Why?

Mr T I miss biron don’t leave. AW

Mr T I miss biron don’t leave. AW smile dimples try don’t try, your worth it? Tummy ache too loud no I don’t No I don’t. question ? Gym1 What was that? Gym2 I wanna go To the Gym3 Where is he? Sick of same songs, Try Learn Try Want ? Ryan Gym4 Mommy. Gym5? Backspace Question Backspace Sweep it rip What is she Your alive how weak is that? Your breathing That hurt Why did that hurt so bad Why cant I breathe so much What would it feel like to be dead ?Are we really alive question Could I be coloned question Why would I be coloned question Fat Fat Fat Gym6 Go to the gym Snow Gym7 Hungry Food Hunger Stomach ache Gym8 Dog I love you Fingers Keyboard Wo Ow. Write me back.

Why do I still care?

Drum free write

Sam was quietly peering above her spectacles at the miscellaneous papers strewn across her bed. The quiet drum of the rain playing on her windowpane was the only thing cutting through the silence on this stormy night. Now you or I might have noticed the delicious scent of the rain seeping through the crevices in the window, but not Sam. For 14 of her 17 years of life she had lived in rainy Seattle, so these puny rainstorms hardly caught her attention.

The clock struck twelve and almost instantaneously Sam let out a big yawn letting her body know it was almost time for bed. She ran her hand through her greasy blonde hair and pushed her glasses up her freckled nose so that they were perfectly aligned with her eyes. A muffled sigh escaped the side of her mouth, indicating defeat and with one hand she swiped the annoyingly obligatory papers onto the floor, knowing she’d regret this choice in the morning, but in this moment she couldn’t have cared one way or the other.

Letting out another booming yawn she threw herself back onto her bed letting it form around her body, and she closed her eyes breathing in the crisp air, every breath getting slower, her mind drifting deeper into that carefully phrased oblivion known as sleep.

Soon she was lost just as the rest were in her house. Soon her mind was playing those ever so comforting movies that always ended up with her being awarded all her desires, at least that’s how it started out. The dream seemed harmless at first, it started like the rest, a normal day at home, her mind drifting off into space as her mother spoke in circles about some other thing she disagreed with, then shortly the bell would ring and her mother would stop like always. A look of understanding and contentment would cross her face and she would just smile walking off to answer the door. Soon the expected shrill scream would echo through her home and sam would run to the door only to discover that her dad had finally returned, apologizing he’d ever left and promising he’d never do it again. So you can imagine her surprise when the doorway came into view it wasn’t her father she saw standing there, it was something…. Else.

Something one cant quite explain with words without sounding insane, or unstable. The black of its face gave you chills, and the cold of its eyes could render you catatonic, leaving you at a loss of words for eternity. In its hand was a staff that at a distance appeared to be wood but if you edged closer it gleamed so bright, it couldn’t possibly be made with anything from this planet. Covering its body was what can only be described as a cloak that floated with an eerie essence about the thing, almost as if itself was alive as well. Sam finally dragged her eyes away trying to look at something else, but when she glanced down a tranluscent white hand was holding onto what was her mother, and as sudden as the sleep came, it went and she had awoke sweat pouring down her forhead, back, and chest, her mattress soaked in the same salty fluid.

Silence vs

I think that if you use your voice too much, what you have to say tends to be less effective, but if you save your voice for something that really matters its more likely it will actually affect someone. For instance, say there is one girl who is constantly voicing her opinions, even when no ones listening, everyone’s tired of her. That’s a horrible thing to say but its true. Now imagine that there is another girl who hardly speaks for anything she believes in, and one day decides that she cares enough to now voice her opinion, who are you going to really hear? Though both opinions may be of equal importance, no matter whom you are, the girl who doesn’t speak as much will touch you more, and the girl who is constantly speaking what she believes, will not. So in this I believe that both silence and voice are appropriate at the right moment, and there is always a perfect moment to use both.
I feel that one time constantly using your voice is much more effective to silence is when your appealing to someone you dont know and have never met personally. A person with a strong voice and confidence in everything they believe, a person who cares strongly about many things and is not afraid to vocalize everything they believe, despite how much it matters, not caring what someone might think of them for believing what they do, that person would be a force to be reckoned with, and I personally wouldn't want to get in the way of where they stnad.

Barbie, oh barbie.

Barbie

Pink

shiny

perfect

Flawless

glittery

Straw like hair

Chest to envy

Barbie

girls dreams

Hopes

Crushed

Barbie

Barbie.

Blonde

Lipstick

Makeup

Flawless

Flawless.

I have flaws.

Ashley

Freckles

Brown hair

Mousy

Imperfect

Little chest

Big hips

Full of hope

Hope

Starry eyes

Brain

Barbie do you have a brain?

Are you better than me Barbie,

With your perfect eyes a inhuman blue,

And my almond brown, but filled with life?

Where is your life Barbie?

What about your perfect hair,

Always perfect,

Not a hair out of place,

Mine is consistently a mess,

Flawed,

Yes flawed

But Human.

Something you can never be.

