When it rains, it pours

And this is why.

It was made for flight.

Sometimes I have this overwhelming urge to write, yet I can't seem to come up with a single topic of interest, at least not within my own mind. So, i'll simply write a short story for my own happiness. Warner Middle School. 2003. Amongst my peers, I am a 12 year old sixth grader. I am not your "typical" sixth grader, whatever the fuck that's supposed to entail. I am an outcast, by choice. I choose to wear these baggy, strappy clothes. I ask for new additions for my birthday and Christmas every single year. I am sitting in my third hour class, wearing a black and yellow themed ensemble, bondage pants with yellow stitched lining the black, and a bright yellow T-shirt with the words, "Say i'm cute one more time..." illustrating a visibly distraught Hello Kitty underneath the printed words. A gift, one I loved up until it's departure to Salvation Army upon my mother's request---rather, her demand. I'm doing "busy work" currently, which in reality translates to: "complete this pointless scavenger hunt I found online, because as your teacher I have the right to put you to any mindless task if it means I can get my personal important tasks done faster." Unlike the majority of my classmates, I am feverishly searching through my History textbook, eager to fill in all of the blanks on the sheet in front of me. I have few friends, and none of them reside in this class with me. So, I am doing work busily with my head down and grateful for the pointless task assigned, for it gives me a reason to look down and away from the scattered cliques, sitting on their desks and laughing with one another. Mr. Tobin makes a quasi attempt to settle the children down, then quickly retreats to his work upon his voice unheard over the cackling, self absorbed students. I glance up to him when he does, proving to him that perhaps not all hope is lost. The man is great teacher, but... these are not the best of circumstances for any adult superior, let alone teacher. The ability to be heard is uncommon, to be listened to is even more rare. I know this, so i make solid attempts to listen. I can feel the straps on my pants moving, I raise my eyes from the semi completed work sheet, feeling the straps moving in an all too familiar fashion. Whipping my head around, I find Stephen Lewis and John Trinter with eyes as wide as golfballs, straps in their hands and moments away from completion. I say nothing, giving them only the most terrifying, soul piercing glance into each of the four eyes before me. Both boys grew rose colored faces, before hastily dropping the straps and disassmbling the others from my chair-desk. I turned back to my busiest work, slightly suprised by the reaction to my fire beam, soul eating expression. This will not be the last time I attempt this defense. The sad part is, I've grown an inescapable crush for Stephen. He has a slight lisp, glasses, and the cutest smile i've ever seen. I knew his class clown act was only to maintain a high status as part of the "cool kids" group, being that he was not jewish, (automatic entry for Jewish boys and girls with expensive clothes and, expensive Bar/Batmitzvahs,) he was already among the minority, even more so with his inability to fasciliate parties on the weekends. Kids with house party capabilities were always accepted into the elite group. The bell rings, signalling the final minute of torture has ended and we are free to go. --Free to go to the door we came through, into the junglescue hallway to bob and weave through crowds of adolescent morons and arrive to the next hour of the day before the bell rings, signaling the beginning of another sixty minutes, no doubt jam-packed with fun and exciting work sheets to fill out and then recieve the inevitable participation points, further proving my point and viewpoint regarding "busy work". I never am the first one out of the classroom when the hour is over, not because I want to stay by any means, but rather to protect some of my pride incase my pant straps have been intertwined together with my chair. Once the last of them exit the room, i turn to assess the damage. For the firt time this year, I wasn't strapped into the chair. They actually fixed and untangled my strapped chair, and I never had a problem getting out of my chairdesk again. ro Once the eversoconfusing science portion of the finally ends, I am excited for the first time today. I am headed to the cafeteria to finally see my friends. I grab my brown paper bag from my locker, close it and turn to see Stephen Lewis. My lunch almost fell from my grasp. My immediate plan of action was to dart around his body without a single glance into his beautiful green eyes, and power-walk sheepishly to the cafeteria in order to avoid the heartbreaking possibility that his presence is for someone else entirely, perhaps one of my unknown locker neighbors. Oblivious to reality I would blush and attempt and to flirt or exchange non violent words with him, before doing so he waves over my head and then leaving me gaga-eyed and completely defeated, mortified as he diverts his attention from my awestruck appearance to the originally intended reciepient behind me, waving him over. I began to side step him, when he gently placed his palm on my shoulder, "Don't go. I want to talk to you." He looked into my eyes with deep concern as he spoke, lifting his palm from my shoulder. In all honesty, I was not completely opposed to him replacing his palm on my shoulder and never removing it again. I stood frozen, evaluating the risk involved with this interaction. I was fully consumed with butterflies and skepticism. "What?" I choke out the word, not wanting to seem flustered or positively affected by his presence. "Look," he began, crinkling his brow into an expression resembling concentration. "I know what my friends say and do to you guys is like, totally wrong and mean. I just want you to know, i'm not going to participate in their games anymore. I saw your face today, and i'm sorry. I really am." "You guys?" I repeat, clear disapproval registering with my voice. "I mean, you know...your friends. You all have the courage to dress outside the box and seem to be fearless when it comes to the opinions of your peers. I respect that, I didn't until today. I want you to know I'm sorry, and I wouldn't mind getting to know you better. From what i've read on your blog, I know you are a incredible writer with ideas and concepts firing through your brain on a daily basis. I would love to hear more sometime, maybe in person." My jaw would have hit the floor if I let it during that sequence of words. My mouth forgets to operate stemming from the shell shocked brain it depends on. The silence became awkward, and he began to backtrack. "WELL. Just thought i'd throw that out there, you seem to have made up your mind, understandably about me. I am sorry, Jamie. I won't be that person. Thank you for helping me understand." He turned his body in a pivot, shoving his hands into his Abercrombie jean pockets, and shuffled down the hall towards the Math lab. "STEPHEN!" I shout, to my complete astonishment. He turns his head, then body, and stops completely while facing me. "Yes?" He seems wounded, perhaps even discouraged. I trot over the few feet seperating us, and straight into his arms. Caught off guard, Stephen stood still for a moment as I held my arms around him. Then, as soon as I felt I had stepped over some boundary and my spontaneous behavior has been recieved negatively I decide to pull back and descend into my cave of sadness and regret. As I pull my hands from my arms and my arms from his back, he pulls me into him closer. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, and his scent is even more captivating than I had imagined. I never want to let go, I never want to find out this all was some elaborate joke to further my ridicule material. We seperated from the embrace mutually as the bell rang. Truthfully, we might have stayed in that position until the end of time if it werent for that fucking bell. At least, I would have. NO doubt. Looking into my eyes as he pulls away, smiling suddenly he leans down and kisses me on the mouth. The first kiss my mouth has ever felt. He was soft, gentle, and held my face as he closed his eyes and met my lips. I held back tears of joy during our liplock, I only assume I am dreaming. The bitchy hall monitor enters stage left barking about ringing bells, hall passes, kissing in school, tardiness blah blah blah. In the middle of her rampage we removed ourselves from one another, and took different directions to our next destination. I glanced back, only just to see the back of his beautiful head. Instead I saw his smiling face, glancing back at me in unison. TO be continued.

