You have no power over me. You no longer hold any control. You have left the depths of my skin, I have torn you out from under me, plucking your nerves one by one. Making you angrier and angrieri everytime I bring the tweezers out. It's fun pushing your limits.

I have you now, under my grasp, finally in control. But I don't need the control anymore. I don't feel the need to have to have everything a certain way. I have evolved. I no longer take command from you. From anyone. I have finally been set free. I am a child again. I am free. I have found love. It's beaufiful. I have found health. It's just as breathtaking.

i swear to you
every time i swallow something i know i shouldn't
every time i ingest a morsel of food with no nutrition
with more fat than that of a whale
with more sugar and salt than those chubby babies with poor mothers down the street
i can feel my thighs stretch
my stomach bloat
my butt grow
my chin lengthen
it's a horrid feeling

it's night like these when i don't ever want to go to sleep
i'll wake up in the morning
tired
stupid
wishing i would have gone to sleep earlier
wishing that i didn't eat before i go to bed
i hate that feeling
but it will happen
i'll go into the kitchen
eat
go to sleep
sleep for a few hours
wake up
hate myself
repeat
repeat
repeat

yes, you are so cool because you can show the world of the internet what a sarcastic smart ass you are. now everyone knows how cool you must be. hope your proud.

Weather was always a thing of my interest. This is why I sit outside in the winter. The leaves are gone. The clouds are here. The ground is white and cold. I don't think I'm welcome here. The wind keeps picking at my cheeks, begging me to go. Wind wants me inside, warm, but I refuse. I want to stay out here and rebel against the wind.

"Charlotte, you are going to get cold out there." My mom opens the door, her pleading eyes calling for me to come inside. She agrees with the wind.

I turn to look at here a bit closer. "No." I say. "I'm fine."

She smiles a sad smile, knowing she can't argue with me. I won't listen. Like a rebellious thirteen year old, learning the power of being a teenager, always going out of their way to be difficult. Only I'm not thirteen and it's not in my nature anymore.

I lean back into the cold invisible grass on the front lawn, snuggle into my big coat and soft gloves that feel like a comfort zone. It's silent outside. The only noise I hear is my mind thinking of piano music.

Suddenly the piano music stops. I close my eyes and bask in the silence, only for it to be interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the snow coming towards me. I open my eyes and sit up.

"Excuse me," the man says. The warmest thing he wears is a sweater, but he doesn't shiver. He stands there as if we are in room temperature weather. But we're not, and I know it. The wind keeps reminding me.

I don't answer him, just stare, so he continues. "Do you happen to know where the nearest phone is?"

I stare, his crows feet jumping out of his face. The man chuckles. I suddenly realize I'm not talking.

"Um, yes." I answer with a hint of hesitance in my voice. "Aren't you cold?"

"I asked you a question first," He says lightly. "Now," he begins. "Do you know where the nearest phone is?"

I remembered what I know about strangers. I know I am not supposed to talk to them, or be near them. However, I've broke those rules. This man is standing not three feet away from me. I've spoken to him, even if I was hesitant. I know I am not supposed to go anywhere with them or tell them anything about me. So I just stare again, afraid to break anymore rules.

"Is this your house?" He gestures to the house. It is my house. Should I lie?

Again, I stare.

"Look, kid, I'm not a bad guy. You can talk to me, it's okay." He winks, his crow feet pecking at the inside of my brain. I examine what I know about him.

He isn't cold. That's all I know. It's snowing outside, and all that is keeping this man warm are normal clothes.

Slowly, I stand up and reach out my hand. "Follow me," I say.


As we enter the woods, I can read his mind. His eyes tell me everything. Even though I don't know where I am taking him, I know where he wants to take me. To the very same place, but with no pass to return.

This goes against everything I've ever been told. His fingers are lightly in mine as I lead him. I've touched a stranger, I'm alone with a stranger. I quickly look back at him and examine his body. He isn't more than six feet tall, and he isn't of muscular build. He has a few muscles, sure, that I can see through his black sweater, and his eyes are colder than the air outside and the wind begging me to go back, picking at my cheeks with every gust it brings. I look down at myself, at my tiny feet, my powerful feet. They can run. My legs could kick, I guess, if I needed them too. I'm pretty average build as well. Short, but not out of shape. My dark hair shimmered a bit when the sun peeked through the clouds and the trees. As we began going further into the woods, I heard him chuckle and snicker quietly.

We reached an open area. Trees were still everywhere, but there was a small area of just white.

"There's a phone here," I stammered and let go of his hand, turning around to face him.

"Hm." He said peering into my eyes. Suddenly, his eyes got smaller, and colder, if that was possible. Now they were darker.

I felt a lump in my throat. Slowly, I backed up, realizing that I couldn't go back now.

