autumns wind

I'm filing these weekends away in my heart so that I can relive them on those nights when tears come easy and nothing tastes right. These automn winds are whispering winters promises and picking up golden leaves to blow them in my hair. Things are changing like they always do and the only difference is that I finally don't love him anymore. I can see him and buy him a buritto and know that he is destined for sadness because he has not smelled compassion from anyone but me and I am gone from him now. I will not hate him because hating anyone tears down the walls of my universe and makes me bitter. I love the morning too much to be bitter. I love this life too much to hate.
His best friend calls me late at night to stumble over confessions of "love" and I'm sorry but I could never kiss you. You and your jeep and your bad directions and your promises. These boys need to stop watching The OC, it makes them too damn dramatic and they get silly with ultimatums. Him or me, this or that, never or eternity. Just shut up, I have too much on my plate without your college boy problems. I will listen but I will not love you. I will love my best friend and my mom and myself. That's all the love I'm handing out for now so you can wait in line or surrender to my truth. <3

rainy days

Every day is a rainy day. Golden orange leaves sticking to my best friend wind shield- adhered firmly with crystal raindrops that don’t seem to be able to stop falling all over this quiet fall suburbia. At first those rain clouds were comforting, shielding a sun that hurt my eyes and reminded me of summer days in the front seat of your car. Now I am willing them away because the bottoms of my favorite jeans are soaked and my moccasins are slippery on the cold tile floors of my high school. Because my hair is frizzy and the hood on my new red jacket isn’t big enough to cover this blonde mess on my head. Because the only songs I like to listen to when it rains are the slow ones that make me think of you and everyone knows I grew sick of that long ago. I’m tired of talking about you. I could say that I have moved on but here I am blogging again and you seem to be the center of my poetry. You seem to make my fingers fly across the keyboard.
No, I am not jealous of that brunette sophomore kissing you at the Bengals game. I’m sure she is a lovely girl but those circles under her eyes scream of sleepless nights and I wonder how long she will stay innocent with a boy like you in her world. You took a picture of her pressing her lips to your cheek while you scrunched up that freckled face and tried to look like a hard ass. I took a picture like that. Exactly the same- that kiss, that angle, that face. You’re living through cheap imitations of our summer and I’m sorry she can’t edit pictures like I can. Maybe then it would look like you were actually happy. And yes this sounds bitter but the truth is… I have every RIGHT to let the phone ring when you call. I have every right to deny your friend requests on facebook and delete your ridiculous texts. I have every right to shut you out of my life and if I had a little bit more of a bitch in my blood I would have done it long ago. I should have done it long ago. So don’t whine to your friends when I hang up on you and don’t return your messages. They are meeting up with me at Krogers to watch the OC and listen to Sean Kingston in the car before they party the night away with you anyways. The truth hurts, doesn’t it? I forgive you. I wish you happiness. But I have been a dumb blonde for much too long.
I am pale again. My tan faded away when my gym membership expired and I realized I would rather be an Audrey Hepburn than a Paris Hilton. I was born with this porcelain shade so I suppose there is beauty in it somewhere,
but damn Barbie for having such bronzed plastic skin. I yearn for the smell of a tanning bed again and the shade of my eyes when my face is brown. I will accept my beauty. I will love my body even when I shove my face with caramel apples and too much candy corn and hot banana nut bread. I will worship the mirror even when I feel far less that beautiful, because if I don’t believe it- nobody will.

rasberries

Sour apple slices and ADD medication
Thick fog hanging on my bronzed shoulders and crocheted green scarf
Yawning and blinking blue eyes to life
I don’t want to see those high school halls but I know they are coming
Last night we ate at The Cheesecake Factory and revealed our dirty secrets over parmesan chicken and too much bread. We walked quickly around a deserted mall hunted for green eyed cuties and came up empty handed but oh, it was a lovely time.
This week is wearing me down.
I have been reading about wacky chicks in Paris and Milan who speak their minds and open cheap vintage boutiques in the center of the universe. They take off their makeup with tampons and dare to defy all those blonde haired beauty queens and bow-tied communists. They swim against the mainstream with a passion and take baths with Baking Soda. They collect iguanas and inspire the likes of Andy Warhol.
They would never let an asshole like you ruin their day.
And even when you told me you were with some brown haired sophomore,
I chose to be a wacky chick.
I chose to laugh in your face.
Go ahead; call me in a month from now. See if I remember how you used to smell.
See if I care about your apologies then.
I hope you’re happy,
But I’m sure you’re not.
Yesterday I sat in awe while a hobbling Holocaust survivor told her story in front of a hundred high schoolers in ironed pants and fuzzy red sweaters. She wiped her eyes and brought life the terror of her past. She made jokes about the return of Elvis and I laughed at the way her polish accent wrapped around pop culture references.
She told us about the selfless courage of an eighteen year old Jew. This stringy haired girl presented a dusty raspberry to her best friend on a leaf, and in my mind their world is black and white- maroon raspberry and green leaf the only color illuminated in a world drained of all color.
She represented all that was beautiful and her 83 year old skin told stories written in every pale wrinkle and saggy laugh line.
One day I will have a story to tell,
She did not make hers a tragedy- she made it an inspiration.
I refuse to live a tragedy when there are all these raspberries in the world.

