Can't Change Mine

Bad week bad week bad week bad week bad week bad week bad week bad week bad week.

I want to bury my head in pillows and drown in feathers. Or stuffing. Which ever is quicker.

I don't even know what I need. I guess that's the worst part.

I fucking hate it when people open my mail.

Aging

Last night I was freaking out that I was turning 19.

But then I thought, no one else cares, I probably shouldn't either.

A-DORABLE.

I'm supposed to be doing something else right now.

But I feel like drowning in LCD Soundsystem and Mew.

I wish I was Someone Great.

I AM A POET

I think sometimes that the right poem has the ability to make you think in a completely different way.

A Better Tomorrow.

I think I wrote a poem in my head for you.
I hope it comes out on here how I hope it does.

If I had a nickel for every time
Someone has tried to cheer me up
when all I wanted to do
was soak my feet in pity stew
that God has made especially for me
I think I might be as rich
as white chocolate truffles
during Christmas time.

So when someone leans their head
on my shoulder,
my first thought is how much
I like to watch my toes wrinkle
in bubbling hot sadness
"Don't say anything.
Sometimes people just want
you to be there."

But I can tell it's more than that:
I just don't know what to say.

But I know that if I could find
the perfect words
they would be encrusted
with the finest jewels
and I would break my teeth
biting down on them
making sure that they were
the real thing.
I would wrap them in bows and ribbons,
watch your eyes squint
until they disappeared--
because I was the one who gave them to you.

If I found the right thing to say
I think everything would be okay for once.

And I'll Sing My Little Heart Out...

I wish I knew how to sing.

If I could, this is what I would sing:

"Letters To Noelle"
By Something Corporate

Letters to Noelle
Marked up cardboard boxes fell
I fell with them
Crushed like them I am
Letters to Noelle
Years of waiting, nothing fading
Emptied out my pen
Carved the rest into my hand
Letters to Noelle
Written from my darkest cell
Filling up my wishing well
Waiting on their return
But the driveway's clear
You pray for silence
Step into my quiet violence
Do you see pictures in my words?
Standing still, I'm moving faster
Searching out my next disaster
You're gonna get what you deserve
Letters to Noelle
I see them in a box inside a case
That she keeps locked up in a place
I'll never be
Letters to Noelle
I emptied out my veins onto a page
Set to a scream you just can't gauge
She cannot see what's inside of me
But the driveway's clear
You pray for silence
Step into my quiet violence
Do you see pictures in my words?
Standing still, I'm moving faster
Searching for my next disaster
You're gonna get what you deserve
But the driveway's clear
You pray for silence
Step into my quiet violence
She smiles, takin' off her shirt
Standing still, this world moves faster
On her back my next disaster
You're gonna get what you deserve
But the driveway's clear
You pray for silence
Step into my quiet violence
Do you see pictures in my words?
Standing still, I'm moving faster
Searching out my next disaster
You're gonna get what you deserve
Letters to Noelle
Tied on ribbons in my brain
Obsession don't give way to pain
I know that nowI know that now.

Andrew McMahon is a poet.

Don't Make This Easy, I Want You To Mean It

So, today I found out that there is another person with my exact name.
First, middle, and last.
Apparantly, she lives in Texas.
She's the second wife of a man named Kevin and has a daughter named Samantha.

Which is really odd, because I have a sister named Samantha.

The internet scares me. IT KNOWS EVERYTHING.

Sometimes I Think I'm White

I'm not white.

I think that's why I got into this one college.

It's a college that I really wanted to go to, so I guess it's okay.