46

only 46 create the blueprint,
only 46 to create a life.

this includes
236 strong white bones
connected by
thin
wiry
tendrils constantly building,
dying,
recycling,

within this inconsistent cage
is a mass of muscle
heart beating every second,
lungs breathing every moment,
stomach convulsing,
breaking down,
with industrial grade acid,
only protected by a thin
less than reassuring
layer of mukis.

Ashley Is

Ashley is
a girl
a voice
a personality
an opinion.

Sure she has a body,
she has flesh
freckles,
bloody mass of muscle,
ears, nose, eyes,

but thats not who she is.

she's a controversal topic
an opinionated mouth,
she's an immature child,
that speaks much to loud.
She's in-articulate in real life,
and a stammer under pressure.

She is everything she wants to be,
everything she needs to be,

Barbies.. and dead bodies?

Firstly I’d just like to say that I completely and totally disagree with everything Ms Prager had to say about Barbie dolls. I can see where it would seem that yes Barbie dolls were created as the visionary woman, but I think that is the reaction of an ultra-feminist. Though I do think feminism is a rad thing, I however have to draw the line with Barbie dolls.

Men get the perception we women should look like Barbie dolls because we let them think that for so long. If we didn’t like it we should’ve gone out there and showed them “hey we don’t all look like this, or dress like that”.

Also I think in the day and age were currently living in men have realized that we are all different, and no matter our shape, size, hair color, the way we dress, they don’t care. They understand that we come in variations, as we understand they do as well. Besides, even if men have this perception of what women should look like, don’t we have that as well? Though our idea of the perfect guy is different, we all have one. We cannot deny that every human desires a frighteningly perfect counterpart, but we all fail to see what kind of life that would be. A life without imperfections, no mistakes, getting everything right, I wouldn’t be able to survive.

Another thing I totally have to speak out against is her views on the sex parts on dolls and that correlation between male dignity and such, I just think that’s ridiculous. First of all Barbies have the breast shapes [they aren’t even that big] but they don’t have nipples. I don’t know about anyone else but I have never in my life seen a Barbie doll with nipples. Also its not like Barbie’s Vag is exposed or anything, it would be totally unfair for ken if his penis was all over the place and Barbie got to wear underpants. Where’s the justice in that? Lastly these dolls were made for little girls, people have problems now with body parts being shown in movies, let alone on dolls. Can you even imagine the kind of hassle it would be for Mattel if ken’s penis were exposed? Mothers would be in an uproar, there would be letters of complaints overflowing the offices of many. Kudos to Mattel for not being idiots and covering ken up.

On to American funerals and wakes, well this excerpt just fortified my initial thoughts, and I am now defiantly certain I want to be cremated. I mean to violate someone’s body is like grafiting a church or a temple of sorts. It’s disrespectful let alone inhuman. I mean I just can comprehend what type of person would ever want to, for a living, violate a corpse in everyway imaginable only to make it “presentable”. Then again who wants their body to be on display in the first place? I mean honestly how egotistical must you be to think that people would want to see your stinky rotting corpse on display for days on end. Wouldn’t you rather have someone remember you, as you were when you were alive instead of being forever haunted by the image of your lifeless decorated body? No sir, this form of body mutilation is not for me.

Body Map of Ashley

Location: My Psyche

Cause: Trying to be cool by downing more twisted apple vodka than my friends thinking I could handle it using Sunny-D as a chaser

Diagnosis: Alcohol Poisoning later followed by a mad hangover and a 3 month grounding sentence.

Treatment: Sleep and water

Follow-up: I am not able to think about Twisted apple vodka, or sunny-D for that matter, without getting the urge to vomit.

Location: My lips

Cause: Hormones.

Diagnosis: My First kiss

Treatment: Convincing myself it happened by kissing him again (it wasn’t as good)

Follow-up: Still makes me dizzy thinking about it.

Location: The tips of my hair.

Cause: Years of color torture and neglect.

Diagnosis: Split ends

Treatment: An occasional haircut and a cutback on dyes.

Follow-up: Healthier, but needs further healing time from all the abuse.

Location: My right ear cartilage

Cause: A childish desire to be more “hardcore”

Diagnosis: Cartilage ear infection

Treatment: Cleaning with alcohol, and sleeping on my left side for 8 months.

Follow-up: A healthy semi-permanent ear piercing

Location: My right bicep at the arm crease.

Cause: Being Alive.

Diagnosis: Birthmark.

Treatment: Pretending its not there and hope over time it will fade.

Follow-up: Not as obvious, but instead of being ashamed, am rather fond of my butterfly shaped friend that I am now quite accustomed to.

Location: My left wrist

Cause: My pathetic attempt at tattooing myself.

Diagnosis: Ink filled scratch

Treatment: Scrub out remaining ink, and hope to god it goes away.

Follow-up: A faded circular scar.

Location: My thighs and Confidence.

Cause: Ignorance and lack of exercise.

Diagnosis: Cellulite and a Lowered Self Confidence (Mild Depression)

Treatment: New Eating habits and Exercise

Follow-up: Looking better and Feeling better (mentally and physically)

Location: My whole body

Cause: My obsession with running around outside nude as an infant.

Diagnosis: Sunburn red and peely skin

Treatment: Tons of aloe vera and wearing clothes on every outlandish escapade ever since.

Follow-up: Hundreds of freckles intruding upon my fleshy self.