I'M THE __________ TO YOUR _____________.




I'LL LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVEN DO IT BACK.


EDIT: LOL JFC YOU GUYS

WHAT I MEAN BY ALL OF THAT IS, YOU COMMENT WITH "OH GWEN YOU'RE THE ______ TO MY _________ " AND I'LL POST BACK IN THE SAME FORMAT


DO ANY OF YOU KNOW ENGLISH


no jk i llu

this is the part where you realize you don't have it in you to pick yourself up anymore. no matter how many times you stumble on foal legs, wobbling like one more step will be the one to make you grounded, nothing ever clicks into place. you know you can't depend on others and feel right about it if you can't even be your own foundation.

stupid things like (i thought of you yesterday) and (that's cute) and (i don't see you enough) splinter what little resolve you posess. it's easy to want. to curl your fingers into the front of his jacket. to relax into her arms and close your eyes against the burn of light. scrounging up contact in a society where the slightest mistouch is not easily forg(iven)otten, where you feel wrong for wanting anything at all, feel defeated before you even muster the incentive to bother.

this is the part where the briefest mention makes you disenchanted. small battles you give up, since it's in your nature, since you can't finish anything you start. you can't even help it anymore, can't bother to hide the exhausting weight of your failure when someone speaks. this isn't the first time you've cracked, but it's the first time anyone's been startled enough to speak. it's the dip in her eyebrows and the youpoorthing hesitant laughter as you laugh back, breathless and filled to the brim with stale iknows,

words scribbled on a bathroom wall hold no meaning anymore, not once you see some silly lyric in the same handwriting in the far flung corner. where you found solace before you now find disappointment, a further detachment from these people around you. your fingertips itch for the familiar weight of a pen, pencil, compass, anything to scratch (how dare you lead me to drink from a waterless spring) into sand colored paint, spread cheap over metal. above all else, you fault yourself for daring to believe in the serendipity of lonely thought.

this is the part where it cuts to a scene of you in dim, dusty hallways that 6 years ago, you couldn't ever imagine yourself being in. even the freefloaters have found somewhere else to be, leaving you to slide fingers over maroon lockers, skate over off-white brick. your eyes lose focus, your feet drag and your head tilts simply because you don't have the energy to be upright.

how is it that you find ways to be rejected when you had no idea you were hoping in the first place? (no, shut your mouth, you know exactly why, it's because you assume everything is yours and that simply because you wanted it it means it belongs to you, but no(one)thing belongs to you.) no(one)thing is ever fucking yours because you don't have the heart energy life courage in you to go after it. you are not afraid of success; you are terrified of the screw up you will eventually turn it into.

this is the part where you fall to the ground and beat your fists against the earth, waiting for something to give.

it is never the part where you get up to dust off your knees and realize that no one is going to notice you out of the blue and let you run into their arms. you don't have legs to stand on anyway.

this is the part where you try to find meaning in anything, something to anchor you to stability and promise and reason. you crack the spine of a paper ghost, the heady, drenched rise of dust and ink and fossilized sunshine flooding your nose. morphemes and phonemes and syntax twine steel bars of the past through times new roman, arial, georgia. you lose feeling and time with your back against the wall and a book cradled to your face.

you soak these words into your very skin because your ears are tired of rejecting the broken dialect of the teenage tongue. eavesdropped conversations are almost never worth it, obscene or pointless or irrelevant, an endless war to make the other agree with an opinion. (of course they're right, why would they ever be anything but) marble curses roll out of their mouths with every other word, showing a lack in creativity and higher thinking and never bothering to sound as smart as they probably are. you are desperate to find someone who understands your hunger for language, someone your age so you don't have to keep feeling so fucking old when an adult agrees, and yet so young because an agreement is all it will ever be. you fit nowhere but between the pages and the wall, and even then the phantoms of what was make you ache to be sucked right into the text.

this is the part where you stand up and follow your feet, because none of this matters enough to happen outside of your head.

1. My username is ______ because ______.

roflolmaomg, because one day I realized in my head that if I put together all of the forms of online laughing together, they could fit because most of them either start or end with 'l'.

2. My name is _____ because ______.
Gwen, because that's what my parents decided.

3. My journal is titled ____ because ____.
Uhhhhhh OH You're not into that. because it's an inside joke based off something my mom said and you should probably know right now that my entire layout is basically a dedication to my bromance with nectarousness.

4. My friends page is called ____ because ____.
broskis, because idk it's funny to me.

5. My default userpic is ____ because ____.
CPINE RIDING A BICYCLE BECAUSE HE'S CUTE AND I MADE IT. :D


So this is from lafemmechatte, who is really cool and does memes that I steal.

i'm pretty sure i could have had you this entire time, but i'm afraid of anything working out.








happy thanksgiving, flist. i'm thankful for all of you and every last wonderful detail that's made me fall in love with every single one of you.

lololol That's riiiight, flist, things are looking up.

Aside from the suckage of always being sick and having to miss school and instead of sleeping, GOING TO THE AWESOME DOCTOR'S WHICH I TOTALLY LOOOOVE, </sarcasm> there are sometimes perks.

