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DuctTapeHippie
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Name: Jennifer
Country: United States
State: Illinois
Metro: Alton
Birthday: 1/20/1987
Gender: Female
Interests: ART and Archet. Writing puppies
Expertise: lookin' good and blonde
Occupation: Artist
Industry: Government
Message: message me
Member Since:
4/1/2005
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| FOOL'S GOLD
When will there be a day when I won't wake up dreaming?
Pinch me now, pinch me hard.
Try to replace the pain with a little something worse.
Let's slip the masks back on, it's time to rehearse.
Friends turn tail at this withered fairy tale.
The break-up break down is we all fall hard, or just fall short.
My life's become a scene of homicide,
Where tombstones replace those butterflies.
Another shitty poem to express the unexpressable.
Repeated words that have lost all meaning.
Words are for nerds anyway.
I mean to get rich with my zipped lips...
But find silence is only a fool's gold.
So pound the wall 'till my brains bleed
Banging for a door that will fill my need.
Nothing but blank stares and incoherent answers
As we try to decode the meaning of those issessant heart beatings.
Emotions have become a foreign language to the brain.
So insensible and insane, we crave the rush.
Though every touch will turn into a cut.
Life is a crime scene of broken hearts and stolen dreams.
I drown it out with blaring tunes and strawberry icecream.
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| Letting Go. Stop being so lassaiz-faire.
Drop the masks, stop pretending to care.
Quit gritting your teeth and biting your toungue.
Let go of the days that are already gone. Remorse for pain, yet adverse to change?
Why do we hold on? A fine line becomes a fine edge...
It cuts.
It slits.
We continue gripping. Every masked thought a stolen pledge.
White knuckled fingers slipping.
Behind the facade, tears stain inside.
A worthless sacrifice: seeping, dripping. We cling. And we claw.
We beg. And we crawl. There's nothing left
but to scream
and to fall. | | |
| I'm not dead, just myspace obsessed. | | |
| *shudder* Weeeiirrrdd dream.
I'm not sure if I had dreamed
before this and then had gone back to sleep only to dream this, or if
it was all part of the dream and I dreamed within in a dream, or if
things really did happen before hand in my dream and my idiotic bran
can't function well enough to remember anything but the last scene in
crucial detail, BUT:
I had this vague feeling that other things
had happened... I'd been talking to my mother... did something to do
with Ashley... and had just this feeling that someone one had broken in
(where, I don't know).
Somehow though, I was in my room. It was
my room back in Georgia in the duplex after my first eviction, but with
less of a kiddy set up and I kept referring to it in my brain as my
college apartment on the ground floor. (Probably not a good time for a
random tangent, but... it's amazing how indepth a dream can go... I
mean... thinking and dreaming within a dream? Hella freaky when I stop
to think about it for too long.) I'm like... doing something...
thinking of what Ashley and I are going to do or something, I'm not
sure... the furniture keeps flip-flopping between my college dorm
furniture and the stuff that's in my room back home (baby crib, bed,
boxes, and oddly enough a TV that I had kleptoed from my brother when
he had gone to college and left it.. it's not there anymore) but I
don't seem to notice or register this oddity.
I hear a noise
and I turn around from the TV (maybe I was watching TV?) and there's
this guy coming through my window and I'm kinda puzzled by this,
thinking "What the hell?! There's a guy COMING IN through my window.
A.) He's a stranger and I don't ever recall inviting him in, and B.)
Doesn't he know that there's a door?" And I remember being kind of
paralyzed with shock... like... jaw dropped, eye bugging kind of
feeling.. prehaps a quivering lip as I scramble for the words to ask
him what he's doing. My feet feel like lead as I'm rooted to the spot,
remote forgotten in my hand as my arm is still held up with the action
of changing the chanel.
Guy says "Ya know... you really
shouldn't leave your windows and doors unlocked like that, especially
on a ground floor. Someone could come in and like rob you, rape you
or...." His eyes wonder the room and register on the baby crib, "Start
smacking babies around." My thoughts go to my babysister in the other
room with my mother and Les (how they are there, I'm not sure, since I
was under the impression that this was my college apartment, but I told
you, everything kept fliping on me, wavering, so who knows).
I
guess perhaps I'm still in shock, or perhaps I'm just a dumb ass,
because this suddenly makes sense to my brain. "Oh, creepy stranger
must just be some kind of informer of safety issues. Weird. I wish he'd
leave my room now, I don't like strangers."
