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before, beforei am only just thirteen. he is sixteen. i am in love/lust/crush.
my best friends big brother, or friends ex boyfriend, is tall. once or twice i imagined kissing him. but he never would. he is friends with the boy who is sixteen. and besides he is my best friends big brother or my friend's ex boyfriend. and i am not a bad person.
i am tall too, you know. i am stretched skyward but there was no more to stretch, just bone. so i am not really that tall at all. but i pretend i am. how tall are you? oh above average, you know, pretty tall.
the brother says want to come and see j? and my heart leaps and i sing yes but he only hears a nod and ther
crayola perfection.she drew pink flowers with crayons on her little white sundress.:thumb115399481:
"look mommy. aren't i pretty now?"
her mother laughed and told her that crayons didn't make one pretty.
"that's a lovely drawing," her art teacher told her in the seventh grade.
"thank you, it's a self portrait." finally she had received a compliment.
"oh, is that so?" the teacher replied and walked away.
she begged for attention, while he watched in the shadows. waiting for
the day she would finally break. on his back was a backpack full of insults
and racial slurs. he knew pain, and he knew it well.
he sat beside her while she cried by the graffiti-splattered
The Only WayShe hates silence because its full of promise, and promises love to break.:thumb113936862: :thumb115785608: :thumb115791297:
She doesnt think optimism is a very pretty word. Cynicism is much prettier, because it sounds like cyanide and tastes like black coffee.
Shes never tried to reach for the burning stars, because she was always told not to play with fire.
And maybe shes screwed up, maybe shes broken, maybe shes worthless. Maybe shes everything she shouldnt be and nothing she should.
Shes still laughing.
Because she doesnt give a fuck.
And shes alive.