Loves

How are you? I just thought I'd role through the blog and say hello to my 6 followers lol. I have no shame in the small number of you all, I personally feel like its something you just accept when you decide to create a blog. Seriously, I doubt anyone comes into this thinking "EVERYONE WANTS TO KNOW WHAT I THINK"...I don't think that anyways. So thank you for reading thanks for following. =)

Have a blog? If I'm not following leave the link in a comment below and I will follow...and yes I actually do read the blogs. I love reading blogs actually.

But thats all...not really feeling the best right now. And I should probably be getting ready for school in the morning rather than doing this...=/. But whatever! I wanted to just say hello to you all, and thats what I am doing.

Keep reading.
I promise it will get better.
Trust my life is very interesting, nothing like this boredom I've spoon fed you all lol.


Peace.
Love.
Words.

xoxo,
Lainey.

Just Thinking...

[If you have read the collaboration I did with @andyxaccidental this summer entitled "Light the Fire"...a series of love letters, then you've probably read this before.]

Attention by Alanna D.


I walked about the park for hours.
I sat in the dark surrounded by the trees looking down at the path only dimly lit by the full moon that towered over me.
I laid down upon a park bench allowing the cool night air to send chills down my spine and raise my arms hair at attention.
Attention.
Attention.
Are you listening to me?
Attention.
Attention.
Are you even looking at me?
Attention.
Attention.
Can’t you see that I am broken?
Broken and alone here without you as you stand at Attention.
I lie in my own arms.
I rock myself to sleep.
I strain to see my dreams through my tears…that only help blur my shattered reality.
All because…I am the only on at ATTENTION!
You say you are fighting to stay alive for me. Yet I am dead, and my joyful presence has only but withered away. Do not fight for what has already died, fight for what struggles to live.
I love may be able to survive any war. But my heart, my heart is so weak…I am surrendering all that I fought for. As the months have dragged on into years I have lost myself within them and I have given up all hopes of keeping myself sane.
Do not fight for what has died.
Only fight for what struggles to survive.

Sincerely,
Yours.

