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Construction Paper HeartIn all my life, there are many things my brothers taught me. Very few of them were taken seriously, and I can only remember a handful.

And so, rule number four was as follows: If you're ever on your first date with a guy in a restaurant and your date orders a lemon margarita, dump him. Immediately. Just end it right there.

Rule number six was to never, ever feed a stray cat tuna, for then, they will become tuna junkies.

Yes, I know, they're both very important life lessons; I agree. However, there's a deeper meaning in both of them. ...Well, alright, maybe there isn't.

But they did teach me this, and it's more than enough to make it throu

I am a womanI am not an object.

You cannot use me.

I was not made simply for your pleasure.
I am not a pretty picture to be used and thrown away.

I have a heart, feelings, dreams….

I have a purpose here.

I am a human being, a person like you.

And it hurts me when you treat me as less than human.

It hurts me when I become less than a whole,

And just the sum of my parts.

It hurts me when I become just something to please you.

It hurts me when you strip away my humanity,

My clothes,

My purity.

Even if just with your eyes and mind.

You cannot stare at me in longing.

You cannot undress me with your eyes.

You cannot force me to kiss you.

You cannot grope me as you see fit.

You cannot take advantage of me.

You cannot have your way with me.

I am not to be dominated.

I am not to be violated.

When I say no, I do NOT mean yes.

When I te

Something in commonIs it weird that I've never written about me? That I've never poured my heart and soul into something and hoped whoever read it would pick me apart but still remember to put me back together again? Maybe we're all just watches, ticking away - tick, tick, tick - and maybe that's why I don't really like people. Maybe I'm tuned in to that underlying sound of them fading away. It’s not like you can pick up another battery when you’re shopping, is it, and why would I want to get close to someone and end up counting seconds until they left again?

My mum has this watch. She’s had it for years, as long as I can remember and somehow

FeathersI don’t really know how to start this. My memoirs drape over my head like a million wings at times like these and I can’t help but notice every feather and lose myself in counting them. The one that is the gravel road I grew up walking on is grayish brown, the one that is the burnt pumpkin wood that coats my house is frayed and holds a single box elder bug on its tip, and the one that is how the lawn feels between my toes when I stand still is chartreuse and glimmers if you turn it toward the light. There are no birds that hold these wings. Just a single cherub, watching over me with unblinking legions of eyes at God’s bidd

Mi autorretrato escritoGastarme en la descripción física sería una pérdida de tiempo. Todo el que me conoce me puede ver, y el que no, mejor. Es más lindo que te conozcan por lo que hay adentro tuyo que por tu apariencia.
Y no, no hablo de tripas, porque de esas tenemos todos y es asqueroso.
De mi misma puedo destacar gustos, como los libros de ciencia ficción o las películas que tienen poco sentido y son muy malas pero, de tan malas que son, pasan a ser buenas. Los cómics irónicamente tontos y los chistes de humor negro me dan mucha risa. No, esperen, todo me da mucha risa.
Soy desatenta cuando se trat

Things About Me 1Well. Let me start off by saying this is just a list explaining a few things plus some random shit about me.

I don't like ignoring people. I do read everything someone sends me, but I honestly feel uncomfortable talking to people sometimes. I would love to but it's like...Like I feel like somewhere along the lines I'll seriously piss off someone on accident or make them hate me because of my opinions. I dunno.

I have no confidence in myself at all. Usually people think I say "I'm fat" or "I wish I was beautiful" for attention. But it's not. I honestly feel that way. I think I'm hideous.

I want to be a writer but I feel like my writing is t

John Steinbeck Bio John Steinbeck was born February the 27th during the year 1902 in Salinas, California. His family was from a middle class background over extreme affluence or extreme poverty. His dad’s with a similar name. Had an occupation of many odd jobs to keep his family afloat. He had a grain and feed business, and also owned a flour mill which was one of the best in Montgomery County. His mother called Olive was a former school teacher that may have influenced his desire to become a writer when he became that noble age of 14.
Through his years of experience, he saw many negative aspects of human behavior. During his early years, he spent

R-P-A-C BIO SHEETRPAC Bio Sheet

*dA name:* LUVthatSTUFF
*dA home page: http://luvthatstuff.deviantart.com/
*Real name: Just ask if you really wantto know

*Nicknames: Judge,Blood,Nagi,Clue,Spell ( depends on who you want to role-play with ) Or if you want me to role-play as myslf L-kun or Onion-kun will do
*Public email to contact: thatSTUFFLuv@yahoo.com
*Yahoo Messenger ID: thatSTUFFLuv@yahoo.com
*MSN: Can't use on my Mac, Buyt will use if needed
*AIM: Can't use on my Mac, But will use if needed
*Skype: Can't use on my Mac, But will use if needed
*ICQ: Don't know what that is...
*Best time to contact you? Throughout the week,Pretty much as ealy or as late as you want,though will tell you if otherwise
*Preferred RP method: I 'm an adapter, I will try what ever. Love new things~
Even Action and Adenture or more serious type things~
*Vore preferences / Pregnan

WatchersFake journal n° fhsgfasgasfasjgahhjf

I'll stick with that random number thing, yeh -u-
Maybe no one gives a frog but...

