"And a prolonged period of time would include the next 15 minutes. You're better than that. You're something to desire. Hes just a cute boy. You won't be the last girl this happens to. But you'll be the first to not care."

I'm going to miss these people.

Come on, baby, let me see what you hiding underneath.

December brings feelings. I tried to ignore them. They got worse.

Fight.
Love.
Out.
Wind.

Flowing like the river in Pocahontas, never stepping into the same arena twice,
I sauntered into a new year.
A new person.
A new affirmation.
A new soundtrack.

Termination.
Seasonal.
Forever.

You'd make a beautiful Snow White, princess.
Too bad they'll never see it.

Smart, Funny and a tad bit awkward.

Affirmations.

"Have you ever auditioned for face? Because you look JUST like Snow White."

"You know who you look like, right? Miss Germany?"

"I know I don't know you or anything, but you know you could be Wendy, right?"

"No, you couldn't be Snow White. But you could be Cinderella, WENDY, Alice, and oh, you have a Tinker face."

"You have a total fairy face. Tinkerbell, Vidia...Why didn't you go to the Vidia audition, dumbass?"

and my favorite,

"I'm not a lesbian or anything, and all of you ladies are lovely here, but THAT girl is stunningly pretty."

I'm bracing myself for impact because I know that one wrong move, one stupid decision, one poor choice will cause everything I've worked so hard to build to come tumbling down around me.

I shouldn't let myself be in this position.

I'm never this vulnerable.

I'm woven gold in a world of thread.

I'm a princess in a needle stack.

a dream I can't remember.

we ran through the sewers, trying to get away from something.

something horrible, something so rancid in body and soul that even in my dreams I couldn't get away from it.

sound familiar?

but then you left me on my own, to fend off this demon by myself.

and I did.

then you were there.

and everything bad seemed to go away.

we rolled around on the wood flooring, our embrace tight,

our witty dialogue tighter.

then you left again.

I realize that this mimics real life. Only having you for ten days, then only for three hours.

maybe someday I'll have you for a month, a year, a lifetime.

but maybe I'll fight my demons on my own and I won't need you anymore, and in my dreams I can be my own superhero and my own crutch.

I'm learning, slowly but surely, that my relationships don't have to be like those of a drunkard and a light post. I don't have to use people for support rather than illumination.

we need sunlight.

let the sunshine in.

sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy.

revelation.

I love to watch things splinter and crack.

wood breaking.

firewood alight.

water poured over ice.

maybe that's why I sabotage all of my relationships.

Alive and Amplified.

[Prose isn't my thing, but I'll give anything a try once]

I was getting impatient with my roadies. It was two hours until show time, and we still hadn’t done a proper sound check.

“Turn me ON!” I screamed at my manager/best friend Eve who was on the phone with the owner of the next venue.

“Holls, Chris isn’t even here yet. Just calm your jets. We’ll start soon, or else you can take...well, you can take your wrath out on Chris. I’m not getting in the middle here.”

Chris was the (habitually late) bassist of my band. Because of our shared love for Almost Famous, we decided that he could be Russell Hammond to my Penny Lane. If I didn’t detest him so much with every fiber of my being, I might actually like him.

“I swear to God, if I don’t get on that fucking stage in three minutes WITH A BASSIST, I’m going to go crazy New York girl on this joint.” She knew that I wasn’t joking around when I mentioned New York. We’d been all around the world together, and we both knew that there was nothing like a New York girl.

“Holly, why aren’t you already warmed up? You know you take way more time than I do to get ready for a show.” Chris waltzed into the club, flipping his black hair like Justin Beiber, forever trying to get onto my good side.

“Shut the hell up and get on my stage,” I snarled.

“Aww, is someone experiencing a bit of PMS? Or are you always this annoying? I mean, they kind of go hand and hand don’t they? Ugly and annoying?”

I stared at his ruggedly handsome, arrogant face, walking up the stairs onto the stage to his favorite bass. A part of me wanted to break it into smithereens, but I knew that he was probably the best bassist I could get. He started to play scales, one by one, until he had thirteen down and I was seething.

“Chris, could you please start playing an actual song? You know, one we wrote? And could someone please TURN ME UP?”

He winked at me, something he did to get me angry before almost every show. I’d say it was a ritual, but I don’t want to give it that much merit. All I could do was roll my eyes and turn away, because, even though it happened every night, it riled me up so much that I could only think of acceptable comebacks five minutes after. That’s the worst.

