Stephanie
Lover of Emo//Screamo//Post-Hardcore & Indie
Music.
Bands: Bright Eyes, Hawthorne Heights, Mae,
Silverstein, The Promise Ring, UnderOATH, From First to Last, Thursday, Thrice,
Atreyu, Copeland, Finch, Alexisonfire, Armor for Sleep, All American Rejects, Oasis, Our Lady Peace, Glass Casket, Sesnses Fail, Bayside, Deathcab for Cutie, Tegan and Sarah, Akaline Trio, Desparcdios, My American Heart, Cantus Firmus, The Blood Brothers, Hot Hot Heat, Head Automatic, Eighteen Visions, Motion City Soundtrack, Fear Before the March of Flames, Fallout Boy, The Starting Line, Straylight Run, As Cities Burn, Evergreen, Showbread, Mineral, Scary Kids Scarying Kids && many many more. & many many more.
I wear my
heart on my sleeve;
& never win when I play
pretty pretty princess.
I write
poerty and lyrics.
So prescribe me your muse.
I need a
new inspiration.
Random things
about me include:
I sing in the shower;; and sometimes make
shampoo mohawks.
I cry over tragically romantic things.
I get called the "hopeless
romantic" at school.
I'm a people
pleaser.
Sometimes I hold hands with pretty boys & pretty
girls.
I adore.adore.adore. my friends.
They OWN my heart.
I'm a giggler.
I'm a sucker for those guys, who play
guitar.
It's pretty cute.
I giggle a lot. No not laugh. Giggle.
I'm a
Grammar-Nazi.
Shoot me, if I make a spelling error and don't
correct it.
I HATE when people "tYpE LyK Dizz"
Haha. Choke.
I'm not in
a certain group.
So DON'T call me scene,
emo, prep, hardcore, electric, or anything else that's a new group.
I like
making people speechless.
I can bring you to your knees with my words.
I usually don't let people
know that though.
I keep secrets.
& trust my
friends to keep mine.
My best friend is EXACTLY like me.
I pretty
much love her.
My
family ]] means a lot to me too.
My father is my
hero.
My mother I admire.
And my brother I
look up too.
I cuss like a sailor around my
friends.
Bad habit & they laugh at me when I do.
I have bad trust issues.
It takes someone a while to win
my trust over.
Though once you have it;; it's yours forever.
I'm a jerk
magnet.
]] The end [[
My poetry
Copyrights reserved.
Automatic.
I was drinking
scotch, straight up,
when he stepped on my doormat.
I had Dead Poetic
playing in the background,
ridding myself of annotations of the
past,
voiced by my own conscience.
"I'm
just reading the lines they gave me from the pulpit."
It almost
sounded like the excuse he gave me when he left.
"I'm just not ready and feel
automatic when I should be manual."
I cursed under my breath;
I mumbled
for him to manually shut the hell up
before I automatically did it for
him.
I imagined myself back in the city.
I remembered pushing through
the automatic doors,
insisting on being manual.
I remembered seething at
the nurse
with her fine-pressed white getup,
her cherry lips dulled to a
frothy pink.
When she called security,
I was already in the hall entrance
to the ER.
I pressed my face to the glass and saw wires.
There were
tubular structures sticking out of her arms,
blood-red liquid going to and
from places
like a fucking supermarket.
Automatically taking things back
and forth places,
sending medicinal, enigmatically pronounced
products
manually to the heart.
"And these are just words that will tear you
apart,
no one here will say what needs to be said;
New medicines will ease
this pain"
I was on the table, laughing like a maniac,
begging for
frothy pink lips.
and I had wires connected to me
running to and from
places,
Like a fucking supermarket.
I was drinking water, going
straight down,
when he stepped on my doormat.
He observed through the
glass, not meeting my incoherent eyes.
"When will she be out of this
place?"
My therapist and doctor looked at him with sad eyes.
"I'm afraid
she won't even leave her room,
let alone the ward."
When the doctor left,
he looked in my room
manually stripping me with his eyes
while I
automatically looked the other way
[scene one]
we walk into each other. we are
mirror images. remember when
we were younger and we had never met and we were
[incomplete]
because sometimes there is just one missing link.
but I
imaged you carrying roses, white with flaming tips
like a girl, a body, a
fire.
this is how I was supposed to be. I never wanted
roses, they seemed
too cliche, too storybook.
I was going to write my own story.
and I would
have irises for eyes,
not roses for my body.
[scene two]
you told me all these stories.
about when you were four and
you made up these
images, you took photographs, full of
light and makeup
girls and glitter,
and you wrote these stories to go along with them.
you
said, the worst thing to happen
was for a man to fall in love with a
whore.
yet doesn't that always happen?
glitter lace margaritas,
silk
lingerie hugging every curve, arm
[can arms be curves?]
these girls, they
took you by the waist
and put silk flowers in your hair,
their jewels to
your neck.
he'd be a pretty girl, they crooned in your ear,
if he grew his
hair out, let it fall in front of his eyes.
You became prettier than
me,
remember?
[scene three]
I don't plan for this to be a love story.
I don't even know
who you are,
hand in hand in some love letter,
a brush stroke, a click of
a shutterbox.
we are art and we are symphonies,
this is no love poetry for
any pretty boys.
if they took a photo of the two of us
we wouldn't be
standing together.
I would be looking the other way, away from you,
and
your back will be turned, you would face the wall.
I would be wearing a black
dress, one long strand of
pearls, fake, that go down to my knee,
hung
around my neck three times, pulled at varied lengths.
you would wear a black
suit, pinstripes like a movie star,
without the jacket. you looked like all
those dior models,
large hands, beautiful faces and bodies.
this is our
photograph, my love-boy,
my melting ice-sculpture.
[scene four]
I don't want to be roses, thorns,
statues and sculptures,
prefect fairtyale storybook,
poetry like abstract nouns taking wing and
flying.
I made you up, darling, because I can,
and this, this black and
white photo,
sepia toned painting, sequined dress,
is our
love-story.
directed by D. Jay Brawner