I’m a hypocrite, but when it boils down to it.. aren’t we all?

There are some things that you just can’t accept, and we all have those things.

It’s human nature.

I don’t get why other human beings want to remind you of how much you did wrong.

I’m not going to be a punching bag because you’re angry at me.

There’s a difference between letting me know how you feel, and just trying to hurt me.

The worst part is that you’re exactly the same.

You’re self-righteous and stubborn…

but I’d never try to tell you that, because guess what?

I’d be “wrong”.

There’s no way  you’d ever see it my way, so lets drop it.

There’s no fucking use in listening to your complaints about my character,

they’re just angry words that you have pointed, hoping that they’ll stick into me.

Like that does any good.

I’m looking to end the cycle, and you just want to keep it moving.


The philosophical why

Why was a little girl

she looked at the blue sky

and asked, “why?”

Why was a teenager

she loved and decided to cry

looking at her tears

she asked, “why?”

Why was in college

with a life full of friends

and that one special guy

he left her one day

like always, she asked, “why?”

Why was a mother

watching her daughter pretend to fly

she wondered,”why?”

Why was an old woman

waiting patiently to die

she laid in a bed

and asked, “why?

why? why why why?”

it had driven her insane

as the life let out of her easily

like a sigh

she realized one thing

why did she waste her life

always asking,”why?”

So long, Roosevelt high! You will be forgotten.

This is the last time I’ll ever be looking at this classroom. I can’t believe it really went this far. It’s ridiculous, you know, thinking of how quickly something can blow up in your face. One second, you’re a high school economics teacher… and the next, you’re placing the chairs upside down on the desks and turning in your keys.

I don’t know if you’ve ever worked in a high school, but those places are fucking rumor mills. I guess that’s to be expected, though. I got kicked out for something that I didn’t even do. The stupid bastards actually believed that I was sleeping with the head of the cheerleading squad. Now, you haven’t met me, but I can assure you that I’m not high school student-teacher love scandal material. I’m a balding, thirty-something male with a degree in communications. That may sound like a dreamy older-male news anchor for some, but I promise you it’s nothing close to that. I HAVE NEVER AND NEVER WILL BE ATTRACTIVE TO ANY SORT OF JAILBAIT TEENAGERS.

You should have been at the hearing; it was everything that has ever made a situation awkward rolled into one. I stood by myself in the center of what had to be fifty of the biggest stiffs I have ever met. You know the ones I’m talking about, the ones who are constantly clearing their throats before they speak and using the largest words possible in a sentence. Yeah, those kinds of people. One guy actually used the word “coitus” to describe what blondie and I were allegedly doing. I guess he was trying to mix up the vocabulary usage since “sexual intercourse” had been used too much.

Well, that’s all over with now; and the deed has been done. I have been exiled from the hallowed halls of Theodore Roosevelt high school and label as a threat to the student body’s virginity. Hey, maybe that gives me a rebellious persona… or maybe it just lands me a profile on meganslaw.com. Either way, I’m going to have some trouble finding myself a new job. God damn, I feel like I have a fucking brand on my forehead that says “PEDOPHILE”.

This is the last time that I ever help someone out. Especially a minor. I was such a sucker. You have to realize, this girl was a charity case. She’s the one girl that every other high-schooler wants to be: prom queen, captain of the cheerleading squad, a total over achiever; or, at least that’s how it looked on the outside. Truth be told, this girl had the IQ of a baked potato. She failed every single media quiz, scantron test, and short answer test I ever gave out. She tried so hard, but she was just too god damn inept.

Well, anyway… this girl realizes one day that she’s not gonna make it out of high school, and that she’ll be exposed for the imbecile that she really is. So, she does the smart thing and comes in to talk to me… on a Saturday… at my home. Okay, okay so maybe I should have noticed the obvious foul play right off the bat; but the nerdy high schooler in me got lost in her charms. Anyway, one thing lead to another and I end up passing her in my class because she is insanely good at turning on the believable water works.

So, not only does this girl use me to get her high school diploma; she also gets her community college classes paid for in full. Or, maybe she’ll get into some sort of “fashion” school with the settlement she is getting.

I examined the bare walls in my classroom. The walls where stupid motivational posters once were, the white board that still has remnants of a pie chart on it. I was just beginning to get settled here, it was only my second year. I guess you could say that I got a late start. I messed around for a bit after high school before going to college. I took a couple years off and lived in a nature commune in the outskirts of Humboldt county. I did alot of drugs during that stage of my life. It was all the LSD that I did near the end of my stint there that made me want to re-vamp my life. I realized that I was two years out of high school, and I hadn’t done a thing. I thought the answer at first was to get married and settle down, but that failed horribly. So, I enrolled in my local community college and got my life together. I was finally happy where I was.

