I would believe if it were to be true.

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have no love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices within the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, imperfection disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:1-13

I would like to believe that I watch movies like The Notebook, A Walk To Remember, Twilight, and Armageddon because I am a “hopeless romantic” and I like to watch the passionate love stories of others. But I’ve come to terms with myself on countless occasions, whether in the quiet sanctity of my mind, or out loud, where, still, no one can hear me.
I cannot tell anyone for they will surely think me madd, or emotional, of which I’m not sure is worse. I am not madd. My emotional stability is fine. I’m not going to become a jumper and go find a highrise somewhere just because I’ve come to terms on how certain aspects of life might not ever appeal to me.
I think I believe that love can happen for others. Love is such a typical term used amongst hormone-crazed teens and savage romance novelists, because true love, as I’ve mentioned before, cannot be seen through fascionation &/or lust.
Epic true love, that of fairytales and Hollywood movies, might just be between someone, somewhere, in existance. I can accept that, I can fathom that just as much as I can fathom another species of intelligent life somewhere on a far galaxy trillions of lightyears away from us here on Earth. They are of equal likelihood.
But epic love will not ever happen for me. I feel that, for some reason, I am unlovable in the romantic, passionate, heart-aching, earth-shaking, dazzling way that I need. If I was to find love in someone, that man, yes man, I cannot love a b o y, I would have to capture their very heartbeat, they would have to mean so much to me, and I to them, that I couldn’t stand it.
I just do not think that kind of spectacular emotion could exist inside me. It has nothing to do with my looks, or how I act half the time, or where I’m from; a person seeking love cares little about those things, because as it says in Corinthians, love cares nothing at all about pride, and it is patient.
I need someone to be so incredibly patient with me, and kind; someone to respect my very traditional values and take them into their own heart ( someone that may share the same views as me, and respect anything and everything that I choose in that matter ); I will fail them: I am not perfect, so I need that endeared one to accept me for every flaw, and catch me, hold me, when I so desperately need it most.
There are just some things family cannot do for you. If I cry myself to sleep because of all the hurdels I’m facing every day, family cannot be there beside me in the morning to just hug me and tell me not to worry about it, that everything will get better because they won’t allow it to go wrong. Family cannot make me feel butterflies, and chills, and goosebumps, and heart flutters; they cannot dazzle me and be on my mind every moment of the day and night. They cannot fill my dreams with such pleasant feelings that cancel out all the negatives – – and even though I feel like I need that so incredibly much, I can never feel it. My soul might want it, but this body is not capable of producing such an emotion to draw love in; how am I supposed to be a good enough person to attract a kindred soul from this wide world? How do you do that, attract your soulmate, for lack of a better term, without being publicized or smacking your face on a billboard?
I can’t imagine anyone thinking me special enough to propose to, or to marry and say “I do” with a smile on their face and tears in their eyes…I just can’t see it, because I almost know it’s not there.

I say all this because I am no naiive teenager. My grandmother called me an old soul once, because of how aware I am of who I am, what I can accomplish, and what I cannot.

People say “Believe and the world could be yours!” Really? Believe and you can cheat death? Believe in yourself strong enough, and you’re just going to fly off to Neverland with your best friend & lover & soulmate (all the same person, I’m presuming) ?
Who the hell came up with that. I am self-aware, self-taught in so many things. I would believe in love for myself if it were to ever have a possibility of being true.

Remember what I said about not being able to tell anyone about this. See what I mean?


Valentine’s Day

What happened today was one of the best things that’s happened to me in … forever?

My step-sister moved out  of our downstairs built-in basement!! Which means I practically have the basement to myself now. They only thing I have to worry about is a few of my stepdad’s tools on the other side of the room in a corner. And he’s also building a wall between me and them, so I don’t have to look at them every day.

