i dont know how to feel,
there's a numbness all inside.
it'll take some time to heal,
but the pain just wont subside.
you never even tried
to get to know me well.
all the emotions that i hide,
are locked up in a cell.
you think that i hate you,
but you couldn't be more wrong.
with the things i've gone through,
writing this wouldn't take long.
i was never good enough,
barely sleeping through the night
when things for me got rough,
you wanted me out of sight.
one thing you never said,
"im very proud of you."
while every night i went to bed,
the failure in me grew.
the blizzard in my soul,
with an inferno in my head.
the void takes its toll,
down this path ive been led.
is this what ive become?
just say the word and im gone.
dont treat me like im dumb,
ill disappear before the dawn.
i was always the bad guy,
or so you made it seem.
but i never understood why?
im a casualty in your regime.
its too late for a fresh start,
the distance between us flaring.
but for me the hardest part,
was the day that you stopped caring.
as you guys can see, im back in my cavernous pit of self loathing. one would think by now i'd be tired of this shit. but for some reason, this is what i think im good at. writing about how much i feel like complete utter dog shit while turning a cold shoulder to everyone i speak to. i just dont get it. how can i be stuck in this perpetual circle of mental depletion? i laugh at myself when i look in the mirror. im ridiculous. i have absolutely nothing to be sad about, yet i dwell on past experiences that have nothing to do with me now. lately ive been seeing a trend going on though. it seems to me bad shit happens when im starting to do good. i guess im cursed with thinking too deep into things.
i recently came up with a new saying about marriage. at work, everyone asks me why i dont want to get married or have kids. this is probably the greatest comeback ive ever said. it went like this: i rather be sad and lonely, than tied down and miserable. i think that's hilarious. then again i have a messed up sense of humor.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Go To Sleep Jeff
the last two posts are the outcome of: lack of sleep, me having no imagination, and playing too many fucking video games. in all honesty, its just something that i started on to get me going writing again. yes, i know im not the best story teller, or have the best storyline, and i know i suck at writing, but shit im trying! this at least keeps me preoccupied. i feel like i can go along with a story, but it just sounds too predictable and unoriginal. im pretty sure there has been a movie made already with my story.
so proceed and laugh at me at my failed attempt to be a writer.
so proceed and laugh at me at my failed attempt to be a writer.
Untitled Story Part 2
I stumbled back to my apartment. it was conveniently around the corner, so i never had to drive. my room was on the second floor of a 3 story complex. it was an ok place to sleep at. secluded and quiet. the apartments themselves held up pretty well, they had to have been at least 30 years old. the desert sand took over most of what used to be a swimming pool in the visitors center. where i lived wasnt exactly the best place to raise a family in all of Riverside, so i never heard the sound of children running around. better for me.
i make it up the stairs to my door, room 426. fumbling through my vintage ducati jacket, i find my keys and go inside. i feel and look like total shit, plus i knew i was fucked as soon as i left the bar. my room was littered with garbage. mail, dirty clothes, old pizza boxes, regular, nasty college student filth. i couldnt remember the last time i took out the garbage in that place, much less when i last took a shower. i make my way over to the fridge and pull out the last bottle of whiskey, right next to the hydrocodone pills, known to me as sleepers. alcohol and pills always went hand in hand. i popped 2 and finished the last swig of drink left, and i pass out on the couch a few minutes later. last i checked, it was 1:36am.
life for me had been mostly a joyride to a place i didnt want to go. at the prime age of 32, i looked like a homeless man that rode a street bike. at this point in time i had been living off the money i had saved up when i was working security detail for a family sometime back.
my name is.....god, i cant remember. i got my start in security a few years after high school. to most people, security means rent-a-cops. to me, it means danger, unnecessary risks, and getting fucking shot. i specialize in personal safety, basically a bodyguard, without the all the legal bullshit. i protect those who pay me the most. the community college thing wasnt for me, and with growing pressures at home to do something with my life, i ran away to Nicaragua and became a guerilla there. revolution and young kids for some reason always got along, so at the time, i thought i was a little badass. then one day during a routine patrol, the squad leader was assasinated by a sniper, and at that instance my unit was disbanded. i was 24 when i came back to the sates, having spent 4 years in central america. i later learned the country went into an all out civil war the same month i got back.my first bullet dodged.
with all the experience i earned in the military, i came back with a friend of mine to Riverside, california. he had connections here that could get us some legitimate work. thats how i got started in the business.
