Watch me smile.

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I'm little, red headed mess, more hair than mass or sense. All I really want to do is make something magical and show the world and have it be proud of me.

Saturday, 16 May 2009

My Heart's Turned Into Jelly Beans.

My eyes are red and sore where I've been crying. My arm hurts from where I fell asleep a few hours ago, sucking my thumb for comfort and then turning on it. It's like a secret - my little secret. A secret that no one can know. No one thats not reading this. And that's why no one does know. I like to play games. Secrets are like games to me. It's an effort not to tell, a face to wear, until it takes over your life. I wear Achilles necklace on a day-to-day basis. I apply my apple-flavoured chapstick, strech my lips and face daylight.

Tuesday, 12 May 2009

Tomorrow Can Never Be, Because Yesterday Is All That Fills My Mind.

As an update to *pia-pia-piano,* I have found an alternative: sellotaping a stick to your hand. Yes, it's great breaking news to all pianists with deformed hands, and it works too, if a bit awkward.

Anyway, it's been exactly one week since the best day of my life, and I think I'm in love. Not really, probably. It's just the fact that I get attracted to arms. Yeah, you did read right. And beautiful eyes. So beautiful. So beautiful I managed to write a song about them. The bridge even made me cry as I came to resolutions and realisations. Damn you, brain!! Don't worry, if you even were, I'll be over it by tomorrow, as per usual. Thing is, I do quite like the song. Me and Vickie Smith are writing chords for it on Friday. Exciting. It's probably the first song I've ever finished. I want to make people cry. I want to banish teenage girls to their rooms as they cry with heartbreak over a song I wrote, like I do. I want to be beautiful. Like really beautiful. I got told I was pretty the other day, that was nice. But still, I want to be so heartbreakingly beautiful that it's almost pathetic. I don't think this makes sence. This is the time when people start to walk away from me. Maybe if I was beautiful they wouldn't?

Sunday, 10 May 2009

The Happy Girl.

And I'll cry and I'll cry and I'll cry.

I've tried, God knows I've fucking tried to hide behind my teeth until it's so easy it doesn't even hurt any more. Stuff happens, I don't complain. But some people, oh, they just bring me right on down. What do they even have to complain about? I mean, you ask and they shrug their shoulders and just be moody. Dang. Don't you just hate people?


Saturday, 9 May 2009


I forgot, I haven't blogged in a while, I have a place at the much prestigious BRIT school (think Adele, Amy Winehouse, Leona Lewis...) and I'm taking it. I've been a tad caught up recently. See, I've been skint-diddly-int recently, and ebay is apparently THE way to makes the moneys. I own NOTHING valuable that I'd be willing to sell so, under Mamies suggestion, out went my old art. My walls are empty, but a topshop raid is on the cards. I made £40 from the one below, so I bought a whole new outfit in the topshop sale for Gabriels surprise party (don't tell him though) which is pretty good going, considering it was on buy it now (I'm too impatient, I know) and the person who messaged me said they were hanging it in their living room. That's really crazy because its a really moshing picture, agree?

It's of my friend Georgina. She thinks she's a model. She's not. My verdict is ebay works. Saying goodbye to your own painting just doesn't. It's on canvas for the record, but doesn't look like it. And Georgina doesn't look that much like a camel either.

pia-pia-piano piano piano.

Discrimination against piano players with disformed hands? I think so.

Oh, why oh why did my mother not get chicken pox when she was five, like I did? She got them at thirty-five years old. A thirty -five year old chicken pox lady. Did I mention she was pregnant? Oh, yeah, I was that little foetus that got effected by her chicken pox. Damn chicken pox. Because I've been left with two less fingers and half a bone in my arm. I can't write well and it hurts when it gets cold. Lots.

Through infant school I was the half lizard girl who wondered around on her own and wouldn't speak to anyone. I was actually just shy, and no one would really speak to me, so I just stopped bothering. In Junior school, the coolest girl from the *cool gang* said my hand was "well cool" (we were seven, our vocabulary only reached as far as "cool") and then I too was cool.

There are so many instuments I can't play, I got asked to give up violin because my wrist couldn't take the *heaviness* of the bow and my piano teacher wasn't so kind. I kept on with the piano, got extra merit for my *disability*

I can't play my favorite song. My favorite song. It's infuriating. Theres a G that I can't reach. Damnit. I hate the piano.

Saturday, 2 May 2009

Summer Dawns

hurry up.
I'm blogging while I'm waiting.
The blossoms gone now. The green leaves crawled up the branches and caught up, encaved their beauty and abbliterated the Spring. Once again, the sun is out.
Good morrow.