Bad Day

This day started bad.

I woke up with a headache. And a dreadful one at that. Since, I've taken 4 ibueprofens(sp?) and it hasn't even started to go away. I ran out of conditioner when I took a shower and so my hair is really dry. I cut myself shaving. I stumped my toe on my door and it started turning purple. I had chicken and salad for lunch (that's an amazing lunch and it's really healthy, so that was good), but then I was starving 2 hours later. I made some leftover spaghetti. And then I spilled it on my pants and the chair. I got 2 bites out of it. Yum, yum. And now here I am, hoping that my day doesn't get any worse.

It's also added to by the stress of the fact that, right now, somebody could be looking at the pile of applications like mine. They could be reading mine right now and saying, "No, I don't think this is very good. She doesn't have that many arts classes and such right now. She doesn't have much experience at all. Next." They could very well be setting it in the 'Not Likely' pile and completely disregarding it until the audition, where they will interview me and then move it to the 'Rejected' pile. I'm praying that I'm just psyching myself out and that really they are putting it in a pile with yours that is labled 'Outstanding'. But, the only think I can count on being outstanding is what Mrs. Young wrote. I can guarentee that they will think the word outstanding at least 5 times because that's how many times they will read it. I'm hoping they will think it more than that, though.

That little hope is the only reason I'm not curled up in my room reading and rereading, in my head, everything in my chapter and application.

I can say one good thing about today. I got the ticket. It's beautiful. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It's so great that it even talks. It says freedom, happiness, friendship, excitement...hakuna matata. It is no worries. I can also take comfort in the date printed on it. February 15. I love that date. I love that its on that date, at least. It comes after so many difficult days. It will make things better. It comes after the second and the fourteenth. It's placed on the perfect day. Thank you House of Blues.

I miss you guys right now. It's been one day since I've last seen you all. It's only been 16 hours since I last spoke to you. But I still feel like its been weeks. I feel like I have nothing to do, no one to see. It's not the greatest feeling.

And I have nothing to read right now. I don't feel like reading the next one right now. And I left Lucky T in my locker. I don't even have any books on my bookshelf I haven't read. Well, except for The Lake House which is the second in a series, therefore completely useless.

Help.

Please?

I beg you. Fix my day. It's broken. It's fallen to a thousand pieces and I'm afraid I'm going to go with it.

I'm afraid that I'll always be like this. Seperated from the world. It got so bad yesterday I even wrote a poem about it. It's not a depressed poem, not like before, but it's sad. Not the way it's written, just what it's about. It's sad.

I'm sad. Sad that I feel so alone. Sad that I feel I'll never make a difference. Sad that Jack is so against what I want to do with my life. Sad that I might not get a chance to be in the play. Afraid that I won't succeed. Afraid that I'm pushing myself too hard. Afraid that I'll become New Moon Heather. Afraid that I will be attacked by a Specter.

I'm afraid and not in a logical way.

♥Heather

I fear I've kicked up the leaves.

dedicated to you

dedicated to you who have once fallen in love with a fictional character. you who have more than once fallen in love with a fictional character. you who loves books and calls dibs on fictional characters for fun and whines when you forgot someone and somebody else took them.

here's to you:

heart pounding
breaking my ribs-shattering them
palms sweating
typical teenage love as they would say

no-it's more than that
something special
expanses of ocean
where we would float
the never-ending circles we'd make

my hand in your hair
red, brown, blonde, black
ever-changing
never need be the same

it's you, it's just you, always you
with seperate personalities
you're the same
always

I read your face
eyes
the illuminating smiles
I take it all in, loving every bit

I feel a tingle in my toes
a ripple in my blood
the flap of soft wings in my stomach

it's uncomfortably comfortable
as my mind
it wanders free
always coming back to you
never anyone else

minutes tick by
seconds to the words
jumbled on the page
spelling out your name

the letters come in waves
hitting against the ragged rocks
washing them, polishing them down
to soft gentle edges
smooth as glass

and ready to shatter
if one foul swell
should come to pass
should dare to touch me

breaking you down
erasing the beautiful existence
taking away a part
a part of me
a part they wrote into my heart

~♥~


It's amazing how, once you start writing poetry, you can't stop. You can't stop it. It's like the first brings on an entire river of words.