ready for an adventure

Last night we decorated tie die tee shirts with cursive writeing in puffy paint and cheap plastic rhinestones. After an hour the floor was covored with glitter and I could barely keep my eyes open. I crawled into her bed and felt my face sink into her hypo-allergenic pillow. yes, sleep. i remmember what this feels like. six hours later we are rushing to get coffee. hot pink lipstick and blue glitter eyeliner. yes, we are seniors. yes, we love life. yes, our tee shirts are so much cooler than yours.
armed with lattes and early dismissal passes we floor it to school. first bell was a joke and second is even worse. I am restless and hungry for the world. I am dreaming of New York in the fall and all the pictures my camera is ready to take. I am fantasizing about the people i will meet, the journals i will fill, the freedom i will taste in a few endless months. they will fly by when all these pep rallies are done with but oh they are dragging by so so slowly now.
I have never been more ready for an adventure.

candy corn tummy ache

It has been so long since my last post.
Days have passed and my hair has grown and I have new favorite songs. Homecoming is in two days and my arms are tanned and silky and my stomach is full of candy corn. For some reason I can't seem to pass the purple bowl without grabbing two handfuls of edible pre-halloween joy. they leave me with cramps and regrets and soon i will do crunches on my cold bathroom floor
but oh, they taste so good.
Since my last post I have seen him,
and waved him away. I have thrown his sweatshirt into his glistening car window and avoided that gaze as I slammed the door to my best friends car and ajusted my Buddha tee shirt. Thank God my eyes looked blue that day. You threated me and texted me pictures of the money you owed me. "This is the closest you'll ever get to it."
Real classy,
grow up.
And now I have met new boys. Green eyed charmers with cheesy pickup lines that work at the mall. Dreadlocked band members singing in a window downtown. Spikey Haired Seniors who just got their braces off and love tacos. Broad chested skater boys who think I'm funny.
And still you call.
And still you text.
And last night i finally let your voice fill my phone.
I let you apologize. I let you promise me roses I will never smell. I let you ask about school, family, friends. I did not let you into my heart. I did not spill my emotions over a static phone line like i am so accustomed to doing when it comes to you. I gave you no rope to hold onto after you jumped into the light blue abyss of honesty and emotions. i let you say how you felt, acknowledged your guilt, and moved on. I politely loved you, with the kind of heart that has been used and recycled and reproduced stronger and thicker and worthy of someone more devoted than you.
And my fuzzy headed rebel boy worries that it has begun again. Worries I am as weak as I used to be, as susceptible to lovely promises and hazy apologies. He worries you will win me over with thai food and Guster. He worries I will fall back into you and that disaster that made my summer beautiful. I convinced him at 4:30 this morning that I am not his fool anymore. Before I hopped in the shower he texted me to tell me i was right,
i am strong.
i am smart.
i am independant.
and i do not
need
you
anymore.

not much time to write

Not much time to write today
munching on apple chips and Immunity water that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. slipping off my clearance rack golden shoes because they are one size too small and squeezing the life out of my wide Hobbit feet. Just read an e mail from my blonde goddess inspiration. i miss her and love her and long to hug her. that day will come.
last night i didnt even need those herbal supplements to fall asleep. i spread lavender lotion over my dry hands and slid between my rust colored sheets. i smiled before i fell asleep and woke up early with a craving for lemon frosting. i have been talking to him little by little, but i have abandoned those homecoming dreams. i have let go of red dresses and expensive dinners downtown. i don't need it. i really don't.
first bell we talked about middle school pop songs and how underneath those pretty pink lips all girls are evil. they will three way call you, tell your best friend your a lesbian, make fun of your plaid skirt from L L Bean. they will love you and leave you and take all your secrets with them. they will be your best friend and your worst enemy.beware my darling when you surrender your intimate fantasties and hidden desires. they will slander your name if you let them get to close and thank God i am not a girl like this. thank God my best friend is not tainted by that middle school bull shit. the drama that holds high schools together and tears relationships apart. the crying in the bathroom stall and slamming of yellow lockers. i didn't live all those tragedies we read about in first bell and my heart goes out to those thirteen year old girls with orange foundation and stubby nails. the ones walking alone and exposing their stomachs. straightening their hair until it is brittle and straw like and even then the flawless faced bitches won't let her sit with them. i'm ranting and raving about a world i already lived through but all those articles about 7th grade catastrophe made me want to rewind and help those lonely hearts.