Paths

"But I like the path of least resistance,"
she replied at his insistance
that she take the high road. She said
"that's a long way to fall."

He told her "I'll catch you" and held out
his hands, but her face showed doubt
epitomised; so he rolled his eyes and
followed down that oh so beaten path.

"It's paved for a reason," she explained,
and he said nothing, beliefs maintained,
hands interlocked they walked on some
time before he spoke again.

"These steps taken are done with ease,
but if you would just appease--"
Arguing perspective points they put one
foot in front of each other all through life.

She still laughed and he still smiled,
Oh he thought she was wild;
And her eyes and feet still tripping
over his, they moved forward.

Her face grew tired and his annoyed
Conversation something to avoid.
And although they stood together
They were seperate; equal, but apart.

Until she had enough and informed
him of her decision, a deformed
"Some streets are best travelled on
alone," and they parted ways.

With tears in their eyes,
they whispered their goodbyes,
but it was the right choice; they were
each others path of most resistance.

She couldn't have that.

..

My mother's unhappiness is my fault. And she knows it. She hates me with every fiber of her being and she makes certain I know it every day. As much as she misses my brothers, I know that she wouldn't miss me. Hurricane Rebecca. The Burden. Destroyer of All Things Good and Holy.

She probably would have stayed with my father if I'd've kept my mouth shut about what he was doing. But I was stupid and I blabbed. So stupid. It's not like I didn't deserve it. He knew that I was worthless trash even then. If I had kept our little secret then maybe my mother would have learned to love me, even if it never came naturally.

She told me once that she hadn't even wanted another kid, but he kept pushing her until she gave in.

I bought her that stupid GPS because she said she wanted one and I just... I wanted to make her happy with me, I wanted to make her smile at me, even just for a minute. But she hated it. She didn't even pretend interest.

I can't even buy her affection. I can't even buy a simple thank you.

I just want... her to love me, no matter what, and make sure that I know that, even when I make her mad. I want her to care that I cry instead of mocking me. I want her to not tell me she wishes I were dead every time I do something bad, even though I deserve it. I want to feel like she would choose me if she had to, not out of obligation, but because she wants to.

i'm just here

I haven't truly lived in a very, very long time. I exist, and life goes on around me, but I stay the same. Stagnant. Stubborn. Refusing to so much as blink.

In my short time on this earth, I have been given so many opportunities, things that a lot of people would kill for. And I just bat my lashes and keep walking. I barely even notice. But I do. Notice.

I have charisma. I make people laugh. I'm personable. But I'm so afraid of everything that I might be that I fail to be anything. I stand in my own way on purpose. I invent obstacles when there aren't any. I won't let myself be happy.


I've always been the kind of girl that's satisfied just know that she could be great. Just knowing the potential has always been enough. Actually growing it has never been that kind of girl's strongsuit. It's never been mine either.

I've applied that philosophy my entire life to academia. I could make straight As. It has always been enough for me to know that I could excell if I wanted, that I wasn't truly inept. But I never did homework or projects or anything of the sort because I simply didn't care. Excelling, or even succeeding at all, never mattered in the moment.

But now? I'm eighteen years old and I'm two years behind. Two years. I say it's one, but fuck it, that's a lie, it's two, I fucked around and I'm still fucking ar0und and I just don't want to admit it.

I was supposed to graduate in May.

I guess I've never really been able to grasp the concept of trying to succeed today meaning that eventually, tomorrow will come and you'll have succeeded.

I'm an expert at failure. It's what I know. I also know that I don't have to fail. If I don't want to.


But a part of me thinks I do want to. At least with failure I know what I'm getting into.

boo!

Happy All Saints Day, mothertruckers!


;-)


Glitter is the SHIT.

Heather's sending me glittery BATS.

Yay for glittery!

test

And the scars... Fuck, I love my scars.

When I saw that letter in the mailbox today... My heart stopped. She didn't need this, not on her birthday. With trepidation in my heart, I trudged slowly inside, clutching the envelop. She's on the phone with her sister, recieving birthday cheer, when a single eyecatching glance at the mail on the table wipes that from her face. Douglas County Jail is the second line on the return address. The first, of course, is his name. The name that still strikes fear and foreboding into my veins. But we luck out, this time; he's merely sending a hand drawn birthday note to our mother. My brother; so easy, so, so easy, to hate him when he's here... So easy to understand from a distance.

