I should've Made Lemonade

They say that when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. I should've made lemonade.

________, it's been two years and if I've learned anything in those two years, besides learning how to differentiate and where the Gulf of Tonkin is located, I've learned that life doesn't hand out a second batch of lemons. ______, I know that what I've done to you is irreparable and possibly even unforgettable, but I want to make it up to you. Back then I was naive and blinded by ignorance. I was incapable of realizing how good of a thing we had. I was so stupid. Nights spent beating myself over the head, the constant lingering thoughts of craziness, of random words and phrases and explicit questions and demands and dreams and hopes. Everything. I've sat thinking for countless hours, mesmerized, dazed, of how something so sweet, something so pure, can turn rotten and cold in a swift pull of a switch. I've thought crazy thoughts ________. Dreamed crazy dreams. Nightmare'd crazy nightmares. To come to nothing but the same conclusion: I want you and only you. If you give me a chance, I want to talk to you, in person, about everything. I want to take responsibility for my actions and prove to you that, that’s not who I really am. I know that I'm better than the person I was once before. Please, give me a chance to just talk to you, _____. Please.
Parting is such sweet sorrow, yet we parted in such a sour way that I can not bear this sour sorrow any longer. You were the sweetest lemon of all the lemons ever given to one man in his lifetime. Life hands you lemons, and you make lemonade. You would've been the tastiest lemonade ever.

I. Love. lemons.

hmmm

Whenever I'm doing something in a crowded social situation, I tend to divert my eyes from left to right every so often, as if searching for something. I am not sure if my lack of attention to one specific activity is due to acts of ADD or perhaps to my own reaction-seeking characteristic. Fuck this, I feel in state, but i think its the little things, the small little details that fuck me up. If I always look to others for value or for validation, acceptance, or for entertainment, then I am truly never in state. Fuck this shit, pull your shit together homeboy, I'ma studdyyy, lateeee

without a second glance

too quick to think clearly
too slow to write freely
lost in my own thoughts
my own losts, my own farts
brain farts, but not really
but only if you want
but so silly
and sometimes its like that
you think, you forget
you live, you regret
heck, I don’t know where I’m at
but I know I got a hat
but again, that doesn’t make sense
but what does?
Who and what and oh, I’m so tense
Why and how and oh, I’m so fenced
In my own world, in my own thoughts
My iron-wrought
Fence
My own immense
Spectrum of me
A color, distorted from the sea
But so close to me
I wish I could just be
And be
And be
Me.

Me, Myself, and I

I find myself looking at myself a lot more now. No, I'm not getting any more narcissistic, if anything, less. My bathroom mirror, the huge paneled mirrors of my closet, my laptop screen, whatever I can find, I look. I stare at myself, hoping to see the real me deep within, but I always just see myself, looking back. But its strange, because I always stare, harder, and harder, to try to dig deeper, but I never see anything more than just me, again, my reflection, staring back. I stare, and I stare, and nothing changes, nothing happens, only time. When will I know?

When will I know, that the me I'm looking at, the person I see everyday in the mirror, is actually me?

What's up newyork

So, its February ninth, 2009, wait, 2010 and I'm writing for the first time in like forever. Things have been confusing for me in the past few months, what with college apps, financial aid, and three AP's - not to mention yearbook which is a time-eating-machine - I don't know what's going on anymore! I wonder if I'm supposed to send in mid-year reports to any of my colleges. Hmm...who knows? I'm so lost right now, senior year's so weird, and what's even weirder is me. What do I want? I drone through my days like they're evanescent dreams; heck, I don't even remember 90% of the things I do anymore. My days have been all swirled together, bounded by leather, and tossed into a washing machine on fast-cycle and then placed on a bullet train shooting at 256 mph, then attached to a rocket ship aimed for Mars.



where the fuck did Tuesday go?