Again.
For the third time in a row.
You really love her, don't you?
She really loves you back. I can tell.
It's in the way she looks at you- the blue in her eyes washing over you like a refreshing summer's rain, washing off any pain and dirt and agony and hurt...
It's in the way she touches you- gently, but caring, as if carefully trying to piece your broken heart back together.
It's in the way she won't stop texting you non-stop, twenty-four-seven, because, apparently, you're just so in love that you have to be connected to each other every single moment of the day.
Love.
It's everything between y'all.
It's everything y'all are.
It's everything that I have always felt for her and most likely will always feel for her.
Fair is fair, though, and the princess has chosen her prince.
I, of course, am not feminine enough to be a princess, nor regal enough to be a prince, nor even strong enough to be a dragon- as much as I'd like to swoop in and breathe fire to eliminate all her enemies, I lack flame and wings.
No, I am the outcast werewolf of the kingdom, the beast too dark for good but too light for evil; I am the beast that is shunned by the civilians but is too weary of the shadows to join the dwellings of the crowds that stalk silently in the dark.
I'm left outside the castle walls to beg like a sick puppy. I don't want your old meat, though. I want love. I want someone to take me in and say "There, there, it's okay: I love you no matter what you are."
The lights of the city shine away from me, unless it's the light off of the torches of men who want to slay me.
So I'm left to sit outside of the castle walls and beg for a prize that will never be mine, but, hey, wolves hope.
Treat her well, Prince Charming.
Treat her very well. I'll be watching.
And I doubt you'd want to evoke my wrath.
But even if I disagree, who am I to interfere?
She loves you, all of you, and I won't ruin that for either of you.
You won, prince charming.
Let's just hope you're worthy.
5/20/2011
This Outta Answer About Half Of "What's Wrong?"
"I'm keeping you in girl's choir."
A very simple sentence, is it not? To a healthy person, this sentence would be of absolutely no importance. They would shrug and say "Well then, sucks for the upper choir."
I'm not a healthy person, though, at least not when it comes to the realm of emotions.
It's been over 24 hours since she told me this, and yet I'm still sporadically bursting into tears over it. Why?
The only reason I ever consented to sing in a "Beginning Choir" was the expectation of advancement.
And I thought that I did advance.
I thought that I accomplished so much, that my vocal skills have grown exponentially, that I conquered it...For a while, I tricked myself into believing that I was actually good enough, that I actually belonged in the world of fine vocalist.
You quickly corrected this for me, though. "You have pitch issues." I know enough about music to know that my voice DOES fall easily off of the center wavelength of vibrations that creates the pleasing sensation known as "music". I also know enough about flattery to know that what you really meant to say was, "You can't sing."
I've been told directly that I can't sing. My friends tell me this. Rockband video games tell me this. Even my own parents tell me this. But you told me otherwise. I went to your piano, humble and shy, and sung for you. You stared at me with those glistening eyes and told me, "Sing up! You can sing!" I believed you, foolishly so, due to all the contrary evidence, but yet and still, I believed you. I believed that I was WORTH it. I suppose I should thank for, for this gave me confidence and happiness that I can rarely bring myself to feel. I sung loudly, I sung proudly, and I believed for so long that I was singing beautifully. I was much better than when I entered, so much better that the contrast would astound you.
Or so I thought.
The highlight of my sophomore year was the time before tryouts to advanced choir. I was so ready to wear those flowing dresses, to sing the compositions that they sung, such wonderful, beautiful, magical compositions (not that our pieces weren't beautiful, but even you have to admit that the pieces that upper choir sings from have that extra sparkle of musical genius to them), so ready to sound that beautiful, so ready to be a part of that. Oh, I had hope like I rarely had hope in goals before. The craziest thing of it all is that I BELIEVED IN MYSELF. For reasons that I cannot fathom, I rarely develop confidence in my abilities, but, oh, I believed. I believed and I hope and I TRIED.
Oh, how I tried. Sections of weekends were dedicated to walking around the house, singing the pieces, honestly believing that I was making music. I poured so much energy into practices in class, so much of myself into every note that my weak little lungs could breathe. You say my ear is hard to train, but you'll never know how hard it tried, how hard it listened to every note on the piano and every sound from the surrounding vocalist. My voice wasn't meant for European vowels with all of its Southern dialects and tensed muscles, but I did everything in my power to make it adjust to the beautiful sound that my ear collected. That first hour of every schoolday was the highlight of my life. Sure, I may have rolled my eyes as if the sight reading was beneath me (which, to be honest, didn't entirely retain my attention), but a little remedial sightreading would be worth it next year.
