The Paper Cake: Angry Again

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Angry Again

UGH. I HATE BEING MAD. IT DRIVES ME CRAZY BECAUSE I WANT TO BREAK THINGS BUT I NEVER DO. I think I'm going to explode one day. I'm so sick of all this shit. I can literally make myself cry whenever I want to because I'm so upset. One second I'll think my life is perfect and be the happiest person in the world, but the next second... my dad or my brother just has to fuck it up.
Erik's such an immature idiot. He starts fights randomly by calling me a bitch or ugly and then blames me for all of our fighting. He also farts in my face and... GAH. LIKE WTF. You're fucking 15! Grow up!
My dad's also an immature idiot! The other day in church, I was trying to open the bulletin but it was difficult because it was all folded up and shit, and then my dad tried to grab it from me. First I pulled it away so he couldn't grab it thinking what the heck is he doing? Maybe I was being possessive because I had been using it as a fan. But anyway, he tried to grab it away again and this time I smacked his hand. Sure, I smacked it. But not hard. He says I elbowed him in the chest but wtf, no I didn't. Then he stopped trying to grab it and disappeared immediately after mass was over and drove home by himself. Luckily my mom was there to drive me home. Then he said I was being a rude bitch and gave my cellphone to Erik! AND he kicked me out of the house! JUST FOR SMACKING HIS HAND.
It drives me insane! Sometimes I want to kill them and other times I just want to kill myself to be rid of this bullshit! And that'll fucking make them happy, so why not? That's exactly why actually, because it'll make them happy.
I know it sounds like I'm overreacting, but you don't know what it's like. I've had to deal with this and more for YEARS. I'm finally coming to my senses and realizing this isn't acceptable or right. SO I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE IT ANYMORE.
You know what actually? Maybe I should just take it. Not taking it doesn't seem to be working. But it's not who I am to take bullshit. But then they don't like who I am... which wouldn't normally bother me, but they're my family. All I want is their love. I don't even know if they really love me. Erik always says he doesn't, but I like to tell myself he's just being a 15 year old boy. But then he always tells Jess he loves her. My dad tells me he loves me... but now I'm having a hard time believing it if he's going to kick me out of the house and give away my phone just for smacking his hand.
Something needs to change. Maybe I should just disappear and make everyone happy. Ha. But I'm too selfish to do that. But I don't know what to do... Well, how about you stop whining Raven?
Fine.

2 comments:

peebsAugust 27, 2010 at 5:24 PM
10 more months and then you're free. You can leave, guilt free. :) And come live with me! Wherever i am :P
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The Paper CakeSeptember 6, 2010 at 6:24 PM
sigh. thats not the point. part of it is what they do to me, like being assholes, but most of it is that they would do that stuff to me... i swear im not that terrible to them.
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Robot Boy

Mr. and Mrs. Smith had a wonderful life.
They were a normal happy husband and wife.
One day they got news that made Mr. Smith glad.
Mrs. Smith would be a mom,
Which would make him the dad!
But something was wrong with their bundle of joy.
It wasn't human at all,
It was a robot boy!
He wasn't warm and cuddly
And he didn't have skin.
Instead there was a cold, thin layer of tin.
There were wires and tubes sticking out of his head.
He just lay there and stared,
Not living or dead.

The only time he seemed alive at all
Was with a long extension cord
Plugged into the wall.

Mr. Smith yelled at the doctor,
"What have you done to my boy?
He's not flesh and blood,
He's aluminum alloy!"

The doctor said gently,
"What I'm going to say
Will sound pretty wild.
But you're not the father
Of this strange looking child.
You see, there still is some question
About the child's gender,
But we think that it's father
Is a microwave blender."

The Smith's lives were now filled
With misery and strife.
Mrs. Smith hated her husband,
And he hated his wife.
He never forgave her unholy alliance:
A sexual encounter
With a kitchen appliance.

And Robot Boy
Grew to be a young man.

Though he was often mistaken
For a garbage can.

~Tim Burton

The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy

He proposed in the dunes,
They were wed by the sea,
Their nine day long honeymoon
Was on the isle of Capri.

For their supper they had one spectacular dish -
A simmering stew of mollusks and fish.
And while he savored the broth,
Her bride's heart made a wish.

That wish came true -
She gave birth to a baby.
But was this little one human?
Well, maybe.

Ten fingers, ten toes,
He had plumbing and sight.
He could hear, he could feel,
But normal?
Not quite.

This unnatural birth, this canker, this blight,
Was the start and the end and the sum of their plight.

