I've felt tired and unable to breathe lately. My skin itches and lungs refuse from filling and even though it's december i find myself running to my room, losing my shirt, and opening the window. I enjoy sitting here alone, knowing it's only me.

I worship my own skin, sleeping in nude more often than not - my skin is my only freedom and I know that I don't even own the only things that actually are my own, and they are my mind, body and soul. 

Sometimes I look at my body in the mirror and wonder when I started hating it.
(I remember it, though. So I doesn't take that long.)
After a while, though, I search every scar and stretch mark and every kiss of an angel and count them.
I know how I got the scar on my cheek, and those vicious little lines on my ankles.
I admire the lighter spot under my left breast and my bare feet, flat against the floor. I admire the way my thighs look when it's dark.
It's been a while since I haven't hated my body - the only thing people know of me. Stranger, especially. Been a while since I haven't spend a moment in a day spitting ugly words at it.

But however, it's been a while since i've hurt it. Since i've caused bruises to myself, scars.

My hair looks like shit and I no longer care for makeup.
It would be easy to skip school, to tell them that I have a terrible headache and then not go. It would be easy to stay in bed and avoid everyone and everything, to wear pajamas the whole day.

I look to the mirror and wonder if anyone is ever going to see me as beautiful.

The only way I handle these blues is either staying up the whole night or sleeping for the whole day and I can do neither. Two days till my birthday and I'm supposed to be a bit more grown up again, people can use my age as a debate. I shouldn't scream to anyone anymore, I'm a small adult, but there is so much anger bottled inside me. In every nook it fits and I am more than upset. A small child can scream and shout. A small child is able to kick air and slam the door shut but all I can do is write and even that is not ok. What will people think of me, now that I am angry. Now that they know how I fist my hands and close my eyes and then just feel defeated as I can't do anything and the anger fades as every other emotion does too. It all turns to sadness at the end of the day and I end up sitting in the corner of the sofa, watching Romeo + Juliet and clasp my hands together. They will die in the end and I close the tv when Romeo cries and kills someone.

Do not make me feel bad. I will think it's all me before pushing you out, away, and then trying to get comfortable in my loneliness. "What will your father think" i ask myself as I pour noodles to a teacup.

fuck. Remember when I considered twice, or three times, even, before writing anything here.

I've been terribly sad lately, and slept badly.
I saw a nightmare of the girl who is all bee's knees and I'm trying to cope with that.
I am trying to cope with a lot of things:

• this fuzzy warm feeling I get when I'm around her
• the fact that I'm not straight and she is
• the fact that my grades are dropping
• the fact that I'll come across these same feelings again some day
• the fact that if she knew what I felt we would no longer be friends
• star trek: tos has only 3 season and i thought it had at least 10
• feelings. 

and these are mostly the things that make me sad, too. Then there is sadness that is actually caused by nothing particular, but it weights me down.

I'm tired of the subject "me"
I would rather talk about space, how women are shown in tv shows and kittens. Like, how important are kittens? pretty darn important.
Then again, I am not.

i eat red meat on a bread even though i'm supposed to be pollotarian.

I am potentially risking my life for boiling water for a cup of good-night-tea at 2.01 am and i feel two dimensional. My character has no character. 

I can't sleep.

I wish I was dark and mysterious.
I wish I had secrets but I spit my soul to your face and tell you how beautifully the droplets splatter on the bridge of your nose like see-through freckles.

"Jumalauta." Mä sanon ja sä huokaat. Meitä ei koskaan ollutkaan etkä sä koskaan tule kertomaan miltä tuntui kun sydän räjähti ja mun kädet tärisee.

I think I'm starting to find my place. Finally.

I have a nice, small circle of real friends who actually care about me and give as much as they take. I've got my life somewhat sorted out too and i am feeling content with the world. At the moment at least.

We had one of those magical evenings where every girl opened up and every one of us cried for our selves and for others. 

And I have never felt more happy to have left my poisonous friend and found these. I am so happy to control my life by myself again. 

You are:

• Bees' knees 
• cat's whiskers 
• flea's eyebrows
• canary's tusks.

please never change

Hi,

Sorry I haven't written in a while. It's been hectic, school has brought up the worst of me and I've just done my homework before going to bed. It's been two months since school started but i still haven't gotten the grip of life - showering every night is too hard and I've shaved my legs twice in two months. 