Autumn (stepsis)’s actual words: “I knew you were boring from the second I met you.” She spoke those to me about an hour ago when I explained to her that she will learn quickly, moving in here again with us, just how boring I am. How much I love my house, and my room — and why I like to stay there so much. I usually don’t let the bitch get to me, excuse the language, but this time just the way she said it made her sound like this little prick that just pissed me off. I gave her a look and said, “Yep, that’s me; and I’m a book nerd too, don’t forget that.” Then I laughed a little and added, “And you know what the difference is? I don’t care. At all; I couldn’t care less.” (about what she thought, was what I was saying). And she picked up on it.

The thing about Autumn is that she’s just a few pounds over 100 (not joking), and she’s 16; but she failed so she’s a grade lower than I am. But because she was “popular” in her school up north, and wears the latest Hollister fashion and has a different boyfriend every week, she thinks that she is “above” me. But she needs to realize, as I do, that she is far from above me. We are on equal playing fields just like everybody else — no one is better than anybody else.

I also wanted to explain to the prick that I stopped caring about what other people thought of me a long time ago. Long time ago. Every time I start getting self-conscious, or worried about how I am and how I’m not impressing other people, I mentally thump myself in the head and remember ‘Oh yeah! I don’t care!’  Literally. That is the thought that goes  through my head, and for some reason it’s a good enough reason for me to smile and lift my chin up, and carry through with whatever I was doing in the first place. I’ve done this with presentations to my classes, to speech for debates in Government; for interviews while I was playing the “Yearbook Staffer” role, or even when I was talking to guys. I no longer cared what someone else thought of me, therefore it allowed me more time to shape myself into what I wanted me to be, and stopped the useless shaping of what they wanted me to be. Because the world wants me to be perfect: and no one is ever going to be perfect. So why try?

And anyway, screwed up people are more fun. 99% of my friends, God bless you all, are abnormal, or funky, or groovy, or a bit crazy, or out of style, or act old/young for your age; whether you’re wise beyond your years, or still act like you’re in diapers: and I love them!!! Because they don’t have to stop every five minutes to check their mirror compact in vain to make sure their hair hasn’t fallen a degree out of place. I also feel much more comfortable with someone who doesn’t verbally degrade me about what I where or what type of people I hang out with. Because honestly that is my choice; and I love most of the people I do chose to be with. They are interesting, and most of you friends are hilarious because that’s a huge attraction factor, in relationships and friendships, for me.

I have surrounded myself with people who could care less about what brand I’m wearing, and care more about the words that are coming out of my mouth, and the plans that I have this Saturday. They don’t want to know how much money my parents make, they want to know if I can scrounge up a few bucks to be by their side at a music venue or a club. My friends are AMAZING; and to anyone who doesn’t agree or thinks I’m “less of a person” because I don’t get wasted every night and say “Y’alll” in every sentence, screw you. I don’t need you, I didn’t want you; if you can’t accept Amanda for Amanda…what good are you to my life?
Because if you look at it in the long run: what are these people going to mean to you in 6 months? A year? 30 years? They are barely a bump in the road of your life (sorry about the philosophy, but I must), a glitch that isn’t even significant enough to be registered. Their irritating little opinions will mean nothing to you, and I doubt most of us will even remember their names. Now my friends, my family, the people I love and who love me, the ones I would die for? Those are the people I am never going to forget.


The saddest movie ever made: Armageddon.

I, like the idiot I am, watched it just now, and am now crying my eyes out. Ahh, wayy too sadd.

I know: it’s Hollywood, it’s film, they are actors, and this person or that person is not dead. But I am way too sensitive to watch movies like that. I get that snot-bubble-bursting, chest heaving, face blotchy kind of crying when stuff happens how it does in Armageddon. Not to mention they added the song “Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing” in two of the saddest scenes in the entire movie…the end, and another. DO THEY WANT TO KILL ME?


Sad thing is? It’s one of my favorite movies of all time. No joke.
And it’s about the end of the world!

