If You Do It

If you climb mountains,

I will start climbing trees.

If you drive your car,

I will drive my red bike.

If you take pictures,

I will draw what I see.

If you do drugs,

I will smoke candy cigarettes and do pop rocks.

If you have sex,

I will start kissing boys.

If you start getting into fights,

I will fight in the schoolyard.

If you sell your body,

I will write my number on the bathroom stalls.

If I see you,

I will have people watch me.

If you do it,

I will too.

Bare Skin

Perfection.

Not a wrinkle, not a single vein.

Not a single goosbump or scar.

Smoothness, fairness.

Uncomprehendable beauty.

Surreal.

Soft as cream,

clean as water.

Pure as white snow.

Naked.

Laying as still as a tree without the summer breeze.

Holding the pose like a marble statue.

Hair flowing, sunshine warming her flawlessness.

This is the epitome of my life's purpose.

This woman, her stillness.

Her perfection.

The bare skin.

Shut Your Eyes

The world is loud, tense, nerve-racking.

How you make it through the day; even you don't know.

Pedestrians cross the streets, never lingering.

The only thing moving at a slow pace is your eyes.

Exhaustion has become a source of offense to this exaggerated existence.

Why must you b so alive, in a world so dead?



Why must you accept tragic ordeals, or chaotic natural occurences, if you cannot accept God?



Your Mouth shuts; no longer tasting, no longer speaking.



Your ears are deaf to the sound of everyday droning of a fucked up world.



Your sense of touch dissolves at the feel of the cold cast iron casket.



Your mind goes numb to the senseless debates; money, war, politics, fuckery.



Finally, as your accepting your fate and your body is ready - a voice speaks from within.

A voice that comprehends what it is you need to do.



Pull away from life all at once.



Just do it;

Shut Your Eyes.

Careful, Love

Careful, Love.
These tender hours, call for a tender thing.A softness, resembling the lightness of whimsical chime in the distance.

Hush, Sweetness.
These breaking pulses from your skin to mine,its a fiery thing.A current, resembling electricty sent from an unexplainable source.

Relax, My Dear.
These plush curvy things on your face, are mysterious things.A burst, of licking flames and chilling breathe sent my mind on a voyage.

Breathe, My angel.
Your body, is a precious cargo.A sight, that sets heaven and hell into conference- for they don't even know where this sinful perfection came from.

Scream, My Heart.
Your rush of exctasy through my roots of masculinity sets my soul into a euphoric frenzy.

Careful, Love.
For the dawn breaks through, my fallen angel.To shine, and illuminate my neverending sight that is set on you and your godliness.

Scrapes and Cuts

Many scars, many wounds.

Many stories about the injuries that I've done to myself.

For many times have I fallen,

For many times have I ran.

Fallen on my face.

Ran and tripped.

Over you,

over him.

Foolish wounds, over foolish reasons.

Over what reason- it is clear that reason didn't exist to my blurred eyes.

Blinded by love,

cut by affection.

Tossed by care,

tricked by tenderness.

Scrapes and cuts,

falling and running.

Thats all it ever is,

thats all its ever been.

Perhaps I fell too fast,

maybe i fell too sudden.

But i know i fell- on my face.

How did i get all these scrapes and cuts?

these scars and wounds?

Each one holds a different tale, a different twist.

But its all because of the same girl, the one with the blurred vision

the flimsy feet and the complusive instincts.

the one with the scraped knees

and cuts on her hands.

Call Me Insane

Apparently I’m insane.

I am too patient, people have claimed.
If you test the waters with me, they will be calm and still.

According to some, I’m mad.

I don’t crack under pressure, people have stated.
I have competed with Atlas, and I too can carry weight on my shoulders.

Apparently, I’m strong.

How have you not snapped? My friends ask.
Could it be that brick wall that I built, to block out people’s bashing?

According to some, I’m odd.

You aren’t a normal teen, people have declared.
The lifestyles of the Drunk and Foolish have never appealed to me.
Yes
Very odd.

They claim I’m odd, mad, insane;
So be it.

Toss me a straitjacket.

Here Comes The Storm

When we join, we are comparable to the sun; majestic and beautiful. Bright and cheery. The others bask in our warmth.

But some, grow angry and irate about our affection towards

one another.

So of course, Here Comes The Storm. To hide and destroy our prepetual shine.

You fade away behind the greyish facade of this tiresome mob. You fall into

the cloudy exterior, ignoring my pleas.

I am your light your love and yet, you no longer join me

to make your sun.

The clouds jeer, with thunderous voices.

The heavens cry for our lost cause.