I GOT SOME MASSIVE FLIRTAGE GOING ON IN MY DECAYING, DISGUSTING, SICKENED STATE. \o/

I was waiting to get called in to get an X-Ray (fml), when all of a sudden a boy sat down next to me. God, he was cute. Blonde curly hair, bright blue eyes, amazing smile. I was coloring on a scrap piece of paper, so he started to as well, and we traded pictures when we were done. He was really, really sweet, had a great laugh, and was surpsingly single. We flirted for a good ten minutes, until I had to leave.

He's also 18 months old. :D


SHUT UP, HE WAS ADORABLE. And he was a perfect gentleman, which can't be said for much of the guys my own age.

OTHER THAN THAT, I spent the entire time entertaining thoughts of having McCoy as my doctor and how awesome that would be.

she strings paper hear(me or no)ts
on(lytimewilltel) li(es)nes of
hesita(lkofsatisfac)tion, she fell
down stairs
downstairs
dawn stares
with unforgiv(emepleaseI'mbegg)ing
eyes. A pocket full of chance.
could you break (a doll[i]ar?) even,
break c(lea[vemeshake])n
spare me the change (in pace, in
hear[t(he)ache])
just let me lo(oseletmechoo)se
touch with reality (shows what
I know.)


EDIT:
KeptinJamesTKirk: GOODNIGHT JOHN
SuluFenceDance: LOL
KeptinJamesTKirk: I MISS U
KeptinJamesTKirk: 2
SuluFenceDance: GTFO CHRIS
KeptinJamesTKirk: I DON'T SLEEP THE SAME WITHOUT U
SuluFenceDance: YEAH CUZ YOU WANK OFF WITHOUT ME
KeptinJamesTKirk: also drujnk txtingg is hilarrrrrus
KeptinJamesTKirk: sa hi 2 ur wife 4 mee loll
SuluFenceDance: ya k shur
SuluFenceDance: lol
KeptinJamesTKirk: WOOOOOOooo body SHotts
KeptinJamesTKirk: god
KeptinJamesTKirk: what if
KeptinJamesTKirk: that exchange totally happens
KeptinJamesTKirk: fuck it, it's real
SuluFenceDance: i wouldn't be surprised
KeptinJamesTKirk: i believe it
KeptinJamesTKirk: we already called the bromance
SuluFenceDance: totes
SuluFenceDance: we're prophets
KeptinJamesTKirk: LOL WELL I AM A POPE
SuluFenceDance: LOL I FORGOT
KeptinJamesTKirk: k bye being smited by jesus
SuluFenceDance: k

So I love making chocolate bourbon cake, which is super delicious and as the title suggests, requires bourbon.

It's been like a month since I last made it, and since my dad drank it all I asked him to buy me more, because I'm going to use it as a recipe in the cooking class I'm taking and he's going to smuggle bring it into school for me next week.

NOW. Yesterday, my mom and I met him for dinner for pizza and it was totally delicious. After that, we got into one car and drove to the mall.

( OUR EXCITING ADVENTURE CONTINUES... )

WANT THE GIRL, CAN'T HAVE HER

HER BROTHER IS EQUALLY AS HOT

WHAT DO I DO

when he laughs with you the way he does and smiles like that when you wave and watches you as you talk you can't help but wonder if he ever thinks "this is so easy, she's it, how am i being so stupid?" you wonder if it's really that simple when he cards his fingers through your hair and fixes your collar and looks at you for three seconds too long. you wonder if he treats you different because you're not someone to flirt with the way he does everyone else, not someone he'd accept a blowjob offer (not that you would) from or someone to talk about those sorts of things with. you two hang so precariously from that thread of in-between, but you wonder if maybe all of it's just something you wonder.

regardless, 'disorienting' seems to be the reoccuring theme that's taking up residency in the cataloguing of the past few days weeks. fumbling indefinitely for words that make it easier for everyone else to understand, and it's never getting easier. you get so sick of being tired and so tired of being sick and feeling like this and being alone and never being able to find ways to make things go right.

it sums up to missing days and days of school and just when you feel like you're ready to go back, someone reminds you that you're better off alone, because that way you can hold your tongue. you don't have to see the looks on their faces or hear the tone of their voices or watch them take everything the wrong way. you shit on anyone who's ever happy, about anything, because you're desperate in your jealousy. rather than leave early to go home and rest like you should, you stay awake and lose hours avoiding the things you need to fix.

friday happens. you all laugh at each other's costumes and skip classes to grasp at straws for fun. lunch finds you in the bathroom alone, locked in the third stall, staring back at the pair of eyes you carved into the door three years go. it makes you laugh every time, your ridiculous and creepy vandalisim. as you try to remember why you did it your gaze catches on an unfamiliar scrawl of ink right next to your thigh.

stop. take a second and reconsider everything.

