I don't ask for much, or maybe I do. Maybe what most people give is superficial and I want something real. We all care about superficial things in one way or another. There's nothing wrong with this, but when your outside becomes the basis for your whole personality it becomes a real problem.

I wouldn't classify myself as picky or high maintenence. Most of the things I will say matters, usually don't. I know that I'm young and nothing is concrete yet. That what I think I want and what I haven't experienced might not add up right. I'm trying to become okay with this.
Sometimes I think I come off so naïve and that people think I'm stupid. I hate this feeling, but I'm realizing that worrying about what other people don't understand about me is futile and counterproductive. Its not my job to explain why hope, love, and believing in the benefit of the doubt works for me. Why that isn't "stupid". Good things happen in the world and good people exist, if you choose to look for them and choose to keep your mind open.

My stupid open heart on my sleeve is probably how I get myself into trouble. How I get caught up in people and let them hurt my feelings. But I refuse to be cynical. I refuse to think I'm always gonna end up heartbroken. Because I know that isn't true.

There is a place for everything. There is a reason and a plan. I'm never going to know that plan. I'm an unsuspecting vessel filled with someone else's map. I can pick and choose which way I'm gonna get there but all roads lead north somewhere.

Sometimes I miss you because its late and quiet.
Sometimes I miss you because I'm blue.
Sometimes its because I feel lonely.
And sometimes its because I'm me and you're you.

I feel heavy like bricks.
Weak like tea
Cloudy. Foggy. Lost in an endless storm.
But strong like a tree.
She raised me strong enough to not need her. I'm weak enough to know I do.
I need her like vanilla ice cream needs chocolate syrup.
The way a car needs oil.
Losing a mother doesn't feel any different at 5 or 15 or 25 or 55. She's still your mama.
Everything makes me think of her.
Everything always will.
I love more than I think I could love anyone else.
The worst part is you only get to learn how to do this once, no practice.
And the best part is you only have do this once.

Date:	2009-09-19 16:41
Subject:	Nothing's Gonna Change My World
Security:	Public
Mood:	scared
Music:	One After 909, the Beatles

you're a tough cookie and I know I can take it because you taught me how.
I love you in ways I cannot explain.
Someone told me that if you're crying it means you're brave,
I never believed that.
But maybe it's true. I'm not afraid to say I'm scared.

I'm just listening to Beatles records and missing you to death.

Date:	2009-05-10 00:02
Subject:	alcohol induced coma
Security:	Public
Mood:	drunk

I'm too serious.
I'm deeper than you. I don't know why this makes me better
But I'm probably not better or worse.
I'm an artist. With words. With comedy, with everything. I always express myself through something, but no one sees me.
I always thought I wanted my super power to be invisibility.
Turns out I have it. No one sees me. They see the shell or they see nothing.
I think I probably hide 3/4 of the time.
I guess that's ok for me. Its how I deal. Sometimes people see glimpses. Sometimes Ashley is out in full force.
But most of the time...
I'm just funny
I'm just boobs
I'm just nothing.
I am a ghost. I am words. I'm only what I want you to see.

Sleepy thoughts are the best.
Half formed, but truer somehow. Not clouded by consciousness. Overthought.
They are the underthoughts.
The maybes
The wish I was's.
Maybe if we all sleptwalked the world would be different.
Eyes closed, knowing through feel. Touch.
Eyes wide shut and ears open.
Hands out.
You feel like the right person.
You smell like them.
You sound like them.
What are our eyes for but to judge?
Our brain to overthink.
What do I need? What do I think? And do those things match.

Put the pieces together, form a picture.
Break them apart all you want, but all the pieces fit.
There's a puzzle piece-shaped hole in my head. Everytime its found its lost again.
I took on 24 full force, I love being 24. I'm not reading for quarter life. 25 is a scary number.
One-fourth.
25%
A Quarter.
25 white hairs growing from my crown. Reminding me I worry too much. Reminding me I'm the oldest 24-year-old I've ever met.
I'm terrified of being 25.

Date:	2008-12-20 15:03
Subject:	it's your club let me in
Security:	Public
Mood:	introspective

I will never meet you.
You wouldn't be the same anyway.
I like the distance. Like time and space.
I'm afraid you won't be the same person on the other side of the screen.
So I like the space between.
You exist in a world I don't.
I have to work on not being disappointed in the people in this one.
Fantasy head's spinning out. But never stopping for reality.
I'm tiring of the chase. It never held as much attraction as it seems.

I feel like banging my head into the ground only it wouldn't release me of anything. It'd probably add to the problems.
I feel like escaping.
I will never make enough to get ahead.
I will never "have it all," but do I even want that?
No closer to completion than ever before.
I can't afford the life I live now and I don't even live that great. Why is this what I deserve?
Why can't I get it through my head that there is no light at the end? There's not even a tunnel.
Darkest before dawn. Grass is greener. I'm a lost cause.

It still burns where you put your cigarette out on my skin.
I don't want to miss you.

