Mood.

I'll probably drop out of high school to become a beautician.

Then after being in a few abusive relationships,

I'll have a couple kids out of wedlock. 

They'll have really "innovative" names

Like 'Aroha' and 'Ikhyd'.

After harrassing my ex-boyfriends for a check,

I might spend my child support on drugs,

And tight clothing.

Then my kids would learn to play basketball

At the neighborhood Boys and Girls Club,

And live to tell about how they never knew their dad,

And their mom was worthless.

Everyone will love them,

And boys will try to get their autographs.

I think my family would worry about me,

But my mom would support me anyway.

My dad might be mad,

But Mom would still support me.

My brother would probably call me every week,

And try to come visit me.

My sister would still hang out with me,

And claim there was "no judgement".

I wouldn't care.

I'd wallow away,

Because I've tried to be better.

I've tried to change.

Change isn't real.

Don't listen to what they say.

The only people who change,

Never really do.

They're just lying to you.

Maybe I'd lie, too.

Do you think God already knows who will succeed?

Do you think He knows I'm worthless?

Maybe that's why I can't hear His voice anymore.

Dreams suck, too.

Don't have them.

They won't come true.

Because, you're a girl.

Become a mom, settle down.

Stop being so rebellious.

And, you're a boy,

So get a good job and a nice wife.

Stop dreaming,

It's giving everyone a headache.

I Think I Remember

I think I remember my first nightmare. There was an animated Doctor, and my mom didn't listen to me when I said he was bad. We had to get shots, but the shots had poison. I locked myself in a bathroom stall as I listened to my mom dying. The Doctor tried to find me. His skin was purple.

I think I remember my sister's wedding. And Alissa. I think I remember her straight bangs and how pretty she looked in the dress that matched mine. I think I remember the way she said  "Jared", and I think I remember laughing.

I think I remember my first kiss, on the kindergarten playground. His name was Andrew, but I don't remember his last name.

I always think I remember how Grandpa smelt, but then I smell it and I know I remember.

I think I remember Bear Lake, and Sawyer telling me that a boy can love another boy. I think I remember asking my mom because I didn't believe her, and I do remember my mom saying that she was right. She said that a boy can marry a boy and a girl can marry a girl, but they just can't have babies together. I didn't understand why would want to marry someone unless you could have a baby.

I also think I remember showing my Aunt Barbara how well I could sing Dancing Queen. She was holding a baby and smiling.

I think I remember him in high school. I want to remember him in high school, cause now he's a dad and I don't see him like I used to.

I think I remember putting my Barbie doll and my Ken doll on one bed, and Barbie was on top of Ken and I think I remember them being naked. I remember hoping my dad wouldn't see.

I remember when I found out guys don't have boobs, and I was very confused. Christine laughed at me, and I think I remember her unlimited amount of bubble gum tape. I was so jealous cause my mom never bought me bubble gum.

I think I remember the funeral. And what I wore. I think it was my red skirt and my brown cardigan with the fur. Mom told me it was pretty, and I thought I looked like I was 20. I loved that outfit so much, I tried to wear it bowling with my friends. I was so mad when Mom told me it's not what you wear bowling.

I think I remember how much I loved her at first. How happy I was that he was dating her, and the macaroni and cheese we ate. I think I remember not feeling what I wanted to feel when I found out she was pregnant. I should have been upset, traumatized even. I was really excited. I remember when she told me they were getting married. I think I remember Harry Potter, and the selfies, and maybe even Olive Garden. Unfortunately I do remember dress shopping. I remember it too well. That was my first sign.

I remember the relief I had when I found out about the divorce. I didn't know what would come of it, where we'd be now.

I think I remember telling you about how I feel. I think I remember you hugging me and remaining calm. Thank you for being calm. I think I remember hating myself even more after the fact. Truth is, I still hate myself. And, I do remember you saying you'd call the doctor. I remember that really well.

I remember cheating on my first grade spelling test. I wrote the words on a sticky note and kept it inside my box, then looked when I couldn't remember how to spell the word. I really didn't even realize it was cheating. I thought I was clever.

