Crispy crispy Benjamin Franklin

Yes, that's right. I posted the Dove Beauty Campaign. Why? Because the human form is nothing to be ashamed of. I feel like most people are. They hide from themselves because they dont feel good enough. Look above. I don't see anything wrong with those women. In fact, I'd consider them almost perfect, even though they do not possess the sexiest bodies ever. Why do I think they are near perfect? Because they are not me. I still compare these chicks to myself and say how my human form is worse than theirs. But my body is still not something to be ashamed of. Why? Because it's my body and how can a body be ugly? We as humans are beautiful. Period. And I am sick of people feeling ashamed of the body. Like uneven breasts or knobby knees are parts to be embarassed about. Stretchmarks or stomach flab is a crime? I don't think so. Maybe on the runway. But fuck that. They should eat a twizzler.

I just feel so ugly sometimes. I know I am not. But I just feel absolutely disgusting in my own skin. Like I am not worthy of existance. I am not worthy of being called beautiful. I feel so dissatisfied with myself sometimes and I wish that no one could ever see me at my worst again.

But I will never be good enough for everyone. All is well that ends well.

Sweet kisses I miss

What was my point to this?

I dont really know.

I don't wanna be Moses

Don't wanna part the Red Sea

I don't wanna be Moses

Any of that shit I read.

*

I don't wanna be Moses

Don't wanna fuckin' believe in the Red Sea

I don't wanna be that shithead Moses

Because his faith failed me.

I feel fine.

I'm talking about peace of mind.

I'm gonna take my time.

I'm getting to good times.

I love the way you say good morning

I dont know what is going to happen to my academic future. Housing is difficult, loans may not come on time, I don't know if I will be accepted into Hunter, I have no idea what the hell I will become after all of this money that I spend. Is it ever really worth it though? All of this money to learn things I could learn if I had a membership to the public library? Hmmm...

I feel...satisfied. I dont know what else to say except for that. I just feel like even though I never have money and I have no idea what my future will bring, it's okay. My chest still feels full. My heart is beating and pumping blood and doing what it is supposed to involuntarily. It doesn't feel as close to some as it used to but that is okay because I am breaking out and doing a new thing. My soul is just satisfied as of now. I mean, I know why. Do you? Probably. Probably not. All I do know is that I have missed this feeling and I don't want it to go away. In fact, I wan't my chest to feel like it is going to explode, that is how full it gets. I want to be brimming with excitement and I want my lips to always be turned upward and my hands to always fidget and only be calm in someone else's.

I think it is safe to say that I was in a mild depression a while ago. Just the way life was not working in my favor and how I reacted to it...mild depression. Just throwin' that out there.

I know that everything's not lost.

grey ice water

:)

My chest feels full but in a good way. I can't really explain the feeling. It's just full and content.

Goodnight.

:)
:)
:)

become unfrozen trying hard to forget her

Smile on your brother

Karen made a very good point to me. I dont think of my own feelings enough. Like, when it comes to my interactions with others on a deeper level, I am so worried about my others' feelings, I ignore my own. I push aside what I think and feel so that they will be happy. And I'm happy, I guess, but it leaves me in a rut because that wears off. And it's past 4am, I should go to sleep.






You can stand under my umbrella.
You can stand under my umbrella, ella, ella, ey, ey, ey.
Under my umbrella, ella, ella, ey, ey, ey.
Under my umbrella, ella, ella, ey, ey, ey.
Under my umbrella, ella, ella, ey, ey, ey, ey, ey.

Come on, Daddy

I wish to be artwork.

