I despise the people upstairs…a lot.

I like black. It hides things, it scares people and fits the contours of my body better than any other color.
I laugh at things that wrinkle people’s foreheads. I apologize, but as the saying goes, first impression always make the difference. Ha ha ha. Sure…
I love elegance. Its an aspect that’s been lost in the day of hipsters and plastic Hilton wannabe’s. I love when the subtle raise of a woman’s eyebrow turns everyone’s head.
I don’t wear clothes with prints, and I apologize. I’m not comfortable. Call me plain, but Chucks, jeans and a tee are how I get things done.
I’m short, and in all my life its always yielded benefits. Here’s how. 1) You always get the cute grocery guy to reach the soda on the top shelf. 2) You always get to be in front for photos. 3) When I danced, I always got the front line. and 4) People always underestimate you, and I think that’s the best benefit of it all. It’s like a tightly sealed firework, you never know how bright the colors will be. You never know loud the boom could sound. And you never know whether sparks will chase you into your bed.
I’ve been told I’m a good kid. Conversations with my parents cause me to think otherwise, but maybe they just need to vent, and I’m their scapegoat. I kinda don’t blame them. If I were remarried to a man as stubborn as my stepdad (a trait which he’s passed onto my brothers), or engaged to someone as unpredictable as my stepmom, I’d wanna scream, too.
School’s cool. I’m bored though. I would love a change of scenery. And this workforce, this thing that every person I talk to says, “Wait until you have to work everyday, it sucks,” seems ridiculously appealing. Um, I’m sorry you don’t like your job. I’m gonna like mine.
I love The Golden Girls. I’m like all four of them rolled into one. “Little Richard was in Bermuda?!” Gotta love Rose.
I’m gonna throw away this gum now. It’s lost its flavor.

Cold Shock

Don’t you think I know what’s going on? Don’t you think I may have already realized what road I’m on a long time ago? Wait, no it wouldn’t hit you. It doesn’t make you the damsel in distress, so no.
When we’re young, we’re told that we can do anything and go anywhere as long as we had the drive and said, “please” and “thank you.” That is complete and utter bullshit. If your hair’s a little darker than human resource person might like, you aren’t getting the job. If your pants size isn’t in the single digits, you’re lazy. If you have tattoos, you rob banks and worship the devil. If you have any hint of Spanish origin in your name, automatically you grew up in a house of 12 and are attempting to get your slice of the American Dream. These are realities that the common cluster of America refuse to acknowledge and will forever ignore. Again, if it doesn’t make you look good, then it doesn’t matter. Look good, or put you in distress.
If there’s anything I feel sorry for, its the walls of the rooms, where ever I reside. They are what see and hear my thoughts, my heart and the constant fight I have with myself. I sometimes think I should put up Yellow Wallpaper. It would only be fitting. Half the people reading this won’t get that.
I hear people laugh outside, and it makes me nauseous. I even delayed a nap just to hang a big black curtain, hoping the sound waves of laughter would stop at the material before making it to my ears.
And isn’t it sad, I have no where to vent, but to a piece of technology that doesn’t give feedback. It is so true; In the end, no one cares. And I don’t expect them to. But let’s just say I’ve got a lot of acquaintances that should audition for Broadway because they sure sold me a lie.
I love my black, but I’ve finally let it fill my heart unintentionally. I no longer feel a steady thump in my chest. Its become more a cold shock through my veins that let’s me know I’m alive. I don’t know how I emit somewhat of a warmth to others. Maybe I’m losing that, too.
I don’t want easy. Easy is for sluts and weak people. But I’ve forgotten how to ask for help.