6am. i get up and pack what little clothes i have and leave. i shoved all my possessions into a backpack. my Ducati waits for me downstairs. out of everything i own, this was the one thing i was proud of. it was an all black Ducati 1098, a superbike used in moto GP.the top speed was about 180mph, way more than what i needed,but it was cool to say it could go that fast. im still a little buzzed, but i'll be ok. the lack of sleep never bothered me, i naturally have insomnia, and with military training, i could be ok sleeping just 3-4 hrs.
the sun started to rise. i rode all the way up to the gate and took one last look at the mountains behind. i light myself a cigarette and put on my sunglasses. my over-developed trigger finger had gotten me in trouble again now i had to leave. in a couple of hours, the mountains will turn to buildings, and i'll be back home in Los Angeles.
i make it up the stairs to my door, room 426. fumbling through my vintage ducati jacket, i find my keys and go inside. i feel and look like total shit, plus i knew i was fucked as soon as i left the bar. my room was littered with garbage. mail, dirty clothes, old pizza boxes, regular, nasty college student filth. i couldnt remember the last time i took out the garbage in that place, much less when i last took a shower. i make my way over to the fridge and pull out the last bottle of whiskey, right next to the hydrocodone pills, known to me as sleepers. alcohol and pills always went hand in hand. i popped 2 and finished the last swig of drink left, and i pass out on the couch a few minutes later. last i checked, it was 1:36am.
life for me had been mostly a joyride to a place i didnt want to go. at the prime age of 32, i looked like a homeless man that rode a street bike. at this point in time i had been living off the money i had saved up when i was working security detail for a family sometime back.
my name is.....god, i cant remember. i got my start in security a few years after high school. to most people, security means rent-a-cops. to me, it means danger, unnecessary risks, and getting fucking shot. i specialize in personal safety, basically a bodyguard, without the all the legal bullshit. i protect those who pay me the most. the community college thing wasnt for me, and with growing pressures at home to do something with my life, i ran away to Nicaragua and became a guerilla there. revolution and young kids for some reason always got along, so at the time, i thought i was a little badass. then one day during a routine patrol, the squad leader was assasinated by a sniper, and at that instance my unit was disbanded. i was 24 when i came back to the sates, having spent 4 years in central america. i later learned the country went into an all out civil war the same month i got back.my first bullet dodged.
with all the experience i earned in the military, i came back with a friend of mine to Riverside, california. he had connections here that could get us some legitimate work. thats how i got started in the business.
6am. i get up and pack what little clothes i have and leave. i shoved all my possessions into a backpack. my Ducati waits for me downstairs. out of everything i own, this was the one thing i was proud of. it was an all black Ducati 1098, a superbike used in moto GP.the top speed was about 180mph, way more than what i needed,but it was cool to say it could go that fast. im still a little buzzed, but i'll be ok. the lack of sleep never bothered me, i naturally have insomnia, and with military training, i could be ok sleeping just 3-4 hrs.
the sun started to rise. i rode all the way up to the gate and took one last look at the mountains behind. i light myself a cigarette and put on my sunglasses. my over-developed trigger finger had gotten me in trouble again now i had to leave. in a couple of hours, the mountains will turn to buildings, and i'll be back home in Los Angeles.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Untitled Story Part 1
i woke up in the middle of the night feeling nauseous. it felt like my stomach was on fire. i get off the couch and shuffle to the restroom as fast as i could. i unload everything in my stomach, in what feels like a full bottle of tobasco out of my throat, and into the toilet. after about 30 seconds,im empty, and the pain subsides. im used to these late night attacks. i clean myself up and check the time. 4am. my body didnt miss its appointment with the toilet for the 3rd night in a row. i head back to the couch and fall asleep. there was a bounty on my head, and in a few hours, i needed to skip town.
prior to my late night puke fest, i had visited a local bar here in town. i was a regular at this place, and every night i would meet up with an old friend from Tennessee. his name was Jack Daniels, and we got along really well. i moped around that place for about 3hrs, or 5 years, depending on how you want to count it. no one ever bothered me, and i paid no mind to anyone else. it had that authentic bar feel, old and worn out, just like me. the mens restroom was missing a door so were all the stalls. the womens restroom was just as bad. it was a one story property with a welcoming "drink till you drop" neon light on the outside. sometimes i took them up on that offer, depending on my mood and how much cash i had that day. it all went to hell that night Richie showed up.