Next year. That was supposed to be the year where you smiled at me and said, "Welcome to Advanced Choir," (I knew that there wasn't a snowflake's chance in hell that you'd be welcoming me into Vocal Ensemble), the year I'd associate myself with the finest musicians and become a fine musician myself.
Silly me; I thought I was actually good enough to step into next year.
Did your co-worker ever tell you why I quit band? I often claim that it lost it's luster, but you were dead on when you noticed my passion for music, yet you could never hope to understand just how much it means to me. Would you like to know what I really told her that day when I sat in her office and explain why I didn't put band on my schedule for sophomore year? "I keep dragging the quality of the band down." Yes, she pulled the "Oh, that's not true," trick, but I wasn't fooled. As you could probably tell from our breathing exercises, my lung capacity isn't that fantastic. This dramatically ruins the sound quality of a clarinet- oh, how airy and whispy it sounded in contrast to the rest of the incredibly talented bad. I couldn't stand to weaken their potential that much.
If I had any idea that my fate would be the same in choir, I never would have trespassed on your land of excellence. I thoroughly enjoy choir, much as I thoroughly enjoy band, but I love music enough to not tamper it when I can't produce it. I'm so sorry- I thought I was producing it in choir. Am I the reason that the choir's potential wasn't met? Oh, how stupid I was. I should have known that you moved me to the back for the reason, but, of course, I was foolish enough to sum it up to "Well maybe my voice is too powerful." If I had any idea that I really was that out of tune, I would have been dead silent for the sake of the wonderful talents that encompass our choir.
You could have just told me, you know. Yes, I am very sensitive, and, yes, I do fall to pieces very easily, but I would have much rathered a cold truth than a false hope. If I don't have a good voice, tell me, and I'll make sure it doesn't ruin another state festival.
I'm so sorry.
So many times within the last 24 hours that I've wanted to tell you, "I can't do it next year." I tried, I failed, and now I wish that I could move on, that I could take it as another failed attempt at art and try again with the next interest. I should have known- even my own PARENTS warned me against this. I should have known, but hope was far too tempting.
I'm weak, I know, and I apologize for this.
Wanna know a secret? Wanna know why I did so horribly on Jubelie? I couldn't breathe that day- I was cramping so badly that I couldn't focus, I couldn't breathe properly, and I surely couldn't sing. Perhaps I should have told you, but you were far too busy, far too in a rush, and you probably aren't the type to take excuses anyways. Besides, I honestly thought that I did well on the other pieces. Dear gosh, you'll never know how hard I tried, how every second was spent trying SO HARD to get on pitch. That may just be harder than I've ever tried at anything before.
Oh, if I would have known that my silence would cause me so much pain, perhaps I would have told you.
"Pain?" you may wonder. "By God, it's just choir."
Perhaps to a healthy person, it is just an arrangement of letters on a schedule.
But I'm not a healthy person. Getting into advance choir was EVERYTHING to me. You never know how my eyes water when I listen to them sing- they're angels. I wanted to be angelic as well. I wanted it SO badly, SO strongly...
but I guess I can't get everything I want.
If I'm not good enough, then I'm not good enough. I am able to understand this. No, I don't sound like an angel. But, God, how I wanted the chance to, how I thirst for the chance to be surrounded by THAT level of quality, for my voice to rise up and mix in with them, to, for a second, be a part of heaven. I'm not an angel, though, and no God would let a demon into heaven, so I'm hell bound. Perhaps calling Girl's Choir "Hell" is a little strong- after all, choir is a fun class, regardless of what level, but it will be a living hell for me next year. I failed. I failed myself, I failed the qualifications, but, worst of all, I failed you. You expected better of me. You wanted better of me. You believed in me when no one else did. But I failed you, and I'm sorry. Would you forgive me if I walked into class the first day of next year and just fell into tiny, unrepairable pieces? Would you forgive me if I opened my mouth, but the sound was too ashamed to come out, being aware of how unwanted it is? Would it be a crime if I was too heartbroken to do it anymore?
