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liza Nov 2015
I am a completely different person than I was seven years ago.
Physically, yes, because my cells have been dying
and renewing so much that
everything is gone and I am new.

Mitosis took care of that in the way that
everyone is a new collection of cells
every seven years.

But we're still the same collection of memories.

I am also different mentally.

I am not a simple eight year old anymore,
but what is a simple eight year old?

I want to be a stem cell,
blank and waiting for instructions.

Either I want to make my own decisions
and take control of my own life
or I can recognize that I don't know what I'm doing
and any control given to me will be lost.

I want to stay blank, ready to be programmed
and have a job
and a purpose.

But maybe I don't want to be a cell
and I want to be the collection.
Maybe I'll find my purpose.
Maybe I'll find my job.

I want these seven years to pass so I can be this
new human.
Maybe they will know what to do.

Am I the stem cell, hidden in the nasal cavity, or am I the human?
Am I really that different from my simple eight year old self?
Am I really different at all?
guess who's back back again liza's back tell a friend
this was inspired by a conversation i had in biology today
liza Jan 2015
it never occurred to me exactly how jealous i can be,
not even of people that i know,
but of concepts:
being confident when i get up to speak,
knowing where to sit,
being able to write the right thing.

but now i know that jealousy is what helps me succeed
even when i can't
hello world it has been years and i would like to say that i still have no clue what i'm doing
liza Aug 2014
it isn't that i feel sad
or numb, like some days,
but i don't feel like existing.

there's so much for me to do,
so many books to read,
so many shows to watch,
so many albums to listen to,
and there's so much that i cannot.

and i would give the world
to anyone
who could erase me for a few days.

i would be the shavings
off of a pencil that decorate a classroom floor.

and i wouldn't even mind.
liza Jun 2014
hotel deaths are so overdramatic
they're just random people who checked in for a day's rest that just happened to last forever

and hotel suicides
home's not a five star

but all of the murders
because they were still found
after they shaved half their heads
and dyed what's left red
and changed their names
and wore green contacts
and hurried the **** up to hide

hotels are petri dishes for killing bacteria.
inspired by a newspaper article or two
liza May 2014
being told that you're too big
for a playground destroys
the little kid inside you and
wow oh wow
that hurts because that little
kid always gets what she wants
and **** that's not okay and
she's having a tantrum but
you just look down at that rude
little kid who told you that
playgrounds are for little kids
makes you
so so so mad and
who told that kid that
they could be rude to you
but you know that
they don't think they're being rude
and all you want to do is
go down the slide but
you admit defeat and
stare down that kid and
whirl around and
walk down the steps but
inside you're stomping and that little
kid of yours is unhappy.
so my nephews are over and some kid told me this and i was mad but then i went down the slide and parents at the end were all, "people your age should not be riding down slides" and i just rolled my eyes but the second time there was one at the top who said i wasn't allowed down ugh i dislike children so much because they're little
liza May 2014
my head is a canyon,
deep, intricate, and tall.
a river runs through the bottom,
tumbling, whirling, destroying.
i hear those voices
laughing, cackling, bellowing.
liza Apr 2014
i laid down across the desks
     like always
and started writing
     like always.

i felt her hands on the back of
my upper thigh
she wasn't trying to arouse me
but i could feel her little fingers
bumping up my thigh in
a rhythm, thumping while she texted on her phone
and i felt a light touch on my ****
a packet of papers
and another pair of hands doing work
on their work
on my ****
and i felt the light massages of her fingers on my thigh
and i wondered if other girls felt this way
when they were touched
and i wondered what made me different
and if i was different.
jesus christ going through that stage
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