I felt like...

Saying...

That I'm gaining a lot of watchers lately ;A; ...

And...

I LOVE YOU ALL >w<

No I'm not on drugs, just I'm on a good mood today -u-

a thought on loveif only love was an option.

Procrastination High-pitched ringing chimed from a cell phone vibrating on an intricately carved wooden chair. With a muffled groan, a pale hand lazily slapped at it in a poor attempt to shut it off. Such attempts were obviously unsuccessful, and the pale hand retracted to the nearby bed. In one slow, shaky movement, the pale arm and its twin hoisted up a frazzled girl with a mess of dark hair hiding her face. She slid off the bedside and picked up her phone, shut it off, and sat back on the mattress.
“Maow…” whispered an orange fluff of fur at the foot of her bed. It raised its head and yawned as it blinked groggily at its owner

What They Do Not Tell You....What They Do Not Tell You About Being Color Blind

… is that over the course of your life you will be asked to identify the color of all manor of things, over and over.
What they don’t tell you is the disbelief that comes when you are able to correctly identify the color of said objects.
“So you’re color blind?”
“Yup”
“What color is my shirt?”
“Green”
“You’re not color blind!”
“It doesn’t work like that, I can see colors. It’s combinations, and tones and shades and stuff. Have you taken a color blindness test before?”
“No...

The Road To Me (Autobiographical)You'll find, throughout life, that many people have experienced things that they will never share. They will never bring them up in conversation or hint to the idea that they happened. Sometimes these things are monumental, but they cause such damage that they lock the past away. They become so used to the illusion of normality they cast themselves that they become lost in it, too, until the past feels like an alternative dimension.
Tonight, I finally feel able to write about everything that's happened to me. And it begins at a young age.
***
It was normal for my mother to be ill. Back then I never thought twice about it; it was the way the world was. Nothing odd about it, nothing foreboding. No reason. It's the way things were.
My mum was a wonderful woman. I feel bad for my inability to remember much about her, but I remember how she dotted her i's with circles. I remember how, when she wasn't ill, she was vibrant and full of life and love, and I loved her immensely. So did Dad. So d

All about Hurr Trains HURR TRAINS

If only I could get Morgan Freeman to read this to me

  I do not own ANY pictures
Pictures belong to rightful owners.

Hurr Trains are a majestic creature that can be found at almost any carnival/fair.
They have wheels and buck teeth and live on a

my life with dysgraphiaLearning to write was a challenge for me. It was hard to make it readable for the teachers. I was trying but I always was messing up. One summer, I had a special teacher that helped me with writing the letters. It helped, but I still had problems. It made me feel like I was different. I felt like it was a bad thing that I was different. I started using a computer at school but the one they gave me didn't work so well. I didn't like having to sit away from my friends to use the computer. The teachers made me use it but I didn't like it. I didn't feel like it helped me very much.

In 6th grade, we looked at different schools I could go to that

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Caged In My MemoriesI thought about you today.

Did you think of me?

No, you probably didn’t.

I am so afraid she knows what we did to her,

What I did to her.

It all started the night you called me pretty, the night know one knows about.

And no one will.

That one night, those small moments, minutes, hours…

They flutter around in my mind, dashing about.

A rainbow of butterflies, caged inside of my memories.

The mild air was cooling, my yearning for you was heating.

The evening smelled like fall; crisp, decay, change

The blisters on my feet were forming, my skin turning raw and red as I walked to the park.

The hum of passing cars, the heat of

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Game Over

by ~crazylemolwreck, Jun 29, 2009, 4:03:01 PM
Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Biography & Memoir

I’m looking out the window. That’s all.

This is wrong. Very, very wrong.

I’m gazing out his kitchen window, watching the summer grass blow lazily in the wind.

His soft voices echoes in the room, trying to soothe her.

It’s so odd hearing his voice like this.

It’s usually loud, vibrant, strong.

He sounds so small now.

He doesn’t understand what the real problem is. Obviously.

I can hear her low, muttering voice coming from the other end of the line.

Disapproval.

I don’t care about her, anyway.

Yeah, we talk.

We chat, giggle, smile in that stupid, hesitant way.
That way where neither person is sure of the other's motives.
That way.

