But here's what I wanted to say. I was reading my old creativity book yesterday (sorta like this morning cos it was at 2 am Wednesday) and I was so amazed that I had written in a lot of poetry and such...you know, that kinda stuff. And it didn't hit me that I had so much to write! Like, that was the creative period of the year? And now no more creative juices are flowing in my brain? I'm gobsmacked! Argh! I need my creativity!!! Gimme back my creativity!!!

Hur hur hur.

Oh-kay...so I guess I wrote it a lot of crap but hey it's my crap and no one else has to see 'em? Like go to hell man. I write crap but who cares? I'm the one who understands my crap! All you low-down-mean-lying-and-dirty-fat-a$$holes just get a grip man. Huh. Like I wrote this one poem dedicated to all fomer, present and future crushes. Is that wrong? No it isn't. I have the right to write such a crappy poem even if it's about all that lurvey durvey sturff~...bleah. Haha...got that from Ragina...cool gerl...you are one hot rock chick gerl!~ *lol* Speaking of which, I haven't seen her around much. Poor kid, probably doing all her projs and stuff...you know how overbearing school can be, student or teacher. Well, it's true!

Hmmm...I'm now in the mood to write something crappy but I can't decide whether or not to write it here or in my nice new blue book. Oh well, I'll just write it here then. Let's see...I think I'll just copy it down from the black book. It's one of the craps I'd written down some time ago.

-Words-

When somethng flows like water/

yet manages to break into pieces/

a piece of contradiction appears like a cut through the knee.

When thus it happens a stake is plunged/

piercing the heart as blue as a mice-down hole.

Forty-seven days wink by shortly/

and desperation whirls around like a dancer lover/

to force those words into a mangled throat/

like humility in an aspirin box.

Ok that was kinda crappy but here's another one.

-Heartbreak-

Inhaling the sweet sorrow of life

my nose belittles the thought of it

so proper and delicate

too fragile like a dusty china.

A weakening arouses me

as a complete conscience takes over

and I feel light as a feather

drifting aimlessly in a blueberry sky.

The appealing boredom of inactivity

ignores my initial opinions

and however much melody suffocates me

I eventually shatter and turn to dust.

And I guess that's enuff for now. Period.