Freeze

I walk over to the computer. I step on my brothers toy truck and fly forward. I catch myself, but I stubbed my big toe, and it instantly began to sting. I hobbled over to the computer with my bum toe, and sat down in the un cushioned chair. I went to the Internet and I typed in "MySpace.com". I decided to look up this particular lady. Not just any lady, but a thirty your old women that lives near the Georgia or Tennessee area. This lady's name is Shalet. The name is French, and is pronounced Shuh-lay.
I type in her name and 30 pages of women pop up on the screen. My eyes light up as the result, and my jaw drops. I never thought this name was even heard of. I feel as though I have no control of my body. I feel an adrenaline rush, not of energy, but of fear and hopelessness. With my mouse, I return back to the box where I entered her name just minutes ago. With my arrow, I high light her name, and then I bring my trembling finger to reach the delete button. I can not stop shaking. I am fearful, but I can not stop looking, staring, cringing.
I am in a mind state of accomplishing the task I have started, which was a mistake. I bring the courser to the box once again. I type in Shalet and I enter in "100 miles from Knoxville, Tennessee". My heart is pounding, and I feel light headed. I close my eyes and press enter. Four pages pop up before my eyes. I inspect the pictures of the women.




Oddly enough I do not know what this women looks like. She was born when I was either 14-16 years old. That would make her in her early 30s.





I keep scrolling down. There are some Asians and African Americans and other ethnicity's that I do know, are not hers. This crosses off at least some options of women on the screen. I pull myself somewhat together, and I keep scrolling through the pages. I feel like I'm on a race that I can not stop until I reach the finish line. I do not know why I am trying to get in contact with her. I narrow it down to three women. I click on the first one. My heart feels as though the beat is increasing with every breath I take. The first one is definitely not her. I do not know why. There is no evidence that it is not her, but I decide to go to the second woman. I click on the next Shalet. Her page pops up on the screen. I stare at her page, with very little on it. I keep my eyes locked on her picture. Next to her picture states where she lives; Knoxville, Tennessee. Her age says 30. All the pieces fit.
I continue to stare at her pictures. She looks very petite, probably five foot four, and very slender. She has blue green eyes and light olive skin. Her straight, dark brown hair falls just below her collar bone.
I look at an album of other pictures that were taken on her wedding, which is last year, of this month. I scroll though and I find a picture titled "Daddy and Me :)." It is a photograph of her with my biological father who is in fact, her biological father.







I freeze.

Third; January 2007

I feel a harsh breeze of fear and warmth all at the same time. I stare at the screen, as if the message is going to change, magically. Three months later? What is his incentive? A million ideas run rapidly thorough my head. I feel like I am seeing things, like a mirage. My vision is cloudy. My head feels as though it is throbbing. My hands are slowly shaking. Somehow, I press REPLY.

I type "Hello there, blue eyed stranger". The message is sent after two attempts. My eyes are wide open as I stare straight ahead, I shut my phone. I slowly scan the room, which includes myself and my mothers rat dog, Prince Rocco. I slowly sit on the couch, as I stare at all the knick knacks my mom has put out for display that have not moved for at least five years. I stare at my phone for approximately five minutes, give or take. He finally replies. That moment is when our beautiful roller coaster ride of a friendship begins.

Second; October 2006

I am having this awkward tense feeling. It is more like some sort of calling, that I am not capable of responding to. I do not understand how I read actual phrases on someones body. I toss myself onto the couch, as I hurl my hands in the air, with both confusion and exhaustion. I lye there. I attempt to relax. With my eyes shut, and my hands to my side, I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. My fingers feel as though they are vigorously playing the piano, uncontrollably at my sides. He somehow has constructed an indent in my life. Was I just imagining the thoughts and statements I read all over his black and white wardrobe. I stare at the ceiling, as my fingers continue to play a random tune on the couch. I sigh. I allow my body to turn to its side. I continue calming myself. Should I take a chance to help assist him, or end up hurting my self in process. This "feeling" I do not feel out of pity, but out of a variety of feelings that even I, can not comprehend. I feel as though I need to assist him.

