i laugh at the inappropriate. i hardly ever open up. i befriend the amazing. i sing to myself. i dance in the mirror. i put others first. i love. --------------------- AIM: supasweetyo


The cover of my “Animorphs” book. 

The cover of my “Animorphs” book. 

Before the bad,

there were no lines drawn

my body was the only sure thing I could control

I told fewer lies

my biggest failure was not planning sufficiently enough to go to grad school

anger and resentment weren’t emotions I felt on a daily basis

there was a then and a now, but I didn’t miss the then so much

I had hope

I’m kinda over getting told to throw my legs up in the air.
So there.


I’m in the bathroom, helping all the kids take their potty breaks.
The teacher outside the bathroom is sending them all in too quickly, however.
3 pottys, 7 kids.
No. Just no.
Anyway, I’m trying to help a little boy on the changing table get out of his wet pets and underwear. Meanwhile, B. and S. (two little 3 year-old girls) are waiting for their turn on the potty.
Someone walks out of a stall, and B. goes towards it.
She’s watching me intently as I’m trying to get clean clothes on the little boy. At the same time, she’s unbuttoning her pants and pulling them down.
I guess B.’s hands wander for a second after she has pulled her pants down.
(By this time, all the little munchkins darting in and out of the bathroom, the noise, and the difficulty I’m having with the squirmy little boy have got me stressing a bit.)
S. yells up at me, pointing at B., "B.’s touching her ‘gina! Look!"
Of course, by the time I look up, B. is not touching anything. Her pants are still down, but her hands are clasped in front of her, and she’s avoiding looking at me, bashfully.
I say to S., “Well, it’s her ‘gina! She can touch it if she wants. Worry about yourself, S. Don’t worry about B. Now, go potty.”
It was obvious that, if B. was even intentionally touching herself when S. tried to tattle, she wasn’t being blatantly inappropriate.
Plus, S. should know Mr. James has no sympathy for her at the moment, since S. has hit, scratched, bitten, and spit on me. All within the last few weeks.
But, really, I’m just trying to teach those girls your ‘gina, your right.

today was the most difficult day of my life

I struggle with a bitterness towards those people I’ve pursued.
I picture them as a collective, a fraternity founded on deception and false promises.
When I’m feeling my worst, I imagine them regretting their treatment of me.
I guess I should say, when I felt my worst.
Then, I felt that their regret could be justified by those want-worthy qualities I possessed.
Now, I can only imagine them cringing at the remembrance of our paths crossing.
My worst is now.
In my waking, my being.
The regret is mine.
And, as I was before any of them, I am alone.