Cryptic.

Whenever someone says cryptic, I think about tombs.

The big stony ones with cobwebs and angels.

I walk through graveyards a lot, anyway. 

So I know what I'm talking about.

Do I?

But I'd cuddle for hours, too.

Hey, dear. I saw you today.
Man, I'm just saying.

I'd tap you.

I am nothing

I have nothing to say.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing, so why don't you go and ask someone else?

Because my words here, they're all boring and indefinite. My words here, they don't matter.
Everything about me is so indefinite, in fact, you shouldn't even look at me.
You should ignore everything I say, and everything I do.
And don't even think about me at all.
Don't even do it.

Just, pretend I'm not here, like I tend to do. Pretend I've never existed and find something else to talk about.

It still hasn't hit that I'm out of grade five yet.

How the hell did I make it to high school?

Graduating class of 2010

It's over.

It's all over, and I miss it.
I started crying, too.

I loved them all in their own way. They were all perfect. They were all so nice.

I love them all in their own way. They are all perfect. They are all so nice.

It's over, but these memories will stay with me forever.
Her hug, the tightness. That many hugs after that.

A few certain unexpected people who just wouldn't let go...

It's over, sure. But it's just starting and I want to see this side of everyone all the time.

It'll be perfect.

ZackgoesHEY

Burn. 

Crash.

Dark.

Fuck.

Good.

Highs.

Junkies,

Killers.

Loving, lost.

Not

On

Pounds.

Rightfully

Stuck.

Tin fulla bombs.

Violets in the

Wind. Not

Wanted.

Yours to keep,

Zack. It's all for you. 

Graduation, then what?

I changed my profile picture quickly, for a few minutes.
Now let's see if anyone notices, that something's not quite right.

But graduation is soon.
And only one person knows what that means? Maybe two.
Graduation, and I'm free.

From school. Because fuck school. And all it's quick-ass remarks it's led me to.
Fuck school, and it's easy-outs, easy-ins, POPPOPPOP head(explosions)aches.

I could.
I couldn't.
I would.
I wouldn't.
I will,
I might.
I won't.
Not tonight.

I could,
I couldn't
I will,
I won't.
I might,
I will,
I will,
I will,
Shouldn't,
though.
Shouldn't
shouldn't.
Wouldn't
Couldn't
Won't.

Will I?

Things like this make me happy

This morning he decided to come back with me to my house and sit on my porch with me.
Why?
I don't know.

We talked. A lot. God damn.
So many questions, and I didn't want to answer.

But what's funny was, when Mara came running down my street to save me from him, he walked with the both of us, and asked, "Have you ever cut?" to me.
I just held out my wrists, smiling like mad.

I don't cut on my wrists. 
Ha. Haha.
I'm a liar, and I didn't even have to lie.

I'm going out for a smoke, and fuck the world if they think otherwise.

And sometimes I like fucking things up, but everything I do has reason behind it

Everything becomes sucha chore when you have lists and lists of things to do.

But listing everything makes it easier to recognize just how much you have to do, and that's better for you, because then you know that you're going to be dead-tired and able to fall asleep that night.

I don't make lists. 

But everything is a chore, because I have to do it.

That's why I love optional things. I have a choice, I could walk away. 

If I wanted, if I cared for it, if I decided it was worth the bother. 

Now, the thing is, I only talk to the people that are worth my words. 

And that sounds conceded, but it's the truth. I only invest my time, my words, wisely. 

No wasting, because that's dumb.

I like to think of life as optional, too. It's a game, and I can play if I want to. 

Because that's how it works.

You see this? But you're not going to think about it later.
You're just going to read it, and move on.

Watching 'Halloween' together, and

My brother says to me, "Why would he kill his sister?"
"He's not going to," I tell him, watching blankly as the girl in the movie hides in the attic.
"He has a knife," he says. "And he's jabbing at the ceiling."
I stare at my brother.
"He's going to kill her," he declares.
I nod. "Whatever."

