someone should write a song for the imperfect girls. i don’t think i look like an angel dressed in white or that the world stops when i smile. i'm not that girl. almost no one is that girl, and anyone searching for that girl is going to have a(more) hell of a time trying to find her.
a song about me would be the song about the girl who hides her mouth with her sleeves when she feels uncomfortable, or whose feet are always shuffling because she can’t find the patience to stay still. if someone could romanticize my quirks and love the song about that girl, i think that i could love them too.(less)
The chunky lady at the booth looked familiar.
"May I take your drink order?" I asked her.
She looked up. "Oh...are you by any chance Samantha Ryder?"
"Yes," I said, surprised. "I am. You are...?"
The lady smiled. "Patricia Moore. Remember me?"
Oh, I did.
Patricia "Triss" Moore. The girl guys wanted, the girl every other girl wanted to be. Triss had the type of body that you thought was only in Photoshopped magazines--until you saw Triss. Guys cracked jokes about her in the locker rooms, "Give me some Moore," and things like that. Girls scrutinized her impeccable fashion sense and fought each other for a chance to be invited to Triss's legendary parties.
I was simple Samantha Ryder. Triss and I had Calc together, but we never talked. No one really talked to her except a select few, a select few that I wasn't. It wasn't a bad thing, or upsetting. It was just a fact. Triss was Flawless, Perfect, Fabulous, and I just Was.
"Triss?" I asked in disbelief, nearly dropping my pen.
"Nice to see you again," she smiled. "Please, call me Patricia."
"How have you been?" I fumbled. "It's been a long time since high school."
Patricia cracked a smile. "I never went much of anywhere, I guess. I live in an apartment on North Side with my daughter."
I hesitated. "How do you remember me?"
"I was always jealous of your clothes," Patricia smiled. "I thought you had the best fashion."
I frowned, trying to remember what I wore in high school. Skinny jeans and sweaters with geometric/Native American patterns. Not exactly Triss Moore material.
"How have you been?" Patricia interrupted me.
"I'm getting married in March," I said slowly.
Patricia smiled. "Good for you, Sam. Hey, you wanna meet up for coffee sometime?"(less)
i'm never gonna be that girl.
the girl with the perfect hair, perfect makeup.
i'm never gonna be the girl that always has a boyfriend, that's always surrounded by a group of friends that dote on my every word.
i'm never gonna be the girl whose photos(more) get a thousand likes on facebook.
i'm never gonna the girl that has everything go her way.
i'm never gonna be that perfect girl.
but i am kind, and friendly, and smart.
i'm the girl who sits on her computers, and laughs at the obscure jokes that only she and her friends get.
i'm the girl who prefers sweats and old, comfy sweaters over short skirts and showing-too-much-shoulder tight tops.
i'm the girl that helps that poor kid in the hallway that dropped all his stuff.
i'm the girl that posts pictures of myself being a doofus on facebook.
i'm the girl that laughs too much, and cries too hard.
i'm the girl that everyone can count on.
i'm the girl that is important to those who know her, and cares about everyone she knows.
i'm the girl that has to work for what i have.
i'm not perfect.
but i'm not plastic.
i'm soft clay, constantly being molded and changed by everyone i meet, in the best possible ways.
who are you?(less)
why didn't you offer your hand when she tripped?
used to be the queen bee, but
her face wasn't plastic, or even paper-mache.
it was a canvas, perfect features and regularly tinted red
from giggles and from blushing
(more) why did you watch her fall from grace in silence?
don't lie, you have the answer; you envied her and everybody did
she was too perfect, too nice, you wanted to wound her spirit
but not her.
how did it end up like this?(less)
I'd walked through that door a hundred times. I knew what would be inside. I even vaguely knew who would be. But I hadn't expected that girl to be there.
Hadn't expected her to be who she was.
(more) The moment I saw her I felt something. Something so small, so deep inside me that it barely even registered. But it was there, and I knew it. I tried to rationalize it. Give some kind of reason for what was there deep down so I could bury it, and I was sure I had.
But it didn't take long for that feeling to grow.
First she smiled. Then she laughed. And then she sang.
That girl is poison. She caresses with a corrosive finger, leaving her targets forever scarred by this encounter. And she has chosen you. Her noxious fumes are absolutely intoxicating, and as her breath fills your lungs you know more than trying to leave her unscathed, you'll be lucky if(more) you leave with your life.(less)
Sweet, tired, indecisive,
The same cycle of overused jargon,
I don't count seconds
But I perceive in thirds of time.
I speak like my father,
I look like my mother,
Temperamental musings of ceiling fans and raindrops that created the universe,
Good bone structure and a smile that can hide every ounce of pain,
But eyes that tell the whole story.
I feel the moment in flux,
I'm in the waiting period.
It's like I expect the world to fall from my hands again,
So I can rebuild the broken pieces
That I already know.
It's not good for me,
Cycle of the mind,
When is time for the cycle to break
And not me?
This here is a topic for discussion
classe - estamos listos?
