Well. What an interesting last day of school.
I went to my second school function in my two whole years of going to this school.
It was at ParkPoint.
It was freezing.
It was weird. It was awkward.
It was fun.
It was interesting.
It was inappropriate, if you know what I mean.
It was a school party at a beach.
I'm a Junior now.
I went to that beach. That one that's kinda not really up the north shore. I chased the birds.
I hopped on the rocks. I stumbled over my emotions, like the smaller rocks that you don't notice at first until you fall face first onto the beach and scuff up your knee. And then you're forced to acknowledge it. You have to look at it. Because if you don't it get's infected. So I braced myself against the bitter wind that flowed smoothly across my skin. I was built with my very own special aerodynamics. But this bitter air found it's way into my pores and I inhaled it. I breathed in the poison, this drug that no one has truly figured out how to market and sell, because it's so common we barely notice it. It's so common that we barely know how to get it. But I did it. And then I see Big Mama, I see the safe house. Warm and full of undiluted drugs. I run to her. I sit in her lap. And the warmness surrounds me. The bitter chill that found home in my pores is now dispersing throughout her. I could see it like small swirls of blues and turquoise and yellows and purples, spinning out of control out of my pores being replaces in small spurts of warmth. It tingled. It ticked. It embraced me. It released me into a comfortable blissful state of mind. I could sit there for hours. And just watch. The swirls. The water. The world. You.
I'm not sure I know what to say. I know what I want to say. And I want to say it. But there are things in life where you can't just say it. I can't just put it up here. Even if I want to. I wanted this to be like my very own journal, but then I guess people read it. And my idea of a journal is privacy. But you can't get that with the internet. So I guess here is a censored fragment of what I want to say.
"I want ."
This bitter chill against my skin is so cold
My actions, un-thought, are so bold.
Because of the adrenaline pumping through my blood
my emotions course through this body, a flood
and then you hold me tight there against your chest.
I've found there's nothing more in this world that
I now find best.
I spend a lot of time with my aunt. She's like the greatest person in the entire world. And She usually knows what's going on in my life before I even do. But we were talking in Big Mama ( my car) and the topic was how you can add "If you know what I mean" to ANYTHING and no matter what it will always sound dirty. Always. Even if it doesn't make sense.
"I'm gonna go get a drink of water, if you know what I mean."
"I'm gonna go for a bike ride, if you know what I mean."
"She's psycho, if you know what I mean."
"I just took a shower, if you know what I mean."
"I'm blogging if you know what I mean."
So yeah, they dont' really make a ton of sense, but it still sounds dirty.
Honey, you are a rock. Upon which I stand.
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