You put so much energy, so much care, and so much time into me, and I appreciate it, I really do, and I know that you don't mind putting more time into this failed attempt at an angelic vocalist. I just wish that I was worth your time.
A very simple sentence, is it not? To a healthy person, this sentence would be of absolutely no importance. They would shrug and say "Well then, sucks for the upper choir."
I'm not a healthy person, though, at least not when it comes to the realm of emotions.
It's been over 24 hours since she told me this, and yet I'm still sporadically bursting into tears over it. Why?
The only reason I ever consented to sing in a "Beginning Choir" was the expectation of advancement.
And I thought that I did advance.
I thought that I accomplished so much, that my vocal skills have grown exponentially, that I conquered it...For a while, I tricked myself into believing that I was actually good enough, that I actually belonged in the world of fine vocalist.
You quickly corrected this for me, though. "You have pitch issues." I know enough about music to know that my voice DOES fall easily off of the center wavelength of vibrations that creates the pleasing sensation known as "music". I also know enough about flattery to know that what you really meant to say was, "You can't sing."
I've been told directly that I can't sing. My friends tell me this. Rockband video games tell me this. Even my own parents tell me this. But you told me otherwise. I went to your piano, humble and shy, and sung for you. You stared at me with those glistening eyes and told me, "Sing up! You can sing!" I believed you, foolishly so, due to all the contrary evidence, but yet and still, I believed you. I believed that I was WORTH it. I suppose I should thank for, for this gave me confidence and happiness that I can rarely bring myself to feel. I sung loudly, I sung proudly, and I believed for so long that I was singing beautifully. I was much better than when I entered, so much better that the contrast would astound you.
Or so I thought.
The highlight of my sophomore year was the time before tryouts to advanced choir. I was so ready to wear those flowing dresses, to sing the compositions that they sung, such wonderful, beautiful, magical compositions (not that our pieces weren't beautiful, but even you have to admit that the pieces that upper choir sings from have that extra sparkle of musical genius to them), so ready to sound that beautiful, so ready to be a part of that. Oh, I had hope like I rarely had hope in goals before. The craziest thing of it all is that I BELIEVED IN MYSELF. For reasons that I cannot fathom, I rarely develop confidence in my abilities, but, oh, I believed. I believed and I hope and I TRIED.
Oh, how I tried. Sections of weekends were dedicated to walking around the house, singing the pieces, honestly believing that I was making music. I poured so much energy into practices in class, so much of myself into every note that my weak little lungs could breathe. You say my ear is hard to train, but you'll never know how hard it tried, how hard it listened to every note on the piano and every sound from the surrounding vocalist. My voice wasn't meant for European vowels with all of its Southern dialects and tensed muscles, but I did everything in my power to make it adjust to the beautiful sound that my ear collected. That first hour of every schoolday was the highlight of my life. Sure, I may have rolled my eyes as if the sight reading was beneath me (which, to be honest, didn't entirely retain my attention), but a little remedial sightreading would be worth it next year.
Next year. That was supposed to be the year where you smiled at me and said, "Welcome to Advanced Choir," (I knew that there wasn't a snowflake's chance in hell that you'd be welcoming me into Vocal Ensemble), the year I'd associate myself with the finest musicians and become a fine musician myself.
Silly me; I thought I was actually good enough to step into next year.
Did your co-worker ever tell you why I quit band? I often claim that it lost it's luster, but you were dead on when you noticed my passion for music, yet you could never hope to understand just how much it means to me. Would you like to know what I really told her that day when I sat in her office and explain why I didn't put band on my schedule for sophomore year? "I keep dragging the quality of the band down." Yes, she pulled the "Oh, that's not true," trick, but I wasn't fooled. As you could probably tell from our breathing exercises, my lung capacity isn't that fantastic. This dramatically ruins the sound quality of a clarinet- oh, how airy and whispy it sounded in contrast to the rest of the incredibly talented bad. I couldn't stand to weaken their potential that much.
If I had any idea that my fate would be the same in choir, I never would have trespassed on your land of excellence. I thoroughly enjoy choir, much as I thoroughly enjoy band, but I love music enough to not tamper it when I can't produce it. I'm so sorry- I thought I was producing it in choir. Am I the reason that the choir's potential wasn't met? Oh, how stupid I was. I should have known that you moved me to the back for the reason, but, of course, I was foolish enough to sum it up to "Well maybe my voice is too powerful." If I had any idea that I really was that out of tune, I would have been dead silent for the sake of the wonderful talents that encompass our choir.
