There Was A ____ _____ In This Building

I've been mixed in with a bundle of affairs. Oh so punny, Taylor! No. Truly. Affairs here, promises there, expectations here, and then a dare. Dare he that, dare her that, dare the hare to win the race but he loses. A dare is a promise, so is a truth. What do you pick as to not bind yourself to any misinterpretations or regrets? Either way, I'm not bound to anything, not you or he or her or myself. I'm bound to no principals or morals, or even regrets. I'm boundless.

My Face

My face, an illusion of sorts, looks and watches and waits so such anticipating events. The event of recognition. Another event of beauty. Again another event of desire. But as I said "my face, an illusion of sorts" is a true statement. An illusion where one person may see one thing, another will see something different. One might see female qualities another will see male, boyish type qualities. Even in my voice and name I am not justified into womanism. To find my parents so perfectly fit and able to represent their genders in perfectioning ways is frustrating. The balance finds it's way once again, making beauty's replacement ugliness.

but in such ugliness I can be hopeful of one thing; beautiful replacements.

May 8th, 2010 Dream

Veronica wished me sweet dreams last night, how wrong to admit that I did not have one. It was terrifying, intense and infuriating.

It began in my room with my mom up here talking to me. My step dad enters and spots the plastic sword on my bookcase and goes to take it. "What're you doing?" I ask, no response. He walks out of my room with it, but I will not be ignored, nor have my things stolen. I follow him down the stairs and to the front living room where the Christmas tree was, it was still there in the dream. I shove him, hard, and he rolls and tumbles into the wall, I run after him. I begin pulling ornaments off the tree and throwing them at him hoping they'll shatter on his face but they don't, I am too weak. Somehow a pair of barber scissors ends up in my hand and I stab him in the chest and stomach three times. I am frightened of what he'll do when he gets up, so I run. I run up to my room, bolting, trying my hardest not to fall, once reaching the boundaries of my rooms walls I lock and shut my door but it will not close, I slam it over and over again until the bolt goes into the hole and finally it does, I am safe, relieved. But my brother is downstairs and I hear him call. "Taylor.. Taylor I have something!" Instantly I am filled with grief and I open my door to him, taking the steps down quietly. Gun shots are heard as I reach the bottom and I bolt grabbing my brothers arm. "He has a gun! He has a gun!" my brother screams. Once again the same procedure is made when shutting and locking my door. Nervousness and intensity fill every crevice of my skin as I search for my phone. "911, 911, please I need to call". I find it, I dial, no answer but music. I dial again, an answer on the third beat. "Hello?" "Please.. I need help. My step dad has a gun, hes trying to kill me, us, please! I need help!" "We'll send someone down.

It all becomes jumbled from there, but a cop comes, then leaves, refusing to get involved. I call again, another cop comes and he is shot. I give up on cops and call Samuel L. Jackson and explain to him my situation. He attempts to break into my house and kill my step dad for me, a hero, but he is shot once my step dad notices him. I call a cop again, he comes and is sneakier, more helpful but fails. I take his gun and suddenly my step dad and I are dueling outside, I'm tucking, rolling, jumping, dodging, gun shots firing aimlessly, but mine are directed at him. 

And I awake.

Modern Teenagers

Literally. Today I had my own exploration in a forest Veronica showed me at a park. I was trespassing, sure but I was feeding my human sense to explore, to discovery, my sense of childish curiosity that I've kept for so long and cherished so deeply. Anyways, back on track, it was almost personal, eye opening in a way that is metaphorical to me in my way. Where my friends stopped and went to play on modern playground equipment I continued on my own, fearless, curious, and daringly. I found loads of spots that I enjoyed, one being a sort of dragonfly haven where multiple dragonflies gathered to rest on leaves. I disturbed the area when passing through and found that it was almost like that scene from Peter Pan when the fairies were dancing. I also encountered a snake on my way, but the strange part was that he stopped for me. It was like he was waiting for my to cross so he could continue on his way, and it stunned me, maybe he was stunned too, however as soon as I came to my senses half a second later I bolted back a few yards and waited to pursue the trail. I met him multiple times, each time I let him continue just as he let me. When I came to the "end", or intersection of all the trails it ended at the crossing of all the water trails, the lakes, or rivers or whatever they call those man-made sewers. There was a turtle there, motionless but not dead. He acknowledged me and I him as I simply stared out at the view. The sound of cars was something I had to block out to enjoy it, but I couldn't. I took what I could in and left to return to my friends. Explaining the sensation of exploring that forest was like explaining why a man likes to dance, it's hard and sounds stupid all together. 

Metaphorically, it told me how I might deal with life, always striving through past what scares me, taking a step back, but continuing to realize the golden end.

Goodbye.

No More Sweet Dreams

I was right and I'm sure you know it. No more good luck, no more good night, no more sweet dreams, no more good morning kisses. You've lost your touch, I've lost my trust. You don't care to find your way through the maze, I don't think how do I know? It's like reading the book of an untrusted narrator, his opinion, his words, are useless. My paranoia if I can call it that, my self-consciousness, my doubts and all my worries are collapsing on my shoulders, I can feel them press against my ribs, my chest.

I couldn't sigh today. After days and days of sighing, or work, or worry, I couldn't do it, I couldn't sigh. It built up as always and when I did sigh it was like coming alive again, like coming up from drowning or the couple seconds after almost dying.

Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. It was the same with another, a mirror image in a fun house, warped, yet I stand the same. Upset, hurt, breathless. Tired as always. Exhausted, so tired, so drained from my eye sockets to my knee sockets. 

Got distracted. Bye.

Silly Suicide

Just a question, you ever been joyous as a bee but still been curious about death? I have more questions. Who is to say death is so morbid? Those who are left behind, right? What about those facing the mystery. The glorious, mass mystery of life other than religion, but technically this ties into religion. Death, it's seen as a dark, depressing "whole" of life, why not look at it as a beginning of a new story or questions answered? Those who cherish knowledge will surely cherish dying. To know what is there, to know how it feels and how to be. 

Death, to me, is not scary, but instead rather inciting. It's evil you say, they say, I say not! Why is suicide such a wrong way to be curious? It does not leave those behind happy, no, but neither does moving, or breaking up, or such a thing as that. I know there are flaws in my fascination, in my interests, in dying, but when you have no memory or no desire for yourself then whats the matter with a little questioning? A little death?

Flauntimity

On my nose, in my eyes, no shame. What shame do you have? What manners? Societal rules have left your fingertips, flow right into the cracks of the cement, unreachable, ungraspable. No longer seen by the world and they continue to soak into the soil. You have no rules, again no manners, no shame again. Rude. Where are my authoritative stances? Where are my no's and my get out's? Is this a test to learn to stand up, to tell you off, to kick you out? Yes. You'll not set foot in my home like this, so rude, so inconsiderate, so thoughtless of what you say. I once thought of you, your people, as nothing but manners but now I see the difference. Like between the French and British... nono, not good enough, between the Americans and Canadians. 

Good job, I may be writing about you and your people, but you specifically have caught me off guard, have ruined this post. You make me uneasy, I consider you a thief though I'm not sure, but... I have a bad bad feeling about you and I'll stick to it.