for no reason at all (or so you're convinced) you feel the sharp inhale as a punch to the gut and your hands scramble for the pen you know you don't have. you want to write now what? and tell me what happens next and i'm afraid of what i'd find because the first command opened the gateway to emotional attachment, gives you the urge to trust in the anonymous.

you skitter through the rest of the day on shaking legs, not knowing what to anticipate more: being alone at home or being alone at the party you're not sure you're even ready to go to. but of course you end up going, of course. you suppose it's better than facing the disappointed stare your mother gives you every second of your life, and you've missed enough already.

there is a palm reader at the party, and it is a whim you indulge. she tells you the things you already know, but maybe you fall into the soft lull of her voice because it's finally human contact, she's the only person who hasn't judged you in what feels like years and it's a chance to shut out everybody else. she holds onto you longer than anyone before you, and as people filter out to watch the girl open her gifts the palm reader looks you in the eyes and tells you that things will get better. the lines in your hands are steady and long and made for the life you know you're meant for. she tells you over and over that it will get better, just be patient, you will be okay and you can't stop the i've been waiting forever for someone to say that that bubbles from your lips. everything is in the five seconds she pauses to watch your face, eyes tracing over the way it's on the brink of crumpling into a mess of relief and shuddering exhales. what probably sucker punches you the most is that it's true. no one tells you it will be okay because everyone's so sure it's the exact opposite of what you want to hear.

but hearing her say it over and over and over releases that cable that's drawn your shoulders so taut. your mind snatches this moment right out of the air and etches it permanently into your head, her gentle voice repeating the mantra that curls around your ear drums and wraps you in the delight of fruitful chance. she graps your hands tightly and tells you you're worth something, you're destined for better and she feels it, it's not something she says to everyone. i like you, she says, and though she's been doing most of the talking and you've just met and you've shown her everything you've been in just one meeting, you believe her.

since then the things she's told you have been circling into the knot at the base of your skull. you respond to touch (you know) and you're a loner but not by choice (you know) and you have too much energy to live the way you do (you know) and you need to find someone to touch you and love you and take care of you since you can't (god, god, you know).

so maybe it really isn't enough to steal skin like this, brief touches that mean nothing to him but everything to you no matter how much you don't want it to. maybe you ought to stop trying to convince yourself that it is enough, that it's all right to settle and hang from your fingertips thinking this is your only chance.

but it's so, so hard, when everyonething else is so out of reach. you can't at all let yourself find comfort in the boys who want to be there for you but at the same time are there for someone else, knowing you and how you let your emotions control you.

there's nothing you can do, you guess, at least not right now. you instead lose yourself in the occasional joint or the high you get from never sleeping, knees drawn tight to your chest and watching the earth wake through half-lidded eyes.

Tag eight sexy people. Don't refuse to do that like a pansy. Unless you really don't want to of course. And if you're not tagged and you want to do it, then do!

elise_the_greattagged me lol whut

OKAY OKAY OKAY I GUESS UHHHHHHHHHHH NONE OF YOU BECAUSE YOU'RE ALL FUGLY.


no jk uh

tabled, nectarousness, lafemmechatte, biancathecookie, anowlinsunshine, stalker_celly, leandergasped, and UH UH UH staraflur.


( UNFUNFUNF )

JGL posted this on his tumblr and I'm in fucking love with him now.

DEFORREST KELLEY IS SHUSHING ME

WHAT DO I DO

McCoy/Jocelyn, PG, I don't even know. 300 words.

 

 

( 'It'll definitely rain.' )

 

I'M WEARING FEATHERS IN MY HAIR

AND THERE IS BLUE PAINT EVERYWHERE

NO I SWEAR I'M NOT STONED AGAIN I'M JUST SPIRITED.

 

just tried to play ffx with a guitar hero controller

lol jesus i'm stoned

HERE HAVE SOME POETRY I WROTE THIS YEAR PLZ DON'T MAKE FUN OF ME


Someday
some days
and then some
daybreak
day breaks clean and lazy
sundrenched air is so hazy
squeaky grass drags through fingers
violently uprooted
sometimes
some time for when you have none
the more times you do
someday it will happen

don't judge me

 

I MADE A NEW ICON~


It's probably fugly or whatever but HEY, S'ALL GOOD.


PST WOULD YOU GUYS CARE IF I STARTED TO POST POETRY UP IN HURR OR WOULD THAT BE ANNOYING.

HI LJ I'M HOME AGAIN WITH A FEVER OF 100.2 AGAIN FOR LIKE THE FOURTH TIME THIS WEEK.

I WILL MS PAINT DRAW OR WRITE A FICLET OR MAKE A MINI MIX (WITH COVER ART OOOO~) FOR ANYONE WHO ASKS.

 

EDIT: FUCK YEAH COUNT CHOCULA


POSSIBLY THE WORST EDIT OF MY LIFE: OKAY SO lafemmechatteMAKES ME DO TERRIBLE THINGS LIKE WRITE DISGUSTING MCCOY/CHEKOV BUT I LOVE HER SO HERE IT IS


( omg hawt hawt chekov/mccoy  )

Sports bras are a 24/7 hug.


Fuck yeah.