I think I remember my dad crying. But I still can't picture it. That's okay with me.

almost a love letter

if i died tonight...

would you take a carnation

from my flowers

to give to her?

if i died tonight...

would you even remember

that we had plans 
for saturday?

i'm still confused why 

i'm so mad at you.

if you died tonight...

i still couldn't 

talk to your mom.

if you die tonight

please don't

watch over me

from heaven.

i'd be so embarrassed.

if we both die tonight...

can we still

hang out 
saturday?

Delicate Dancer

I'm imagining you...
and you're happy.
I'm imagining you happy in your living room,
but your parents aren't home,
cause it's just us.
And I won't lie and say I'm not wearing makeup,
but my eyelashes are long and the mascara is minimal.
You haven't shaved in a while,
and we're just sitting on that old couch of yours.
Where did you get that couch?
Will you let me know?
Have your parents had it since they got married?
Hey, if it's not broke, don't fix it.
There's the papers stacked by your computer,
I bet your dad was doing something important.
We're just talking,
but you're happy.
You laugh when I tease you,
because you're happy.

You got mad at me like a week ago.
How many times a day do you get mad at me?
Is it cause I teased you?
If you were really happy,
you could endure the teasing.
You wanna know how I know?
Because you endured it before.
I want you to be happy again.

Sometimes, you think you're better than people.
You'd never admit it,
but I know it.
A lot of the times, you think you're better than me.
Hey, it's probably true.
But...I think I'm better than you sometimes, too.
Like, I can sympathize better.
You can't help people like that.
Imagine if we were on the same level.
We could spend the rest of our lives helping people,
cause we'd be happy.
I would be your delicate dancer as you softly played your uke...
cause you actually know how to play the uke.
I'd hum,
and we'd pretend it sounded better than it actually did.
Give it a chance?

I'm imagining you...
and you're happy.
It's imaginary,
cause you haven't been like that for a while.
They don't make you happy.
Hell, I can't even make you happy.
But...I could be happy with you.

I think we'd wear sweaters.

I kinda love you.
And I really mean it.

hey, you too.

Hey, I'm done with this shit.

And so are you.

So let's just go somewhere,
and do something.

I dunno, something different.

Something that'll make me stop thinking

and stop caring

and stop worrying.

Maybe we should just stop.

Like...that.

Can we do that? For each other?

Screw you, I'mma do it by myself.

Cause I guess that's the only person you can really depend on.

Meine Familia.

I'mma take a second to tell y'all about my family, because life has been the same and the poems are tired of being written.

(I realize that this could possibly lead people to find out who is really behind Miss Penelope Jude...but I honestly don't care anymore. Let them eat cake, ya know?)

So, I have a sister. Two, actually. The first is...well, let's call her Anne. Anne is married and has three kids and loves them dearly, and allows herself to be burnt out just to make sure her dad is okay. She has no filter, yet is one of the most sensitive people I've ever met. She doesn't realize the consequences of her actions, and doesn't think before she acts, and won't remember how she affected you. She was the babysitter of the family, and once you made her cry you could get whatever you wanted.

The other one? Extremely sensitive, as well. And I suppose you could call her Lucy. Lucy isn't thinking her life through, she just rides on what makes her happy. Her soon-to-be-fiance got home from his mission three weeks ago. She told me the other day she wants a honeymoon baby and I just laughed.

Then comes the brothers. The first, Jake, isn't around much and he will never realize how much I miss him. He's been married twice, and divorced twice, but his daughter is the light of everyone's lives. Then there's Josh. Josh was one of "those" kids in high school. You know, the one's you STILL hear about. His name is literally hanging up on a plaque in the hallway. Everyone loved Josh. People tell me they knew him well, but when I ask him about them, he doesn't know who they are. Josh just got married (and by "just", I mean two years ago, but it's really hard for me to let go) and is expecting a baby girl this month. Josh's in-laws are everything he's wanted a family to be. I guess our family is a close second. And I just put close in there to make myself feel better.

