What Am I?

I can not explain the simplicity of how my mind works, because it is in no way, shape, or form simple. My mind can not solve every problem in seconds. It can not be reprogrammed to create what you want. It can not be organized, always messy. My mind can not be predicted or calculated, there is no pattern to my mind. My mind can not be is not a mind of a robot.

My mind can however create things on its own. It can understand feelings of others and how to deal with them. I can still work on my own. My mind can be sassy and dumb, stubborn and depressed. Procrastination is my minds biggest problem, as you can tell by me posting this with only 30 minutes to spare. My mind does need fixing when it is damaged just like that of a robots but that does not make me a machine.

I am not a robot, but that does not make me human.

I like this and I don't know why. I do not have much of anything to say today. Sorry. 

Currently...

Feeling:

  A) happy

B) loved

  C) hungry

                D) all of the above 

Eating: tea and cookie dough.

   ( I don't care if it makes me fat, it makes me feel good)

Listening to: Young Bodies by Westward The Tide. 

    A friend showed them to me back in 9th grade. 

    He was actually more than a friend...

Hanging out with: my super handsome boyfriend who 

   makes me really happy. 

Smelling: my tea and his really good smelling cologne that

 he knows I love. 

Thinking about: my future. It looks good at the moment

   but that's only for the moment and who knows where 

   we'll go from here. I hope what I see is pretty accurate,

    I could live like that. 

Remembering What Once Was

I remember the songs we listened to in the car on our first date.
I remember when you held my had for the first time and the first time you made me truly smile.
I remember the gifts you brought me when I was having a bad day.
I remember staying up till 2 or 3 in the morning listening to your soothing voice talk to me through the telephone about anything and everything.
I remember you vividly.

I remember the girl I used to be, even more shy than I am now.
I remember feeling so alone, like nobody could ever get in and help me out.

I remember it was around 4am, Saturday December 23rd, 2006.
I remember it felt like we were in the middle of nowhere.
I remember the long drive to that strange new place I'd soon call home.
I remember not having any food there yet, so breakfast that day was Krispy Kreme doughnuts and a gallon of OJ to share.
I remember how much I missed Arizona and its snowless winters.
I remember my friends I left behind.
I remember starting over.

I remember when school was counting, napping, snacks, recess, and art.
I remember my first grade teachers last name.
I remember all the grown ups telling me I could be anything when I grew up.

I remember wondering why I was getting a text late at night from someone on student council who I didn't know anymore.
I remember when Rhonda came on the announcements the next morning saying something terrible has happened and our teachers have something to read to us explaining it.
I remember how they all said they missed him even though they didn't really know him.
I remember thinking he was one of the happy kids who never had those thoughts,
although I didn't really know him either.
I remember the beautiful dresses and neat suits everyone wore.
I remember that awful day.
Oh how I wish I hadn't come to school that day.

I remember braces, sadly.
I remember how smooth, yet slimy, they felt when I got them off.
I remember the first time I went to get them tightened; I got power chains.
I remember how much I hated getting power chains.
At lest now I have straight teeth,
as long as I wear my retainer at night.

I remember when my sister used to tell me I suck and that she hates me on a daily basis.
I remember crying softly to myself every night hoping mommy wouldn't hear so when I told her I was fine the next day she'd believe me regardless of my puffy eyes.
But I remember when she was one one who cried from almost losing her little girl,
again.

I may not seem like i'm always listening, but i'll remember.

How To Make A Great First Impression

1. Don't be a heartless wench

The End.

Tell Me

Tell me when you hear my heart stop. Tell me that you love me. Tell me all your secrets so that when we're old and wrinkly and you pass I'll still have a part of you nobody else does. Tell me to beg for you. Tell me the truth even when you don't want to hurt my feelings. Tell me a joke. Tell me how to do this cause I'm so scared and feeling helpless. Tell me to shut the hell up when I'm being obnoxious. Tell me how to accept the pain so it can't hurt me. Tell me what it means to you when I say I trust you. Tell me why everything hurts so badly and what I can do to change it all. SHOW me all that you are so I have the strength I need to trust you.

I Hate Crayons

Crayons are the worst. I hate the smell they leave on your hands and the little wax pieces that get stuck under your fingers from pealing the wrapper. I hate how they're so nice and sharp and the beginning and then after a while you're lines get thicker and thicker till it's all just a big blob. They colors may be pretty if you use the right colors but most of the time we all end up with that rainbow black. Cartons just suck.

You.

You look, but you don't see. 

You touch, but you don't feel

You hear, but you don't listen

You like me, but you don't love me. 

Uh Hats..

Everybody wears some sort of hat. Hats to me are what defines us. Those who wear the big outrageous bright colored hats want others to notice them. Then the people like me, who wear bland simple plain hats, want to stay in the place the eye does not see. Of course I could go into more detail and think of a million other types if hats but nobody really cares about hats. I don't want to talk about hats. Hats are just uncomfortable and give you terrible hair, although maybe that's the reason you're wearing the hat in the first place? Anyways "hats" is a boring topic and I'm done with this.

...

True embarrassment lies within your first email address.