I slid my name plaque out of its holder. This school may be keeping my dignity and my oak desk, but they sure as hell aren’t holding on to my fucking name tag. I picked up my box and turned around to flick off the light switch. There was a knock on the door and my focus came to a pair of blue eyes staring through it’s window. The destroyer of my life was here to have a chat. I opened the door and addressed her politely:

“What the fuck are you doing here.” I felt no need to censor myself, considering that I was no longer employed. Therefore, I am technically not a teacher.

“I just wanted to say sorry.” God damn, why does her skin glisten like that?

“Oh, well apology not accepted. Seeing as I’ll never work in this town again.” I assumed she was going to let me walk out the door after I said that…

“No, you didn’t understand me… I want to show you how sorry I am.” I stared at her, confused.

Then, before I knew it, we’re at my apartment… and what I was fired for was now considered a pre-emptive strike. Needless to say, I think I was just mad because I was pinned so easily by the school board as a teacher who would sleep with a student in a heart beat. You can’t judge me either, because it’s perfectly legal. It’s just not an extremely morally-conscious thing to do, dating a teenager. Oh well, I still sleep at night because I know that plenty of people would love to be me.

An Empty Room

An empty room

can be

a closet

or a bedroom

or a bathroom.

An empty room

could also be

a bedroom

adorned in pink

and blue

with a princess bed

never to be

slept in again

connected to

a closet

full of shoes

which will never

be worn again

a bathroom

full of hair products

never to be

used again.

An empty room

should only be

empty when you

want it to be.

Steven (or, if you have a better title…let me know)

Originally posted on Monday, November 2, 2009 on facebook.com

His name was Steven, or was it Jim… Jeez, I’m not sure, give him whatever name that you think fits him. Wait, maybe he was really a she… or an it? Anyway, he/she/it looked like any other average Joe: nondescript facial features, average height and weight, some sort of hair/eye color… the works. Well, don’t worry none of that stuff is relevant anyway. What’s relevant is the story that surrounds StevenJim GirlGuy [insert name/gender here].
It was a bright morning, but sort of like the night time too. You know, like the morning or the night. One of the two. Our character walked at a slowish fast pace through one of the rooms in their dwelling place (like a house/apartment/condo/timeshare)… possibly the kitchen or the bathroom. The main person in this piece of writing examined all of the objects in the room, and noticed that there was something wrong with one of them. The protagonist moved closer, until they were like… really close to it.

“Holy shit!” exclaimed the person, “there is clearly something wrong with that object.” And our hero could see it very clearly, even if it was a little vague. He/she decided that something needed to be done, and nothing was going to stand in the way. Unless, of course, something were to stand in the way.

StevenJimJessicaKatie was on the way out the door, when something stood in the way. Character A (you know, the one I’ve been talking about) looked character B(the newcomer) in the face and posed a very articulate question, even if it was inarticulate and more of a statement.
“What the fuck are you?” He/she/it asked.
“Can’t you see?” replied the plot device.
“Oh yeah, I suppose your right. How stupid of me. Anyway, I have to do something about this object that has an imperfection… could you please move?” proclaimed our plot-mover.
“You and I both know you can’t do that,” said the thing… possibly a monster or something.
“Well, I suppose I’ll use the back door then,” said the humanoid.
And that is exactly what the main character of this story did. They used that back door. The person we have grown so fond of strode briskly yet slowly out the back door of their… uhh… place where they live, and started down some sort of path or road with the object in hand.
“Don’t worry, inanimate object, I’ll get you fixed. Or at least appraised!” Exclaimed our hero.
Just then, a shot rang out from the grassy knoll (or was it the book depository?) adjacent to protagonist boy/girl. He/she looked down and confirmed what he believed had happened.
“Jesus christ, I’ve been shot.” He/she said.
At that moment, the antagonist that we met briefly a couple of paragraphs back walked on screen.
“Yes that’s right! It is I who shot you. I was vengeful for some reason. Do you have any last words?” This character was clearly evil.
“I only have one thing to say,” said the guy/girl who you have grown so attached to because of character development, “I really hope that the papers see my death in a valiant light. Like you know what I mean? Like I hope they don’t criticize my death in the wrong way… like applying their opinions to their judgement of my death? Do you know what I mean? Ah, nevermind…”
Then he/she died a very gruesome, yet clean and not disgusting death. Everyone lived happily ever after, or they didn’t. Whatever.