And of course the parentals. My mother is near perfect. And my dad lives to protect her. It's hard to believe these two amazing people gave birth to us. And that they still love us (I think)

Then there's me. Penelope; the youngest, the annoying, the outspoken, the brat, the spoiled, the realist. And everyone knows it.

You don't even want to know how the holidays go at my house. Anne cries, her husband blames. We all rejoice when Jake actually shows up, and aren't surprised when he leaves. Lucy jokes, but don't cross her path. Her sour attitude spreads faster than swine flu. Josh laughs too loud and talks too much, while his wife just sits and observes. My mom serves, my dad listens, 

and I'm the causer of it all. 

My mom doesn't deserve grief like this. I wonder if I just left if it would all get better. I think Anne would cry a little less, and Jake would be the same. Josh wouldn't have to answer annoying questions anymore, and no one would piss off Lucy. And I think my dad would still just sit and listen.

How did we get so many personalities in one family. 

alskdfjiewsjdlfsakdfjwireujasdf.

What even are my blog posts lately?

LOL, what even am I lately?

Believe it or not, I'm still so excited for Christmas. Even with the chaos that is my family, and Thanksgiving didn't really turn out right.

Okay, maybe I'll write a poem now or something.

Grandma's Chair

There's this chair that's been in my garage for the past six months. Apparently it was my grandmother's.

Not even my cat sits on it. And I think there's bird poop on the seat. And I can picture it on my grandma's lawn.

Rant

This here is a shout out to Sasha Fierce...you inspire on the daily. I totally stole your ranting idea for the blog post.


My mom keeps telling me to do my seminary makeup, but, sorry mom, I don't understand why I have to graduate seminary. I'm not going on a mission, and I'm DEFINITELY not going to BYU, so there's really no point. If you're secretly wondering why BYU is not in the option, I have one word: leggings. I would not be allowed to wear leggings as pants, and that'd be really hard for me. Yeah, throw tomatoes at me and call me slut because of my fashion tendencies, but if wearing leggings as pants is wrong, I don't want to be right. And it's not even like I have good legs or anything. My butt is too big and my thighs are too wide. In fact, I usually rip my leggings at the thigh seam because my thighs are equivalent to that of an elephant's. Yesterday someone told me I have small calves, then said "It's a compliment! Mine are huge!" Last time I checked, you wanted big calves because that meant you're muscular, so yeah, thanks for giving me another thing to be insecure about. I've never even thought about my calves before. But now I have small calves, a big butt, wide thighs, a dimple in my chin, too many zits, short hair, split ends, small eyes, stubby eyelashes, ugly feet, awkward toes, and interesting clothes. I hate when girls compliment me, just to put themselves down. Like, literally, shut up. That defeats the purpose of the entire compliment. Today, I went to a farewell, and a girl who so extremely gorgeous looked at me and said, "You actually get ready on Sundays? Sundays are my days to not get ready!" Yet, she was wearing makeup. She claimed it was "left-overs." Please honey, the only left-overs I know of is left-overs from Sunday dinner, and those are usually gone by Monday afternoon. Also, why is it bad that I got ready? It was a farewell, there were probably going to be pictures taken! Another girl at the farewell told me, "Wow. Look at you. This year is your prime." Uhh...thanks? This girl also constantly compliments me saying that this year I look good and this year I'm beautiful. PLEASE GIRL YOU HAVE KNOWN ME SINCE FIFTH GRADE. How come I wasn't pretty last year, or in seventh grade? WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME. Because, believe me baby, I already know. You know, I was once told that I cannot be defined by my pant size...but what about my dress size?

I just want to erase this entire post,
Penelope Jude.

How To: Write A "Break-Up Even Though We Were Never Together and I'm Still Not Over You" Poem

First: Identify the person that you are breaking up with, even though they probably never even liked you back and you kinda just really liked them.
Example: Tony Smith. (I'm really sorry if you're name is actually Tony Smith, or if you like someone named Tony Smith. You should probably stop reading now, because the rest of this post will just be awkward.)