My brother stuffs his nose back into his book, reading intently.
"I'd never kill you," I hear him whisper.
So I smile.
"Ro? Let's go get something to eat. Come on, I'll make it for you."

Sometimes, my brother's a saint.
Bless his sad heart, and his undying spirit.

I swear to god, if the world tries to bite him at all, I'll tear it's entire being apart with my finger nails and tack the remains up against five hundred crocodiles' teeth.

Coexist? Please?

You'd think everyone could coexist peacefully, but no.

For example. I was walking down a path today, and. Rather than walk next to me, the other people walking up expected me to move. When I did not, because there was plenty of room for them to walk along the path next to me, they walked along the grass until they were passed me.
Another example: A bird was sitting on a bench eating bread. Once it finished, I don't know, I guess it wanted to just hang there for a while? Take a rest? And this other bird comes up and flies right into it. Out of nowhere.

But my best example yet?
School. I can't just go to school, learn, go home. 
I have to talk to all the god DAMNED people, make friends, and ENJOY THEIR COMPANY.

Fuck the world sometimes, yeah?
Jeeziz.

We can't just walk past each other in the halls. No, since we're in the same class, we have to sit and have meaningless conversations about how much we hate _____.
Silence would be much better, but everyone wants to talk.

Everyone, except me.

Safety in solidity, but we're going to go down

Within the freedom of anonymity, there is a safety there was not before.
Within the binds of titles and labels, there is knowing and judgement, and reasoning
and justifications.

Within everything, there is some contradictory, opposite thing, that has the most unwanted result for that existence.
I am happy, so I will be sad.
I am smiling, so I will frown.
I am flying, so I will fall.
I am short, but I will be tall.

We know, don't we, to expect the worst?
When we see happiness, we know. When we see smiling, we know. When we see flying, and shortness, and everything, we know.
We know it's going to change, going to be completely not the favourable result.
Completely not what we were going for, but we knew it was going to happen anyway.

Why bother trying to get around that fact?
It's inevitable.
Accept it, and everything will be so much easier.

Accept that when you are happy, soon you will feel like you're rotting inside and no one else can see it.
When you feel warm and delicious, you will soon feel cold and bitter and altogether
crushed.

Lightness turns heavy,
and the heavy turn light.

We all get exactly what we don't want, even if we're going for what we don't want, to get what we do want.
It always turns out the same. It always does, so fuck it, yeah?

Just fall, it's really not a big deal.
Just jump, because why bother flying in the first place anyway?
Stay low, and the fall won't hurt so much.
Stay low, and everything will be solid.
Solid, safety, and we're good.

Not so dark, not terribly dark anymore. And I'm gone again.

No misery, no fear. 

Just loneliness.

Just as I presumed, just loneliness.

But that's fine. 

Nostalgia

I want to know,
why we stop loving the music
we love so much today,
tomorrow.
And why years to come,
we look back,
and we can't find ground
common enough
that we can all stand,
safe and sound,
just for a few seconds.

We had our voices,
our words,
but they change.
And with us,
no one notices this change.

Some of us...
we go blind, deaf.
Some of us lose sight of who we were,
and some of us get worse.

But those first notes
from the first song
we ever loved play,
and it's home again.

We're home again,
for one second.
Common ground,
big enough
for the world to see a sight
that they thought was gone.

Common ground big enough
that one single beam of light
shines on the person we used to be.

Like smelling the air
of a place you've long since been.
It's those first few notes
who bring us back home.

How could we forget?

Secrets and things I shouldn't know

My friend dragged me outside today. Said she wanted to hang out. Which was fine.

We walked around Queen St., nothing special. Just talked.
But there was that one thing...oh, what was it again?

Oh yeah. She said something, okay?
She told me something I shouldn't know.

Well, she's told me lotsa things I shouldn't know. But this is worse. This is so, so worse, and I shouldn't...just, just SHOULDN'T know it.
But now, I too, carry this burden on my life.

