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Scream

My throat feels empty. Something is missing and I can’t find it. The word that will fill the void. The emptiness. I want to scream. I want to scream and scream. Scream until I can’t scream anymore.

I want to scream until my vocal cords start to bleed and I can taste the blood on my tongue. To stretch out my windpipe and to finally breathe a breath of fresh air. I want to scream my anger out.

I want to fight and destroy my room. My life. I want to pull my hair out of my head. Pain will ground me, will bring me back down to earth. I want to punch something until my knuckles split open and blood stains my skin.

I want to bleed. I want to have my blood stain the sidewalk as people walk over me. As feet squash me into the ground.

I want to be heard. I want people to see that I’m not okay. I want to see that I’m not okay. Screaming, fighting, bleeding. I just want to get rid of this anger but I’m scared of what it hides. What is underneath that anger.

What is under it? Fear? Anxiety? Depression? I don’t know.

I don’t want to know.

But I want to yell. I want to yell at someone and I want to be angry at someone. Anyone but me.

I want to scream. I want to fight. I want to bleed. I want to be heard. I want to be angry.

I want to be okay again.

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Who am I kidding. She’s insane now! She just completed a half marathon. After breaking her foot in two separate places. In her late seventies. Literally insane.

My grandmother was literally insane as a not-old person.

Like. She was a car racer(pretty sure Mercedes), dancer in the disco era, and had her teenage years in FRANCE (which is a whole list of things I don’t even know about).

This ain’t even all of it! Who is this woman?

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My grandmother was literally insane as a not-old person.

Like. She was a car racer(pretty sure Mercedes), dancer in the disco era, and had her teenage years in FRANCE (which is a whole list of things I don’t even know about).

This ain’t even all of it! Who is this woman?

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“If you leave, I’ll kill myself!”

Okay? Quote me in your suicide note and call it a day man.

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I live in an urban area but I’m also stupid close to farm land. Like half hour one way, you’re in a cornfield, but half an hour the other way it’s a bustling city. I seem to forget that.

So when I’m on the way home from school and I see a bean field, I always get weirded out.

Like

Why am I seeing beans? Where is the air pollution and huge buildings??

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gifted kid culture is having never learned how to study

.

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I hate emotions

I have so many emotions I need to express. So. Many. But I can’t find the right words to describe it in a conversation. I can write them out no problem, I can describe them on paper. They come to life in a way I can never do in audio form when they’re in text. In a story. When I’m not looking someone in the face.

I’m a writer, shouldn’t I be able to use words to shape how I feel?

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Character Idea:

Vampire who hates the taste of blood by itself. Instead, they cook it into things. Blood/tomato pasta. Blood instead of eggs. Coconut and blood mixtures. Think of the possibilities.

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On a button making kick.

Will update on findings.

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Reading a YA fantasy story: "Get lost, Nimrod."

Me: What? These nerds don't have the bible.

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I Just Want To Be Loved

I just want to love. 

Not just be loved, that is an extra bonus. 

I want to know what love feels like.

I want to feel the burn in your gut when you see someone. 

I want the panic that comes with the realization. 

The sleepless nights, the obsessions. 

Oh how I want to know what it's like to have someone take over your life and your heart. 

To have someone take over my heart and become the center of my universe. 

I want the goods and the bads that come with love. 

I want to feel the hurt and the pain that comes with heartbreak,

The journey to heal because that means that I did it.

 That I fell in love with someone and I had the ability to love. 

I want someone to become my reason for living. 

I just want to love. 

To be able to hold someone at night, to come running when they call me sobbing. 

To take care of someone when they’re sick. 

But I do that. 

I feel the burning in my gut when I see my friends across the hall. 

The panic that comes with the knowledge that I can be vulnerable around them.

 I have those sleepless nights, the obsessions. 

They have taken over my heart and my life. 

My friends are the center of my universe.

The goods and bads of love are well known to my heart, 

Just not the ones I’m thinking of. 

I know the hurt and the pain that comes from heartbreak

And the journey of recovery. 

I did it. 

I fell in love and I can love. 

Friends are my reason for living. 

I can love and I have loved.

 I cuddle my friends, 

And come running when they call. 

I make sure they’re alright while they’re sick. 

I love it in a different way than most. 

My friends 

No

My family, are everything to me. 

I love them and they love me. 

I don’t love romantically, no matter how much I want to. 

I love platonically and it is the best feeling in the world. 

I just want to love, and love I do. 

I love the earth and those around me. 

Nature and fresh air. 

I love things for their beauty 

I love things for their meaning. 

I love my stuffed animal from childhood differently than I love nature but I still love it. 

Different love doesn’t invalidate it. 

It just changes the way that it is seen. 

Love is a spectrum and don’t let anyone tell you that just because 

You can’t love someone romantically, you can’t love at all. 

You just don’t reach one end of the spectrum. 

You can love the leaves of fall and the flowers of spring,

The smell of your friends and the sounds of their voices.

That’s valid. 

You can love the memories of an old mall, the burn of adrenaline. 

That’s still love. Just because you can’t love someone the way they can, doesn’t make you invalid.

You are valid, however you love. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

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To Write is to Bleed

“There is nothing to writing. All you have to do is sit at a typewriter and bleed.” - Earnest Hemingway He wasn’t wrong.

When I write, I bleed. Not blood but words. The words drip from my fingertips Like I drew a blade across them.

My blood fades to black As my words become ink Red to black Fantasy to real life.

My heart pumps the ink of the soul Red ink that funnels into my head The head that’s made of stories.

My blood is ink And when I write I sit at a typewriter and Bleed.

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Mikes Hard Lemonade. Great spell. Makes lemonade worse.

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I love making weird names for fantasy

I just...spell it w r o n g

Alase - Alice

Jayn - Jane

Auliver - Oliver

Wyliym - William

It's so wrong and so not...normal. I love these little pirates. My personal favorite is:

Sharlet - Charlotte

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Being a writer is like having a small man scream stories in your head and struggle to be put on the page. He is struggling to be let out of his cage.

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Song - The Ballad of Jane Doe from Ride The Cyclone: The Musical.

(Animated version with the song available in a separate post- Tumblr doesn’t allow you to add videos into reblogs apparently)