Date:	2008-11-11 23:29
Subject:	Hell's Neighbor
Security:	Public
Mood:	melancholy

Nothing I write will ever be read.
This doesn't make me sad,rather it makes me annoyed. There are people out there cheating themselves out of my sense of humor.
I never knew I was so cocky.
We're our own worst critics and biggest fans.
I'm obsessed with myself.
Finding old stories are like hidden artifacts in my heart and head.
I always wanted to be an archeologist.
Classic me. One-liners and family.
I know I could be great.
If only I had directions. I get angry with myself for not being motivated enough, but not angry enough, apparently.
I'm still here writing endlessly about not being what I want to be.

I wish I wasn't as invisible as you make me feel.
I feel like I am unseen and unheard. All alone. All by myself.
There is no one to blame for this. Its no ones fault. I haven't done anything wrong.
Am I alone or just bored?
Did I somehow choose this?
I take it back. Whatever I did, I take it back. I'm begging for it. Come and get me. Desperate isn't attractive I know, but I'm at wits' end.
I don't know how to make someone see that there is a person here. I've got feelings, thoughts, a circulatory system. I'm still breathing.
Its very difficult to want to live when no one knows you're there. But this isn't a suicide note, its not even a plea. Its just the truths spilling out of my head because otherwise they're just my truths wrapped up in me.

“I sing the blues and swallow them too”
I feel like I'm on the bottom looking up.
Its the only place to look when you're down.
I wish things were not what they seem. I wish I could feel anything else but gloom.
It feels bad down to my feet. Even my toes are depressed.
I'm not getting any better.
I'm just becoming a worse person all the time.
Someone pick me up out of this mess.
I wish I could rewire myself. Given the choice I'd rather be simple, than complex and deep and too smart for my own good.
I wish I was unfeeling and unmoving. Unloving, uncaring.
I wish I could undo every mistake I've ever made.
I wish I knew that someday this would be memory and not present and future.

I just want to be better. I want to get better, be BETTER. I really hate crying.

it's not late enough for me to feel sorry for myself.
but dear god do I?
I just don't understand. And it fucking kills me.
I know that I will never understand it.
I'm probably better off.
Actually I know I am.
The thing is this time I'm angry.
I'm too nice even when I'm trying to be a bitch.

All the good hair days don't change it.
The bug-eyed sunnies.
The ruby lipstick.

I'm good intentions wrapped in insecurity.
I'm chewed bubblegum,
Lost my flavor,
Thrown away.
I am forever carefreeful.

"I'm sick of smiling
And so is my jaw
I'm sick of being someone I'm not"

If only.
I wish my heart were smaller.
Take comfort that if it wasn't real, nothing was lost.

Screw my head on tight
Don't let the bed bugs bite.
wears. Tears.
Fears. Tears.
Crawl inside someone else's skin and pretend.
That its all okay.
That I care.
Tear it down.
Start again.
I don't know where facade ends and I begin.

Sad doesn't begin to cover it.
I'm annoyed with everything, starting with me.
Lonely to a fault.
Too scared to reach out.
Afraid to be myself.
Afraid I'm a bigger loser than I think.
I'm bored. I'm so bored.
Words keep flowing in my head like a leaky faucet. Cold. Alone. Regret.
I want it to be over
But I don't know how to make it stop.
I think about ending everything and just hiding.
Its easier in bed.
Fighting the urge to run is hard.
I don't know what I'm running from.
I want to feel numb.
Because I don't care.
When did everything in my life stop mattering?
I'm not a good liar.
I can't fake anything.

I'm obsessed with the noise you make.
I'm in love with the words leaving your lips.
Its funny how you will never meet some people even though they mean so much.
They are just songs in my head holding me close.
I like to be alone, but I hate being by myself.
Sometimes I'm afraid I forgot how to need someone else.
Sometimes the bassline is my only friend.
The longer I stay quiet, the louder my heartbeat gets.
I keep listening on repeat hoping I unlock the kingdom.
I keep hoping that I'm a song away from happiness.
I'm scared of the way strangers know me inside out.
I'm afraid I know what this means.

Tonight the headphones will deliver the words I cannot speak.

I've been here before. Feeling sorry for myself because no one else will.
Its rediculous.
I can feel myself changing.
The way you suffer growing pains as a child.
I didn't know that leaving childhood behind would feel this way.
The same but with more reasons to stay in bed all day.

Its not as if you gain personality as the pounds drop off.
But my pants are falling off.
And the smiles are coming easy.
I like to think of this as my shell.
I like to think I spent 24 years in a cocoon maturing at the rate of a sloth. Just so I could break out.
It turns out that I don't care as much as I thought I did about acceptance and popularity.

I'm tired of wanting everything. I wish I could be less greedy. I wish I were more satisfied.
I just want a someone. I don't even know what I want out of it. Validation? Companionship? I want to feel normal I guess.
Isn't 'love' normal? 24-year-old virgins aren't. And people praise me for keeping it so long. They don't know I've never had the chance. So I just feel like a fake. If someone had asked me by now I wouldn't be. So there it is. I feel like they're just telling me that its great your such a loser. Who's so quiet nobody knows who she really is. Who's so lonely she clings to imaginary friends and people she barely likes.

I'm tired of obsessing. Obsessing over myself and analyzing everything. Being lazy. Wanting to hide from people. Everyone in fact. Yet its the very thing that's missing. I want friends and boyfriends and relationships. I want to not want it so bad that I'm crazy.