Second: Dramatically question everything. Ever.
Example: Did you ever even like me? When you said "Hi" to me, did you actually mean it? Do you remember when you said you liked my laugh?

Third: Bluntly put it all down on paper. Name and all.
Example: Tony, once I liked you and I know that you didn't even like me but I'm a dramatic teenage girl so hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. lol.

Fourth: I dunno, get over it now, or something. It worked for me.

My Break-Up Even Though We Were Never Together and I'm Still Not Over You Poem:

Is it bad I got jealous?

(yes.)

Is it bad I don't like her?

(yes.)

Is it bad I knew we never had a chance...but I pretend we did?

Is it bad that I think of laying  my head on your chest?

Is it bad I still practice my signature with your last name?

I'm done with this whole "vague poetry" thing.

Tony Smith, I wish I wasn't so awkward around you!

Tony, I'm so sick of remembering "ninth grade"

...can we just enjoy senior year?

Tony...will you understand me for a second?

'Cause all I want to do is understand you.

Let's all take a moment to applaud me, because I saw him and his girlfriend holding hands last night, and was able to be genuinely happy for them. Also, I really like his girlfriend. And I had a conversation with him where I wasn't completely awkward and he actually laughed at my jokes, and it was great cause we're friends. Yesssssss.

Differnt-ish kinda.

Here's my ode to Prompt 11, which I never did cause I was mostly laying in bed.

And I probably won't do Prompt 12, cause I don't have a newspaper, or a sharpie.
I guess I'm kinda sorry about it.

I haven't posted.

You know those days you're so full of emotion, you can't actually show emotion?

Sometimes, for me, those days are weeks.

Or even months.

It's just one of those months.

I'm afraid it'll turn into one of those years.

Then, I'll just be "another one of those lives..."

"A waste of a human mind..."

Do you think I'll be one of those people who end up in a terrible marriage?

The kind where their kids write inspirational speeches about?

"My mom never said much,
and my dad wasn't home.
They argued a lot,
and in the end Dad won,
'cause Mom just wouldn't say anything."

Then it'd go on to say how they rose above it and how you have to push through trials and blah blah blah...

Do you think I'll even have kids?

What do you do when they ask you about sex?

Or for advice?

How often do you wash their sheets, and their hair, and their nails...?

I couldn't have boys.

I wouldn't let them play video games, cause I just don't like that.

Then they'd go over to their friend's houses and play Halo
and eat Totino's Pizza Rolls.

When they came home Mama would be eating a Caesar salad.

But, I couldn't have girls either.

Like, when do you get them their first bra?

Maybe I should just be one of those ladies who never marries.

I'll go for the "hard to get
mysterious and sexy" approach.

But, I'm not really any of those...

They need to make a new approach for me.

Don't Be Mad

I was just waiting for you to get home.

I needed you home.

I'm Thinking About All of You

(So, I wasn't going to write one of these because I "can't rhyme" it would have "sounded stupid" and I was "afraid of who I'm thinking about", but all yours are so freakin' good I really couldn't help it. Y'all inspire.)

I'm thinking about you
like Cruella thinks about fur,
     like frankincense thinks about myrrh,
          and like you think about her...

But I'm thinking about her like

Harry thinks about Draco.

like cats think about the lake-o

Because honestly, 

she's one big fake-o.

lol.

Sometimes I think about you
and I think of what we could have had
what we still can have.
     I think about you like cows think about grass,
          and I'm sure an ass thinks about grass
          and like Rhonda Bromley still thinks we're world class
          and like Twitter thinks about sass
          and maybe Catholics think about mass,
          but I don't actually know cause I'm Mormon and I don't think about my church, so...

awkward.

I think about you like some people are still wondering what meaning of ass I meant.

I really do think about you,

but not all the time,

cause boys like you are a dozen a dime.

And I know that's not how the saying goes,

but that's how you make me feel.

Different.

I wish I didn't think about you all the time.

I think about lying to myself about you too much.

Because I'm honestly still thinking about

     your touch

          your clutch

               and when we played double dutch...

               do your remember that?

               we were in seventh grade.

               your dad watched us.

                    i was bad.