Jacob Andrew Bergeron was the third of four sons. He carried his mother's fair, pale skin and blue-green eyes. Nothing like his father in appearance, and so, that was his doom. Their father was a bastard. Cruel, cold, calculating. The kind of man that would tell his son that because he doesn't favor him in looks, he must be his whore mother's bastard child and not his. The kind of man that would regulate food for his sons when they lived with him. They had to ask his permission to get anything to eat from the kitchen. He sent his third son to bootcamp at thirteen because of a single infraction. A mistake probably propelled by the false accusation his father informed him of that same year. In bootcamp, they tried to rape him. They didn't succeed, but that kind of horror cannot be undone. After that, he didn't go back to his dad's, but inserted himself in my life in between jail stays.

No amount of therapy could fix his psychosis. Jake had always been a little batshit, a little temperamental (when I was seven, he chased Jamie around the house with a butcher knife threatening to kill him, but he probably was just mad), and his experiences living with his father, going to bootcamp, and having our mother (where do you think Jake got his crazy from?) as well, our mother, going in and out of jails, it only made it worse.

By the time he was seventeen he was holding a gun to Jamie's head cracked out on cocaine threatening to murder him. If Jamie hadn't of gotten out, he would probably be dead.

Jake is basically Schizoid Personality with a side order of bipolar manic type I. Try living with someone like that. It's hell. I walked on eggshells for thirteen years. I had a goddamn ULCER because of the stress of it. I don't know how Jamie shared a room with him. Last time... I couldn't handle living in the same HOUSE.

So... As much as I understand Jake, feel for his history... He is the bastard that destroyed my childhood.

So as she looks at his little note with a smile on her face, the chill never quite leaves my bones because I know it's just another manipulation.

A liar knows a liar and a con knows a con.

The only difference is that I'm not crazy, and I'm not evil. But I learned to manipulate and I learned how to lie because I had to survive, and you can't unlearn something that innate. Mostly, I use my gifts for good. Or at least render them harmless.

I don't torture people for sport. Jake did. Animals too.

Alice Imprisoned

Alice in wonderland lies with
odds and ends collected in
your madhatter heart; im-
prisoned by the cheshire
cat's grin-- a too happy,

teeth gleaming smile that
yearns for the yellow-brick
road. But that's the wrong
story at the right time and
so it must not be;

chase away time with the
white rabbit, and maybe
his notice of passing re-
grets will be of little note,
moments that do not concern.

Pacify the Queen of Hearts,
she will not be bothered with
your pleas or memories; like
you, she feels not, knows not--
didn't you make her that way?

Follow out the caterpillar, a
secret adviser amongst the
condemned. If only you could
catch him, he might set you
on the trial's side of good;

Perhaps you will get Alice back.

Cause And Effect

I admit that I love you but
I'd rather choke than show it;
Trust is not something I do,
especially not with someone
someone that's like you.

Who I could fall for, so very
easily, and who already has
my guard down. Yet still I am
on edge. Eyes and empty boxes,
empty boxes mark my escape.

Empty boxes made of cardboard
walls, the walls you trampled on
and tore down before I could blink
or run away; and now I am exposed
and open but you don't know it yet.

You don't know it yet because you
stopped watching; stopped seeing,
you aren't there or here or anywhere
Just everywhere you can't find me, you
couldn't find me so you stopped looking.

Stopped and looked and passed me by,
like a pastlife you can't quite remember,
I am nothing to you without this mask on,
and it's gone and you don't know who I am,
I don't know who I am anymore.

The roadblocks are lifted and I can see the
road out, but I have no one to lead the way,
do I really want to go alone? You made me
laugh my way out of this, and I think I have
to walk away from you on my own.

omg WANT

I want these prints like Amy Winehouse wants crack. And I would kill for the talent these guys possess in their pinky finger.


"White Rabbit"



"plastic.is.a.sin"




"If Your Kisses Can't Hold.."



"old friend.."