Yep, no problem. Add it to the mound of things I've collected by now. It can fit snug next to me getting kicked out of the mall and just underneath knowing about his childhood. Maybe...I mean, just try to make sure Knowing about those two kids in my school got high and had sex, broke a condom, too, doesn't fall on it and crush everything. That's a pretty heavy one, because I got a call. A phone call.
Do you know how much I hate phone calls?

But thanks, because now I have one more secret I can use to take anyone down.
I collect them, you see. And I carry them all on my shoulders and head.
Sometimes they drag me down to the ground, where my head's got too much pressure on it, it's going to crack... Yes, and sometimes it's not even worth it to know all that.
But I know two things I shouldn't about every single kid in my class, now. Even more, for some.
I know bad things about everyone, and doesn't it make me love them any less?

The thing is, I don't really give a damn about them.
Everyone tells me their secrets, because, I don't even know. They think it's something I need to know?
Maybe because they need to get it off their chest.
But.
Stupidstupid secrets, oh how I hate them so.

That's a lie.
I love my secrets. They're all mine, and too bad for anyone else.
Secrets full of secrets full of god. damned. secrets.

I love them so much, and I don't even feel guilty.
I just... I could ruin anyone.
ANYONE!

But I won't.
And that's why I know everything.

There goes my fucking lunch hour.

"Honey, would you take off your lunch hour to walk your brother to school?"
 -
"Oh, you mean that one hour that is quite possibly the only good thing left about my day today?"
-
"That's the one."
-
"Why?"
-
"Because your bother's tired and wants to sleep in this morning."
-
"You mean the shit's being lazy and doesn't want to get up?"
-
"Could you?"
-
"Right. Fuck you."

Title? Yeah. Sure.

Attention-seeking seems to come up in conversation a lot.

That's cool, but fuck off.

I'm sorta busy not being noticed over here...

Field Trips

Nova's school went to see a theatre play, along with a select few other schools. Standing in line with Ellie, Nova watched the rest of the schools get off their buses.
Something she noticed was, they looked exactly like her school.
"Look," Nova said, poking Ellie's arm. "That school looks exactly like our school. And that class over there," she said, pointing to a loud bunch of kids screaming and laughing, "looks exactly like our class."
Ellie squinted past the sun and locked eyes with another girl who was all smiles and too thin.
"I don't get it," she said, frowning all of a sudden.
"No, look," Nova mumbled.
She pointed to a girl wearing tight skinny jeans, a white tucked in shirt with writing all over it in red marker and big, pink glasses without the lenses. "That's Jackie."
She pointed to a girl wearing a big, red, thick sweater-just like Melanie's big yellow one- with the sleeves rolled up and texting on her phone. "That's Melanie."
She pointed to a guy wearing some fake-vintage shirt and making fun of the girls surrounding him, but desperately trying to get their attention. "That's Raphael."
Ellie looked at her. "Oh, yeah."
She didn't seem enthusiastic.
"Do you see that one over there? The one who was looking at you?"
Ellie looked over to the thin girl with the fake smile. "Yeah?"
"That's you," she said.
Ellie stared.
"Who are you, then?"
Nova surveyed the rest of the other class, seeing a Mara, a Jack, an Oscar...but no matter how many kids she considered, there was no her.
"None of them," she said finally.
Ellie scowled, but secretly, she looked sad.
"You're too unique," she smiled, putting her hand on Nova's shoulder.
Secretly, Nova knew it was because no one wanted to be her. Absolutely no one, because there's absolutely nothing good about her.

Silence

I don't know what to say.

It's just...I don't even know.

Happy, for real though

So this girl and I....
Yes, this gorgeous girl here, who deserves so much to be happy...
we've both decided that all those crap emotions no one even likes....
they are no longer allowed to be near us.

We've decided to be happy.

Aching

Everything.
Aches.

Ha. Haha. Shining. Ha.

Do you know that state of complete and utter rage?
Where you don't care anymore, where you don't care.
You don't, and you're angry.

Well I'm angry.
Not only that, I'm sad. Yes. Sad. Not 'upset', not 'fine', I'm fucking sad, okay?