I flip myself onto my back once again, and set my hands upon my forehead. Where do I start? I do not want to feel this anxiety that I have developed, from not knowing, any longer. The opportunities I have to help him, obtain many results. The possibilities are endless. It is in my control, yet somehow I feel completely out of control.

It is October now, the nights keep getting darker and colder as the month continues. The leaves have began changing their pigment, and are about to slowly create a blanket for the ground below. The cars, lawns and roof tops, accumulate more frost made by the, what feels like, negative degree weather. I wear practically my whole closet just to feel nuke warm. My fingers, toes and ears feel as though they are not one with the rest of my frostbitten limbs. The freezing weather is not on my mind, but the fact that it has been a horrible, mind boggling three months since have not seen or heard of, who I found out to be, Taylor. I continue my slow breathing routine that I have been conducting for a good fifteen minutes. I Unfortunately, did not get any contact information. I think I was to afraid, and somehow in limbo about being in contact with him, period. I am no longer acquainted with the girl over the summer, or Jake, Taylor's best friend. We are now off in our complete separate directions.

I hate the pain of desire to understand why I saw the discrete writings, only visible to myself. Not many things cause me to constantly contemplate over what, in reality, is so minuscule. There is still a coincidences that I might have been hallucinating when I was envisioning the words, that I was progressively obtaining knowledge about this particular person, just by looking at him. That alone, just might be the main cause for my constant frustrations over the past three months.

He obviously does cocaine, meth, some sort of prescription or over the counter drug. He could be violent and conniving. He might have the ability to persuade anyone into any decision in which he desires, with a fake front. I might be over exaggerating his personality. He can be a good person with a horrible past, and present that at the time, I was reading. Could it be that I have the power, let alone any opportunity to attempt to transform someones life, to continue living. Even so, he can reject my indirect offering, right from the start. It is his life to live, save or destroy. Why should I interfere. I shouldn't have to put forth myself as if I were a rescue tube, if he is not willing to float on his own.

Somehow, I think of him as a wonderful person.

Do I have a chance to help him save himself from being crushed by drugs? I grab a quilt lying next to the couch, that is quite horrifying looking to say the least. It is pink and purple, and smack dab in the middle there is a pony inside that looks as though it is drowning, in a Christmas themed snow globe. Kudos Grandma. I throw the over sized piece of material over my body. I wiggle myself into a satisfactory position, and force pressure from my hands, on the blanket, against my face. I sigh. Three god forsaken months I have been worrying about this kids health, and just over all personal well being. I have no idea how to describe the impression he made upon myself. I sit and think about about the way he acted towards me. He has an addiction, and I do not desire to have an addiction, to help his vanish.

I know that no one can conquer addiction, besides the addict. It is unfortunate. I've always been told that "No one can do everything alone". I release my hands from smothering my face, and uncover my head. I remember his forehead -of all places- state "Please save my broken soul". All these things, have been on my mind just about every minute of every day, a grand total of approximately 90 days. I stare at the ceiling, still frustrated, but more then ever, today.

I am completely delirious, at this point nothing is about to wake me up, once I am asleep. I have not done my homework. I have not even had the urge to start. I turn over to my side and continue to keep my eyelids stuck to every surface of my eye. My cat jumps on my stomach. I automatically flinch with pain, my cat is a eighteen pound monster. He jumps off once I gently shove him with my hands. "Fly away, my beautiful Butterfly" I say in a French accent. I see my phone light up, seconds later, I have just received a text message. It is probably one of my girl friends that has been continually complaining to me about this guy, that she is apparently in love with. She has been devastated for a good week. The big dilemma for her is the fact he has a girlfriend. I do not have a resolution for her. I can not wave around a branch off my orange tree, frolic over to her to lover boy, and transform his arm candy to suddenly become road kill. I do not even bother opening the text message.

My brother, being the sweet heart that he has always been, sees from the other room that I am attempting to get some rest, and was going to do me the "favor" of changing that all around. I go to grab my phone. Of course, he gets to it first. I allow the ugly quilt to yet again devourer myself. I lye there, not caring about any ridiculous prank he can pull. His stupid self is probably out of ideas. I attempt to fall back asleep. Seconds later, he slides open my phone. "Random number?" he says, grinning. I slowly sit up, my hair in a messy bun, and my eyes half open. Looking like a zombie, I glance at him as if I had no idea what he was saying. He opens the text without my consent. He coughs as if he was about to announce the Queens presence, but instead the words that come out of his mouth are




"Hello there, beautiful eyes"

creators of life

If only you noticed my white t-shirt in a sea of black.
If only you noticed how much pain I feel inside.