I'm tired of being attacked

If I so much as mention doing anything other than schoolwork, at any point in time ever, I'm sick of being attacked. She wants me to be doing it 24 hours a goddamn day. Twice this week she's started in on a litany of my faults out of nowhere, we won't be talking about school work or anything and all the sudden she's gone batshit. Screaming, threatening to cancel it, threatening to kick me out, telling me what a lazy piece of shit I am.

I won't repeat the things I said today. They weren't appropriate; I'm ashamed of having said those things to my mother. But the message was valid and I won't apologise for that. She's being a bitch, and I'm tired of being attacked just because she doesn't see me with schoolbooks every time she walks in. It's like if she doesn't see it, it must not be happening, and therefore, I'm just a worthless lazy bitch. Her words, that last bit.

Oh.. and now she's threatening to blow out her brains because she got a late fee.

Grow the fuck up, mother. I hate that I'm beginning to hate her. But it's the truth.

Oh, wow.

She just went "I wish that goddamn 50 dollars would get here, I could use the gas money." Wow. Um. That's my money, thank you. I love how you entitled yourself to it.

She makes me want to die... But the difference between her and I is that I love her too much to ever tell her that. I will never tell her how I used to cry myself to sleep when she would snap, how I still cry when she's standing outside my door telling me how she wishes she were dead, how I punish myself for that, how I blame myself. She will never know.

you make the prettiest sounds

And you make the prettiest sounds
with your silence. A stuttering melody

of lost words and sounds you've forgotten
to remember. The faces you make and the

tears that I pretend not to see. The noise
in your head is so loud I can hear it; the

static of my thoughts replies in kind.

You are the loudest when you stand around
and your voice is the strongest when you say

nothing at all. The complicated implecations of
your silent movie life make me wary and unsure

of where to speak; I want to ask you things but I
am too afraid of what you may tell me when you

look me in the eyes and show the truth.

I'm urging so bad right now

And I think I'm going to be sick.

I'm either going to make myself puke or find a razor.

Fuck.

After this weekend

If I get nothing good...

I'm quitting. I'm done. Finito.

I feel like I'm in this relationship with photography and I keep going "Is this good?" and being shot down. Fail. Fail. Fail. Fail.

I can only handle so much rejection from the art before I grow up and let it go.

I refuse to be the photographer with 30 years experience that's got the worst portfolio in the room.

I literally feel sick after a shoot because I know that the model will hate the images.

I love my friends

Seriously.

The ones that are awesome... Are really fucking awesome.

They exude win like the rainforest and oxygen.

Also, Seether makes a happy Becks, which is amusing, actually-- Seether is a pretty depressing band. Go figure. I'm a goddamn anomally, after all :P


I'm sick of pizza.

I want that damn bike.

I'm scared to shoot.

The mice are kind of boring.

Oh, did I ever even mention that? Yeah, I got two mice. They were cute, and now... Not so much. They don't like the whole being touched thing... Which, I do. I love snuggling animals. And animals that don't snuggle suck. It's the whole look but don't touch thing. Yeah... Never been particularly good at that. I usually want something... And figure out how to get it.

Or at least how to make sure nobody else does.

HAHAHA

Clyde: i'm staunchly in opposition of the tattoo, but it's your body
Becks: lmao
Becks: think of it this way
Becks: i'm basically stomping on him with every step i take!
Clyde:
Clyde: i was thinking..."maybe if she regularly stepped in shit i'd like it more"
Becks: LOL
Clyde: i heart chu
Becks: i heart chu too

Truth

Bats, bats, bats
bats those lashes again
and gets her way, pretty
lines and a laugh that
convinces Lucifer himself
to be good.

Run, run, run
run as far from Truth
for as long as you can,
but she'll find you and
you'll tell her things
in whispers.

Straight, straight, straight
straight to hell, she lives
in an abyss of niceties,
a charming lie you've yet
to really see.

They, they, they
they like to pretend, but
control is not a choice,
it's a given, and it was
never given to them, so
take it back.

You, you, you,
you can't have the keys
to every kingdom, or the
locket in every girl's heart;
Just soldier-walk away, don't
look behind you.