The rest of the soundcheck and the show went well, with Chris and I only mildly uncomfortable interacting onstage. We’d share a mic, share a chord and pretend to share a romance, something Eve told me would help our PR team sell us.

After the show, I packed up my Les Paul and strode over to my cab. Chris came up behind me and put his hands on my hips.

“Let me go. I’m not doing this again.” But lo and behold, I did.

When I woke up the next morning in Chris’ hotel bed, I could only think that somebody had to turn me loose on this goddamn world.

I hate this feeling.

Her hair looked like a lion's mane the day that she ended it. She could almost see his face, choose the emphasis in his voice. She wondered if he felt the same. Empty, constantly reminded, hurt. Probably not. He never did show genuine emotion. She was vindictive, spiteful. Her heart races. His is frozen. Maybe she wouldn't be so hurt if hers was too. She wondered if they were right - it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Fuck it. They're wrong.

She was doing so well.

Okay, Prince Charming or Baloo or Goofy, sweep her off of her feet. She's ready to live again.

not the most creative, but cute :)

"so this one fateful night these two star crossed lovers met by happenstance. they met because of the woman's crossed ex and the man's willingness to save this distressed damsel from her horrid ex...from that fateful night, who would have ever thought that from those circumstances the most comfortable, natural and intense relationship could occur. this is for all of the starcrossed lovers who are separated by miles but together in heart"

disney is all I had hoped it would be, and I'm only on my second day.

hello, future husband.

pool time with my awesome roommates.

I may have my doubts, but I'm loving it so far.

new zealand accents and housing meetings.

edit.

no future husband here.

but maybe a blonde english indian named neville.

weird.

Waiting for June.

Waiting for January.

Contemplating if it's worth it.

Remember that episode of Sex & The City when Carrie wakes up in the middle of the night feeling like she's forgotten something, but she hasn't?

I'm there.

Basements.

Theaters.

Apartments.

Dorm Rooms.

Playgrounds.

Kitchens.

Into the woods to the future's house.

DEAR MIKE FUCKING KLJUCARIC

I FUCKING HATE FUCKING YOU.

love,

Suzanne.

Happy Birthday to Me.

She wears mini skirts and vintage motorcycle boots in the December snow

I wear dusty teal Betsey Johnson to dances and you make fun of me

I can't think of a seventeen, which is really only fitting, dear.

She warms your bed every night while I lie shivering in my own.

I'll never be good enough for you, no matter how I try.

Her hair falls down like an oil-laden waterfall

(You need her for some odd reason that I know not of)

While mine falls like a hastily-drawn cartoon

Cut me open and release the bees inside

Let me read your narrative poetry

The sins of pride and lust run rampant

Wound me in order to heal me

Lace me back up with your lies

You are not my David.

You are not blameless.

The obstacle.

Not again.

Go on.

Run.

"The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of lots of stuff,
"Of how I'll bash your head right in if you like it treat me rough."

Hope it give you hell.
Get dystenery.

Get out, and stay out.
Get my name out of your mouth.


Thank God you're out of my life, and I can finally get you out of my head.
No longer will you have taken the words right out of my mouth while you were kissing me.

Hello firefighter.

The American Dream.
The Suzannian Dream.
I can't get away from the name Michael.


Too bad I'm leaving for 8 months.

Half Baked.

Just talked to him. Felt the need to write down the remnants of the memories that we once shared.

She was the type that sprayed perfume on her neck every night before bed, even if there was no man there to enjoy it. He was the kind who listened to classical Indian music at night to have dreams of Gandhi and the stringed instrument that he couldn’t remember the name of. They met on a plane to San Francisco, and the “relationship,” for lack of a better word, was marred with awkward moments and pregnant pauses from the start. He thought that she looked at him with disdain, when really all she could think of was that he was so tall that he would hit the ceiling when he stood up. But he was beautiful, and she was hoping that they were headed toward the same ultimate destination.

When they realized that they were, the couple exchanged names and small talk, then boarded a bus separately. Once they departed their second mode of shared transportation, they exchanged phone numbers just in case they never saw each other again. He once remarked that her smile was different than one he had ever seen, a smile that she would flash not only during the lapses in conversations but also before their first kiss, and looking down at him from the escalator after their final farewell.

He sat by her in her first lecture. They texted each other every night, and although they were not in the same group of students, they tried to spend as much time together as possible. When she remarked to another boy that she already had plans to spend the professional baseball game with a guy, the short, athletic redhead was hurt. He had wasted invaluable flirting time with a girl that already had her heart wrapped around the six foot four Turkish soccer player. How could she not? She tried to resist the temptation...with the risk of sounding like a bad vampire series, everything about him invited her in. He had a smokey quality to his voice, his eyes were the same color that she had always dreamed about and his smell was one that she would try to replicate, she realized, over time.

