I mean it from the bottom of my [HEART].

I like to think of it less as a kidnapping and more as a rescue. He saved my life before I even knew that I needed saving. He led me away from my boring mundane life with promises of candy and chocolates, and He followed through with just that. At first, I was a bit scared of this strange older man. You see, at the time I was young – only 9 – and I knew nothing about life or adventure or love. All I needed was a push in the right direction, and the back of His windowless Ford Econoline was just the direction I needed to go. At first I missed my parents something fierce. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to see them anymore. But He explained to me very early on that they didn’t want me anymore. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Mom had grounded me a few weeks prior for no good reason. So what if I don’t finish my peas. And Dad agreed with her! Plus, that one time when I told them that Billy Christopher was picking on me, they only told me that he had a crush o

I found this today. I wrote it sometime last winter. It proves I'm insane, at least. ----------------------------------------------------------- If I told you a story right now would it matter? Would you care? Would it make you smile. My similes of unicorns and tiled bathroom floors. The kind that makes them cold when you walk inside first thing in the morning with no socks on. I hate those days. I wake up too quickly afterwards. Like growing up too fast. Being forced to do things before the time is right. The right time. When is the wright time. The wrist time. I'm just enjoying the feel of wri wri wri wri wire. That's what I am by the way. I'm wired. I'm keyed up and I'm making no sense am I. Who say's I need to make sense. I'm a writer. I can turn anything into something beautiful just because I feel like it. Just because I say that I can. Just like those crappy artists. The ones that paint squares and a circle on a canvas and get to call it art.

If there were a way to see inside of me it would look like a storm.  A tornado.  A tsunami.  There is too much rolling around inside with no way to get out.  I could scream and yell and bitch and rant and not a one in the world would hear me.  I'm ripping apart and my screws are coming lose and soon there will be nothing left of me but shreds.  Paper in a fire.  Ash in the wind.  I'm not damaged, I'm conflicted and I'm perceived all wrong.  Maybe there is just no right way to interpret me.  I'm wrong. It's wrong. All wrong.

There is blood all over my exquisitely painted walls. And on the imported carpet from China. And soaked into the thousand thread-count sheets. This is going to take absolutely forever to clean up. I was never informed that death was so messy and if I had known I would have put down some plastic over the furniture or something. Now I have to pay someone to get all the stains out. Such a hassle. I was just playing a bit of a game with my husband, you see. It seems that we got a bit too rough and he has hurt himself. Such a clumsy man I am married to. He has managed to make a mess of everything in the room, and now it's going to take me even longer to clean up before dinner can get made. We always play little games like this with each other though. The last time we played tag, he accidentally pushed me too hard and I hit my head on the kitchen table. I ended up with 4 stitches, but I know it was just a mistake. Another time while we were playing hide and seek at the mall, he acciden

[ Whiner /Winner] I'm a whiner. Whiner, not a winner. I'm hungry. I'm tired. I'm bored. I give you full permission to slap me and tell me to shut up. Shut up. Sit down. Go play in traffic. Bad Ashley.

There is a subtle art to feeding off of ideas from another person. The point is not, as some may think, to completely take their ideas as your own and try to market them as magic of your own. The stealing of someone else's hard work actually makes me sick. That's why they come down on you so hard at school for plagiarism. It's the lack of creativity that your teachers and parents are worried about. That their pupil or child is going to end up working a pointless 9 to 5 cubicled desk-job because of their inabilities to think for themselves. Working and thinking for the man. But the beauty of drawing an idea from someone else and then using it to fuel your own creativity, thats true beauty. The fact that another persons thoughts have been able to help you create something magical of your own, that's what I strive for. To take in the aura of someone else and make something for myself that I can be proud of. To inspire others to be proud of themselves.

You kiss me in a darkly lit room. Tell me I'm pretty. Please, tell me I'm pretty. I ask if you will regret this later. You say no. You just need me to Stay... Right... There... Wait, no, stop. You hear a voice. Voices. People. Panic. [Fight or flight] I am tossed to the side. You chose flight. We must save the image. [Just laugh it off] Don't let them know. [Just laugh it off] Never let them see. [Just laugh it off] It was nothing you say. It was nothing I say. .exit stage left.