I've never written this much poetry. Ever. I think I've written more poems in the last few months than I have my entire life.

please comment. tell me how you like it. It is, after all, dedicated to you.
♥Heather

another poem

she said to her
"never let this end
make it go on forever
'till we're pale and cold

I don't want the time to come
of solitude and desolation
no time without the ones I have loved
right there beside me, every moment

the last should not come so soon
the first should be remembered always
but every one in between
are what makes it all worth it

the stories, the tales
the memories to come
shall not be forgotten
in all of the years

you are most important
I hope I am for you
because you will be there
the day I bond myself to someone else

the day my child is born
the day they go to school
the day they graduate
and last of all, the day I say my final goodbyes

my last will be to you"


so? Chloe says it's good, but I almost don't believe her...

Savior--part 3

final post of my story/novel:

₪ ₪ ₪

I step over the threshold. The music is blaring. Everyone has at least one partner. Girl or boy, just someone. Some have more. I, however, am left in eternal solitude. Left to wander alone and just hear scraps of other people’s conversations and never to have my own.

One girl’s voice stands out to me as I walk past the stairs. She is saying, “You need a new purse I’m tired of that one.”

I miss what the girl she is talking to says but I can hear the first girl’s laugh. It carries through the air over the music.

Other pieces of conversations reach me. Three girls are standing by the refrigerator, talking fast about a trip they are going on in a week. I think they are going to Disney World. I wish I could go with them. Be a part of their group. I’ve never been to Disney World.

I turn the corner into the living room and see two girls who seem just as alone as I am, except together—if that makes sense. One is writing in a little notebook that she has just pulled out of her over-large bag and the other is sitting next to her reading and occasionally glancing at what the other is writing.

They might be nothing like me, but their solitude makes me feel connected to them somehow. At the same time, I know I’m nothing like them. They have each other. I’m left with no one.

I’m not usually interested in joining conversations with people I don’t know, but anybody would do right now.

I make it through the entire house—upstairs and down, front yard and back—one and a half times. I turn to go—

“Hi.”

Is he talking to me?

“Hello?”

God, he must be. He’s looking right at me. Looking right at me with those gorgeous golden-brown eyes. Now that I see them up close, I see that they look like caramel. They even look like they are melting.

“Hi,” I manage to mutter. He doesn’t hear me and I can tell he’s debating whether or not to leave.

“Hi,” I say louder. He hears this time. His eyes smile.

“I’m Charlie. Brown. Charlie Brown,” he says grinning. I can’t help but laugh.

“Well, my names nothing that great, but I think it’s something special. I’m Piper Sutton,” I say. I reach out and grab his outstretched hand. Nobody shakes hands anymore.

“Piper’s a good name. I think it’s special, too. Uncommon. Not common.” He repeats things a lot. It’s cute.

I find myself staring at his mouth when he talks. It turns out, his eyes aren’t his only amazing feature. The curve of his smile, the shape of his lips, the way his teeth fit together perfectly. They are all perfect.

And it’s surprisingly easy for me to talk to him. I’ve never been able to talk to a guy. Okay, so I’ve been able to talk to the outcasts that sit at my lunch table, but that’s different. They’re not hot guys. Not like him. Not like Charlie. Charlie. What a wonderful name.

“You go to Waccamaw, don’t you?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts about him. I don’t mind.

“Yea…unfortunately,” I say, sighing. He gives a little laugh.

“I know. I’ve been here for one day and I already hate it. Hate it. But it’s getting better every second.”

