why is that everytime i find a girl that i like a lot, there's something there to fuck it up. that shy, cute, funny, artsy, creative, intelligent girl that comes only so often. Gone again. They're a rare type, but they're always taken. I'm sick of nothign working out with girls. I feel like shit now cause i was going to ask her out tomorrow, but i found out she has a boyfriend. once again, it drops from my hands. What happens when you lose everything? Well, you just start again. You start all over again oh...i;m now 18

I feel safer on this site...not sure why but i do. Here are a few recent poems for your enjoyment. What if you had the world in your arms? What would you do...what would you change. You better say something. Everyone would hear your silence. Your voice controls the weather, the sun, the mood of the people. When you sit back and watch the world panics. They've started Wars while you've been on vacation. Without your guidance, millions die. You took a lunch while the Irish we’re starved by the English. Hiroshima suffered when you took a cigarette break. With your silence the world makes noise that can deafen even you. They annoy you back into their minds. They are comfortable when you are looking out for them. So you better say something The world will hear your silence so i ask again...would you change anything. Would you make your mark or disappear into the break room and take 15 only to come back with nothing left? They would hear your silence. Addison 01.08.06 3.5.06 Addison When I woke up I was alive But I was not happy. My dream never ended. A girl I’ve never formally met Told me she loves me today And I hope she meant It The sun is rising without me today I revel in Hollywood love stories It seems like the best way, the only way A way for the lost Romantics : A dying breed And I hope she meant It I don’t fall in love easily I’m not sure this is love, but Does anyone know what love Is? I don’t fall in love with Face or a body. I fall in love With a heart, a spirit. With a Personality that makes me Feel good about anything. About everything. And I hope she meant It. Is it better the dream and never live? Or Is it better to live and never have a dream? The temperance of the universe frightens me, for it is unknown. Just like the 14 year old on the first date, I feel misconstrued and beridden with embarrassment. With no words to say. With nothing But the wonderment To drive me On. The Curiosity What is happening in the world? And do I dare say I don’t care? Do I dare speak out and let my mind known? Or do I stay in the shadow and watch You tear down your yesterdays But never your tomorrow’s Addison 12.25.05 On Wonderment I ask myself questions (none of which I have answers for) In a hope to feel hope. To feel the feeling that I’m important To someone To not feel like the useless extremity that Exists in the pinky. To think about thinking And how to decipher these feelings. Or, in some cases, lack of feeling I feel only to think. Addison 2.21.06 “Swimming”

Well lets see.. i;m prolly done with sitdiary...nothig against you guys. http://gohomegetdown.blogspot.com check me out there www.myspace.com/anotherloss or there

Her face was in the magazine I saw it; I adored it. But this is not her (as I know her) I know her face; her personality. She has no selfish thoughts Or feelings. She’s concerned Not with herself, but others. She does not worry herself with Clothes, or hair, or make-up [yet] (she is beautiful) She worries about the well being of her friends Or family, or acquaintances. I see nothing but radiance In her face I see only her caring Concerned and compassionate Mind at work. And that is beautiful

It's always been a strange task to start a poem Whenever the idea comes, I drop all I am doing And I write The idea flows from my head Without direction. And as I put It together, slowly with rhythm I get excited to show it to you, So you can read the idea I found So great that I needed to stop everything to write. But I show you the poem, hoping for The same excitement I have But I get nothing. Not even a forced "I like it" Or an honest "it needs work" It's the true test to a poet when his reader ignores him. He questions his ability, his talent To write. But the poet will always win because He will write a poem about it.

I realize it all now When I look around All I see doesn't matter My room covered in labeled cloths Designer shoes, pants, shirts Who really cares about these things? Not me, I know this much Shelves covered in suede shoes Brown, blue, gray, white Being owned by fashion Sports, television, music Accepting everything they hear Not thinking for themselves Criticizing people based on looks What color their hair is now Blonde, red, even pink Drawing conclusions, stereotypes Even those who think they are "real" Are often as “fake” as the rest Wearing tight jeans, wristbands Thinking they really don't care But they wear designer jeans They bought that wristband Supporting the ones we should hate the most They spend hours at the mall Thinking thoughtless thoughts Spending money on their shoes Their khaki's stained soon after Thrown out to the trash I see this all and wonder Is anyone honestly “real”? I wonder, what is being "real"? From all this, I realized That no matter how “fake” you are I'm not far behind, I’m “fake” in my own way But I don't think thoughtless thoughts Most are “fake” with fashion and looks I am “fake” with friends and knowledge They watch movies and don’t think any further I read books and analyze and debate Is this the difference between “real” and “fake”? Simple thought, simple morals Most simply fail with thought and intelligence Unable to show us what they mean Not using the most important thing of all They think about their outfits What they will wear the day of next We are all “fake” because no one is “real” But if we are all “fake” and no one “real” Wouldn’t we all be “real”? With nothing to counter act the “fake” There is nothing to compare it to Would this really make us “real”? Or would we all just exist With no “fake” or “real” Just existence, all thinking differently Accusing others of being “fake” When they, themselves, are more “fake” Of course, no one thinks they are “fake” We all think we are real And what defines a “fake” person from a “real” one Most people would say, “I am ‘real’ and you are ‘fake’” Who gives them this right to say this? What gives you the right to think your “real”? And call others “fake” as they are not like you Of course it is you who is “fake” in their eyes And your still thinking thoughtless thoughts I still have not answered what “real” is “Fake,” by definition, is something not real And “real” is something that exists in life Since man exists in life, all people are “real” Yet we all are not consistent Not always seeming “real” Thus making us “fake” But as I mentioned before No one is “real” in terms of how they are No one acts the same around all people They have attitudes towards people They have small details they care too much about This makes us all, indeed “fake.” If we are all “fake” then none are real The more they try to be “real” The less “real” they are Those who admit being “fake” Are more “real” than any Is being “fake” the only way to be? If no one person is “real” How do we tell how “fake” another is If no one is “real” than no one is “fake” Not many realize this I am one lucky person who stumbled upon it The many things that are “fake” about me I lie, I care for small things I should not I care about what others think about me I am not myself around certain people I act differently around different groups But I do not think thoughtless thoughts There is something more important than cloths It’s not what you wear that makes you what you are Your mind isn’t on your sleeve Changing with every pair of pants What really matters is how you act towards people No matter how “fake” you may be If you act the same to everyone, if you treat everyone the same You are more “real” than most Image is not everything Image is nothing Everything to you is nothing to others So instead of arguing with each other Realize your opinions will not change Unless time takes its toll and you grow wiser And change it for yourself Wear want you wanna wear Say what you wanna say But that doesn’t make you right And it doesn’t make them wrong And it never makes anyone “fake” And no one is ever “real”