If you haven't read the collaboration, and would like to read it then

hit up the blog here at http://blogs.myspace.com/andyxthexwriter

When I grow up...I want to be a butterfly. You know they only live for a few months. Not to say that I'd want to die early just that. When I grow up I would want to be such a beautiful transitional creature. One that was slow and unattractive, but secluded themselves only to return much more...brighter. My want to grow into a butterfly my seem strange to you but there aren't many words that I can come up, that can describe to you what exactly butterflies mean to me. So instead I feel its necessary to live you with this quote..."It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power." -Alan Cohen...Or maybe I'd much rather become a tulip. Tulips have always been my favorite flower. I've always found something to be enchanting about such a plant. A random fact about tulips is that they symbolise imagination, dreaminess, the perfect lover, and a declaration of love. I guess deep down I truly am a sucker for a good love story. But I figure every girl wants her own personal fairy tail...I know I do. I'd love to receive a love letter of epic proportions. To be honest I don't know what would be better, being the tulip a small symbol of a declaration of love or being a love letter...the most obvious of symbols? But When I grow up I really want to be a pediatrician! There is by far the most perfect and simply ingenious career! I love children and I love helping people in general. A pediatrician takes care of children, so it pretty much sounds like the best of both worlds to me! I'll only be in school for what...11 maybe 12 years after high school! That's not much and look at who I get to be surrounded by! All the small sweet faces of the young. I think 11 years to do that is a small price to pay, I tell you what!
“Perhaps a child who is fussed over gets a feeling of destiny; he thinks he is the world for something important, and it gives him drive and confidence”
-Benjamin Spock
~~~~~~~~~~~~~V.S.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The question "What do I want to be when I grow up?" makes it feel like I can be and do ANYTHING...sucks that, that's not the case.What I want to do with my life is much more official sounding to me. But I'd like to become an author, a poet, maybe even a visitor to a "Best Sellers List"! Lets just face the facts here I love words. I simply love everything they stand for, every curve and dip in the very letters...I just truly adore toying with the sharp sounds. The way some words mix and others bump heads like crips and bloods. Maybe that's wrong...no one ever told me it was! At first I wanted to become a journalist but everyone just told me it would be much to hard and there is no way I would succeed in that field of work. OK, FINE! Excuse me for having a stupid dream...excuse me for thinking that I'd enjoy speaking to complete strangers, learning about complete and utterly random events. (sigh.) Then I thought to myself you know what they are utterly correct...in turn I turned down my opportunity to intern at Houston Chronicle. 1 point for you all! But you will never, EVER, get me to stop loving the twist of words, good diction, and the curve of an "s" and the dips of an "M". I'm more into novels anyway...maybe I can write become a poet of some sort. I don't know, maybe I can become as great a writer as the woman I look up too. Amy Tan who I simply can't get enough of, after reading "The Bonesetters Daughter" I was sold! The character Ruth...reminded me...so much of, myself. And Kate Chopin, as far as I'm concerned she was an outcast and a rebel of her own time!...But that is all just getting to much ahead of myself. I think maybe if I stay positive enough, faithful, hopeful, maybe if I dare to dream...I can be like them. I can inspire some other little girl or young woman with a passion for writing. So my thoughts continued to develop...I am no dummy, and I've been called that on several occasions! But I began to think to myself...teacher! I was teachers aid for a year...I was given a bilingual student and I had to help him learn to read. It was so fun, granted I had my share of challenges but with the help of his actual teacher, and some patients, the students reading had a great amount of improvement! It was such a rewarding experience that I wouldn't mind becoming a teacher. They inspire, they imagine, AND THEY MAKE CHANGE! Everything begins with teachers...so why couldn't I become one AND do my writing. I can! But no one seems to really hear this part of my plan...of the part that involves me wanting to maybe begin a business of my very own. A book store targeted towards students like me who feel like "unappreciated rappers" lol. It would have workshops and...well a whole slew of things. But when asked "What do I want to do with my life?"...this plan goes unheard. It becomes as soft as a whisper. So I'm thinking maybe I should just ditch my whole plan of action. I mean after all its all pretty stupid once you look at it...me an actual writer! Ha, what a joke...its all just dreams right. Maybe I'll just go back to "what I want to be..." ME!...well at least the younger version of me, the me that wanted to do nothing more than to be a pediatrician. The me that yearned to be surrounded by children.
Just a thought...or maybe a decision...I doubt anyone of you all will ever truly know until I decide to act upon it.

You truly don't deserve a name...

I shall be the death of me.
My very own reflection taunts me.
I quiver at my own inquiries.
Internal conflicts arise just as the sun, my words were always my moon.
Today…I’ve contemplated on losing my moon.
I have stabbed my own self in the back.
I am my very own pathological murderer.
I shall be the death of me…one day.

Little Miss Fuck Up

Little Miss Fuck Up
She was crouched down in a dark corner of a closet, pools of tears brimmed her eyes.
Not today, she had fought so hard not to complain, not to point blame.
Yet here she was again, falling.
She couldn’t help but ask herself if it was once again all her fault.
“Little Miss Fuck Up,” she whispered in the dark.
“That’s what they should call me.”

No one step had she taken that month that was not upon broken glass.
Today she bled, and today she stopped to look at the pieces.
Her reflection was one of another creature.
She had not known the face looking back at her with puffy red eyes and alcohol scented breath.
She smiled.
Today was not the day.
Yet here she was again, alone.
The silence echoed off every dark corner in that small closet, questioning her.
When she listened close enough she could make out faint sounds of so called “friends” promising to always be there.
She could see shadows of old relationships with rock foundations crumbling down upon her.
“Little Miss Fuck Up,” she answered no one.
“That’s what they should call me.”

Her life reeked of failure.
She still remembers the first time she welcomed pain.
She still can describe the feel of a razor pushed against her wrist, and the taste of tears sliding down her cheek.
She remembers being berated and belittled.
She shut her eyes in frustration; once again something had been all her fault.
“If only you would have not done this…or that” the voices in her head cooed as they all meshed together.
Not today, today it just can’t be her fault.
Yet there she was yet again, fading.
“I never felt wanted; I just started to want to feel” she murmured in her self -made cocoon.
“Little Miss Fuck Up, that’s what they should call me.”


By Alanna D.

Yes, this is based on...a few personal things. But really other peoples experiences.

Sorry for the sad feel to it.

"Yes I do drugs! I'm on that simile, metaphor, euphamistic type of drug.

I smoke sentences.

& I burn more words than an Indian Chief!"

-XOXO,

Lainey.

Vulnerable

To be vulnerable is to be accepting of any damage. They say heartbreak comes easy, but love is hard to find. As much as I believe I have found it in you I struggle to stay open. To love you is to risk everything, to risk not being loved in return. Yet, here I am in your arms risking it all. This is me wanting you to want me more than you've wanted anything in life. This is me changing to accommodate you, to fill in all the empty spots that claim your heart. For you I have become vulnerable. I've enabled myself to experience all of the trials that love throws my way. For you I have rid myself of every shield past love affairs has brought along. I have wiped away every stain left behind from smeared mascara. I have bared every scar, because I truly believe that you will except me as I am. You will take my distorted skin, and my battered mind, and you will impress upon it all your tender care. I believe that if I stay open and allow you to do the same for me our love will blossom. So for you I shall remain open to all mental and emotional blows. For you I will become vulnerable.

Vulnerable by Alanna D.

A goal of mine is to self-publish a book of poetry inspired by photography. I truly think that writing is what I'd like to do in life. =) (models in photo Shaun Ross and Dalia...both are albinos. I think they are beautiful!)

Heart Beats and Guns

Color me jealous.

Paint me green with envy.

Sell me the lies you think I want to hear.

Rape my mind, and fill my head with greedy thoughts.

Push me away, only to pull me back in.

Draw you and I in different worlds.

Kill me again with the thought of the fights.

Cover every battle wound, and bruise with the length of your body.

Fill my room with the deafening sounds of your panting apologies.

Claim me dead, with every strike of your bullets to my heart.

Listen closely as the ring from your mouth that is the gun, and your fist that is the bullet, drown out my heart beat.

You push me away, only to pull me back in.

This time I shall be bulletproof baby.

Heart Beats and Guns by Alanna D.