December 2009
21 posts
breaking my own heart.
it’s humorous, in a way. I click, click, click the links on the page. watching the faces before me as they whiz by. and it seems that every single one of these girls in the world is lucky. because every single one of these girls make me think, “gosh, she is so damn pretty.” so much prettier than, say, me. I’m just a lonely loner. a flounder amongst all the rainbow fish in...
light as a feather.
all her life she looked in the mirror and whispered softly as the tears ran down her face, pretty and skinny. she wanted to be the parallel to the airbrushed images that she had been told to ignore. but there was that lingering, bitter taste in her mouth. the burning want . get thinner, get thinner. eat food, get fat. eat nothing, be pretty. and the poor little girl let that take over her. the...
in new york.
the twinkling stars amongst us, parallel to those hanging by a string in the sky. with the lights and the sounds of the day echoing further into the night.
the busy streets packed even further. with the stragglers of the day and the moon bearing down upon them all. each with a story to tell.
the late-shift office workers just getting off from their daily hell; some rushing home as soon as they...
the day it rained colors.
sometimes I wish the world was grayscale so we could wait for the day it rains colors to really bring out the beauty of our lives.
our every day black and white. monotonous appearances. stained by the liveliness; the loveliness of color. the natural paint. to see the sky be blue and the grass be green. the shining depth to the seas. the brown tint to the autumn leaves. to see our life in color.
...
so put that in your pipe and smoke it.
name? claire d. hawthorne 1 gal 128 fl oz. but that’s not your name, they tell me. sure, it’s not what I was born with. it’s not what you know me as. but it’s still who I am.
pen name is an understatement. though it was one at first, it grew. it’s become a part of me. and that I can’t go without the pseudonym being strung across the page.
so many joys have come because of the animosity I...
make your own sammich, bitch.
that’s where you’re wrong; i DO know you. you are the definition of a wigger. rude and disgusting, the scum of the earth. and wow! imagine that; a girl talk back to you! i’ve shattered the illusion that we’re all just a cheap fuck. maybe that’s what you’re used to, because the standards these days have taken a nose dive, but i’m just as strong as you think you are. let the vulgarity defecate from...
i'm not going to lie - you piss me off to no...
the image you’ve created your life has been sedated repress just who you are despite the blatant scar side swept bangs cover eyes “oh, the sorrow,” or just lies don’t even dare to say that you’ve fallen through a darkened womb since diapers i have known the story and you’re not winning any glory i struggle to stay insane you tarnish the respected name i’ve...
upon the windowpane.
slight drizzle at first. pitter patter upon the windowpane. a rhythmic beat in time with his breaths. tear stains on the glass as i nearly fall asleep to the tune of his heartbeat. winds begin to blow shaking the trees with gusto and i hear little noises upon the windowpane. and with his hands on my hips the drizzle quickens its...
what i'm not.
i’m not a barbie doll i’m not a little toy you can play with when you want to and then throw away when you’re done i have feelings i have emotions i’m real. i’m not a joke i’m not pretending to be in love with you and i’m not forcing myself to do these things i want to be with you i want to make you happy but i want that happiness in return. i’m...
should've figured this was going to happen.
Once upon a school day dreary, My heartache lifted very nearly A month of mental suicide A month of worthless sense of pride Feel fine at first, heroic state But soon becomes a source of hate And so a raped and tortured soul Thought time was up to pay the toll The tears, the fears, the aches and pains His hurtful actions, these stupid chains And so upon that one school day I thought no longer...
colors.
he who belongs at the end of a rainbow renting out its feelings to accompany my own. a majestic purple; a cheshire cat. bold and cooling to the eye, with just a hint of madness mixed in. and within the palette of bright images, it is the darker undertone that stands out. the pink and the yellow and the orange have nothing against the color i am, and have not the meaning that i control. the color...
the monster in my mirror.
the monster in my mirror is the one i fear the most. it catches me when unaware and treats me as the host. the symptoms i once thought to be distant memories breathe life into its veins and bring me to my knees. i struggle to fight against and though i sometimes win its still got a hold on me with nails dug in my skin. oh. but please don’t fret, dear reader. i haven’t lost all hope. a...
mid-conversation.
the clock strikes quarter to. inaudible chatter drowns out what isn’t said but what is oh so inconspicuously thought of. my eyes are glossed over with exhaustion with sadness and my body’s a mixture of emotions bursting at the seams. time’s run out. the little chime sounds, mocking me. her voice springs out from a shaking box screaming tales of a warning. the clock is ticking...
it's a good thing there's no wine in that grail.
he’s got the midas touch to turn me into gold. that spark in his fingertips that melts me down. he’s got the magic required to turn an ordinary cup into the holy grail. and only he has the sanctity – the power – the permission to use that golden gift of his. only he has that amazing midas touch.
waiting on your call.
heart aches, mind shakes waiting for his call mistakes, soul breaks on my knees to crawl paranoia sucks, nip and tuck it’s all just in my mind lovestruck, out of luck but patience is hard to find lost within, can’t begin to make some common sense i’m a sin, can’t ever win hold my own defense wishing star, won’t go far eleven:eleven’s on the clock burns and...
chase you down until you love me.
does it upset you? every glance that follows me. the teenyboppers that want me. the papa - paparazzi. the obsessed fans. the crazy ex-boyfriends. i never wished for this fame and i know this cult makes you mad. that’s why my songs are always sung and my speeches are always said and my lyrics are always written for you. no one else. not for my fans. not for my followers. but you. only you.
and when it all goes to hell.
the tattered hood of all the fakes. the koopa shell of past mistakes. the sequin mask of a love long lost. the broken wall of what it cost. the disguised face of what was wrong. the hidden wonder of what took so long. the sad facade i could never see past a broken heart that will never be. but now i can tell what lies inside and break apart that sense of pride. the battered shell of our past...
get your mind out of the gutter.
bzzt. bzzt. that gentle vibration shoots a spark up my leg. i grasp where it began. a smile drawn upon my lips. that telepathic connection sounds. ringing in my ears. it’s him. i slide it out of its shelter. eyes grow hungry. it’s him. he brings satisfaction every time. a soft little smile that purrs for more. i hold it; grasp it; love it. vision jolting back and forth. i want to...
electronic affection.
a pause. i might not have seen it in your eyes nor could i have seen any sort expression as a physical hint. but that little pause said it all. a hesitation. realizing the three little words i just said were a reality. not your imagination. a flutter in the back of your head. yes. i said it. it’s true and genuine. and such a reaction melted my heart into a lovely little puddle. you could...
leitmotif.
it’s 2:03am. we’re lying together on the cramped couch. it really wasn’t designed for more than one person but that doesn’t make a difference. he’s on the bottom, his head relaxing against the pillows and blankets on the arm of the chair. my legs are tangled with his, my arms are wrapped all around him, and my head is pressed against his chest. my motif. but...
thanks a lot, adam.
and sobbing over love songs. and beating myself up over the past. and torturing my heart over something that, for other reasons, didn’t last. and wanting something from nothing. and wanting nothing from it all. and hurting over this routine that’s like my monthly brawl. and building up that patina. and mentally tearing my wrists. and blaming you for something that i know does not...