bck from italy.....it ruled! i'll write more when i have time

Well this will be my last update for about 2 weeks...i;m going to Italy everyone enjoy summer and have one hell of a time in the states

Here's a question for all to answer What is it that makes you cry, and why? my answer...thinking about my grandma because she is one of the onl people i truly loved and she's no longer here

some one comment on these...the people i sent them to don't actually read them, so read them and make me feel stupid, honestly. comment and critique me, it'll be the only way i get better I can feel the pressure The dread, the confusion But it makes no sense to me. I feel it, but I do not understand How, why, every time Not even an attempt. Closer and closer Then a quick retreat and surrender. Suicide In the thoughts of my leader. I cannot retreat I cannot surrender I must run so this never reaches my heart. I must run. (I don't expect you to understand this 2nd one, but stil lread it) This disaster Phantasmal beats Never…noticed Ringing cymbals Chanting harmony Is this symbolic Or is this what we’ve been Told to see Forever But nevermore An easy part Does it exist? No problems? I walk down the hall And hear One. Two Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. (Skip.) Ten. I see the cold. Taking over. The cold black. It’s not named But it’s known. You can see it. I know It. My cold, black. Heart. It’s here for all to see. Nefarious. Nefarious. Nefarious. Single-serving, but cold And black and nefarious. Right here for all to See.

Now that May is over...i can update again and here's my update Fuck Off

It’s so subtle, so simple so ordinary, but wrong I eat my fries with My Friend eating his lunch in a booth. As I sip tolerance from my straw, a family pays For their meal with ignorance The woman leans over, like a School girl with a secret,to her husband And she whispers… so my Friend cannot hear The mans eyes show understanding as he glances at my Friend. it turns into a glare His eyes find an enigma of his mind; a Kinder, Darker Face They move like sloths, as if not to disturb and not to be noticed, to the opposite corner as I sit in disgust My fries grow as cold as her heart. An underlying prejudice has gone unnoticed for too long. It’s become so simple; grown so subtle, so ordinary and everyday. do we choose to ignore it? do we not even realize it? I spoke my mind to the family and I received a thanks from my Friend.

FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i hate people

Features Fashioned from a Pure Slate Her face was in the magazine I saw it; I adored it But this is not her (as I know her) I know her face; her personality She has no prissy thoughts Or attitude. She’s concerned Not with herself, but others She does not worry herself with Clothes, or hair, or make-up (yet she is beautiful) But rather the well being of her friends Or family, or complete strangers I see no uptight, close mindedness In this face. I see only her caring, Concerned, and sympathetic Mind at work. That beauty outweighs the beauty (And that is beautiful)

i;m 17 i was hoping to grow wings and be able to fly...so I guess I'm dissapointed, but whatever

I can feel the pressure The dread, the confusion But it makes no sense to me. I feel it, but I do not understand How, why, every time Not even an attempt. Closer and closer Then a quick retreat and surrender. Suicide In the thoughts of my leader. I cannot retreat I cannot surrender I must run so this never reaches my heart. I must run. its so fucking useless!!!

ALL I WANNA DO IS TAKE HER TO FUCKING DINNER

You changed, faster Than I was expecting, before I could get used to the way You looked at me Into my eyes, staring off into a future. Before things changed. Before your heart changed The mind I love. Convincing it is, even your heart Could not tell, it’s been told that Your better off in memories Painful, or happy, whether you Enjoyed it or Not.

lets see, i'll actually right about what i did today: My dad woke me up at 10:00, i took a shower and felt better (i've been sick). I sat around for 2 hours and talked to people on the computer, then made French Bread Pizza's. After the FBP i started to play Civilization 2, a marvelous game by the way. Around 4 I got depresses because I should have been getting ready for MORP, oh well...shit happens. My dad, brother, and I were planning on going to Ruth's Chris Steakhouse downtown, but they were booked. Another dissapointment on the day. At about 6 i gt together a Jam with Rickett's and Mike. at 6:30ish i called Outback and we picked up some food...delicious. Once i finished dinner, i went to Rickett's to jam. Well, i stopped at Colleen's first to swap cd's. The cd's good, by the way. Sleep Station "After the War." We jammed for about an hour, then watched some Napolean Dynamite, then Mike left and Rickett's and I watched Dazed and Confused...well, half of it. Then i had to come home. Now here i am...bored as hell, pissed off, and grumpy...thanks God, i appreciate your humor in messing up my life i;m really, genuinley dissapointed for only the 2nd time in my life i need to write more. I've basically stopped...its depressing.

its been a while i;m home sick for the third day in a row and i;m watching the matrix...great movie. yeah....me sick!!!!