I loosen up a bit
and recall the remote in my hand and go back to flipping channels which
just seem to consist of static, though my real attention isn't even on
the TV... I can't shake the uncomfortable feeling in my tummy so I'm
watching the guy out of the corner of my eye. "Huh. Uh, thanks man.
I'll be sure to remember that."
He slowly starts walking around
the room, poking at all of my stuff, shooting looks at me everynow and
then like he's sizing me up or something... judging my actions before
they even happen.
I shake my head, maybe I'm just imagining things. 'Um... well, thanks.... I guess you can go now."
While looking at something on my dresser he tosses over his shoulder, "Oh no, I'm not ready to leave yet."
I'm
thinking, "Er, ok I guess. Not like I have much choice." He's made his
rounds of the room and is heading towards me sitting on the bed (I
guess I sat down). He sits at the foot of the bed kinda watching the
static change and keep glances back at me with that damn stare of his,
like a little kid with a magnifying glass burning ants.
I'm
thinking again, "Well, since I don't have much choice in the matter,
why not make the best of it," outloud I say idly, "You did a good job
on your onliner." This is the first time I really took a good look at
him, instead of avoiding eye-contact as I had been.
He was a few
inches taller than me, a bit on the heavy set side, in his thirties,
white, Jamaican twisted hair, sweaty, sweat stains under his armpits,
breathing a little heavy, but still seems to be agile on his feet. And
his eyes... they haunt me. Outlined with eyeliner and grey eye shadow,
they were green beady eyes, bugging out a little and surrounded by some
wrinkly flab at the creases, with sweat glistening on the bags under
them and in the coners and on the lids... they're piercing, analyzing,
nervous, and yet sure of themselves... like a kid who got a hold of a
dead mouse and is morbidly fascinated, knows full well the thing won't
bite him, and yet is still a little freaked out with the idea of
holding death in his hands.
He smelled of leather and sweat
and of stale cheese fries... all tied in with that musky smell that
happens when you leave your clothes too long in the washing machine. He
seems to be closer than I remember... in my face, which is why I
remember his eyes so well... inches away as the smell of him drafts in
my nostrils. I'm entranced, sucked in to his gaze.
The next
thing I know is I feel his hand on my breast. I snap out of it and push
his hand away. "Don't touch me!" (This is said with more bitch tone,
than panic. I believe that was the only time in my entire dream I
actually felt in control.)
He continues to do so anyway,
smacking my hand like I'm a pestulant child trying to sneak a taste of
the cookie dough. His face is freakishly still in my face... those
eyes... flickering from mine to his hand to mine again to the details
of my face... like he's judging me, daring me to do something.
I
try screaming for my mom, for Les, anybody to help, but my voice seems
to be closed up and it just comes out a gasp, my jaw working in the
air. I try again, but it's just a squeak, nothing.... reaches the
boundary of about three feet and then gets deadened by the silence,
broken only by the sound of his heavy breathing on my face.
And those damned eyes keep nauseatingly piercing...
Needless
to say, I woke up shaking, trying to remember where I was, who I was,
whether or not I was alone, and whether or not the door was locked.
I don't think I've ever been so thankful for a locked door.
Jen
(I
think what scares me most is I can actually see something like this
happening... being shocked, not sure how to react, asking dumb idle
questions of my would be-murderer/rapist/robber/abuser/exc., and the
not being able to scream.) | | |
| I'm starting my own line of piratey clothing called Davie's Locker!
Ok, so I'm going to take this pair of jeans I have with holes in the knees and on the right thigh put "Live life as it floats your boat" and it will have a pirate ship under it. Then on the left cuff its going to say "Map to me pirate booty" with dashed lines trailing up in a curly map like pattern up to my left back pocket where there will be a big X.
Then t-shirts to go with:
one will be the saying that was on the pants
one will be just a regular red and white striped shirt with black criss-crossing string at v-cut neck.
one will have a skull and crossbones across the chest with "hooked on pirates?" on the back with the question mark a pirate hook
one will have the skull and cross bones on the left breast with "i go over board for pirates" on the back
and finally (at least for now) one will have an eye patch the left breast
and then on the back have "eyepatches arrrrrr hot".
steal any of these ideas and i'll make you walk the plank! | | |
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