i was ordering my usual round of Jack and ice when 3 punk kids showed up. they were your typical idiot adults. all of them were light skinned hispanics and barely old enough to even step foot inside a liquor store. i saw them walk in out of the corner of my eye. they looked they were ready to go out to the club, or they may have come back from church, i never asked. each one of them had that wannabe-Calvin-Klein-model hairstyle that pissed me off. the one in the middle was apparently a kid named Richie, who had come all the way from Phoenix, arizona to hang out with his cousins for the weekend. i ask the bartender for my tab and pay it in full, leaving an extra 5 buck tip as a thank you for supporting my drinking habit. i walk towards the door right when Richie bumps into me like he's some big shit. in a slight south american accent he tells me:
"watch where your going fucker!"
i kept on walking, ignoring him and half drunk.
"hey you piece of shit im talking to you!"
im almost to the door, home free, when suddenly i feel something cold on the back of my head. the little bitch pulled a gun on me.
"yeah! now that i have a gun to your head you fucking listen, puto!"
he guides me back to my seat at the bar. since i was sitting down i ordered another round. fuck it, if i die here, might as well enjoy my last few moments on earth.
Richie looked infuriated.
"Mother fucker you think you can just bump into me and not say sorry!? you're dead wrong asshole! now look at me and say your sorry!"
His cousins looked liked monkeys imitating the same gestures he made. i found it amusing. i took a big gulp of my drink with a gun still pointed at me when suddenly a woman who was drinking alone as well, came up and started talking shit to them.
she said to them, " you fucking pussy ass bitches! why dont you fight like men?! you wave that gun around like your some badass when you know your just a little punk ass chump!"
i got to admit, she did have some balls.
they continued to argue like cat and dog, up until the point Richie tells her,
" shut the fuck up you stupid bitch!" and he pistol whips her across the face. she lets out a horrible scream, i lose it.
in a blur of motions that looked like something out of an old Steven Seagal movie, i felt time slow down. i pull out my 1911 and waste Richie right then and there. 3 shots to the chest at point blank range. i made sure he was dead.
his cousins ran off faster than my bullets, and they disappeared into the night. i dont know why i did it, but i guess i never liked seeing a woman get hurt. at that moment i knew i had outstayed my welcome at that bar, and it was time for me to leave.
prior to my late night puke fest, i had visited a local bar here in town. i was a regular at this place, and every night i would meet up with an old friend from Tennessee. his name was Jack Daniels, and we got along really well. i moped around that place for about 3hrs, or 5 years, depending on how you want to count it. no one ever bothered me, and i paid no mind to anyone else. it had that authentic bar feel, old and worn out, just like me. the mens restroom was missing a door so were all the stalls. the womens restroom was just as bad. it was a one story property with a welcoming "drink till you drop" neon light on the outside. sometimes i took them up on that offer, depending on my mood and how much cash i had that day. it all went to hell that night Richie showed up.
i was ordering my usual round of Jack and ice when 3 punk kids showed up. they were your typical idiot adults. all of them were light skinned hispanics and barely old enough to even step foot inside a liquor store. i saw them walk in out of the corner of my eye. they looked they were ready to go out to the club, or they may have come back from church, i never asked. each one of them had that wannabe-Calvin-Klein-model hairstyle that pissed me off. the one in the middle was apparently a kid named Richie, who had come all the way from Phoenix, arizona to hang out with his cousins for the weekend. i ask the bartender for my tab and pay it in full, leaving an extra 5 buck tip as a thank you for supporting my drinking habit. i walk towards the door right when Richie bumps into me like he's some big shit. in a slight south american accent he tells me:
"watch where your going fucker!"
i kept on walking, ignoring him and half drunk.
"hey you piece of shit im talking to you!"
im almost to the door, home free, when suddenly i feel something cold on the back of my head. the little bitch pulled a gun on me.
"yeah! now that i have a gun to your head you fucking listen, puto!"
he guides me back to my seat at the bar. since i was sitting down i ordered another round. fuck it, if i die here, might as well enjoy my last few moments on earth.
Richie looked infuriated.
"Mother fucker you think you can just bump into me and not say sorry!? you're dead wrong asshole! now look at me and say your sorry!"