I'm thinking about you like I think of my niece.

And I finally thought I found some peace,

but then I sat in class and my thoughts didn't seem to cease...

     is that what happens when you're worried?

I'm thinking about you...

like I think about you.

All the time.

Never.

In my head.

Out loud.

Through my words.

With my art.

But always,

always in my heart.

Minds. Brains. Eggheads.

I've thought all week about this topic. Mind. I've thought about it all week. It's been on my mind. *ba da chhhh* 

Today the rest of the week caught up with me. Everything hit me, and my emotions ranged from sympathetic to frustrated, angry to ecstatic. And as I tried to put it all on paper, have it flow through my fingers to the keys, this was all I could think of.

My blog consists of the feelings I don't show, the ones that I write. I promise I'm a somewhat happy person.

-Penelope Jude

Rhyming Poems

I miss you.
'Cause without you
my sky's less blue,
ain't nothing true,
and frankly,
I don't know what to do.
You told me that there's some good in rhyming poems,
that night we sat outside my home,
and I just rolled my eyes
and looked toward the sky...
and thought it can't be true.
Because nothing rhymes with orange
(except for door hinge)
and if I'm feeling orange
I have to find a way to say door hinge
even if I'm looking through a window.

I know this poem sucks
(something something bucks)
I really just want to say I miss you,
and that you impacted my life, too.
I thought I was your mentor
and I'm now realizing you're the real Dumbledore,
because even he had to make mistakes.
I never realized what we had
until everything went bad
and all I heard was your voicemail,
but I left a message anyway.

I thought I'd try a rhyming poem,
like I promised I would outside my home,
but I told you it would sound stupid,
do you believe me now?

Why am I still writing
when we're not even fighting?
You're never going to read this,
but I hope you know it's you I miss.

My Thoughts Right Now: A List

My 3 best friends...

• You're not a bad friend
• Thanks for being there
• I'm sorry I disappointed you
• I won't bother you again
• Don't tell me I didn't dissapoint you
• How could you do that to me?
• Why aren't you more sad?
• I want to comfort you
• Don't let me comfort you
• Don't let me get close to you
• Just push me away
• If you like me how come you never like liked me?
• I'm sorry your girlfriend got in trouble
• I don't like her
• Sorry, I mean she's really nice and cute and favorites my tweets: I love her!
• Who is still reading this?
• Literally no one
• I'm so glad you're my best friend
• I'm so glad we get each other
• I'm sorry I can't understand what you're going through
• You're doing the best you can, you're remarkable
• I hope you know what color you are
• I hope you know I appreciate you
• It's funny how I didn't even realize how hypocritical I was being
• I'm the worst
• I hope you find a job you like
• I hope you find a girl that respects you
• Take me out for ice cream
• Stroke my hair
• Tell me I'm pretty
• Why haven't you told me I'm pretty?

I guess I should say I'm sorry if you read all that.

The Second Star to the Right...

Don't you wish you could just go to Neverland?

They say all it takes is faith, trust, and a little pixie dust. Well, I have faith, and certainly there's some trust, but what happened to my pixie dust?

How come you never came for Peter?

I would have stayed in Neverland with you. I would have stayed there forever, and mothered the Lost Boys, and you'd fight Captain Hook, and I would never make you grow up. We'd live in a world of our own, cause we make the rules. Who knows, maybe I would have gotten along with Tink! I don't think I'd be jealous of you and Tiger Lily. Actually, I would, but I'd hide it, because you would want me to. I'd probably have a beautiful voice and I'd sing about being a mother as our Boys fell asleep. Even if my voice wasn't beautiful, you wouldn't know anything better. I would be the best.

Do you understand that Peter? Do you understand what we could have had? But, you never came for me. Why didn't you come? It's too late, now. It's too late because I'm too old, and I know what a hickey feels like, and sometimes I swear, and I can never be okay with mothering Lost Boys because I want to live, I want to try, and I want to scream, cry, sing, yell, smile, and I want to know why. 