Is this what was to become of us, my majestic sun?

Are we never going to be together, joined by our rays of light?

Must we always be torn apart by the, always-jealous-neverending storm?

She-Devil

A Mocha coloured beauty, with lips of fire

a stare of bewitchment and a pair of quivering thighs.

A voice, lusty and full, whispering my name passionately.

Hair the color of Onyx, flowing like black silk.

A pair of almond shaped eyes, dark and seductive,

beckoning for me to look deeper, deeper into her soul.

A smile, devilish and perverse yet- alluring. Flashing skin,

controversial to the teaching of mothers to their innocent daughters. She listened to me play my guitar, each stroke of the strings making her dance.

Her body swaying and spinning, as if seducing the musical notes themselves. She made my

guitar's song hers, because of her enchantment over my weak heart.

She whispered honey covered words, softly into my ear. But each word filled with sexual tension;

drunkards would sober instantly.

So that night, my fair dark mistress became my guitar. I plucked her, she sang. I felt her, she

moaned. Another romantic song for the people to listen to. I awoke the next morning, alone and

forgotten. She left a note saying:

"sweet sweet man, your love making was as good as your money. play on."

A Group of Men

A group of men,

a holy sense, chanting divinity and praise

to the One with many names.

Devoted like soldiers of peace,

they repeat and sing

a beautiful holy prayer.

Deep in a temple

a group of Tibetan monks

in their solid maroon robes

raise their voices

higher

in unison,

to the One with many names.

His Stare

His stare, his stare

It made my skin crawl.

His glare, his glare

it made me squirm.

He watched, he watched

peering between his strands of hair.

He's mad, he's mad

insane; with a perverse look travelling across his face.

Undress, undress

he commanded from the depths of his room.

I cried, I cried

as his eyes grew as round as the haunted full moon.

His eyes, his eyes

tore away my innocence and sanity.

His hands, his hands
ravaged and touched.

He finished, he finished

he could have left me for dead.

His stare, his stare

I will always remember.

**I dedicate this poem to my friend Ian, who inspired me with his retarded drawing of the most messed up eye. We had to do some warm up poem thing, and we decided to inspire each other. He drew something, i wrote about it ( he was impressed- I think :D) and i gave him a few words. Of course my favourite word; bittersweet. And goes with bittersweet? Love! So we did it, and we made some beautiful poetry. I must say I was proud of the outcome of my poem. As well as his, he writes some amazing love poems- Bastard! lol...So from one incredible friend to the next, This is to u Maclean!!

Ride My Wave

Today in class, we read pieces by spanish poet Pablo Neruda and canadian lusty writer, Irving Layton. So we were put to
the test to write something Lusty, perverse, passionate or just plain old dirty! We were given a picture of someone surfing on a giant wave, and somehow use that as an "inspiration" ...so I gave it a shot! According to my teacher, she said it was "HOT." lol

Ride me,

Penetrate,

feel the adrenaline.

Brush me with your fingertips,

admire the beauty in my curves.

Feel me,

the dripping of our sweat.

Thrust, Push

surf on a wave of exctasy.

Hear me,

like a wave crashing,

I moan your name.

My thighs quiver.

I yell,

I reach the TOP.

You reach the climax

of my wave.

Just, ride my wave.

All I See

Your are a monster, you are a freak. You're so fat!

All I see is chunky bits of lard, hangng out all over your jeans.

You know why? Because you eat too damn much!

what? HA! Do you seriously think that is a "small portion" of food?

Add that to your wide hips and trust me- it be large portions in no time PORKY!

Did you throw it all up? GOOD!

You should do it more often; Purge that guilt out of your system.

Humph! Finally something fits you! I guess you are getting better- but u still need more work.

Why is your hair so dead? And why is your skin so gross? Where the hell are your eyes?

They are so dark and you need make up for those circles. Fix yourself up, girly! Because besides your weight, you are hideous!

Now....when I come back to this mirror, I want to see slim and sexy. Cause, all I see is fat and ugly.

** Just thought up of a possible monologue for anorexia/bulimia. I feel bad, for any of those poor girls/boys that think that, binge and purge is the way to go. I know it's something pshycological but, I believe that again the media has a lot to do with this. I like food to much, to ever result into something like this. But i've known a couple of friends and friends of friends that have ended up in hospitals due to such disorders. If you know someone who has an eating disorder help them, they need the convincing that they are beautiful and that it isn't healthy to starve/regurgitate just because u can't deal with "the pounds"....it is sad.

Poverty Line

Toe the line! Toe the line!

I never wished to battle what was over the line.

But if I wanted to at this point,

I could dance with it.

