#noelle-anonymous

[noelle-anonymous]

Why is distress so in right now?

We have fashionably distressed jeans and fashionably distressed white wicker chairs and fashionably distressed attitudes.

[noelle-anonymous]

If I ever have a long distance boyfriend coming to visit--or just one returning from some long trip--they need to send me this song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rtEtzWEbQJk

[noelle-anonymous]

I've always wondered what it would be like to ride a waterfall. I've always wondered what it would be like to slip over the edge, carried by the white frothed water, streaming through the air and the clouds of mist. If I close my eyes, I can see it, feel it, taste it, smell it--

The tears of moisture staining my face, cold as ice on my pale, pale skin. The diamond-like drops of white water spitting before me, catching the sunlight and shining like crystals. The cold, cold taste of fresh water filling my mouth, swallowing my tongue, slipping down my throat like silky thread. The thick smell of wet, refreshing and all encompassing, surrounding me, filling me so it is all I can think of, shooting up my nose, stinging like salt water.

Would I die? When I reached the bottom, would I die? Dash myself to smithereens on the sharp rocks? Tear my skin to pieces on their unforgiving corners? Or would I break, shatter like glass, when I hit the water, gravity lending me more weight than I have?

Or maybe fantasy would take over reality. Maybe I would cut through the water like a knife through warm butter, my feet pointed like a ballet dancer's. Maybe I would fall so far under that my toes would touch the soft, muddy bottom of the lake. Maybe I would open my eyes into the murky blue, clearer than I would've thought.

I'll wait, there, at the bottom, watching my white air bubbles swirl and tangle and silently swarms to the top. My arms would be above my head, the tips of my fingers interlaced, as I am slowly pulled to the top. My lungs will burn, scream, shriek for air, but I won't move, just let myself float like a corpse to the top, when my fingers will break the surface, meeting the cold, cold air.

My head will burst the top, my mouth gaping open as water streams down my face, a second waterfall. Air is suddenly there, flooding my lungs, relieving the searing pain of needing air.

The waterfall will hit my back like a jet stream from a hot tub. I will open my eyes and smile.

 ~Noelle

10/14/13

[noelle-anonymous]

I'm the person you'll forget about first.

[noelle-anonymous]

My stomach was exploding.

My heart was in my throat.

There was the odd sensation, like I might start crying, except I was too angry to actually do it. You were screaming--you were always fucking screaming--about something completely ridiculous and nonsensical. Possibly something you could blame on me, something you could force on me. It was as if any time you felt bad about yourself, any time you felt like less of a fucking man, you had to find a way to remedy that.

And too often, you found that in me. You'd scream and curse and yell about something utterly normal, like the location of the dirty clothes, which had never changed for all fifteen years of my life, but was suddenly in the worst possible spot. You'd rise up in all your parental authority--as if you truly believed that respect was something you had from me simply for bearing the title dad--and tell me that it had to change, that our completely normal house was a pit, and it was all my fault.

That apparently restored your manliness, or maybe your self-respect, or something stupid. Because then you would stop. Maybe throw some shit and do those stupid little wheezing squeals of frustration. And then leave, no apology. Of course, I don't think you ever felt you needed one. Because in these scenarios, it was always my fault, and no one else's. Maybe Mom held partial blame. You just told her that she couldn't possibly love you if she didn't understand what you were saying.

I don't hate very many people, but each time you tell my mother those things, I get a little closer.

I speak of these things in past tense, like they simply don't happen anymore. But that's not true. I still have three more years till college, and you're one of the reasons I count down to that graduation cap with baited breath.

~Noelle

9/16/13

[noelle-anonymous]

Fuck you.

Really, that's all I can find in me to say.

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

[noelle-anonymous]

Sometimes I truly believe

That your yelling--

         your pointless screaming and angry cursing--

Is all you are,

And everything else--

         you're rare moments of humor and calm--

Are just fronts you put up,

A calm before the storm,

A facade to cover

The fact that you're always so close

To exploding.

And I'd be lying if I said

I felt compassion for you.

~Noelle

9/16/13