A Coverup and a Truth

A Cover Up:

My parents decided that it would be a good idea to invite one of my dad’s business partners over for dinner, keep in mind that I would not be getting home until about 7:00, because I would be coming straight from a soccer game. Neither of my parents had told me about our guests so when I showed up at the front door with sweat still on my skin, I was not happy. Of course, I had to plaster on a good ole “HI! I’M LORNA IT’S SO GOOD TO MEET YOU!” ugh. I feel betrayed I mean, sure it wasn’t ideal, and the shower was right near the living room, BUT MY PARENTS COULDN’T GIVE ME ANY WARNING???

A Truth:

So, that’s not really why I’m in a bad mood tonight, it is a true story, my parents really did invite people over without any warning, but there’s more. About exactly a year ago today, I moved to Philadelphia PA, my now home. But formerly I lived in Erie PA. That place was everything to me. And in some aspects it still is. I think you should know that I have never moved before in my life and this was a dramatic change for me. now, rounding the one year anniversary of our move, my mind is starting to replay the things I miss most about my old home. I should tell you that even as a fifteen year old girl, I don’t cry. I dont cry all that often. Last time I cried it was April 29th, my birthday this past year. My grandfather had made a comment that threw me off, and I cried in frustration. But I haven’t cried since. And I’m trying not to break my streak. But guess what. I think I might.

You know that dull ache that grows super string and then you feel like you need to punch something? Or grab something really hard? Or maybe you need to scream, but you wouldn’t know what to say? But more than anything in the world you just want to go back. You want to back to the sidewalk where you learned how to rollerblade. You want to go back to your closest friend, the one who has been there since the beginning. The one who was your sisters best friend even before you were alive. You don’t want to fucking be here. You want to fucking leave. all you want is to smell the cool breeze of fall. It’s a very specific smell that you lack here, in some big ass city that isn’t your style. You want to break something. something that matters. something. anything. you just want to go home. Home to the place where your mom ran an CSA, and a farm, she was happier there, and you know it. But she’s here because your Dad got a job. and he didn’t want to be here alone. And You want to go back to the tiny crevice that functioned as a loft in your garage. You renovated the whole place with your brother and you just want to go back. And smell the earth the rain the leaves.

please

please just let me go home.

I just want to see the fucking leaves change.

I just want to smell the fucking wet leaves after it rains, with the air GODDAMNIT.

FUCKING SHIT BULL SHIT FUCK ALL OF THIS

Sure, Philly is cool but do you ever just want to GO

Go home? I want to go home. God PLEASE take me home please God please

I don’t believe in love, change my mind.

I’ve never been in love with anyone, I mean sure I can say I love a lot of people, friends, family, pets. But I’ll admit I’m afraid to feel something more intense. But maybe it’s all a myth. Maybe the media shapes it to be something it’s not, makes it seem too happy, too good, too deep. Perhaps it’s all fake. I wouldn’t know. But I can tell you that I don’t believe in love. I don’t believe in relationship love.

I’m not ignorant, I’m just so used to people lying about their bra size, or their prefered toothbrush brand or even the car they drive. People lie about their friendships all the time, why is this any different? The only way I can know about that kind of love is through other people, and other people can fake it. So does it even exist?

Please help a distressed teen. I am placing my trust in you to tell me the truth. Even though it’s easy to lie, hiding behind a keyboard.

:)

I’m going to call my sister tomorrow and tell her I love her. Last time I did this, it was about mid December last year. She cried. I wanna do it again, not because she cried of course, but because I love her. And if she cried, that means she needed it.

I know she hasn’t been doing too well. I know she’s been under alot of stress with school and her social life and whatnot. But I really love her, like truly and I want her to know that because she’s my best friend. I love her.

Someday, she might see this. See that I talk about loving her even when she’s not here.

So here’s a note for her: I FUCKING LOVE YOU

Sugar daddy coverup

Since I’m not telling anyone about my blog, I have developed a cover up for my webcam photos on my laptop.

They’re for my sugar daddy in Singapore. He wanted to see my face shape so he could buy the right size of diamond earrings for me.

Thank you. I will update you on how other people take this. Judging by the fact that sugar daddy’s are pretty common, I’d say this is very much fool proof.