I wish to have an expressive body that says things to people. I want an artist to see my skin and the way it drapes my bones and decide that it's art. I want an artist to see my eyes and my imperfect nose, and thin lips, and round face and see beauty. And to take photographs of my face and then my body and decide that it's beautiful. I'd like to lay nude and feel like I'm artwork. Something for art patrons to view and say how artistic I am. How perfect would I be if I were artistic? To have artistic features. I want my less than perfect curves to be perfect in artistic world because it's real. It's raw human physical form. And that in itself is beautiful. I desire to dress like an artist, but only create solutions to problems, not shapes on a canvas. I want to be an artist's girlfriend so I can say that he is an artist, doing what he feels, not doing what he has to do. I'd like to be his favorite subject. I want to be torture to look at because I am the epitome of the human form. I want to be Art's muse.

I wish to be artwork.

I want my body to be a landscape. I want my body to be a grave for the living to feast their eyes upon. I want my skin to be sinkable. I want my posture to float like a song. I want another's skin to crawl because I'm so ugly that I'm beautiful. I want to be trapped in a camera lens. I want my body to scream from a paintbrush and onto the canvas. I want to be a song with lyrics to die for. I'd like my bones to be perfection, not what thrives on top of them. I'd like people to feel secure within my artwork because they see the genius behind my flesh. I just want to be on everyone's mind.

I'm not looking to be perfect. I'm looking to be...beautiful in my own skin.

skin and bones

Dear Priceless Sunlight,



I would like to touch the bottom of the Atlantic.



Sincerely,
Frances Marie

p.s. quit getting in my eyes and shit. It gets old quick.

You crawled beneath my veins

I wonder about people sometimes. I wonder if anyone is ever really happy. Like, let's say, for example, my parents. They seem happy. I mean there are things that are shitty, like them always working and there never being enough money, so on. But they seem happy, ya know? Happy with eachother, happy with their children, their home, et cetera. But I wonder what happiness is and if they are, in fact, happy. Is happiness just comfort or acceptance of what you have? Because in more ways than one it seems that my parents have just accepted the fact that their lives turned out the way it did. When there is no money or the fact that they can't vacation in Alaska is just acceptable by now. Are standards just lowered until one is comfortable, and do we mistaken this for happiness? Or is being content something much more than that and it's a concept I don't grasp. As humans we tend to label our emotions. We can't just let things be. Everything that we feel has a word. When I feel like I want to cry, I am sad. When I am smiling, I am happy. When I yell at someone I am angry and when I blush I am embarassed. And I for one, am tired of such labels. We all know that how we each perceive things is different from the next person, so what makes sad, happy, angry and embarassed the same for everyone? And who is anyone to say when someone is happy. We are taught to label our emotions because we, as a human race, can survive easiest that way...with labels. When we categorize, we feel safe. Like we can manage ourselves and life. But I wonder about people and their emotions. What counts and what does not, ya know? Especially when it comes to happiness. I dont know my exact point with this whole thing--it has basically become my rambling of thoughts once again--but what is happiness? Not just a textbook definition. But what is it really? Is it being content or just accepting what life has thrown at you? Honestly, I dont think my mom is happy. This life isn't really what she wanted. We all have dreams about what our adulthood will become, and I know this is not it. She regrets not finishing school...what would have happened if she did. I bet she wouldn't have met James F. I bet she would have worked and met someone else, married someone else, had other children with other issues and appearances, drive a different car, live in a different house, maybe not even on the Island. Like, who the hell knows. And I know she isn't happy, but she isn't unhappy either. So if she's not uhappy, then we'd assume that she was happy...theories of English...so is this presumed happiness just acceptance? Is she just like, Alright, I'm just gonna do this because I have to and it's all I have. Ya know? Did any of this make sense? Probably not. Reptar was talking out of the ass again.