I get it, I GET IT. I can't come back. I can't take back time and I can't redo junior high and I read the American Girl Doll catalog and I can't believe in Santa and I can't play dress up...I get it. 

I just don't like it.

Go ahead, hate on me for writing a cliche post. Hate the fact that like every other senior, applying for college scares me. Get annoyed that I stuck in some GIFs. Roll your eyes and think "Not another sad, depressed, angsty post." Feel free to talk to me about it, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. But for now, I'm trying to go to the second star to the right...and straight on until morning.

I Guess You're The Moon

I had a whole post written about you. About things I didn't understand about you, about things I couldn't handle about you...but I deleted it. Because I remembered how much I love you.

I love that you steal everything I let you borrow. I know it's cause you're too lazy to give it back, but something about my crap at your house comforts me. It's like I always have a home there.

I love that your mom has strong opinions about me but loves me anyway. (I think she loves me anyway.) It's almost like I'm her daughter. And though you say I'm Kimmy Gibler, c'mon. What would the Full House be without Kimmy? Exactly.

I love that you've adapted my laugh. I love that you don't like brownies, and I don't like Cup of Noodles, but we both like that one restaurant on State and we constantly talk about our lives there like it's the Central Perk. I love how after about two weeks of knowing me you called me Phoebe, and we still don't know if you're Rachel or Monica, but that didn't stop us from staying up until two watching Friends.

I love that she wants what we have, but what we have is ours. I love that this sounds like a post to my boyfriend, but the closest thing I ever had to a boyfriend was seventh grade, and thank heavens that's over. I love that we were almost forced to be best friends, but that doesn't mean I would change anything that's ever happened to us.

I guess all of this makes you the moon because I will never understand you, but I sure do love ya. They say when there's a full moon that people act more emotional and strange, which is unfortunate, because they're my favorite. You're my full moon. You drive me crazy, but every memory we have is so dang beautiful, it's worth every breakdown, every frustration, every deep black pit that we thought I'd never get out of.

Thanks for being my moon.

The Day the Music Died

My brother used to take his guitar

on Saturday mornings and play.

He had long hair 

and acne

and he sang along to songs

I'd never heard.

Bye, bye Miss American Pie

drove my Chevy to the levee

but the levee was dry...

My mom would chime in

and my dad would smile

Sister would listen and laugh

and I never danced on the outside

because on the inside

I flew.

His hair is now cut,

the acne gone

and I think he's put on a few pounds.

He hasn't played his guitar in 18 months,

and now I know every word to American Pie

along with everyone

who grew up in the seventies. 

Sister is waiting,

and my dad is bald.

My mom listens to 

Sirius XM Prime Country.

And I know it's a cliche,

but every time I hear that song

I fly

but more importantly

I dance.

Because I wish I would have danced,

danced to show my appreciation,

danced to show my feelings,

danced to show my love,

because maybe

just maybe

that would make things different now.

I saw Satan laughing with delight

the day the music died.

Third Post

It was just today that I realized how important it is to listen to your bones.

It's more important than listening to your heart, or your head,
because in the end, those stop,
stop beating,
stop thinking,
but your bones will always be here.

Do you want to know what my bones are telling me?
My bones are telling me that it's okay to be happy.
My bones are telling me that I am sad,
and yes, they know I am sad,
but it's okay to be happy.

Today I didn't want to get out of bed because my head hurt,
my heart hurt,
and I hurt.
But my bones forced me up,
and while my mouth didn't smile,
my bones guided me through grass,
pushing me along,
thank heavens they never let me stop.

I got in trouble today.
Not real trouble, just the scolding kind.
My head hung itself and my heart wept,
but my bones carried me through.

I used to think going through the motions was a bad thing,
that you need to put your heart and soul into everything.
But sometimes your heart and soul get in the way,
and your bones know what to do.

My head is telling me this is stupid.
My head is saying that the 'No comments' means no one likes my work,
no one cares about my feelings,
no one likes me.
My heart is relishing in the drama my head creates.
My bones remind me that I don't write for you,
in the end it's all for me.
My bones said that if someone needs to hear what I have to say,
they will find it,
 but for now it's me that has to hear what I have to say.
My bones are guiding me through.