I could laugh at it.

I could flirt with it.

If I really wanted to, if I was insane;

I could kiss it, sleep with it and moan its name.

But I dare not ever do that.

I tiptoe around it.

I dare not wake it,

I dare not cross it.

Another of many fears that I wished never

became such a close friend of mine.

Almost a relative.

Almost a parent.

I could reach over this condemning line

and choke it.

I could stab it,

I could shoot it.

I could feed it arsenic,

I could scald it.

I could throw it in flames

and watch it burn.

I want to, but I'm scared.

It seems to be pretty strong.

Toe the line! Toe the line!

No no,

I dare not.

** I guess it is something, that lower middle class canadians fear- crossing the poverty line. I guess it's something that i've been fearing for the past couple weeks. So i'm speaking about it, bcuz im wondering who else could feel like this. U know? tip toeing along the line, just barely crossing. People who face it and don't care or act like its the life they were meant to live can embrace it, bitterly. And it makes them angrier with the world sometimes. Or those people who are afraid to go into it (which of course is completely understandable.) And then there are those people who wish to jsut b rid of it. Who wish poverty could b terminated, that it would simply die. Well yea there u go...poverty line.

Winter Omens

If I could draw,

If I could paint,

If I could sculpt or sing.
If I could play an instrument, I would personify the misery that I feel

within Father Winter's cracked cold hands.
His touch is rough against my skin, like steel wool.

His kiss bitter.

His voice rough and hoarse like an Overseer.
His lashing wind, burns my skin.The Icy arctic joins and penetrates my shields.

Cruelty cackles and conspires as well.
Such a troupe of odd cynical "gentlemen", bring on my winter omens.
The only thing that takes pity is the soft gentle hum and fall of the

billowy flakes that touch this irritatingly blind white, chilled earth.
Within each gust,

inside each frozen bosom,

contained in each chill comes those bad omens.
Something that destroys families,

that tears hearts, that shatters homes.
A call for omens that cannot be stopped by;

colourful tasteless lights.Countdowns to the end of ANOTHER year

or

a chilly disgustingly sweet day for lovers.
Winter has been around longer then any of those damned things.

Learn to grasp- you better grasp it and see:

It is winning.

It always does.

First Kiss <3

A snowy bank, a sight of natural beauty, for perfect timing.

A few giggles, a touch of skin that tingles like bubbles; always popping.

A stare exchanged, a sound of content sighs of tranquility.

A smile, an urge to grab one another.As if magnets were being pulled together.

A pair of glassy orbs, a sight of relief and youth. Like new stars in each eye.

A silence, a call for something to arrive, beckoning it on.

A flutter, a sound of a rhythmic drum, beating stronger and faster.

A head tilt, a sign of acceptance the coming of a fiery collision, a soft push of the lips.

A clash, a feeling to part them a version of a lover's golden gates.

<3.

This is just a poem about a special kiss in my life. I guess for the past 2-3 years i've considered it that one perfect kiss. Corny I know haha. But its something that has always been able to put a smile on my face. No matter when it is that i remember it, it always looks the way it did when it happened- perfect and true. :)

And I ran

And I ran.

I couldn't stop, that would be foolish.

No no- not while they are still after me.

They taunted me and told me to do things

I have never wanted to do.

So I did what I had to do

I ran.

My heart raced, my breathe raggid.

My feet ached, my veins pulsed.

My sweat ran, I ran.

The torment and punishment of such foul things

so inhumane. They hurt me too much, telling me

false things, evil things.

In result I've caused pain.

I've caused humiliation.

I get the blame- but NO!

It really isn't my fault.

I ran before, honest. But, I never got far.

No no, I couldn't, with the grip it had on me- how could I?

With the coaxing manner of a the Devil himself, I was pulled back in.

My arms, my sallow skin, my missing teeth- I did run but i could never get the hell away!

Damn it, damn it all to hell. It has nearly killed me I tell you, but it only brings me back for more.

More intoxication, more power, more highs and lows. More binging and more lacking support.

God doesn't even help me run anymore, I know he doesn't. Why would he?

I ran so much and so far, but i was always confronted with the worst kind of personal demons.

Damn metal, damn needle, damn foulness...damn devil.

And I ran...in circles.

Let me vent!

Alright right now im in my bathroom, listening to Armstrong and Crosby on my itunes, blockng out the excessive slurrish yelling coming from my living room. I hate my mom's boyfriend. I dislike her friends, and my mom...perhaps i overuse this word when it comes to my writing but its always so damn perfect -Bittersweet.

