The sun hits your eyes through the shades. Feeling the satin sheets beneath your cheeks makes you attatched to it. You melt into your covers. Lift one hand out to check the temperature and realize that it is below freezing. So you build a little tent underneath the covers and choose to hibernate. You are now helpless, relentlessly exausted, shivering and hungry as if that wasn't enough. Close your eyes, you'll rest for a little bit. Four hours later, it is 11:30 and you decide that you're feeling "under the weather". You're just not feeling the weather, which is moderately true. You despise the cold and everything about it, how do you live in New York? You ask yourself everyday. You always assumed you were adopted at birth and raised in some tropical rain forest hidden in Africa where the temperature next hit below 95 degrees. You didn't really care to find out the truth but it was always a hypothetical. Hm. Contemplating what needs to be done and what hasn't been done. You reliquinsh that thought and check your horoscope which you do every morning. "You feel different and spontaneous. Explore the world beyond your backyard. You're feeling great and making new friends seems vital." Eh apart from the corny friendship things, you halfway agree with your horoscope.
You take a trip downstairs and grab some of the new girlscout cookies your mom bought from her job. They were samoas which have to be the best of the bestest girlscout cookies ever invented. After having such a nutricious breakfast you decide that you're still hungry, of course, so you grab your keys and you're off. It's quite nice having no parents to nag and yell at you for missing school considering they're both on lockdown at their jobs and only see your face at night. You don't mind actually. You love it. The mailman outside is distributing newpapers already. The weather seems to be getting worse. Colder and colder, you can see your breathe as you cough. The car is practically frozen so you let it warm up for a couple minutes while blasting music which is nothing out of the regular no matter what time it is. You're neighbors hate you, they must but it doesn't affect you in the least. The birds huddled in the tree above you seem to be shaking. You really hate the cold. Arriving to bagel boss seemed to be the happiest moment of your life! And then you walk in and then you hate your life. The line is out the door. How is that possible? 11:45am at -10 degrees farenheit and there is a line out the door at bagel boss. You want to cry because you've been feening that one egg bagel with vegetable cream cheese since you woke up. You take a green tea from the fridge and bump into some guy....NOT DONE...CONFUSED :(
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
MAP POEM.
Gossip Girls
Tall...taller than the largest pyramid.
Luxury dripping from head to toe. You can taste it.
The chandelier so high dangling from the ceiling not even the tallest man could even reach. The crystals gleam brighter by the second. People almost mistake them for diamonds.
The gold-tinted window frames accompaned by the bronze lavishly painted exterior.
"Constance Billard" in the largest text printed on the front so all could see. So all could dream, and so all could drool...
The smell of city junkfood lingers destroying the air and promoting the city bustle
but walking in..
is like a treat.. walking into heaven
if Heaven was filled with 16 year old girls with blackberrys pasted to their palms and a Louis vuitton purse hanging from each of their arms like a tradition.
Frappacino/cappacino scents from starbucks swirling around the school.
It's warm and toasty and cinnomony.
Yummy and full of confidence.
The porcelain floors so clear, you look down and see double even triple.
examine their faces.... always locked in a conversation on the phone, always with a tear in their eye.
Nothing ever right nothing ever perfect. Welcome to life little miss sunshine.
trapped in a world of porcelain covered floors and gold and swarski covered lockers.
Trapped in a closet full of PRADA and VERA WANG because the key is no where to be found. You shut down, not being able to think. Brainwashed. Transformed. Finished. The lifestyles of the rich and the famous.
Tall...taller than the largest pyramid.
Luxury dripping from head to toe. You can taste it.
The chandelier so high dangling from the ceiling not even the tallest man could even reach. The crystals gleam brighter by the second. People almost mistake them for diamonds.
The gold-tinted window frames accompaned by the bronze lavishly painted exterior.
"Constance Billard" in the largest text printed on the front so all could see. So all could dream, and so all could drool...
The smell of city junkfood lingers destroying the air and promoting the city bustle
but walking in..
is like a treat.. walking into heaven
if Heaven was filled with 16 year old girls with blackberrys pasted to their palms and a Louis vuitton purse hanging from each of their arms like a tradition.
Frappacino/cappacino scents from starbucks swirling around the school.
It's warm and toasty and cinnomony.
Yummy and full of confidence.
The porcelain floors so clear, you look down and see double even triple.
examine their faces.... always locked in a conversation on the phone, always with a tear in their eye.
Nothing ever right nothing ever perfect. Welcome to life little miss sunshine.
trapped in a world of porcelain covered floors and gold and swarski covered lockers.
Trapped in a closet full of PRADA and VERA WANG because the key is no where to be found. You shut down, not being able to think. Brainwashed. Transformed. Finished. The lifestyles of the rich and the famous.
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