Hallelujah; Sunday February 08, 2009

Today could only have been more perfect if I had had someone to share it with. 🙂

“Your call
comes like the morning breeze
you spread
your wings and cover me

Underneath your shadow
I will hide away
it’s there I’ve found your shelter
and there I’d like to stay

you are my refuge
And when the world shakes, and nothing stands
I will hold onto your hand

It was a touching gospel song that I used to adore and, yes, still cry over, that we sung at in the youth group I was in when I lived in Cobb County. The church was “Mount Paran Church of God” in Marietta, the youth group was The Shift; our motto: We’re not changing directions, just shifting gears. I’ve since moved and separated from them, and I miss all of them terribly. I have never been around a group of people that loved me so much, and loved God so much — I think my subconscious fears that I never will again. I wish I could just go back in time and tell myself “HEY, LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE! Hold onto it!“, but back then I was too young, and too caught up in a boy crush (he was also in our group) to notice their support. My most honest, God-loving&fearing friend, the best I’ve ever had, I let slip through my fingers because I thought she was too “clingy“. Now I wish somebody was clingy like that, that someone cared enough about me to want to save me and talk with me, to help me with my future, and my soul, as much as she did. Screw what everyone else thinks about the two of us. Now she’s off doing mission trips in Uruguay..and I’m making terrible decisions, unclear about my future at all.

Sorry, I’ve been holding that back for a little while. I just wish someone would TALK TO ME. I listen, I participate — but why does everyone just turn away from me so much. They find relationships, or crushes, or get depressed over lost loves, or they move away, and I’m left by myself.

Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you
To a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelu-jah

Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelu-jah

There was a time you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show that to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelu-jah

Maybe there’s a God above
But all I’ve ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you

And it’s not a cry, you hear at night
It’s not somebody, whose seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Poems de dos.

       I am from my dad’s sweet cologne,
    sipping pepsi and watching Sci-Fi for long hours.
       I am from two older sisters and two older brothers all loving and marrying off into the world.
       From learning every trail in the back woods of my old neighborhood,
    from rowdy friends that laugh and jump and run.
       I am from a blue vinyl sanctuary down the old worn-out highway,
    and the green chalk-littered streets just outside.
       I am from a screeching screen door and my mom’s giant curls,
    from the smell of freshly cut wood and sizzling chops on the grill.
       I am from the schedule of a school day,
    the mockery of enemies, and the joyous laughter of all my friends.
       From the branches of family,
    and the soft fur of my imaginary dogs and kittens,
    from the wild wolves and “snuggly” bears my mom would never let me have.
       I am from getting up at eight in the morning,
    from the smell of roasting coffee and fresh linen before church.
       I am from riding bikes and busted arms,
    from crying tears when my brothers used to pick at me.
       I am from homeade green tea and cool ice cream on a sticky summer day,
    from the shallow pool that all the kids in the neighborhood shared.
       I am from Mary Scoggins who took my puppet,
    and the eye-candy, Justin Hartman, who took all the girls’ hearts.
       From Georgia storms and a broken home,
    my little town blossomed into a thickly trunked oak.
    Daughter of Sheryl and Greg
    Lover of Evelyn, Amaroq, and nature
    Who feels anger at those with closed minds, love for canis lupus, and heartache for those who will never make it into heaven
    Who needs comfort when she is sad, funding to make it into the college of her dreams, but who does not need pity for her past
    Who fears consequences, spiders in the bathtub, and the loss of a companion
    Who gives hope when one is down, writing to anyone she can, and loyal love to all friends and family
    Who would like to see a hundred candles on her birthday cake, who would like to see and stand in front of the Taj Mahal, and to see my nieces and nephews grow up and marry off
    Resident of the smallest town in existance

These are a few poems I wrote half-way through my tenth grade year, that I just found in some dusty corner of my bookshelf. The first one I actually kind-a like, but this does show how much my writing has improved in just a short year. It was done for a projet my teacher gave us titled “My Life” or “Who I Am”, depending on your preference. I thought it was a pretty awesome assignment!