I discuss happiness with you all because I believe it is a pursuit for us all. Yes, I suppose like the movie, but that is with a 'y' for some reason...I still haven't seen the movie, so sue me. Anyways, I believe we are all in a pursuit of happiness. I say it all of the time. On fangled myspace surveys, it may question what you want to be in ten years and my answer is "happy." I dont give a shit what I'm doing with myself, I'll pick garbage for all I care...but as long as I'm happy doing it, then so be it. I just want to be happy. Don't you want to be happy? And I feel this way because I think somewhere along the way we give ourselves up to something else that we didn't totally want just to go with the flow. We need to fit into this thing called life, ya know? But I dont want to give myself up just to fit in. I'd rather be a triangle in a square society than just fit in. Fuck that shit, ya know? But I'm in pursuit of my own happiness. My own personal definition of it. And I think that means doing things my way. Living where I want to live, doing what I want to do, saying what I feel, fucking whomever I want, et cetera. I'd like to be in love and have that person love me back and I want to fix things for everyone else. I would want everyone to feel what I feel. Not accepting what life gave them, but doing more. Saying, Fuck you! to life and finding what is right for you. And no one else. And I want this. This is a dream or a goal because I am not this way as of current. Granted, more and more everyday I am more like myself and giving the finger to bitchez, but I still go with the flow because I have to. And my ultimate goal is to be happy and that to me means being myself and doing my own thing, regardless. Not giving a shit, ya know? Middle finger to the law. I'd like that, wouldn't you?

And I continue to discuss happiness because I am not it right now. I am at home, in a routine. and it's becoming more comfortable. And I don't want to be totally comfortable because that means I'll become lazy. I want to dorm and go to class and learn things. I want to travel to the city with my red hair and my black dress and buy some books in the village and read in Central Park. I want to study people in Central Park. Just see what they are doing and how they are acting. The last time I was there, some dude was balancing on his head and some chick was sunbathing in her bra and underwear. I was odd folk too because I was hippie dancing around the circle of friends laying in the grass. I'm sure someone was studying that chick over yonder, but let them, ya know? I am a human open to ridicule. I ridicule you, you do it to me. We're legit, no worries. But I am not doing this. I have a routine. I wake up at 6:20am, I go to work and see the same kids' faces, I come home and talk on AIM, I find food to eat, I go back to work and see the same faces and places and people and trees and grass and pavement, then I come home and go back on the computer. It's my routine. And most times I dont mind it...but now it's getting old. Call me restless. I call it not restless (clever, right?). I just want to be happy. I feel like my feet have little wheels and the world has a little track, and my wheels fit nicely on this track and I go around in a circle of acceptance. Not happiness. I want to be in love. I'd like to feel love again. I'd like to know someone else better than I know myself. I'd like to jump in a lake naked in the middle of the day if I damn well please and then smell like the water for the rest of the day because I dont feel like showering. And I want to take pictures of the world around me because it's too beautiful to just look at and not capture. And I want to write miracles and I want to be a driving force in the world. And I am not doing any of these. I am not in love, I am not knowing anyone better than myself, I'm not jumping in any sort of water naked, I do not smell like lake, I have no camera in my hand that is taking pictures, I'm not writing miracles, and I'm driving nothing in this world but myself in my car to get Naked Juice at Waldbaum's. So I am not happy. But I'm not unhappy. So have I just accepted things?

I don't belong here

So where does one actually belong? If it's not here, and not there, nor to the left or the right...where does one go? Up or down? No, that's just silly. I guess the answer is all around. One should just be all around. Everywhere at all times, ya know? Never just stuck in one gear, in one place. Let's run rampant in the streets naked listening to good music in our ears and just being free. I dont belong here. Do you belong here? Well, maybe you do, but that's your decision. I belong elsewhere.

I'm sitting in my new room. I am sick. Not as sick as a dog, but I'm sick. Totally better than I was yesterday (my brain isn't about to explode) but I'm feeling iffy all around, ya know? And I'm just here being sick, going to work and being sick, talking to people and being sick, driving and being sick, being sick and being sick. And I need a shower. And perhaps someone to cuddle with...my Ralph pillow is tiring. It doesn't talk back and it doesn't like to give kisses. It doesn't have a tummy to rest my arm on so I can watch it move up and down when there is shallow breathing. It's something to cuddle with, but it's not what I'd prefer to cuddle with. And I need human contact when I'm sick. I learned this when going away to school. I need to be touched and rubbed and talked to. My body just doesn't respond to anything else. I guess I need to feel someone mother-like when I'm sick. And I dont got it. Yes, Andrew did touch me the other night and it made my back and head feel better, but he doesn't cuddle with me because he has his own cuddle buddy. And Jen wasn't feeling well the other night so she didn't want to cuddle with me. I just want to cuddle, damnit. Damn you.