But we don’t care.

My mind flickers.

I’m standing in a different kitchen, different house, different time.

Different guy.

Same phone call, same disapproval, same disappointing heartache.

“You’re my two favorite girls…” his voice floats, patient and gentle, only for her to respond indignant.

I always play this role.

Best girl friend.

Never best girlfriend.

So what is her problem?

We both may be his favorites, but we all know who comes first!

Yes, Maria, yes! You come first! So shut the hell up and stop being such a bitch!

I stare down into the stainless steel sink. I can barely see my reflection, just a hazy tan blob smothered on the bottom. My breathing slows to a dull rhythmic hum, the only sound besides the refrigerator’s purr and his quiet voice.

I’m happy, right?

Right.

Everything’s back to normal, the way it was.
The way it was supposed to be.

No. It’s not, actually.

It never was normal.

There were those moments, we’d touch the other for a second too long, stare into the other’s eyes for a moment… and the awkwardness flooded in.

It was always there.

Anyway, I learned going after him was like chasing smoke. I could see it, smell it, taste it, but not touch it or keep it. It would always simply float away, spreading just inches from my tired and wary grasp.

But still, it’s normal enough.

Just me and him, laughing and pushing, throwing Pringles at each other, playing video games, and debating bands. We still watch stand-up together, along with our usual European soccer fix, and giggle our asses off about masturbation jokes.

I know him so much better. She doesn’t understand him. She doesn’t understand us. I know his favorite songs, I can play the video games of his choice, I laugh at his cracks, I held his hand, and I cried when he cut…

But what?

It doesn’t matter. That’s what.

He wants her.

Not me, never me.

“Maybe sometime, just not now.”

That’s it, that’s all.

Case closed, game over.

Game Overby ~crazylemolwreck

Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Biography & Memoir

Real or imagined?
You choose.
I'm tired of deciding.

Sometimes... sometimes you have such an amazing dream that when you wake up you swear to God that you'll kill yourself if it turns out to be just that, just a dream?

I've gone through that twice.
And the part that sucks the most is that I didn't want that dream to be real the first time, it just sort of happened and I convinced myself that it was what I wanted.

It wasn't.
But this isn't Wal-Mart. You can't stand in line for forty minutes and make an exchange.

And that's why I wrote this down.
Thank you for letting me rant in my comments like this.
I should put this in the piece, shouldn't I?

love 1 1

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~twichey Jun 29, 2009

Wow. Very deep. Full of thought. I understand quite a bit. I honestly have been through something likebthis but not as extreme. I really like this.

~crazylemolwreck Jun 30, 2009

Thanks.
That's the weirdest thing though. I guess I do feel the emotions, I've just learned to turn them off. Shut them down at the slightest flicker.
Except when come to love. Or lust. Or whatever you prefer to call it.
I hate being human, haha.

~twichey Jul 1, 2009

I have shut off quite a few emotions. But this fend of mine has made me feel love again. So I guess I haven't. Shut off competely.
I hate bing human as well. Sucks.

~crazylemolwreck Jul 1, 2009

Yeah. But sometimes turning off emotions isn't the best, it can get you in a boat load of trouble.
And that's why you stop caring. That's the first step, isn't it? You just stop caring what happens.

~twichey Jul 1, 2009

Yes it does get you in trouble. I stopped caring about myself. But not for others. Like you I care for nearly everyone.

~crazylemolwreck Jul 1, 2009

Yeah, that's what scares people the most about me. That I honestly don't give a shit what happens to me, but when it comes to others, even people I don't actaully know, I'll put everything aside to help. And that is, according to my neurologist, "The most beautiful way to live life."

It's a compulsion. I can't help it. What's so beautiful about that?

~twichey Jul 1, 2009

I must say it isn't a beautiful way to live. But I live the same way. I hate myself to be honest. I wish I would live. But if I didn't I can count a few ppl that wouldn't be here.

~crazylemolwreck Jul 1, 2009

And hopefully these people are your drive, they're the thing that keeps you going.
The only thing that keeps me going is my history and who I "am." It sounds pretty superficial and arrogant, but it's the truth.

(1 Reply)

~TriForce95 Jun 29, 2009 Writer

i actually really like this, and I kinda feel the same way as you, except Im a guy, and the other person is a girl. But she doesnt like anyone else. So yeah, I relate, even though this isnt my situation at all.

~crazylemolwreck Jun 29, 2009

It's okay, at least you understand, sorta.
I just... I started writing and I couldn't stop, you know? And the next thing I know, I'm posting this up here and I realized... I don't know. Maybe I don't want him? It's complicated. Ugh. I hate being a teenager.

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