My Little Wonder Girl

   So, uh, hey. I haven't been here in a while, have I? My bad.

   I suppose that you, my reader, are probably either Shelby or my mother. Hey guys!

   It's almost a habit, you know? Addressing the invisible blog-lurker, as if they're actually there. Which they/you most likely are not. Life continues.

   It's a new day, right? We have a new president, whole new administration, but more importantly, I have a new keyboard, leading to my whole new outlook on life.

   When electronics lay dying at your feet, it almost gives you a God complex. Now, I can barely touch them and they'll break. I could trip and all things with circuit boards in the surrounding area would give a little rattle-scream and  short out. I am like...death to the motherboard. (Oh Claire, how punny!) It is just a way of life that everyone around me has learned to deal with.

   I am also prone to breaking lamps, vases, assorted ceramics, important antiques, and the occasional finger. I am constantly bruised, as well as covered in scars and odd lumps.

   I am now off on another adventure.

   Madames et Monsieurs, Adieu.

   (Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?)

    -Claaaaaaaaaire

Do Whatever Comes Naturally To You

Purple-painted sky,

my head is in the clouds.

I live in tomorrow,

hiding from the present.

I'll keep you to myself,

sealed with a kiss

and wrapped in a paper-thin bow.

And when we're not all trapped

in the middle of this bullshit everyone calls life,

and we've dispersed to the edges,

we'll look around and realize that

we're all okay.

We were to begin with,

we just strayed from our luminescent path.

When we find our way back,

(I swear we'll find our way back)

just promise not to run too fast,

sometimes I trip and fall.

I Miss The Way You Look So Sad...

   So!

   Haven't updated in a little whilesies, have I? I'm painting my room! Orange, yellow, and red, much to my mother's dismay. But it's not her room, is it? 

   My love life is currently (as usual) nonexistent. But, you know, one perseveres. In terms of schoolwork, I'm pretty on top of things, doing homework and the like.

   Okay, so whilst writing this, I've had an epiphany. I have a ridiculously lame life. I don't have a lot of friends that I hang out with outside of school, I'm not really doing anything socially interesting, my plans for the weekend got cancelled (It was SUPPOSED to be a concert, but my mom decided she didn't want to take me... even though I offered to pay for gas. Thanks, Mom!)

   I don't really have any close friends other than Shelby... though she has five best friends, so most of my weekends are spent alone. Awesome.

   Wow, I dislike self-pitying people. I SEEM TO HAVE BECOME ONE. I'm gonna end this now.

Love,

Vindictive, Egomaniacal, Calamitous Claire

S!

Shelby the sadist sucks at selling stuff.

The eeeeeend.

Picture of the Day

It is the world's tallest man meeting the world's smallest man.
Can anyone say "Awwww..."

Suffice It To Say, There's A Time And A Place

   So, if you didn't already know, poetry is my thing.

   I like to read it, love to write it, it's just a niche in which I feel I fit. So why is it that, no matter how proud of something I am, I am always second-guessing it? The second it enters the hands of a peer, I go wobbly around the knees and immediately attach a disclaimer.

   "It's not very good, I wrote it really fast, I know you won't like it, it sucks...etc."

   Even though I know it's good, I know I spent time on it, I just can't get past the fact that they might not like it, might think of a million things wrong with it. It's a very real struggle to me. After handing my poetry collection to my mother to read, (she was interested) I just wanted to rip it out of her hands, say "No, this is complete s***, you don't want to read it." But I knew she did want to read it, it wasn't complete shizzle, whatever. I knew it was fine, I really did.

   I swear.