His cousins looked liked monkeys imitating the same gestures he made. i found it amusing. i took a big gulp of my drink with a gun still pointed at me when suddenly a woman who was drinking alone as well, came up and started talking shit to them.
she said to them, " you fucking pussy ass bitches! why dont you fight like men?! you wave that gun around like your some badass when you know your just a little punk ass chump!"
i got to admit, she did have some balls.
they continued to argue like cat and dog, up until the point Richie tells her,
" shut the fuck up you stupid bitch!" and he pistol whips her across the face. she lets out a horrible scream, i lose it.
in a blur of motions that looked like something out of an old Steven Seagal movie, i felt time slow down. i pull out my 1911 and waste Richie right then and there. 3 shots to the chest at point blank range. i made sure he was dead.
his cousins ran off faster than my bullets, and they disappeared into the night. i dont know why i did it, but i guess i never liked seeing a woman get hurt. at that moment i knew i had outstayed my welcome at that bar, and it was time for me to leave.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Symphony of Destruction
i dont know what got into me these last few months, but i want to start playing guitar again. i guess ive been obsessed with this ever since i saw Megadeth live in March. ive been to a few good shows before, but these guys put on a badass show. for an almost 50 year old man, Dave Mustaine can still sing and play at 100mph like if he was 20 again. to this day i still cant believe i saw him play live, front row, and about 5 feet away from me. this guy is a fucking living legend. after i read part of his biography, i think he cheated death about 17 times. alcohol, drugs, near death accidents, everything that you could think of has happened to him. but i dont like him because of the life he lived. i like him because he turned his anger at his ex band and created something that would DESTROY them.
for people that dont know, Dave Mustaine is the original guitarist for Metallica. he got kicked out before they were really famous, but he was never given a second chance. thats when megadeth gets formed. he decided that he needed to play better, faster, and louder than they did. but throughout his whole career, he always came in second place behind them. but he never gave in. he kept going despite always being ridiculed for being the guy that got kicked out of a super successful band. now, dave is now known as THE best, just simply because he did everything on his own, with no help from everyone else.
the main point im getting to is that dave mustaine is my hero not just because he's a living badass, he's a good songwriter, awsome guitarist, and he's the lead singer. so out of all the anger and hate he had, he turned it into something great. since i love to write and i love music, i started to think, "why the fuck dont i do that?" plus, i have always dreamed of playing in front of a sold out stadium, with the crowd jumping up and down, singing along to your songs and screaming your name. as a kid i always dreamed of playing with guns n roses, right next to slash. i know that will never happen, but hey a kid can dream cant he? and you never know, i at least might even get a one hit wonder.
one day i'll reach his status....
for people that dont know, Dave Mustaine is the original guitarist for Metallica. he got kicked out before they were really famous, but he was never given a second chance. thats when megadeth gets formed. he decided that he needed to play better, faster, and louder than they did. but throughout his whole career, he always came in second place behind them. but he never gave in. he kept going despite always being ridiculed for being the guy that got kicked out of a super successful band. now, dave is now known as THE best, just simply because he did everything on his own, with no help from everyone else.
the main point im getting to is that dave mustaine is my hero not just because he's a living badass, he's a good songwriter, awsome guitarist, and he's the lead singer. so out of all the anger and hate he had, he turned it into something great. since i love to write and i love music, i started to think, "why the fuck dont i do that?" plus, i have always dreamed of playing in front of a sold out stadium, with the crowd jumping up and down, singing along to your songs and screaming your name. as a kid i always dreamed of playing with guns n roses, right next to slash. i know that will never happen, but hey a kid can dream cant he? and you never know, i at least might even get a one hit wonder.
one day i'll reach his status....
Friday, May 4, 2012
Universally Speaking
" My dream is to make yours never come true"
im tired. mentally, physically, and emotionally. yeah it kind of sounds gay coming from a guy, but fuck, thats just how i feel. its been almost a week since i came back from Cali, and ive had alot on my mind. in the end, it all came down to one thing: ive changed. i know ive been saying this in almost every post i put up, but this time im more serious than ever.
i was drinking coffee last week in the breakfast room of my hotel on Sunset blvd. it was raining that morning, so i took my time with my coffee. again, it was just me and my handy-dandy iPod. honestly, my iPod is my best friend and travel buddy. its something i can always count on being there for me. anyway, i just sat there watching the rainfall and i realized, im wasting my life away. there's a specific reason why i said that.
during the whole time i felt anger and hate, i never came to realize how much i was damaging myself. here's a breakdown of it. i spend too much fucking time hating other people for who they are or the mistakes they made. i feel like such an asshole now because the whole time i never gave people a chance. i was too busy shitting on the world to realize what an insignificant prick ive become.