I F O N L Y Y O U N O T I C E D M E




If only you noticed that you are not nurturing.
If only you noticed that tears run down my face.
If only you noticed that I am not invisible.
If only you noticed that you broke my heart.





I F O N L Y Y O U N O T I C E D M E



If only you noticed my wounds.
If only you noticed that I need your assistance.
If only you noticed what makes me happy.
If only you noticed, I do not have faith that I will recover.



I F O N L Y Y O U N O T I C E D M E


If only you noticed that I need saving.
If only you noticed that you disappeared from my life.
If only you noticed that you say you care, but are incapable of showing it.


I F O N L Y Y O U N O T I C E D M E



If only you noticed that I took over your role as a mother, and nine.
If only you noticed that you have unknowingly shoved me aside.
If only you noticed how much weight you put on my shoulders.
If only you noticed that my wish was to get close to you.
If only you noticed that wish, I do not want anymore.





I F O N L Y Y O U N O T I C E D M E





If only you noticed that you took away my childhood.
If only you noticed how much I do not trust you anymore.
If only you noticed how frightened I have become.
If only you noticed that I have shut myself down.
If only you noticed that I am lost.



I F O N L Y Y O U N O T I C E D M E






If only you noticed when I do not eat.
If only you noticed my successes academically.
If only you noticed how much I LOOKED up to you.
If only you noticed how much I have accomplished.





I F O N L Y Y O U N O T I C E D M E




If only you noticed how horrible MY father was to us.
If only not you noticed your partners, are not winners.
If only you noticed how many unfortunate decisions that you made.
If only you noticed that I am weak.
If only you noticed how weak you are.



I F O N L Y Y O U N O T I C E D M E



If only you noticed my strengths.
If only you noticed that you do not listen.
If only you noticed that you can help me.
If only you noticed your negative changes, in mood and tone.





I F O N L Y Y O U N O T I C E D M E





If only you noticed that you do not notice anything.



If only you noticed that you do not make me proud anymore.
If only you noticed I want to get close to you.
If only you noticed I do not know how to do so, anymore.
If only you noticed that I am your daughter
If only you noticed that I am drowning.
If only you noticed I need you.


I F O N L Y Y O U N O T I C E D M E







mom. i love you.

First; Summer 2006

I stare. I examine the writings that are spilled all over his ragged appearance. There are enough words visible to my sight, all of which, could be bound together to create a horror story. These sentences that drip on him from head to toe, represent his life, and himself as a person. He stands there, I keep reading. His vision is locked on his worn-out, black shoes on his feet. He flicks another stogy, from his limb finger tips, as he gazes up into the sunny sky, eyes half open, from the suns harsh glare. I watch, as the orange sparks fly into the air, like fire works on The Forth of July. He throws the cigarette across the parking lot. He watches it twirl out of control down the black concrete, as he casually exhales the remaining smoke that has been captured in lungs, for quite some time now, he redirects his attention back to his shoes. I keep staring. I keep reading.

His hands disappear into his worn black Dickie's. In a split second, he pulls out a small zip lock bag, this bag is filled with a white continence, that is foreign to me. He slowly turns around as if no one is watching, and rustles around in his other pocket to find this small thin like tube, and inhales this substance into his nose. The empty baggy is released from his bony hands, and drops to the ground, in a small wad. He coughs as he turns back around. Am I the only one that can view the statements carved into his pale skin? I notice. I stare. I keep reading. He, once again, focuses all his attention to some area on his weathered shoes, as I do the same. I view sentences squirming in and out of his shoe and all over his body, repeatedly.

