was so refreshing that she rolled her window down and let the new wind blow the ocean breeze and her hair around her face and body. The ocean was so harsh and yet so beautiful. She stuck her hand out of the window and let the wind push it up and down like a mild rollercoaster. The gentle motion mimicking the roll of the waves, she thought to herself "this is free, this is freedom." Right when the low fuel light illuminated, she pulled over to the coast and got out of her car. Leaving her shoes and possessions in the car she headed to the water. Slow deliberate steps brought her closer and closer to the crashing water. When she finally reached it, without hesitation clothes and all, she ran in.

Obsession

caught in the nuances of one thing

maybe it's blue hair or cat eyes or maybe

it's just

the shapes

the style

the music

the feel

that causes an unnatural attraction to a single thing

a movie

a song

a piece of clothing

a character

you want it

all the time

to be it

it's haunting thoughts and lingering images

invading

the being

it's scary

and

refreshing

http://www.modcloth.com/

looking for the right look?

sick of the horrible fashion that's out right now?

well i've found the place for great clothes and it's modcloth

seriously

uh-mazing

Playing a part

Find the way to get there

To that place

where success breeds

where they believe you.

Do you believe you?

Not right now,

but through it,

work through it.

Say the written words,

make your lips and tongue form the syllables.

Hold your body a different way, walk a different way, talk a different way.

Be a different way.

you did it

You

aren't You.

You're them.

They're them,

and that's you.

You believe you,

I believe you.

I'm her.

rediscovering the doll

My room is a mess, it's time to clean and purge, remover everything I no longer need. Starting at the bottom. Papers, clothes, things strewn across the floor, mostly things I use often, some things just buried and neglected. I get two extra large Hefty garbage bags, one for trash and one for donations. I start at the bottom of the room, going through the papers and extras strewn across my floor. Most of it goes in the trash bag since if I haven't looked for it in the last few weeks I probably don't need it. I move on to the drawers under my bed and the shelves under my TV. There isn't much to get rid of, mainly collectables and purses, things that I don't necessarily use, but that I want to keep as a just in case. I rid myself of clothes that I will never wear, and shoes that are too worn down to ever look good with an outfit again. I donate books to the library and finally get to the dusty cupboards above my closet. As I pull down the bins that hold different hobbies and crafts I know those I cannot let go, mainly because I get them out once every six to eight months to tinker with them. When I get to the very back I reach back and find a bin that I haven't touched in years. I sneeze from all of the horrible allergens that have accumulated over the years. I flip the lid off of the crate and gasp, then cough. The dust has invaded my throat. Hidden inside this bin is something very special, something of value in more ways than one. I pull out a beautiful little girl, with porcelain-esque skin, softer than jersey with pink perfectly placed on the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes are an emerald green that sparkle and shine with a glow that only plastic can emit. A toothy grin graces her face, and her forehead is shrouded with thick, lush, glossy blonde hair. Her name is Kirsten, and her story comes in books. A glisten glazes my eyes as I think of my younger self dressing this girl in historical and mixed mashed clothing, setting up her room and little bed, looking through the catalog to find her a friend and choose the most luxurious accessories and outfits. Are the contents of this bin something I should get rid of? Probably. But can I? No. I think I'll tuck her away for my own little girl to enjoy someday.

So, you should read this

Recently the sequel to one of my favorite books came out. This summer my mom and I have been practically eating books, most were really good but one definitely stood out above the rest. It's called The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins it's about post apocalyptic north america. There is a capitol and twelve districts surrounding the capitol, and as punishment for a former uprising, the capitol forces the districts to send one boy and one girl between the ages of 12 and 18 to compete in a fight to the death and the entire thing is televised for the capitol's entertainment. This book blew my mind, not only the awesome concept but also amazing writing. Collins said she got her inspiration while flipping through channels and seeing reality TV and footage of the war in Iraq when the lines began to blur she got the idea for the book. I would seriously recommend this book to anybody. It;s meant to be a trilogy and with the release of the second book, leaves me ever more desperate for the final installment. All i can think of is how it would feel to be a tribute and have to kill your peers in order to survive. Can you imagine that?

so, basically,

read it,

it's bombtastic,

seriously

Dear Month

this was something i read from another writer, i believe she wrote to April, I am going to write to September

Dear September,

I'm afraid that our once steady relationship has become strained. It seems like you are flippy floppy, during days you're boiling hot but at night and in the early morning your frigid cold leaves me shivering with anxiety of what new stressors you'll bring. Homework, Line memorization, and Work. You are sucking away my time for my friends and boyfriend, but yet the opportunities you have presented draw me in like a siren. There is of course the issue of money is something at the front of my mind. This packed schedule is doing very little for the bulge in my wallet. And don't ever get me talking about the sleep loss! Why oh why September have you stolen my ability to nap! It's driving me insane. September, you are slowly forcing me to make caffeine and fourth meal my best friends, and don't ask my waistline about how that's going. There is my Boyfriend's birthday to look forward to and the beginning of school which brings new experiences, but sometimes it feels like you have more trouble to offer than good and that leaves me longing for October. I am excited for a few of your offerings and you are the beginning of the great season of fall, but our relationship is so conflicted that I'm unsure whether to love or loathe you. I suppose that i should pay more attention to all the great things that you have given me, and when I take it slow and pay more mind to the greatness that is you, perhaps I don't dislike you so much after all, in fact I think we can mend this rocky relationship.

Hear from you soon!

Much Love

Alwyn