I thank the Lord for my bones.

Dreams be dreams

It sucks to think of what might happen if your dreams don't come true...

...but what happens if they do come true?

You probably all think I'm some depressed freak,
Penelope Jude

Quiet

Partly inspired by this song (except, let's be honest, my love life is about as nonexistent as Nelson's love for spiders, so just close your eyes and take it out of context) and this post (Thanks for the inspiring writing, Devastated Daisy)

I guess it's possible that you're scared, but please understand how I feel. My mind is a wildfire, spreading down my body, burning everything it touches. And what's worse is that I've begun to crave the burn. The sensation feels good on my bones and I refuse to stop it, even though the damage is probably worse than I can imagine.

I guess it's possible that you're scared, but please know I need you. That's why I reached out. I reached out so blatant I thought there was no going around it. After hints and hints, year after year, day after day, I finally burst. I couldn't remain quiet, it was getting far too serious. I recognized all the warning signs...didn't you?

Why didn't you?

Did you stop caring? If I would have known those promises were empty, I would have walked away. I would have walked, and the fire would have burned, and I would have liked it. But you held me so hard, so close, there was no way. For that moment in my life, I was comforted. Everything was going to be okay, I truly believed that...I don't know why.

I suppose I've glorified you in my head. I can't tell you the number of times I've cursed your name, then hated  myself for it. They say everything happens for a reason, and I always thought we were put together because you were supposed to be my gift, but now I'm just confused.

As if I wasn't confused before.

I guess it's possible that you're scared, but I'm scared enough for the both of us. I really don't know how much more time before there is until the fire takes me completely.

The Death of a Passion

"My life's become as vapid as a night out in Los Angeles, and I just want to stay in bed."

Why Am I The One - Fun.

They say death is the worst pain felt in this life. It's ironic because once you're dead, you're not living. I don't think that's what they were alluding to, however. I believe they were talking about the death of a passion. Before you know it, it's just gone. Flown away. And you are standing there thinking, 'What just happened?' and you have to live with it. You have to deal with it. And that, my friends, might be the worst pain I have ever felt.

I have been trying to resurrect it. Make amends and start again. But the death keeps replaying in my mind, everything reminds me about it. Words comfort, but don't heal, and I feel broken. My legs have learned to control my body, not my head. My head is jumping, trying to fix everything while avoiding it, and the numbness that results is the most infuriating thing of my life. I have always cured numbness with passion. But my passion is gone, and I think it left for good.

Counterfeit passion keeps coming to me. And I know I should shove it away, but I keep buying, and grabbing, and not letting go, because sometimes it's easier to hold on to a lie than accept the truth.

High School

Sophomore: Happy. Ready. Friendly. Worried. Wannabe. Trying. Loving. Needing. Learning. Bangs. Cliche. Wanting. Working. Dreaming. Planning. Anticipating. Excited. Change. Hard. Friendless. Smiling. Not Fitting. Waiting. Weak. Clueless. Clingy. Annoying. Small laughs. Sold. Sinking. Unrealizing. Goody Two Shoes. Attention. Exploring. Pretending. Supportive. There. Always There. Vulnerable. 

Junior: Cold. Mad. Hard. Sassy. Rude. Shading. Loyal. Disciplined. Protected. Realizing. Reality. Raised Eyebrows. Rolled Eyes. Sighs. Huffs. Puffs. Distanced. Wishing. Motions. Sinking Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. Angst. Still Working. Proving. Stressing. Sleepless. Fitting. Pushing. Thunder Laughs. Sad. Moody. Stiff. Rising. Why? Rising. Breaking. Broken.

Senior: Confused.

'afeared' is a cooler word than 'afraid'

I'm afraid of your voicemail, because that means you didn't answer, or can't answer, but I'll assume you didn't answer. I'm afraid of the day that you'll leave and I'll be okay with it. But that's an irrational fear because I'll never be okay with it.

