Untitled Bad Writing Episode 2

I spend a lot of time in attendance school. Surprise? Shouldn't be. Anyway, the other day I didn't have any homework to finish, and I had already read about three books that week, so I resulted in what I like to call thought writing. Sure, sure, this is similar to the previous post, but it is even worse writing, and all in one hours time. I don't know why I'm letting you all peer into my head so openly because I'm usually vague here, but why not try something new?

Enjoy. (Laugh and tease. It's an order.)

*I wish I had a new book.
*Connor Olsen is a charmer
*Chandler, keep wearing your glasses
*Pigtails should not exist in high school
*Come flirt with me
*Girl, that is the most fake cough since, we'll, jersey shore or something dumb like that
*I learned how to get a boy to kiss me today (from an actual boy) win-win
*Elijah, you are a dream
*I just flirt texted (is that a real thing?) a boy that's in this room WHAT ARE Y.A. ROMANCE NOVELS TURNING ME INTO?
*MILES, hey, babe, graduation. 'Nuff said
*Jason Willard 'nuff said. (ADDYSON)
*Fine point pens are the only good object in this room (unless you count boys as objects. LOL who's the victim now?!)
*Why am I so crazy today?
*Jack, good sweatshirt
*And . . . the flirt text go shot down, hard
*You are the epitome of male cheerleaders
*If I could marry one boy, no, if I had to marry one boy in this room, no clue, k, maybe Elijah (commas, nah.)
*Effortlessly cute girls suck (probably literally)
*Milo Abbot? Why are you talking to me? This is cool, or weird?
*Only two people sleeping
*JEF HOLM
*^that was weird
*first impressions
*Jacob Norton, you're a babe, and keep wearing that shirt
*What would you do if. . .ADDY SENIOR PROM PLAN

Well, that was ----interesting?

enduringly, m.organ.

Karuna Sahita

As time went by thoughts filled up my brain (and the notepad on my phone), and some of them are here to shared. (Uncut, unexplained, and unfinished.)

We couldn't be more opposite, you and I. Some reason though, we need each other. I'm still figuring out why.

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Your words are like knives that cut my wrist like my fingernails do when I need to be soothed.

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I'm ready to tell you the truth. I kept you around because it was convenient to have someone to say, "nice legs" with no commitment attached to the front of it, and nice to know that behind his tight grasp I had something to make him jealous if I'd ever needed to. I never did though because he was beautiful. I use the term was only because its been too long for me to make that call today. He's still beautiful in my mind, and maybe I'll see him again.

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There's a reason that there's always a J. Willard in my second semester seminary class. 

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I have insecurities that seem to be picking themselves out like an ink stain on a blank sheet of typewriter paper. As I sat tonight, next to beauties of poetry, I noticed that . . .

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I wonder what it will feel like to

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I don't like to put myself in social situations. That's not true. I love social situations, I'm just really, really bad at them. Usually some awkward person that I know I should say hello to but I don't know how, a cute boy that I'd love to small talk with and then that really pretty girl that I wish I were.

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So what if I like the nice boys, and the smart boys, and the boys that aren't perfectly beautiful. One time, I tried that and perfectly beautiful boys usually know how to run. Which is terribly unfortunate to the non runner.

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My thought process goes like this sometimes: was I a bad girlfriend? Do I pray loud enough? Do I talk to much in seminary? Is she actually more beautiful than me, or is it just me being my worst critic?

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I claim to like your best friend, but I flirt with you more, so that may cause a bit of trouble.

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I love love, no?

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Certain people make me feel safe. Connor once told me that I only take risks on occasion. Too bad he was right. Miles makes me feel safe, Logan makes me hesitate, Addy makes me feel at home, Marley makes me feel normal, and that's all safe.

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One time, 3 boys texted me all in one night just to say hello, and it wasn't even for Addy.

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Toby's comment today was too personal. It wasn't just him being the sexist pig that he is, it was a stab right at me.

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I'm holding my breath because every time I don't, I end up initiating something. It's bittersweet. Every boy I've ever kissed was only because I wanted to kiss them first, and do that I did. One day he will kiss me first.

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well, there's my bad writing for the month.

enduringly, mo.r.gan.

A Lap Pool and an Anatomically Correct Heart

It shouldn't sting like this. I shouldn't care what your opinion is, but I do let my bad days effect me.

Honey, I've had a hell of a year, and at this point letting my bad days effect me is the least of my worries. Sure, it's hard to hear, but at least I'm still HERE, and for that I'm proud of myself. I'm proud that I've held on. I almost slipped today. Again.

You've hurt me, you've scarred me, and you've broken me, but I'm not letting it happen anymore. I'm stronger than that. Because, like Shelbie tells me, I see colors differently because I wear them differently.

I think God places people with his own two hands right down in front of me to purposely drive me to the point of insanity, or maybe drive me to Him. I think it's probably both.

You told me once, just once, that I was beautiful, but I know it was just to manipulate me into getting what you want. You've never said it again, and if I ask *awkward pause* you change the subject usually into how cute the other girls are; like my best friend. Thanks, bud.


But, you keep me just a little bit on edge, and just a little bit interesting. Like hiking after dark, maybe? No, that makes me think of someone else. Maybe like drinking iced coffee at midnight, or staying out past curfew. Yeah, like those things, or maybe even worse, but I don't like to think about that. 


Here's the thing bud, you care. I know that you care just enough for it to matter, just enough for it to hurt, or I guess feel. You've taught me more about myself than I knew could be learned, and part of that's a good thing. Thanks, bud. 


I don't know what I want to say at this point because you make my head spin like nobody before. Like the spin cycle on the washing machine kind of. I don't have any good similes/metaphors for you tonight.


But, for now, hold my fingers like you do, and stay in that passenger seat. Keep your palms callused, your eyelashes long and your shoulders square. It'll be okay soon. I'll stop making up nonsense, and you'll start wishing I was closer. 




Here's to You.


Yes, You.


Enduringly,
M.Organ

The Minute My White Shirt Comes Clean It's Dirty Again

I used to blog, because I knew how to arrange my words into sentences, and my sentences into paragraphs, and my paragraphs into posts. They weren't ever well written, really, or even grammatically correct always, but they were at least words. Words with occasional attempts at wit or inspiration. Words that made me feel semi-important, and semi-important is good enough, right? It was good enough for me.

Now, things aren't sitting well with my words, and I can't arrange them into posts. Nothing comes out right, and nothing is really worth actually writing down. But shouldn't anything be worth writing down? It's writing, and well, I'm not sure. My words, actual words worth reading, come and go. They come and go like the rain and the sun, like the leaves in the fall, and like all my stains in those white shirts; they always come back after they are gone.



Hey, come back to me.
Perpetually Yours,
Morgan