long time no blog

they know more than they want to share

I prepare so carefully my defenses
make up walls, barriers, turn to stone for them
so they don't have to know

but they aren't playing offense these days
they gave up, they aren't intimidated by stony things anyways
they're tougher than I am anyways, when it counts

so I'm stuck being hard to them
and they are so malleable that my stone won't hurt them
and they are barely aware that their ignorance is breaking me

they neglect to acknowledge my dirty secrets
maybe they know that my secrets will grow from the inside out
breaking my own defenses, the ones I worked so hard on
chipping away at my barriers
escape is not imminent
but it's coming

they're ready

Hike ew

sex in a bottle
unleash that emotion!
sex in a greenhouse

It's official, I am a songwriter.

I wrote a song yesterday. C'est tres simple.


How, can I not think about you every 2nd second
You say you want me, you say you need me, but you don't love me
and I think about you all day,
I think about the way
you said to me
How, can I not think about you every 2nd second



My next one is going to be about how I want a long-board, rap music and lemon thyme.
Maybe to the same tune?

Phat Doobs

Smash my head into a bench, I swear that it won't hurt
Go off with my best friend, your hands all up her shirt

I'll just lie here on the ground, blood seeping from my noggin
While you two peace out, 'getting a room' to do some snoggin'

God you're such a bitch some times, violent and hard
When you locked me out of your house last night, I slept in your backyard

I'm tired of all this shit, your blunt hypocrisies
Whispered 'I love you's, major trust issues, your lack of sensitivity

This poem is a little 'fuck you'- I know I might seem mad
I'm not crazy, I'm just angry, you're such a messed up lad

I've gotten a cold now, thanks so much, from sleeping in the wet grass
I can't even call my best friend, I know I'll just sound crass

Maybe there's an explanation for it , I know I bumped my head
But it doesn't explain the rumors, that she gave you 'fucking great' head

At least it wasn't full blown sex, I'd fear she'd get an STI
I'm glad to now call you my ex, you sleazy, dirtbag guy.

yo yo

How many legs on two caterpillar?
Morph into butterflies, that'd be killer
Micheal jackson made a song: Thriller
Knew a guy called Ian, last name Miller.
Those last two lines there, they was just filler.
(Gave them time to metamorphosize)
Turn from wormy worms, into sweet butterflies

"Wouldn't that be a horrible way to die, don't you think?"

I just thought that since Tansley has not been commenting on my blogs lately, I'd put up a picture of her boyfriend. So she can ogle him and find his picture here whenever she wants to see him.

"stop smiling"

bottom lip
top lip
hips legs
feet

hands
eyes
smiles

simple sensations
complex ideas

repeat
repeat
repeat