im tired of writing about my hate and anger. those were the only things that were ever on my mind. i want to write about things that have molded me into the person that i am, not about my hate. the story that leads up to who/what ive become is more interesting than me bad mouthing everyone who isnt like me. And the rants just added more fuel to the fire. it felt like i was producing more of a hate diary than an actual blog. i got caught up trying to release all my anger that i never took time to cool off and show the real me. i LOVE writing, but i noticed that more than half of my blog is me bullshitting about everyone else and not focusing on myself. im not going to change who i am, but im tired of having that persona that is self centered and closed-minded. ive become everything that i hated.....
im glad i realized this though. i cant fathom the thought of living the rest of my life with so many attachments and horrible feelings. it will take time to adjust to my new writing style, but i know i can do it. my whole life ive been alone and ive never been helped, so this shouldnt be too bad. the once hopeless is now the hopeful. whoever is reading this is witnessing a really big (but slow) change in me. i think everyone just needs some time alone to get their head together and cool off. i am truly blessed with being able to just get up and go wherever the fuck i want. im happy i get to be able to do things no other person as young as me can do. i love being able to go somewhere with or without someone. another person's company doesnt hurt, but i prefer to fly solo.
alot of people ask me why im the way i am, and i loathe having to explain myself. so this one time only, if anyone that reads this wants to ask me a question or you just want to know what i think about a topic, feel free to leave a comment or email me. Remember, universally speaking, i win in the long run.
and on a final but sad note, Adam "MCA" Yauch died today. in case you didnt know, he was one of the Beastie Boys. those guys were probably the dopest hip hop story tellers to ever live. they basically made Hip Hop mainstream in the 80's. and they're the coolest jews ive ever seen.
im tired. mentally, physically, and emotionally. yeah it kind of sounds gay coming from a guy, but fuck, thats just how i feel. its been almost a week since i came back from Cali, and ive had alot on my mind. in the end, it all came down to one thing: ive changed. i know ive been saying this in almost every post i put up, but this time im more serious than ever.
i was drinking coffee last week in the breakfast room of my hotel on Sunset blvd. it was raining that morning, so i took my time with my coffee. again, it was just me and my handy-dandy iPod. honestly, my iPod is my best friend and travel buddy. its something i can always count on being there for me. anyway, i just sat there watching the rainfall and i realized, im wasting my life away. there's a specific reason why i said that.
during the whole time i felt anger and hate, i never came to realize how much i was damaging myself. here's a breakdown of it. i spend too much fucking time hating other people for who they are or the mistakes they made. i feel like such an asshole now because the whole time i never gave people a chance. i was too busy shitting on the world to realize what an insignificant prick ive become.
im tired of writing about my hate and anger. those were the only things that were ever on my mind. i want to write about things that have molded me into the person that i am, not about my hate. the story that leads up to who/what ive become is more interesting than me bad mouthing everyone who isnt like me. And the rants just added more fuel to the fire. it felt like i was producing more of a hate diary than an actual blog. i got caught up trying to release all my anger that i never took time to cool off and show the real me. i LOVE writing, but i noticed that more than half of my blog is me bullshitting about everyone else and not focusing on myself. im not going to change who i am, but im tired of having that persona that is self centered and closed-minded. ive become everything that i hated.....
im glad i realized this though. i cant fathom the thought of living the rest of my life with so many attachments and horrible feelings. it will take time to adjust to my new writing style, but i know i can do it. my whole life ive been alone and ive never been helped, so this shouldnt be too bad. the once hopeless is now the hopeful. whoever is reading this is witnessing a really big (but slow) change in me. i think everyone just needs some time alone to get their head together and cool off. i am truly blessed with being able to just get up and go wherever the fuck i want. im happy i get to be able to do things no other person as young as me can do. i love being able to go somewhere with or without someone. another person's company doesnt hurt, but i prefer to fly solo.
alot of people ask me why im the way i am, and i loathe having to explain myself. so this one time only, if anyone that reads this wants to ask me a question or you just want to know what i think about a topic, feel free to leave a comment or email me. Remember, universally speaking, i win in the long run.
and on a final but sad note, Adam "MCA" Yauch died today. in case you didnt know, he was one of the Beastie Boys. those guys were probably the dopest hip hop story tellers to ever live. they basically made Hip Hop mainstream in the 80's. and they're the coolest jews ive ever seen.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Gray Eyes
gray eyes staring,
in a place they wont forget.
her presence so glaring,
thinking about who she just met.
her blonde hair flows,
between the sea breeze.
no emotion she shows,
but she smiles to tease.
