forget who you should be [entries|friends|calendar] fredericka snippets [ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ] [ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

[Tuesday November 24th, 2009] where have you been? i've missed you so. and now i feel like writing to some bob dylan. i love my job. my family. my real friends. the ones who stick by me and are true and real and breathing. i am okay. 0 will wait for you.

[Thursday February 5th, 2009] I always get this god damn feeling in the pit of my stomach that you couldn't give a fuck. Mostly because you try to start shit for no reason and because half the time I don't think you take me seriously. I don't like to be taken seriously. But I do enjoy being considered and recognized. 1 will wait for you.

[Tuesday January 27th, 2009] homeade soup room cleaning time hang out sessions with the best cute little boyfriend i'd say i'm doing alright 0 will wait for you.

[Sunday May 6th, 2007] i carry your heart with me i carry it in my heart. i love you tyler. may your stillness be your ultimate peace. a piece of me is forever missing. 0 will wait for you.

God Is A Tree: And I Don't Believe In Him [Saturday March 17th, 2007] I was asked if I believe in God. “I believe in trees.” I said. There was a long pause before they pulled my mother from the bed, letting her broken posture fall limp in their thick hands. “Well, you better start praying to your trees.” Praying for what, I asked, but instead they dragged my mother’s bare feet across the hardwood floor. I had only been taught one prayer, long ago. She taught it to me, it was for the dead animals I found in the middle of the road or on the side of the street where we lived. It was a small house under a canopy of bright yellow and cactus colored leaves. They whistled in the wind as the screen door slammed against the frame. Even though the sun was dripping its light, a small drizzle was sent down, tickling my cheeks and lashes. They mixed with the salt dripping down my face. “Dear Lord bless its soul so that its soul may be received through the golden gates of heaven.” The lady who believed in God glared through me, “Faith in trees, ey?” I didn’t want to look at her, I was too busy watching my mother’s hair start to form a spider web on her back, wet with a mixture of sweat and rain. “Well, get in the car.” The woman snapped. I was standing on a large stone, slicked with silver and spattered with moss. It was moist beneath my bare feet and squished between my toes. I inhaled the sticks and roots beneath me. I waited for the fog to lift me up into the air, above the trees, around the clouds, laced into the stars. “Girl…” “Dear Lord bless its soul so that its soul may be received through the golden gates of heaven.” I swung my arms beneath me like a pendulum and then up and over like a windmill. Swinging, swinging, swinging. The lady who believed in God lunged at me, grabbing at my flailing arms, pulling me down from my travel towards the sky. She started scratching at my face, but slowly she began to fade and I felt only the tips of her fingernails digging into the bottoms of my feet. I rose higher, being shot out of a blooming flower, feeling the petals release me into the azure sky. It turned bright and the tin colored reflections of the leaves started to sing. They sang of misfortune, of cloudy days, of fire, and a mother who’s hair smelled of smoke. They sang of destiny and destroyed hands. Beaten arms and broken paintbrushes. They changed from singing to chanting as the sticks tickled my cheeks and wiped away my face until it was a pure clean canvas. “Dear God! Dear God!” I could hear someone whispering, screaming, or just plain retching all over the forest floor. The lady who believed in God was dancing in obscure colored vomit talking nonsense, “Posessed! She’s possessed!” But I felt my fingers around the fog, thick as sheets of ice, melting under my palms, as I grew taller and taller. I felt my spine popping, reaching towards the top of the tree, my feet stretched towards the ground. I was a painting. Color smeared with half a brush and a thumb. A towering mess of toppling watercolors coughing into each other and splattering like spit. I started to grow. I saw below me, a small print of my mother. She lay at the bottom of the canvas spread like a bug that had been smashed beneath a book. Her eyes were hollowed out like the center of her chest. Where she had ground out her inspiration. The pit she had decided to sacrifice for the ultimate self-portrait. Her chest an endless mess of all the colors of every palette, every painting in the world. She had dug the end of a paintbrush under her rib cage, feeling the inside split open to reveal the most magnificent crimson she had ever surveyed. She ran her fingers along her stomach until she reached the belly button where she shoved and twisted the knife, documenting her pain upon the easel. She swiped and scratched and lay upon the canvas, rubbing herself along its grainy surface. She had graduated from the thin blood lines on her legs and arms and decided to go with real pain. She wanted her painting to be gut-wrenching. She wanted gore and truth. She wanted pain and suffering. She wanted it out of her and into the world. The bug that had been biting her since she picked up a brush when she was eight. She wanted hundred, thousands, millions of people to share a part of her. She wanted to embody herself. She wanted to be a painting. She was alone now. I found her alone. She died alone. She is alone forever. I will hang her a hammock in the tree. I will listen to her sing me to sleep when the branches sway in the night. I will hang her bloodied canvas above my bed and be proud. I will admire the way it twists in texture and spills off the sides. I will climb to the tallest tops of trees to be with her when she is sad. When the rain peels down the sides of our house because she is crying. I will feel her in the trunk, see her glow in the root. I will believe in her. She is my tree. 0 will wait for you.

[Sunday July 24th, 2005] 01) White/Black Jeep Wrangler 02) Piano lessons 03) A NICE leather brown belt 04) A boy to cuddle with consistently 05) Dance lessons 06) To be writing a book that I'll actually finish 07) The Tommy Hilfiger striped/flowered bed set 0 will wait for you.

[Sunday June 19th, 2005] Alas. A new journal. FRIENDS ONLY but not like you care 10 will wait for you.

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