My heart flutters. I can’t breathe. I really can’t breathe. Someone bumps up against me and the air comes back into my lungs. But then, I fall into him and he catches me, and my breath is gone again.

His arms are so warm. I want to stay there forever, but he stands me back up. My face is hot, and, looking up into his eyes, I feel goose bumps crawl up my arms.

Take a deep breath.

I do. The new air is helping. It’s washing out the embarrassment. Slowly I become normal again. I can breathe. I’m not shaking anymore.

We continue talking for hours. I don’t actually leave the party until almost midnight. He drives me home since I don’t have a car and Anna left me. I would normally hate her right now, but I love her.

Sitting in his car is perfect. It feels right. The whole ride is comfortable—besides my unsteady heart—and much different from the ride to the party. He is much better than Anna.

Going home feels awful now, whereas before I met Charlie, it would have felt amazing. Charlie is my savior. I’ve never believed in love at first sight before, but it must be something similar to that feeling I had when I looked into his eyes. Something similar to seeing him. To seeing Charlie.


End of chapter. End of posts. Begging for comments. This is the one I'm sending in. I've decided.

♥Heather

Savior--part two

ok, part two of the second chapter that is now titled as above. titled 'Savior'.
It hasn't been edited at all. just the regular spell check on Word.(I decided I was too lazy to edit it yet)
Please read and comment.
there will only be one post after this of my story unless I steal the separate blog idea which I don't think I will....

₪ ₪ ₪

My body is shaking. I’m rocking back and forth. No, someone else is shaking me, rocking me back and forth. I’ve been sleeping. My consciousness is just spurring into action.

I remember. I fell asleep on the bench. On my bench, and missed fourth block. But I’m not on the bench. I don’t feel the cold, black metal bars on my back. I’m not even sitting up. I’m in my bed, covers wrapped tightly around me. I had to have come home and gone to sleep. Yea, that’s it.

Anna’s hands are the ones shaking me.

“Wake up,” she says.

I groan and open my eyes. My eyes focus only enough to read the bright, gleaming red numbers of my alarm clock. 5:32. I can’t see anything other than that. 5:32. I shake off the covers and walk blindly into my bathroom. I grip the sink and look into the mirror. My vision finally clears and I see the red splotches on my face. They are a great contrast to the rest of my skin.

I unclench my fingers from the sink and turn on the faucet. I splash the icy water on my face. My senses become more alert. My hand stretches out, elbow stiff, to grab the last towel on the shelf and I dry off my face.

I make my way back to my bed and slump down on the warm covers. Tap. Tap. Tap. Anna taps her foot on the hardwood floor. Tap. Tap. Tap. Won’t she just stop? Tap. Tap! TAP!

“What?” I ask, jerking my head towards her and almost shouting.

She shrinks back form the unexpected response, then regains her composure.

“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering why you weren’t getting ready for the party…” She says in her perfect taunting, sing-song voice.

“I’ve got an hour and a half!” Besides, why get ready for a party I don’t want to go to?”

“You obviously have no idea how much work it takes to prepare for a party.”

“Ugh.” She disgusts me. “Leave.”

“Fine. Whatever.” she says, walking out the door into the hallway.

I jump up from my bed and slam the door shut. I hear the muffled sound of her saying “cranky…” from the other side of the closed door. I stand there, fuming and trying to calm down. Once I’ve done so, I grab a towel from the laundry I haven’t folded yet, and go back into the bathroom. I hang the towel on the hook, take down my ponytail, and begin brushing my stubborn blonde hair. As I look in the mirror, I realize he’ll never remember me. I’m to plain and ordinary for him.

Once I’m out of the shower and dressed, I blow-dry my hair. It doesn’t take long for it to dry, but it does take a long time to make it not look bad(I’m unsuccessful and give up after almost thirty minutes).

