Dear Journal,

Let me first say, I'm not a huge fan of Ben, you know, the song by Michael Jackson? Haha. Though, only those smart enough to put two and two together, maybe we can figure out what I really mean. No, I just don't think that is one song that should be highlighted in his list of greatness, but this is not the purpose. I just thought I would point that out. I don't like Ben and nor will I ever be. Maybe it's in the name or the fact it's about a fucking rat. Either or, not a fan of Ben.

Moving on...

The one place where thoughts are allowed to be expressed in ways that only you, yourself, can understand, my journal. Why do people always wish to cut down what they don’t understand? Why do people always wish to capture the attention of their own ignorance within words of unsaid proclamations that are only assumptions?

*sighs*

I’m so confused about people and their distinction of their own words. I’m supposedly a fat sweaty gross man with clean underwear. Not only do I have clean underwear, but I more or less have been questioned about my intellect. This baffles me. I’m having my mother write this up for me, so if it seems a bit too mature for people, sorry, I can’t help that because my IQ is way over that of any average high school student, and I write with some kind of arrogance that makes me come off cocky. Right, so because I don’t do he said, she said, shit, I’m a young moron who has no kind of mind of their own, much like that of the woman I’ve decided that I’m not leaving despite the struggle.

Another new for me, which is funny, because people think they know everything about me, and they know nothing. It’s becoming one of those things I’m learning to smile about because no one knows anything about me anymore. For growth is coming to this extreme amount of understanding. It’s funny to read what people have to say about me. They sit there and they say I’m a coward. Right, the coward who has admitted when they were wrong, when they were the one to blame, is also the one is wrong.

Haha. Let me laugh. Please? I need it.

These are the same people who fall in love with anyone who gives them attention; and is it REALLY me who is pathetic? Really? I’m not the one who is in love with everything that walks my way, every person who comes in contact with me. I mean, come on, let’s count it. How many times have I been in love? How many? Let me lay it out for the world.

Alli…Who doesn’t know about this one? Really…that would be the one person who EVERYONE should know about before anyone else. For obvious reasons, she will always be the top of my love list because everyone knew about her. Point blank.

Shannon…the girl who…I fell in love with. Was it love? I don’t know. I think I just liked who she was, and I’m not sure if I would call it the extreme of feelings, but sure, I can go there with it.

Talon…Why? I couldn’t tell you, just did.

Angela…though people can deny its seriousness, but fuck, I know what I’m feeling. I do. I’m the only one who can mention what it really is. I can only tell people that this is one of the greats.

Isn’t that what it must be considered?
Maybe I should get the scare of pregnancy with a couple of people and then make sure to belittle someone who just might not have the confidence of the average man or woman. Let me make sure to put down the people who just don’t know what to do when things seem to be out of hand, seem to be in the mist of tough situation. Though, I’m going to find it humorous when I’m the one who is happy, laughing and continuing on with my life in the sense that everyone is so deeply saddened in their own lives that it seems to be more of a task to keep up with the happiness than the sad people. Oh well, I’m not going to mention anymore about this.

People…can we honestly be happy when we’re putting people down? Let this be a lesson, to all of the people who are so pathetic as to mention another person’s supposed pathetic behaviors: I’ve been one to admit where I’m not strong. I know things seem to get the best of me, they seem to hold me back from what I want, and they sometimes make me run. I’m the first to admit it, so to be the one who supposedly calls me out on my faults? I do nothing, but laugh at you for being some kind of spineless bitch who chooses their own battles, and might I add, not wisely. But I’ve always been one to know when to man up or man down. In this circumstance, I’m doing both. I’m closing my eyes, and I’m hoping the wrath of what I wish to not explain is written in the stone tablets Moses carried. Perhaps if I’m struck down by the hands of the person who created me, I won’t face much evil in hell when I arrive.

Let the flames of the Devil wash over the skin of a tainted child. Since that is what I’m seen as, let the hands of Lucifer capture me in the realm of what could be seen as good and evil. But now, I must let you all decide…

Am I demonic? Or am I angelic?

The choice is only that of your very own.