so today my dad asked me if i was a lesbian..

I guess I can understand where he's coming from, but there are also a lot of reasons that prove him to be wrong.

Reasons Why Someone May think I like Girls:
1. My friend Halle and I decided to be 'in a relationship' via facebook as a joke. A joke.
2. I'm a very touchy feely kind of person, so..?
3. My grandpa called my dad concerned because at my cousin's debutant ball I asked our table, "If one of the debutants was a lesbian and wanted their escort to be their girlfriend, what would they do?" And that was out of pure curiousity. I also predicted the number of chicken it would take to feed that entire room, it was 450 chicken. I'm just random Grandpa, calm down.
4. I used to have my best friend Jess labeled as 'Girlfriend (:' in my phone.

Reasons Why I'm Definitely into Males:
1. I love to flirt with them. Love to.
2. Boys are attractive, nuff said.
3. I had a boyfriend for over a year. I had him labeled as 'Boyfriend (:' in my phone at the same time as Jess was apparently my girlfriend.
4. I'm just random Grandpa, calm down.

i just wanted to cry today, all day.

and that's not a very happy thing to say at all. My week has just been so very different from the usual. Just a lot of complicated things that I never would have expected to happen, happened. It was strange and I'm not sure if I liked it yet or not. Also, my left eye is throbbing right now and I rarely ever wear makeup except for the fact that I went to a concert tonight so I felt it necessary to put on eyemakeup. I think a little got in there so I was rubbing it (because it SHOULD help). Rubbing it doesn't help though, I promise. Now I have a spot of black on my hand and my eye probably looks like a raccoon, but I'm just not going to look at myself until I wake up in the morning for my very first soccer game of the season. Which I normally would be ecstatic about except for the fact that my legs are still hurting from Thursday's practice. Just a little heads-up: Having your cousin who is only 6 months older than you as your coach will KILL you. But I still love her. Oh, but this concert I went to was solid. Because Say Anything is solid. Okay, so I never really even listened to them before this week. But Max Bemus says it's okay. I'm not sure if that's how you spell is name, give me a break. I'm a new fan, but that's the point. This was a completely pointless post but I wasn't in the mood to go to bed JUST yet when I got home so I decided to type something and this is what ended up coming out. I apologize for my complete lack of being interesting, all. the. time.

i just bought too much music.

Probably somewhere around forty or fifty dollars worth of music. Why does it cost so much just to listen to pretty things? I really need to consider illegal downloading. JUST KIDDING; I'm a Law Abiding Citizen. Which I just watched that movie. It's quite good, not amazing, but good. I'm going to a concert on friday and I'm pretty pumped about it. I have nothing of any importance to say whatsoever. But really, I have homework to do now.

Here's a video for the greater good:

Third Base

He and I hold silent conversations and quiet
applause when she steps up to bat. You
can tell by the stance and eager look
painted on her eyes that she means
business. Like a bull, she scrapes
dust back with her right foot—
prepared for battle. The baseball
sprints from the pitcher’s hand
straight until the collision with
Nikki’s bat. Flawless hit. She
pushes the wooden cylinder to
the ground—it’s not important
anymore—getting a home run
is. Scoring points is. And she’s
gone. Cutting first base into
a perfect corner, she makes
her way to second. You
can smell her concentration
from her pursed lips. Focus.
Determination. Fast. She
rounds second and is
now on somewhat of
a curve towards third,
halfway there. At some
moment, her stare
cracks to her peripherals
and she spots the
other team with the
ball. They’re gaining,
stretching their leap
past the limit their
body seems to give.
Only centimeters
away from getting
her out, she dives
for the white patch
on the ground.
Her scream eats
away at my
eardrums as the
rickety bone
of her ankle
cracks apart.
Out.

Coming Back

You left me to go to the moon
and back. Well, you never
mentioned the coming back
part, but you did. It was
kind of like the first year
you know Santa isn’t real
and if you were to wake
up to more gifts on Christmas.
Unexpected, that’s what you
are. Maybe like that puppy
I lost three months ago, but
I already fell in love with
a new one; and your fur
is now crunchy with dirt.
Disappointing, that’s what you
are. I think about Ohio
weather when Spring starts,
but one day the snow decides
to return to newscasts.
Unnecessary, that’s what you
are. Your hair has grown
out to questionable lengths;
your face has more than ten
scars filled with fear. Love is
an astronaut; it comes
back and it’s never the same.
The difference is, rather than
crying on your sleeves
for you to stay, I’m pushing
your shoulders to get away.

The Apple Tree by the Swings

We swing on swings to reach apples.
Each pump throwing us higher into
the shady leaves, while we try to punt at
the red robins. Back down to my mom
each time, begging her for more. Hours
and hours, adding up to days, pass by
and I always return to her and she
always keeps me going. The rickety,
rusted chains stain the creases of my
fingers with sweat and excitement.
This apple is mine. At the highest
point I twitch as I let my left hand
off of a safety and grasp for the glittering
red tasty treat. An arrow of sunlight
cracks through the tree onto the fruit’s
surface, creating a spotlight for the
natural artwork. I swear I’m a breath
away from having it. I grip the chain
again and become a pendulum towards
the lawn my dad just mowed. Hands like
jets shoot into my shoulder blades, again.

But as I grow taller and taller
it seems as though the apple
is only getting further and further
away. Or maybe the swing is
shrinking, playing tricks with my head.

But as I grew taller and taller,
my mom could only watch from
her wheelchair. And the wood
from the playground rots and
molds on rainy days. Eventually,
there won’t even be an apple to grab.

Mutter Seil

Her makeup is perfectly sprinkled
over every wrinkle on her
fragile, aged face. Her
brown eyes are closed and
perfectly relaxed. She’s
in her Sunday best—freshly
washed, ironed precisely—A
more important occasion than
just church. I can see her lips
crinkle up just slightly at the end;
the same way she looked
whenever I’d tell her I loved
her. I hold her freezing hand
and softly smooch her forehead
just because Dad says. Then,
my vision widens as I step
back and see my great
grandmother encased in a
wooden box at ninety-three.