She railed at the doctor:
"He cannot be mine.
He smells of the ocean, of seaweed and brine."

"You should count yourself lucky, for only last week,
I treated a girl with three ears and a beak.
That your son is half oyster
You cannot blame me.
... Have you ever considered, by chance,
A small home by the sea?"

Not knowing what to name him,
They just called him Sam,
Or sometimes,
"That thing that looks like a clam."

Everyone wondered, but no one could tell,
When would young Oyster Boy come out of his shell?

When the Thompson quadruplets espied him one day,
They called him a bivalve and ran quickly away.

One spring afternoon,
Sam was left in the rain.
At the southwestern corner of Seaview and Main.
He watched the rain water as it swirled
Down the drain.

His mom on the freeway,
In the breakdown lane,
Was pounding the dashboard -
She couldn't contain
The ever-rising grief,
Frustration,
And pain.

"Really, sweetheart," she said.
"I don't mean to make fun,
But something smells fishy
And I think it's our son.
I don't like to say this, but it must be said,
You're blaming our son for your problems in bed."

He tried salves, he tried ointments
That turned everything red.
He tried potions and lotions
And tincture of lead.
He ached and he itched and he twitched and he bled.

The doctor diagnosed,
"I can't quite be sure,
But the cause of the problem may also be the cure.
They say oysters improve your sexual powers.
Perhaps eating your son
Would help you do it for hours!"

He came on tiptoe,
He came on the sly.
Sweat on his forehead,
And on his lips - a lie.
"Son are you happy? I don't mean to pry,
But do you dream of Heaven?
Have you ever wanted to die?"

Sam blinked his eye twice,
But made no reply.
Dad fingered his knife and loosened his tie.

As he picked up his son,
Sam dripped on his coat.
With the shell to his lips,
Sam slipped down his throat.

The buried him quickly in the sand by the sea -
Sighed a prayer, wept a tear -
And they were back home by three.

A cross of grey driftwood marked Oyster Boy's grave.
Words writ in the sand
Promised Jesus would save.
But his memory was lost with one high-tide wave.

~Tim Burton

Mummy Boy

He wasn't soft and pink
With a fat little tummy;
He was hard and hollow,
A little boy mummy.

"Tell us, please, Doctor,
The reason or cause,
Why our gundle of joy
Is just a bundle of gauze."

"My diagnosis," he said.
"For better or worse,
Is that your son is the result
Of an old pharoah's curse."

That night they talked
Of their son's odd condition -
They called him "a reject
From an archaeological expedition."

They thought of some complex
Scientific explanation,
But assumed it was simple
Supernatural reincarnation.

With the other young tots
He only played twice,
An ancient game of virgin sacrifice.
(But the kids ran away, saying, "You aren't very nice.")

Alone and rejected, Mummy Boy wept,
Then went to the cabinet
Where the snack food was kept.

He wiped his wet sockets with his mummified sleeves,
And sat down to a bowl of sugar-frosted tanna leaves.

One dark, gloomy day,
From out of the fog,
Appeared a little white mummy dog.

For his newfound wrapped pet,
He did many things,
Like building a dog house
A la Pyramid of kings.

It was late in the day -
Just before dark.
Mummy Boy took his dog
For a walk in the park.

The park was empty
Except for a squirrel,
And a birthday party for a Mexican girl.

The boys and girls had al started to play,
But noticed that thing that looked like papier mache.

"Look, it's a pinata,"
Said one of the boys.
"Let's crack it wide open
And get the candy and toys."

They took a baseball bat
And whacked open his head.
Mummy Boy fell to the ground;
He finally was dead.

Inside of his head
Were no candy or prizes,
Just a few stray beetles
Of various sizes.

~Tim Burton

Stain Boy

Roy, the Toxic Boy

To those who knew him -
His friends -
We called him Roy.
To others he was known
As that horrible Toxic Boy.

He loved ammonia and asbestos,
And lots of cigarette smoke.
What he breathed in for air
Would make other people choke!

His very favourite toy
Was a can of aerosol spray;
He'd sit quietly and shake it,
And spray it all the day.

He'd stand inside the garage
In the early morning frost,
Waiting for the car to start
And fill him with exhaust.

The one and only time
I ever saw Toxic Boy cry
Was when some sodium chloride
Got into his eye.

One day for fresh air
They put him in the garden.
His face went deathly pale
And his body began to harden.

The final gasp of his short life
Was sickly with despair.
Whoever thought that you could die
From breathing outdoor air?

As Roy's soul left his body
We all said a silent prayer.
It drifted up to Heaven
And left a hole in the ozone layer.

~Tim Burton