Blog Spot Well. I haven't written in a while. What is it about being in a funk that helps with your writing process so much? I mean, I'm more creative when I'm in a funk, but it's so nice just being, without thinking about being. So no story this time, unless you count my five month move to freedom, and then back to confinement. Granted, I'm being a bit of a diva (I'm pretty sure it runs in my family), but freedom was great and I miss that. I honestly feel so guilty for wanting to live someplace my family doesn't want me to live. But at the same time, I can't mature and grow here, and everybody knows it, they just don't want to admit it. But the good thing about being suppressed is that I'm incredibly likely to do something extremely dramatic like move to LA and cut my hair when I go to college. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Sometimes with rebellion it's hard to tell. So it's midnight now and it's no longer Fourth of July. Wanna know what I did? Absolutely nothing. I went to my grandmother's for dinner and stuffed about five cupcakes in my mouth. If I didn't know better, I would think that I was a sad twentysomething with no friends and barely a #life because I live in the middle of nowhere. Which I guess that is the story, but I'm sixteen instead. I should go to bed now, instead of staying up on my phone and playing Candy Crush Saga. Maybe I should get a blog for these posts. Do you think I should get a blog? Maybe I'll do that tomorrow. I'm sorry if I bored you with this. But people post plenty of stupid stuff right? Craziness can be a good quality. Sometimes. Okay, going to bed now. Goodnight world, and hello Saturday the fifth. Okay

Desire He was there today. Of course he was. He was next to me. Behind me. In front of me. When he's there, he's everywhere. He's in my head. We play these games, and it's so sickening what we do to each other. What he does to me. He makes me weak and I'm disgusted with myself because of it. I want to be strong, I tell myself I'm strong. But I'm not. Oh, why do I want him so? I don't want to want him. I want to hate him. I want to be able to hurt him. But he's only hurting me. We've never talked. Only words, not actual sentences. My best friend asks why. I say I'm scared of him. She says I shouldn't lust for him if I'm scared of him. But I'm not, it's something different, something I just can't explain. I'm not scared of him, I'm scared of what's inside of him. Everybody has their demons, but there's something more, like the demon controls a half of him, like sometimes he just can't control it. I want to be able to help him, but how? It's the dark places that scare me. It's the dark places that toy with me, not him. His dark places. I want to hate him for toying with me. I don't want to feel for him anymore. But how do you unfeel? How do you get rid of a craving so intense it eats at your soul? You can't.

Words Words just jumble together. Wordswordswordswords. What are they really? Nothing. They're nothing. This is it. The pain is getting to be too much, the tears are rolling down faces. How much more can our ears take of this? It's already done, he says. It's time, he says. Oh god, so scared, pounding, in my ears, oh god, this is it. The end.

Self Confidence You can drag me across the ground, beat me as hard as you can. But I won't give up, I'll just get up.

Confusion Hurts My Head I used to just want you. But now I want to hurt you in any way. To make you jealous, To make you care about what I do. Do you? There must be something wrong with you, Because I can't seem to read your mind. Are you the one I've been looking for? Or just another person to get in my way? This is too confusing.