There is no space for creativity either, school makes me so angry that aggressive 70's rebel punk has been my background music for days and I haven't been able to clean my mind from it. 

And I'm currently quite sad. I'm constantly missing the one who is cat's paws and bee's knees and I don't know what to do with myself.

Yours truly, S 

I've been feeling terribly sad lately. 

I don't want to talk about it so I won't. 

That's why I've been silent.

51

I wonder what the people passing by are thinking when they see me at the midnight,
the last of summer breeze grabbing the hems of my white skirt when i stand
on the windowsill of my own window,
trying to climb down on the roof.

50

Today was the first day of autumn.
I was awoken by a silent thunder and for the first time in months I didn't open the window because I had to - I opened it because wanted to.
The sky was grey and I brewed a cup of tea, smiling, and waited for the first autumn rain.
I wasn't disappointed when it finally arrived.

52

Stuff I wanted to say but didn't, in and out of context

"Fuck it."

"No. Stop thinking about that. We are young. We are supposed to be happy."

"Shut up, like you knew."

"I really don't want to see you today. I don't feel like being a daughter today."

"I don't think you deserve him."

"Dying."

"I love you."

"I know you hang out with me just because you pity me"

"Stop using me."

"I love you like sea loves the shore"

48

Pictures of a head on my lap, connected to a body, of course. And it makes me feel giddy.

49

sleep next to me from i was a on 8tracks Radio.

I worked with this for months to make it perfect. I was supposed to say "It just happened." But it's a big lie.

46

Everyone is telling me how good this summer was, and how their dreams came true and I realized that I'm late from my schedule.

47

I want you with your nigh terrors and your fears, with your imperfections and your issues with them.
(I want to wake up, warm and content, with you - messy hair and all  - sleeping next to me)

45

first letters of our last names form my initials and that is something I can cherish without anyone really realising why.

44

i remember comparing our hairy legs and running around at night when we were supposed to be in our tents and you not getting dressed at all but walking back to camp in only a towel. I miss that summer. I miss you.

43

It hit me again.
The terrible realization of not being anything.
And of becoming nothing. I will never be a thing.

41

Today you were the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

40

I'm filled with waves and salty water.
Still feeling like my whole life sways and turns and the hum of the refrigerator turns to splash of water, sounds of the cars, going past us turn to the sounds of late motorboats.

but now the swaying makes my head ache and the salty water spills from my eyes.

39

Why can't my love be in like the books,

why can't it be differnet and passionate and someone to die for.

Why can't i fight for someone, kiss someone when the waves roar around us, sink into someone.

Why can't i fucking get something special.

I'm too young to hate my life this passionately. I will fall in love over a cup of coffee or worse, over a drink and kiss and make love, under the covers, lights off. I will marry a person of the opposite sex in a beautiful church and get two childs and ruin everything i ever wanted to be.

My life won't even be like a sequel of an absolutely beautiful movie. My life gets the rewievs "Not so good performance" "I drank a whole bottle of wine" and two two and a half stars. "Utterly boring." But still it gets watched again and again and the sequel is me being tired and hating my partner and then dying in the hospital bed. 

-
This was written between 3 and 4 am on the night i couldn't sleep. I decided not to edit it at all.

38

The most brutal hour is between 3 and 4 am.
Your mind tries to work on every single way to destroy you.
At 5 you have already given up.
It gets better at 6 when the sun starts to rise and by 7 you are almost happy and that is when you fall asleep just to be awaken in 30 minutes.

42

You did do it didn't you oh you did
Painted flowers and cried for a loneliness
of a creature of another and hoped you could pray for them,
and believe in your own prayers.

37 (i deleted one again)

So they are leaving.
All of them.

Not really not all, and not for forever that much. For the camp that is supposed to turn you to a grown up.
The one where I cried myself to sleep.

They are nice and carry the glow of happiness. Brave and beautiful and they will get themselves to be a part of the group and I will be left with an after party after an after party after an after party with people I no longer even want to know.

I could use a drink, something stronger than water. Possibly a pint of blood I could wash my feet in.

35

we are proud of our crosses hanging on our necks. Pieces of gold and silver shining in the evening sun and I'm either happy or it's the alcohol i've been sipping throughout the night.

