I want to protest,
I want to rebel
I want to stand up and yell in their faces.

I'm tired of being put down,
I'm tired of falling short.
I'm tired of trying so hard for things that don't even matter to me.

It's sad teenagers dream of being 18 so they can get away from the life they're living
It's so **** sad that some feel that life is so bad that they'd harm themselves to escape.

We're told to think for ourselves but then when we speak our minds we're told to shut up and sit down as if a teenager couldn't possibly know anything about the world; as if the number of years on this earth determines whether or not we understand the concept of loving another human unconditionally, or understand what it's like to be sad.

I want everyone to come together and fight the injustice. To live deliberately, to **** the marrow out of life.

I simply wish to write until my hands bleed
but my thoughts are empty
and I think I am going crazy...

I took a step outside into the cool of the dark early morning. I proceeded to sit on the steps outside of the front door. I stuck my hand in my right pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I lit my cigarette and gazed at the stars. I gently puffed out a cloud of smoke. I felt wonderful. Last night was a disaster, and I felt wonderful. My parent’s were screaming at each other aimlessly in the wilderness late last night and I felt wonderful. I feel so relaxed.

I was walking down the hallway blasting music in my ears, trying my best to ignore the group of obnoxious boys behind me when all of a sudden I saw him. There was a crowd of people going back to class from lunch and I saw him. He was with a couple of other people when one of his friends decided to tickle the crap out of him. It was childish, but it looked so cute to me. He had these perfect cheeks, and I could just die when he smiled. In return I smiled. There was a gap in the crowd, for a moment, and while he was laughing he looked back at me. Straight at me for a solid moment. The smile never left his face. Nor did mine. Then the moment died off and things carried on. I can’t begin to recount how many times this had happened. From the first day I arrived at this school, I saw him there, I think in the office. We made eye contact constantly. Like this mutual unspoken “hey there”. But never have we spoken. He always looks so happy. I'm happy.

Sometimes I pretend. I pretend inside my head, so no one can see it. It always happens when I am listening to music. The more bass, more rage, or more passion the song has, the better. Often I have powers. I destroy things, but not always to hurt people, but mainly to get a message across. If I had powers like that and I used them, I believe more people would listen to me. Power = attention. Other times, it’s as if I’m living in a musical. I get up on the Lunch table and start belting a song, and everyone is in a trance. Once again focus. When I think about my self, my family, my friends, my romantic relationships, and my social ability. I think I am exceeding, that I am doing great. But I’m not. It’s so hard. People are so hard. I have so many things that I want to say, but once I speak, it gets “translated” unaccordingly to my thoughts, and I am so frustrated. Why can’t people just get me the way I see myself. Does everyone go through this? Do we look at ourselves as these three dimensional complex beings because we see our whole picture all the time, and when we look towards others, do we see only crumbs? Minuscule pieces, to what is a whole person, but were afraid of misinterpreting the design so we steer away or purposely destroy them? Life is so unbelievably difficult.

My body is rushing. I am always rushing. I'm excited. Oh my god. I saw your face. Excited. I cant help but gaze all over you again and again and again and again and again, all within seconds. Hormones. I can’t help but think I am so ugly. Not because that’s what everyone thinks about themselves, but because I am so big. I can’t even fit clothes that I would just die to wear. Hormones. Ooh but I saw you again and that thought whipped away. I am so happy. I can feel it. Physically. All over. Hormones. I just want you. I want you every way possible. I want you physically. I want to know you mentally. I want to be comfortable around you.Hormones. Lust.

These last four pieces were just thoughts. There was no reason to write them down, but i did. Two of them were based on Infatuation, which is a feeling I feel strongly and have felt a lot as of recently. So of course, if I scrape the surface, that is what I definitely feel the most passionate about, and it’s intriguing the way those feelings are released but also heightened when I write about them. Another piece was about the way I view myself along with how not only I deal with people, but the way I assume other’s also feel about each other. It also gives light to my depression, which I didn't even realize until I reread the paragraph a few times. But the first piece also gives in to the depression a little bit too. It sounds as though I feel great and amazing, and to an extent I do. See, I detach myself way too easily, and that’s what the piece really means. I've dealt with problems similar to that way too often for way too long now. All that I am capable of doing in a constant motion is to focus and take care of myself. And I don’t want to be this way, but family truly pushes me into that hole. Without a doubt, after analyzing the pieces, I sound a lot like a ****** teenager, and If that is what I am so be it.

You** are an entire world, all on your own, and to state that you reside in this single world would be an unbelievably fortunate truth. You are not a drop in the ocean, but the entire ocean in a single drop. I get so caught up in the simple complexity of your face. It’s a simple road to follow, but I get distracted by the scenery and I can’t help but wish to stay forever. Your spiky blonde hair is a jumble of mayhem that i simply want to get lost in. Your eyes, these massive pools of hazel , I could swim endlessly without reaching exhaustion. Your cheeks are rolling hills that I can’t help but stare at, wishing I could touch them. The grand canyon cannot compare to the vast adventure that is your smile. And that laugh … I- I tremble. Your curves create staircases for my eyes, and I can't stop running up and down them. The sound of your voice grabs my focus when my attention is residing miles away. And yes, I am fully aware of the fact that you truly are a rather unsophisticated structure in whole, and although it goes against everything I stand for, I absolutely adore that about you and this place you create. It is drawing me in, along such an unfamiliar path. I suppose I am just here for the ride. However I must admit, I do indeed hope that this path takes me somewhere eventually, because I am certainly tired of hitting ancient brick walls that simply don’t want to be broken.

Sphere like mind, spinning round and round.
A Blur comes to form, colors racing in aftermath.
Simplistic, yet intricate design take place in imagery.
Two figures divide from one.
They Dance, They Cry, They Sing, They Die.
A Pool forms, where the blank figures seem to dissipate.
A Creature Approaches the pool, and attempts to drink from the small pond.
As this dark creature bends down upon one knee,
he sticks his large black hands into the discolored water, claws first.
He lets out a shriek, and is pulled in completely.
Seconds of silence pass by, and the creature is spat back out from the pool.
As he lie down on the ground, color eradicates from his strange body,
leaving his body still black, but coating his body in a permanent film of beauty.
He proceeds to stand up, but collapses onto his knees.
He presses his hand on either side of his head, and screams at the silver crescent in dark sky.
So many thoughts.
Yet each one being so different from the next.
Never had he felt such emotion.
His stomach felt as if it were in constant motion.
What was wrong with him?
He started to question everything, everyone, and even himself.
His mind was in a blur.
He couldn't keep up.
He wanted to Dance, he wanted to Cry, he wanted to Sing, and he wanted to Die.
And that was the birthing, of the first of the Bohemians.