I just...I don't like this. Any of this.
Any of it, so what's the point?

Complete, utter, total...they're all so extreme.

But this is like the edge of a canyon. Your breath whispers and echoes off the edges of the canyon walls, all the way from the very top to the darkest, deepest bottom.
It can't get back up.
It's stuck.
Your air is stuck, somewhere else.

At what point do you own the air that swims through the murky lake of your lungs? At what point is it okay to admit it's called drowning, to admit it's no longer air, to admit you're choking?

And they scream, "Choke, choke, choke, choke!"
And I'm so fucking tempted to scream, "Maybe I fucking will!" right back in their perfect little faces. 


Maybe I'll tell them in my whispers... Maybe I'll pull my whispers back up the canyon, letting them crawl up like vines, and say, "Maybe I fucking will. Yeah? Maybe I'll fucking choke, and with my last breath, whisper your fucking name."
And as my pulse.
beats.
slow.
I'll say, "Don't you know? The brightest stars are the closest to explode."
"Don't you know? They're the closest,
easiest.
They're ready to fall to some other galaxy, 
where there's no other stars,
and it's just them in darkness."


Or maybe I won't even say that. Maybe I'll just smile, and say, "Fuck you." 
Because after all, that's what we're told to do.

We're told to suck it up,
but,
"Fuck that."

I fall in love with the world, sometimes.

Only sometimes.

Fuckers

Could I ask you to leave my life to me?

To let my personality be mine,
my choices chosen by me,
my favourite things in life,
still mine?
Could you stop trying to take everything that's mine
and ruin it?

You're spoiling things for me.

Fuck off.

I'll pursue other relationships...it'll be fine.

"I want you to be happy."


As I type the words, I realize her happiness isn't with mine. My gorgeous little girl loves this idiot with all her heart,
and maybe,
I don't think,
he loves her back.

But I love her,
I want her...
I lovelovelove her.

And she doesn't love me back.


Tears come to my eyes, swelling up, small. They sort of trickle down and rest in the curves of my face, slipping down the edge of my nose. I feel them catch on my lip, pause.
They fall fast, past my lips and to my chin, from which they drop silently onto my lap.
Once the course of their journey is done, I wipe my eyes and continue to type.

"We can track him down, and sort it out. We'll fix it. We'll figure it all out, okay? I just want you to be happy."


Even if that's not with me.

Which, knowing what I know, probably isn't.

But all I want is her happiness.
I know that's love, because I'll do anything to make her smile.
Anything, even if that's dropping everything and walking away.

I'll let her go.
I'll leave her be.

I don't care, I just want her to be happy.

Come on, skinny love, what happened here?

This afternoon I have:

Gym class: But I can't go because the lines along my thighs will give me away to my whole school.

French: But I can't go because I don't have my work done, and it's important I have it done.

Science: But I can't go because instead of science we're doing drama, on stage, in front of everyone. And I can't take that.

But I need to go because I miss too much gym, anyway. Because I was already there this morning. Because I can't miss the last practice, even if it is on stage, because my group's already mad that I'm never there, and I almost lost my drama grade.

Fuck it, I'll accept zero's all over my report card. 
I don't care. 


But I can't go 
I can't go
I can't go!


I know I have to, but I can't.
I can't, I can't, I can't.

I walk out, my head down. I ignore people saying Hi, which is rude, but fuck it, they don't mean it.
I ignore teachers telling me work's late,
telling me I missed something in class,
telling me I missed class. 
I stumble, trip, fall, and all without even moving an inch.

They don't see it, but I'm always down on the ground.
I'm always choking, gasping for air.

I'm begging for a way out.
For any way out.

Don't they know their just making it worse?


I'm sorry, mom, but I can't go.
I'm not going.
I can't.

School

I went back to school today, for the first time since last Wednesday.

It was my teacher's birthday,
so she wasn't angry.

But in reality,
I just narrowly escaped detention, numerous lectures, and being yelled at.

Fun.