But overall, my new room is almost complete. My mattress is still on the floor and most of my clothes aren't moved up, but it's legit. I can enterain in here. I feel comfortable in here. Ifeel like it's my own space...it will still be a shared space, but a space nonetheless. I'm locked away inside of these red and purple walls while construction guys are here doing their thang in the backyard. I have no idea what my mom has planned, but it's costing over $3,000 to do. That's all I know. I'm glad that we never have money, but we're always working on the house. My friends must think I'm such a liar. Here we have two decently new cars in the driveway, my parents built me a new room, sent me to an expensive private college and now they are building a new deck in the backyard. But we're poor, I swear. We do all this but we eat shitty food in the meantime. haha. I dont know what I'm saying. Alls I know is that with me upstairs, the construction guys are stealing our silver.

I can stare out the window all day and never tire. I entertain myself fairly easily and just staring at the trees and the cars and the pavement is okay in my book. A day well spent. I like being in motion and I like being fast like that. Seeing the world spin such as that. I've been thinking about the world a lot lately. Like, the world gave us these resources to become what we are, but were we supposed to actually use them? Was it part of the plan to overuse our resources, overuse eachother, and then kill ourselves off? Or was it free will? As far as I'm concerned, this world is going in the shitter. Slowly but surely, we're killing ourselves off. Maybe two or three years ago I saw a chance, but now....no. With war and global warming. Fuck it. We're dead. And was it meant to be this way? Were we meant to die and for a new human race to begin in a couple million years? Maybe there was an entire human race that existed before us, but global warming happened again and it destroyed all of the evidence and we started over again, making the same mistakes. Human nature, I suppose. I dont know what I'm saying.

I'm on drugs!




She's running out again
She's running out
She runs runs runs

Reason will not lead to solution

http://youtube.com/watch?v=nxpblnsJEWM



When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fucking special
But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here
I don't care if it hurts
I want to have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice when I'm not around
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special
But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell I'm doing here?
I don't belong here
She's running out again
She's running outS
he runs runs runs
Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fucking special
I wish I was specia
lBut I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong hereI don't belong here

She's a daytripper

Wine makes me slutty. And it gets me feeling things the fastest. Why is this? Why can't Jack or Jose make me feel things like wine can make me feel things, huh? And my bra was showing today. Okay, bye.

