LIFE

They say I'm being defiant, I say I'm living. There's only so much time that we have before our lives are consumed with responsibilities, burdens, and consequences.

They say that you're only young once, and to enjoy it so that's what I'm doing. I'm tired of them saying no, they can't control me. I only have a year left, and I'm not waiting, or missing out anymore. 

Just living reckless and free. There's nothing better than the feeling, the rush, the thrill of living and not caring. Not questioning or thinking, simply doing.

Schxxl

The same classes, the same hallways, the same boring people. When am I getting out? The asylum that keeps me captive, suffocates me from the inside out. 
Piles upon piles of work. 75% of it, I don't even need to know. When will I need to use Pythagorean's Theorem ever in my life after geometry class. I don't just try and guess the missing side lengths of triangles for fun. And, I'm obliviously not going to be an engineer. Also, when will I need to use the freaking quadratic formula? Huh? Why do I have to know who Henry the 15th was? He's dead, and he's been dead for like 1000 years. Wanna teach me something modern? Instead of history class, there should be a news class, teach me about what is going on in the world now. The time I'm living in. Because this prehistoric bullshit is getting old. Further more, how many books are you gonna force me to read? Newsflash, 90% of the new age cannot focus enough to read these big, LONG novels. Nor should we have to. We do read, a lot. Everything on social media has captions and stories, that are interesting, key word, INTERESTING. Maybe ask us to write an essay on a magazine article? Or, let us pick a modern book of our choice! And don't even get me started on inter molecular forces. I can't even tell you what those are and I've been learning them for the past month. I refuse to understand the irrelevance of these "forces" because I am going into no field of science or chemistry. 
I will honestly be fine, just working at target for the rest of my life. All I need is a small apartment, for myself, a TV, WiFi, and Netflix account. That's not asking a lot. I don't even need an iPhone. A junky payphone will do just fine.
Money is not a prize to me, it's not a necessity, nor is it a desire. It's something I need to survive in this object seeking society. I don't need a job that makes me money, I need a job that makes me happy, and content with my life. Because to me, money is a detrimental. 

Z

All it took was his fascination with me and I lost control. God, I never knew we would end like this. I never knew there would be a we.
Four months after the break up, nine since I realized how much I loved him. It’s like mourning a death, you cry, and wish there was something more you could’ve done to prevent it. You cry, wish you could hold them one last time. You cry, you’re in complete denial of everything. Cry, get angry, cry, cry, cry. Surrounded by oxygen, yet you can’t breathe. Your chest collapsing with the ten ton weight it’s carrying. Your body sore like it’s recovering from a surgery. Except, after a surgery you eventually heal. A heart break doesn’t. It can get patched up, forget for a little, maybe. But it’s permanent, the pain is lasting. To a certain point it feels almost whole again, but is it really whole? Or did the pain just become so natural you forgot what whole really feels like? You can’t ever love like that again. You can never give yourself away the way you did that first time. You can come close, but it won't be the same. Your body uses it's defense mechanism and puts up a wall, blocking you from getting close to the original feeling of love, ultimately to protect itself. 
I wake up every morning with the hope we'd meet again, and he'd remember how good we were. I go to bed praying I'll wake up with a missed call or text from him saying he needs me. But that's just crazy. It's not a reality. I am physically damaged. Four months of waiting, four whole months, 121 days. The cracks on my heart just won't go away, like the stitches on the stuffed animal that your dog chewed up. It looks okay from afar, but close up, it's a mess. 
I bathe in my tears, hopeless for the day it all goes away. The one day out of all the possible 25,550 days left in my life. He's not aware of the damage he left on me. Or maybe he is, and doesn't care or he doesn't want to care. While I'm self-destructing into the nothing he made me feel. 
There's good and bad days. But every bad day has him written all over it. If I could erase him, I would in an instant. Part of me wants to be happy I got the pleasure of him being apart of my life for that short time. But the other half, wishes so badly he was just a person in my dreams. Someone vacant.