Kyle XY tonight…and Heroes…and Secret Life(..), and Gossip Girl! GOOD LORD! I’m happy, dunno about you.

Exerpt & commentary.

    I could see him now. And I could see that he could not see me.
     It was really him, no hallucination this time. And I realized that my delusions were more flawed than I’d realized; they’d never done him justice.
     Edward stood, motionless as a statue, just a few feet from the mouth of the alley. His eyes were closed, the rings underneath them deep purple, his arms relaxed at his sides, his palms turned forward. His expression was very peaceful, like he was dreaming pleasant things. The marble skin of his chest was bare– there was a small pile of white fabric at his feet. The light reflecting from the pavement of the square gleamed dimly from his skin.
     I’d never seen anything more beautiful– even as I ran, gasping and screaming, I could appreciate that. And the last seven months meant nothing. And his words in the forest meant nothing. And it did not matter if he did not want me. I would never want anything but him, no matter how long I lived.
     The clock tolled, and he took a large stride toward the light.
     “No!” I screamed. “Edward, look at me!”
     He wasn’t listening. He smiled very slightly. He raised his root to take the step that would put him directly in the path of the sun.
     I slammed into him so hard that the force would have hurled me to the ground if his arms hadn’t caught me and held me up. It knocked my breath out of me and snapped my head back.
     His dark eyes opened slowly as the clock tolled again.
     He looked down at me with quiet surprise.
     “Amazing,” he said, his exquisite voice full of wonder, slightly amused. “Carlisle was right.”
     “Edward,” I tried to gasp, but my voice had no sound. “You’ve got to get back into the shadows. You have to move!”
     He seemed bemused. His hand brushed softly against my cheek. He didn’t appear to notice that I was trying to force him back. (…)
     It was very strange, for I knew we were both in mortal danger. Still, in that instant, I felt well. Whole. I could feel my heart racing in my chest, my blood pulsing hot and fast through my veins again. My lungs filled deep with the sweet scent that came off his skin. It was like there had never been any hole in my chest. I was perfect– not healed, but as if there had been no wound in the first place.
     “I can’t believe how quick it was. I didn’t even feel a thing– they’re very good,” he mused, closing his eyes again and pressing his lips against my hair. His voice was like honey and velvet. “Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty,” he murmurred. (…)
“You smell just exactly the same as always,” he went on. “So maybe this is hell. I don’t care. I’ll take it.”
     “I’m not dead,” I interrupted. “And neither are you! Please Edward, we have to move. They can’t be far away!”
     I struggled in his arms, and his brow furrowed in confusion.
     “What was that?” he asked politely.
     “We’re not dead, not yet! But we have to get out of here before the Volturi–”
    Comprehension flickered on his face as I spoke. Before I could finish, he suddenly yanked me away from the edge of the shadows, spinning me effortlessly so that my back was tight against the brick wall, and his back was to me as he faced away into the alley. His arms spread wide, protectively, in front of me.
     I peeked under his arm to see two dark shapes detach themselves from the gloom.
     “Greetings, gentlemen,” Edward’s voice was calm and pleasant, on the surface.    

(exerpt credited & patented to Stephenie Meyer & Little, Brown Publishing Company)

See what I mean?
Boys in books are better.

That is an exerpt from “New Moon”, Stephenie Meyer’s second installment to the Twilight Saga.It is the Italy scene in which Edward literally goes to die after being led to believe that Bella had killed herself in his absence. He feels both guilty, and unable to live in a world that doesn’t have her in it, so tries to convince an ancient group of peace-keeping vampires (the “justice system” of the vampire world) to kill him, because his family won’t do it for him. When they refuse, he decies that he will force their hand — that he will expose his skin, all sparkling white when it reacts to the light, in the middle of…Vatican city square, I believe. It might be Rome. But Bella, with Alice’s help, travels to Italy to stop Edward before it is too late and the Volturi have no choice but to kill them both.

I love boys in books. & Edward Cullen. =)