33

mom. mum. mummy. mother. mother dear. dearest mother.

you who carried me for nine months.

you who gave birth to me.

stop acting like it isn't worth it.

stop acting like you aren't worth it.

but stop for a moment and think

what you did.

remember how you taught us to think what we had done

when we were old enough to

think for ourselves

and remember the story of the boy

who hit the nails to the fence

and pulled them off when he was nice

and left holes after holes after holes  

32

I was on a camp.
Most of it was awful. I cried myself to sleep two or three nights in a row.
I felt alone most of the time. I felt like everyone hated me.
I'm pretty sure they did but I no longer care.

The last night payed it all off. We were seated in a circle, and passed a candle to the next after telling how we felt about this camp.
I stared at the candle for a very long time before starting.
"In the beginning of the camp.. well, of course I didn't want to come here. Well not of course but you know. But I don't know, it was cool. Fine. I had fun. Wow I can't say anything more before crying."

I had so much more to say.
You are all still strangers to me. But I had fun while looking from outside to inside and I loved being part of this. Even tho you all didn't like me being a part of this.
Or
I cried myself to sleep for the first three nights. I felt like shit most of the camp. And I'm sorry for being a shit. 

Didn't.
We still have a celebration - a formal party and an after party that follows it. But I think that I will be fine with seeing everyone.

31

Note to self:

1. You don't need to hate everyone to be independent
2.You don't have to hide all your emotions to be strong
3. You don't have to hate everything just to keep yourself from getting hurt
4. Not everyone hates you, merely a person or ten of them

30

I would like a completely fresh start.

A white wall, empty house, empty head.

I want to rip my life from it's roots and plant it to a strange ground.

It is your home now, I'd say and smile, this is where you belong.

I used to dream of studying in oxford.

That was my favorite dream.

I'm pretty sure that i won't get there at any point but it's still one of my favorite dreams.

But now it's it because i could start with a clean start.

A blank page. 

28

The thing with ballerinas is that there are little things that make them really lovely.
Like offering chocolate to their friends in the dressing room, or the way they blabber.
The way their light blue underwear shows a bit under their black suits or the way their fingers dance in their hair as if they were dancers, each ten of them.

27

Mum braided my hair once in Paris -

in the way that it formed a clean halo of hair around my head and I smiled to the mirror while she was trying to figure out how to do it.

After she was finished she looked me for a moment, smiled and said:

"It's nice to see your face again."

I was puzzled, I never have my bangs on my eyes - it's always up or somehow in my bun.

How is it possible that she hasn't seen my face?

The answer hit me yesterday.

In Paris I was truly happy, happier than I had been in months and maybe I glowed in the way that the black veil of sadness had been removed 

26

I've felt all, hands, lately.
This doesn't make sense but imagine that you are standing in a group where you know no one and not saying anything and you don't know what to do with your hands.
You fiddle with them, cross them on your chest, put them in your pockets but it all feels somehow painful in your shoulders so you let them drop and hang on your sides.
I am feeling awfully like those hands.
I don't know what to do with myself.

25

I'm not feeling that good.
I don't know what I'm going to do with myself
I don't feel like sleeping today. At all. But escaping from the window to a summer dream seems like a bad decision after realizing how big the fall must be.
And if I fall, there is a someone who needs to dance alone.

24

I must stop saying that I am lost
when i know exactly where I am
I just don't want to find my way back

23

I'm sad.

In about hundred different ways.

Sad like the gray ocean, sad like a lonely lighthouse keeper. Sad like a nightingale in a cage - sad like you, when you see a beatiful red fox in the side of a highway,
not moving.

22

(Dear diary)

I feel like no one cares anymore.
About me, about my stories, about my thoughts.
I feel like everyone hates me, but it might be my own hate reflecting from bodies made of mirrors.

21

It's been a while since I've written anything. Or at least anything good.
I didn't have any writing classes this semester - we don't write anything in English and it's been so long since I've had any writing classes in my native language.
And the thing is that I actually really miss my writing teacher. She encouraged (encourages?) me to write and she is about the only person who has seen my writing.
We don't count my friends that I show my writing assignments if they show me theirs because i get only comments like I didn't get it or It was ok after they are done with them. Not that I say anything else. They keep telling me that I'm a good writer and I should make a career out of it but then again what makes them think so? All my writing for school is messed up and weird and I write it under pressure and leave out all the good bits that could light the gunpowder on fire. That gunpowder is the reason why I don't show my writing to my family. And they wouldn't respect it at all.

