Drafts of the Insomniac

I guess this is it. No more pen names. No more guessing and surprises. No more masks. This is the real me. If you really knew me, you would know that I love rap music. It's not just my favorite music. It's basically my life. When I'm driving, when I'm showering, when I'm laying in bed at nights and in the mornings when I'm too lazy to get up for school. Some say rap isn't music, but it freakin is. Just ask Nelson. If you really knew me, you would know I would do anything for anyone. Which is ironic because people say I'm nice but I don't believe them. If you really knew me, you would know that I feel so inadequate about so many different things about myself. My writing, hair, eyes, clothes, voice, glasses. Basically everything about myself. I have a job. I tutor kids. I started doing it because I am a high school student and I need money. But over the months I've tutored, the best reward is helping others ...

I remember saying hi to the new kid. I remember he told me he didn't want to be my friend. I remember jumping on the trampoline with him and her and her and him and her. I remember hiding from piano lessons. I remember falling asleep in my closet because I had to escape everything. I remember my Barney and Sully stuffed animals. I remember playing a really cool game at his house. I remember becoming addicted to that game. I remember the first time I thought I deserved it. I remember when no one stuck up for me. I pretended like it didn't happen. I remember being told I was weird because I hardly talked. I remember being told to type 801 on a phone because it was a new rule. I remember his phone number. I remember crying when I first saw my dad cry. I didn't know my grandpa passed away. I remember not being able to remember my times tables. I remember my teacher telling me it was easy and I felt stupid. I remember the song, but I do...

"A disproportionate rare print would be fantastically addicting and everyone would want one"   "Death is back."

I guess I am supposed to write about my heart. But I'm afraid of what my heart has to say. I'm fearful to write this post because I truly do mean the words I am typing on the screen. I do not know exactly what my heart wants to say. Not this week. Not any week. I feel like I do the exact same thing every week. But I don't know any other way. I sit at my computer and stare at the screen for a few hours because I want to make my writing good. I want people to comment and tell me its really good and I want Nelson to put it in the top five. I have been told a few times that my writing is good. And I do truly believe that there are some people who think my writing is good. But overall, I feel like it is my heart I try to impress most often. I write and write and write and I feel like the more I write, the more unimpressed I am with myself. I don't feel adequate enough for myself. And because of that, I don't feel adequate enough for the class or for Nelson o...

"There's a spirit in Montana and in your chest,  a note. That rings out like the bells of  cathedrals rung by the village scapegoat." "Montana" - Youth Lagoon With the class, I sat down at the pond. I closed my eyes and let my other senses do the seeing. I heard cars and ducks. Smelled the pond water. I felt the crisp air on my hands and on my face. The air tasted clean. Nature has a most beautiful spirit about it. It's so wonderful that St. Nick is jealous. Nature also has a dream. It's dream is to provide life and beauty and feelings and inspiration. I used to dream of becoming a hero. One that everyone would adore. I would be rich and people would want my autograph. Well, I don't know if my motives have changed or if I have changed. But I'm pretty sure it's for the better.  My dream has become a dream that will make me happy. It will come by making other people happy. My dream is to help others fulfill theirs. A dream for world...

"Something touched me deep inside, the day the music died" ~Don McLean I remember the day the music died. It was a rainy day and my grandpa's casket was falling six feet deep into the ground. The ground that now held broken heart shards and tears. My dad told me that duct tape and a sharpie can fix just about anything. But a life is not one of those things. While the soldiers were in Germany worryied about making it to the end and living to see their families, people were drinking and partying. Wasting their lives away, not knowing that over 6 million innocent people are being martyred for believing in their God. The ignorance of the human race is astounding. I remember the day the music died. It was a rainy day. My mom said we were moving. I was going to have to leave my friend and my second grade crush. I remember the day the music died. It was a rainy day. My grandma's casket fell six feet deep. The ground held more tears and a comple...

I'm afraid of this post. I'm afraid of every post. I'm scared people will look at my writing and say it sucks and laugh at it for the wrong reasons. I'm afraid to let my thoughts and feelings flow so freely. I'm afraid to speak in class because I never have the right ideas. I'm afraid to not speak up because answers are wrong and I fear being disliked more than being wrong. I fear I'm becoming a contradiction to myself. I fear losing myself. Mentally, not necessarily physically. I fear going left when I should have gone right. I fear going right when I should have gone left. But now I just have no idea where I'm headed. I'm scared of losing you, and her, and him, and them. I'm scared of losing me. I think I got lost and there are no road signs back home.  The sun may be shining, but it's too dark to put on sunglasses with my eyes.  Being swallowed by the dark emptiness I feel every night when I ca...