I like to mop chairs

He sat slumped in his chair. Or maybe they were a she. But why does it matter, they’re slumped and that’s all that matters. Because the only reason why anyone slumps that low is if they are truly hurt. Like, stabbed in the heart. Or maybe the soul. But why does it matter, they’re hurt. The only way you can be hurt that bad is if someone else hurt you. Maybe like a punch or mean words. But why does it matter, someone did it to them. 

I’ll share, but I might still hide my face

I’m going to share a poem I wrote last year, during school. Maybe this will go unseen, but at the very least I wont feel like I’m hoarding a dirty secret. I write poetry sometimes okay?

Come to think of it, this “poem” is more on the monologue side, enjoy!

Maybe it is a good thing to judge. Maybe. It’s times like these, when I walk home after school that I think of these things. Cold. Cold. So very cold. But it wouldn’t matter if I didn’t come home. But I always do. It’s too far away. But why don’t you hold on? There has to a type of prize for all of this. Torturing myself on a weekly basis. Of course, I could always go to your house, after all it’s much closer. But if I did, that would mean I forgive you and I don’t. I don’t. I don’t. But Life is better with you than without. My hands are blistering on the edges from typing far too much. Perhaps this is a good problem to have. Creativeness seeping it’s way to the outside. Perhaps. perhaps . perhaps. One thing I like about you is how charming you are. You smile and I fall away. But that’s just buttery. sugarcoated. But the truth is I wish we had another place to be. To be together. But I would never have a place. We would never have a place. We are caged in, trapped. No way out. But that’s alright. No hurt. Just pain. No dull ache only sharp. Some say distance drives us closer. It might but they make it sound so charming. Charming. Charming. I beg to leave. But not without you. I would rather walk a hundred miles then the one mile home. The reward. Either sickness or health. Both lead to the same result, you. One longer than the other. But even if I picked fast, if I picked sickness, I am lacking a lot of information. Too much it’s just Impossible, Impossible, Impossible. What do I do but wait in health and continue through to cold. Cold. cold. To the house. Only one mile away. Only. only. 

I’m almost positive

That no one will ever find these paragraphs. But it’s nice to know that I’m alone. Gee that sounded kind of sad. But its not. Its nice. At least so far it is. I picture this to be my hole in the wall, my secret hiding place. where I can hide and write away from all the people I know. Perhaps someone will stumble upon these. perhaps.

I just read some of the recommended long reads, you know, to see what I was getting myself into. Like, am I going to fit in? Sort of deal. But all the blogs I saw were written by hardcore-wannabe-writers/professors. Hopefully this website will take clues from my own style of writing and recommend some blogs I will actually enjoy.

Not to be harsh or anything, but I don’t give a cluck about your dying career as a professor, please tell me about YOU, not your job.

Please enjoy the following photos I took on my webcam 🙂

I’m having too much fun

First Thought

Hey, it’s me. Tomorrow I start my second day of school. But I’m not going to bore you with those details. Everyone goes to school and everyone has a bad day and everyone is extremely tired or ‘can’t find the time’. I’m writing this blog so that I force myself to find time and do something I love everyday, even if it’s just typing a few words. Enjoy. *I really love the following quote, I found it where every 15 year old girl finds her quotes, on my Pintrest*

“She is a mermaid, but approach her with caution. Her mind swims at depths most would drown in.”

— J Iron Word

About Me

To give you an idea of who I am, I’m going to describe where I am right now.

I am sitting, no, slouching under a blanket smack dab in the middle of my bedroom floor. Obviously, I live with my parents because I am on 15 at this time and I have no real reason to run away, although sometimes I’d like to. Behind me, there is a large window sill that houses eight flower pots, a faux sheepskin of my cat, some books, and a Cd player singing Coldplay’s Parachutes album on repeat. If you’re wondering, my favorite song in Spies, track two. Against the window sill is my desk. It’s not really a desk. It’s a small retro dinner table my parents found second hand to use at our last apartment.

Gosh, what was the point of writing all of that??? I mean, I’m going to change, aren’t I? So why am I describing my room, the most visible form of my changing? Well I guess the best way to know me is to read my blogs 😉