But that teacher on other hand?
She hasn't seen the best of it but keeps reminding me to write, giving me good grades on my assignments (even tho they are a bit shit), asking about going on writing classes outside school.

I haven't written anything in ages and I feel like I'm letting her down a bit.
Then again why should I write when other teachers (read: group-student-counselor-who-is-a-bit-shit) keep telling me that I will not be a writer?

20

I can't believe that I really miss her.

She was bad to me.

She caused me so much fear, so much hate towards myself and the feeling of me not being enough, not being good at all.

We had a silent competition of problems. 

Who has the biggest problems?

Whose life is the worst?

Most of the time she was the winner.

She always had to win.

But then again, I used to share everything with her; my secrets, my sorrows, funny pictures I saw on facebook. 

She was the only person who touched me, 

held my hand or hugged me when she saw me.

That rarely happens now.

She was like sweet poison.

A wasp dressed as a butterfly.

She caused me so much shit, and I still miss her.

19

I'm my happiest when the sun is hanging low,
casting its heavy whisky light to every peace of ivory skin showing beneath my armor
Pressing angel kisses to the bridge of my nose and to my cheeks that are pushed up with a smile,
caressing my shoulders with a warm hand and
And the thing is, that the happiness doesn't bubble inside me, it swells and stays.

18

I'd like to kiss you
on the cheek,
on the insides of your wrists,
press my lips to your mouth full of toast.

17

Even my hands
look big and rough and ugly
compared to the ones they could hold.

16

I wish I could tell you that

every love poem I've ever written is about you.

15

Blood blooms only for a second before the wound turns to a scar
and the only memory I have of it
is the thudding pain beneath my
ivory skin

14

Around here you need to know when to drop:
Your hand, when no one is shaking it
Your gaze, when someone confronts it
The subject, when it gets too heavy

Everything, when it all feels too much

13

I love the way my mouth forms the color of your eyes,
and i wish you'd kiss the word off my lips
in the same soft way as
my tongue curls around
it

12

Lips.
Kiss swollen, even though
the only time
they have touched other lips
it was my
mother that woke me up
with a small peck.

10

I think I might have fallen.

Yes.

In love, I mean. With you, I mean.

With the curve of your lips when they stretch to a smile. With your laugh and your voice when you call my name. 

With your blond hair and light skin and the way your ideas make no sense at all or the way they make after all. 

But I am on the other side of the window, looking from outside to inside with my face pressed to the glass and i wish you'd notice

or put flowers to your hair even once

9

a moment of clearness, only dark behind the glass of the library door. I'm going out, entering the outside world.

The door swings to close and there it is, a second of snowing inside. White against dark - but my world mixing with the other.

what number is this even supposed to be

I was sitting by an table in a house of an old childhood friend yesterday. 

We were in a hurry, almost late from a hobby that we have been attending since we were around ten years old, her mother was making us toast while she was changing her clothes in a room next to the kitchen and I couldn't do anything but smile.

Her home was practically a second home to me when I was younger and even though her house has changed place (twice) during the last few years the place is somehow more a safe-place than my own home is.

We were in a hurry, she was eating her toast with big bites and arguing a bit with her mother and I was smiling and swallowing down a laugh. Because it was the way everything was supposed to be.

7

Few months back, someone sat behind me in a bus.
Red haired girl or young woman, no one special really.

She peeked behind my shoulders, reading the text i was writing from my pocket fitting moleskin. I took a risk on writing what I wrote, big dreams, big secrets and when I got off the bus she looked at me like she could see through me.

We shared a moment, looking to each others eyes (nothing romantic) and I almost laughed at it. She knew who I was and I will, hopefully, never see her again.

6

Snow.
The whole ugly world drowning in white, gasping for life before dropping the leaves. It's been like this for few months, the cold turns my breath straight to ice and I still refuse to close my jacket.
Dark comes at 5 pm but before the light leaves completely the world turns to blue for awhile. There is a scientific reason for it - somehow the dark dribbles only blue light through it. So many artists and poets inspired by it, and then there is me. Standing on top of a hill and thinking "was that it?"

don't mind me

"I can't stop thinking about grandpas hand," my mother says quietly. "I was holding it and now I just keep seeing it, he's hand."
I close my eyes and turn my face away. I don't do feelings, not even when someone dies.