ketchup

I feel really terrible that i have neglected my little blogger. 

I dont remember when I last wrote, but to catch anyone up that is interested, which i think is only myself, and only for memories sake...I started talking to a boy that I had a hallway crush on last semester.  This led to that and we will have been "dating exclusively" for about 2 months now, give or take.

His name is Zach, he's tall and skinny, the cutest boy ever.  We are hardly ever apart.  He's my best friend and the best boyfriend I could ever ask for, I couldn't have molded one better myself.

In other news I got rejected from Rowans college of education, I cried for a few hours.

Im doing pretty good this semester, only one class I'm kind of worried about, but I should be okay. 

In other, other news, I wrote my first poem since high school...and that is what it is called.

the first poem i've written since high school

every thing will be all right.

every thing will be all right?

dont cock back that gun

spitting that bullshit on me

this is

my

life

this is the life that i wake up to

every day.

splinters of worry dug deep into my gut

and you cant rip these out quick.

put your tweezers away,

cause ive been nailed to this cross for too long...

its been growing into my pink flesh since i was

eight

years old.

and you wont know what to say,

you wont have the words

just 

like

him

just like him

you, 

when i tell you, he cant speak

and you wont understand the pain 

it puts me through

that it puts us through

this boy 

with his wordless mouth

he cant tell me what hurts,

if anyone 

has hurt him.

he can't comprehend a holiday

let alone love,

or what it is to be in love.

he wont feel the pleasure 

of a good old fashioned blow job,

never have a catch with his own son

like he never had one with daddy

(and i know that it tightens, rips,

pulling and tearing at my fathers gut

and burns behind his eyes.)

he wont walk at his high school graduation

our parents glowing in some sort of pride 

from their aluminum perch

there will be no all nighters 

from too many red cups with cheap beer

he wont know the feeling of waking up 

next to a girl who would die without him

or even the burn of some good weed

in his hopeless lungs

hes lost

and with twenty million posters

clinging to the walls of everywhere

                       where ever

he cant be found

so dont tell me 

dont tell me its gonna be fucking 

oh 

kay

dont cock back your head

-your cold shiny 9mm head-

and fire that kinda bullshit at me

I think I found Mr. Torterlli's address yesterday, I'm going to write him a letter.