Crying @ MindSay 
sad
Life sucks so goddamn much.
First there was my mom dying.
That sent me into a depression spiral for at least four months.
Honestly I would've killed myself if i hadn't found the inspirational stories of endearment on this site.
And then i ran away from home.
Gosh that was a good idea. Nobody in my house understood me. Why the hell should I stick around anyway?!
Things were rough out there for a while.
I spent a couple of months out in the rain and came down with pneumonia.
They had to do emergency testicular surgery on me because some sort of infection spread to them.
The right ones ok though.
I don't even feel like a man anymore.
Was I ever a man?
After I got out of the hospital my aunt finally decided let me stay with her.
But shes a bitch.
They think that I'm gay just because they caught me in bed with another guy in our boxers before.
But we had just had a water fight and fell asleep on the bed.
We didn't want to soak through my covers so we had to take off our clothes.
And when i sleep i have to hug something and he was just there.
I didnt MEAN to do it, but yea....that makes me gay....god.
Then they started making up shit about how i have gay porn on my computer.
I DONT look at gay porn anymore,
That was just a phase,
My bastard uncle probably was jacking off to it and saved it in my settings or some shit,
Because he hates me,
I know because the other day when he walked in, and I said hi,
He didnt even say anything to me.
I mean, when I say hi to someone, they usually respond,
Unless they HATE YOU!!!!
And my cousin is such a bitch too.
She's always lording her boyfriend with the beautiful eyes over me.
Like yea, i can't get with anything.
She would be pretty hot too.
She would make an awesome girlfriend.
Does that make me awful?
Shes like a second cousin I think.....so that makes it ok right?
My girlfriend of 6 months broke up with me too with a restraining order.
She said no more hiding outside her house, or in her room,
And no more sending her vials of my own blood,
I can't send pictures of my penis anymore,
Or call her house and just breathe.
Her name was Sammy, but people call him Sam.
But its ok, im just glad to be alive.
Its so awesome, I just glory in the fact that I'm allowed to spend another moment on god's beautiful earth.
PS...my balls still hurt.
PPS...to any good looking guys out there my email is sfano345@aim.com
PPPS...my dad used to molest me in a spiderman costume and claimed that he got his powers from me and if he didnt do it then he would lose his powers and would never be able to save the day again.
I know this is rather unbelievable, but honestly, could I make this all up?
My grandpa is dying. He chose not to get any more treatment (blood transfusions, etc.) on Saturday. The doctors gave him two days to two weeks. So now I get to sit here with the waiting game playing out before me.
One reason I didn't go to see him yesterday was because Josh was with me, and he already had to spend an entire weekend with my family...and this would have just made an awkward weekend even more awkward. I know as soon as I would have walked into that room, the tears would have started to fall. I hate crying in front of people as it is (even if everyone else is crying, too), and I didn't want him to have to see me like that. I've cried myself to sleep two nights in a row now. I just want him to go...as stupid as that sounds. He's being too strong, and I don't know what he's hanging onto. He struggles to take each breath...struggles to stay alive.
But, on the other hand...my graduation party had a good turn out and it was kind of fun. I think Josh had a good time...although everyone there thought we were dating, which was really funny since we're not at the moment. Who knows what's going to happen with that...
Dixie currently feels:
Alone
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Blog Poem #1
I'm hiding my emotions from everyone,
I hide behind my fonts and smileys and fun.
The red arial, size twelve. Hides all,
Except the days when I sob, cry and bawl.
Those days are the days when I let everything flow,
I post photos of cuts and leave it all on show.
I'm shit at writing poetry, but everyone says I'm not,
I'm so bad I have to use rhyming dictionaries, a lot.
But poems just sound so wrong when they don't,
A rhyme on the end of each line, or flow it just won't.
I was just laid in bed, holding her under my chin,
She still has your scent, but its vigor is thin.
I hold her too close, my smell is now overpowering her,
But I don't think I can let go, I need to keep a hold of her soft brown fur.
My structure of syllables and prose is just fucked,
Try as I might, my talent's just cooked.
It'll never be whatever it once was,
I've turned it all against myself, because...
I don't even know the reason myself,
I took too much time over your shelf.
If it falls down then we'll all get a pain,
Right in the skull where it'll fall to blame.
Blame the one who didn't tighten the rivets enough,
A defective spanner, she didn't tug it so rough.
Poetry is the worst form of expression in the world.
I don't think I'll try this again... My frustration is heard.
Dixie currently feels:
Dead
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Blog Poem #2
"Scabs"
Whenever I was hyper active,
Enjoying the way I'm supposed to live,
I'd often remark on pointless things,
And smile on the joy that my randomness brings.
I once often remarked, my brain was gooey,
The sky was bluey, glue sticks were gluey,
My brain was so screwy, my Converse were shoey.
The best thing I ever said though:
"My scabs are chewy."
And that's not a lie.
I'd picked one from my knee and gave it a try.
It was crunchy at first, then soft inside,
The surface was squishy, all the blood had dried.
Scabs are only a barrier, a mask, if you will,
They cover the wounds and they will be clean, until...
Until I rip them off again,
I want to see what's under them.
The wound hasn't fully healed.
It's bleeding now, just like when I:
Drove the cold blades into myself,
Sliced off my flesh and cut out some trenches,
I start the war, I fight the war,
I make my own barracks, eat my own stew.
I raise my own weapon, but not to my enemy.
I raise it to myself, and bring it down fast.
Ah... Relief at last.
I've made this once happy poem into something I shouldn't.
Keeping myself happy, content, I knew that I couldn't.
My scabs are all gone now.
I've scraped them away, pow.
All that's there now are the remains of the mark,
The small red indents where my silver blades park.
Where they dance upon me,
Take their fill of my skin, see?
There's one there, one here, one just near my elbow,
One down in the middle, and this one here... Oh...
...Maybe I shouldn't show that one to you.
Showing 1 - 5. [ Next ]