the proposal of truth

i'll carve the words into the surface when they won't bleed through it.
tracing forcefully over the words until they read dark and boldly
sometimes we'll make a sacrifice and smash something beautiful just to hear the shatter, even if for a short moment.
giving truth when you can't always give justice.
grasping enough self-control not to allow emotion to motivate me instead of logic when there's a war between the two:  to just walk away sometimes and return when you are at a rational serenity.
knowing just because a feeling is strong now, sometimes you have to hold back because it won't be consistent.  the storm just passing by.  a rainbow in the sky.
saved by new highs from fantasies, fame and lust when you become bored with love:  obsessions with fiction, forgetting about the people who love you.
trying to find a healthy medium between morals and happiness when your desires won't allow balance between the two.
unsure of where to draw the line between living for ourselves and for others without betraying the idea of morals, falling into sin.
memories fade even more by the day, eventually to the point they are so far away from our senses, we could've dreamt them and not really lived them.
knowing the difference between an observation and a judgement when you gossip and hear gossip from others.
don't be fooled by their potentially fraud warmth, for people are not genuine:  they'll manipulate you to get what they want from you, then quickly remove their masks.
i will not be fooled by first, second and even third impressions.  i will not grant someone the honor of positive character until they can prove themselves consistently to me.
for you can change your environment:  but your thoughts, habits and addictions will still follow you.  ideas proposed too soon.
don't have a bias for over-ly sensitive and negative people.  don't have a bias when you have both sides of the story:  for it was never your story to tell.
there are endless combinations of words in this language the two of us have created.  they only make sense to us, but are beautiful to everyone.


-shelly scene

strange girl

a lonely white house with dark red trim rests alone on top of the hill, all dark with the exception of a single glowing window from the t.v. light.  you'll find her inside: she finds faces in the swirls of the wooden walls instead of shapes in the clouds.  the light from the window casts a heavy eerie green glow against the garage outside: tree branches and clusters of hundreds of little leaves dance, throwing their silhouetted shadows against the gleam on a windy night: the leaves like television static: she gets lost in the dim audio.
she's a weird girl.  a solitary girl.
(maybe she's an alien, an alien trapped in a human body.)
her broken heart, stitched by sewing needles and the most lovely corset ribbons
this world won't seem to accept her; so she created her own.
she lives in a bubble:   the bubble accessorized with the decorative details of her imagination
her thoughts, like black and white with color-coordinated confetti revolving around in a fan, at a dangerous speed
she desires only occasional and little company.
she only drinks coffee at 2 a.m.
she lives with her black cats and her book collection.
she fell in love with the night sky:
she adopted the stars in the sky and claims them as her children.
the desserted, quiet streets at night make her feel at peace, at home.
she thinks the sunshine is obnoxious
starlight:  her sunshine
she finds freedom in the shadows, not the spotlight.
 but she is never alone...
she makes friends with her imagination, she lives alone in the shadows.
she loves her moon garden more than she loves people: she talks to the flowers in the moonlight, basking in the white glow
she still has tea parties with the toy teaset she had as a child, with her cats as the party guests: and the ghosts she befriends from the steam pouring from the teapot
when she walks the streets, she shys behind her umbrella, the umbrella she carries with her no matter the weather; lost in the clouds.
a lonely girl with black-and-white striped stockings and thin dark hair, standing alone in the rain holding balloons with her party dress on:  her stuffed animals, her party guests
she lives in a dream world with music as her vessel
she takes comfort and contentment in rainy, gloomy days and darkness.
when she wants the streaks in the sky at a pretty sunset, she draws a picture with her crayons and colored pencils and she has the whole sky in the palm of her hands.
one would never propose introversion can be such a gift
she's a weird girl.


-shelly scene