I still have nearly forty-five minutes left until the party so I go over to my bookcase and pull out a battered and torn copy of Pride and Prejudice that I’ve read about a thousand times. I open to the first page and start reading as I walk slowly back to my bed where I plop down and wait.

By the time Anna is done staring at herself in the mirror, doing her makeup and perfecting her already perfect hair, I’ve finished half of the book. She walks in and starts yelling at me.

“What are you doing reading? We should be leaving in a few minutes. And…oh my god…you’re wearing that?” She rolls her eyes and runs over to my closet. She tears through the clothes, looking for something ‘suitable’.

I look down at my clothes. Dark jeans and a gray camisole and sweater. What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? I look up at Anna, still digging through my closet, throwing out clothes she thinks are hideous—she throws out most of them. She’s wearing a pink and white striped blouse and a mini skirt. Oh, now I know what’s wrong with mine. It’s not preppy and girly.


I refuse all the options Anna gives me, so she reluctantly leaves the room to get her car keys. It’s been fifteen minutes and so we leave way later than she wanted us to. The ride to the party is unbearable. Full of awkward silences, unspoken irritation, and evil glares. At least sixteen times—in the fourteen minutes it takes to get there—Anna looks down at my clothes with her face crumpled in disgust. I give a disgusted look right back at her every single time.

After the fourteen minutes—I was counting—of pure agony, we arrive at the party. The front lawn is crowded with people talking to each other and making their way to the front door. Some of them are drinking. Most of the kids live in this neighborhood and walked, so it’s easy to find a spot to park not too far away.

Anna cuts off the engine of her shiny blue corvette, and, with the sudden silence, the music becomes distinguishable and I can hear every word. It’s some hip-hop song I hate with a dance movie I can’t do. Anna starts nodding her head to the beast and mouthing the words. She grabs her purse and opens the door. I just sit here, staring. I don’t want to go in. Ever.

She places the soles of her pink Jimmy Choos on the pavement and starts o get up, but looks back at me, still sitting and staring.

“Are you coming?” she asks.

I sit and stare some more.

“Hello? Piper? Are you with us?”

Still sitting and staring.

“Are—you—coming?” she says, spacing out the words as if I’m dumb.

I finally move and grunt, then reach for the door handle and step out. When my converse hits the pavement, the sound is far from that of Anna’s heels.

My body moves like a robot. One small movement at a time. Not thinking about what I’m doing is the best option. I’m not walking towards my death. Just to a party where I’m not going to know anyone—or at lest, no one who know me.

The sound of Anna’s steps join mine, maybe a foot back. We get closer and closer. Someone shouts her name. She runs off to greet whoever it was, leaving me alone, walking towards my version of hell.

₪ ₪ ₪

there it is. part two of chapter two.

comment please...especially you, caroline because you were the one who told me to post this.

and emilea too.
luvya
♥Heather

Poem Needs Opinions!!

ok...so...I'm sitting here at my computer on a Monday morning at 10:27 a.m.

Obviously I have nothing to do on my day off from school....

so...I'm going to put one of my poems on here...tell me if it sounds stupid with the rhyming thing because every time I read it my opinion varies
OK, here it is:

A tortured Mind, Body, and Soul,

But that isn't the worst part,

The last one is painful,

A tortured Heart.

A Heart breaking,

Pain that has no end,

The pain you caused,

To a heart unable to mend.

When you walked right by,

Without a smile towards me,

But a smile to her,

That's what killed me.

She received your love,

Warm hand and warm heart,

I received you civility,

Cold shoulder and cold heart.

If only I could switch,

Her for me,

Warm for cold,

And receive more than just courtesy.

To be held by you,

To come first in your eyes,

To be loved by you,

Would be the greatest prize.

It would stop the tears,

It would kill the pain,

It would mend my heart,

I would be happy again.

~Heather~

♥

OK, see, that time it sounded good to me...hmm...idk

opinions please!!!!!!!!! this is important!!!!!

OK I'm out for now

luvya