Bike Ride.

Eight people in front of me, one person behind me, all on bikes.
We were going uphill.
My legs hurt like hell, my throat was dry, the veins were popping out of my fists, clenched hard around the handlebars of my bike.
Sweat slid down the side of my face and my hair was frizzy from the heat.
I was breathing hard, trying to suck the air back into my lungs that had been taken away.
My legs were on fire and so tired. I wasn't sure if I could go on much longer.
What if I suddenly can't ride anymore and I stop riding? I thought, What if I roll backward down the hill?
There go my 'what if's again.
I was working so hard, I was so thirsty that every time I heard the word "water", my head snapped around 180 degrees. I was so tired, but there was something good about it.
Maybe it was the feeling of accomplishment, or perhaps the adreneline rushing through my veins.
Whatever it was, it felt good.

My Favorite Words

Are there any words that you just like?

Words that you think are p-r-e-t-t-y?

Words that you think look c-o-o-l?

Words that make you s-m-i-l-e?

Do you have a handful of words that you like, even if they're negative words?

M-e-a-n is a pretty word. Purple, yellow, red, orange. Lovely, isn't it?

I like the word p-r-e-t-t-y as well. Pink, red, yellow, green, yellow. It reminds me of watermelon and summer. 

S-w-e-e-t-i-e is a nice word. Pink, red, yellow, green, white, yellow. Very optimistic, wouldn't you say?

Some words are just good.

They remind you of nice things and they make you h-a-p-p-y.

What words are your favorite?

Synesthesia

What color is my name to you?




What about my voice?




What color is that?




Does my age have one too?




What about smells?




Tastes?




Months?




Days of the week?






















     a   r   e     y   o   u     a     s   y   n   e   s   t   h   e   t   e   ?

Fear vs. Confidence

Fear. You think you're all that, don't you? 
You're a mind-thirsty beast, hungry for stable brains. 
You want to wrap yourself in a dark tendril around the minds of every living creature on this planet. 
You want to become the biggest weakness of all humans and animals. 
You want to take over the world, but one little imbecile still stands in you way. 


Confidence.


Confidence is your enemy. 
Look at her, she appears so weak and it feels so good to watch her crumple to her knees beneath your rathe, giving you power.
But she does not stay like that for long.
Confidence gets to her feet, shakily at first, but she is gaining aptitude by the second.
She looks up at you, a strange look in her eyes. A strong look.
Confidence smiles at you and you scratch your head in confusion.
Confidence does not kill you, she does not destroy you, she merely locks you up.
You rattle the bars on your cellar door, but it is locked securely.
However, you can still escape. You often do, but Confidence is stronger than you and has the ability to overthrow you.


You may think you are superior, but you are wrong. You are an illusion.


Confidence is not.

I Am Stronger Than OCD

I wrote this one today. It's my favorite :)

You confused me, you frustrate me, you make my life harder.

My brain is a computer. You make the monitor get fuzzy and hard to read.

You send the wrong messages to my inbox. You send digital viruses into my head, effecting the whole system.

But I won't let it crash.

Sometimes I wondered if you were even real. If you were really there

Or if I was like that on purpose.

To get attention

Or to be more interesting

And all that jazz.

That was what I used to think, before I knew how bad you really were.

But then you proved yourself.

You are a virus, destroying a computer system one connection at a time.

But I won't let you do that to me.

I can't let you do that to me.

I will not sacrifice my stable brain over to you

Simply because you want me to.

You are like the little devil on my shoulder.

Telling me to do all the wrong things.

I will not give you what you want.

You are not the boss of me.

I will win this war,



And I will be happy.

I could really use a wish right now.

This one is one of my more negative ones. Hmm... I need to write a really happy one now...

I survived the surgery. I'm alive.

But they took away a lot of things I could do before.

No trampoline

No soccer

No collision sports.

I have never been really into sports, but now that they've been taken away from me, I long for them back.

Just to be on a team, to be able to show my kids pictures of me in a volleyball uniform with my team,

Or having a contest on a trampoline with my friends, seeing who can jump the highest.

I was twelve years old when I got the surgury.

Imagine, being in seventh grade and not being able to take part in any sports.

It's bad. Real bad.

Total Eclipse of the Heart

Old one. I'm better now ^w^




I don't think I can even cry anymore. 

I don't cry during sad or touching movies anymore, 

I barely cried at the last funeral I went to, 

I can't cry when I wish I could.
I bottled up my feelings. 

I got so good at it that I can't turn it off when I don't want it.
It's better to cry, than to pretend you don't want to.
Most of the time, I have no use for tears.
But everyone cries sometimes.
I'll be the only girl who's not crying at funerals, during sad movies, when the situation calls for tears.
I didn't like to cry, I didn't want to cry, but then I decided I could. It would make me feel better.
But I couldn't.

I couldn't cry.

OCD Horror Fiction

This one isn't one of my best, I just thought I'd post it.




Wipe off fridge door handle. One, two, three....

Open fridge door. Four, five, six....

Take the strawberries out of the fridge. Seven, eight, nine....

Close the door to the fridge. Ten, eleven, twelve....

Wipe off counter. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen....

Place box of strawberries on counter. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen....

Open box of strawberries. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one....

Wash strawberries twice. Thrice for good measure. Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four....

Wash knife. Twice, thrice. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven....

Wash cutting board. Twice, thrice. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty....

Scrub cutting board. Twice, thrice. Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three....

Wash hands. Scrub hands. Twice, thrice. Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight....

Cut strawberries right down the middle. Every piece the same size. Thirty-nine......

*Slit*

Blood and strawberry juice slide down her wrist, soaking into her sleeve.

Her eyes grow wide, the knife drops. Forty.

Her leg shoots out in her efforts to lunge for the knife. Forty-one, forty-two....

The knife plunges into her leg. Pain, pain, pain.... Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five....

Blood, strawberry juice, flowing out of her right thigh. Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight....

Her hand grasps the knife and pulls. Forty-nine....

The knife hits the floor with a clang. Blood, blood, blood, endlessly streaming down her thigh, staining her previously clean skirt....

Her eyes open wide and glaze over. They stay that way. Forever.

Fifty.