i don’t know what to write. I’m supposed to be creating a “poem” for writing class about “Where am i from?” I’m having a hard time, needless to say, and it is depressing the hell out of me. Really, really, tear drops, and knives depressing me. i don’t understand why i have to do this myself, why someone can’t do it for me. why someone can’t just take me under their wing, hold my hand like the little girl i feel, and make me better. i just want to be better so i don’t always have to write sad words. it’s always sad words, sad eyes, sad feelings, sad face, sad me, sad me, sad me. doesn’t anyone love me enough to get rid of my sad eyes.i hurt. my belly hurts so bad. make it go away.

she’s got her music on.

i feel real dark and dangerous. i could almost set us free. i’m working on that piece of bull and i keep coming back to the night some were born. how can i write that? i don’t know what to write. i’m trying to be true, honest, emotionally engaging, yet not exploitive. we all hurt tonight.

i don’t know who she is but that she says she’s eight and i just want to hold her but what good would it do. i’m surprised tina’s not here. my heart can’t take much more. she’s right. nobody loves us.

i’m getting angry.

my spell checker doesn’t work anymore. dammit it to hell. I’m not that smart.

My favorite music is on. I play this, the theme to The Notebook, and the Moonlight Sonota. Moonlight I’ve asked to be played at my funeral. There was always somthing about the piece of music that spoke to me, just like the Main Title to The Notebook.

I feel so sad it should not be tolerated. It can not be quantified or qualified. It just is and there is no going away of its abilities to eat away at me and kill me. Can i say no no no no no. i forget so much. and i’m tired. and i’m worthless. and i just want to die. how do you fix that. how do you save someone that doesn’t want to be saved and for all the rice and tea in china you will never convince that i, she, or anyone else in this brain wants to be saved. there’s too much damnation, too much hurt, and there will never be opportunities to trully laugh from the gut, to laugh a real laugh, not a fake laugh, but a real laugh that you enjoy and has meaning. a real, fucking laugh.

i wish someone would hold my hand. i want to play but i don’t have toys. i have crayons but she won’t let me play. they say i can play on here but i don’t like this stupid thing. i want dolls and stuffed animals. and big fat crayons and cupcakes but she won’t let me have cupcakes. i really want a mommy. my tummy hurts so bad. no one wants to watch cartoons with me and tina only plays with me sometimes.

Enough.