Orale guey. Calmate.
When it comes to you, there's so much punctuation. Commas, question marks, and exclamations override my head. and a lot of dashes -
hahaha - oh
Its funny when we laugh(more) at the same thing, but for different reasons.
I mean it cracks me up.
like it kind of makes me uncomfortable. I'm not, sure if its the way.. you react or, the way i react...?
yeah no you're right its the way we both react
that makes sense
you are so pretty. maybe a younger me could have done it.
In all my 19 years.. (come on Matteo shut the fuck up you can't even buy alcohol yet (but old enough to join the army!! damn government prohibitionists why i oughta...))
sometimes I don't think it makes sense ^.^
:#### to ~.~ measure age, by the unit %% of years.
I am old in what I have experienced ?
Yet really, http://www.I-am-still-not-experienced.com
Age defines who we interact with.
I don't think it always really works.
or maybe I'm just weird. strange. people are strange, when youre a stranger, faces seem wicked, when you're alone
maybe this is all part of the solution, illusion, conclusion.
I puff myself out to be the biggest pufferfish in the whole school of stupid ass pufferfish for you. It seems like what you would want me to do.
If I had a choice I would keep it simple. It is incredibly simple. And yet I do have a choice to keep it simple. The biggest limitations are the one I put on myself. Bigger than anything. I define who I interact with, right? I have incredible privilege. and white mans guilt.
It was Victoria's first time in Baltimore for the summer. The heat was sweltering, and even the usually prim and proper (in her dress, if in nothing else) Victoria found herself picking out less clothes. She didn't mind too much, though, since it meant other girls in Charm City,(more) too, were revealing more and more skin as the mercury climbed higher.
A beautiful bottle-blonde was seated across from Victoria on the bus as they made their way toward the Inner Harbor. Long legs sprouted from one of the shortest miniskirts Victoria had ever seen (and she wouldn't have it any other way) and her breasts were barely tucked into a tight, low-cut purple tank-top. Victoria smiled at her, even though she was certain she was straight (by the way she was leaning on the boy next to her) and the girl smiled back. One of the benefits of being a lesbian; girls didn't think of you as a threat. You could gaze to your heart's content and straight girls would always think you were just admiring their fashion sense. "Like I'd ever be caught did in a skirt like that," Victoria thought to herself, giggling at the concept. "It's good for pretty much nothing except imaging what's behind it."
Victoria wondered how it took her so long to realize she was a lesbian - that her lack of interest in boys wasn't because she was more driven than her hetero- and bisexual friends. But in particular, she wondered why it took her so long to realize how gorgeous other women were. There were plenty of girls who dressed like that in her high school, but it took her first love - Alma, her first girlfriend - to make her realize she liked them that way. Now, she couldn't STOP staring.(less)
That girl was the one that he wanted. The one with the long blonde hair and the brown eyes. That was the girl he had been after for about a year now. That was the girl that he wanted to shove a knife into, the one he wanted to(more) pour acid on and tie a rope around the long, slender neck of. That was the girl he wanted more than any of the girls that he had ever gone after before, because she was the prettiest and- as he found out on the day he first decided on her- the loudest. He could imagine her screams, her tears, her pleading, her pain, her blood hot on his hands, staining them a dark red. Oh, how he wanted her.
And he wouldn't have to wait any longer. Because tonight was the night. Tonight was the night that she would find that her car was broken. Tonight was the night he would offer her a ride. Tonight was the night she wouldn't make it home. Tonight was the night she would join the others. (less)
she's too tall, he says
insecurity is not pretty, he says
i don't want to be with a girl that doesn't eat, he says
those better be cat scratches, he says
i'm glad you're so skinny, he says
(more) she has too many family issues, he says
maybe you should change your hair, he says
hey, babe, that girl you're looking for? she doesn't exist.
not in me, not in anyone(less)
My weary eyes meandered toward the window. The sun was streaming in, lighting the opaque room. The light highlighted the blood stains that enclosed the room as my head became dizzy. My whole world seemed dazed as the locked door mocked me with light from the window.
To me(more), it seemed as though the whole world was smiling down at my agony. Why was I even here? Why did it have to be me? How did I even end up being that girl in a horror movie who desperately tried to escape her fate, but in the end inexorably failed? However I never found out the answer to these questions as my headache began to pound harder while footsteps thudded toward the door. The world just seemed to become more distorted as a key began to slide into a lock and with a minor click the door was impelled to open.
Trying to look up toward the drumming footsteps my mind became more blurred. What was I even doing again? All I could think about was my headache as the color red engulfed my mind splattering my world with reality. The red was too much, it seemed as if it was gushing out of every wall and closing in on me. My lungs began to scream for air as the blood began to overtake me, seeping into my lungs from what must have been internal bleeding.
Irrevocably, my breaths became exasperated as a person came right in front of me. Nonetheless the sun shone down on my world, which became a murky concoction of red and black. Then as the red world overtook me a black shadowy figure with a white bemused grin stood above me, lighted by the window.