Breaking in this section!

I thought not to post any of my writing at first, because I'm a terrible writer. But sharing these things is a new goal for me, so I thought I'd share with this small group of friends! It'll help you get to know me a little better since the bulk of my stuff begins as journals and evolves into prose-like rambling. I express ideas and emotions better through words, even if none of it ever makes sense because I'm a drama queen and all of a sudden my couch is an incipid snake and I have to wrangle that bitch.

Salvador Dali said, "I don't do drugs. I am drugs."
I get what the man meant.

----- [An artful description of my former room.] -----
I believe my room is the tackiest place in existence. Only pockets of personality exist around pre-planned and sterilized areas. The room is white walled, with colorful butterfly stickers dotting the walls. Butterflies are a theme; they hold no symbolic meaning, only meant to please aesthetically. A bedspread and curtains follow the pattern of rainbow wings and flowery print on snowy backdrops. The bed has a heavy black frame from which ripped, uneven gauzy curtains hang as if to say some messy princess lives here. Not far from the truth.

There are too many things and too little space in this room. The product of a busy parent who makes up for lack of attention and affection by buying her children things. There are amenities, a small flatscreen and exclusive Xbox positioned respectively above and beside a stout and jam-packed bookshelf. A colorful splash of personality lies in the fact that there is a small catapult lying on the bookshelf. These quirky splotches are small but numerous: The Shaymin plush, and Hello Kitty humidifier hiding discreetly behind a full-length mirror. The moody Gaara poster hanging beneath butterflies in a corner. A dreamcatcher wrapped crudely into the gauzy fabric above the headboard. An Orochimaru figurine comingling with an armless Geisha before a thoughtfully rendered painting of Einstein's face. Such things are scattered here, as if meaning to avoid some imminent erasure by a creature whose only desire is to scourage the room of any individualistic touch.

(The fingerprints on the wall are far too deep set for that.)

----- [ A breif midnight adventure.] -----
It is 12am, and I've fasioned my hair into one of those ridiculous pouf things with the plume of hair standing up that's supposed to be cute or something. I think it suits me, since I'm trying to actively bill myself as a vapid and particularly dull-minded teenage girl. For now. My toe-nails are 3 different colors, I have seventeen ink pen tattoos, counted 191.36 dollars in change, watched 14 episodes of Speed Grapher, and built a castle made out of books. One of the pillars in the castle is 'Astrophysics and Reletivity Theory', which I plan on reading eventually. Because it will make the painting of Albert Einstein in my room proud.

I am going to step out of my room and anthromorphosize the darkness, because I'm bored, lonely and painfully aware of my mortality. Music will be my aid, and will decide where I'll be going and what I'll be seeing tonight.

I feel like I'm waiting for something to jump out and devour me. The light of a nightlight glinting off my glasses startles me, as the rhythm prowls like some unseen wildcat in the darkness. The goulish beast of fundamentalist opinion on why 'In God We Trust' should stay on our money.

Truly frightful. Why is this on my iPod again?
(Indivisible - Pillar)

The next song builds as I'm ravaging the fridge for more Mountain Dew. I'm suddenly projected onto a melancholy battlefield. The morose heaviness of heartbreak, of jealousy and loss assault me as I realize there is no more precious Dew to be found here.

I'm going to fuck somebody up.
(Love is War - Hatsune Miku)

I nestle into the crook of the couch's arm, falling through it's crevices to stalk about the lint and quarters, trying to sort out the lyrics from the accusatory medly of autotune-enhanced voices pounding on my ears. Not unpleasant, very emotionally laden. What that emotion is eludes my emotionally-stunted understanding. I think the song is about love or something.
(Saddle Up - The Medic Droid)

----- [Tiles] -----
I've got a bunk bed at my dad's house. Top bunk is mine; the ceiling is low. I can reach up and touch it. I was still thinking. I pushed at the ceiling tiles. They're loose enough to move a little. I was sitting high up, could already see the girl's room with Taylor Swift and Justin Beiber posters hanging. I got an idea. I started pushing at tiles on the ceiling, climbing wherever I could reach. If one would budge, I could climb through the hole. I was thinking, just into the attic. Maybe I was hoping I could crawl up into some fantastical world, but I know Wonderland isn't in my father's attic. I just wanted to squeeze into... somewhere warm and dark, where I could just be alone. I used to sleep in closets, or read under something large by lamplight.

But the tiles, they wouldn't... they wouldn't budge. Yes, I realized that even if I removed a tile, I may well hit a barrier or something else; drywall, stone, wood... some impassible barrier that would make all my effort for nothing. However, they wouldn't do more than gently shift up a bit at my insistance. There's no way for me to pull them down. I'm not strong enough. It upset me further, but at least I'd temporarily forgotten about earlier.

So, I left the room and stepped out onto the landing of the stairs. I went down the first few steps and hit the second landing when I looked up and saw the attic door. I've never been up into an attic, really. I know at this time of year the attic here is probably damp, cold and infested by more than a few critters, but the (sort of irrational) desire to climb up there stayed strong.

I couldn't reach the string to pull the attic door down.
I'm not tall enough.
I can't reach.

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That's all I have that's recently done and presentable. I have this silly fucking nugget, and also write Harry Potter fanfiction. Don't... don't look for it. <.<;;