I'm afraid of being dramatic. I'm afraid of it translating to my writing. I'm afraid of writing. No, I'm afraid of what will come out.

I'm afraid of my neighbors because I walk around my house in a bra and don't close the windows. When I introduced myself to her, she just said, "Oh, I know. I've seen you before." More like "My ten year old son saw you dancing in your kitchen. Put some clothes on, skank." Tell him to keep his eyes out of my window, bitch.

I'm afraid of calling someone a bitch cause it's really mean and unnecessary and I don't want my mom to find out.

I'm afraid of failing. I'm afraid of success. I'm afraid of confidence. I'm afraid of coming off as timid. I'm afraid of birds. I'm afraid of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. I'm afraid of using the word afraid too much. I should say scared. Or frightened. Afeared is pretty cool, too.

When you get so afraid, I guess it's hard to live. I think I'm at that point. But, I'm afraid to live, so I guess it's okay. Actually, I'm afraid of wanting to live, and then not living.

I'm just afraid of being afraid.

Bricks

It wasn't until I walked upstairs that I saw the rain. It was painted against the sliding glass door and all the windows. I was then forced to be thankful for the bricks. The bricks of my house kept me warm and dry. Even though I long to be soaked with the rain, the bricks smile and say "No dear, you know what is better for you. You'll get sick running out there, and you've never been one to eat your fruits and vegetables."

I hate the bricks.

They stand there all high and mighty, acting like they know what's best. They forget what they've done: shattered windows, crushed bones, and built barriers. Who are they to tell me what to do when they have been so destructive? Are they trying to destroy me?

I whip the door open. "You can't hold me!" I scream as the rain is thrown down on my body, my hair is soaked and my mascara running. I dance, I sing, I laugh, I play, I do everything worthy of a white girl quote on Pinterest. I return inside with my shoulders broad and my head held high, just to show the bricks that I am okay. They just smile at me, but I know that I have won.

I wake up the next morning with a clogged nose and scratchy throat. I cannot go to school, and therefore have to be with the bricks all day. I scowl at them, because they're still smiling at me. My irritation reaches a new high, and I burst. "You're not perfect either! You can destroy and hurt and break, don't act like you're all good!" The brick's smile quivers, but quickly returns. "You're right. I have used myself for some pretty terrible things, and I can never take any of those back. But I have learned. I will never force you to listen to me, but I will always be here to be heard." I stop. I stare. I cry.

I sit sipping my tea, inside the bricks, watching the rain. "Man, I love the rain," I whisper. And (would you believe it?) the bricks smiled. "I know," they whisper back. I stay inside, and together, we smile.


Yours Truly,
Penelope Jude

Untitled

And to you,
I'm especially sorry.
I'm sorry I doubted you,
Because I know all you wanted was love,
And I don't know how to give that.
They say it's cause I don't know how to accept it,
And I say they're right.
They're so freakin' right.



Yours Truly,
Penelope Jude

You influenced my life, and I wish I could let you know. I wish I could actually write you a good poem. This is all I have.

I said a joke.
I said a joke,
And I acted like I knew you,
And I have never been more ashamed.

Do you hate me?
Do you hate that I cried?
Do you hate that I comforted him?
Her?
Them?
Do you watch me and scowl at my shell of a human?
If you were me,
I'd be iconic.
Finally, I'd life to my potential
and soar through the crowds,
Their eyes admiring me,
as my chest heaved and my hair flowed.
But that is not how it is.
For I am me,
And you are you,
I am here,
And you are there,
And I want to be there!
But I am here.
Your legend will live on forever,
Here.
And I wish you were here.



Yours Truly,
Penelope Jude

And I Will

I once knew a girl
who, when asked to recite a poem,
would talk

like this.
Waiting
for your reaction
because

SHE KNEW

she would get it.
Then I stood up there,
speaking with so much feeling,
I thought my heart would burst.
And it did.
Through my eyes and down my cheeks,
I could hardly see.
But she's in New York,
And I'm here,
hands wrinkly from washing the dishes,
because I never was the girl

who could.
But I will.


Yours Truly,
Penelope Jude