SOO many pros. SOOOOO many cons. She has changed a shitload, and of course i've been coping with it cuz i love her. But these random "hey lets get together and drink" fridays are reallly fucking annoying. Her loudness and her acting so foolish.

What a friggin letdown man! See i've considered my mom one of the strongest women i've ever known. Shes got some amazing stories u know? But when she has these Bimbo days...ugh its like "GROW UP LADY!" Luckily today i have plans so im going out with my best friend. Take my mind off stuff. Its just really annoying...like there is no other word for it. humph....

And and and....the things that come out of her mouth! like honestly, relaxxx..... Its just too much. I'm now listening to Scream with timbaland keri and Nicole...good song...and its still blocking out the ruckus downstairs. Thank god.

All i gotta do is get my hair did, haha and i am set. I'm out, bcuz of course it was a misson to wash my hair, what with the freezing water and whatnot. (My mother ignored the bill reminder to pay up for the hot water and Voila...we now own the coldest water in the GTA)....i felt my brain freeze from how cold it was but i was able to soldier that.

She just needs a thousand and one reality checks, i love her. i wish i could give em to her. But she will like verbally murdur me by calling me names or something. Or she might even hit me, but thats rare cuz she knows how easy it is for me to get upset over words. The blood is coming back to my hands, they were freezing before but now they are good.

I guess tomorrow calls for a proper shower at my sisters house. Or do it up like the pilgrims, BOIL SOME WATER! Make a fire, rip some sheets. hahahaha...

now as Snoop raps about the next episode it is time to fix my hair.

Thank u mare for my laptop, and for introducing me into blogging...i feel a bit more relieved. :)

Slave Of The Mind.

And she held her breathe,

she dove deep within her mind.

Swam to the bottom of her lucid thoughts.

She slipped past the dark memories and the grey moments in her life.

She surfaced to the beautiful place of peace within her mind.

A place where the anger that existed in her life, was not a part of her world.

A location that passion for living was all it was.

She felt the slipperyness of this spot, as it slithered from her finger tips.

No, not reality. Not punishment. Please, no where close to it.

She tumbled back into her liquid nightmares and thoughts.

She fought off her demons and her depression.

She wished to have held on to her loved ones in life.

The dark moments in life gnawed at her hands, making them raw.

The barking voices of authority and slavery whipped her back, leaving it torn to bits.

She reminisced the tragedy of life. Her life.

The severe punishment of having to be torn from freedom of her body and mind was excruciating.

Her hell on earth belonged to her masters. Her owners, she was just property.

She prayed to someone she began to lose faith in. The devil was her boss, the one that worked her in the fields.

Insanity wasn't an option anymore. She was a drone.

The only time she escaped was when she was sleeping. When she could dream.

Remembering the time her Pappy owned a ranch, the time her mama would cook giant meals for her family. Her and her cousins would play in the fields.

what sweet dreams.

Now, it was all different though.

Her master owned her ranch. Her mama cooked giant meals for the masters. Her cousins were all sold. And she worked her field by picking the cotton.

Now where was her life going to go? What would death bring her?

peace? joy? perhaps.

But although she was a slave of her mind,

although her body was enslaved; she was not ready.

Not ready to accept death.

She would let her real freedom come, whether it be in life or in death.

Whether it be underground, or up above. She would survive somehow.

** A day in school always affects what i write. I learn new stuff, perhaps research in it a little and then i got it all set up in my head. I enjoy writing poetry with a story. Something that makes a person think about more about my character. What is the slave girl's story? Does she have family? What is done to her? How is she so strong? What happens to her in the end? Does she die on the ranch? Does she escape through the underground railway?

Well, maybe that's only me that thinks like that when it comes to my own poetry. I will b writing full stories soon enough :) .

With my Gun, This is Done.

Foolish people! A unity of idiots!

Take my Word!

You possess these thoughts of love and justice? HA!

Are you people that blind? I ramble and rant like this for a reason.

Your Stupid thoughts, chilidish ones i assure you, are overrun by your ever so

"trustworthy systems".

They are the opposite of your false, fake, faithful foolish thinking.

Love?

Justice?

Take a Look Around!

It does not exist! Observe the children with their rifles, holding it to their father's head.

Gaze at the 10 year old girl, being sexually abused by a soldier- once a family friend.

Now tell me dimwits; Where is your "Love and Justice"?

Sloth-like movements from the likes of you people. You wish and do nothing about it. This is not an act of God or perhaps not even the Devil. Blame yourselves.

This is an act of Man.

So I raise my metallic wand, which bonds me with thiis destruction. I finish with taking part of it rather than fighting it. This discussion leads to nowhere.

With my Gun,
This is Done.

