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Construction Paper HeartIn all my life, there are many things my brothers taught me. Very few of them were taken seriously, and I can only remember a handful.

And so, rule number four was as follows: If you're ever on your first date with a guy in a restaurant and your date orders a lemon margarita, dump him. Immediately. Just end it right there.

Rule number six was to never, ever feed a stray cat tuna, for then, they will become tuna junkies.

Yes, I know, they're both very important life lessons; I agree. However, there's a deeper meaning in both of them. ...Well, alright, maybe there isn't.

But they did teach me this, and it's more than enough to make it throu

I am a womanI am not an object.

You cannot use me.

I was not made simply for your pleasure.
I am not a pretty picture to be used and thrown away.

I have a heart, feelings, dreams….

I have a purpose here.

I am a human being, a person like you.

And it hurts me when you treat me as less than human.

It hurts me when I become less than a whole,

And just the sum of my parts.

It hurts me when I become just something to please you.

It hurts me when you strip away my humanity,

My clothes,

My purity.

Even if just with your eyes and mind.

You cannot stare at me in longing.

You cannot undress me with your eyes.

You cannot force me to kiss you.

You cannot grope me as you see fit.

You cannot take advantage of me.

You cannot have your way with me.

I am not to be dominated.

I am not to be violated.

When I say no, I do NOT mean yes.

When I te

FeathersI don’t really know how to start this. My memoirs drape over my head like a million wings at times like these and I can’t help but notice every feather and lose myself in counting them. The one that is the gravel road I grew up walking on is grayish brown, the one that is the burnt pumpkin wood that coats my house is frayed and holds a single box elder bug on its tip, and the one that is how the lawn feels between my toes when I stand still is chartreuse and glimmers if you turn it toward the light. There are no birds that hold these wings. Just a single cherub, watching over me with unblinking legions of eyes at God’s bidd

Something in commonIs it weird that I've never written about me? That I've never poured my heart and soul into something and hoped whoever read it would pick me apart but still remember to put me back together again? Maybe we're all just watches, ticking away - tick, tick, tick - and maybe that's why I don't really like people. Maybe I'm tuned in to that underlying sound of them fading away. It’s not like you can pick up another battery when you’re shopping, is it, and why would I want to get close to someone and end up counting seconds until they left again?

My mum has this watch. She’s had it for years, as long as I can remember and somehow

Things About Me 1Well. Let me start off by saying this is just a list explaining a few things plus some random shit about me.

I don't like ignoring people. I do read everything someone sends me, but I honestly feel uncomfortable talking to people sometimes. I would love to but it's like...Like I feel like somewhere along the lines I'll seriously piss off someone on accident or make them hate me because of my opinions. I dunno.

I have no confidence in myself at all. Usually people think I say "I'm fat" or "I wish I was beautiful" for attention. But it's not. I honestly feel that way. I think I'm hideous.

I want to be a writer but I feel like my writing is t

John Steinbeck Bio John Steinbeck was born February the 27th during the year 1902 in Salinas, California. His family was from a middle class background over extreme affluence or extreme poverty. His dad’s with a similar name. Had an occupation of many odd jobs to keep his family afloat. He had a grain and feed business, and also owned a flour mill which was one of the best in Montgomery County. His mother called Olive was a former school teacher that may have influenced his desire to become a writer when he became that noble age of 14.
Through his years of experience, he saw many negative aspects of human behavior. During his early years, he spent

a thought on loveif only love was an option.

R-P-A-C BIO SHEETRPAC Bio Sheet

*dA name:* LUVthatSTUFF
*dA home page: http://luvthatstuff.deviantart.com/
*Real name: Just ask if you really wantto know

*Nicknames: Judge,Blood,Nagi,Clue,Spell ( depends on who you want to role-play with ) Or if you want me to role-play as myslf L-kun or Onion-kun will do
*Public email to contact: thatSTUFFLuv@yahoo.com
*Yahoo Messenger ID: thatSTUFFLuv@yahoo.com
*MSN: Can't use on my Mac, Buyt will use if needed
*AIM: Can't use on my Mac, But will use if needed
*Skype: Can't use on my Mac, But will use if needed
*ICQ: Don't know what that is...
*Best time to contact you? Throughout the week,Pretty much as ealy or as late as you want,though will tell you if otherwise
*Preferred RP method: I 'm an adapter, I will try what ever. Love new things~
Even Action and Adenture or more serious type things~
*Vore preferences / Pregnan

WatchersFake journal n° fhsgfasgasfasjgahhjf

I'll stick with that random number thing, yeh -u-
Maybe no one gives a frog but...

I felt like...

Saying...

That I'm gaining a lot of watchers lately ;A; ...

And...