her skin soft and pale,
with thin pink lips.
her heart is young and frail,
and yearns for arms around her hips.
i see her walking by,
she seems to walk for miles
but out the corner of her eye,
she sees me and she smiles.
i start to follow her,
crossing all through the sand.
my surroundings turn to a blur,
i just want to hold her hand.
we walk at the same pace,
i feel the nervousness rise.
we then meet face to face
and I'm lost in her gray eyes.
im back and my vacation was AWESOME. i got to spend some much needed alone time just cruising the mean streets of hollywood, los angeles, and santa monica. i wasnt really in the writing mood before i left but now i feel alot better. honestly i would be lying if i said that i dont feel inspired right now. going back to my real home in SoCal really helped me deal with alot of negative feelings and hate. of course, i havent changed one bit, but im alot calmer now than what i was. ill post some pictures up later.
while i was in venice beach, i felt something that i hadnt felt in a long time. i had a brain surge of ideas. so many things came to mind while i was sitting in the sand. it got to the point where i had so much to think about, i ended up not writing about anything.
the one thing i do remember was thinking about this girl i had a crush on my sophmore year in high school. her name was Giovanna, and im not kidding when i say this, i think she was one of the most beautiful girls ive ever met. to start off, she was brazilian. yes, brazilian. but she was one of those light skinned brazilians with blonde hair. she was my height and very athletic. but the thing i remember most about her? those big beautiful...........gray eyes. i think as i was talking to her she would notice i stared at her eyes for a really long time and i would stop paying attention to what she was saying. she was really pretty, lets put it that way. pretty enough to make me feel stupid around her. damn those were the days....
i really liked her. and i loved her accent. by the way, i have a thing for foreign accents. it was cute trying to see her say something in english that she either couldnt pronounce or she didnt know the word for it. and she was NOT dumb. this girl knew how to speak english(somewhat), Portuguese(obviously), spanish, and french. i would talk to her in spanish if i saw she struggled with something.
after that year. we stopped talking. i dont know why. but i saw her community college years later and she hadnt changed, still beautiful. so this poem is about the Brazilian girl i had a crush on in high school. the one i always wanted but never caught.
in a place they wont forget.
her presence so glaring,
thinking about who she just met.
her blonde hair flows,
between the sea breeze.
no emotion she shows,
but she smiles to tease.
her skin soft and pale,
with thin pink lips.
her heart is young and frail,
and yearns for arms around her hips.
i see her walking by,
she seems to walk for miles
but out the corner of her eye,
she sees me and she smiles.
i start to follow her,
crossing all through the sand.
my surroundings turn to a blur,
i just want to hold her hand.
we walk at the same pace,
i feel the nervousness rise.
we then meet face to face
and I'm lost in her gray eyes.
im back and my vacation was AWESOME. i got to spend some much needed alone time just cruising the mean streets of hollywood, los angeles, and santa monica. i wasnt really in the writing mood before i left but now i feel alot better. honestly i would be lying if i said that i dont feel inspired right now. going back to my real home in SoCal really helped me deal with alot of negative feelings and hate. of course, i havent changed one bit, but im alot calmer now than what i was. ill post some pictures up later.
while i was in venice beach, i felt something that i hadnt felt in a long time. i had a brain surge of ideas. so many things came to mind while i was sitting in the sand. it got to the point where i had so much to think about, i ended up not writing about anything.
the one thing i do remember was thinking about this girl i had a crush on my sophmore year in high school. her name was Giovanna, and im not kidding when i say this, i think she was one of the most beautiful girls ive ever met. to start off, she was brazilian. yes, brazilian. but she was one of those light skinned brazilians with blonde hair. she was my height and very athletic. but the thing i remember most about her? those big beautiful...........gray eyes. i think as i was talking to her she would notice i stared at her eyes for a really long time and i would stop paying attention to what she was saying. she was really pretty, lets put it that way. pretty enough to make me feel stupid around her. damn those were the days....
i really liked her. and i loved her accent. by the way, i have a thing for foreign accents. it was cute trying to see her say something in english that she either couldnt pronounce or she didnt know the word for it. and she was NOT dumb. this girl knew how to speak english(somewhat), Portuguese(obviously), spanish, and french. i would talk to her in spanish if i saw she struggled with something.
after that year. we stopped talking. i dont know why. but i saw her community college years later and she hadnt changed, still beautiful. so this poem is about the Brazilian girl i had a crush on in high school. the one i always wanted but never caught.
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