** Thankfully, I am blessed with a safe home and trusting people, so far. I wrote this on behalf of Free the Children, something my school has been partaking in for quite some time i think. I joined FTC at first, mostly as a goal. A goal which had nothing to do with the cause itself. I wanted to join something at least once before i left highschool. And while i was there i learned about statistics and i saw pictures. But not only that has made me twitch and feel shame, but movies that have to do with such issues. I hate it.

30 billion dollars is all it takes to save the world. WTF are u people wasting your money on? These Police academy waste millions. Thes major companies, BILLIONS. Where are all the people that are concerned for the well being of others. I know we have requirements and necessities in life that need attending to. Duh! I'm not an idiot. But powerful people of this world are doing shit all to help those that are starving, that are needing attention. Those 4,8,12 year olds which are suffering grief and war and pain.

I am only one of the many people that rant and are determined to do something when im more capable.

God willing, when i become a journalist/writer, i will travel to those places in Africa, Asia and help those in need.

What r you going to do? Sit there, feeling bad? Or are u going to speak up?

Are u going to eat your food, not really worrying whats happening outside of your house?

Or, are you gonna take action, get out there, send food to those who need it?

I feel like i'm already doing something trying to get the message out there, what are you going to do?

Mourn

She mourns a something sorrowful.

A pain on her heart, and so she sings.

Dressed like a princess of the night,

the icy dark forest in which she spreads her music.

A painful feeling held within each note, causing grief to angels,

making the fierce wind embrace her torn porcelain skin.

Her heart mourns.

Her lungs capture.

Her eyes glisten.

Her lips quiver.

Her voice reaches.

Soprano, Acapella.

Falsetto, Forte.

Harmony.

Wait....not harmony.

Where is the harmonyin this nostalgic fallen angel? Her eyes reflect

the hypnotic effect this ache has introduced to her.

Her song was once of joy, when he was a part of her life.

Before the battle, when he was alive.

Her song is now of mourn, and she sings into the morn.

The dawn, a fearful sight, showing her the light and joy of others.

So she waits until dusk; until it is black night.

For her travels always take her back to that icy forest.

Her mind and voice travel throughout its stillness.

Singing beautifully, Singing mournfully.

Singing the last lovely tune she sung to him

before he had left.

Before He was gone.

Before she was gone.

I wrote this in my writer's craft class after watching Sarah Brightman. While others found her weird, what with the opera movements of the hands and whatnot...I was jealous. She was dressed in this beautiful Black dress, and she looked like a princess. But her song sounded sad, so of course sad princess. So I of course had to post it because- Duh! Original Christine Daae (Phantom of the opera) was the inspiration...

Enjoy, :D

Choices in life

Old or young.

Bachelor or married.

Mister or Misses.

Making a choice in your life is always altering. Isn't that insane? Isn't that scary?

Like honestly, think about it...Someone can decide to take a major highway which can lead you into a car accident or, a small route where u can get lost or stranded. Perhaps, the purpose we have choices to make in life is so God or the Devil have something to read in the funnies. Am I making any sense? I think I am.

Two people who take a role in choices, I believe, and add a little irony. It's like a recipe. Have you ever thought what kind of day you would have if you did something differently? Like If you had avoided the homeless guy begging for money, you would have money to buy a can of pop. Or if it was the other way around, if you gave the guy money...that you would see him with liquor.

I don't know why i'm having these thoughts...well kinda. No i lie. I do know why. I guess considering this is my last year of high school (WOOT WOOT!!!) i'm starting to feel the pressure. College, University, Career, Money, Lifestyle, Love...Life. *WELCOME TO THE TWILIGHT ZONE*

No no no. Welcome to Reality. It's something that's very overwhelming when u think about it. But no so much when u live it - well, depending on the results right?

Now what worries me sometimes is what happens if u don't learn from other peoples choices? Can you end up going down the same old worn-out path? Follow the same mistakes, the same route. I am not going to lie, I don't want that at all.

I just wish, that some paths in life came with a map. U know, "if you pick this path and make a right, then success is Yours! If u pick that one...well you can just imagine what's down there hahaha." But no, to simple haha, Obiviously. It's more like, if you take that path its only gonna lead u to another fork in the road and another and another and another and...sigh* well u get the picture i guess.

And then of course come the obstacles.

Where is that GPS system when u need one?

That's when i knew

I remember still, in Grade 1 when they used to ask us what we wanted to be. I would say stuff, like a babysitter (and now im not so crazy about little kids, only my neices). Or a lifeguard ( I can't swim in the deep end, i have a phobia). Or even an astronaut ( absolutely terrible at Math and physics).