You could have just told me, you know. Yes, I am very sensitive, and, yes, I do fall to pieces very easily, but I would have much rathered a cold truth than a false hope. If I don't have a good voice, tell me, and I'll make sure it doesn't ruin another state festival.
I'm so sorry.
So many times within the last 24 hours that I've wanted to tell you, "I can't do it next year." I tried, I failed, and now I wish that I could move on, that I could take it as another failed attempt at art and try again with the next interest. I should have known- even my own PARENTS warned me against this. I should have known, but hope was far too tempting.
I'm weak, I know, and I apologize for this.
Wanna know a secret? Wanna know why I did so horribly on Jubelie? I couldn't breathe that day- I was cramping so badly that I couldn't focus, I couldn't breathe properly, and I surely couldn't sing. Perhaps I should have told you, but you were far too busy, far too in a rush, and you probably aren't the type to take excuses anyways. Besides, I honestly thought that I did well on the other pieces. Dear gosh, you'll never know how hard I tried, how every second was spent trying SO HARD to get on pitch. That may just be harder than I've ever tried at anything before.
Oh, if I would have known that my silence would cause me so much pain, perhaps I would have told you.
"Pain?" you may wonder. "By God, it's just choir."
Perhaps to a healthy person, it is just an arrangement of letters on a schedule.
But I'm not a healthy person. Getting into advance choir was EVERYTHING to me. You never know how my eyes water when I listen to them sing- they're angels. I wanted to be angelic as well. I wanted it SO badly, SO strongly...
but I guess I can't get everything I want.
If I'm not good enough, then I'm not good enough. I am able to understand this. No, I don't sound like an angel. But, God, how I wanted the chance to, how I thirst for the chance to be surrounded by THAT level of quality, for my voice to rise up and mix in with them, to, for a second, be a part of heaven. I'm not an angel, though, and no God would let a demon into heaven, so I'm hell bound. Perhaps calling Girl's Choir "Hell" is a little strong- after all, choir is a fun class, regardless of what level, but it will be a living hell for me next year. I failed. I failed myself, I failed the qualifications, but, worst of all, I failed you. You expected better of me. You wanted better of me. You believed in me when no one else did. But I failed you, and I'm sorry. Would you forgive me if I walked into class the first day of next year and just fell into tiny, unrepairable pieces? Would you forgive me if I opened my mouth, but the sound was too ashamed to come out, being aware of how unwanted it is? Would it be a crime if I was too heartbroken to do it anymore?
You put so much energy, so much care, and so much time into me, and I appreciate it, I really do, and I know that you don't mind putting more time into this failed attempt at an angelic vocalist. I just wish that I was worth your time.
2/16/2011
My high school consular is such a kind, compassionate woman.
I almost don't have the heart to tell her that there isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish I was dead at least once,
That I've contemplated more ways to kill myself than she could find in her psychology textbook,
That I could carry out most of those means very easily,
And, most importantly,
That I'm just broken and insane enough to never be able to bring myself to do it-
Zoie; she's heard the name once, but doesn't know that the little angel is one of the only reasons I haven't offed myself, why I can't off myself...
She's a gentle barrier around me, the wall between my throat and that blade, my stomach and those pills, my breath and that noose,
For she will not allow for Maw Maw Wina to loose another one,
Even if loosing me could save many hairs from graying.
I'm hopelessly suicidal, but hopeless bound to survival.
Depressed, but chained to progress.
I almost don't have the heart to tell her that there isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish I was dead at least once,
That I've contemplated more ways to kill myself than she could find in her psychology textbook,
That I could carry out most of those means very easily,
And, most importantly,
That I'm just broken and insane enough to never be able to bring myself to do it-
Zoie; she's heard the name once, but doesn't know that the little angel is one of the only reasons I haven't offed myself, why I can't off myself...
She's a gentle barrier around me, the wall between my throat and that blade, my stomach and those pills, my breath and that noose,
For she will not allow for Maw Maw Wina to loose another one,
Even if loosing me could save many hairs from graying.
I'm hopelessly suicidal, but hopeless bound to survival.
Depressed, but chained to progress.