Update And a Day and the Life

So the day before yesterday, I woke up. Shocking, I know. Who would have guessed? Anyway, I dressed to the beat of Fort Minor's Remember The Name and then brushed out my hair and went downstairs. To abbreviate the boring shit, I ended up at the mall, searching for an id/cigarette case. I ended up with two-- a black cigarette case with a silver peace sign on it, and a business card case with black-and-rainbow-glitter gems embedded on the top. I walked around the mall for a bit and saw the CUTEST shoes known to man. I don't jest! I wanted them like Amy Winehouse wants crack. But I no can has, so I moved on. I ended up talking my mother out of $80 more dollars for an adorable corset and an even cuter pleated shirt dress. And I still need pants; I'm getting these, and this skirt (it matches my corset!), and this tshirt. I figure I can shred the sides and make it awesome.

Anyway, after that, I talked her into advancing me twenty bucks she's supposed to give me soon, so that I could get this book that I totally read by the time we got home (I'm not lying when I say I'm smart, I broke reading level records as a child in elementary school).

Now, it's two days later and I'm listening to Kate Voegle, not Fort Minor. And my Sunday shoot got pushed back one week, which, believe it or not, is an absolutely fantabulous coincidence of fate. I'm crashing at Anna's this Saturday and I was going to have to rush from there Sunday around eleven just to make it to the shoot location on time. Yeah, rushing and I know each other well, so I wasn't that fazed by the thought, but still. Unnecessary instances are best avoided, ne? I digress, however. Another reason it's such a great thing, is that I let the model get the dress-- after showing her about five different dresses to base it off of-- and it's pretty ugly (in my opinion). BUT she was really great and she's been an absolute peach about everything, real willing and just a joy to plan with. She has since offered to order one of those dresses I showed her if I push back the shoot one week. And thus, such a thing was done. That weekend will be hectic, however! I have a shoot that Saturday as well. I'm pretty nervous... -_- Eep!

Oh, and if you don't here from me by next week, my mother killed me this weekend. She knows Anna is in Milledgeville but... she doesn't realise HOW far precisely it is away from here. Try... Two hours and twenty-one minutes, according to Mapquest. That's one way. Over 100 miles. One way.

She's going to flip, but come on! I never ever do anything. She can suck it the fuck up and drive.

Skin Deep

Flesh is only skin deep,
and he watches you weep even though
It shocks him down to his toes;
A revelation he didn't want to see.

Snapped away rubberbands fall
to the ground and you stall for time,
Thinking of the bloodshot lines
you'll use just to hurt him.

His smile reaches his eyes,
and his tongue doesn't lie with ease;
yet that softly spoken degree
of absolute distrust remains.

Hurting you without intention
seems to be his transgression, his one
unfaltering flaw; why you can't succumb
to his supposed truths.

You love him like your own flesh
and blood, but flesh is only skin deep
and he watches and weeps as you cut
away the ties that bind.

Is it still raining? Is it still raining inside my head?

I wonder.

Bloody Vaginas and Personal Reflections

Lately I've come to the conclusion that... It's extremely difficult for me to admit when I'm pissed at a friend. I'm too afraid of losing them to explode, so I just take it. I tend to just pretend like I'm not mad at all, but then blurt out snarky little comments instead of just flat out owning up to my emotions. And I know my friends well, because I genuinely care about each of them, but because of that I know exactly what snarky little comment to say at the given moment that will piss them off the most. But I don't realise that I'm doing it until I've already said it.

I opened my first ever bank account today, completely independent from my mother's reach. I convinced the lady at Suntrust to bend company policy and allow me to open an account without a co-applicant (the standard procedure for those under 18). I can now buy whatever the fuck I want online and not have to tell anyone jackrabbity about it.

Also, yay! By the end of next week I will have my debit card and my $50 dollar visa gift card to play with. I was going to buy shoes, but I decided to be obnoxiously responsible and put it towards an MUA or something for a shoot.

My wrist is still fucked up, which is outrageously annoying considering that I have to deal with that in addition to the period cramps from lucifer himself.

What the fuck is the deal with naproxen not working? There's no freaking way I've built an immunity. Acetamenophin and ibuprofen do not work, I will DIE if naproxen starts failing me.

No, seriously, I would quite possibly puke up my intestines from the pain if I didn't have working medication.


Yes, this has been a rather dramatic post from yours truly, [even by my standards] but let's blame the PMS, shall we, and call it a night.