I remember, one day, in grade 5, i wrote a story about a princess and her prince. Her love was neverending and the story was just very cute. No other way of putting it. But wait. I could not have written that ever! Well, at least thats what my librarian/teacher thought.

Mrs. Capibianco claimed that i copied it. She made me so upset and yet a bit smug. A well deserved mark. Perhaps almost perfect. But no no, i had to rewrite it. But of course she asked me, " And if u wrote it yourself, what gave u the idea?" I remember staring at her thinking, "This lady cannot be serious. She actually thinks i copied it." So i told her the truth. "I got the idea from a picture of a princess and her prince. It gave me tons of ideas." She peered at me over her glasses. She wanted to challenge me. So she told me to write another one.

I was worried! I was like, maybe this was a once in a lifetime kind of thing. Maybe i can't do it again. So, with my head hanging low i sat down behind the cutest boy in class, Daniel Francheschetti. As i stared around, i couldn't help but stare at the logo on the back of his jacket, which had a cowboy on it.

....hmmm...cowboys....THAT'S IT!

I wrote about the first cowgirl, another wonderful piece of writing! Christ sophie, stop copying from other people.

THATS RIGHT FOLKS! She blamed me again for copying something, so of course my mom got involved.

But after that, i knew it was time to accept it. I loved to write. I was good at it. I felt my hand throb everytime i had that urge to write.

So now i wish to pursue my career in writing. I figured why not get into journalism, although its just a stepping stone to what i want to do. And that is write books. God willing, i will be able to do what i want. I can't wait. :D

2 weeks

It has been exactly 2 weeks since Boris passed away. I get a shiver every friday night remembering the phonecall i recieved from Brittney, telling me that he got shot. I remember the phonecall i received as i drove down to my old neighbourhood that he had passed away.

His parents are getting ready to leave, I saw Boris's ashes on wedensday. He's in a nice Gold sealed box, engraved in all. No doubt in my mind, Boris thinks he's balling hahaha...

On the day of his viewing on ever persons cellphone, a picture of the suspect was being passed around. As i told you folks before i went to school with him. Very shocking. A lot of people were angry, confused and in denial.

My friend Boris has a group on face book with 1,648 members. Some people to defend the suspect saying " Oh no, but it couldn't have been him. He's too nice." BULLSHIT! I'm not going to lie, this is pissing me off as well. Boris wasn't killed by a nice guy. And ugh...alright folks let me show you what i think about this guy.

I understand that these people defending him are his good friends, grew up with him and whatnot. But what they need to realize is that this guy was involved.

I highly doubt the 22 division would pick a name out of a hat and say, hey lets blame this guy for 2nd degree murder. Yes, cuz that is exactly how the system works. They go the guys face on camera. Theres one obvious piece of evidence. Next, he admitted in taking part of it why?

Bcuz that night, Boris had a gun held to his head by the very same guy they caught. He got tasered by boris out of self defense, becuz boris had a broken arm. And guess what folks? THIS GUY HAS TASER MARKS ON HIS NECK! So tell me how these people are saying, oh even though he was there he didn't do it so it doesn't matter. Of course it matters!?!?

He took part in a crime, a crime that got taken too far, rashly. Incredible how stupid these people are, how much they are in denial. But i guess my mom was right.

In every argument or situation there are 2 sides. For and against. Agreement or disagreement.

Some people have called Boris stupid for having a taser in the first place, they call him a dumb little wigger for trying to fight a guy with a gun.

So many people feel wounded by the fact that there is a "FREE NAHOOR" group. I felt angry, really angry. That isn't fair. These little thugs live by some stupid ass code, "Don't snitch". Listen if u are scared of what can happen to your family and to yourself why the fuck are u getting involved with such people. The kind of people that can't help but live a life of crime?

How foolish. How ridiculous. How sad. I can't help but think that this guy feels no remorse for what he was involved in. Like honestly think about it. This guy is an accomplice to a murder of a youth over something stupid. If he had a bit of remorse, he would speak up? Or am i in the wrong here?

Are all 1,648 people standing by boris after death really fighting a lost cause? I hope not. My brother in heaven, My best friend, he needs this justice. And if not him. Well shit, then his parents. Its only fair. Cuz one thing that isn't fair; is the way Boris's life was taken.

But one thing that i do disagree with, is the facebook wars. Oh thats right there is such a thing. It's when people have a heated discussion on a discussion board which leads to something controversial, upsetting, sometimes (if it gets to that point) life threatening.

So ridiculous.

I don't know why i do it to myself, but i can't help but check the discussion board.