I LOVE YOU ALL >w<

No I'm not on drugs, just I'm on a good mood today -u-

Procrastination High-pitched ringing chimed from a cell phone vibrating on an intricately carved wooden chair. With a muffled groan, a pale hand lazily slapped at it in a poor attempt to shut it off. Such attempts were obviously unsuccessful, and the pale hand retracted to the nearby bed. In one slow, shaky movement, the pale arm and its twin hoisted up a frazzled girl with a mess of dark hair hiding her face. She slid off the bedside and picked up her phone, shut it off, and sat back on the mattress.
“Maow…” whispered an orange fluff of fur at the foot of her bed. It raised its head and yawned as it blinked groggily at its owner

What They Do Not Tell You....What They Do Not Tell You About Being Color Blind

… is that over the course of your life you will be asked to identify the color of all manor of things, over and over.
What they don’t tell you is the disbelief that comes when you are able to correctly identify the color of said objects.
“So you’re color blind?”
“Yup”
“What color is my shirt?”
“Green”
“You’re not color blind!”
“It doesn’t work like that, I can see colors. It’s combinations, and tones and shades and stuff. Have you taken a color blindness test before?”
“No...

All about Hurr Trains HURR TRAINS

If only I could get Morgan Freeman to read this to me

  I do not own ANY pictures
Pictures belong to rightful owners.

Hurr Trains are a majestic creature that can be found at almost any carnival/fair.
They have wheels and buck teeth and live on a

my life with dysgraphiaLearning to write was a challenge for me. It was hard to make it readable for the teachers. I was trying but I always was messing up. One summer, I had a special teacher that helped me with writing the letters. It helped, but I still had problems. It made me feel like I was different. I felt like it was a bad thing that I was different. I started using a computer at school but the one they gave me didn't work so well. I didn't like having to sit away from my friends to use the computer. The teachers made me use it but I didn't like it. I didn't feel like it helped me very much.

In 6th grade, we looked at different schools I could go to that

Marilyn Morgana Biography/informationMarilyn Morgana's information~

Name: Marilyn Morgana
Voice: Susan Egan (Megara's voice)
Theme: "Do It Like A Dude,"by Jessie J
Species: hedgehog
Date of Birth: April 10
Age: 20(older than me XD)
Skin: peach
Eyes: Red
Height:5'0
Weight: 94 lbs.
Weapon: Scythe
Elemental powers: dark and grass
Team: ----
Orientation: straight
Alignment: neutral
Relationship status: engaged
Likes: sharp things,reading,playing her violin,her friends,black eye shadow,music,seeing other people in pain(it depends on which person is in pain),and chemistry
Dislikes: girly objects,pink stuff,fru-frus,ignorance,ignorant/annoying people,people opposing her,being looked

Oh Sommer, where art thou gone?Then there was Sommer. The girl I fell madly in love with. She let me be the person I always wanted to be... Carefree and happy, and I was. She was beautiful. She looked similar to me, had a lot of the same taste as me, and cared so much. The one thing I hated was that when I met her, she was innocent... by the time I lost my car and my ability to see her, she lost it. I ruined her. She had black hair, silky and a smile that lit up my world. She could do no wrong in my light. She loved doing my hair and putting make up on me, and I loved her doing it for me. She was always there for me, to listen when I needed her, and I the same. One of the

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Stream of Consciousness I

by `northengirl, Apr 13, 2009, 5:49:47 AM
Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Biography & Memoir

Hot water, yellow walls, yellow tops, giraffes, penguins. Purple shirts and cadged squirrels. Blue eyes, and messy hair. Burst balloons, scissors and inappropriate behavior. Waiting, anticipating. Cheap wine and loosened tongues. Orange, doctors, tenants and hills, smells.

We indulge, publicly, inappropriately, insultingly, without care or consideration. Disgusting affection. Tongue, lips, ears, nose.

We indulge in our laughter and words, alcohol and kisses.

Sober, little sleep. Big head phones and bigger suitcases. Coffee, morning, newspapers. White walls and carved tables. Shy kisses, lips, tongue, nose. Good byes, and promises in given books.

You are the one I dreamed of. But don’t I always dream and fall easily? At least this time my obsession was picked more appropriately.

Swaying walls, blue light. Bed and towels, dripping skin. Sweat or water? Beating heart and pumping pulse, legs and arms and loud in my ears. Sleepy eyes and captured thoughts. Too much time to sit and think and wait.

Stream of Consciousness Iby `northengirl

Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Biography & Memoir

I'm not really a writer, I'm pretty much based in visual art. However, I do read a lot, and I love writing about other's work. So, I took at stab at putting down what I felt. Its not a poem, just a stream of consciousness recounting recent memories as I lay in the bath. Its very personal so a lot of the imagery probably won't make sense.

Opinions please.

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Stream of Consciousness Iby `northengirl

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