Him, as a person, looks very dangerous, however, very gentle inside. Still I keep reading the sentences of his life, apparently only visible to my eyes. He wears an over sized white T-shirt, over his broad shoulders, and large armed upper torso. He also wears a pair of stained black Dickie's pants, that cover over his long legs. He appears to be around five foot ten, and very attractive I might add. He too is fourteen, and for his age he has a rather deep voice. He is extremely built and has great posture, even though he has his head is down, at least in my presence. He has raggedy black hair. His skin is very much pale, but I can tell it is not his natural pigment. There is indented marks, along his triceps of both arms. His facial features are very distinct. His cheek bones stand out, unnaturally. He has a few freckles that sprinkle over his nose, and under his droopy eyes. He looks as if he has not slept in days, maybe even weeks. He has a broad manly jaw, and a small scar on the top brim of his nose, right between his dark thin eye brows. He has other marks randomly scattered across both arms. They are quite painful to glance at. They tell a story all their own.

He scrunches his nose as he brushes his nostrils, with his skinny fingers, and looks up with his hollowed out, icy, blood shot, yet beautiful blue eyes. For the first time they encounter with mine. Shyly, I turn my attention back over to the both of our best friends, that are reacquainting, after god knows how long.

Out of the corner of my eye I see him stare at my face, not in a provocative way, it is just a gentle consistent glance, but I can still feel the presence of his piercing eyes, on the surface of my skin. I see a small smile, his white perfect smile. I turn my attention back from pretending to be involved in a conversation I had no interest in to begin with, back to the sentences that seem to be tattooed all over his attire. He seems lost.

I can tell he is a genuine person, associating with the wrong group of people. I continue to stare. I continue to read. When he pulls out another stogy from his left pocket, I begin to read quicker and quicker. My heart pounds with every heart breaking complex sentence. He finds his crack lighter. He shuffles his body away from the three of us, lights his cigarette, and places it on the right side of his mouth, gently between both lips. He takes a deep breath, and more sentences of his horrific past and present catch my attention, immediately. I read quotes, horrible, degrading disputes preached to him by both parents, and friends. I envision negative thoughts he feels inside. All that I read, spill all over his attire, that only I can see. I see marks, not ones made by Crayola markers, in cute or abstract designs. These marks are permanent, they are injection mishaps that did not make in into the vein, that lay all along his forearm.

My heart pounds harder and harder, as the words rush through my mind at a frightening passe. He peers up into the sky and blows this disgusting odor of smoke, that the wind blows directly into my eyes, I close them shut. I step back. He immediately takes a small step towards me, as he holds his hand out to grasp my forearm, he says. "I am sorry". I open my eyes, surprised by his comment. He steps back, and intakes another puff, and puts his head down.

His eyes are hidden by this red ball cap, that I want to remove. I glance up slowly to meet his eyes. My hair is blowing behind me, from the aggressive wind. He took a step towards me, as I close my eyes, our bodies almost touch. He slowly exhales the smoke over my left shoulder and whispers "Hello there, blue eyes." I look down to the ground, trying not to smile. I look up and attempt to notice if he is doing the same. I catch what his forehead says, a split second before he darts his eyes back to the concrete, i read "Please save my broken soul". I lock my eyes to the ground, once more. The passages I read all over him are swimming around in my head. I become teary eyed. I keep my eyes lasered to his shoes. A tear falls from my face, and connects with my cold feet, he notices. We look up at each other. He looked at me, eyebrows arches, puzzled, while blowing smoke out of his nostrils. He takes one last hit off his cigarette, and I feel his eyes examine my face, gently. I feel his body brushing up against mine. I hold my breath, and clench my hands tight. He blows the smoke over my shoulder, but before he steps back, he whispers, "Please, don't cry." He proceeds back to his position that he has remained in for the past twenty minutes. I see a tiny smile appear on his face, as another tear falls from my face.

I look up. He smiles and winks.

COP VS. DRUG DEALER

I despise my step dad, I hate my father.

This will always remain, forever and ever.

My father replaced my heart, with a broken one.

My step dad tries to push my mom and I apart.

My father tried to take mothers money, to score.

My father tried to kill my mother and I in an alley way, he was not successful.

My step dad is a police officer, even at home.

My father is a drug dealer, even in heaven.

My step dad will never love me.

My father can never try to find me.

My step dad can never call me his own.

My father will never remember me.

My step dad has affected me.

My father has infected me.

.