2/05/2011
I'm Not Too Skinny (Open Letter To My Father)
106 pounds is a perfectly healthy weight for a 5'0 female....right?
It's not like I'm eating any less than I was before I went vegan (I use "vegan" loosely here- I'm attempting not to consume any food with animal byproducts, but doubtfully I've slipped up a few times)...I'm just eating different foods- healthier, more ecologically humane food.
I'm not too skinny-
You've always been able to see my collar bones and my ribs, even when I weighed almost 120 pounds. That's just the way that my fat and tissue distributes itself.
No, I'm not going to die. If anything, I'll become healthier as my body cleanses itself of impurities.
I hope.
No, I won't staring eating meat or drinking milk again. It won't do myself a bit of good to intoxicate myself and the environment unnecessarily.
So, please, my loving and caring father,
PLEASE don't hate me over this action to better the world and myself.
PLEASE don't loose any sleep over my health.
PLEASE just calm down and allow me to prove that everything will be okay.
Please.
It's not like I'm eating any less than I was before I went vegan (I use "vegan" loosely here- I'm attempting not to consume any food with animal byproducts, but doubtfully I've slipped up a few times)...I'm just eating different foods- healthier, more ecologically humane food.
I'm not too skinny-
You've always been able to see my collar bones and my ribs, even when I weighed almost 120 pounds. That's just the way that my fat and tissue distributes itself.
No, I'm not going to die. If anything, I'll become healthier as my body cleanses itself of impurities.
I hope.
No, I won't staring eating meat or drinking milk again. It won't do myself a bit of good to intoxicate myself and the environment unnecessarily.
So, please, my loving and caring father,
PLEASE don't hate me over this action to better the world and myself.
PLEASE don't loose any sleep over my health.
PLEASE just calm down and allow me to prove that everything will be okay.
Please.
2/03/2011
Amateur Architecture; Sims 3
Are you getting fed up with every house in your Sims world looking like the set of a Hollywood film? Do you wish that you Sims could reside in something that looks a little less glamorous? Well, fear not! These houses are unique, dazzling..but with realistic flaws in design. Feast your eyes on these two wondrous lots!
Our first house is a HUGE 60 by 60 lot that we like to call Suspiciously Inconspicuous. On the outside, it looks like a warm, sunny house meant for a large family. And it is;
....until you peer inside.....
Sure, it's a little unorthodox to imprison your Sims in a puzzling labyrinth, but fear not! Sims are equipped with maze-solving abilities that will get them through any maze house. The question is. can YOU navigate this house?
Click here for download (Brings You To Google Documents Page)
Of course, not everyone wants a large, expensive house, and that's okay. There's always the Adorable Yet Deadly lot, a house on a 20 by 30 (?) lot that is just as aMAZing as it's larger counterpart, but in a more affordable and adorable form.
Unlike the larger lot, this lot isn't all stone inside. It does have a few cozier looking rooms to showcase a false sense of comfort.
Click Here For Download
Should you actually find these homes worthy of downloading, I should warn you that the files are in .zip format, so you WILL need .zip software.
Have fun in your new houses!
Our first house is a HUGE 60 by 60 lot that we like to call Suspiciously Inconspicuous. On the outside, it looks like a warm, sunny house meant for a large family. And it is;
....until you peer inside.....
Sure, it's a little unorthodox to imprison your Sims in a puzzling labyrinth, but fear not! Sims are equipped with maze-solving abilities that will get them through any maze house. The question is. can YOU navigate this house?
Click here for download (Brings You To Google Documents Page)
Of course, not everyone wants a large, expensive house, and that's okay. There's always the Adorable Yet Deadly lot, a house on a 20 by 30 (?) lot that is just as aMAZing as it's larger counterpart, but in a more affordable and adorable form.
Unlike the larger lot, this lot isn't all stone inside. It does have a few cozier looking rooms to showcase a false sense of comfort.
Click Here For Download
Should you actually find these homes worthy of downloading, I should warn you that the files are in .zip format, so you WILL need .zip software.
Have fun in your new houses!
1/30/2011
What I Plan To Do
Sure, it may not look like much now, but this blog will be GREAT! It will feature poetry, amateur Sims (c) creations, rants about life, music, and much more! Time is short now- I am preparing to go to a funeral (life sucks sometimes, especially when it ends)- but when I return, I will add some content worth seeing. Until then, hang tight!
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