TINK TINK TINK A toast is to begin THINK THINK THINK I can only grin Raise your glasses friends! Before this marriage ends Did I say that aloud? Judging by a silent crowd Gin in hand I take a bow Oh, speech. I'll do it now Congrats to my twin brother Couldn't ask for another Carbon copy of my mother Great choice, BRO! Soon enough you'll know. Silence falls once more A toast to the lovely pair First kiss, through a dare Dude, I was there I told you I would share Told you I didn't care As my heart strings began to tear Guests stare, stoic and in shock They wait, silently and gawk Brother! I shouted. His mortified expression made it so What's coming next, he should know Even if that was super fucking low, My heart is continuing to grow Just thought I would let you know Your wife is a complete, utter hoe. Enjoy. TINK

when you left this world you took my heart with you i don't know why, but i forgive you. i would throw this whole world away if it meant i'd be with you someway i can't wait for "someday" You were the only you when you died, I died too. Living without you is worse than death i count, and count, every breath i groan, i ache, every step day after day, rep after rep when you left me in this life you took the color from my sight took my heart and held it tight before taking off into the dark night body limp, soul in flight the last star to shine, so bright.

I hope you are okay. I miss every part of you, your soul, your light. I carry your heart in mine for life.

One time, you threw a cap-less, half-full water bottle to the backseat of my car from the drivers seat. You didnt register it even having liquid in it at all, you just hurled that sucker behind you without turning around after I told you that I had misplaced the cap. You turned to smile at me, said something like, "What, babe?" I immediately screeched at you, "STEPHEN THERE WAS WATER IN THERE" Your face immediately fell, the thought of it now shakes my core, to see the look on your face go from such a happy one to that of complete disappointment. We both had yet to turn and assess the damage, it was just water after all. We turned, and to our pure amazement, the plastic water bottle landed in the middle of my backseat. It landed straight up, not a drop spilled. not a drop spilled. out of everything in that pigsty of a car, it landed on a piece of uncovered vinyl. Remember how shit like that would happen every time we were together? I miss it. I love you.

Once an ocean covered my soul. glistening blue, clear, bright onyx whirlpools circle a black hole Now. royal searching, a lighthouse fight thick, silver fog darkens all visible light

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To put it  mildly, I never turn down a challenge.

Purps