Alien sent from the higher power

I wish I was the kind of human being that could quit putting myself in other people shoes, and attempt to walk for them. I can barely walk for myself, but yet out of some maybe genetic gift or a coal sent from some high power rather then good 'ol Saint Nicholas, allows me to do these tasks that I can not do for myself. This probably makes no sense to anyone, let alone myself. I have thought about it, and it is indescribable.

I have a high self of esteem, always. I am always happy, now that is my front. Everyone has moments of weakness, whether or not it negatively or positively affects them for the "better" of themselves, is up to them what the results entail. This statement is for people that do not use me as a crutch. For most people, they can not, and are not willing to do so for both people they love, or for anyone in general. This task they can not take on. This task is not a choice of mine, technically it is though. I help whoever comes my way. With any problem I know exactly what to do to make their life or problem contain less to no negativity, as a result. People that come to me are like a math test, and I am the answer key. Of course, people alter what I say because they think what I am saying is rubbish, that is when my advice, for their success towards what they are trying to achieve, sinks like The Titanic. People usually come to me for either parental advice, which I am neither a parent, but i have a lack of the "parent role" in my life, no matter what my birth certificate states after the year I was born.

I am a parent to the triplets that I did not birth, my caniving yet beautiful siblings. I give advice to peers, to be able to productively cope with their parents from the get-go, so they can get what they desire, and incorperate what their parents are most comfortable with, to a point. I also give advice about how to talk, and when to, and when not to, bring up or even try and discuss a topic. Understandable? Maybe I am just smart, and they lack the knowledge.

Mostly, however, people gravitate towards me for relationship advice. Research shows that the daughter looks up to her father to decide the how to evaluate the boyfriend role. If the father is cruel or degrading in any way, more then likely the daughter will end up with that kind of man for their children, or if they are lucky enough, they will go through dozens of them and realize that, that is the exact problem.

My mother has picked HORRIBLE, and do i mean that as an understatement, partners. Somehow I do not, and will never have a partner that reflects the "winners" she has chosen. This is why I have no idea how my advice works for many different people with many different relationship issues. No matter with any xx or xy chromosome that comes a knocking at my door, I whip out my key and tell them the answers, to the best of my ability. People usually call me "Mother Goose" becuase I usually take people under my wing. Its an understandable concept, but she is so, odd looking.

I am happy I can reach out, and in little ways, transform someones life, and make them that much more satisfied with themselves. But if only I could work out my issues. My conditions are perminent and can not be altered, no matter what answer key anyone whips out. I close myself off from everyone, with one acception, Taylor Patrick O'Brien Dickens. People my age, are consumed with only themselves, and don't bother lending a helping hand. That alone could help so many people. Especially the sea of children in my era.

I am proud to say I can influence someone, positively towards their well being. Next for me, is being able to attempt to alter my conditions to become easier to cope with, for my well being. It is a work in process.

I am a closed diary for many, a security blanket for most, and a friend that provides love to whoever crosses in my path, always.

Sit and Ponder

I feel as though my world is very tiny. I am the only living and non living thing in this enclosed space that is loosing both, oxygen and self esteem, by the second. My structure feels as though it is dissolving and causing this bubble, i call my domain, to slowly collapse, without my consent.  Things in my life have been unfortunately increasing at a horrifyingly fast passe. But the bubble will remain puny and weak, like the con tense inside.

 No one can view me inside this bubble, to see what even I do not even recognize, myself. I have something spectacular to offer to the world, but if only I did not forcefully detain myself from exiting, still I sit and ponder. I question what I can offer, and if i have the courage to offer, what would I acquire. When I lived my life outside my comfort zone, I obtained a lot of negativity and neglect. I have never received anything worth willing to remove myself from this bubble, for.

 No one notices my little insignificant self in this atom sized bubble. No one has bothered to peel back the layers to let me out, but then I sit and ponder, neither have I.  I wish I gave myself a purpose, so I could offer what I can give, Love. What I did receive, however, was the lack of. That is why I ran and hid in this invisible sphere I would call my domain. I have a purpose, which i sit and ponder, what it entails. This is why I have caused my callused bubble to increase its rough surface. The surface of the bubble gets thicker, even though I grow thinner. 

I now, am out of this bubble, yet I still feel invisible. I still sit and sit. I still sit and ponder. 

But still feel the lack of feeling, and the lack of love.