tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72537742725133204522011-04-21T18:58:32.944-07:00Lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00157307189879250571noreply@blogger.comBlogger21100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7253774272513320452.post-42742471093931846542009-02-18T00:32:00.000-08:002009-02-18T00:51:52.560-08:00Come see this girl just sitting there<br />knees pressed together<br />hands in between thighs like prayer<br />head hung down<br />seeing turned in toes<br />feeling the jabbing rock<br />and stinging numb nose<br />frozen tears on the road<br />expressionless face no one knows<br />like fingerprints<br />lingering around in the cold<br />frostbitten grass<br />and rusted fence<br />desolate paved way<br />alone and defenseless<br />eyes<br />those glass eyes<br />mapping the pebbles<br />the shards<br />and the cleansing rain<br />that washes it all away<br />a little girl<br />with brown hair<br />dripping stringy strands<br />and dirt splattered pants<br />who knows what's not okay<br />not old enough to say<br />everything in just the right way<br />so she's just sitting there<br />with that stare<br />and her thoughts<br />collected randomly<br />from quick pawn shop stops<br />bought and used<br />simply feeling abused<br />blinded and unaware<br />never taught how to care<br />about herself<br />and her dreams<br />only to be awakened<br />by her own late night screams<br />with the angels behind their<br />picture windows<br />and the demons fighting in their<br />lairs<br />and remnants left haunting<br />of a girl finding nowhere.<br />-lynsey 9-13-1996<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7253774272513320452-4274247109393184654?l=versionsofmeinwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00157307189879250571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7253774272513320452.post-52501086674979225702009-02-17T23:58:00.001-08:002009-02-18T00:26:14.578-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1vmHHG1emPs/SZvBKIVfxeI/AAAAAAAAAAo/cLd7ch1IXLc/s1600-h/KSUHOMIEN4N5PTLCQF.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1vmHHG1emPs/SZvBKIVfxeI/AAAAAAAAAAo/cLd7ch1IXLc/s320/KSUHOMIEN4N5PTLCQF.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304045365939389922" border="0" /></a><br />MY CURRENT OBSESSION.<br /><br />I don't know if I'm crazy or OK, but I think I'm going to get a dog. I tend toward impulsivities and the problem is that my new found obsession doesn't always stay that way. For example when i decided it would be way cool to be able to play the guitar, so I took the babysitting and birthday money that I had been saving and went to the local music shop and bought an acoustic guitar, and then went and bought and electric guitar and amp. Took one lesson and didn't touch it much to be honest. Or all the hobbies I've taken up and bought all the supplies and then worked on laboriously for oh, a few months. I was a painter for two years and I've had my 1976 VW bus for five years, so that's a record. Longer than any boyfriend, that's for sure. Why do I do this? Will I love my puppy forever? Will I have buyers remorse? All I know is that I have discovered a Havanese-Coton De Tulear mix and I want one. It is so cute. Look at that fluffy little thing. I'll post the picture of mine when I get her.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7253774272513320452-5250108667497922570?l=versionsofmeinwords.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00157307189879250571noreply@blogger.com2