Boris, don't be upset with ur friends, i hope u know that they are just upset with everything that has been happening.

I just hope this gets solved.

Can't...sleep

My clock ticks, my mom sleeps.

I don't.

My dog whimpers as she chases squirrels in her dreams.

I can't dream.

My friends go to school feeling brand new, ready for the world.

I feel dead tired, not the least bit prepared for what is outside my door.

As some go to bed, with happy thoughts, wishful thinking and peace.

I lay in bed, uncomfortable under the covers, in my clothes. Thinking about the stress, the doubts the fears, the uneasiness i've had to get accustomed to.

As some have all their friends and family, only losing some to sickness or old age.

I have a somewhat broken family, and i lost a best friend to gun violence. He was too young.

I had this problem in the summer too. not being able to sleep until 5 or 6 in the morning. but now,

now its just frickin ridiculous. How is this possible?

Going back to the nauseous feeling, of a restless night. A tired mind, a weak body.

I'm 17 damn it! i'm too young for this crap. Insomnia...can this b it?

Well, i eventually fall asleep, but thats at like 5 in the morning and the thing that sucks about that is that i'm going to school.

I got a schedule to stick to and im failing at that. I can't fail. I can't sleep though.

Can't, Can't CAN'T!

I hate that word, but that's the only word to describe this restlessness. Can't sleep, Can't stop thinking, Can't relax, can't stop feeling sad. Can't do it.

I stay awake, i hear the birds, i hear the traffic get heavier, i see the sky clear. Shit.

I can't sleep, i can't stand the nausea of staying up, or the low bio rhythms. No energy.

And no matter how hard i try, I CAN'T FUCKING SLEEP.

sigh*.....can u see how frusturated im getting :? this is so ugh. stressful.

Have u ever suffered a restless night? If u've only had it once or twice, imagine having it every night. Imagine knowing that you going to bed, is just failure all in itself. Because u know very well, all your gonna do is lie in that bed, stare at different spots in your room every 5 minutes. As if someone put something there during the day to keep you interested. And see, what i hate about that crap is...staring into the dark.

I always end up seeing things come out of the dark, or i imagine the worst so i close my eyes but not sleep. Because..i'm scared? No. i'm terrified? ha...maybe. Or maybe bcuz i try to prove myself wrong, that i wait for the room to light up. Shit. i was laying in my bed, for almost 45 mins . Not sleeping, but mentally pacing.

UGH...is this insomnia? is this chronic insomnia? or acute insomnia?

or what do u call it when its just borderline? but the way it happens to me...hey man, if thats borderline, i feel really bad for those that can't sleep at all.

I am soo sorry buddy, i feel for u.

The power of Music

Well, i woke up today and seeing as how i don't have cable, the internet is my commercial free televison. So as i'm chatting away on MSN and on facebook and on the phone. Yes i just love to socialize. And while this is all happening, my itunes is open and playing my recently added music. Bone Thugs n Harmony, Nas, Alicia Keys, Red Hot Chili Peppers, ColdPlay, Lil wayne. Yes, i also love variety.


I realize how powerful music is over someone. I can just imagine how cliche my name sounds. OOOooo the power of Music. But there is no other way of putting. Bcuz music does have a lot of power over a person. It can suit your mood or it can change ur mood. It can make u feel empowered, or it can sooth you. It can pump u up, or make u feel down. It's just that powerful that it can alter your moods.





Oh, another power it contains. It can bring out the best in people. Yes, crazy right? How one may ask? Well talk to someone who paints, or writes or acts or does something artistic. Music inspires, relaxes the mind, lets the words flow. Let's that brush dance on that canvas. Let's that pen create on that paper. Ha ha i love it!





But wait, not all the power of music contains such positive results. Hm, yes i think you know what else im referring to. "Damn that Rap music!" hahahaha...well its not only rap music of course.


These lovely tunes, that talk about slitting and killing which are followed by gutteral screaming, and screeching guitars. Yes i'm sure the 13 and 14 year olds that discover this kind of music don't get influenced at all right. Which is why i wonder, if artists that put out this kind of music know what it does to kids, why do they keep on doing it? Could it be greed? Come on, all these angst teens need this. Of course we will encourage this angry teenage facade. Idiots.
Making money, off kids who have anger towards their family and society. Making money off kids that wish to disappear. Making money off kids who end up dying bcuz of listening to their music. Suicide folks, music can have something to do with that shit too.

