I run away from every problem or severed relationship.

I laughed, and scooted onto the cold metal table top. "Wow,everyone here is so nice," I said, eyes trained outward, towards the small school I was starting to love.
"Nice?" they all asked, almost in unison. " They aren't nice. I hate this school. It's so small." I thought about that for a bit, as the rest of the group carried on with their previous conversation. And that's when it dawned on me. They've been here for 8 years. 8 years with the same 200 people. The same 200 people that taunted, teased, tortured them. It was a fresh start for me, but they were stuck in the same old routine. And as they continued to talk, I realized I wasn't one of them. They didn't know me, and I didn't know them. They have no clue what happened 2 years ago, or all the whispers and laughs that still hurt from almost 8 months ago. I don't know what may have happened in elelmentary school. Or when this hatred of this quaint place started. They don't see my scars. I don't see theirs.

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines

he wrote a poem

And he called it "Chops" because that was the name of his dog

and that's what it was all about

And his teacher gave him an A

and a gold star

And his mother hung it on the kitchen door

and read it to his aunts

That was the year Father Tracy

took all the kids to the zoo

And he let them sing on the bus

And his little sister was born

with tiny toenails and no hair

And his mother and father kissed a lot

And the girl around the corner sent him a Valentine signed with a row of X's

and he had to ask his father what the X's meant

And his father always tucked him in at night

And was always there to do iit

Once on a piece of whitepaper with blue lines

he wrote a poem

And he called it "Autumn" becaust that was the name of the season

And that's what it was all about

And his teacher gave him an A

and asked him to wrote more clearly

And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because of its new pain

And the kids told him that Father Tracy smoked cigars and lefts butts on the pews

And sometimes they would burn holes

That was the year his sister got glasses

with thick lenses and black frames

And the girl around the corner laughed

when he asked her to go see Santa Claus

and the kids told him why

his mother and father kissed a lot

And his father never tucked him in bed at night

And his father got mad when he cried at him

to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook

he wrote a poem

and he called it "Innocence: A question"

because that was the question about his girl

And that's what it was all about

And his professor gave him an A

and a strange steady look

And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because

he never showed her

That was the year that Father Tracy died

And he forgot how the end of

the Apostle's Creed went

And e caught his sister

making out on the backporch

And his mother and father never kissed

or even talked

And the girl around the corner

wore too much makeup

That made him cough when he kissed her

but he kissed her anway

because it was the right thing to do

And at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed

his father snoring soundly

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag

he tried another poem

And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"

Because that's what it was really all about

And he gave himself an A

and a slash on each damned wrist

And he hung it on the bathroom door because this time he didn't think he could reach the kitchen.

Flashbacks

I flashback to fifth grade, sitting on the big green bridge on the playground..holding back tears and whispering the lyrics to "outside looking in" to myself..watching my "friends" play and talk without me.
I flashback to fourth grade...same thing..different place to sit. I remember all the way back to second grade. That's how long this has been going on. Same "friends" Same stupid stuff.
And I've been listening to the same song again...and it makes me sound pathetic. But what else am I supposed to do?

RIP Alexander Mcqueen. We will miss you.

And yes, I will reach for the moon, because you know what? Even if I fall I'll land on a star.

"Actions speak louder than words" but I'd rather fire words at you than throw punches
"A pictures worth a thousand of them, but pictures are fake and posed and frozen in time...but words are live and raw
"Sticks and stones will break my bones..but words? They'll hurt the most.

Blogger.

Yay! I got a blogger..I feel quite official. I do believe this will be fun.