"You know," He said as he inched closer. "I don't think there is a phone out here. In fact, is there anyone out here at all?"

I tried to sound brave. "No." I tried to sound certain. "Just us." I tried to make my eyes as cold and dark as his. I tried, but I couldn't.

"Why did you bring me here?" Again, he inched closer. I backed up, but decided to be brave. I inched closer.

"Your hand," I said. "Because of what's on it."

He looked down at his hand, at the hand I hadn't touched. On his ring finger there was dirt. There were speckles of blood he hadn't washed off.

"Because of dirt?"

"Because you forgot to wash it off. Because you did something bad."

He smirked. "How could you tell?"

I swallowed. "When you walked up to me, I noticed the blood on your hand. You couldn't wash it off all the way, huh?"

"No, I couldn't." He said with no fear in his voice. "You know how it got there?"

My mind raced. "Yes." I stated, as sure as anything.

"I would take it back if I could. You know, I would. I didn't mean to become like this." He became closer.

"Sure, it brings joy. But after wards, you just want more. Like now, for example." He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small knife.

As he got closer, I tried to remember why I brought this man out here in the first place. I wanted to avenge whoever it was he had hurt. Suddenly, I felt my eyes become cold and dark. He was going to do the same to me, the same thing as whatever he had done before.

"No you won't." I reached into the snow, and picked up a big rock.

"That won't help, you know."

With one huge movement, I lunged the rock at his knees, and he feel to the ground. His voice screamed in pain as he tried to get up, and failed.

I quickly grabbed the knife out of his hand and let it fall to the ground.

"What are you doing?!" He urged.

I picked up the rock again and held it above his head.

"What you do."

And dropped it.

seems like I never sleep in.

honestly, I don't. even if I would like to try. I just don't like wasting the day with sleep. however, I do waste the day with meaningless television shows, youtube videos, and laying in bed blogging or tweeting (as I have done today), so I guess I can't expect anything more or less.

I've recently been thinking about my birthday. Nine days and I'm 18. Should I be excited? I guess I am, but as much as the rest of you? No. Aren't birthdays just a reminder of getting older, and isn't being 18 "unfashionable" and whatnot? Being 18 is just a reminder that I'm going to be out of here soon, so that's all I'm looking foward too. That, and, applying everywhere. I need a job desperately. No way I'm going to get enough scholarships to pay for six years of college. I can try, of course, but I don't think I've been trying my hardest. Why must I be a procastinator? Why must I be stubborn and naive. I should have done this stuff a long time ago.

i'm not done with writing stories, writing them down, or just imagining them in my brain. no, i'm not. but for now, i'll stick with just "short" (use this word in your own definition), blogs about these that may not matter so much to you, but to me, they mean a whole lot more than you know.

it's senior year, last year in high school. i don't feel excited, or anxious. or sad, or rebillious. i don't feel full of school spirit, or full of just wanting to get out and experience all of the perks there are to being a non high school goer. because you know what? i don't feel anything about it. i feel that after i graduate, i will go to college more than a dozen scholarships that i have applied for. i will go to study english, make friends that don't complain about not having as many friends as it seems like everyone else has, and appreciate the ones they have. i'm tired of being expected to act a certain way, and to comfort everyones feelings. i am a human being. i have feelings. i don't expect anyone to comfort me. others should do the same. no one will be there to comfort them in college, in universitys, or whereever they will be.

i know it's only the second day of school, and tomorrow will be the third, but i'm still not feeling what i am expected too, what i am supposed too. i also feel like i am pushing myself too hard, and too little at the same time. i'm taking hard classes, ap english, anatomy, yearbook (which isn't mentally hard, but i hear it is physically, having to stress about deadlines, pages being perfect, you know what i mean, i'm sure). of course i'm taking fun classes too. adv. art, and i do consider ap english fun, just stressful. i t.a. which is boring and interesting at the same time. i take adv. guitar, but i feel like i should do so well in that class, and have it be so easy for me.

sure, i took beginning in ninth grade, but i've been playing guitar since 8th grade. sure, i didn't learn the notes, or how to read music when i took lessons, just the chords and how to use them, and make them sound different and unique. in beginning guitar, we learned how to read notes, how to play by notes, but i forgot everything i've learned in that class, which is no surprise, since i took it three yeras ago. so i'm going to switch out, and find a new elective. one i haven't experienced yet. i wish it were creative writing, but that leaves me with the choice of, adv. art or creative writing, since they are both only offered 2nd period. i think that is what i need. i don't need repeative classes. i don't need the same needy friends that overlook me, and look at friendship in a sideways view, not fully understanding it. i need new experiences. not school spirit, although, that would also be a new experience, but not one that i need right now.