But rap music, although i listen to it, it does not influence me or have power over me the way it does for some of these little "thugs". They go out into the street, trying to get their grind on, or fucking shoot up people. Hey if all these people make money this way and rap about it, it can't b that bad. WRONG. It's not okay, it's not right, it is definitley not legit. So these kids need to relax, take a breather and realize that rappers don't always mean what they talk about. they aren't really trying to push these little punks into being stupid. Although for some that's just it, an army of violent naive kids holding a gun. I don't even know man.
That's why i love that song "Stan"-Eminem. Cuz it just goes to show u a bit of truth within the rap industry. They don't all mean, b angry wit the world. It's just an...agressive form of art i guess. :S i don't know how though hahaha.
Oh well.
All i know is that the grasp of music on people's mind is great, whether it increases your IQ, like classical music. Or drops it, like some rap or goth rock.
But that's just the power of Music.

Hard To Accept This Loss

Came home today, from a calm weekend with my best friend and her parents.One of the most calmest weekends ever and yet, i still couldn't help but think about my friend Boris. Boris Cikovic, croatian, goodlooking, super funny and dead. Got shot.

No longer here. God i keep on saying it, but its just never going to register. Like, i know he's gone, but i swear it just feels like hes on vacation. I can say, i know im never going to see him again but, is that for real?

Is he never going to be drinking with my other crazy friends? Is he never going to b going home from scarlett with my best friends, brittney and Uros? Is he never going to be my friend and just b there?

I keep on trying to sleep, but every little sound wakes me. Nevermind every little sound, up at my friends cottage, in our room that damn clock! I could hear it ticking and i swear the ticking would get louder and louder and louder (as if it was Big ben or something) then it would go really quiet. As if it was being muffled by a pillow. And all i could think about was all the good times i had with my best friend. I can't cry anymore about it, even though sometimes i feel like there is a giant hole in my chest. Its not fair man.

Alot of my friends, were angry with God. Me? ...Not really.I was of course (and still am) more angry with the people that actually shot Boris. But if anything i was more confused about why he let this happen. And then my mom told me something, that i think calmed me down a bit (along with her super "knock-a-horse-on-their-ass" sleeping pills) that

God lends parents there children, and he knows when is it that they are going to pass. But he doesn't decide how is it that they die. I am 17 years old, and when it comes to beautiful sad thoughts like that, i can't help but believe them.

Oh man

that night was so shit for me. Boris passed away friday. I took half a sleeping pill. KA-BOOM! K.O!

Saturday, i was talking to my friend melvin...wait..not talking..crying. there we go. Crying on the phone, with melvin. He got tired, and wanted to go to bed. As soon as he did, i felt so alone. I began to sob uncontrollably. I went to my mom's room, going back to that 8 yr old sophie, who can't help but sleep with her mom, because she is scared of the dark. Scared of being alone.

I was rubbing my eyes, nose all red, lips super puffy, and my chest heaving. I lost my friend. I needed to cry. so my dad moved out of the bed i dug my head into the mountain of pillows on my mom's bed and wailed my little lungs out. She hugged me and soothed me and all i could say was " I don't understand...hes dead. hes gone. i just..don't understand"...she passed me a glass of water, with this fairly large pill. I swallowed it, followed by water which i - of course- choked on. Got under the covers, and the wailing went to bawling, sobbing, getting quieter. tearing.

numbness. those fricking pills man, made me so dead. i wanted to say goodnight to my mom and dad, but my eyes were crossing. apparently all i was saying was "Mom...i dont know..i dont know.." finally i wanted to say goodnight to Boris. But i drifted.

Friday, october 3rd at 10:40...my friend was gunned down in a park, where he was drinking with his friends, over a $2 fucking tote bag, with a t-shirt and 2 beers inside. He died on the way to the hospital. The bullet went through his abdomen, through his liver. destroying his pancreas. I lost my friend to the most stupidest violent act, over the stupidest shit. I swear, im stronger than most, but im still weak.

And u wanna know what else is really fucked up? Out of the three or four guys that approached him. the one they caught, went to my school last year...

I just want to b able to say good-bye, give him a hug. a kiss, tell him i love him. thats all. I wish i could have appreciated last time we chilled a bit more. But i can't now...I see him in my dreams, but he never speaks to me, hes just in the background. I think i want him to talk to me, but im scared...even as i type this i feel that hole aching. He was so beautiful, and his ending was so tragic and unfair. I just want him to know i am never going to forget him. I want to get his name tatted on my body. Cuz losing him taught me the most valuable lesson i've learnt so far- treasure all the good things in life, bcuz u never really know what it is u have until its taken away from u.

R.I.P BORIS C.

02/22/91-10/03/08

Too many, restless nights thinking about this loss. Wondering if this is real. I still think its a dream.