The Paper Cake: Disappointed

Monday, December 13, 2010

Disappointed

Honesty is a two way street, right? So is trust.

The only things that I don't tell Anne are things that I haven't told anyone and are not even a big deal. They're uninteresting and unimportant to everyone so I don't see a point in telling.

I dunno. I guess I see our relationship differently than she does? Because I tell her everything that's big and important. Especially things that are related to her.

I just wish she would do the same.

5 comments:

peebsDecember 14, 2010 at 8:01 PM
what are you talking about??????
ReplyDelete
Replies
peebsDecember 14, 2010 at 9:44 PM
OH! if it's what I think your talking about, it's something that I would have to talk to you about in person because, yeah, it's not something i feel comfortable talking about at all.. especially not online or texting.. but mainly i needed to process it myself first. I've processed it now, but I haven't seen you. It has nothing to do with our friendship, it has to do with me and marturing into independance. I'm learning to deal with things on my own. I had to kept it to myself until I was ready to share it; I needed to figure out how I felt about it before I could obsess over what other people would think. Even you. Especially you, because I value your opinion a lot, but need to develop my own because it is ultimately my decision and I need to be my own person. I was really confused, and if I had discussed that with you, whatever you said would have directed how I felt about it and possibly made me more confused because it just adds more to the pot. Does that make sense?

I'm pretty sure I know what you're talking about.. it took me the last hour and a half to figure it out :S but even if we're thinking different things, I would like to talk to you about what it is I think you mean. And then if it's different than what you have in mind, we can talk about both :)

I love you.
ReplyDelete
Replies
The Paper CakeDecember 15, 2010 at 3:35 PM
when you say it like that, i feel like an ignorant, nosy dope
ReplyDelete
Replies
peebsDecember 15, 2010 at 7:03 PM
oh no! no! IIIIII feel bad for not telling you, I'm SO relieved that you understand :/ We still should talk about it obviously though. I'm pretty sure we're on the same wave length though on the bestfriendship front, which is what really matters in my opinion ;) <3
ReplyDelete
Replies
The Paper CakeDecember 16, 2010 at 10:50 AM
you dont have to feel bad for not telling me if you wanted to figure things out for yourself first. but yes id like to talk. :)
ReplyDelete
Replies

Add comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

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