Dear 2011,

Today I am anxious about meeting you. Also, I am angsty about meeting you.
Five things I loved about 2010?
1.) I got my tattoo.<3
2.) High School? I guess. I am going to miss you, I'm sure, once I have these crazy things called bills that eat my soul away. :) I like how furthering your education is a gamble, thanks world. You make so much fucking sense.
3.) I have two beautiful baby cows that are being bottle fed. They are cuter than your puppy. Also, just living on my farm in general. It has been a blessing and a curse, and inevitably I'm going to miss it.
4.) I started an ongoing philanthropy project that I hope continues all through my life and beyond. I love animals.
5.) I made it through another year with my beautiful boy, Lennon Michelangelo Selby<3

Five things I'm thrilled to ditch about 2010?
1.) I'm sorry Georgetown, you will always be home but its time for an adventure. 
2.) Well, realistically, Highschool. I swear to myself I don't want to leave but I'm a senior, of course I want to stop waking up at the buttcrack of dawn to spend the day with more angsty shits like myself.
3.) My attitude toward change.
4.) 5 pounds?
5.) My procrastination habits... kind of?


... Meow.

we love it.

"I want to dance with no pants on"
-Thanks Ke$ha, you are a hoe.

Obscene

I should note, I DO NOT SMOKE.

As the goose bumps formed on my skin, my brain, high on false emotions, realized that I will only ever be pleased with childish novels and Jonas L.A. type shows.
Break a heart or two kid.

You're lies always come true, you contort your future with your stories, you're a solid ground for a little ghoul to harvest. 

• Every time you part your lips, you will pay for the kiss; the experience. You will also pay for the absence of experiences. 
• For every second your heart chattered with ardency, the rhythm of your heart will mangle with distress.
• Every melody in which you amuse him with your feeble little fingers and your tiny little voice, that will be the bomb in your chest, the waterworks.
• For every time he takes care of you when your sick, for that time after surgery when he nursed you back to health and dried your tears, you were paying into him your soul that he will never return to you.
• For every ping of jealousy you ever experienced and consoled yourself with these reflections, you will experience that jealousy times fifty.
• For every occurrence in which you ran your fingers through his hair, stared deeply into his green eyes, and didn't say an adequate amount, that too will drown you.
• For every episode that you were upset and you said too much, that will be the pit of self-hatred you call your stomach.

For everything you do, you are investing in your future.

She smirks in her bitter self esteem,
bathing in vanity; stressed and malicious, she bites her lip.
She prides herself over her mischievous actions, nearly purring at her realizations;
She coveted it; its her buddah, she recollects. S

Cats.

The tv flashes with channels trying to seduce someone to buy them; "Step moms gone crazy" followed by "Wet young pussies".
I imagine cats after a bath. Hissing. Their eyes big and hateful. Oh, My mind isn't right.
My room smells peppery lately, I don't know what is up with that.
Falling out of love is even more exciting than falling in love.
Your stomach gets tight as you anticipate his words again, you shiver as your emotions return to a fragile and vulnerable state, your mind is sharp again, you're intelligent again.

You only feel that way because he does,
It burns, but you want to believe it.
Minor headache, disheartened feeling, regret, jaw is tight, stomach hurts.

I lie. I cuddle up in your arms. My eyes burn. How could I love you this much?
My cheeks hurt.

Everyone has one lame jump picture.

I want my fingers through your hair, my lips to your neck, the vibrant pleasure of comfort and ease that nearly control eager excitements from occurring. I want the taste of consumption, the near-sided dizziness of love intoxication, the foreign but flowing pleasures, I want the sexy snapshots of memory to return. I want the heat like when I used to get you ice water afterward. I want the exploration like the first time we really touched, I desire pleasure drunk gasps. I want you all alone, with a lot of time, a mission to accomplish, wet hair, uncontrollable desire and curtains.

"Nothing like a ruthless fuck you to clear up the situation" She laughed as she said to the tree. The tree laughed too.
To this laughter, they drank.

"Nothing like a nonchalant fuck you to cease the embellished lies" Said the laughing tree. And the girl laughed too.
To this they drank. And drank.

Two coffees and a tattoo later;
scabs and pride, laptops and candlelight.
I love you.

Plastic pearls and coasters and mugs made of clay and glaze and talent. Two cellphones, three actually, all on one innocent wooden coffee table. 2 mugs. Singular. Bare shoulders and blankets and boyshorts and kisses and necks and cold lips. Friction. Non-Fiction.

Body

She pushed her small feet against the thin exhausted soles of her shoes. Applying moderate pressure, she twisted her body slowly. She was alert and listened closely for the cries of the gravel grinding against itself, breaking down its body into granules of dust. The feeling of control and uneven ground beneath her feet calmed her and excited her at the same time. (Two feelings often crafted in her body, however, usually in a less innocent context).

Dust

A girl who had dirty knees lived off eating solid particles with diameters less than 500 micrometers. She got her protein from pureed moths. She fed off of old library books and old photographs. Her only faithful companion was a fish. He lived off algae that he found on the sides of his tank. Her fellow traveler, whom she named boyfriend, lived off bottle caps, marker caps, old keys, plastic beads, nails, springs, bolts and buttons. He played her piano, not well, but in the name of good taste. Fish, boyfriend and dirty knees all had one thing in common. They loathed gravity.