At the sporting event, they bundled together in the seats of their peers, thinking of any excuse to go and have a little alone time. Eventually they left, supposedly in the search of food or another obviously made up excuse, and watched the sailboats go by in the San Francisco harbor.
“I really want to kiss you right now.”
“Then why don’t you?”
They had only known each other for ten days. She went further with him than she had ever gone before, and supposedly the physicality was mutual. He once remarked that he wasn’t going to be her boyfriend. That one cut her to the bone. She obviously realized that a thousand mile stretch of highway and a two and a half hour plane ride was a long time for the heart to stay faithful, but she was willing to try. She couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t. She walked back to her room in tears, with him trying to chase after her. She passed the common room full of smiling faces and romances that would never register has hers had. She ran up to her room, a two room dorm that was nicer than the one that she would eventually experience in her own college, and texted her roommate to come up and console her. He wasn’t going to be her boyfriend. She already knew that they could sit together and just talk for hours and hours, and she didn’t know why. He aided in her breaking almost all of the rules of this leadership summit.

When she finally told him that there was someone else, he told her that she could have her fucking romantic bullshit, and he didn’t need it. She called him to calm him down. Three years later, most of those abilities would be lost to her, but maybe with the invention of Skype she could regain them.
Abraham Lincoln.
The game.
Lipgloss.
Awkward moments diaries.
She can’t remember why, but for some reason he was glad he didn’t ride the bus.
He still owes her a song.
I just don’t think I’ll ever get over you.

Dejalo Nuestra Cosa

I got a mind if you wanna waste it
I got a man if you wanna fake it
I got some wine if you wanna get wasted
I got a place if you wanna...
ready to go.

I got a tail if you wanna chase it
I got a tongue if you wanna taste it
I got a place on the east side
I got some time if you wanna...
ready to go. just say so.

She sleeps on your right side
She gets nailed, I get tired.
I sleep on your left side
100 ways to keep love alive.

We need sunlight
First of all, we need some light.

Get Out and Stay Out

Those lyrics are no longer prevalent.
These are better.

Get out and stay out, I've finally had enough
Don't kiss me on your way out, it wouldn't move me much
You used me, abused me, you cheated and you lied
So get out and stay out, I'm taking back my life
My life

Confusion.

My relationships are beginning to get upstaged by theatre.
The give and take is there, and while my performance is getting better everyday, I feel alone.
Centerstage in a spotlight isn't home anymore.
Now it's isolating. No wonder they call it an isolated spot.
I'm mugging to the cameras of my friends while I create a backstory for my own character.
I spend every night in tears. Doubting this will end soon.
We'll see.
Relationships are killing me. Yours, mine, ours. I'm dying. And this time I'm being completely honest.
Oh, and I don't drink.








Last straw. 100% heartbroken. I'm finished.

He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. And he wanted me.
He lived 100 feet away, though I had only known him for a few minutes. Or was it my whole life?
"Oh, you finally chose each other!"
No one is that blunt or correct in real life.
Then, in a flash, my love life is like Sex & The City. Stills of me flip to screen shots of him, punctuated by two second video clips and the "i"s are dotted with half second audio.
We couldn't find a parking space. That didn't matter. He had called me beautiful. I thought him gorgeous.
We were suntanned lovers that had a glow rivaling the sunset over the Pacific.
Wow. That was cheesy. I almost refused to wake up from this dream. Damn train.
Though he shared a name, you two look nothing alike. Maybe it's a prophesy.
My yearly horoscope did say something wonderful would happen to me in June.

Ongoing.

Eli couldn’t help but think that he was a dumb ass for leaving her. Sure, it was 20 years ago. Sure, she actually dumped him for a professional Tango dancer, but all he could think of was that he did not have her. Lilly currently resided in a penthouse in Chicago, overlooking the back-room dealings of Chinatown. She worked in the most eco-friendly skyscraper in town as a CEO, helping to make the world a Greener place. Her big break, and subsequent millions, came from the invention of the Floppy WaterBottle, ten times easier to store and transport than the traditional plastic option, complete with it’s own miniature carabiner. Eli, however, was making $12 an hour as a sanitation worker. While Lilly watched over thousands of workers everyday, making sure that they did their jobs completely to her specifications, Eli watched over thousands of flies, making a mockery of his life and his dreams.

your turn.