I felt near as faded as my jeans

I like to keep myself trapped inside of myself.
***
This is Fran Jar, welcome to it. There are holes sufficient for breathing, and glass barriers so you can see outside, but never leave. And yes, that is a very fancy screw-top lid. And it's very difficult to open. Don't worry, Buyer, it's possible to open it, you may need something to help you open it, that's all. A little bit of perseverance never hurt anyone, right? And this, over here, is where you would sleep, think, talk, breathe and wish--in this tiny space. This tiny space is conforming. You grow as big as your space, but it's safe that way, ya know? And we all want security. Oh, and it's empty inside this Fran Jar, so you'll echo inside plenty. You'll say all of your feelings and hopes and emotions, and it will just bounce off the glass wall and into your eardrum and laugh in your face again. But your thoughts are your own company this way, and we all love company. It's just very secure...It's really a great deal and I hope you consider the Fran Jar as your new resting space...Oh, the previous owner? Well, she tired of such a safe lifestyle, no worries. It's not that she hated her time in the Fran Jar, she just wanted to spread her wings and fly. Freedom is what they call it, I think...Free from what? Well, free from herself I suppose? Her old self. I believe she was conforming to her old self again and she wanted to leave. But ya know, these glass walls are so strong, she couldn't bust it. So she just left...Oh, well, I don't know why she's selling it to you...No, she wasn't happy, but I'm sure she wasn't unhappy either...It's a glass jar! With sufficient holes for breathing! And plenty of thinking space! How could you hate it?!...You don't want breathing holes? Or a sturdy screw-top lid?...Well, I believe she decided to let someone unscrew it for her. It took some patience and letting go, but I believe she decided to let him open it, ya know? To feel safe with him, she had to be scared first...I'm not sure how it worked out yet, Buyer, but she let him open her Fran Jar--or at least will try to let him, so it must not have been so horrible, ya know? ...Well, that's the terrific thing about the Fran Jar. It's good company until you're ready to want to be free and feel things. Then you're welcome to leave. It's just a matter of finding people who will do that for you, ya know? All in good time, my friend. All in good time...The asking price? Very cheap. Just your thoughts and your patience and understanding. She's not asking much...No, not at all! The previous owner would just like you to know what it feels like inside of a glass jar. What it feels like to live inside yourself for too long without anyone to console you--it's not sadism...You're willing to offer your patience, but not your understanding? Well, I'll have to ask the owner of the Fran Jar. Just know that you're missing out on a great deal...What deal? Well, your self-worth, Buyer!! Your self-worth is very important to yourself, and ultimately others. That is all the owner is trying to convey with this device...You will sacrifice understanding?!...Well, how great of you. I will notify her right away and let her know of your interest to not feel anything because you and no one else seems to give a shit....You have a great day too! Here's my number in case you'd like to do more business. Drive safely!
***
I think it's about that time to let someone unscrew the jar lid for me. *sigh of relief?*

Backs of cereal boxes

I dont know what I'm doing with myself. But I do. I made a shitty plan to just play things by ear. Yet, that's a lie as well. Because I dont know if I could ever actually do that? Ya know, just let life go and be free and happy. I am not free. This life is not freedom, this life is prison. We are led to believe we are free. And I am not happy. Happy is what the fake people are. The people who mask their other emotions and say that they're happy overall. Yes, that's a lie too. That's really not what happy is. But what is happy anyway? How much purchase does happiness have when you're not even sure what it is. It's just a word. These are all just words that we use to describe emotions and feelings we have. But do the letters h,a,p,p,y combined really explain how you feel? Can s,h,i,t together really explain how you hurt? I'm not sure c,u,n,t does either. Though it does feel good to say. I'm not sure what I'm feeling these past few weeks, but it's not happiness. I guess I'm feeling normal, like a normal, functioning human being. Another number in this world, not living and laughing and feeling important. And I dont know what I'm saying anymore.

I believe I have gotten to a point in my life where I just need to feel. I have been weak for nineteen years and now I'm ready to be shaken and broken and bruised and tormented. The scars and black and blues I have on my skin do not count. I have not had real experiences to complain about. Petty things compared to things at large. But I have been driving behind this wheel for nineteen years, making my own decisions, always using the signals, always aware of other peoples' little cars driving past. For nineteen years I have been focused on me and my safety and the well-being of others and I'm about ready to feel less safe. I want to let someone else drive now. I'm ready for that, ya know? I'm ready to be vulnerable and let someone else take the wheel of my car. Take care of me. Make me feel things. I dont want to be numb anymore. I dont want to be dependent on myself, I want to be reliant on someone else. Pump my gas, pay for my gas, use my signals, honk my horn, adjust my mirrors. Fuck up my world a little bit, ya know? I'm ready. I'm just afraid to pull over and let someone else switch the gears and spin the wheels. When will I pull over and let someone else take control of my numbness? When will I just say fuck you and just let you do it. Huh? Tell me, please.

Coffee black

Fuck. Fuck you. Fuck ya damn floppy fishes. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I'm not a very happy gal as of current.









pull me out from inside.

I've got the world on a string...

...sittin' on a rainbow.


I'm happy. chicka-chick-a








Life is a beautiful thing as long as I hold a string.