Poetry! - 01.13.03 - 1:41 am
Look!

When I was 11, there was a boy who sat in front of me in science class. His name was K and he looked like a German chipmunk. Every day, I would put my feet on the back of his desk, he would call me a bitch, and I would tell him to go to hell. This went on for weeks.

One day, our mutually hated science teacher told the class a story about why it is bad to throw locks. Something about a gushing head wound. When K and I heard the word "blood," we started laughing like Beavis and Butthead. This started a conversation about our favorite horror writers and we became friends.

A little while later, I developed a massive crush on K. My best friend told me that I should do something, so on Valentine's Day, I put a card saying "I have a crush on you. From- S.A." in his locker. The poor bastard spent the whole lunch period trying to figure out who had the initials S.A. Finally, I blurted out "I wrote that card." K said, "But your initials aren't S.A." I said, "It means Secret Admirer, dumbass." And we began dating in the loosest sense of the word. Or, to resurrect middle school lingo, "going out."

A couple months later, K dumped me. The reason, he said? I was too depressed and never smiled (the irony just kind of knocks you down and gives you a wedgie, huh?). Actually, as I was to find out a couple days later, K dumped me because he had a crush on my best friend. She also liked him, but wouldn't date him because I still liked him. I, fancying myself a martyr in generic Keds, insisted they get together. They did and the following is the result:

The Dove
or
What Happens When a Melodramatic Pre-Teen Discovers Lord Byron

In this lush, green world we live in, there exists so much hidden sin
Our minds are the ones to put at blame, our minds are the ones that cause this shame
Doing good leads to bad
And we end up being sad
I know the feeling

I did good for a friend
Then I felt as life were at its end
Tears of grief streamed down my face
Leaving my tongue a salty taste
I was not happy
Nor was he
For he loved she and she did not send back his love for she, because of me
I loved he but he loved she
How could it be?
I changed it (Note- I apologize for breaking up the wonderfully crafted flow of this piece, but I just wanted to point out that I considered myself an artist, and therefore exempt from your constricting grammar chains.)

Now he is happy, but I am not
He loved me was what I thought
He is happy, I am glad
But what about me?
I'm still sad
No one cares, can't you see?
No one cares about hurt me

As I stand outside, alone, the song of the dove begins to drone
I understand
I understand the song
I understand the sad, sad song of the mourning dove
It's all about love.

And can you believe I have a whole notebook of that shit? PAGES and PAGES, you guys. I don't know whether to be happy or horrified.

Yeah.

When I was a junior in high school, I went to my locker after lunch and found a folded piece of graft paper inside. I opened it. There was a sketch of a skull and a disembodied penis on one side and on the other it said, in huge letters, "I WANT TO ROCK YOUR WORLD -S.A." I'm all what the fuck? S.A.? Who the hell is that? Then K comes ambling up, giggling. It took him five years, but the bastard got me back.

This is where I end this entry.

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